The Reunion


That day, I felt an odd sensation, a subtle sense that something wasn't quite right. I couldn't pinpoint what it was, but it nagged at me. I was scheduled to take a flight from Delhi, but it was delayed by an hour. Normally, I would have gone straight to the lounge to wait, but something kept me moving, kept me wandering through the terminal.

As I was checking in before, a flash of blue caught my eye—a woman in a light blue saree. There was something undeniably familiar about her, but before I could fully register it, I was delayed by an issue with my baggage. By the time I resolved it and tried to follow her, she had already disappeared into the crowd. Even though I lost sight of her in the crowd, I knew she was still in the same terminal.

I continued searching, my mind racing through memories, trying to place where I had seen her before. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I found her in a coffee shop. The moment I saw her, it all clicked into place. It was her. The only woman who had ever truly mattered to me. Swapnika—Swapna, as I had always called her. My ex-girlfriend. The woman I named my daughter after.

She was as beautiful as ever, just as I remembered her. Someone once told me that every time you look at your girlfriend (ok, ex-girlfriend), they always look like angels. I'm not sure if that's true for wives—I wouldn't know, I never had one—but in that moment, she looked like an angel to me.

I wanted to talk to her, to say something—anything—but then I noticed she wasn't alone. She was accompanied by a little boy, maybe around nine years old. I knew immediately that he was her son. Approaching her in front of her child felt inappropriate, even embarrassing. What could I possibly say after all these years?

I was certain it was her. There was no doubt in my mind. But I also knew she might not want to see me. She was still angry with me when we broke up, furious that I hadn't pursued things further with her father. I had let her down, and I knew that anger must have lingered, maybe even fell apart over the years. There was a good chance she had moved on, and I was nothing more than a distant memory, if that.

I was taken aback and sank into the last row of chairs in the terminal, trying to process everything. It felt suffocating, but I forced myself to stay calm. Eventually, the boarding announcement came. I waited for the rush to clear before making my way to the gate. Normally, I'd fly business class, but due to some last-minute arrangements, I was in economy this time.

As I approached the gate, my heart nearly stopped when I saw her boarding the same flight. My mind raced with the possibility that she might be seated next to me, but I reminded myself that such things only happen in movies. I put on my mask and boarded the flight, heading to my seat in the last row—exactly where I preferred to sit. The other seats in the back were empty, offering a small sense of relief. Just as the flight was about to take off, a small boy approached me and asked, "Can I have the window seat?"

I looked up, and there she was. Our eyes met, and for a moment, we were both silent, the air thick with unspoken words. Without a word, I nodded and offered my seat to the boy, trying to maintain my composure.

I thought she hadn't recognized me, but then I realized I still had my mask on. The boy was thrilled as the flight took off, his eyes glued to the window, taking in the visuals with pure excitement. It was the kind of innocent joy that was so cute, and for a moment, I thought about Swapna. She had been just like this when she first flew, her excitement just as pure and unfiltered.

Suddenly, Swapnika spoke, breaking the silence. "He's like this every time," she said, her voice soft and familiar. "I wasn't able to book a window seat this time. Thanks for understanding." for which I simply nodded without uttering a word.

The air hostess came by with food and water. I knew I'd have to remove my mask eventually, but I hesitated. When she offered the food, I handed it to the boy first. Swapnika tried to refuse on his behalf, but he eagerly took it. She finally gave in and looked at me more closely.

"I think you look familiar," she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

I was about to make an excuse and change my seat when she suddenly said, "Arjun?"

I froze. There was no hiding it now. Reluctantly, I removed my mask, revealing my face. Her reaction was immediate—a mix of surprise, happiness, and something else entirely. Without warning, she kicked me lightly on the hand and exclaimed, "You idiot! Why were you so calm when you knew it was me?"

I couldn't help but smile at the familiar tone in her voice, a blend of affection and frustration that I remembered all too well.

