The next few days fell into a strange, comfortable rhythm. In the mornings, Devi would hum while she made breakfast, her energy infectious. She'd talk about her plans for the day—painting the living room, meeting with the other teachers, planning a new garden layout. She wasn't just moving on; she was redesigning her entire life, and I was just a piece of furniture she'd decided to keep. I'd spend my afternoons wandering the colony, trying to get my bearings, and more often than not, I'd find myself drifting towards the small market, hoping for a glimpse of Kushi.
It was pathetic. I knew it was. I was a lovesick puppy, mooning over two women I couldn't have, one because she was my stepmom and the other because she was married and, as far as I could tell, completely oblivious to my pathetic crush. But I couldn't help it. There was something about Kushi's quiet sadness, her gentle smile, that made me want to… protect her. Which was a joke. I was a scrawny, good-for-nothing kid who couldn't even protect his own heart.
On Friday, Devi announced she was going out for the evening. "Some of the teachers are getting together for dinner and a movie," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "You'll be okay here by yourself, won't you?"
"Of course," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "I'm not a child."
"I know," she said, her voice soft. She reached out and ruffled my hair, a gesture that was both maternal and incredibly intimate. "Just… try not to burn the house down."
"I'll do my best," I said, grinning at her.
She laughed, a bright, beautiful sound that made my chest ache. "Okay. I'll be back late. Don't wait up."
And then she was gone, and the apartment was suddenly, deafeningly silent. I tried to watch TV, but I couldn't focus. I tried to read a textbook, but the words just swam in front of my eyes. I was restless, agitated. I felt like I was trapped in a cage, and the walls were closing in.
I decided to go for a walk. I didn't really have a destination in mind, I just needed to move. I found myself wandering towards the hill, the one with the lake. The path was steep and winding, and by the time I got to the top, I was breathing hard, my legs burning. But the view was worth it. The lake was a vast expanse of crystal-clear water, surrounded by lush greenery. It was completely, utterly deserted.
I found a spot under a large, shady tree and sat down, my back against the rough bark. I just sat there for a long time, watching the sun dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. It was peaceful. Serene. And it made me feel even more alone.
I was so lost in my own miserable thoughts that I didn't hear her approach.
"Mind if I join you?"
I jumped, my heart pounding. I turned, and my stomach did a backflip. It was Kushi.
"Kushi? What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice a little hoarse.
"I could ask you the same thing," she said, a small, shy smile on her face. "I needed some air. My husband… he's working late. Again."
There was that sadness in her eyes again. That raw, open wound.
"I'm sorry," I said, because it was the only thing I could think of to say.
"Don't be," she said, sitting down next to me, keeping a careful distance. "It's not your fault. Besides, it's nice to get away from the quiet sometimes."
We sat in silence for a few minutes, just watching the last vestiges of light fade from the sky. The air was cool, and I could smell the scent of jasmine and damp earth.
"It's beautiful up here," she said, her voice soft.
"Yeah," I agreed. "It is."
"Devi told me you were thinking about going to St. Johns College," she said, changing the subject. "That's a good school."
"I guess," I said, my voice flat. "I don't really know what I want to do, though. I'm just… going."
"That's how it is sometimes," she said, her gaze fixed on the dark water. "You just… go. And you hope you end up somewhere good."
There was a wisdom in her voice, a depth of experience that made me feel even more like a child.
"What about you?" I asked. "Did you always want to be a… a housewife?"
She laughed, a quiet, bitter sound. "No. I wanted to be a doctor. But then I got married, and had my daughter, and… well. Life happens."
I looked at her, really looked at her. In the dim moonlight, her face was a pale, perfect oval. Her braid was a thick, black rope against her back. I could see the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the soft curve of her hips. She was so beautiful it hurt.
"You could still be a doctor," I said, my voice a little too earnest.
She turned to look at me, her eyes wide with surprise. "No. I couldn't. It's too late."
"It's never too late," I said, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're smart. You're… you're amazing."
She just stared at me, her lips slightly parted. I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—not desire, but a deep, profound appreciation. It was the look of someone who hadn't been complimented, truly complimented, in a very long time.
"Sid…" she began, her voice thick with emotion. "That's… that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in years."
I felt a surge of something, a protective, almost brotherly affection. I wanted to take away that sadness in her eyes, to make her see what I saw.
"I mean it," I said, my voice soft but firm. "You're not just a housewife. You're a person. A person with dreams. Don't ever forget that."
A single tear traced a path down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, a little embarrassed. "Look at me," she said, laughing softly. "Crying like a fool."
"You're not a fool," I said, my voice earnest. "You're just… human."
We sat there for a while longer, the silence between us no longer awkward, but comfortable, companionable. We talked about her daughter, about my old school, about our hopes and dreams, the ones we thought were lost forever. I wasn't trying to seduce her. I wasn't trying to get her into bed. I was just… connecting with her. And it felt good. Better than anything had felt in a long time.
When it was finally dark, she stood up. "I should get going," she said, her voice soft. "It's getting late."
"Okay," I said, standing up, too. "I'll walk you home."
We walked down the hill together, our shoulders almost touching. The moon was full, casting a silver glow on the path. When we reached her house, she turned to me, a small, genuine smile on her face.
"Thank you, Sid," she said, her eyes warm. "For everything. For listening. For… for being a friend."
"It was my pleasure," I said, and I meant it.
She hesitated for a moment, then she reached out and squeezed my hand. It was a small, simple gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity through me. Her hand was soft, warm, and it felt like it fit perfectly in mine.
"Goodnight, Sid," she said, her voice a little breathless.
"Goodnight, Kushi," I said.
I stood there and watched her go into her house, my heart pounding in my chest. I was still a pathetic, lovesick idiot. But for the first time since I'd arrived in Suvarna Colony, I didn't feel quite so alone.