After All This Time

by Nikita Singh

  Shourya had to tell Deepti that it was over. Their relationship had run its course, and it could not be revived. And if she took it well, maybe he would tell her about Lavanya too. If nothing else, it would help her accept that they weren’t meant to be, and move on. Maybe she would wish him well. And maybe one day she could be happy for him.

  19

  Lavanya had nowhere to run. This time, she did not want to. The situation between her father and her was twisted. It had been complicated to begin with, and over the years, it had become something much bigger than she could handle. Her heart felt like it would jump out of her mouth as she sat in the dark, holding on to Toughy while she waited for her mother to wake up her father and bring him down.

  She heard the door of their bedroom open, and a second later, the staircase was illuminated softly by the light coming from the room. Lavanya could hear muffled sounds, and then, a few minutes later, she saw them come down the stairs, her mother leading the way.

  Lavanya forced herself to look at her father’s face, and keep looking. That she had been so stubborn and unforgiving for years together that she could not find it in her heart to even spare her own father a glance made her feel ashamed of herself. It had gone on long enough. She had to end it.

  He was looking at her, and she met his eye. Years ago, there was a time when she had looked at that face adoringly every day, when he had been her superhero. The girl from all those years ago was still inside her. She could still see the father she had loved and respected in the face that had aged a decade since the last time she saw him. She was surprised to find that despite having been woken up in the middle of the night, his eyes were strangely alert. His daughter wanted to talk to him, and it seemed to have shocked him enough to wake him up completely. Lavanya wanted to laugh and cry at the same time.

  Her father looked from her to her mother questioningly, but did not say anything.

  ‘Dad, I’m sorry,’ she said before she lost her courage. She was still sitting, with Toughy on her lap. She felt safer like that, having the dog as a shield.

  ‘Why are you . . .?’ her father’s voice came out deep and low. He cleared his throat. ‘You don’t have anything to apologize for. I do. I never got a chance . . .’

  ‘I never gave you a chance,’ Lavanya insisted. ‘I should not have left home like that. Should not have cut you both out of my life. Mom, I am so sorry. I never meant for you to get hurt like that. I was selfish, I was only thinking about myself. I left everything behind. Everyone.’

  She bit her lip to contain her tears. Things could have been so different, so much better if she had had the strength to have this conversation back then. She would not have been lonely. She would not have been dealing with depression alone, and resorted to drugs. No matter how much she had tried to blame everything going wrong in her life on her father, she didn’t truly believe it. It was she who had to bear the responsibility for where she was in her life, what she was dealing with.

  ‘Lavi, beta, I never meant for you or your mother to get hurt,’ her father said. He was sitting next to her in his flannel pyjamas and an old full-sleeved T-shirt. He did not feel as big next to her as he used to, when she was younger. He smelled like . . . Dad. His hands were resting in his lap and he was scratching his fingernails. As Lavanya looked, small bits of his nails fell to the floor. She could feel his nervousness, and realized it should not be like that. A father should not have to be anxious around his daughter. And in that moment, she felt a warmth spread in her chest and a heart get lighter as she finally let it go—her anger, her fear, her grudge, everything.

  ‘I have been so asham—’

  ‘No, Dad, no. Please don’t. I know how you feel. Mom told me everything,’ Lavanya stopped him. It was enough that they had taken their first steps to becoming father and daughter again. She had forgiven him and he did not hold anything against her either. She could not watch him grovel in front of her. She could not do that to her father. If anything, she cursed herself for not doing this sooner instead of now, when they did not have much time left.

  She leaned on his shoulder quietly, and he reached out and patted her arm. There, in that moment, it was enough. It was all they needed.

  But it was not over. Far from it. She had to tell them about her disease. She could not keep them in the dark any more. If they had only a limited number of days left with their daughter, they deserved to know.

  She wanted nothing more than to break down and dissolve into a puddle of tears. She was losing courage with every second, seeing her mother standing at the door, her face partially covered with her hand as she cried, happy and sad. She did not have the heart to turn it all into sadness.

  But when her mother came forward and asked her what she wanted to tell them, Lavanya knew it was time.

  ‘I . . .’ her voice got caught. She cleared her throat, and said clearly, one word after another, almost mechanically. ‘I have HIV.’

  Her announcement was greeted with a moment of deathly quiet and then all hell broke loose. She heard her mother panic, and let out a yelp. She saw her father’s eyes widen and his chest heave. They were shaking her, asking her for details. She told them that all lawyers did coke in New York. She did not tell them she was depressed. She did not blame them, or anyone else for what happened to her and where she was. It was refreshing to accept responsibility. It was agonising to see her mother dissolve into her father’s arms and weep.

  She felt Toughy lick her hand and she held on to him tightly as she answered their questions about her disease. It felt odd to accept it, as if saying it out loud made it even more real.

  By the time they went to sleep again—at least try—it was nearly dawn. All the tears and lack of sleep over the last few days was taking a toll on Lavanya. Her head was aching, her body was fatigued, her brain was numb and her heart was broken.

