“It was never because you didn’t matter to me,” Smita had written. “You did. A lot.” Kunal stared at the line for a long time before finally typing back: “Why did you never talk to me!” Her reply came almost immediately: “It’s ok.” But it wasn’t. Not really. Kunal leaned back in the chair inside the clinic pantry, the half-finished lunch lying forgotten beside him. Outside, he could hear faint sounds of assistants moving around, patients talking, metal instruments clinking somewhere in the distance. Ordinary life continuing uninterrupted while something inside him quietly came undone. “I mean… we were probably never meant to be together,” he typed slowly. “Because our families, our cultures, our societal status were so different. We would probably never have reached your world, and it would’ve been too difficult for you to step down into ours. And I don’t deny that…” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But you didn’t have to go through all of it alone. You didn’t have to swallow all that bitterness alone.” “That’s ok,” she replied. “It’s my karma. For not being able to stand up for you… for our love.” Kunal stared at the screen. “It’s our karma.” “Maybe.” […]

“Why did you let go?” Kunal texted. The typing indicator appeared. Disappeared. Kunal immediately typed again. “I’m sorry if it’s an unsolicited question after all these years.” “No no,” Smita replied. Kunal waited for a response. A couple of minutes passed, but the typing indicator did not return. The silence itself began to feel heavy. Before he could stop himself, he continued typing. “I mean… I always told myself what I heard from you back then. That you lost feelings for me because of the long distance. And after all that time when I was still trying to fight for you tooth and nail through 2018 and 2019, I finally gave up too. When you said you didn’t feel for me the same way anymore, I just told myself I needed to let go of you.” The typing indicator appeared again. And then finally, after what felt like a very long five minutes, her message arrived. “Kunal, I’ll be very frank.” Something inside him went completely still as he opened the message and watched it fill his screen. “Kunal… I don’t think I ever ‘let go’ in a simple or emotionless way. I think somewhere along the line, the distance, […]

“Are you fond of M. F. Hussain paintings?” – popped up on Kunal’s phone.  He was just taking a quick lunch break, in between his patients when the message appeared out of nowhere from Smita, his batchmate from MDS, but that was just the superficial introduction to her in his life.  “We got one of his titles from the series Gaja Gamini’ Smita continued.  The question felt random, almost amusingly domestic for two people who once knew each other through the intensity of youth and heartbreak. He smiled as he sat with his packed lunch for the day, rice and paneer bhurji and some salad.  A lot of thoughts were crossing his mind when he and replied casually — “Honestly? Not aware enough to be fond. But of course, he’s legendary.” She sent a photo of the painting placed centrally on a table from her house in Bangalore. The painter’s signature was on the bottom left of the painting. Faint yellow LED light shining on the painting from above. The table was neatly arranged with smaller pieces of décor — a reed diffuser, a doughnut-shaped flower vase with artificial flowers, a couple of candles, a key carelessly left beside them, […]