Initially, I thought she wouldn't talk to me at all. I expected her to ignore me or keep things distant. But I was wrong. We, as men, often cling to the past when it comes to women, holding on to memories and what-ifs. But women—they know how to move on, and I could see that clearly in her. She was lively, almost excited, as we started talking. It was like no time had passed at all.

We talked about the funny moments from our school and college days, laughing over memories that had once been the foundation of our friendship. She caught me up on our mutual friends, sharing stories and updates from the years we'd been out of touch. It was all light and easy, as if she deliberately avoided the deeper topics—our relationship and the breakup that had followed. She never brought them up, and I wasn't going to either.

The three-hour, four-minute flight was filled with her words, her laughter, her stories. It felt almost unreal, being in her company again after all these years, as if the past had been set aside for now.

As the plane started to land and we reached our destination, I finally asked the question that had been on my mind since the moment I saw her. "How are you? How's your life?"

Though she said, "It's good, everything's going fine," I noticed a brief change in her expression—the glow in her face faded for just a moment. It was subtle, but I caught it. Sensing something was off, I asked her, "Is your husband coming to pick you up?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she avoided my eyes, then turned her attention to her son and started talking about something else as they left the flight. It was clear she didn't want to discuss it, and I didn't push further.

As we exited the airport, I saw her father waiting for her. He had aged noticeably—his frame much thinner, and his once sharp eyes now softened with time. He glanced at me, but there was no recognition in his gaze, and I didn't see the point in reintroducing myself after all these years. He simply took her son's hand and started walking toward the car without another word.

She didn't follow immediately. Instead, she hesitated, standing there with a mix of emotions in her eyes—something between curiosity and hesitation. Finally, she turned to me and asked, "Can we meet some other time?" Her voice was gentle, almost tentative. Then she asked for my number, and I gave it to her without hesitation.

As she walked away, the distance between us growing with each step, I felt a sharp pain of something I hadn't expected—regret, maybe, or a longing for what could have been. Seeing her again, so close yet so far, stirred up emotions I thought I had buried long ago. I couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if she were still in my life.

After leaving the airport, I went straight home. The moment I walked through the door, I sought out Swapna. She was the only person I could really talk to, the only one I could share everything with. I told her about seeing Swapnika, about the memories it stirred up, and about the emotions I hadn't expected to feel. She listened quietly, her eyes full of understanding. As I finished sharing my thoughts, I realized how much I depended on Swapna, how she had become someone I could trust in ways I never imagined.

We were just about to leave the house for dinner—I had promised Swapna a night out—when my phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but the moment I heard the voice on the other end, I knew it was Swapnika. I glanced at Swapna, and she immediately asked me to put the call on speaker. I did as she requested.

"Can we meet tomorrow at Hard Rock Cafe?" Swapnika's voice was steady, but there was a hint of something else—anticipation, maybe.

"Yes," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm, even though I could feel my heart racing. I ended the call, and when I looked at Swapna, I could see the joy in her eyes, reflecting the happiness I felt. She was even happier than I was, her excitement clear.

Most of the time, when an ex-girlfriend wants to meet, there are usually two possibilities: either she's unhappy with her life or she's facing some kind of trouble, often financial. But with Swapnika, I didn't think it was either of those reasons. Maybe, just like me, she was simply excited to see each other again after all these years.

That night, I couldn't sleep. It wasn't because I was worried about why she wanted to meet—I was more focused on what I should say to her and how I should approach the conversation. The Swapnika I once knew was a simple, straightforward, and kind girl. But now, as Mrs. Swapnika, I had no idea what she was like. She never really knew the full story about me, just like most girlfriends don't. And, like most boyfriends, I never fully opened up to her either.

I arrived at the Hard Rock Cafe a little earlier than planned. The familiar hum of conversation and soft music filled the air, but my mind was elsewhere. I chose a quiet corner and took a seat, glancing around occasionally, my thoughts still swirling from the anticipation of seeing Swapnika again.

