The days following the confrontation at the coffee shop were a blur of emotions—most of them too complicated to name. Anup woke up each morning to the quiet hum of the world outside his window, the rain that had followed Samraggi's departure still clinging to the air. But within him, the storm raged on.
Samraggi's words echoed in his mind, her voice both a reminder of the person he used to be and a challenge to the man he had become. She had seen something in him that he could barely recognize, but still, the walls he had spent years building around his heart remained unshaken. He couldn't let anyone in. Not yet.
Nisha, on the other hand, remained the light of his life, her smile a balm to his weary soul. She seemed to sense when he was falling apart, often curling up beside him and holding his hand in silence, as if somehow knowing that words couldn't bridge the gap he had created between himself and the world. It was for her that he stayed strong. For her that he kept running, kept hiding.
But now, the silence of their life together seemed to press against him with more weight than ever before.
One evening, as he prepared to close the shop, the sound of the bell above the door jingled. He turned to find Samraggi standing there, a small smile on her lips.
"Late night?" she asked, stepping inside and looking around.
Anup didn't answer at first. He was still wrestling with his own thoughts, the words he couldn't seem to speak hanging between them like a thick fog.
"Do you need something?" he asked, his voice flat, distant.
"I need to talk," she replied, her voice steady and calm. "I'm not leaving until you do."
Her words hit him like a wave crashing against the rocks. His heart skipped a beat. He wasn't ready for this. Not yet. But something inside him knew—he couldn't keep running from her, or from himself.
Anup walked to the counter, picking up a cup that he had just washed. He ran his fingers over the rim, not looking at her.
"I told you before, Samraggi," he said, his voice strained. "I can't do this. I can't let you in."
"I know you're scared," she said softly, stepping closer. "But running from it won't make it go away. It's already here, Anup. And you can't heal until you face it."
Her words cut deeper than he anticipated. They were the exact truth he had been avoiding, the one he feared most. She wasn't asking for him to be perfect. She was asking him to be real.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "I don't know how to tell you. I don't know how to explain… everything that's happened."
Samraggi reached out, placing a hand on the counter between them. "You don't have to explain it all. Just the part that matters. The part that hurts you the most."
Anup's throat tightened. He looked at her—truly looked at her—seeing not a doctor, not a savior, but a woman who had seen through the cracks in his walls and was standing there, waiting for him to break.
"I lost everything, Samraggi," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I lost the woman I loved. I lost my name, my identity. I lost the respect of people I once called friends. The world turned on me, and I… I couldn't fix it."
A tear slipped down his cheek, a crack in the armor he had so carefully built. Samraggi didn't speak. She didn't need to. She simply stood there, offering him the space to let the words fall.
"I was blamed for something I didn't do. The lies… they spread like fire. And in the end, I became the villain in a story I didn't write. People turned their backs on me, and I had nothing left to hold on to. Nothing but the memory of Nisha's laughter and the hope that I could protect our daughter from the same world that had taken everything from us."
His voice faltered as he finished, and for a moment, he stood there, lost in the depth of his own pain. Samraggi's eyes softened, her voice a mere whisper when she finally spoke.
"You don't have to carry this alone, Anup. You never did. I know it's hard to trust again, but you don't have to be perfect. You just have to be here. For Nisha. For yourself."
Anup's heart ached with the weight of her words, her sincerity. He had always believed that vulnerability was a weakness, that if he let people in, they would eventually disappoint him, leave him like everyone else had. But Samraggi wasn't like the others. She wasn't asking for something from him. She was offering something: a chance to heal.
"I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for what happened to Nisha," he said, his voice low, the guilt eating at him. "I don't know if I'll ever be good enough to make things right."
Samraggi reached out, gently placing her hand over his. The simple touch, so warm, so tender, sent a shiver through him.
"You don't need to be perfect, Anup. You just need to be here. And that's enough."
The words were a balm to his soul. Slowly, he turned his hand over to hold hers, the weight of his past beginning to feel just a little lighter.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I've been so lost in my own pain, I never saw the person standing right in front of me."
Samraggi's smile was small but full of understanding. "You're not lost, Anup. You're just starting to find your way."
For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to believe it. Maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe he wasn't as broken as he thought.
As he stood there with Samraggi, a small spark of hope flickered inside him. The storm was still there, raging within, but perhaps—just perhaps—he was ready to face it. To confront the past and the truths he had hidden for so long.
And maybe, just maybe, he could find his way back to the man he used to be. The man who could love. The man who could trust.
The man who could heal.