Manik

Most week days are a cycle: I work, eat, sleep, and then repeat.

Honestly, it was just the weekend that mattered, when I'd drive to Nandini's house instead of mine, and pick Mia up on every Friday, and then the next three days would be colourful, with her usually talking about every single detail of the past week, from what she ate for dinner each day to how she made new friends at her preschool.

And then on Sunday, Nandini used to come, and get her back. Monday's were usually gloomy, with Mia's presence lurking around everywhere, and I'd miss her more than any works explain. I usually bury myself in work on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, to get my mind off missing my daughter, and in Thursday's, I let myself get excited all over again because I'd be bringing my daughter back home on Fridays.

This was pretty much my life, on repeat, every day. Mia left two days ago, on Sunday. Today was just Wednesday, and although I buried myself in work like I always did, I missed her a little extra today.

Perhaps it was because I had called an urgent council meeting today, and because of lack of prior notice, my client who was also a single father to a seven year old daughter, brought her along.

All through the meeting, I couldn't keep my mind focused. I kept staring at the young girl, who couldn't be still for a single moment. Although she was outside the meeting room, I kept looking at her jumping around through the glass walls, remembering how Mia couldn't stay still at all, the way she kept fidgeting with every thing her hands could find and how looking out of the window fascinated her too.

It was late evening when I shut the laptop my force, grabbing the attention of the entire meeting room.

"This meeting is dismissed," I announce, standing up and buttoning my coat.

"Manik...," Cabir trailed, looking at me, unsure. I just looked at him, and I don't know what gave away– perhaps my tired face and empty eyes, that he nodded.

"We are sorry to call you on such a small notice and thank all of you for being here. I and Manik already have the details we need for the deal, which is why we can dismiss now. Thank you again," Cabir formally ended it, and everyone nodded, smiling and leaving the room one by one.

I saw my client go outside and how his daughter's eyes sparkled, asking him if he was done. The meeting had been extremely tiring, and that girl must be seven, and yet her father didn't hesitate once before picking her in his arms as they walked out from my sight.

I shut my eyes tightly, sighing deeply as I threw my head behind on the chair, resting it while it really pained.

"You okay?" Cabir asked.

"Yeah, why?" I retorted as normally as I could, drawing a small smile on my face.

"I know you, Manik; this is not the I'm-okay face. What's wrong?" He pulled his chair next to mine.

"It's nothing," I sigh, "I just... I miss her so much."

Cabir looks at me in doubt. "Nandini?" He hesitates.

"Mia," I correct him, with a small pain in my hollow chest.

"That's what I was thinking?" he raised his eyebrows, "How the hell did this man just accept he misses his wife?"

"It's been three years, Cabir...." I let me voice trail.

"Exactly, Manik," he places his hand on my arm, "It's been three years. You're miserable. She's miserable. Your daughter needs both her parents. It's time to end this little experiment of yours. Bring your family back."

I gave him a look of disbelief, "Are you drunk or what?"

"I'm drunk?" He hysterically chuckled, "Stop running away, Manik. Please."

"I'm not running away," I tell him firmly.

"Look," he takes a deep breath, "I stood with you in that court despite the fact that I opposed your idea of divorce, because I understood why you had to let her go. And now, as someone who's been with you from the day you first met Nandini to today, can I ask you for something?"

"Only if it's possible," I reply, because I had a faint idea of what he could be asking me.

"Follow your heart," he tells me. I look at him with a surprised face.

I honestly expected something more on the lines of 'Bring your family back together', or 'Tell Nandini this and that'.

"Manik, nothing matters more to me than if you're happy. But right now, I know you're not happy. So can you, for once, just close your eyes, and do what your heart asks you to, and not your head?" He looks at me like I was a kid.

I chuckle under my breath, "I am happy."

"Without Nandini?" He raised his eyebrows again.

"Don't do this, okay?" I look at him, "Don't complicate things. We're okay this way. Nandini is happy. She's working now and she's an amazing mother, she has time for her family and to cook and to paint again and to make new friends. I've seen the spark in her eyes... which was lost when we were married. If she is happy, then everything I did was worth it."

"You're a fool if you think she can ever be happy without you Manik," he sighs and gets up, "And I'm a fool if I think I can make you see sense now when I couldn't do that three years ago."

"C'mon," I sigh, following his lead as we get up and walk out of the cabinet room.

We get into the elevator and he looks at me again after pressing the Parking floor button.

"You still have a picture of her and you at your desk, Manik. Your phone password is still her birth date and you still celebrate her birthday by cutting cakes for her even when she hasn't been there with you for even one. I don't understand how long are you going to live like this," Cabir murmurs.

"Where is all this coming from? For three years you don't say a word and suddenly you're behind my back?" I look at him and roll my eyes.

"For three years you acted like you didn't care; for the first time I've seen you look lost and tired and I want you to see it's because of her absence. I want you to feel the pain when you're finally allowing yourself to," he looks back at me.

