Chapter 2: College Reunion, Old Wounds

Six years after our breakup, I crossed paths with Arjun again at the lowest point of my life.

It was one of those sticky September evenings where your kurti clings to your back, and the air feels thick with old secrets. The college reunion was being held in the old canteen, the air heavy with the smell of stale samosas and Nescafé, plastic chairs scraping across mosaic floors. No one expected Arjun to show up.

The whole place was buzzing—some people still in office formals, others in faded jeans, a couple of aunties pretending to have come for the nostalgia. Someone cracked a joke, "Boss Arjun never keeps in touch. Why this sudden appearance, haan?"

"Kya re, did you hear Ananya was coming? Missed her so much you had to come searching?" another chimed in, elbowing his friend, their eyes sparkling with mischief. I shrank into my plastic chair, my back suddenly stiff. My mouth went dry; the samosa I was holding tasted like cardboard. I looked up to see Arjun, cigarette dangling from his lips, giving me that blank look—like I was just another face in the crowd.

Everyone knew how much Arjun once loved me.

Back then, our love was public property—everyone from chai-wallahs to canteen uncles knew Arjun was mad for me. He was the son of a wealthy Mumbai business family, but he fell for me at first sight.

That year, he cut ties with his family for me, left behind power and money, and struggled alongside me.

We lived in a tiny rented flat in Kaveripur, shared poha for breakfast, drank from the same steel tumbler. Life was tough, but we were happy.

Mornings meant the shrill whistle of the pressure cooker; nights, the ceaseless creak of the ceiling fan. Every passionate night, our fingers entwined, we promised forever.

Then I got pregnant.

His mother arrived herself, draped in a Benarasi saree, eyes sharp as red chillies, her voice a whisper with the threat of a storm. She placed a suitcase on our tea table—"Take it, beta. Do what’s right."

That day, Arjun sat on the hospital corridor floor, pounding the closed door, his voice raw: "Anu, Anu... I’ll work, I’ll earn, I’ll give you all the lakhs you want, bas don’t do this. Don’t leave me, don’t abandon our child..."

I lay on the operating table, biting my lip until I tasted blood, determined not to cry out. Amma’s old advice echoed in my head: "Beta, never let your heart rule your life." My guilt burned hotter than the surgical lights, and the metallic taste of fear filled my mouth. The sound of Arjun’s sobs seeped through the thick hospital walls, mingling with the pungent smell of Dettol and despair. On the other side of that door, I listened as he promised to hate me forever.