Chapter 7: The Monsoon’s Beginning

After I got home, I started packing. Even though I wanted this house, I didn’t plan to stay long. Looking back on the years of mutual torment between me and Arjun, I felt only alienation.

I boxed up old photos, sorted through piles of letters, and let go of every memory that no longer belonged to me.

As I sorted through old saris, the soft rustle of silk between my fingers, I found a crumpled bus ticket from a trip to Lonavala with Arjun, tucked in a pallu. For a second, I almost smiled—remembering the rain, the cheap tea, the laughter echoing through the mist. The memory was sharp but gentle, and I let it go with a sigh.

I quickly listed the house for sale and started buying plane tickets. After all, Arjun gave me so much money—I should spend it well.

I booked tickets to Kerala, Goa, even Sikkim – places I’d always dreamed of seeing, but never could. Maybe, finally, I’d find some peace among the hills or by the sea.

I decided to travel for a while and come back when it was time to finalise the divorce.

The world felt wide open, and for the first time, I wasn’t afraid.

The day before I left, I received a new message:

[Hello Ms Meera, I’m the blogger Time Capsule. Your street interview video will be posted at 7 p.m. on Sunday. Just confirming one last time—are you really okay with it?]

The message was polite, formal – but underneath, I sensed genuine concern.

I wasn’t surprised to see this message.

You might not believe it, but the day after I saw Arjun and Priya’s video, I was wandering the streets aimlessly and happened to be interviewed by the same blogger, asked the same question.

I remember the heat of the afternoon, the sweat trickling down my back, the sound of a distant temple bell as the camera rolled. For a moment, I thought about saying something hopeful, but the truth slipped out instead.

At the time, I found it ridiculous. But fate really is unpredictable.

Mumbai is like that – it throws people together, tears them apart, and sometimes, just sometimes, gives them a chance to speak their truth.

I didn’t refuse the interview, and when I answered, I couldn’t help but wonder: if Arjun saw my video, what would he feel?

Maybe regret, maybe anger, maybe nothing at all. It didn’t matter anymore.

[No problem, go ahead.]

I replied.

There was nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear.

At the same time, I finished packing my last item and left—free at last.

I stepped out onto the street, the air heavy with the promise of rain. For the first time in years, my heart felt light. Somewhere, a koel called as the first fat drops of rain hit the hot pavement. Meera closed her umbrella, letting herself get drenched—this time, not hiding from the storm.