  Lavanya, flanked on either side by her parents, sat opposite Dr Meera Shah. They had been up all night, interrogating her. When did it happen, how did it happen, how long had she known, what did the doctor say, what treatment she was getting. They were aghast when she told them she had not seen the doctor yet and that she did not know what her test results meant, and apart from knowing she was HIV positive, she did not know anything else about her disease, but she was convinced that she had AIDS. She did not tell her parents that part, though. She did not want to burden them, not till it was confirmed.

  After a quick breakfast, her parents had dragged Lavanya to AIIMS and waited with her at the reception. Dr Shah was notified, and they were told that she had an opening in one hour and forty minutes. They did not speak to each other the entire time they waited outside the doctor’s office. It was only when they were called inside and they took seats across the table from the doctor that one of them spoke.

  ‘What does this mean, Doctor?’ her father asked.

  ‘Is she going to be okay?’ her mother added, her voice unstable.

  Lavanya felt like she would throw up. She could see the pain she was causing to her parents, and she felt terrible about it. No parents should have to experience the agony of watching their child die. She wished she could go back a day, and keep pretending she was okay. Maybe if she ran away from her disease long enough, she would outrun it.

  But admitting that she had it, saying it out loud, telling her parents—it had all made it real. Tangible. She was already on an accelerated journey towards her death, and there was no stopping that train.

  ‘I was waiting for you,’ Dr Shah said, pulling down her spectacles and examining Lavanya over them. ‘We made several calls to you, but never received a response.’

  Lavanya nodded. Dr Shah was holding a copy of her test results. All Lavanya could do was stare at that.

  ‘When I was told earlier today that you were here, I went through your reports again. I will discuss them with you in a moment. But first, Lavanya, I have to talk to you about something. Do I have your attention?’ Dr Shah asked.

  Lavanya nodded again. Her m
other clutched her hand, perhaps in the hope of steadying her and providing support. But her mother’s own hand was shaking even more violently than Lavanya’s. They held on anyway, giving and receiving strength.

  ‘Good,’ Dr Shah continued. She laid down the documents she was holding and said, ‘Look, Lavanya, you have to realize that this is serious, okay? Having HIV is a severe illness. We have to do our very best, everything we can, to control it. We have to create a treatment plan, based on these results and your situation, and we have to stick to it very strictly. And we have to meet regularly, for check-ups, to see how you are responding to the treatment and make changes in your drugs and regime whenever needed. I know it is hard, and it is a lot to wrap your head around. But for us to fight this, you have to first accept the situation. I need to know that you understand all this, and you will do everything you have to in order to get things under control.’

  ‘She will,’ her father said determinedly.

  Lavanya felt shattered. She was not sure she could handle it. Her mother squeezed her hand.

  Dr Shah looked from Lavanya to her father. ‘That’s great to know,’ she said, and picked up the reports. She began. ‘Well. It was fortunate that you were diagnosed early. These reports confirm what I told you the last time we met. You are in the second phase of HIV infection, which is clinical latency. At this point, the virus is active and reproducing, though at a very low pace. The game plan here is to restrict that growth as much as we can. I will need to sit down with two of my colleagues and devise a treatment plan for you. That is, of course, if you want to get your treatment from us. Most people choose to get a second opinion before deciding. Also, it says in your file that you are a resident of New York, so before we build a team and work on your treatment plan, we will need to know your decision.’

  ‘Wait . . . Doctor . . .’ Lavanya said, once Dr Shah stopped speaking. Her brain tried to process the information she had been given. She shivered as she spoke slowly, ‘Does that . . . do you mean I don’t have AIDS?’

  ‘No. Of course not. Didn’t we discuss that the last time around? I thought I told you that you were in the second phase.’

  ‘Yeah, you did. But you said it was an estimate based on how long it had been since I got infected. You said we would know only once I got the tests done,’ Lavanya was tripping over her words, the next one rushing to get out before the first. Her whole body had become warm and she felt the palms of her hands leave her mother’s skin wet.

  ‘I did. And after looking at the results, I can confirm that.’

  ‘I don’t have AIDS.’ Lavanya breathed out.

  ‘Yes, you don’t. In fact, you’re in a very early stage of phase two. Patients have had long lives when taken proper care of. You have to be very alert, of course. Apart from the treatment, which will have to continue throughout your life, you have to take precautions, make changes to your lifestyle. You have to accept that this is going to be a part of you. And then we . . .’

  Lavanya had stopped listening. She let out a long, tortured breath and sat back in the chair. She could not believe it was happening. She was not dying. Maybe not for a long time. Who knows? Maybe she even had a chance at a normal life. There would be several complications, but they would handle them. It was a small price to pay in exchange for her life.

  Her mother was hugging her, and her father was talking to the doctor, and she let out a nervous laugh. There were tears in her eyes, but they were not flowing. Maybe there won’t be more tears any more. Maybe life would get better.

  Shourya paced his apartment, running his hand through his head. Why wasn’t she taking his calls? He must have called her fifty times in twelve hours. Could it be that she was mad because he had abandoned her in Goa, leaving her with nothing but a note as an explanation? It was a good enough reason.

