14-03-2026, 10:57 PM
CHAPTER 32
The iron gates of the old bungalow in Janakpuri creaked open with a familiar metallic groan, the same sound that had greeted Sonarika countless times during her childhood. The afternoon sun rested gently on the cream-colored walls of the house, warming the bougainvillea vines that climbed along the boundary. As the car rolled in, Sonarika felt an ache of nostalgia settle quietly in her chest. This place had always been her refuge — a world where problems once seemed simple and life had still felt whole.
Karan jumped out of the car before anyone could stop him. The seven-year-old ran across the driveway with an excitement that only children carried so effortlessly.
"Nanaji!" he shouted.
Jagjeet Sharma stepped out from the veranda, his broad frame still imposing despite the grey in his beard. The moment he saw the boy sprinting toward him, his stern businessman’s face melted into a grin. He bent down and scooped Karan into a tight embrace.
"Arre hero! Look at you" Jagjeet laughed, lifting him easily.
Behind him, Meenakshi Sharma hurried forward, wiping her hands on the end of her dupatta, her eyes already moist with happiness.
"My Karan has grown taller again" she said softly, cupping his face.
Sonarika stood by the car for a moment, watching the scene. The warmth of it filled her chest and yet pressed painfully against something fragile inside her. Her parents looked so happy — happy in a way that made the secret she carried feel heavier.
Anjali stepped beside her and nudged her shoulder lightly.
"You’re staring like a guest" the teenager whispered with a small smile.
"I know… it just feels the same as always" Sonarika exhaled slowly.
They walked toward the house together. Meenakshi wrapped Sonarika in a long hug, the kind that only mothers could give — lingering, protective, wordless.
"You’ve become thin again" she scolded gently.
"Work" Sonarika replied with a practiced smile.
Anjali was pulled into the circle next, receiving kisses and affectionate teasing until she laughed despite herself. For a few brief minutes the house buzzed with laughter, with questions, with overlapping voices.
And for those few minutes, Sonarika almost believed everything was normal.
Inside the bungalow, the scent of sandalwood polish and cardamom tea drifted through the halls. Every room carried a memory. The framed family photographs along the staircase, the old piano she had abandoned during college, the courtyard where she and Anjali had played endless games as children.
Karan had already disappeared into the garden with Jagjeet, both of them arguing loudly about toy cars and engines.
"He will turn into a mechanic like you" Meenakshi laughed from the doorway.
"Not mechanic" Jagjeet corrected proudly from outside.
"Automobile expert!"
Sonarika leaned against the window frame, watching them. Karan was showing his grandfather a tiny racing car, speaking with the seriousness of a businessman closing a deal. Jagjeet listened with full attention, nodding dramatically.
The sight filled her with warmth — and with grief. Once, she had imagined Hemant standing there beside her. Watching their son with quiet pride. That life had once been steady, balanced. Predictable in the best ways. Hemant had been calm where she was impulsive, thoughtful where she was restless. But somewhere along the road, she had grown curious about a different version of herself. A reckless one.
Vikram Bajaj had entered her life like a storm — exciting, daring, intoxicating. With him everything had felt unpredictable and thrilling, like living in a story where consequences didn’t exist. For a while she had convinced herself it was freedom. Now it only felt like ruin. Hemant was gone, not by fate but by her own actions. Vikram too had drifted out of her life, leaving behind nothing but the echo of mistakes. What had once felt thrilling now seemed hollow and childish. She had gambled stability for excitement. And lost both.
That evening the family gathered for dinner around the large wooden table that had stood in the house for decades. Jagjeet spoke enthusiastically about his automobile spare business expanding into new distribution lines. Meenakshi discussed neighbors and old family friends. Karan told dramatic stories about his institute. Anjali laughed easily, slipping back into the comfort of the house she had spent half her childhood visiting. Sonarika participated in the conversations, smiling and responding, careful to keep her voice light. No one at that table knew that her marriage was quietly collapsing.
They believed she and Hemant were simply 'expanding their earnings'
They believed everything would eventually settle. She watched her parent's peaceful faces and knew she could not break that illusion yet. Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Sonarika sat alone on the balcony outside her old bedroom. The Delhi air carried a cool breeze and the distant sound of traffic humming through the city.