It wasn't long before she walked in, and the moment our eyes met, there was a brief pause—a silent acknowledgment of the years that had passed. She made her way over to the table with a calm confidence that spoke of the woman she had become.

"Hi again," she said as she reached the table, her smile warm but measured.

"Hi," I replied, nodding slightly as we both took our seats.

For a moment, we simply took each other in, the years of separation hanging between us like a silent question. But then Swapnika broke the silence, her tone shifting to something more curious and genuinely interested. "Arjun, I've seen your name in the news a few times. You've really made a name for yourself as a businessman. I'm happy for you."

I smiled, appreciating her sincerity. "Yeah, things have gone well. It's been a long road, but I've managed to build something solid."

She nodded, clearly impressed. "I always knew you had it in you. So, what's it like, being at the top? How's life treating you?"

I leaned back slightly, considering her question. "It's... rewarding, but it comes with its challenges. There's always something to handle, something to worry about. But overall, I can't complain. It's been worth the effort."

She studied me for a moment, then asked, "And what about your personal life? Are you married? Kids?"

Her question was direct but gentle, and I hesitated for a moment before answering. "No, I never got married. Just never found the right time, I guess."

A look of surprise crossed her face, followed by something that seemed like understanding. "Really? I thought for sure you'd have settled down by now."

I shook my head slightly, a small smile playing on my lips. "Life had other plans, I suppose."

She smiled back, her eyes softening. "I can relate. Life does have a way of steering us in directions we never expected."

There was a brief pause before I continued. "But I have someone in my life. Someone I've been raising as my own. Her name is Swapna—she's the daughter of a woman who worked for me. When her mother passed away, I took her in. She's been... well, she's been my world for the past few years."

When I mentioned Swapna's name, I noticed a subtle change in her expression. She was quiet for a moment, and though she tried to hide it, I could see a flicker of emotion in her eyes. It was as if the name had triggered something deep within her, something she wasn't ready to share.

After a brief silence, she finally spoke, her voice a little softer. "I think she's lucky to have you."

"Thank you," I said, feeling a mix of pride and humility. "She's an amazing kid. She's been through a lot, but she's strong. Raising her has been one of the most challenging and rewarding things I've ever done."

For a moment, the conversation hung in the air, filled with the weight of all that was said and unsaid. Swapnika seemed to be processing everything, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions—surprise, admiration, and perhaps a hint of something deeper.

"So, you've been busy, both in business and at home," she said finally, her voice tinged with admiration. "It sounds like you've built a life that's... full, in every sense."

"I guess you could say that," I replied, appreciating her words. "But what about you? How's everything with you?"

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze lowering as she processed what I had just shared. I could sense the emotion behind her calm exterior, even though she was trying hard to keep it hidden. Sensing the need for a brief pause, I gestured to the waiter and placed an order for both of us, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts. When the waiter left, she finally spoke, her voice steady but lacking the warmth from earlier. "Everything's good... really, I'm happy."

But I could see it in her eyes—she was lying. The glow in her face from earlier had dimmed, and there was a tension in her voice that she couldn't quite mask.

I leaned forward slightly, my tone gentle but firm. "See, Swapnika, if you really don't want to share what's going on, that's okay. You can just say 'leave it,' but please don't lie to me."

She looked at me for a long moment, as if weighing the decision to finally let her guard down. Then, with a deep sigh, she began to speak, her voice trembling slightly as she opened up about her life.

"It hasn't been good at all, Arjun," she admitted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He's not the right guy. I thought he was, but I was wrong. He doesn't have any interest in me anymore, and his habits... they've only gotten worse over time."

She paused, gathering her strength to continue. "He's been using drugs lately, and it's like he's become a different person. He beats me almost every day. At first, I thought I could handle it, that it would get better, but it hasn't. I've thought about running away so many times, just leaving it all behind."