  After meeting with Deepti, Shourya had recognized how far along he had come. She felt like something from a long time ago. He had expected to be angry; he had been furious with her and around her every time he had met her since their break up. But he was surprised to find that he was not. He had realized he was over her, that she had become a part of his past. More than anything, he accepted that he was in love with Lavanya, that she was his present and future and no one else mattered.

  He dialled her number again. Even if she had decided to stay back in Goa and taken the flight they had booked beforehand, she ought to be back in Delhi by then. Then why was her phone going straight to voicemail?

  He contemplated calling her home. But what if she had already left for New York? Maybe that was it. She could be on a flight back to the US, or fighting jet lag or something. He had been up all night, calling her in India, but if she was in New York, the time difference is only three hours. Maybe she was asleep. That could explain it.

  He tried to believe that reasoning, but couldn’t. It could be that she was infuriated at him and never wanted to talk to him again. He cursed himself. He should have called her sooner. But he couldn’t have. He had to be absolutely sure before he did anything further. He had not meant to hurt her in the process. But it wouldn’t be wrong of her to be angry with the man who confessed his love for her and then left her alone in a town hundreds of miles from home, with a note. That note. He wanted to kick himself. Why did he think it was a good idea? It was just stupid.

  Not able to control himself, he finally dialled the Suryavanshis’ home number. He made up his mind to just ask casually about how things were. He didn’t want to cause trouble or raise concern in case Lavanya wasn’t there. It was almost midnight in India, but the phone was picked up before he could disconnect.

  Mrs Suryavanshi greeted, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Oh, Aunty. Hello! This is Shourya.’ He realized he was whispering, even though it was broad daylight in California and there was nobody around. He spoke louder, ‘I am sorry; I didn’t realize what time it is there.’

  ‘Shourya! Beta, is Lavanya there? Wait—she can’t be already, can she? What time is it there?’

  ‘A little after ten in the morning. I’m back in the US now. Lavanya isn’t here . . .’ He was confused.

  ‘I know that you went back. Lavanya is on her way there to see you. Something about a note and your gall at having given it to her. She didn’t seem happy about it. Didn’t she tell you she was coming?’

  Shourya burst into laughter, suddenly releasing all the tension from his body that had kept him on edge ever since he had left Goa. ‘No. No, she didn’t tell me she was coming here. I guess she was counting on the element of surprise.’

  20

  Now that Lavanya was at his doorstep, she felt lost. Her hand was raised, knuckles about to knock on the door, when she paused. What if he didn’t want her there?

  When Dr Shah had told her she had time, her disease was at a manageable stage, the first thing she had done was tell her parents that she loved Shourya. Her mother was not surprised, and even though it did come as a shock to her father, she knew he had always approved of Shourya.

  She only waited long enough for her doctors to work on her treatment regime. Once they did, they put her on it, and assigned her drugs and a timetable. She got on to the first flight she could find to San Francisco and boarded it, promising her parents that she would return soon.

  She had not taken into account the eighteen hours she would have to spend in the air. The first flight, New Delhi to Tokyo, was eight hours long. Thankfully, she slept through most of it and time passed by easily. It was the three-hour layover at Tokyo airport and the ten-hour-long flight to SF following that that almost killed her. Time had come to a standstill. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t even concentrate on her movie or book. It was torture.

  She thought of a hundred different scenarios, painted pictures in her mind of how the confrontation with Shourya would pan out. But all those hours of thinking had not prepared her for the actual event.

  She dug around her sweatshirt pocket for his note and fished it out. It was crumpled; she must’ve
read it a thousand times.

  I love you. But you deserve better, I think. I mean you deserve better than me for sure, no doubt about that, but there’s a chance I could be good enough too. I want to find out. I don’t know what I’m saying. Sorry for ditching you like this though. But Goa is fun. Have a happy new year. I’ll make this thing as quick as possible. And then, let’s see. Maybe we could be something. I do love you. Bye, S.

  What the hell did that even mean? Every time she read it, her fury mounted. It was not like Shourya to be confused. She did not even understand what exactly he was confused about.

  She knocked on the door. If nothing else, she could at least find out what the stupid note actually meant. She knocked again.

  A tall, skinny guy with a huge red pimple on his right cheek, just above a hideous goatee opened the door. ‘Yes?’ he questioned. He looked annoyed at the intrusion. Maybe it was the incessant knocking.

  ‘Hey. You must be Avik. Is Shourya here?’ Lavanya asked.

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Lavanya?’ came a voice from behind the lanky guy.

  She stepped in, to find Shourya coming out of a room, towards her. Avik rolled his eyes and went inside, to what Lavanya assumed was his room.

  ‘Shourya Kapoor,’ she muttered.

  ‘Lavanya . . .’ He was wearing a navy blue T-shirt with the words ‘Peace, Love & Metal’ written across his chest in white. It was late at night, and he looked like he had been woken up by the knocks on the door. She was making a habit of waking people up in the middle of the night.

  He came and stood right in front of her, and her legs, as always, went weak. She barely managed to stay upright. It was all she could do to not reach out and hold his arm.