Now
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The next time she sees Shravan Malhotra — a whole week after their first interaction, she's engaged in an animated debate with Pushkar about the renewal of laws and the ponderosity of certain judges when faced with trials including people of power.

"Everything is not always black or white," A familiar voice choruses from behind her.

Suman turns towards the source of the interruption, and she has to work to keep her face purposefully blank and tamper the noise that threatens to escape her lips, at the sight of Shravan hovering by the entrance of Sham Kashyap's office, brows raised and mirroring her stance.

There is a moment of disbelief and denial on her part and once the surprise of seeing him wears off, it slips into frustration. At him or herself is an equation she is yet to solve. Nowadays, she turns her head around and he is always in breathing vicinity. And it's too much for her sanity.

She whips her head around so fast, she might experience a whiplash. "What is he doing here?" she whisper-yells to Pushkar, the full force of her glare directed towards him.

In what she recognizes is an attempt to placate her, he addresses her in a hushed tone, fingers latching on her elbow to put a distance between Shravan and them. "Sumo, please calm down, let me explain."

"Calm down?!" she seethes and has to work to keep her voice down to an even whisper.

How is she supposed to calm down when even feet apart, his overwhelming presence fills up every corner of the room, suffocating her, the weight of his gaze on the back of her head, making it hard for her to breathe.

"I presume that's Suman Tiwari." A man she remembers too well enters the room, dissipating some of the tension building up in the office. Years have been kind to Sham Kashyap, he is as she recalls him to be, except for the grey in his hair and the slight weight he's gained, she wonders if it's due to his own negligence or his health causing troubles.

And maybe it's her wistful thinking or the nostalgia that comes hands in hands when confronted to a familiar face from the past, but the sense of relief flooding her is a welcome accommodation during this unusual situation.

Sham rounds the corner of the desk and sits down. "Take a seat, please."

Shravan hurries to pull a chair for her and she meets his gaze for the first time in forever and it's unsettling for a long and tense moment. He is the first to tear away his gaze and ducks his head like he always seems to do when self-conscious. She sits down and allows him to move her chair forward.

Ever the gentleman.

He slides in next to her.

Sham clasps his hands together, grabbing everyone's attention. "It's good to see you both here."

Shravan nods, a gesture of silent acknowledgement. "Thank you for receiving us." Suman recognizes the note of slight confusion in his tone, he is in the same boat as her, unaware to the reason behind their presence in this office.

"I have a proposition for both of you, " Sham announces, and after some deliberation, decides to just launch into it straightaway. There is no point in hedging, and it seems like something both of them would appreciate — no beating around the bush, straightforwardness.

Shravan straightens at that going from withdrawn to alert almost instantaneously. Suman simply tilts her chin in contemplation, waiting for the man in front of her to elaborate.

"I am listening." Their reply is simultaneous.

"As you might know, we've received hundreds of applications this year and as the head of the firm, I get the final say in employees' recruitment," Sham explains, and for some reason the silence in the room is amplified by ten folds. "After studying both of your resumes, I felt that it was important for me to talk you directly and without any preamble."

A flicker of curiosity crosses Suman's face, but she sets her jaw in a hard line in a lieu of a reply.

"From what I've seen and read, both of you are very capable individuals and have a promising future in law, but working at Kashyap and Associates means working at a certain scale and maintaining the ratio of success the firm is known for."

"So, this is your way of gently turning us down," Suman says, flat, mouth twisting slightly as she looks down at her lap.

"Not really. In fact, quite the opposite." Sham tells her, the glint in his eyes shining with mirth and wisdom, a gaze that reminds her for some reason of her old grandfather.

Shravan sees the flicker of interest in Suman's eye again.

"I don't think I quite understand," Suman chimes in, growing wary of this back and forth.

"That makes us two," Shravan retorts, exchanging a quick glance with her.

The elderly man steadies a long look on them. "I think you'd make a wonderful team, and your collaboration might help the firm to reach new heights."

Shravan's eyes go wide at that, comprehension dawning seemingly seconds after. "You want us to work, together?"

"Isn't it what I just said?" Sham gives them a complacent smile.

The apprehension in Suman's eyes is unmistakable as she turns her gaze on him once more. "As in, with him?"

"Are you opposed to this proposition?"

She takes a moment to answer. "I just wonder why you couldn't choose between one of us."

"As I said, I've studied both of your profiles and the conclusion I reached is simple. You have the knowledge, he has the expertise. Individually, you're alright but working together, you could do wonders." Sham concludes his well-thought argument.

Shravan steals a glance at Suman. She's not easy to read, by any means, but he can sense her displeasure from the slight curl of her lip, the tight set of her shoulders.

Pushkar cuts through the tense silence in the room. "I think we should give them some time to think about it."