Her phone vibrated softly.
It was a message from Neha, her therapist.
'How are you feeling today?'
Sonarika stared at the screen for a long moment before typing.
'Better. Being here helps'
And it did help, in a quiet way.
She had been speaking to Neha regularly through video calls. Those sessions had slowly forced her to confront the truth she had avoided — that healing would require facing her own mistakes without running from them.
Ragini too had been checking on her constantly, sometimes sending ridiculous memes just to make her laugh. Small anchors in a chaotic sea. Her parents were proud of her new job at Vatika Botanical Research in Goa. To them it was a fresh beginning, an exciting opportunity. In truth, it was also an escape. A place far away from the wreckage of her marriage. Across the garden lights, she could see Jagjeet locking the front gate for the night. Karan’s small bicycle lay near the steps. Inside the house, Anjali’s laughter drifted faintly from the guest room where she was watching something on her phone.
Life continued around her.
And yet Sonarika knew something within her had cracked like glass — a fracture that would always remain visible.
But for now, sitting in the quiet balcony of her childhood home, she allowed herself a fragile comfort. The past inside this house reminded her that she had once been someone simpler. Someone kinder. And perhaps, if she kept moving forward — through therapy, through honest reflection, through rebuilding her life piece by piece — she might not become that person again. But she might become someone wiser. Someone who finally understood the cost of her choices. And maybe, someday, she would learn how to forgive herself.
The next morning sunlight filtered gently through the neem tree that leaned over the backyard wall of the Sharma bungalow. The lawn behind the house had always been wide and open, mostly grass and a few old shrubs that Meenakshi maintained out of habit rather than passion. As a child, Sonarika had imagined it as a garden full of color, but life had moved too quickly for her to ever return to that dream.
Now, standing there with a notebook in hand, she studied the patch of earth like a quiet architect planning something meaningful. Working with plants had always been her calm place. With her upcoming position at Vatika Botanical Research in Goa, she had felt a renewed curiosity toward the craft she once loved deeply. The idea came to her the previous night—remodel the back lawn, even if it was just a small section. Not a professional project. Just something alive. Something growing.
A small nursery nearby in Janakpuri still operated where it had for decades. The place smelled of damp soil, fertilizer, and blooming marigolds the moment she walked through its gates. Sonarika wandered between rows of saplings with a basket hooked on her arm.
Tulsi.
Jasmine.
Bougainvillea.
A few medicinal herbs.
Her fingers brushed leaves like someone greeting old friends after a long absence. The nursery caretaker watched her with mild curiosity as she examined the soil quality of different saplings, occasionally making notes on her phone.
By the time she left, the car’s back seat was filled with small plants, seed packets, and gardening tools.
Driving back through the narrow residential lanes of Janakpuri, she slowed near a row of houses that looked vaguely familiar. As she turned the corner, she noticed a woman standing near a gate across the road.
For a moment, their eyes met.
The woman froze.
There was something unmistakably startled in her expression—like someone who had just seen a ghost. Her gaze lingered on Sonarika’s face for barely two seconds before she turned abruptly and walked inside the house without looking back.
Sonarika frowned slightly.
The woman looked incredibly familiar.
Yet the memory refused to surface.
She tried to replay the moment while parking the car inside her parents’ driveway, but the name simply refused to arrive. It was one of those strange mental gaps where recognition existed without identity.
Eventually she shrugged it off and began carrying the saplings into the backyard.
Her phone vibrated just as she placed the final pot near the grass.
It was a message.
From Neha.
'I’ll be in Delhi next week for a conference. Thought we could do a face-to-face session if you’re comfortable'
Sonarika felt a wave of relief wash over her.
The therapy sessions through video calls had helped, but something about the idea of speaking to Neha in person felt grounding. She typed back quickly.
'That would be really good'
She slipped the phone into her pocket and knelt down near the soil bed she had marked with chalk earlier. The earth was slightly dry, but rich. She began loosening it carefully with a small hand shovel.
Minutes passed quietly.
