Page 95 of Mrs. Rathore

“Open me :)” was written on it.

With trembling hands, I opened it and found a velvet pouch inside. There was a note tucked beside it.

His handwriting was strong and clear, just like him. The paper carried the faint scent of his deep and familiar cologne.

Avni,

I don’t know how to say this without sounding foolish, but I’ll try anyway. I’ve never been good with words you already know.

You once told me that dancing was your life, your joy, your strength, and your freedom. Because of me, all of that has been forced into stillness.

I can’t undo the accident. I can’t take away your pain. But I wanted to give you something to remind you that you are still a dancer. Even if your feet are resting, your spirit isn’t.

Inside this pouch is something small, but I hope it finds a place close to your heart. It’s the same pair of ghungroos I burned that day. I felt terrible afterward. Truly.

I know these ghungroos will remind you and inspire you to become who you were again.

Until then, hold onto them as a promise. Not from a husband. Not from an army officer. But from a man who hurt you deeply and will never stop regretting it.

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But if this letter brings you even a second of strength on a day you feel weak, then it was worth writing.

I’ll see you again, Avni. And next time, I hope you’ll be smiling.

– Aryan

My eyes blurred with tears as I stared at the golden ghungroos in the velvet pouch.

They weren’t just an ornament but they were a piece of me. A symbol of who I used to be and who I still might become.

I sank down on the edge of the bed, clutching the pouch to my chest as if it could somehow calm the storm inside me.

That’s all he wanted? To give me this? He kept asking to see me, and I refused. And now, I knew I’d regret it. At least until I saw Aryan again.

_______

Chapter 36

AVNI

Sixteen days had passed since Aryan left for duty...sixteen long, dragging days. The only time we had heard from him was the night he reached his destination. It was a brief, crackling phone call that lasted barely a minute. Since then, his voice had vanished, like a gust of wind that came and went before you could catch your breath. It felt as though his presence had sunk into the depths of the earth, far out of reach, swallowed whole by the remoteness of the terrain he’d been posted to.

Rhea had explained it to me patiently, though her explanation brought little comfort. The area where Aryan was stationed had no mobile network, no signal towers, and practically no way for him to call home. His unit had one satellite phone, tightly controlled and used strictly for official communication. Personal calls were out of the question.

That left us with only one form of contact: handwritten letters. Old-fashioned, carefully penned words carried by military postal services. They took their own sweet time, sometimes arriving two or even three weeks after they were sent. I often wondered if Aryan had already written. Was a letter from him making its slow journey toward us, nestled among hundreds of others in olive-green satchels? If he had sent it two weeks ago, maybe it would arrive next week. Perhaps I’d soon hold a piece of him in my hands, in the form of ink and paper.

I recalled Rhea mentioning that Aryan used to write letters to Ira when they were together. She had said it as a small detail, but it clung to me. Even when they were apart for months due to duty, Aryan made the effort to stay in touch with Ira through those letters. I imagined pages filled with neat, blocky handwriting, sealed in envelopes with soft creases. I wondered what he wrote to her. Did he miss her? Did he pour his thoughts into those letters the way lovers do when time and distance stretch endlessly between them?

Then again, I couldn’t help but think about how their relationship survived. In the same field, on call for duty around the clock, surrounded by danger, pressure, and distance, how could two people find the time and energy to hold on to each other through all of that?

“What are you thinking about?” Rhea’s voice broke my train of thought. She walked into the room with her usual radiant smile. She tilted her head, looking at me knowingly. “Don’t tell me you’re still thinking about Bhai, are you?”

I exhaled softly and patted the empty space on the bed beside me. “Come here,” I said with a small smirk. “Let’s gossip.”

Rhea raised an eyebrow and flopped beside me as if she had been waiting for this moment all day. I nudged her playfully. “So… tell me about Ira and Aryan’s relationship. I want to know about them.”

Her smile faltered for a moment, and she grew unusually quiet, as if weighing her words. Finally, she spoke, her voice thoughtful. “You know… I don’t think Bhai was ever in love with her.”

I turned to her sharply, surprise etched across my face. “What? But… they were together for ten years!”