Sham releases a heavy sigh and then after some time nods his assent. "I give you two days to ponder over it. Choose wisely."

"I'll give it a thought," she chirps, giving a valiant shake of her head even though Shravan can't help but notice how her semblance of a smile goes tight around the corners. "I'll take your leave now."

"Pushkar will see you to the door." Sham rises from his chair and offers her a hand she takes in a formal handshake. "It was good to see you, Suman."

"Likewise, Sir."

After the door closes behind Pushkar, Shravan gets up from his seat and retrieves his belongings, making a bee-line for the exit door when he is stopped in his tracks.

"I don't think I gave you permission to leave, Mr. Malhotra."

"I don't remember asking for it, Sir," Shravan volleys back, although he's not really offended. It's a common occurrence to him now. Battling words and people is a gamble to him, one he's exceptionally good at.

Gesturing towards the chair, he goes smiling. "Take a seat." Then, more tersely when Shravan stays immobile. "Sit down, son."

Shravan does his best not to think about Ramnath Malhotra. When he does, it threatens to overwhelm him and that one word steals all the air from his lungs and for a split second, he is grasping for dear life. He tries to hunt the confines of his flawed memory to find the moment his father might have called him that for the very last time.

He can't remember.

Maybe, it was during that walk in the woods on that lazy Sunday morning or maybe a reassurance whispered against his skin, 'I love you, son' as his father clasped him in an embrace despite his fear of breaking apart. Or maybe, it was simply a replica of this exact moment. A father requesting his son to sit down. 'Just sit down, Son.'

Lately, he finds himself digging memories from the ruins of his mind, from what's left of the good times before the shadow of devastation cast its darkness upon the cocoon of warmth and light and sweetness his entire existence basked in. And with every year that goes by, his memories fade to become a blurry flashback that is nowhere near to the reality he envisioned, miles apart from the person he used to be.

And with every piece that falls apart, the jigsaw puzzle he is, remains incomplete.

"Shravan."

He finds his way back to reality, empty-handed. He sits down, albeit reluctantly.

"Why did you come back, Shravan?"

Shravan eyes him quizzically, wondering what games mind he is trying to play with him. Then, blankly he rearranges his features to convey his utter lack of interest. "You know why."

Sham prods, something that reminds him of Pushkar. "I want to hear it from you."

"For my mother."

"And what about you?"

Taken aback by the question, Shravan clears his throat. "What about me?"

"You came back to India for your mother. You came today for your mother. What are you doing for yourself?" Sham questions, persistent.

"This isn't about me," Shravan breathes out, building hostility evident not only in his voice but also in the way he slants his eyes away from the man in front of him.

"Maybe, it should be," Sham argues, paying no heed to his tone or his brusqueness. "Take the job, Shravan."

"I thought that it was up to me to choose wisely." He shoots back, echoing his words from earlier.

"Absolutely, and the wise choice is to take the job."

Shravan chuckles humorlessly, the sound derisive. "And what good would that do to me?"

"What harm could it do to you?"

Shravan lets out a long sigh, suddenly exhausted like never before. "My father's name was dragged in a scandal that was never his to begin with, his integrity and reputation have been reduced to shreds, my mother couldn't look at people in the eye for so long and you're asking me what harm could it do to me to be a part of the largest firm in the city?"

Sham doesn't say anything, doesn't even bother to answer his questions. Shravan's anger is a product of years of agony and hurt and silence dusted under the rug in order to maintain the semblance of normalcy he had built for his mother and himself.

Now that he is back, he can't pretend anymore, he can't continue to entertain this game of hide and seek with the rage that consumes his pores and the war anthem pumping through his veins. There is a fire in his chest, scorching his bones from the inside out. For once, he doesn't give a damn about the consequences.

"Even his death was made out to be a mockery and you want me to—" Shravan chokes out, eyes stinging with unwanted tears. He covers his face with a hand, overcome by a hot swarm of shame. It's a heartbreaking sight to see a man of Shravan Malhotra's stature crumble to nothing like a house of cards made of paper and patience.

Sham rounds the desk and settles in front of him, his palm landing on his shoulder to offer a silent reassurance, a comforting weight. Shravan doesn't look up. " Shravan, this is your new beginning, don't waste it. Don't deny yourself good things because horrible things have happened before. Don't let those headlines and those scandals become your story. You have the chance to write history all over again, take it."

When a twenty-year-old Shravan decided to leave India for good and settle in England, it never occurred to him how much the prize for peace would cost him, how it would seize the youth out of him, how it would drain all his hopes and inspirations and fill him with the poison of resentment, with burning anger and dark hatred for circumstances that were out of his hands, beyond his control. The boy he was, didn't know how many heartbreaks lay ahead of the path and how many times he would stumble and scrape his knees in his quest for safety and warmth. No house was good enough to remind him of home and every time he hid under the safety of his blankets, his vacant eyes bereft of faith longed for the crack in the ceiling that was so familiar and every time he was left staring at a faultless roof that taunted him with its perfection. And that's when it hit him, in the middle of the night, cold as a cub of ice, all alone in the realm of loved ones and relatives, he would never find peace because he would never find home.

Home for Shravan was Delhi's streets where he learned to ride a bike and broke the signal the first time he drove a car by himself. Home for Shravan was the house with the swing and the school with the black gates and the flag of India flying high. Home for Shravan was Ramnath's rich and thunderous laughter, his mismatched sweaters and the scent of his lavender growing outside of the windows. Home for Shravan was Nirmala's shy smile, the pattern on her sarees and the humming of her songs and her bottle of perfume standing between his father's aftershave and his own deodorant on the top shelf in the bathroom. Home for Shravan was Suman's brown eyes sparkling with mindless dreams and the soft upturn of her lips, her long strands of hair tangling between his fingers, the cleft in her chin and the mole between her collarbones, the cups of hot piping tea shared under her umbrella and the books she kept on his nightstand, the quotes she highlighted and her messy handwriting leaving notes and thoughts, sentences he devoured.

Home is a fantasy and he is still running in wait of his homecoming.

"Everyone deserves a second chance." Sham's words hit home to Shravan, he doesn't know where it comes from and it only lasts for a second, but something about Sham's words and his smile make his throat swell with grief.

Finally, he concedes. "I get the parking spot I pick."

"Whatever you want."

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The first drops of rain fall like ink from the tip of a pen. They hit the shoulder of Suman's coat, then the skin beneath her eye. She fiddles with her keys and freezes when she hears sounds coming from the bushes behind her.

"Still can't figure out how to open the door in one go?"

Her fingers turn to ice. She drops her set of keys. She silently curses herself for having such a strong reaction to just hearing his voice.

In the end, she's the one who spots him first; her mouth dropping open in surprise as she takes him in. "You're kidding me," Suman says loud enough that it must echo in the garden. "Are you following me?"

"Why would I follow you?" Shravan asks a hint of amusement in his tone.

"I don't know, you're the one exhibiting stalker behavior," She snarls, embellishing with an eye roll.

"Excuse me?" He sounds positively appalled. "Stalker behavior? For your information, I have been invited to dinner." He follows her as she walks through the front door.

That pulls out a scoff out of her, the sound mocking. "And by who, may I ask?"

"Your mother."

She pauses for a second before her voice gains momentum. "Why would my mother invite you and —"

"Suman, is everything okay?" Priya asks, her shoulders tense and her brows raised in confusion as she picks up on the strain in the atmosphere. Suman thinks, she must have quite an expression on her face. Hastily, she rearranges her features into neutrality.

"Yes," she answers almost automatically. "Everything's good." Then, haltingly when her mother keeps staring at her, most probably waiting for something. "This is Shravan Malhotra," and turning towards Shravan, she goes fumbling. "This is my —"

"I know who she is," he interrupts her, sounding way too smug to her liking and for his own good.

Priya's puzzlement is short-lived, gradually transforming into comprehension. "Shravan Malhotra?" she inquires.

Shravan bents down with a smile taking her blessings, and she pats his back in an affectionate gesture. "Nirmala told me that you were tall but I didn't realize how tall until now." She laughs good-naturedly and Suman's jaw locks in an effort not to literally grind her teeth and starts walking away to her room.

"Is that our Suman?"

She halts, she knows that voice. She turns around to find Nirmala Malhotra standing next to her mother and him.

"Yeah, that would be me," she stammers, willing some moisture back in her throat as Nirmala urges her to come closer, her smile ever radiant.

"Let me have a look at you, you're a woman now," Nirmala says fondly, holding her at arms' length.

Suman looks down, suddenly shy at the unexpected attention. Her bottom lip is caught under her teeth and she looks as uncertain as ever. "You cut your hair," Nirmala whispers, full of awe and Suman nods, unable to find her voice through the lump in her throat.

Nirmala opens her arms in invitation of a hug, the tears in her eyes a mix of half a dozen emotions at once. There's a moment of skepticism on Suman's part, she can't remember the last time she let herself be held. All she needs is a silent nudge from Nirmala's side and she leans forward to embrace her.

She catches a whiff of Nirmala's lavender perfume and it brings back a rolling wave of memories from her adolescence. If someone questions, she can only blame the tears burning at the corner of her eyes to the dust in the air and the dull ache in her heart to the momentary relief of holding someone close, there's something incredibly comforting about just being held.

And like all good things in life, this moment ends too.

When she emerges back from her room, showered and wearing fresh clothes, she looks over at the dining table filled with people and noise. Her grandfather is busy
entertaining the guests with stories from the past, her mother is being an exemplary host, serving varieties of food and delicacies and the sight, catches her off-guard for some reason. Normalcy is not a common occurrence in the Tiwari household.

