SRUJANSWORDS

I never truly realized that it had been four long years—because it never felt real, but nestled close enough to my heart to leave a permanent scar. After it happened, I drifted away, across oceans, to Australia. But memories are stubborn—though I couldn't forget, I simply learned to move forward, one quiet day at a time.

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And yesterday, beneath a calm sun and with a heart lighter than I’ve known in years, I got engaged. To Teju—the daughter of Raja Gopal uncle, my father’s closest friend. She and I share a thread that stretches back to childhood, when everything was simpler and every smile felt eternal. Saying yes to her didn’t take much thinking—it felt natural, like turning a familiar page. I'm happy, truly happy, to marry someone who has known me from my very beginning.

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Our parents chose the 23rd of next month for the wedding. That gives me just over a month—forty days—to gather everyone who has ever walked beside me, no matter how briefly. Some friends stayed connected through the rhythm of emails and late-night calls. Others waved from the digital distance of Facebook. A few have faded into silence. But I want them all—every single soul who colored my life in some unique shade. I dream of seeing them together, under one sky, on that single perfect day. That dream alone has pushed me into full-blown planning mode, jotting down even the tiniest details—because excitement, not stress, makes us forget the little things.

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The first thing I did was make a list—a heartfelt roll call of names and faces from my past. Initially, the wedding was to be held in Australia. After all, most of our extended family and well-wishers are now settled there. But something within tugged gently, and I changed the location to Vizag, India. Because that’s where my heart pointed—and I listened.

 

A few days later, I flew back to India. I started reconnecting, meeting friends one by one, hand-delivering invitations with laughter and long-overdue hugs. The joy of reunion after years felt like walking back into a childhood dream. Many are now married, settled with steady jobs or businesses—some carrying on their fathers’ legacies, a few building empires of their own. It was a beautiful blur of stories and nostalgia.

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Amid this wave of reunions, I went to see Siri one bright morning. I hadn’t spoken a word to her in four years—not even when she tried to reach out. Life had created a silence between us that neither of us dared to break.

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She is now married, a content mother of two—the little darlings Jeshna and Aarav, who were every bit as adorable as you'd imagine. I had a lovely time with them, even though I missed meeting her husband—he had already left for work that day.

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I was playing with the kids when Siri descended the staircase. A soft smile on her lips, calm in her eyes, and wrapped in a black saree that shimmered with delicate embroidery—she looked effortlessly beautiful. For a moment, everything paused. I was caught in the stillness of her presence, until Jeshna tugged at my lap, eager for her chocolate. Siri gestured that we’d leave in a few minutes. I nodded.

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After spending some sweet time at her place, we headed out to meet a few more friends. On the way, we stopped by Siri’s parents’ house. Her mother’s love greeted me like a long-lost melody. “VICKY! I’m so pleased you're getting married,” she exclaimed, eyes shining with joy. We stayed for about fifteen minutes, and then Siri dropped off the kids with her parents before we continued on our way.

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By afternoon, our stomachs demanded attention. We reached a serene ocean-view restaurant that whispered calmness and carried the delicious scent of Indian spices in its air. Hunger quickly gave way to excitement. Siri swiftly browsed the menu and ordered Spanish chicken roast with mango juice. I lingered over the options, unsure, until she suggested fish chops with a hint of cheese and extra spice, a bowl of brown rice, and a sizzling mixed non-veg platter. I added a fruit juice to complete the order. We waited patiently—twenty minutes of shared silence and casual conversation. The food arrived, beautifully plated. As a chef myself, I could tell—every dish was crafted with care. The chef deserved praise.

 

We ate slowly, letting each bite blend with our laughter and memories. We giggled over childhood mischiefs, over things we'd once thought were tragedies, but were now just stories. And then, like a sudden wind through still trees, Siri uttered a name—"RUPA."

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That single name echoed like thunder through my heart.

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My fork paused. My world halted. I couldn’t taste another bite, couldn’t hear another word. My mind spiraled into places I’d kept locked for too long. Tears welled up, soft and silent, forming a blurred lens over the world. Her name had the power to unravel me in a heartbeat.

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I didn’t speak after that. Neither did Siri. She quietly paid the bill and took the wheel. The drive back was heavy with unsaid words. No music played. No laughter remained. Only the low hum of the air conditioner filled the car—yet to me, it roared like a giant speaker at a crowded festival, and still, it couldn’t pull me out of my thoughts.

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We reached Siri’s home. I didn’t wait. I slipped into the driver’s seat, eager to retreat into solitude. She tried to say something—maybe a goodbye. Maybe more. I couldn't stay to hear.

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My guest house lay tucked in the northeastern part of the steel city, half a mile from the sea. The perfect kind of loneliness—where no one bothers you after a day that leaves you breathless.

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Usually, sleep finds me without resistance. But tonight, it stayed away. Her name lingered louder than the crashing waves. The ocean outside was wild, but the storm within me was fiercer. I tried to still my heart—but failed.

 

I took my bike and rode under the moonlight, down to the beach, carrying two chilled beers. Maybe to cool the ache. Maybe to feel human again. I don’t remember the time I returned. The moon was hanging straight at eye level—as though watching me. And then... finally... I slept.