Falling into Place

by Sheryn Munir

  Tara heard a beep and then there was silence.

  Chapter 27

  “My house is going to feel so empty,” Sameen heard her mother telling Milind. “In a few days Danish will be leaving too, and then Sameen.”

  Sameen followed her voice out into the hall, where Milind was kneeling to put on his shoes. His luggage was lying next to him.

  “I’m going to miss you all too, Aunty,” he said. “Thank you so much for having me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Sameen’s mother responded. “You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

  As he straightened, Sameen’s mother pulled him into a hug. “Take care of yourself. And Sameen. Have you…spoken to your parents?”

  She said the word “spoken” with a slight hesitation. Everyone knew it was a euphemism for much more complicated things.

  Milind gave her a crooked smile. “I have.” He waved a hand, as if to say it was all fine. He checked his phone. “My cab’s almost here.”

  “Amma, Revathi-akka is calling you,” Sameen said. She shook her head at her mother’s retreating back. “Is it my imagination or is she getting a little deaf?”

  “Your imagination,” said Milind. “Listen, so what are your plans?”

  Sameen pursed her lips. “I am going to miss you,” she said, purposely avoiding his question. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “Those planes won’t fly themselves. And looks like your employers are a lot more generous than mine. Extended leave.” He snorted. “Whoever heard of such a thing?”

  “Lucky me.”

  “Well, I’m going to miss you too.” Milind put his arm around Sameen and squeezed. “You are going to come back to Delhi, right?”

  “Of course I am. What kind of question is that?”

  “It’s just… I know things are difficult right now.”

  “I’m coming back,” Sameen said firmly. “I just need a bit of time, you know, to sort myself out.”

  “I think Danish’s idea is a good one—that you go with him to Singapore. A little bit of distance is great for clearing your head.” He dropped his voice. “And mending your heart.”

  Sameen nodded. “Yeah, well, Danish thinks I’m stressed out because of my job.”

  “Doesn’t matter why he thinks you’re stressed out. Think about it, okay? I’d much rather have you back in Delhi right away, but I also want you to stop hurting.”

  A car pulled up outside the gates—Milind’s taxi. Sameen’s mother came out again, and there was another round of hugs. Sameen went back into the house, an air of melancholy descending around her. She found herself wandering towards the kitchen, where Revathi-akka was stirring something on the burner.

  “Hey, Revathi-akka,” Sameen said in English, “what’s cooking?”

  “Very brilliant cooking,” Revathi-akka replied. She had an enviable English vocabulary, but a complete inability to put the words together in anything resembling syntax. “Most delicious experience. Very surprise. You waiting.”

  Sameen laughed. From the aroma of spices, she knew it was chicken curry.

  “Are you staying for a while?” Revathi-akka switched to Kannada. She ladled a leg of chicken and some curry into a stainless-steel bowl and handed it to Sameen. “Your mother and father will be happy. It’s nice to have you both here. Otherwise just us old people rattling around the house.”

  Sameen dipped her fingers into the curry, broke off a bit of chicken, and popped it into her mouth. “Mm. Amazing.”

  “More chilli?”

  “No, it’s perfect.”

  “Good.” Revathi-akka turned off the burner and put a lid on the pan. At the same time the rice cooker switched itself off with a loud click.

  “Wow, perfect timing.”

  Sameen sat on a stool in the corner of the kitchen and watched their old cook grate a cucumber into the curd. Then she took a small pan and set it on the other burner.

  “You look sad,” Revathi-akka said as she heated some oil and then added mustard seeds, curry leaves, and a few other odds and ends to the little pan. As they sputtered, filling the air with a familiar smell, she lifted the pan and upended its contents into the curd. There was an angry hiss as hot and cold came together. “Are you not happy in Delhi?”

  “I am happy.” Kind of. At least, I was.

  “Your amma said there’s a boy. Is he making you unhappy?”

  “I think,” Sameen said, her words measured, because she didn’t want to lie to the woman who had been their nanny when she and Danish had been small, “I am the one making him unhappy.”

  “Happiness is a fickle friend, Baby.” Revathi-akka reverted to the old childhood nickname, one that had caused many tears and recriminations after Milind had discovered it, told their other friends, and they had, in turn, tormented Sameen. “What makes you happy today may mean nothing tomorrow.”

  “So what are you saying? That one can never be happy?”

  The cook shook her head as she poured chicken curry out into a serving dish. “All I’m saying is that there’s no right or wrong sometimes.”

  Sameen stared at the little bowl in her hands. “If I go with Danish to Singapore, do you think I’d be running away?”

  Revathi-akka’s hands stilled. She turned, her eyes wide in surprise. “To live?”

  “No, no,” Sameen hastened to clarify. “Just for a little bit. To-to find out how I can be happy again.”

  The old woman smiled. “I think that would be a very good idea.”

  Tara looped her headphones around the back of her neck and reached into her pocket for her key. She had just inserted it into the lock when the door opened by itself. Her mother stared at her, puzzled.

  “It’s six in the morning,” she said.

  “I know,” said Tara.

  Her mother didn’t respond, just continued to stare.

  “Are you going to let me in, Mama?”

  Her mother stood aside, still gazing at Tara like she was a ghost. “What are you doing up at six o’clock?”

  “I went for a run.” Tara plonked down on a stool and started to take off her running shoes. “It’s nice outside at this time. No traffic.”

  “Yes, I know that. But I didn’t think you even knew that six a.m. existed.”

  “Ha ha, funny.” Tara rolled her eyes. “I’m going to make scrambled eggs. Okay with you?”

  “Are you ill?” her mother asked.

  “What?”

  “Getting up early, going for a run, offering to make breakfast. It’s like a Tara from a different universe.”

  “Mama, you’ve got to stop watching Doctor Who,” Tara said, exasperated. “And just because you’ve been going for a yoga class at dawn for two days doesn’t mean you get to be all high and mighty about getting up early.”

  “Hmm,” her mother said. “I shall have two slices of toast with my eggs, and some fruit, please. Black tea.”

  “Oh Mama, I know. I make your breakfast almost every day.”

  She went to her room, shaking her head. Laugh at her mother or scream at her? Sometimes it was impossible to pick one. She stripped off her sweaty clothes and sat at the edge of her bed. Resuming her early-morning runs—well, it was more walking, to be honest—had felt good. She felt good, full of energy, positive, optimistic.

  The new me.

  If only she could stop her heart from racing with part dread and part anticipation.

  She almost made it to the shower, but faltered at the last step.

  Out of habit that was fast starting to get obsessive, her glance fell to her phone, lying face down on her table, tucked purposely behind the computer monitor.

  Her pulse was pounding now, and her sense of anticipation had given her a dull pain just under her ribcage. She reached for the phone and pressed the power button. And the world crashed around her.


  No unread messages, no missed calls, no emails. No Sameen.

  Tara went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the hot water poured around her shoulders, she leaned her face up against the cascade.

  I won’t cry.

  It was easy to tell herself it was just water and not tears rolling down her cheeks. Tara wiped them away angrily. She had no time for tears. If there was one thing she had decided, it was this: she was not giving up. Not this time. Because Barkha was right and Milind was right. If she wanted Sameen, she had to let Sameen choose her. And for that to happen, she had to be worth choosing.

  She had no guarantee Sameen would forgive her, but Tara couldn’t live the rest of her life knowing she had never tried.

  I was so full of bullshit before.

  The thought came to her like a sledgehammer, devastating in its directness.

  It was true. The past few weeks had shown her that she wanted nothing more than to be with Sameen. Yes, she knew having Sameen was not so black and white as Tara making up her mind to woo her back. But she needed to do this for herself—to prove to herself that even if Sameen was lost to her forever, she was someone who would have been worthy anyway.

  As for the world, the world be damned.

  She didn’t have to have a big coming-out drama. This was her life and her reality, not one of the foreign TV series she watched that seemed to exist in alien worlds. What she needed, what she had always needed but had been too stupid to see—even though Barkha had—was to live her life on her own terms. That didn’t need any big announcements, only the courage to be honest with herself.

  Chapter 28

  Sameen pushed open the door that led to Stone Apple’s offices and breathed in the familiar slightly damp smell masked by a flowery one. Everything looked exactly the same as when she’d left on her holiday more than a month ago. The pristine white sitting area, the ceiling-high bookshelves stacked neatly with all the books that the publishing house had produced in its life, the reception desk, and the woman sitting behind it, Aditi, who was currently talking on the phone in her most professional voice but still grinned broadly when Sameen walked in. All of it gave Sameen a sense of belonging and reminded her why she had chosen to come back. She loved her job, and the people she worked with weren’t too bad either.

  “You’re back!” Aditi cried after hanging up the phone.

  “Hi, Aditi.” Sameen grinned. She really liked this perpetually cheerful woman.

  “How was Singapore? I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

  “Yes, it is. And very organized.”

  The holiday had been exactly what Sameen had needed to distance herself from the situation and clear her head. She had finally come to accept that Tara would and could no longer be a part of her life. That however much she loved Tara and yearned for her, and how the thought of not seeing her broke every bit of Sameen’s heart to pieces, she had to find a way of putting Tara behind her. That was the only way she could continue living, even though without Tara it would be half a life. But she had come back from Singapore rejuvenated, more in control of her feelings, and more confident about taking on the world.

  “How are things here?” she asked Aditi.

  “Baani broke her arm—she was jumping a red light and got hit by another scooter. Chaturvedi-ji had a baby girl and is super excited about it—he brought in the most delicious laddoos I’ve had in my life. And Loveleen Bing came in yesterday to meet Jugal, asked to see the sales figures of her book for the last three months. She almost drove him to tears analysing and questioning every sale.”

  Aditi was a big gossip, but that was probably a part of every receptionist’s job.

