Page 43 of Born in Grief

I’m so sorry for crashlanding into your life like this and even more sorry for bringing the wreckage of mine into yours. I’m leaving. I’m sure you understand why. Thank you for everything.

I’m sorry, Amay, for now and for then. I’m sorry for all of it.

She took a deep breath, picked up her bag and walked right into Virat. Dhrithi shrieked, fear and adrenalin coursing through her, twin rivers of panic inducing emotion.

“Going somewhere?” he asked mildly.

“I-I-I-“

“Amay had an early shift at the hospital. He’s due back in about an hour. If you want to leave, please do it after you tell him in person.”

“I wasn’t going to just disappear,” she muttered defensively.

His pointed gaze went to the note behind her and then back to her red, flushed face. “In person,” was all he said before he walked away to the kitchen to make himself coffee.

Dhrithi followed. “I’ll pay you for the time I stayed at your place.”

“No,” he said simply, spooning coffee into a mug he’d unearthed from one of the kitchen drawers.

“I don’t want to accept any favours,” she said uncomfortably, heaving her duffle bag along with her, the strap continuously slipping off her shoulder and irritating her.

“I didn’t do it for you,” he told her, pulling out a carton of milk and checking the expiry date on it. “I did it for Amay.”

“Why?” she asked, dropping the stupid bag instead of shoving at the strap anymore.

“I would do anything for him.”

The declaration landed with the weight of an unpinned grenade in the silent kitchen. Virat shoved the mug into the microwave and punched a button. He propped his hands on the kitchen counter, his head dropping down for a second. She watched him take a deep breath before turning around and facing her.

“And he apparently would do anything for you,” he finished quietly.

“Why?” she whispered this time.

“Talk to him, Dhrithi,” Virat said. “You want to leave, be my guest. But you will talk to him before you do.” The microwave pinged and Virat pulled his mug out, taking a sip from the steaming hot cup. “In person,” he added, his storm cloud gaze lasering into her.

“I can’t,” she told him. “It’s too much.”

Virat’s stony gaze didn’t soften. “I know,” he said, his voice this side of pleasant. “I was there.”

“Are you in touch withher?” Dhrithi didn’t need to use a name. They both knew whom she was referring to. “Do you guys talk or meet or…” Her voice trailed off.

Virat stiffened. His entire body seeming to turn to stone. For a second, Dhrithi felt true fear. She watched as he made himself relax, almost a muscle at a time. When he glanced at her, his eyes were the calm, focused ones she was used to. And all he said was, “Amay’s flat is on the seventh floor. 701.”

He walked out carrying his mug of coffee and a second later, she heard the front door shut behind him, a controlled click. There would be no banging doors for Virat Jha.

She sat down on the couch, her duffle at her feet and watched the clock on the wall. Minutes ticked away until finally, an hour had passed. She waited another half an hour just to be sure and then grabbed her bag and made her painstaking way to the elevator.

Virat’s flat was on the tenth floor so she rode the sleek elevator cab three floors down before exiting it and making her slow,laborious way to 701. Her hand hovered over the doorbell for several seconds before she gathered the courage to press it.

“I’m coming,” she heard him call out and then a large thud sounded. She winced as he cursed.

“Fucking hell, Ish-“ Whatever he’d been about to say died a sudden death as he caught sight of Dhrithi. His gaze went from her face to the duffel bag she was dragging along with her.

Dhrithi, on the other hand, found herself a little lightheaded after being confronted with Amay Aatre in nothing but a towel. A towel that hung very precariously on his hips. Too precariously.

“Dhrithi?” Amay asked, his voice sounding flat and toneless.

“We need to talk,” she blurted out in a jumbled rush. She took a deep breath and tried again, a little slowly. “We need to talk.”

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