Anup had always believed that silence was the safest option. It protected him, kept him hidden in the shadows of a world that no longer cared for who he once was. He had learned to live with the weight of his secrets, carrying them like a heavy cloak that shielded him from the world. But now, as he sat across from Samraggi, he felt the cloak beginning to slip.
The truth, long buried, was starting to stir.
It was early the next morning, and the coffee shop was still asleep, the lights dim and the scent of ground beans faint in the air. Nisha was at the back, playing with her toys, her laughter light and pure. It was the kind of sound that made Anup's heart ache. He couldn't protect her forever. Eventually, she would learn about the world's cruelty, about the lies that had stolen so much from him.
And Samraggi… She had become an anchor in his sea of uncertainty. But there were questions in her eyes that he could no longer ignore. The longer he kept the truth from her, the more he risked losing her.
She had been kind, patient, understanding. But Anup knew that kindness had its limits.
He ran his hand through his hair, the decision weighing heavily on him.
"You've been looking at me like that for days now," Samraggi's voice broke through his thoughts. She stood at the counter, wiping down the counter with a rag, her gaze steady. "I don't know what you're holding back, Anup, but it's eating at you."
He looked up, meeting her gaze. The intensity of her eyes sent a shiver down his spine. She wasn't just asking anymore. She was demanding. She needed to know. She needed to understand.
"I can't…" he began, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't tell you everything. It's not something I can share."
Samraggi's expression softened, but there was an edge to it now. "I'm not asking you to share everything. I'm asking you to trust me."
Anup's heart hammered in his chest. Trust. The word felt foreign to him, like something he had once believed in but had since lost. It wasn't that he didn't want to trust her. It was that the weight of his past, the pain that clung to every corner of his soul, was too much to put into words.
"You don't understand, Samraggi," he said, standing up and moving towards the window. "You have no idea what I've done. The mistakes I've made. The lives I've ruined. The people I've hurt…"
Her voice was calm, but there was a firmness in it that made him turn around. "Then help me understand. Help me see the man you've become."
He wanted to shout, to run. But he stayed there, rooted in place. His throat tightened. The memories—dark and suffocating—flooded his mind. The lies that had shattered everything. The accusations. The loss of Nisha's mother. His life, now nothing more than a string of fractured moments.
"You know my name," he began, his voice shaking. "You know I'm not who I was. Aarav… I was a man who had everything—everything worth living for—and I lost it all. My wife. My reputation. My dignity."
Samraggi took a step closer, her presence steady and unyielding. "I'm not judging you, Anup. I'm not asking for your past. I'm asking for you."
His eyes burned, tears threatening to spill. But he blinked them away, refusing to break. "I don't know who I am anymore. All I know is that I've been running. Running from a life I destroyed. Running from people who don't understand the pain I carry."
She reached out then, placing her hand on his arm. Her touch was gentle but unwavering. "You can stop running now. You don't have to carry this alone."
For a moment, the world seemed to fall away. He stared at her, feeling the weight of her words settle deep inside him. But then, the familiar voice of doubt crept in.
Can I trust her? Can I trust anyone?
He pulled away from her touch, stepping back, his breath coming faster. "I can't. I can't do it, Samraggi. Not yet. You wouldn't understand."
Her eyes darkened, and for a split second, he saw something in them that sent a chill through him. Was it disappointment? Hurt? Or something darker, something that told him she had seen enough of this pain to know when to walk away?
But then, she blinked and the coldness vanished, replaced by the same quiet resolve.
"I'm not asking for your whole story, Anup. I'm asking for you to trust me with part of it. The part that's eating you alive."
The words hung in the air like a challenge, and Anup felt himself buckle under their weight. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came. Instead, he found himself turning away from her, walking to the counter, running his hands along the worn wood.
"I'm not ready," he muttered, almost to himself.
"You will be," she said softly. "And when you are, I'll be here."
She left quietly, the bell above the door jingling softly as she stepped into the rain. But her words lingered, like a promise, like a bond that couldn't be broken.
That night, as Anup sat alone in the dim light of his small flat, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was changing. The secrets that had kept him alive for so long were starting to unravel. And soon, he would have to face the truth.
The truth about the man he had been. And the man he wanted to become.
But at what cost?