  “Oh dear,” Sameen said. “Poor Baani and Jugal. But I’m really glad for Chaturvedi-ji. He’s been desperate for a girl for such a long time. I’ll talk to them as soon as I’m settled in. Were there any messages for me while I was away?”

  “Just a couple from Ms Bing. She’s found a new cover designer for the next book. And the boss wants to meet you at two p.m.”

  Sameen sighed inwardly. Loveleen hadn’t even finished writing her first draft yet, which was going to take at least a year to see the light of day, and she was already planning the cover design. Such a control freak.

  “Okay, thanks, Aditi. I’ll catch up with you and the gang at lunch.”

  Sameen walked towards her office. The feeling of coming home was reinforced when she entered her room. Everything was exactly how she’d left it and just how she liked it—messy and disorganized. She was never apologetic about her mess because there was a method to it, and it never hampered her efficiency.

  She sat at her desk, booted her computer, and picked up the coffee mug that the office assistant had placed before her. She sipped the hot beverage as she scrolled down her inbox, running her eyes over the unread emails. Her finger stopped mid-scroll as she caught the name of the sender of two of the messages.

  Tara.

  Sameen released a slow breath to calm her nerves. Soon after their meeting in Matteo, Sameen had blocked Tara’s email address as well as her phone number. But two emails somehow seemed to have sneaked into Sameen’s inbox.

  She debated whether to open them. Was it a good idea? What if it brought back a new wave of pain that took her back to square one?

  Let me at least check why they didn’t get automatically deleted.

  She clicked on the older of the two messages and glanced at the header. Tara had sent it from a different email address, which was how it had managed to bypass the filter Sameen had set up.

  Unable to help herself, she let her eyes be drawn to the body of the email.

  5 February

  Sameen,

  I wish I could say it better than Luke did, but I can’t. So I’ll let him say it again. But know this—I mean every word with all my heart.

  Sameen clicked on the video embedded under the message. It was her favourite scene from Gilmore Girls. Luke and Lorelai on their first date, and Luke telling Lorelai, “Lorelai, this thing we’re doing here—me, you—I just want you to know I’m in, I’m all in.”

  Something took hold of Sameen’s heart and squeezed. Before she could dwell on the feeling, she clicked on other email.

  10 February

  Sameen,

  I have sent several emails to you in the past few months, but your silence indicates that in your eyes I’m beyond redemption. Who can blame you? My mistakes have been great, and even if you somehow found it in your generous heart to forgive me, I won’t be able to forgive myself. Your silence and your desire to not communicate with me have been unbearable, but they are what I deserve.

  Writing to you has been like a lifeline for me; the only air I have been able to breathe. Though I don’t think you have read any of them, these emails have made me feel connected to you. But I think it is time for me to not be selfish and stop harassing you like this. I’m going to respect your wishes to leave you alone, but please don’t think I am giving up on you. I could never do that. Ever.

  I will endure my punishment in silence and I will wait for you. I hope that some day you will be able to pick up the phone and dial my number.

  Until we meet again.

  Yours,

  Tara

  Tears were streaming down Sameen’s face by the time she finished reading the email. She wished she could actually do what Tara had asked her to: pick up the phone and call her. But that was no longer an option. It was too late. Too much had happened and there was too much hurt. Sameen had no idea how to let go of the resentment she had for Tara, and to forgive her for betraying their friendship.

  She got up and stumbled into the bathroom. She leaned over the sink, helpless against the heaving sobs that wrenched her into pieces. Finally, when the tears were all out, Sameen washed her face, took a deep breath, and readied herself to face the world again.


  When she stepped back into her office, Aditi walked in with a package in her hand, which she placed on Sameen’s desk.

  “I forgot to give this to you earlier. It came a few weeks ago.”

  “Thanks,” Sameen said, silently thanking her stars that Aditi hadn’t walked in earlier when she had been a crying mess. She turned her face away, pretending to study the package, so the other woman wouldn’t see her red eyes.

  It was a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and tied with a string. Books I guess, Sameen said to herself as she sat on her chair, pulled the box to her lap, and loosened the string.

  But the box didn’t contain books. It had Tara’s Casablanca puzzle, with a note:

  7 February

  Sameen,

  Without you I’m just a bundle of mismatched pieces that don’t make sense. Without you I’m incomplete.

  Tara

  Sameen couldn’t help the tears from falling again. She wished she could find a way back to Tara, but from where she was standing, it looked impossible.

  One thing was clear to her now, though—it was time to call Rohan.

  Tara waited for the boarding announcement for her flight back to Delhi. Getting back home would be a relief. She was exhausted. Her two-day stay in Ahmedabad had been a bit of a blur. She could barely even remember what had happened at the game she had been sent to cover.

  These days, it was all she could do to keep moving and doing the things she was supposed to. Even sitting in an uncomfortable seat, waiting for her flight’s turn to board. Any other time, Tara would have been reading a magazine and tapping her feet impatiently, wondering how much longer it would be. But she was numb now. It was as though she’d forgotten how to feel.