"I really don't care. I'm just tired. Physically tired," I remind him gently.

All lies. Every night hurt when I went back home and it was just empty walls. It hurt, and I never ignored the pain, I let myself drown in it again and again, reminding myself that I deserve it for hurting Nandini the way I hurt her that day.

We walked until we reached our cars.

"You need a ride home?" He looks at me. I nod negatively, looking at my car parked at a little distance.

He nods, "You need anything, I'm just a call away, okay?"

I nod back, as he hugs me.

"Follow your heart, remember?" He says from his open window while I walk to my car and he drives away.

I reach my car, but the moment I sit inside, I feel suffocated.

I get outside in an impulsive decision, and leave the office building, deciding to walk home. I remove my coat and let it rest on my hands, and unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt, feeling the air brush through my form as I walked uphill. The road was unusually quiet, the wind was good, and it slightly drizzled.

In a few minutes, I passed a floristry, one that I had seen a lot of times as I drove in and out of my office, but never had the time to stop at. It was owned by an old man, and he always sat alone. I had never seen anyone at his shop, buying flowers when I was around, but I had always seen him smiling and singing to himself, and it always made me feel overwhelmed. Today, that I had paused from my fast life, I decided to stop at the flower shop.

The man was still there, smiling to himself, sitting on a stool and tapping his foot to the ground, humming to himself.

He seemed to me enjoying the silence just as much as I was, and careful not to break it, I took the basket and pulled out all of the flowers I liked– different types, colours and sizes, until I knew the bill would be enough for him to be able to buy himself food for a week atleast. I handed him the bunch, and he looked up at me with twinkling eyes, not wasting a moment to make the biggest bouquet in his shop, and the biggest one I had seen in a very long time.

And, it was gorgeous in its own way. No flower matched the other, and no, it wasn't in a single colour, it was just a bunch of different but beautiful flowers forming a colourful and contrasted bouquet, kind of how I was feeling at the moment– nothing in my life was defined, every thought of mine ran in different directions but I hoped that someday, when I pull all these thoughts together, I'd look as good as these flowers. Not perfect, but a beautiful mess.

The florist pulled out the check and I handed him a hundred dollar bill. His eyes lit up as he reached his pocket for a mere twenty dollar change but I held his hand midway.

I just took the bouquet from his hands and gave him and smiled at him. I could see tears glistening his eyes as I left from there, feeling content about helping somebody else when I couldn't help myself.

I continued walking without a destination in mind, often just staring at the people around me. Some looked like they were having their best day, others like they were having the worst, but most were just the mediocre in-between, running to end the day and go home.

It's maddening to think how many people I have come across are working their days and nights to be able to pay their rent, or fulfil the lease and buy themselves a home. It could be only for them, or probably for their family. I wish I could pause and let them know, that money can only buy you a house. Only love can make it home.

But that is a lesson that I didn't learn until too late, and it is something that cannot be taught by just saying out aloud. Sometimes, it is only when you have your house but lose your home that makes you realise you had one.

I walked aimlessly until I realised I was on a very particular street, and soon, outside a very particular villa. I stood across the street, the daunting house in front of me, debating if I should enter or walk away like I always do.

But following Cabir's advice, I actually walked inside. Taking a deep breath, I pressed the bell and gulped audibly. I've been here a lot of times now, but I was actually going inside for the first time in three and a half years.

While the door took a while to be opened, I looked at the name plate, and slightly wiped the dirt off with my thumb, a small smile spreading on my lips.

Murthy's.

The door flung open to a slightly frustrated Chachi with a pan in her hand and sweat on her forehead but the moment her eyes saw me, they glistened. She almost dropped her pan in shock before a wide smile spread over her lips.

"Manik!" The first tear escaped from her eyes as she came ahead and hugged me. I put my arms around her as well, shutting my eyes for a brief moment. I had missed her too.

I was very close to Nandini's Chacha-Chachi ever since our college days, and Chachi was very supportive about the two of us dating. She was convinced that I was the Prince Charming, who wouldn't break their princess's heart, a myth I broke during the divorce hearing.

The first initial months, even when I came to pick Mia up, I took her from outside the house, and the shame made me avoid them as much as I could, although it was inevitable since she was the one who mostly brought Mia out to drop her, not Nandini. It started as small taunts and one-sides arguments, which I sincerely accepted without speaking a word. Things changed a year later, when she came to my house.

I expected another taunt, and probably even a slap this time since we were in private, but she dropped below me with tears in her eyes. I felt horrified, and the mental chain of self-blaming had only started as I stood numb before her, when she whispered, 'thank you.'

She went on to tell how she was sorry to behave this way with me although I insisted how I one hundred percent deserved it, and she added that Nandini came back from her first day at work. She saw the spark in her eyes and the smile of being contended, of being more than someone's wife or mother, being someone she dreamed of being since a teen. She saw how this would never have been possible if Nandini was still with me and she kept thanking me until I knew I didn't want to hear me anymore.

