Page 51 of Born in Grief

“People like Varun Gokhale never truly die, Inspector,” she replied. “His damned legacy will live on.” In every scar on her body. “Are we done?”

“One last question. Why did Varun Gokhale want to marry you?”

Dhrithi had often wondered the same thing. “My guess? I was the only girl who’d ever rejected him. He needed to change that. Are we done now?”

“Would you like to be present when we search your home?” he asked gently.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you have until tomorrow to decide.” He gestured to the female constable standing silently in the corner to lead her out. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

She walked out, past a standing Virat, and through the crowded police station until she reached the even more crowded pavement outside. She saw him then. In faded jeans, a tight, plain, black t-shirt, sunglasses on that lean, chiselled face, he stood out like a sore thumb.

Amay had come.Hehad come!

She was running even before she could process the thought. He held his arms out and she threw herself into his waiting embrace. His arms came around her, holding tight. And Dhrithi allowed herself to feel. Unvoiced emotion, painfully acute sensation, and a need that she hadn’t acknowledged since she’d woken from anesthesia.

Amay had come.

“Can we go home now?” she asked.

She saw the word slice through his formidable barriers. Amay swallowed hard looking over her head at Virat. Some unspoken communication took place and then he nodded.

“Let’s go home,” he said huskily.

Chapter Thirty

AMAY

Let’s go home.

The words echoed in his head as he input the code and unlocked his front door. He stepped back to allow Dhrithi to precede him into the flat. He watched the top of her downbent head, dark hair escaping the tight braid she’d pulled it into, sunglasses hiding her gaze from his. Her slight, painfully thin frame was bent into itself, the t-shirt dress she was wearing hanging from her shoulders, the fit making it obvious that she’d lost a ridiculous amount of weight in an even more ridiculous short amount of time.

She was just recovering from a major accident, one caused by her own husband. His jaw clenched at the thought. What would have happened if Varun had been successful that night? What if the accident that had ended his life had also ended Dhrithi’s? Dead bodies weren’t brought into the Emergency of his hospital. Or any hospital for that matter.

Would Amay have even known? Would he have ever known that he was existing in a Dhrithi-less world? Pain slammed throughhim at the thought. He swallowed hard, his hand reaching for her in an unconscious bid to reassure himself that she was there. She was still here, with him.

She stood in the middle of his living room, looking lost and forlorn, her arms wrapped around her middle, almost like she was holding herself together with that fragile grip. He’d known her anxiety the previous night over the police questioning would have been insane. He’d spent all night, in his own bedroom, tossing and turning, wishing he could go to her and comfort her. But he hadn’t. She wasn’t his to comfort, a reminder he needed every few minutes it seemed like. And still, he found himself taking the day off from work so he could hound Virat with questions about how it was going and irritate Ishaan by eating his stash of healthy snacks. Corn chips tasted like chewing on a dirty dishrag. And yet, Ishaan had no more packets of it left in his kitchen cupboard.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked her, his voice rough with lack of sleep and unvoiced feelings.

Dhrithi started, almost like she’d forgotten he was standing there. “Coffee?” she asked, blinking up at him. Her hand went to the rubber band holding her hair together. She pulled it out and ran her fingers through the loosened braid, allowing the long waves to fall freely to her waist.

“Yes. You know the stuff? Made from beans and –“

“Yes, coffee,” she interrupted him. “I’ll make it.”

She walked past him, hair swinging like a banner announcing the start of war. Amay grabbed her hand, his fingers wrapping around her wrist, halting her feverish march toward the kitchen.

“Go sit down. I’ll make it.”

She opened her mouth to argue but he stopped her with a look. “Sit down, Dhriths. It’s just coffee, not a lifetime commitment.”

Whatever she’d been about to say, the words died on her lips. She shook her head in defeat and walked over to the balcony, sitting down on one of the two chairs he had there.

He watched her as her shoulders slumped and she buried her face in her hands, fingers threading through her hair and tugging at it like she needed the pain to steady her. He forced himself not to go to her, turning instead towards the kitchen and the coffee machine he’d had installed there.

By the time he went back on to the balcony, two cups of coffee in hand, Dhrithi seemed to have herself more in control. She had one leg folded and up on the chair, her chin resting on her knee as she gazed out on Mumbai’s skyline.

---