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...