23
𓂃𓊝𓂃

It took Milan at least three days to convince me to let him read my story, and it must have taken more than that to make me believe that my story is worth publishing. I did not want to try, and I was rather afraid to do so. But Milan said, "Just give it a try. It'd cost nothing." It wasn't just his constant persuasion and pleading with his kitten-like eyes that made me agree to do it. Apoorva. It is what he would have wanted me to do. It is exactly what he wanted. He said to me back then, when we were 'enemies', in that old, dimly lit library. Not just him, Ratan, my father, and my mother, whom I even didn't even remember the faces of. The four important people who had always loved me and always protected me. I had to do it for them. That was the least that I could offer their undying souls. A gratitude.

Milan's uncle was the publisher that he had taken me to. Shekhar Chatterjee, who took care of him after his parents passed away when he was little. He was a tall man with a long, gray beard. We sat across from him at his table. Milan sat with his eyes fixed on his uncle for the positive news.

"Well, "Mr. Chatterjee stroked his cotton-like white beard. "The novel is good for a beginner. But it could use some editing." I glanced at Milan. His eyes were eager, with his hands resting on the table.

"You could edit the story, can't you?" Mr. Chatterjee asked Milan.

"Me?" He asked, as if Mr. Chatterjee meant someone else.

"Who else." Then he looked at me and said, "Are you comfortable with my nephew editing the book, Ms. Roopali?"
"If you're not, I could provide you another editor."

It was a better option than a complete stranger editing my story. I nodded. "Yes. He'll do."

Milan viewed the story from the point of view of an English professor, and somehow it was helpful. He explained how certain paragraphs would be interpreted by scholars if the book were taught in universities in the future. It made me laugh uncontrollably for a minute. But he was serious. He believed that the story was worthy of being taught in universities. He was a very optimistic person, unlike me. I never looked at the world through a window of hope and positivity. My life was the best reason to not do so.

"You know you are really a mysterious woman?" Milan asked me once, sitting by the window of his house. We were sitting facing each other, drinking tea from a white mug with blue flowers on it. It was our routine after editing the book for a whole day. He would make me tea with cardamom and ginger in it.

"Are you even real, Roopali? I sometimes feel like I'm imagining you." The sunlight poured in through the window. His hair was a lighter shade of brown in the sunlight.

"I don't know. What's so mysterious about me?" I laughed gently.

"I've known you for a while now. But I don't think I really know you, what your life was like before you came to this city, or what your past was. It's like you exist only in the present." His words stung like pepper on a fresh wound.

"What is so secretive about your past life?" He asked. "You never mention anything from your past. That is the first sign of hiding something. Someone without a secret would at least communicate it with their friend." He stopped, searched, and carefully formed the next sentence to say. "Do you consider me your friend?"

"Of course." My answer was spontaneous. "Of course you are my friend. But you are wrong. I am choosing not to speak about my life, at least for the moment. That is not hiding a secret. And I don't think everybody deserves to know my story. But I'll speak when the time comes."

He smiled and said, "As you wish."

There it was. I could see it in his eyes-how his eyes softened whenever he talked to me. I don't think I liked the idea of him liking me because I did not want him to end up dead, just like everyone who has ever loved me.

Neelam once mentioned to me how it would be great for me to marry Milan. She was so convinced that Tara and Sagar would love it because they always spent time with him. There was no doubt that my children would like to have him as their father. But everything felt wrong, even though everything was right. I could not imagine any other man as the love of my life other than Apoorva. But my children did not know him. They will never know him. He will be just an idea, a notion in their minds-the father that they lost in the sea. They only knew Milan, a paternal figure and their best friend.

Once, I saw Tara crying in her room after school.

"The teacher asked us to write about my family today. She scolded me when I said I didn't write about my father."She kept crying for a long time that day, despite her best efforts to console her. I could not bring myself to say who their father was. They were children, and no child needed to know the tragedy of their parents' lives at such a young age.

After months of editing and rewriting, my story hit the bookstores. For the time I felt seen, my voice was heard. I realized that there might be people who would like to listen to what I want to say, people who might have the same opinions and thoughts as me. Finally, I was far, far away from that little girl who used to scrub the floors of a huge mansion and who people used to look down upon. I did not want to turn back and look at my past, filled with dirt, dust, tears, and pain. All I wanted was to run and run and run as fast as I could to get away from that hell of a nightmare.
I was finally visible to the world through my book, and I dedicated it to my mother, father, brother, and husband.

Once, Milan and I took Tara and Sagar to the beach. It was their first time at the beach. We both sat by the shore, watching them make sand castles. Milan was acting a bit strange that day. And he finally said it to my face-that he liked me. It didn't come as a shock. I knew it before he told me, and I realized that it was time to tell him everything. I told him, and he listened. There was an unreadable expression on his face, something like empathy.

"We cannot be together." I paused "I don't think I will be able to love a man anymore. And even if I married you, it would be a marriage without love, and I don't think that you would do something horrible like that. I don't think that I deserve you. I stopped and placed my arm on top of his. "You are a good person; you really are. I don't want to lose you like I lost everyone in my life."

He sighed "What if I am fine with all these things?"

"What do you mean?"

'What I am going to say might sound ridiculous to you. But the thing is, I cannot think of leaving you all." He pointed at my my children.

"They are the best part of my life right now. And I wish I could see them grow up. I really wish I could be a part of both of your lives. You said if we ever married, that marriage would be one without love. I am okay with it. I promise you. If we marry, we will be just friends as long as you want to be."
And that's how I ended up marrying Milan Chatterjee, and we lived like husband and wife in front of the whole world. He was a good friend, a protective father, and my secret keeper until the day he died at the age of 67. He kept his promise.

[This is a double update. Scroll on to the next chapter.]

This chapter was much better when I imagined it in my head. But I'm too swamped rn to write a lengthy creative chapter. I'm so sorry.