The repetitive rhythm of digging, arranging soil, and placing saplings began to calm her mind. For the first time in months, her thoughts were not tangled in regret or anxiety.
They were simply present.
"Look at you"
Meenakshi’s voice came from the veranda behind her.
Sonarika turned and saw her mother watching with a soft smile.
"So this is what my daughter does now" Meenakshi continued, stepping down into the grass.
Sonarika replied, brushing soil off her hands.
"Practice, if I’m joining Vatika, I can’t go there like a complete amateur"
Meenakshi chuckled.
"You used to spend hours with plants when you were young. Remember the terrace garden you tried to build in class nine?"
Sonarika laughed softly.
"I killed half of them"
"Yes But the other half survived because you refused to give up" Meenakshi said, amused.
Sonarika planted another sapling into the soil and pressed the earth around it gently.
"It feels good" she admitted.
"Being back with plants"
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The wind rustled the leaves of the neem tree overhead.
Then Sonarika remembered something.
"Ma… I saw someone while coming back from the nursery"
Meenakshi raised an eyebrow.
"Someone?"
"A woman. She looked really familiar… like I should know her. She went into one of the houses near the corner"
Meenakshi’s lips curved into a knowing smile.
"Oh"
Sonarika noticed the expression immediately.
"What?"
"That’s what happens when you stay away for so many years,” Meenakshi teased lightly. “You forget people’s faces"
Sonarika blinked in confusion.
"You mean I know her?"
Meenakshi folded her arms, clearly enjoying the moment.
"You didn’t recognize Reshma?"
The name landed like a small explosion in Sonarika’s chest.
For a moment she simply stared.
"Reshma?" she repeated quietly.
Meenakshi nodded.
"She moved back here about three years ago. Lives in that house now"
Sonarika slowly sat back on her heels, the soil-covered shovel resting loosely in her hand.
Reshma.
Her childhood friend. Her closest companion during secondary years before college took them in different directions. They had been inseparable once. Always together. Always laughing. So close that Meghna used to complain constantly about feeling like a third wheel around them. But the memory that surfaced in Sonarika’s mind now was not just friendship.
It was deeper. More complicated.
Back then they had been teenagers—curious, confused, discovering emotions they didn’t fully understand. In those quiet years of early adolescence, their closeness had blurred into something more intimate. Something secret. Reshma had been her first experience of affection beyond innocence. Her first chapter of intimacy.
A part of her life she had carefully sealed away in memory. And now, after all these years, the universe had placed her right across the street. Sonarika stared at the small garden she was building, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. It felt strangely symbolic.
After everything that had happened in her life… after the mistakes with Hemant, the chaos with Vikram, the slow painful process of therapy and self-reflection…
Now this. Another unfinished chapter returning. She exhaled slowly. Perhaps this wasn’t random. Perhaps the universe had its own way of bringing people back into your path when it was time to confront things left unresolved. Meenakshi gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You should visit her sometime" she said casually.
Sonarika looked toward the distant corner house beyond the trees.
Reshma.
A name from a life that felt like another era. Maybe this meeting was inevitable. Maybe healing didn’t just mean fixing the present. Sometimes it meant making peace with the past too. And this time, Sonarika felt ready to face it.
Sonarika stood for a moment outside the modest cream-colored house at the corner of the lane. The gate was partly open, and she could see a small porch with potted plants lined neatly along the railing. The house looked warm and lived-in, very different from the quiet mystery it had seemed earlier that day.
She took a slow breath and rang the doorbell.
Footsteps approached from inside.
The door opened.
Reshma stood there, exactly as Sonarika remembered from a few hours earlier—eyes wide with surprise, her expression frozen in disbelief for a brief second.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Sonarika smiled gently.
"I’m sorry, I really should have recognized you earlier" she said softly.
Reshma blinked, as if waking from a trance. The shock slowly melted away and her lips curved into a hesitant but genuine smile.
"It’s been… what… fifteen years?" she said.
"Something like that" Sonarika replied.
Reshma stepped aside and opened the door wider.
"Come in"
The living room felt cozy and warm. A beige sofa set faced a wooden center table, and a television murmured quietly in the background. The walls were decorated with framed photographs, most of them family portraits.
Sonarika’s eyes paused on one frame in particular.
It showed Reshma standing beside a man with kind eyes and two smiling children—an older boy and a little girl.
"They’re beautiful" Sonarika said sincerely.
Reshma followed her gaze and smiled proudly.
"That’s my husband, Suresh" she said.
"And the kids—Arjun and Poonam"
"Lovely names" Sonarika said.
Reshma sat down across from her.
"Suresh works at a government institution. Administrative department" she explained.
"He’s usually busy, but he’ll be home later"
Sonarika leaned slightly forward to look closer at the photograph.
"Arjun must be… what… eight?"
"Nine" Reshma replied.
Sonarika chuckled softly.
"That means he’s about a year older than my son Karan"
Reshma’s eyebrows lifted.
"You have a son?"
"Yes" Sonarika said with a small smile.
For a while the conversation drifted naturally into old memories.
They spoke about college days, the endless practice sessions for cultural events, the excitement of annual functions.
"Do you remember how we used to dominate the dance competitions?" Reshma laughed.
Sonarika grinned.
"We were the cultural program"
"That’s true, if we weren’t performing, the audience would lose interest"
Reshma said with mock pride. They both laughed. Reshma leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling with nostalgia.
"And poor Ranvijay" she added suddenly.
"He was so hopelessly smitten with you"
Sonarika raised an eyebrow.
"Oh God" she groaned.
"Don’t remind me"
Reshma laughed again but then added casually—
"Honestly, I always felt bad for him. He never knew you and I were actually—"
She stopped abruptly.
The sentence hung unfinished in the air. The awkwardness arrived instantly. Reshma’s eyes widened slightly as she realized what she had almost revealed aloud. For a brief moment, silence filled the room. Sonarika broke it gently.
"It was a long time ago" she said calmly.
"And clearly we both moved on"
Reshma studied her face carefully, trying to read her reaction. Sonarika gave a small, reassuring smile.
"Honestly" she continued,
"Those silly teenage adventures… they were part of growing up. We were curious, confused… figuring ourselves out"
Reshma’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I guess that’s true" she said quietly.
Then after a small pause she admitted softly,
"I’m actually glad… that my first time experiencing something like that was with you"
Sonarika laughed lightly.
"Well technically" she said teasingly.
"We didn’t really have a first time. There was no… you know"
Reshma burst into embarrassed laughter.
"That’s true" she admitted.
Her expression then shifted to curiosity.
"I was shocked when I heard you started dating Rocky after college"
Sonarika’s smile faded just slightly.
"That was… a dark chapter" she said honestly.
"One I’d rather leave behind"
She paused for a moment before adding quietly,
"Honestly, if I think about it now… I’d rather consider our teenage phase as my first intimacy in this lifetime. It feels healthier than remembering Rocky"
Reshma nodded slowly, understanding the weight behind those words.
The conversation shifted again after that.
"So, tell me about your husband" Reshma asked gently,
Sonarika hesitated for a split second. The truth sat painfully at the edge of her mind—the broken marriage, the distance, the uncertainty. But she chose not to open that wound here.
Not today.
"His name is Hemant Kumar...he used to work as a project manager at an IT firm called Quadron"
She said calmly. Reshma’s eyes widened slightly.
"Wait… Hemant Kumar?"
Sonarika nodded.
"He left the company a few years ago. Now he runs his own company—YOD Industries"
Reshma leaned forward.
"I know that name! I’ve seen articles about it in business news"
Sonarika gave a modest smile.
"It’s growing faster than anyone expected"
"Wow...That’s impressive" Reshma said sincerely.
The afternoon sunlight had begun to shift toward evening.
Sonarika glanced at the clock and slowly stood up.
"I should head back" she said.
Reshma walked her to the door. It felt strange and comforting at the same time—reconnecting after so many years, confronting a piece of the past they had both quietly buried.
"Come again" Reshma said warmly.
"I will" Sonarika replied.
