“Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is walk away from the life that’s breaking you.”

🎧 Song – “Iktara”

ANAYA’S POV:

Mumbai never sleeps. It only pretends to, blinking lazily at neon lights, humming with distant horns, breathing salt air in through every slightly opened window.

I stand barefoot on our balcony, gripping the iron balustrade so hard that I am half-convinced that if I let go, I will simply float or perhaps evaporate.

Below me, the city stretches out in the dark, awake and unashamed, free in a way that I am not.

Inside, I feel as though everything is walled up, folded in on itself.

My phone notification sounds in my hand.

Papa: Kal shaam Raghav aur uske parents aa rahe hain. Final baat ho jayegi. Be ready.

Tomorrow evening, the boy I have met twice, comes with his parents to cement the deal. Final talks. Final decisions. Chains, wrapped up nicely and called tradition.

Nobody asked me what I wanted. Not really.

From the living room, I hear my mother’s sharp retort. “Dance classes again? Shaadi ke baad kya zarurat hai inn sab cheezon ki?”Enough of these silly dreams Anaya,” Papa replies, shortly. “A respectable family doesn’t require a dancer bahu to perform for everyone.”

I close my eyes, letting the familiar sting of disappointment settle deep in my chest and bones. It has been years since I tried arguing the other way, because every attempt had either led to a screaming match or a week of silent shrugging of shoulders. They loved me. I knew that. Their love, however, had come with conditions and had demanded obedience and sacrifice. My dreams were not my own, they were mine to keep but something to be tucked discreetly away from public view. I was never a dramatic child. I never hurled plates or screamed or threatened to run away, but I did endure. I did all this with a quiet dignity that seemed not to be my own.

Tonight, as I gaze sightlessly at the half-packed suitcase behind the curtain, I wonder if it will be enough.

I have a few things in it, a few of the more important ones. The documents, in a neat little file with my certified courses in movement therapy tucked lovingly inside. A few clothes. My savings, in case things turned sour. It was not much but it would have to do.

My phone notification sounds again.

Mom: Don’t embarrass us tomorrow. Wear the blue saree.

I choke down a laugh at the sheer absurdity of it. Embarrass them? As if my existence had not been nothing but a potential source of embarrassment from day one!

I return to the room, shutting the balcony door behind me softly, and for a moment, I am confronted by an unfamiliar face in the mirror. Wide, scared eyes. A mouth that seems forever poised to say sorry even when I am doing nothing wrong.

“Bas,” I mutter, staring furiously at my reflection. “Bas ho gaya.”

Enough.

My heart pounds unbearably in my throat as I reach out and pull the suitcase from its hiding place behind the curtain. My hands shake but I do not stop them. My fingers hover momentarily above the doorknob. I see the road ahead but it is too dark for me to see clearly.

What if I fail? What if tomorrow, I embarrass them beyond repair, beyond salvation?

And beneath all that fear, deeper down, something else, quieter, weaker but just as insistent.

What if I finally live?

One tear tracks down my cheek and I wipe it away furiously, angry at myself for crying at all and most especially, at this precise moment.

“No more running inside my house,” I whisper, and open the door.

The corridor lights blink on as I step out. I wonder if they can hear it in the next room, their carefully composed lies dissolving in the face of the reality of the situation. My heart pounds louder in my ears with every step down the stairs. My feet seem to touch every stair but somehow, I am already at the front door. My hands shake as I open it and for a moment, I feel as though my heart might stop. The night air smells of rain and exhaust fumes and, strangely, the sea. For the first time in my life, I feel something akin to two emotions at once, equally.

The driver outside seems mildly surprised to see me.

“Madam?”

I stare at his face for a moment, weighing something inside my heart. My eyes fall on the suit bag in his hand and then return to his face. I am smiling, or at least something very close to it.

“Bandra East,” I say at last, my voice coming out in a strange mix of tones. “Near Mahim Creek.”

As the taxi pulls away, the city blurs by outside the window. I do not know what will happen tomorrow or even the day after but I do know one thing with absolute certainty.

I chose to live.

RUDRA’S POV:

Some distance away, across the city, as the taxi Anaya has taken drives away from the house……

…I lean my back against the terrace wall of our old house, hands shoved carelessly in my pockets as I look out over the dark waters of Mahim Creek.

My dinner is growing cold, but that is not why I am standing here. I have just returned from a late-night work inspection. Another deal finalised, another number added to my tally. It should have been a victory. Tonight, however, I can scarce think of anything else except the long-awaited meeting with Anaya’s parents which is set to take place the very next day.

Below me, the road stretches on and there is something almost peaceful in the way the distant traffic flows by in a lazy rhythm. One of the taxis slows near her gate as it passes. As it does so, the driver turns his head slightly to look at the girl walking by the window, her arms wrapped tightly around a small suitcase. She is lovely and pale, her face pinched between two other, stronger emotions. Fear and… something else. Determination, perhaps. Even from this distance, I feel my chest inexplicably tighten. There is no name for this emotion, no easy explanation. I frown at the feeling, turning my head away.

I know that I had no reason to look. Any one of the nights I spend alone in this city could have held this same scene, and yet, somehow, I find myself transfixed. As I blink, I see the taxi drive on, disappearing in the dark.

“Focus,” I murmur, shaking my head. It was not like me at all to let my mind wander. Turning away from the window, I walk slowly back into the house. I have no idea, not even yet, that this night has not finished with me, that what I have just seen has any connection with events to come.