(Rudraksh's Point of View)

I don't know how to explain what I was experiencing now.

The entire world seemed to slow down, like some unseen hand had pressed a giant pause button on life itself.

The hustle and bustle of Kashi's sacred ghats, the clatter of temple bells, the chants of sadhus, the splash of oars hitting Ganga's holy waters-it all faded into a distant, humming blur.

Because there she was.

She was wearing a navy blue chikankari kurta, her dupatta slipping a little off her shoulder, the light breeze tugging at the delicate fabric like it too was desperate to touch her.

Her hair was open, messy in a way only she could make beautiful.

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted as she tried to catch her breath.

Looking breathless, as usual.

Beautiful.

And for a minute, just one breathless, aching minute, I couldn't breathe at all.

My Katha.

How could the sight of someone you haven't touched, haven't spoken to, haven't even looked at in a year, still punch the air out of your lungs?

It's been a year.

A year since I last saw her.

After her marriage, I tried, God knows I tried, numerous times to contact her.

Late nights with trembling fingers hovering over my phone screen, trying hard for the courage to press 'call.' Days spent writing and deleting long messages I knew I would never send.

I tried to meet her in person many times.

We met and her response was always the same "Too late rudraksh"

But I met her anyhow.

Not for claiming her back but just for her forgiveness.

It's been a year since I last saw her.

Back then, her daughter was one year old. A little bundle of innocence she cradled like the most precious thing in the world.

She must be two now. A toddler. Walking, talking.

It's been a year since she told me not to talk to her.

Not to meet her again.

Because she was married now.

I remember the exact words she said to me that day, the words that sliced my heart into a million sharp, bloody pieces.

"I love my husband, Rudraksh. Please stop doing this."

I didn't say anything.

I had so much to say.

But what could you say to someone who no longer belongs to you?

So I stayed silent. And inside, I broke completely.

I stopped seeing her. Not because I stopped loving her.

But because I didn't want to ruin her marriage. Or tarnish her image.

Because in this society, a small mistake from a woman leaves a very big stain on her character. And I didn't want that to happen to Katha.

That's why I stopped talking to her, so the society didn't accuse her of a mistake she never committed.

So yeah. It's been a year.

A year since I begged for her forgiveness.

A year since she forgave me.

I asked her, my voice shaking, if we could at least be on good terms.

At least be friends.

At least something.

She told me ok but I could sense the silence in her voice.

"But"

"But what?"

"Never try to meet or see me again. Never contact me by any means."

Because she was devoted to Vedant. Because she was loyal to the life she chose, even if it broke her.

Broke her from inside out.

And Katha's image, her dignity, her loyalty, was more precious to me than my own life.

She was my everything.

She is my everything.

I stopped seeing her. But the one thing that never stopped, was loving her.

I loved her silently.

Admiring her from afar.

Carrying her in my prayers.

Every Tuesday, I lit a diya at the Hanuman Mandir after her name wellness...

And today, standing here, I saw her again.

And something inside me twisted violently.

Because she wasn't wearing any sindoor.

Her hair parting was empty.

Bare.

There was no mangalsutra glinting against her throat.

Why?

Did her scumbag husband die?

Cool

For one savage, ugly second, I felt satisfaction burning in my gut.

But then, immediately...I hated myself for thinking that.

No girl deserved to lose a father for her child.

No child deserved the fate of losing their father, no matter how worthless he might have been.

Still... why was she bare?

I swallowed the questions clawing at my throat, gathering every ounce of broken courage I had left, and moved toward her.

The steps felt so heavy.

My hands were clammy. My heart was a drum inside my chest.

She told me to stay away from her.

But I couldn't stop.

I had lived in silence for a year. I could survive a few more minutes of heartache.

"You're here... in Kashi?" I asked, my voice barely carrying over the noise of the ghat.

She looked up then, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting, stolen second before she dropped her gaze again.

"Yes..... It's....It's been three months," she whispered, her voice fragile so thin.

I nodded, swallowing down the lump that had risen in my throat.

She's been staying in kashi for 3 months and hadn't noticed it?

Shit! Why?

"How are you doing,?" I asked, keeping my voice as gentle as I could, even though my heart was hammering against my ribs.

"I'm... I'm fine," she said, her words slow, hesitant, as if she was trying to convince herself.

She took a long pause before speaking again, her hands fiddling with the edge of her dupatta.

"Oh... so how many months will you be staying here?" I asked, desperate to keep the conversation going, desperate to hold onto her presence for a few minutes longer.

She looked at me, her lips parting slightly, as if she wanted to say something but the words got stuck somewhere deep inside her chest.

"Katha?" I prompted gently.

"I don't know," she finally whispered.

I frowned, concern tightening my chest. "What do you mean?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but hesitated.

And then, in a voice so soft I almost didn't hear it, she said the words that would change everything..

Change my whole world...

"I... I divorced him."

The world shifted under my feet.

I blinked, feeling like someone had knocked all the air out of my lungs.

She divorced him.

Divorce??

Finally.

Finally she broke free from that bastard.

But all I felt was this overwhelming, bone-deep happiness.

It was hard to believe..

But

She was free?

