Chapter 3: A Lifetime of Waiting

In the first year,

I remembered Rohan telling me he had once been bullied by a local goon.

I thought, perhaps the purpose of my rebirth was to save the young Rohan.

When I saw Rohan being beaten, I immediately brought people to help.

Sixteen-year-old Rohan’s eyes flashed with surprise.

He thanked me, polite and respectful: "Bahut dhanyavaad, Ananya ji."

I noticed the distance in his tone.

My heart ached, but I understood—in this life, we had only just met.

In that moment, my hands itched to reach out and comfort him, but I remembered the rules of our society. A girl rushing to help a boy? The elders would wag their tongues. So I stood silent, just giving him a gentle smile, hoping he’d feel my care even in the space between us.

I secretly paid for his coaching classes and supported him from the shadows.

I left money in a Tupperware dabba on his windowsill, and only after seeing him accept it did I feel at ease.

Each time the dabba vanished, my heart fluttered in relief. No one else in the colony knew, not even my best friend, but every rupee I set aside from my own savings was a prayer for his future. The smell of fresh plastic, the cold dew on the windowsill—these became my secret rituals.

In the second year,

Rohan achieved the highest honours in the UPSC exams.

But he did not come to propose.

He had just joined the state secretariat—perhaps he was facing some difficulty.

I begged my father to help him more.

My father reluctantly agreed and helped him get a good posting.

But Rohan seemed determined to avoid suspicion and kept his distance from my father.

I tried several times to arrange a chance meeting, but he was always in a hurry, never giving me the opportunity to speak.

Each time our eyes met across the corridor, he’d nod stiffly and disappear into another meeting or phone call. The family would make excuses: “He’s a busy man now, Ananya beta.” But I could see the wall he was building, brick by silent brick.

In the third year,

Rohan still did not appear.

I wondered if my rebirth had changed the course of fate.

It was all my fault.

I became cautious and did not dare to go out as I pleased.

That year, I suppressed my longing, daring only to watch Rohan from afar.

I would hide behind the curtains when he visited for official events, listening to his measured voice echoing through our marble-floored halls. My anklets threatened to give me away, so I stood motionless, barely daring to breathe. Sometimes I caught a glimpse of his profile, sharp and resolute, and my heart would ache for what was lost between us.

In the fourth year,

Before I could wait for Rohan, my father told me he had taken a one-year posting in Chennai.

He was now highly favoured by the Chief Minister, achieving merit after merit.

But those achievements, in my previous life, had never been his…

Listening to my father, I suddenly realised—

Rohan was also reborn.

But when did he regain his memories?

I remembered: the year we first met, before I had even given my name, he called me "Miss Ananya."

So,

He had already remembered then.

Gulmohar petals swayed and fell from the branches.

A vague foreboding rose in my heart.

Sure enough,

In the fifth year,

Rohan returned from Chennai.

But still, he did not come to propose.

Instead, rumours spread that the Chief Minister wanted to marry his youngest daughter to him.

Outside,

Rain drummed against the tin roof. The sky and earth blurred into one.

Watching the falling rain, a dull ache settled in my chest, heavy as an unspoken prayer.

My past life’s love with Rohan seemed nothing but a fleeting dream.

I had waited five years.

Waited until I became an old maid.

The suitors who once came in droves had dwindled to a few.

The remaining ones either wanted me as a second wife, or came from families far inferior to the Sharma family.

The Sharma household, once lively, was now cold and quiet.

My reputation was in tatters, and my father endured endless gossip.

At this point, I finally understood—

Given another chance, Rohan wanted a different life.

And in this life, there was no place for me.

Let him have his wish.

Staring at the flower branches beaten down by rain, I called my maid and softly said, "Tell Papa, I am willing to marry."

After saying this, amidst my maid’s startled cry, my vision went black and I fainted.

As the rain drowned out the world, I let go—of hope, of Rohan, of everything that was once ours.