Her voice cracked slightly, and she took a moment to steady herself. "But I have my son. He's my world, Arjun. I can't just leave him behind. But recently... he started beating him too. That's when I knew I couldn't stay there any longer. I couldn't let my son go through that."

She looked down, her hands trembling slightly. "I left him. I came back to my parents' house, but... I'm still scared. I don't know what to do."

Hearing Swapnika's story, I felt a surge of anger boiling up inside me. The thought of someone hurting her—hurting her child—was almost too much to bear. But I forced myself to stay calm, knowing that what she needed now wasn't my anger but my support.

For a moment, there was only silence between us. I struggled to find the right words, not sure what to say in the face of such pain. Finally, I asked, "What are you going to do?"

She looked at me, her eyes filled with uncertainty. "I'm... I'm still thinking about it," she replied softly.

I nodded, understanding the weight of her decision. Then, trying to shift the mood, I offered, "Do you want to meet my daughter? I'm heading to her school now."

She hesitated, clearly torn between the emotions of our conversation and the unexpected invitation. But after a moment, she nodded. "Okay, I'd like that."

We left the cafe and got into my car. The drive was quiet, the silence between us thick with unspoken thoughts. I could tell she was still processing everything, and I didn't want to push her. Instead, I focused on getting us to the school.

When we arrived and Swapna came out to meet us, something shifted. The moment she and Swapnika met, there was an instant connection between them. They began talking and laughing together as if they'd known each other for years. Seeing them together brought a rare smile to my face—two important parts of my life meeting for the first time.

After spending some time at my home, I offered to drive Swapnika back to her parents' place. She agreed, and as we got back into the car, there was a different kind of silence between us for a moment—one that felt more comfortable, more understood. And Swapnika finally opened up. "You know," she started, a hint of warmth returning to her voice, "you and Swapna are doing great together. I can see her happiness when she's with you as her father. It's... it's really something special."

I glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "She's an amazing kid. We've built something strong, something real. I'm glad you see that."

She nodded, then her expression softened as she spoke about her own son. "He's a good boy too. Despite everything, he's been my strength. I just want him to have a better life, you know? Away from all the... chaos."

I nodded, understanding the deep love and concern she had for her child. "I could see that he's a nice kid, Swapnika. You've done well by him."

When we finally arrived at her parents' house, I noticed her father waiting by the entrance again. Swapnika greeted him with a brief nod before heading inside, but before she disappeared into the house, she gave me one last look—a mix of gratitude and something unspoken.

Her father, recognizing me this time, locked eyes with me for a moment. I could see the acknowledgment in his gaze, the understanding of everything that had transpired between us over the years. There was a flash of anger in my eyes that I couldn't fully hide, and he seemed to sense it. His shoulders slumped slightly, and without a word, he lowered his head and turned back towards the house.

As I drove away, the image of her father's bowed head stayed with me—a silent admission of the pain and mistakes of the past. I didn't share the details of our conversation with Swapna. The day had been overwhelming, filled with emotions and revelations I hadn't anticipated. Seeing Swapnika again, learning about her struggles—it was more than I could easily process.

As I sat alone later that night, the weight of it all settled on me. The thought of her suffering, of her son being caught in the middle of it, gnawed at me. For a fleeting moment, the idea of marrying her crossed my mind. It was a tempting thought—offering her a way out, a chance to build something new together. But as quickly as it came, another memory followed, one that stopped me in my tracks. I remembered my own mother leaving my father. The pain, the abandonment, the scars it left behind. I couldn't do that to her son, couldn't risk repeating that same cycle of hurt and loss.

No, I couldn't rush into anything. Instead, I decided that I needed to meet her husband, to confront the situation head-on. Maybe then, I could find a way to help, to resolve this without tearing another family apart.

With that thought, I finally allowed myself to drift into an uneasy sleep, the day's events replaying in my mind.


© The Usual Guy