"Divorce? Why?" I asked, voice soft, barely able to control the shaking of my hands.

She opened her mouth to answer, but just then, a tiny, high-pitched voice squealed.

"Mmma!"

Her daughter

Katha immediately bent down, fussing over her daughter, gently cleaning her face with the edge of her dupatta.

She picked her daughter and embrace in her chest.

I watched them, heart aching.

Mother and daughter. Two halves of one broken whole.

She was her mother's mirror, same wide, soulful eyes, same stubborn chin.

So innocent and adorable.

Just like katha.

Katha's voice pulled me back to reality.

"I divorced him because of her," she whispered.

I blinked, processing.

"Her?"

She nodded, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Katha, what happened?"

Her voice cracked as she spoke, each word a dagger to my chest.

"H..he. he"

"He what?"

My mind started to make worst scenarios.

What the hell did he do with her?

"He..he never liked her. Never loved her. Vedant wanted a son. And when she was born... he treated her like like a b...burden. Not just him. His whole family."

She looked avoiding my gaze.

Wiping a lone tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, a motion so practiced it made my heart shatter.

"I waited," she whispered. "Two years. I thought... maybe someday his heart would melt. Maybe he would see her. Really see her."

But he never did.

God.

I clenched my fists so tightly, my nails bit into my palms.

I always knew Vedant was trash. But this?

This was unforgivable.

Now he should probably die.

One more reason to murder that bastard.

But that means she's finally free from him?

Finally just katha?

My katha?

Mine again.?

I couldn't help but feel my heart fluttered a bit..

"You did the right thing, Katha," I said fiercely. "There's no need to feel sorry. Not even a little. You stood up for her. You did what you had to do. As a mother you should be so proud"

She looked up at me, eyes wide, vulnerable.

She was 5'3, barely reaching my chest, while I towered at 6'1.

And yet, she carried the strength of a thousand men.

I pulled out my handkerchief and handed it to her.

She took it with trembling fingers.

"Hmm," she whispered, voice breaking.

I smiled, heart clenching.

"You're free now, Katha," I whispered.

"Free?"

Yes from that bastard.

She blinked up at me.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said quickly, swallowing down everything else I wanted to say.

Her daughter yawned, her tiny hands clutching at her mother's dupatta.

I couldn't help but smile.

How precious is to be a mother.

The lamps along the ghat had begun to flicker on, casting long, golden shadows over the stone steps.

It was getting dark.

"Katha? Tumne gudiya ka naam to bataya hee nahi," I said, breaking the silence.

She smiled, soft and broken.

"Vedika," she whispered.

"Vedika," I repeated, letting the name settle into my soul.

Beautiful name.

It was getting dark but I do want to leave her yet.

Not when she's finally free.

Not when I want to win all again.

I want to be with her even for a minute or so.

So I suggested her a walk with me I hope she doesn't refuse.

"It's getting dark," I said, glancing at the sky now dipped in inky blues and purples. "Should I walk you both home?"

"Nahi, iski koi zarurat nahi, Rudr_," she said, shaking her head gently.

"Katha, I know," I said softly, "but still. It's just a walk. Nothing else."

Old katha might have said no.

But she doesn't have vedant rathor after her name.

She's free now.

She hesitated, her eyes scanning my face, searching for something.

And then, she nodded.

I walked beside her, our steps slow, matching the rhythm of an evening that neither of us wanted to end...

Street vendors packed up their stalls. A cow meandered lazily past.

We walked quietly, the soft tap of our footsteps against the ancient stones the only sound between us.

When we reached her home, just before she could disappear inside, I found my voice.

"Katha," I called.

I just couldn't let it finish here.

I want to meet her again.

I need some excuse or anything so we can meet again.

She turned, pausing at the doorstep.

"Hm?"

"Next month... it's my birthday," I said, scratching the back of my neck nervously.

She looked thoughtful, calculating in her head.

"You're turning 27?"

The fact that she remembered, such a small, insignificant thing, warmed me from the inside out.

I nodded.

"Would you come?" I asked. "Just a small get-together. Old college friends-Chetna, Shubman-zayn"

She bit her lip, hesitating.

"I don't know, I..."

"What? It's just you're meeting your friends."

"I don't know rudraksh, it's only been three months since I got divorced and all"

"I know that's why I'm suggesting this.

You'll feel happy to meet everyone. I saw how silently you were sitting there"

"But I need some time"

"Start living for yourself, Katha," I said gently. "I'm not asking you to rush into anything. My birthday is next month. You have time. Time to heal, to breathe, to find yourself again."

She exhaled slowly.

"I'll think about it," she whispered.

I smiled, relief blooming in my chest.

At least she didn't say no.

We can meet again.

I can talk with her again.

See her again.

"But I have Vedika," she said, her eyes flickering down to the sleeping child in her arms.

"Bring her," I said immediately. "I'd be more than happy to see you both there"

She gave a small nod, clutching Vedika

closer.

And just like that, she disappeared inside her house, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I stood there for a long moment, heart hammering against my ribs.

Then I turned away, walking back toward my own home.

And for the first time in years, I smiled, truly, freely, under the soft, sacred skies of Kashi.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something new.

Something us.

***

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