The end of summer 1992 in Bombay unfolded in layers, each moment blurring into the next. The streets of Andheri hummed with life — the sounds of rickshaws weaving through the crowds, the scent of fried snacks lingering in the air. I was still in my teens, caught between the weight of expectations and the freedom of youth, with Hetali beside me — an enigma I was still trying to understand.
Our conversations often felt like a dance, each step tentative yet familiar. One evening, we found ourselves , after a set of labs , in the college campus park facing the pond, the sun dipping low and casting a golden hue over everything around us. The air was warm, thick with the scent of blooming jasmine, and we sat on a worn bench that creaked under our weight.
“Sometimes, I wonder what we are doing here,” she said, her gaze drifting toward the horizon, where the water met the sky and melted into shades of orange and pink. There was a hint of something deeper in her voice, something I couldn’t quite grasp.
“Not everything needs to be resolved,” I replied, attempting to shrug off the weight of her words. “Some things are just… there.”
“Like what?” she countered, a hint of challenge in her tone. I met her gaze, and in that moment, the air felt charged, the space between us vibrating with unspoken words.
“I don’t know…,” I said, unsure of how to navigate the currents that pulled at us. “But it’s not always that simple, is it?”
She turned her head slightly, her profile illuminated by the fading light. “You know, sometimes I think we over complicate things. We try to dissect every idea or emotion as if it’s a puzzle to solve.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light, though I could feel the weight of the conversation pressing down on us.
“Sometimes,” she replied, a soft smile touching her lips. “You always want to have the answers. ”
“It sure feels comforting to get an answer, to understand fully…” I ventured, feeling bold yet vulnerable. “I mean, it’s confusing.”
Her expression shifted, the smile fading slightly as she considered my words. “Confusion isn’t necessarily a bad thing, Z. It just means we’re trying to figure it out.”
“Figuring it out sounds exhausting,” I laughed, but the sound felt forced. “What if we could just enjoy being here, right now?”
“Enjoying the moment is easier said than done.” She leaned back, crossing her arms. “Especially when you have so many things around us.”
“Things ?” I asked, my curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”
“Life, responsibilities, expectations,” she said, her tone growing serious. “Sometimes I feel like we’re just pretending to be okay, when inside we’re battling so much more.”
I shifted uncomfortably, sensing the depth of her words. “You’re not just talking about me, are you?”
Her eyes locked onto mine, searching for something. “No, I’m talking about … I guess I’m just tired of pretending.”
The vulnerability in her voice hit me like a wave, pulling me under. “Hetali, if something is bothering you, you can talk to me. You know that, right?” I said, my heart racing.
“It’s complicated,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I wanted to reach out, to pull her back into the light, but the words felt stuck in my throat, the distance between us growing.
“I wish you would just tell me,” I urged. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
“I know,” she said softly, her gaze drifting again. “But it’s hard to explain something when you’re still trying to figure it out yourself.”
Silence stretched between us, a delicate thread barely holding our connection together. I could sense the weight of her thoughts, pressing down on her, even as she smiled faintly. “I don’t want to be a burden, Z.”
“You’re not,” I insisted, leaning forward. “You could never be a burden. You know well enough that I care about you too much for that.”
A flicker of something passed through her eyes, a mix of gratitude and something else I couldn’t quite identify. “It’s just… there are moments when I feel so lost. It’s like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, and I don’t know if I should jump or step back.”
The metaphor struck a chord within me, and I felt the tension thickening in the air. “Jumping can be freeing,” I said, trying to encourage her, though the weight of her uncertainty seeped into my own thoughts. “But you have to be sure of what you’re jumping into.”
She sighed, looking away as if trying to gather her thoughts. “And what if I’m not sure?
I inhaled sharply. The air smelt preternaturally cold.
“Then I am right here…,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. “You don’t have to face this alone.”
For a moment, I thought I saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes, a flicker of the laughter that used to come so easily. But then she looked down, her fingers tracing the seam of her skirt, a slight tremor in her movements.
“I just need some time,” she finally said, the weight of her words filling the space around us. “Time to sort through everything.”
I nodded, though inside I felt a knot tightening. “Of course. Take all the time you need. Just know that I’m here if you need something.”
We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, the world bustling around us as if nothing had changed. Yet everything had. I felt the unresolved undercurrent between us. There was so much left unsaid, so many emotions swirling just beneath the surface. I wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, but I didn’t know how. The night air began to cool, wrapping around us like a shroud, and I realized that we were teetering on the edge of something profound, something that could either bring us closer or push us apart.
“Can you promise me something, Z,?” Hetali said suddenly, her voice breaking through the quiet.
“Sure,” I replied, my heart racing.
“Don’t keep trying to fix me. I need to find my own way,” she said, her eyes searching mine for understanding.
“OK,” I whispered, though I knew deep down that it would be hard to stay true to that. The need to protect the women around me or my inability to do so was woven into my very being, but I had to find a way to let her take the journey.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows on the grass, she stood up, brushing her hands on her skirt. We walked down to the local tea stall and got two glasses of tea — The Indian version replete with oozing milk, sugar and cardamom.
We sat outside the stall on a bench watching the people and drank the hot concoction, taking small, slow sips. We discussed books we were reading or had purchased with the intent to open, as soon as we had the time. We agreed, liars both, that we would attend a second-run movie together — Something we had never done. We smiled half-apologetically into the conversational silence as we rolled the tea around in our mouths, as if we were drinking something more sophisticated than the house blend. Eventually, we finished our tea, and with a seamless, unspoken intimacy, both declined the stall owner’s offer of a second.
“I should get going,” she said, the words tasting like finality.
“I’ll walk you to the bus stop..” I said, the urgency rising in my chest.
“Sure,” she replied, a hint of a smile flickering across her face, but her eyes remained distant.
We walked in silence, the sounds of the campus fading behind us, the evening air cool against our skin. The familiar path felt different tonight, laden with unsaid words and lingering questions.
As we approached the bus stop, I glanced at her. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she replied, her tone inviting yet cautious.
“What do you think will happen if we verbalize everything we think?”
She paused, her gaze fixed on the pavement. “Then I think we’d have to confront what it means. ”
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words escaped me, swirling in the thick silence. The bus pulled up, its headlights illuminating her face, casting soft shadows that danced across her features.
“I don’t want to lose our friendship,” I said, desperation edging into my voice. “Whatever this is.”
She looked up, a mixture of emotions swirling in her eyes. “Neither do I,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
And just like that, the moment hung heavy between us, both fragile and powerful. As she stepped toward the bus, I felt an ache deep within me — a bittersweet mix of longing and uncertainty.
Before she climbed aboard, she turned to me one last time. “We will work it out,” she said softly, “sometimes time is the only answer.”
I nodded, feeling a weight settle in my chest, a mix of longing and something akin to regret. “Maybe it is,” I replied, unsure of how to bridge the gap that seemed to widen with every passing moment.
As she stepped onto the bus, the glow of the streetlights illuminated her face for a brief moment. “Take care, Z..” she said, her lips curving into a slight smile, though her eyes held an uncertainty I couldn’t quite place.
“You too,” I mutter, the words feeling inadequate, echoing into the evening air.
The conductor pulled the rope bell twice, and the bus lurched forward. I watched as it began to pull away, the shape gradually receding into the distance. The tail-lights glowed like fading embers slowly fading away.
I started to walk home, my entire being continuing to quiver in the darkness. It wasn’t so much that I was in search of answers. In fact, I was wary of the whole idea of answers. I wanted to climb all the way inside the questions and see what was there.