They shared one last smile before Sonarika stepped out into the lane. As she walked back toward her parents’ house, the cool Delhi breeze brushed gently across her face. The conversation replayed softly in her mind.
Memories.
Mistakes.
Old emotions resurfacing and settling again. For the first time in a long while, she felt something close to peace. Her past wasn’t something she could erase. It was filled with impulsive choices, broken relationships, and painful consequences. But meeting Reshma had reminded her of something important. Mistakes didn’t have to define the future. They could become lessons instead. As the familiar gates of the Sharma bungalow appeared ahead, Sonarika felt lighter than she had that morning. She couldn’t undo what she had done. But she could rebuild herself. And this time, she intended to do better
(TO BE CONTD)
Karan jumped out of the car before anyone could stop him. The seven-year-old ran across the driveway with an excitement that only children carried so effortlessly.
"Nanaji!" he shouted.
Jagjeet Sharma stepped out from the veranda, his broad frame still imposing despite the grey in his beard. The moment he saw the boy sprinting toward him, his stern businessman’s face melted into a grin. He bent down and scooped Karan into a tight embrace.
"Arre hero! Look at you" Jagjeet laughed, lifting him easily.
Behind him, Meenakshi Sharma hurried forward, wiping her hands on the end of her dupatta, her eyes already moist with happiness.
"My Karan has grown taller again" she said softly, cupping his face.
Sonarika stood by the car for a moment, watching the scene. The warmth of it filled her chest and yet pressed painfully against something fragile inside her. Her parents looked so happy — happy in a way that made the secret she carried feel heavier.
Anjali stepped beside her and nudged her shoulder lightly.
"You’re staring like a guest" the teenager whispered with a small smile.
"I know… it just feels the same as always" Sonarika exhaled slowly.
They walked toward the house together. Meenakshi wrapped Sonarika in a long hug, the kind that only mothers could give — lingering, protective, wordless.
"You’ve become thin again" she scolded gently.
"Work" Sonarika replied with a practiced smile.
Anjali was pulled into the circle next, receiving kisses and affectionate teasing until she laughed despite herself. For a few brief minutes the house buzzed with laughter, with questions, with overlapping voices.
And for those few minutes, Sonarika almost believed everything was normal.
Inside the bungalow, the scent of sandalwood polish and cardamom tea drifted through the halls. Every room carried a memory. The framed family photographs along the staircase, the old piano she had abandoned during college, the courtyard where she and Anjali had played endless games as children.
Karan had already disappeared into the garden with Jagjeet, both of them arguing loudly about toy cars and engines.
"He will turn into a mechanic like you" Meenakshi laughed from the doorway.
"Not mechanic" Jagjeet corrected proudly from outside.
"Automobile expert!"
Sonarika leaned against the window frame, watching them. Karan was showing his grandfather a tiny racing car, speaking with the seriousness of a businessman closing a deal. Jagjeet listened with full attention, nodding dramatically.
The sight filled her with warmth — and with grief. Once, she had imagined Hemant standing there beside her. Watching their son with quiet pride. That life had once been steady, balanced. Predictable in the best ways. Hemant had been calm where she was impulsive, thoughtful where she was restless. But somewhere along the road, she had grown curious about a different version of herself. A reckless one.
Vikram Bajaj had entered her life like a storm — exciting, daring, intoxicating. With him everything had felt unpredictable and thrilling, like living in a story where consequences didn’t exist. For a while she had convinced herself it was freedom. Now it only felt like ruin. Hemant was gone, not by fate but by her own actions. Vikram too had drifted out of her life, leaving behind nothing but the echo of mistakes. What had once felt thrilling now seemed hollow and childish. She had gambled stability for excitement. And lost both.
That evening the family gathered for dinner around the large wooden table that had stood in the house for decades. Jagjeet spoke enthusiastically about his automobile spare business expanding into new distribution lines. Meenakshi discussed neighbors and old family friends. Karan told dramatic stories about his institute. Anjali laughed easily, slipping back into the comfort of the house she had spent half her childhood visiting. Sonarika participated in the conversations, smiling and responding, careful to keep her voice light. No one at that table knew that her marriage was quietly collapsing.