To her utter dismay, the only vacant seat is the one facing him. She sits down and makes it a point not to look at him. She's had enough of interactions to last a lifetime.

"Suman, Shravan is telling me that you got a job offer from Kashyap and Associates, what have you decided about it?" Her grandfather questions, surprising her.

Suman blinks, momentarily speechless by the question. She glares at Shravan who doesn't dare to look up from his plate. At least, he has the nerve to look distinctively sheepish.

"Nanu," she begins, the heel of her hand rubs against her forehead, smoothing the lines of perplexity. "I don't know, I haven't thought about it yet."

"You should, it's a great opportunity Suman," Nanu tells her, never rushing her but always pushing her forward.

"Making a career is great, but you should also encourage your granddaughter to settle down, she's of age now," Priya points out teasingly. Suman snaps her gaze over to her at that, her cutlery falling in her plate with a clink, her appetite gone.

When no one entertains her remark, Priya continues. "In fact, Nirmala, I've been meaning to ask you if you know any capable young man —"

Her snort is jeering and she can't help the acid in her voice when she says. "Mother is asking for herself, she's quite into young capable men with degrees."

Shravan has to take a long sip of his water to hide the smile that's twitching at the corners of his lips.

Her outburst is met with silence, long enough for her to start feeling antsy. She clears her throat, eyes darting around awkwardly.

Nirmala saves the day.

"Priya, I wanted to ask you if you have any storage boxes, the house is a mess and moving in is not easy as I thought it to be," Nirmala admits, earning a chuckle from Shravan.

Priya takes a moment to answer, still taken aback by her daughter's fit of temper "Of course, the storeroom is filled with them, feel free to take as many as you want."

A scrape of the chair against the marble and Suman is standing to get out of the room. "I'll get them for you."

"She might need an extra pair of arms," Nirmala adds, quietly.

Shravan takes the hint, slowly pushing out of his chair and padding over to her as she leads the way.

"Here you can take the three of them," she points out to her right were storage boxes are stacked on top of each other.

"Thanks," His reply is low, quiet.

Her answering smile is weak and more of a grimace. "It's good." She half expects him to leave, but he just shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet and scratches the back of his neck, as if he is looking for the right words to say.

"Say what you want to say."

"What?" He looks on dumbfounded.

"You've clearly got something to say, so say it."

He nods, studying her like he's gauging her reaction. "You're not taking the job, aren't you?"

She settles her weight against the dresser, feigning nonchalance. "What makes you say that?"

"You never hide anything from Nanaji and he didn't know about the job offer until I told him, so that tells me everything I need to know."

She smirks, challenging. "You've got me all figured out, huh?"

"Pretty much."

"That's funny."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She crosses her arms across her chest, pinches at the soft skin of her inner elbow to keep herself from going off on him. "I am not answerable to you."

"From where I stand, I don't see any plausible reason for you to refuse the offer, it's a stable position, great pay and you get the parking spot you pick."

She opens her mouth to say something to that, retort already forming on her lips when he cuts in, sounding extraordinarily smug. "Unless, you know, you're scared."

She straightens at that, doesn't even try to conceal her surprise. "Me and scared?" There's a hint of pink on her cheeks and she looks positively offended by the insinuation. "What would I be scared of?"

"Scared of me stealing your thunder." Shravan tilts his head, and it's almost provocative.When he smiles, it definitely is.

She chuckles, but there's no humor to it, only disbelief. "I am not scared by the likes of you."

"Then, prove me wrong," he retorts, a slight smirk on his face.

The decision flashes in her eyes. "Okay."

He blinks, apparently surprised. "Okay? That's it?"

Her gaze is cool and steady when it meets his, unwavering. "I'm in."

"Congratulations Advocate Tiwari, you just secured yourself a job." He offers his hand for a handshake.

For the space of a second, Suman can only stare, gaze fixated on the once upon a time familiar curve of his wrist, the old and new scars flanking his knuckles and the burn on the side of his thumb from when he burned himself on her kitchen's stove. There's a moment of hesitation on her part— unsurety and doubt flickering across her face before it clears, so quickly that it's almost as if he imagined it.

She takes it, the warmth of his skin radiating against hers for a tantalizing minute before she drops it, flexing her fingers by her side.

"See you, Monday." He waves at her, storage boxes in hand.

As he walks away from her, Shravan wonders who she celebrates her milestones with now, who is present when big things happen in Suman Tiwari's life. He knows that he used to be that person for her and she used to be that person for him.

Now, there's a five-year distance between them and a sea of hundred thrown out speeches they almost said to each other.

Maybe his homecoming is cursed to remain a fantasy.

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