Since that day, for two years, she's kept inviting me inside for dinner when I came to pick Mia, and everytime, I shot her down with a different excuse.

I could understand why she was ecstatically dragged me inside, calling for Nandini to come out of her room.

The doors of the villa opened straight into the living room, where Mia was colouring something.

"Paapaa?" Her eyes lit up and a smile spread across her face as she ran to me and I picked her up in my arms, holding her tight and kissing her forehead. My girl.

Nandini walked out of her room, her eyebrows squeezed together and surprise written all over her face, "Manik?"

I let Mia down as Chachi walked into the kitchen, giving us the moment.

"Nandini...," I nervously said, and then handed her the big bouquet of flowers.

"Thanks?" It was more of a question as she studied the flowers and then kept them away on the table.

"Paapaa, I made cookies with mom. I'll bring," Mia announced as she ran into the kitchen, and I turned towards her mother.

"I... uh...," I hesitated, "I am sorry for coming unannounced. I just... I really missed Mia, if that's okay–"

She cut me off, "Manik. You're her father. You can miss her, and you can come in anytime to meet her. You're always welcome."

A smile spread over my lips as I relaxed, "Thank you."

"Are you okay, though?" She asked me. I nodded, confused, and then saw her staring at the flowers.

Here's the thing: my mind is probably the most organised head you'll ever see. Nandini thinks everything I do is perfect, even if it is picking up some flowers. I gave Nandini a lot of flowers when we were dating, and more in the early days of marriage, and she often teased me of how colour coordinated and perfect I wanted to be even while buying flowers.

I chuckled under my breath as the memory burnt a piece of my heart. "Yeah... uh... I'm okay. I was just trying out something new."

She smiled, "It's gorgeous nonetheless."

Mia came back with a tray in her hand and I kneeled to her height.

"Goodness, you made these?" I asked her with wide eyes and my five year old nodded.

I took one of those chocolate chip cookies, and buy into them. The same taste that Nandini used to make.

The ones she especially made, only for me. The ones I used to eat boxes of. The ones that I haven't had from four years now.

I almost lost my breath for a moment, and then I realised my daughter was still waiting for a reaction.

A wide grin spread over my lips. "These are the most amazing cookies I've had in my entire life," I told her and her eyes sparkled as she looked towards her mother, who made an impressed face and she did a victory jump in the air.

I chuckled.

"Manik, Nandini wasn't feeling well, and the cook is on a leave, so I am making dinner today," Chachi informed and my eyes widened.

I looked at Nandini, hoping Chachi's cooking skills had improved over the years but looking at her wide eyes too, I knew they hadn't.

"I am well," Nandini immediately said, "I will cook today, and you have to go out for dinner with Chacha's friends. I can manage."

"What?" Chachi narrowed her eyes, "You had fever yesterday and you're complaining of stomachache. I am staying home and making bhindi pasta for you and Manik and Mia."

Oh shit.

Nandini opened her mouth again but I stopped them both.

"I will cook," I say and all the ladies in the house look at me in surprise.

"I....," my mind ran for excuses, "I came here to take you all for dinner and since Nandini is not well, I will make dinner. Chachi, you go ahead with your plans."

"Manik, I cannot–" Chachi started.

"I can take care of Mia and Nandini, I promise," I tell Chachi, looking at her with puppy eyes that I knew will work. They always worked when she slipped Nandini out for a date with me without letting Chacha and Abhi know.

"Are you sure?" Chachi looked at me.

"Yes," I smiled back, and so she nodded and left for her room.

Mia looked excited and Nandini looked at me nervously.

"You can't cook," she teased.

I gave her a challenging smile, "Prepare to get yourself blown away."

"Just don't make my kitchen blow away," she laughed at her own joke.

I rolled my eyes at her.

I looked at Mia, "Let's show Mom who's the better cook."

"Mom is," she grinned at me. I made a fake hurt expression and Nandini laughed.

I and Nandini have been great friends for the past year now, but it had been a while since we stood under one roof as a family and laughed together.

As I made dinner in the kitchen, Nandini was beside me for three probable reasons: one: I was new here and I didn't know what was where; two: she was actually feeling really flustered about making me cook; or three: she was actually afraid I'll blow up her kitchen.

I gave her a suspicious look. She rolled her eyes, "Don't be dramatic. I'm just keeping you company."

I was afraid to spoil the mood, but there was a question that was tugging me since the moment I came here.

Taking my chances, I asked her, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," she replied, looking up from her phone.

"I don't mean to make this weird, but, if you had the chance to do it all again, right from college, would you still choose to fall in love with me?" I asked her, and focused on stirring my pasta because I was too afraid to watch the expressions on her face, afraid that they might haunt me one night.

Her silence was almost as daunting as the answer that could follow as she took a deep breath, not looking at me either.

"No," she breathed, her voice almost apologetic, "I don't think I can find the power in me to fall in love with you all over again."

people go
but how
they left
always stays

–Rupi Kaur

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