After All This Time

by Nikita Singh

  ‘The note,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah. What the fuck was that thing?’ she pushed it into his face. ‘What am I supposed to make of this?’

  ‘Whoa! Easy. I was just trying to figure things out. That was what I said. I love you, but I wanted to figure out if I was good enough for you. That’s it.’

  ‘Oh, is it? Read this and tell me if this makes sense.’

  Shourya took the crumpled sheet of paper from her. After a moment, he said, ‘Yeah. Yeah, that was pretty stupid, wasn’t it?’

  Lavanya almost smiled, and then checked herself. ‘So, what does it mean? Have you figured it out yet?’

  Shourya wasn’t being funny, he wasn’t saying anything light-hearted. In fact, he was being sincere. He looked serious. He was not smiling. It scared her.

  ‘I only wanted to make sure I was being true to you. That there was nothing between me and Deepti. Because you deserve someone who will devote his everything to make you happ—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Lavanya cut him off. ‘Tell me. What did you decide? Do you still love her?’ Her stomach felt queasy. He still loved Deepti, didn’t he? She knew it. She knew there was still something there.

  Shourya took another step towards her, covering the rest of the distance between them. He cupped her face in his palms and looked into her eyes. Lavanya’s heart was beating out of her mouth. As she gazed into his piercing eyes, she felt she would stop breathing any second.

  ‘Do you still love her?’ she croaked. Her legs had completely given up by then. If Shourya let go of her, she would fall to the ground.

  ‘Lavanya Suryavanshi,’ Shourya said, his breaths shallow. ‘Ever since I left you in that hotel room and came here . . . all I’ve thought about is you.’

  There. Just like that.

  Lavanya wrapped her arms around him and nestled her face in the crook of his neck. ‘For a minute there . . . you scared me,’ she muttered into his skin.

  His hands were around her waist, securing her in his arms. ‘I love you,’ he said, his voice gruff.

  ‘I love you,’ she said. She wanted to stay there forever, eyes closed, breathing in his scent, protected in his embrace. But she had not forgotten that she had something to tell him. It was time. She dropped her arms to his waist and tried to pull back. ‘I have to tell you something.’

  He let her go back a step, but still held her by her waist. ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘You know . . . that I have to tell you something?’ Lavanya asked, confused.

  ‘I know what you have to tell me.’

  How? How did people already know things when she was on the verge of confessing? First her mother, now Shourya. She was confused. There was no way he could know.

  ‘What . . . do you . . . Do you mean you know that I have—’

  ‘HIV? Yes. I know,’ Shourya said and pulled her back into his arms.

  Shourya held her close to his chest. He could feel her resisting, but he needed this hug. Ever since she had found out about her HIV, he had not been able to think about anything else. He was in shock. It refused to leave his mind even for a second.

  ‘How do you know? When did you find out?’ Lavanya asked, speaking into his T-shirt, her voice stifled.

  ‘Today morning. You were on the flight here. I had called your home. Aunty told me. Lavanya, why didn’t you tell me before?’ Shourya finally set her at arm’s-length as he spoke.

  ‘I thought you would hate me.’ Lavanya spoke quietly, not looking at him.

  ‘No. What? Of course not! I could never hate you. Why would you think that?’

  ‘Because I hate myself.’

  ‘Lavanya, no. I am worried about you, I cannot believe this is happening to us, and I am scared of losing you . . . I am scared to death . . . but I don’t hate you. How can you think that? Don’t ever think that.’ He could feel Lavanya’s body tremble beneath his hands.

  ‘I am scared too.’

  ‘It will be okay. It will be all right,’ he said quickly. When Mrs Suryavanshi had told him about their meeting with the doctor, Shourya’s world had stopped. He couldn’t believe that he had spent the last month with Lavanya but failed to notice that she was dealing with something as big and terrifying as HIV. All by herself. ‘You should’ve told me. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘What good would that have done? I thought I was dying. And I thought you would go back to your life and forget about me. I didn’t want to be the reason you got hurt again. My death wouldn’t have affected you if you were far away . . .’

