After that day—her declaration of love, the quiet vulnerability in her words, the way she held onto me as her anchor—we had crossed an invisible threshold if not reached a milestone. We had discovered a new language between us that didn’t need words as much as it needed time, touch, and trust.
But there was more to it than I expected. There was something that I could not explain. She was confused when I dropped her off at the hostel that evening.
A fleeting glance? The pause before she waved goodbye? Or was it the hurried way she retreated behind the hostel gates, almost as if she couldn’t wait to put a barrier between us? I thought it was because of what transpired between us. She has taken a huge step in our relationship – imposing trust I planned to live by.
We stayed connected through short, grainy phone calls—a few minutes snatched whenever the network gods deemed us worthy. Though rare, those conversations were reassuring. Her voice, even distorted by low fidelity and high costs, kept me tethered to her world. But then, one day, the calls stopped altogether.
No letters. No cards. Nothing that bore her signature, her thoughts, or her affection. Silence.
At first, I rationalised it. Exams? Hostel rules tightening? Maybe she was running a fever, or there was an assignment to submit. I clung to such thoughts. They were lifeboats while I drifted into the uncertainty of her silence.
However, days turned to weeks, and the silence grew louder. In desperation, I dialled her hostel landline, timing my calls to the moments I knew she should be free in the hostel with the least possible distractions. I got a curt “She’s not available” from the hostel warden, the person manning the extension, or a long, monotonous ring that invariably went unanswered.
The unanswered calls late in the evening were the ones that most unsettled me. After 8 p.m., the hostel doors were locked, and furlough hours were strictly enforced. She had to be there, so why wasn’t she answering?
A creeping unease began to take root in my chest. I told myself it wasn’t like her to cut off so abruptly, not after all we’d shared. I told myself there had to be an explanation. But the longer the silence stretched, the more it felt deliberate, like a wall she was building between us.
I imagined her receiving my calls and choosing not to answer. I pictured her tearing up the letters I hadn’t yet written. Or worse, I wondered if someone—or something—was forcing her silence.
The absence of answers was maddening, but there was no way for me to know the truth. Until Smitakshi decided to break the silence, I had nothing but questions—and a growing sense that something was wrong.
Finally, I decided to act. I contacted another girl, one of our common friends, who sympathised with us. I trusted her to carry a message to her. It was a gamble, but one I was willing to take.
Next day, my office phone rang. The operator transferred the call to my desk, and when I picked up, I heard nothing but silence on the other end.
“Hello? Simi?” I asked, my voice trembling.
A soft sob broke through the static. Then her voice, low and unsteady: “I have missed my periods.”
The words hung heavy between us. My mind raced. “Are you sure? Maybe… maybe they’ll come. Stress can—”
“I’m very regular,” she interrupted. “And I have a nagging feeling… I’m pregnant.”
My heart stopped for a beat. “That’s impossible,” I said, grasping at straws. “Remember? It was just after your… there’s no chance.”
“You were always terrible at probability,” she said bitterly, her voice cracking. “There’s always a chance. And I’m scared.”
I inhaled sharply, trying to steady myself. “Alright. First, get a pregnancy kit and check. Let’s confirm before jumping to conclusions.”
“And if I am?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Then we’ll find a way,” I promised, though I had no idea what that way might be.
The line went silent again, and when she finally spoke, it wasn’t about the test. “I’ve been talking to someone… they said I should act fast.”
“You mean… you want an abortion?” I asked, horrified.
“Do we have an option?” she shot back. “I’m too young to marry, and my parents will never agree.”
“What about us?” I countered. “We can live together, make it work.”
“In Mumbai?” She almost laughed through her tears. “You’re crazy. That’s not a life.”
I didn’t know what to say. She was right in some ways, but the idea of ending what might be a part of us felt unbearable. Still, I knew it wasn’t just my decision- it has to be her decision more than mine..
“Alright,” I said eventually. “I’ll send the pills. But Simi… don’t doubt for a second that I love you.”
I kept the phone down and did not know how to react or what to do. Being in Mumbai helped. I very hesitantly went and talked to one of the girls in the office and shared my problem.
“Don’t worry yaar. Duniya khatam nahi hui. There is a solution. What/ Nothing, let me get you the pill tomorrow, and you can send it to her”.
“Thanks”. I was more than relieved.
“No thanks, you need to take me out for drinks”.
“Done.”
She helped me get the pills and reassured me that the world wasn’t ending. I sent them through the post, wrapped innocuously, praying they would reach her in time.
But before they did, she called again. Her voice was calmer this time.
“I have good news and bad news,” she said.
“What happened?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“The good news… I got my period.”
Relief washed over me, but it was short-lived. “And the bad?”
“My father is planning my marriage after graduation. No job. No independence. Just… marriage.”
“What did he say?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“A lot. And now… what will we do?”
For the first time in our tumultuous journey, I had no answer. Silence greeted her question.
BLOG/104/2024 To connect, send an email, join on Twitter S_kotnala or subscribe to the weekly update.
The story with an undisclosed destination started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop, where I started weaving a story based on the weekly word prompts suggested by BlogChatter. However, after the 5th weekly prompt- Blogchatter took a break, but I continued to develop the story based on the prompts friends and readers suggested on social media. Do suggest some word prompts for the next chapter. And if you want ( which I wish you do) read the whole story- here are the rest of the chapters. https://sanjeevkotnala.com/category/story-undisclosed-destination/ and to start the first chapter – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar
