CHAPTER XXIV
"Where Silence Finds a Voice"
After Sita's mom and sister left, the apartment felt a little quieter — not heavy, but gently hushed, like the world had slowed down to give us space. I settled onto the bed, opening my laptop to get a bit of pending work done. The soft hum of the fan overhead, the tapping of keys — everything felt calm. Normal. Almost peaceful.
But just as I started typing, I felt a shift in the air.
Sita walked toward me — slowly, almost silently — her eyes steady and unreadable. Before I could ask her anything, she gently closed the lid of my laptop and placed it on the bedside table. Then, without a word, she climbed onto the bed and sat in my lap, her arms wrapping around my neck as if this moment, this closeness, was the only thing that mattered.
I was startled for a second, but then I held her — not out of habit, but instinct. As if my arms had always been meant to find her in moments like these.
She didn't look at me right away. Her cheek rested against my shoulder, and her fingers played softly with the edge of my sleeve. Then, in a voice so gentle it almost felt like a sigh, she said:
"Do you know something, Ved? With you here… I finally feel like I have someone to talk to. Someone who listens — really listens."
I swallowed the lump in my throat as her words sank in.
"Back at home," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "I used to feel so alone. Even when the house was full, it was empty for me. Nobody noticed when I was hurting. No one really saw me."
Her words pierced through me, slow and aching.
I tightened my hold around her, bringing her closer, as if I could somehow erase those years of loneliness she had endured.
"Sita…" I murmured. "If that's really how you felt… then I promise you something."
She looked up at me, her eyes wide, searching.
"I promise," I said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, "that I will never let you feel alone again. Not as long as I'm breathing. Wherever you go, I'll be with you. And whenever your heart feels too heavy, you can always bring it to me."
Her eyes glistened, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. The silence between us was no longer empty — it was full of healing, of trust slowly rebuilding itself, piece by piece.
"Really?" she asked, like a child needing reassurance.
I smiled and leaned my forehead gently against hers. "Hmm," I nodded softly. "Really."
She closed her eyes and breathed out, as if letting go of something she'd been holding in for too long. And in that moment, I didn't see the brave, sarcastic, bold girl I had married. I saw a woman who had spent far too long being unheard — and who now, finally, had someone to whisper back.
Someone who wouldn't just stay…
…but truly be there.
And somehow, without even realizing it, I had become that someone.
For her.
For Sita.
"When the Sky Turned Grey"
Sita was still curled up in my lap, her presence like a warm blanket around my heart, when suddenly — my phone rang. The sound pierced through the calm, shattering the fragile peace like glass. I picked it up without thinking, assuming it was work, or maybe Shruti checking in.
But the voice on the other end…
It wasn't casual.
It wasn't normal.
It was my elder brother. And the words he spoke hit me like a wave I didn't see coming.
"Ved… Grandpa is no more."
Just like that.
Everything inside me went still.
I didn't respond right away — couldn't, really. My breath caught in my throat, and the world around me seemed to blur into static. My grandfather… the man who had once taught me how to read my first poem, who made me sit beside him on our old swing under the neem tree, who was more than just family — he was a piece of my soul, my mentor, my moral compass… gone?
I felt something inside me break.
Sita must have felt my body tense because she quickly straightened up. Her hands gripped my shoulders as she looked into my eyes.
"Ved… what happened?" she asked softly, concern already clouding her face.
My voice came out small, almost foreign to my own ears.
"I have to go back to India… My grandfather… he… he passed away."
The moment I said it aloud, the weight of the truth sank in deeper. My heart clenched painfully. My mind went back to all those afternoons from my childhood — the times he would smile at my childish rhymes, or gently correct my pronunciation like a patient teacher, or call me 'shona' in that soft voice that felt like home. Now all of that… was memory.
Sita didn't speak for a moment. Then gently, she cupped my cheek, her palm warm against the growing cold in my skin.
"I'll come with you," she whispered.
Her words startled me.
"No, Sita… you don't have to. I'll be okay. Just stay here. I'll come back soon," I replied, trying to sound composed, but my voice cracked at the end.
She shook her head, firmly. "Ved, I'm not just anyone. I'm your wife. I'm your friend. And for the next three years — maybe even longer — I have every right to stand beside you through pain and joy, loss and love. This is one of those moments, and I won't let you go through it alone."
Her words… they wrapped around me like a lifeline.
A part of me wanted to argue again, tell her she didn't need to go through the burden of a grieving family, of rituals she didn't understand, of loss that wasn't hers. But then I looked into her eyes — steady, unwavering, sincere. There was no doubt. No hesitation.
And in that moment, I realized something profound.
She wasn't just willing to be part of my life when things were sweet and safe — she was ready to walk with me through the storms too.
I nodded slowly, my resistance softening.
"Okay," I said, my voice quiet. "Come with me."
Sita leaned in, resting her forehead gently against mine, her hands still cupping my face.
"We'll go together," she whispered. "And we'll say goodbye… together."
And just like that, even in the face of death…
I felt a little less alone.
To be continued….