From Here, With Love!

Mumbai rains were never just about water falling from the sky — they were a full-blown assault on the senses. The clouds had already gathered above Nariman Point, heavy and brooding like the thoughts in my head. Soon, the downpour would begin — sudden, unforgiving. Drains would overflow with black water, mixing filth and plastic, and the streets would disappear beneath knee-deep floods. Rickshaws would stall, traffic would freeze, and that familiar smell of wet garbage and diesel would rise again, pungent and inescapable.

I stood up to get us a chai — two cutting glasses, strong and sweet. Disha didn’t want to leave just yet, and I didn’t have it in me to argue. We were going to part ways soon. Letting her have it, even in the looming chaos of Mumbai’s monsoon, felt like the least I could do.

As I walked towards the hawker who I thought would be looking to maximize the sale before it rained. “2 cutting, it’s going to rain. I hope you have earned enough for the day”, I asked. 

She smiled and handed me 2 cups. 

I came back to where Disha was and sat next to her. She wasn’t bothered by the Mumbai rain. She loved it in fact. Her hair blew gently in the wind. It looked beautiful, even with a few strands of silver showing — or maybe, because of them.

“All these years of us living here, and today is the first time we are coming here alone- just the 2 of us.” I said breaking the silence between us. 

She sipped her tea and looked at me. “We were so focused on being the team that we forgot how to be a couple.”

I smiled, looked at a flight on the horizon and said “And now that she is gone. I don’t know where we are.”

“I thought we made up our minds on where we want to be.” she quipped. 

I nodded with a faint smile. 

“You always thought I did not know you. I always tried, or at least this is what I thought. But you were a mystery.” I said sipping the tea, with butterflies in my stomach. 

“Mystery? As in?” she said with a mischievous smile on her face. 

“Like this chai. It’s only places like this during the rains that you like chai. Otherwise you prefer coffee.” I blurted out the first thought that came to my mind. For some reason, I didn’t have to measure my words before saying anything.

“You weren’t that easy to decipher as well. I mean, who sings when they are stressed.” she returned the favour and we both laughed out loud as she kept her head on my shoulders. 

I had butterflies in my stomach. 

"Acha, listen... tell me three things about me," she said, tying her hair back with the band that had been sitting on her wrist.

"Gosh, she was beautiful," I thought to myself. The thought of losing her soon crept into my mind — and it hurt.

She snapped her fingers bringing my focus back to the topic.

“Ohh.. yes.. Sorry.. Emm.. you like chai here but otherwise you prefer coffee at home. Two, you are a water baby. But more than being in water, you love watching it from the shores. And three, you love watching cricket.” I continued. 

“Not bad, Mr. Sharma. Not bad at all.” She made that cute face. 

“Why did I not notice her all this while?” I cursed myself. 

“Your turn.” I said.

She sipped the last of her tea and looked at me. “You love playing cricket. You love humming songs when you are working or stressed. And you love watching Hindi daily soaps.” 

We both laughed out loud. Together. Again. 

I mustered the courage to bring up the topic. I said, “I never really looked at you… not like this. Not until today.”

She glanced at me, and asked softly, “What do you mean?”

I was sure she knew what I meant. I could hear her almost blushing “I noticed the little lines near your eyes when you smiled. The dimple on your left cheek — it’s deeper when you're amused, not just polite. I think I spent the last two decades living next to you, not with you.”

She nodded in agreement. She looked at the ocean, with the sun setting across the horizon. “We got married before we even knew who we were — let alone who we were to each other. Then Anya came along, and everything shifted. She became our glue... and sometimes, our wall.” She said, still looking at the sun melting in the ocean.  

I feared I might sound cheesy, but I still said it. “There were so many nights I wanted to reach out — after a fight, after one of those long silences — but I didn’t know how.”

There was a brief pause. I was sitting there embarrassed at what I had just said. She was to walk away in some time, forever. And I didn’t want her to. 

“Neither did I. I was always tired, always trying to be strong. I thought maybe that’s what love looked like after a while — just endurance.” she said, still confused about the dynamics of our relationship. 

“And now here we are. The day we promised we’d go our separate ways.” I said looking into her eyes. My eyes were almost pleading for her to stay.

I looked away, not prepared to hear what she might just say and then asked  “Do you still want that?”

“I used to think I did. I used to think once Anya left, I’d finally breathe freely. But today… I don’t want to leave with this hole in my chest.” she said firmly. 

I tried saying something only to be interrupted by her. She continued, “Somewhere in the mess, I think I still care about you. Not out of duty. But because… I see you now.”

I reached out for her hand slowly.  With a lump in my throat, I said “And I see you. Not as Anya’s mother, not as my co-parent… just as you. Maybe it’s too late to start over. But maybe we don’t have to start over — maybe we just start from here.”

After ages, I saw her smile through tears. She said “From here sounds good. No promises, no expectations. Just... honesty. And time.”

“And maybe next time, I’ll notice the dimple before the distance” I said like a teenage boy in love. 

It started raining before she could say anything. She put her head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. We kept sitting there even as it started raining heavily. I was in love with Mumbai rains. 

The empty nest suddenly became our happily ever after.

PS: If you liked this story, then you will definitely love this novel “Our Souls at Night” by Kent Haruf

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