Homeward Bound

They said it was not that they disliked Anand. My parents made that quite clear. "He's charming, successful, and from a good family," my mother had said, a small frown creasing her brow. "What then?" I asked, anxious but already anticipating the answer.

"Well, he's too old for you," she replied, her tone more measured.

"Oh, that," I laughed it off. But when I looked at my father, his eyes over the rim of his reading glasses peering through the newspaper, he added with a serious tone, "Your mother is right, you know, Simran. Fifteen years is a bit too much. You are just 23. When you're 40, he will be 55—almost at retirement."

I paused, considering his words. When I turned 40, I thought Anand and I would have had 17 wonderful years together. But how could they understand how I felt about him? They didn’t realize that when I saw him, time seemed to stop. The world around me faded, and everything that mattered was his presence.

I looked at my father again, and he sighed. "Yes, you love him, and that's all that matters to you for now… but all we're asking is for you to think about it. Don't rush into things. We’ve crossed that age too. We know what it feels like to be head over heels in love. But you have a lifetime ahead of you. Please don't make a decision you might regret."

I nodded, although I felt a pit of uncertainty growing in my stomach. What else could I say? All they saw was Anand’s age, but all I saw was the love we shared. For me, he was a reminder that chivalry still existed. He spent almost two hours talking to my father, and while I was anxious to know what was said, I knew the conversation was probably about me.

Later that evening, Anand and I talked about it, and I could sense something was bothering him. "Simran," he began, taking my hands gently, "I’ve been thinking. We need to slow down. Marriage… marriage is a lifelong commitment. It’s not something we should rush into."

I frowned. "Something is bothering you, isn’t it?" I asked, knowing I could feel it in the air.

He didn’t deny it. He just took a deep breath and said, "If by 'they' you mean your parents, yes, they’ve gotten under my skin, but I also realize they have your best interests at heart. Your parents want you to marry Kishore."

I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, and the ache that spread in my chest told me the truth before he even finished his sentence. "You’ve been selfish," I said, my voice tight with anger. "You’ve prioritized everyone else's opinions over our happiness."

Anand stood up, looking away, and I noticed the mauve shirt I had gifted him for his birthday. My mind raced. Why was he listening to everyone else? Why didn’t he believe in us enough to fight for it?

"You can't leave," I whispered, the words almost breaking. My heart was on the edge of breaking too. He turned toward me slowly, his face worn and tired. "I’ve been offered a transfer to Jaipur. I asked for Bangalore instead. If I went to Jaipur, I would keep driving down to Delhi, and I don’t want to complicate things. I respect your parents and maybe space is what we need."

I looked at him, confused. "You want to move away?"

"We need some distance to know if our love is real. I’ll respect your parents’ wishes, and if you still want me after some time, I’ll ask for a transfer back to Delhi."

I felt like the ground was slipping away from under me, but I knew there was nothing I could do to stop him. We agreed to meet again in six months at Connaught Place on June 21st.

The days passed slowly. Kishore, my parents’ dream son-in-law, called me almost every other day. He checked in on me, sending sweet messages, and was always there to lend a helping hand. He was kind, intelligent, and ambitious, a perfect match in my parents' eyes. But whenever I thought of him, my mind kept drifting back to Anand.

Kishore soon arranged for me to enroll in a culinary course, a gesture that stunned me. "I know you’ve always wanted this," he said, "and your parents were hesitant to send you. But I think this is an opportunity you should take." It was a thoughtful gesture, but as the weeks passed, doubt crept into my heart. Anand’s absence felt like a void that I couldn’t fill. I was succeeding in the things I’d set out to do, but my heart still belonged to him.

The day finally arrived. Six months had passed, and I found myself hailing a cab to Connaught Place, wondering if Anand had moved on or if he would be there waiting for me. I searched through the crowd, hoping, praying that he hadn’t forgotten.

And then, I saw him. He looked thinner, his face more worn and energy drained. My heart clenched as I thought about Kishore, and how he had been a kind and considerate presence in my life. But it was Anand who I longed for, who had my heart.

Without thinking, I ran to him and flung myself into his arms. He held me close, and I sobbed with relief and joy.

"Really, my dear?" he asked, his voice filled with both concern and love.

I looked up at him, smiling through my tears. "Yes, really," I whispered. "I’m finally home."

And in that moment, with his arms around me, I knew everything would be alright.