  ‘Like hell it wouldn’t have. God. Do you not know anything about me? I can’t even think about . . . If anything were to happen to you . . .’ his voice got caught. Just thinking about something happening to Lavanya felt like someone was constricting his throat. ‘Never say something like that . . .’

  Lavanya nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t think like that. I’m here now, I am with you. Your dad sent over all the reports to me and the treatment regime. I am getting a second opinion from a specialist here. We will find the best treatment for you. I’m going to take care of you.’

  Mr Suryavanshi had told him all about Lavanya’s treatment plan. He said that her team was positive about it, and that there was no cause for panic, as long as she was under the treatment and her condition was monitored on schedule. After the phone call, Shourya had spent most of the day at his computer, researching HIV and finding out as much as he could. He made calls to hospitals that specialized in providing treatment to HIV patients, and found an article about a study that said now in America the average HIV patient lived longer than people who did not have HIV. It is so because they take such good care of their health, that they avoid the usual severe problems like cardiac arrests and hypertension. Shourya would make sure Lavanya was one of them. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  A big part of him still had not been able to digest the information. Twelve hours were not nearly enough to process something of this magnitude. He was terrified inside. He deserved some kind of a medal of valour for putting up a strong front before Lavanya. One of them had to be strong, and given that she was the one dealing with HIV, had been dealing with it alone till now, he had to step up. He had to be strong for her.

  ‘I don’t want to die.’

  Her voice was so low, it barely reached him. He hated how miserable she sounded. ‘Everyone dies. Today, or fifty years from now. What does it matter?’ he said in a low, sincere tone.

  Lavanya looked confused for a second. ‘Are you saying you don’t care if I die—?’ Her brows knit in concentration. Shourya had always found that adorable about her. ‘Oh, wait. Did you just quote Troy to me?’

  ‘You will never be lovelier than you are now. We’ll never be here again.’

  ‘Seriously! Stop with the Troy quotes!’

  Shourya chuckled.

  ‘God. Talk about poor timing.’

  But she was smiling, a smile that slowly bloomed into laughter. Shourya joined in, and they both laughed loudly at the absurdity of his timing. They laughed as if there was nothing wrong in their lives any more, as if everything was suddenly okay, or they did not care if it wasn’t. And then, in that moment, he knew . . . together, they could move mountains.

  Shourya pulled Lavanya to his chest, and silenced her laugh with a kiss. His lips brushed against her, and his thumb stroked her collarbone. She wrapped her arms around him and dug her fingers into his back, pulling him closer. She was warm and soft and sweet. Holding her in his arms, kissing her, Shourya saw his entire life in her. He promised himself he would always protect her, he would do anything for her.

  Words could not describe what he felt for her, how much she meant to him. But he tried. ‘We will make it through this, okay? Just have some faith. I am right here with you, I will always be there with you; we are in this together.’

  Lavanya nodded.

  ‘We’ll be all right,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll be all right
,’ Lavanya repeated.

  Epilogue

  The first time they got married, they did it in a court. It was a formal affair. She wore a simple white dress, he wore a suit—that was the most effort they put into it. They did not care much about a celebration. All that mattered was that they were with each other, and they were in love.

  They lived in California for a couple of years, working and doing random, fun things . . . without following a list. Their parents visited them regularly. Lavanya loved having not one, but two families. Shourya continued his job, but Lavanya did not join another high profile corporate law firm. She worked as an environmental lawyer for a non-profit organization. Her cases were not high priority, there weren’t millions at stake, but she was happy, content. It was her chance to make a difference.

  But now, two years later, they decided it was time to move back to India. They had paid off the bulk of their student loans, so there were no financial obligations that kept them there. In the beginning, they’d been scared and more inclined to get treatment from specialists in the US, but after two years, they were more familiar with her disease and, therefore, more confident. She was doing well. Her body was responding to the treatment. They’d met with a few hiccups along the way, but they only learned from it and got stronger. So finally, one night, at dinner, when Shourya said something about moving back to Delhi, Lavanya jumped at the chance. Just like that, it was decided.

