Chapter 5: Packing Up and Moving On

Kabir made me a list.

Things to do in the coming month.

Getting a visa, finding a lawyer—those went without saying. He even listed a long row of must-try restaurants.

[Indian food abroad isn’t good.]

[Really.]

I pictured him rolling his eyes playfully. I gladly accepted.

I ate at each restaurant on his list, one by one. There was a strange comfort in ticking them off, as if each new taste stitched me back together. Living alone didn’t seem so hard.

Every day I ate, shopped, then packed my luggage. I grew used to my own company—the sound of my own footsteps in the flat, the creak of the old cupboard, the hum of my phone charging at night.

The day I moved out of the divorce flat, Rohan suddenly messaged me.

[You haven’t called me at all. Don’t you miss me?]

His words felt both absurd and familiar. He took Ananya on a trip.

Said he wanted the little girl to see the world.

[Not obedient.]

He sent again.

Then a photo.

A selfie of him and Ananya, sunglasses reflecting palm trees, his arm slung around her shoulders.

[This place is nice. Should I bring you here for our third anniversary too?]

My thumb hovered over the block button, but I held back. I really wanted to block him like I did Ananya.

But since I still needed to go to the Family Court for the divorce certificate, I let it go.

In the next half month, I dealt with my jewellery and bags. Sorting through old gold bangles, checking receipts for handbags I never liked. Went to the hospital for a check-up. Made sure I wasn’t pregnant. The nurse smiled at me with pity in her eyes. Finally, sorted out all the assets Rohan had entrusted to me over the years.

The night before going to the Family Court, Rohan came back. He called me.

“Priya, you moved out?”

His voice was lazy, but there was a hint of surprise—like he didn’t think I would actually do it.