  Lavanya adjusted her veil again. She was wearing a deep red lehenga. People had told her it was out of fashion. She did not care. They wanted to do it the traditional way this time.

  ‘Watch your step, beta,’ her father said, holding her hand to help her climb down the porch steps that led to the lawn in front of their home. She squeezed his hand before letting it go.

  Her mother hugged her and said, ‘You look beautiful.’ She guided her to the mandap where the priest and Shourya were waiting for her.

  As Lavanya climbed on to the mandap, Toughy trotting at her heel, she saw Shourya’s face for the first time that night. He had shaved off the French beard she had been begging him to get rid off for weeks. With his hair trimmed and his perfect smile, he looked like quite the gentleman. As if on cue, he got up to escort her to her seat, two feet away from where she was.

  ‘Ma’am,’ he offered his hand to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she laughed. As they sat down, she whispered to him, ‘You gave me peace, in a lifetime of war.’

  ‘Oh, stop it, you, with the Troy reference!’

  They were laughing. With him, she was always laughing. She wondered if there was anything better than being married to her best friend.

  Acknowledgements

  Before I begin this, I pledge not to name anyone who has not directly aided and abetted me in the making of this book and/or provided me with humour/food during the time I was working on it. Dear (the rest of) family and friends, thank you for being awesome and a part of my life, but unfortunately, that doesn’t quite cut it. Except for Maa and Papa and Bhaiya—thank you, thank you, thank you.

  David Torrone, I won’t call you a brilliant reader and critic because I know you’ll hate that; instead I will simply thank you for always being mean to me. Artrit Bytyçi, I could say something about how adorable and hilarious you are but what matters here is that your comments were insightful and much-valued. Niki Tulk, you are hands down my favourite Australian; thank you for putting so much time and effort into every detail of my manuscript and treating it with so much love. Ava Mailloux, for being a lunatic and my heart, and Keith Baldwin for being such a sweet person and also a clown. Laura Duarte Gómez, for having unflinching and mostly groundless faith in me.

  Ritu Sirkanungo, for being a retard and supplying so much entertainment in my day-to-day life. Unintentionally, but fun nonetheless. Both Purvi Bafna and Tejal Shah have provided me with food at several occasions. I might’ve been dead right now and this book would never have seen the light of the day without you and your culinary skills. Alka Singh and Shreya Singh too for food, and Snigdha Singh and Saket Kumar for companionship during the consumption of the fore-mentioned food.

  Anish Chandy, for being my agent and the person who puts up with my inconveniently timed (because of the time difference between New York and New Delhi; I’m not an insensitive person), panicked phone calls, mostly senseless questions and all other troubles that come with having me in your life. Also, of course, for your amazing suggestions for the manuscript.

  The team at Penguin Random House: Vaishali Mathur, I have so much to thank you for, you’ve been by my side every step of the way on my journey as a writer, not just as an editor but much, much more. Shatarupa Ghoshal, it may not be considered appropriate, but I’m going to go ahead and say it anyway—you’re the best copy editor I’ve ever worked with. Aparajita Ninan for the beautiful cover design. And the people who come in and take over once a manuscript becomes a book—Aman Arora, Caroline Newbury and Priyanka Sabarwal.

  Guruji Sri Sri Paramhansa Yogananda, for strength, for faith, for hope.

  And now, in the end, I’m going to use that cheesy line where I thank you, the reader, for picking up this book and tell you how much I hope you like it. You rock.

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  PENGUIN METRO READS

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  First published in Penguin Metro Reads by Penguin Books India 2015

  www.penguinbooksindia.com

  Copyright © Nikita Singh 2015

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-143-42485-7

  This digital edition published in 2015.

  e-ISBN: 978-9-352-14019-0

  For sale in the Indian Subcontinent only

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser and without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above-mentioned publisher of this book.