They believed she and Hemant were simply 'expanding their earnings'
They believed everything would eventually settle. She watched her parent's peaceful faces and knew she could not break that illusion yet. Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, Sonarika sat alone on the balcony outside her old bedroom. The Delhi air carried a cool breeze and the distant sound of traffic humming through the city.
Her phone vibrated softly.
It was a message from Neha, her therapist.
'How are you feeling today?'
Sonarika stared at the screen for a long moment before typing.
'Better. Being here helps'
And it did help, in a quiet way.
She had been speaking to Neha regularly through video calls. Those sessions had slowly forced her to confront the truth she had avoided — that healing would require facing her own mistakes without running from them.
Ragini too had been checking on her constantly, sometimes sending ridiculous memes just to make her laugh. Small anchors in a chaotic sea. Her parents were proud of her new job at Vatika Botanical Research in Goa. To them it was a fresh beginning, an exciting opportunity. In truth, it was also an escape. A place far away from the wreckage of her marriage. Across the garden lights, she could see Jagjeet locking the front gate for the night. Karan’s small bicycle lay near the steps. Inside the house, Anjali’s laughter drifted faintly from the guest room where she was watching something on her phone.
Life continued around her.
And yet Sonarika knew something within her had cracked like glass — a fracture that would always remain visible.
But for now, sitting in the quiet balcony of her childhood home, she allowed herself a fragile comfort. The past inside this house reminded her that she had once been someone simpler. Someone kinder. And perhaps, if she kept moving forward — through therapy, through honest reflection, through rebuilding her life piece by piece — she might not become that person again. But she might become someone wiser. Someone who finally understood the cost of her choices. And maybe, someday, she would learn how to forgive herself.
The next morning sunlight filtered gently through the neem tree that leaned over the backyard wall of the Sharma bungalow. The lawn behind the house had always been wide and open, mostly grass and a few old shrubs that Meenakshi maintained out of habit rather than passion. As a child, Sonarika had imagined it as a garden full of color, but life had moved too quickly for her to ever return to that dream.
Now, standing there with a notebook in hand, she studied the patch of earth like a quiet architect planning something meaningful. Working with plants had always been her calm place. With her upcoming position at Vatika Botanical Research in Goa, she had felt a renewed curiosity toward the craft she once loved deeply. The idea came to her the previous night—remodel the back lawn, even if it was just a small section. Not a professional project. Just something alive. Something growing.
A small nursery nearby in Janakpuri still operated where it had for decades. The place smelled of damp soil, fertilizer, and blooming marigolds the moment she walked through its gates. Sonarika wandered between rows of saplings with a basket hooked on her arm.
Tulsi.
Jasmine.
Bougainvillea.
A few medicinal herbs.
Her fingers brushed leaves like someone greeting old friends after a long absence. The nursery caretaker watched her with mild curiosity as she examined the soil quality of different saplings, occasionally making notes on her phone.
By the time she left, the car’s back seat was filled with small plants, seed packets, and gardening tools.
Driving back through the narrow residential lanes of Janakpuri, she slowed near a row of houses that looked vaguely familiar. As she turned the corner, she noticed a woman standing near a gate across the road.
For a moment, their eyes met.
The woman froze.
There was something unmistakably startled in her expression—like someone who had just seen a ghost. Her gaze lingered on Sonarika’s face for barely two seconds before she turned abruptly and walked inside the house without looking back.
Sonarika frowned slightly.
The woman looked incredibly familiar.
Yet the memory refused to surface.
She tried to replay the moment while parking the car inside her parents’ driveway, but the name simply refused to arrive. It was one of those strange mental gaps where recognition existed without identity.
Eventually she shrugged it off and began carrying the saplings into the backyard.
Her phone vibrated just as she placed the final pot near the grass.
It was a message.
From Neha.
'I’ll be in Delhi next week for a conference. Thought we could do a face-to-face session if you’re comfortable'
Sonarika felt a wave of relief wash over her.
The therapy sessions through video calls had helped, but something about the idea of speaking to Neha in person felt grounding. She typed back quickly.
'That would be really good'
She slipped the phone into her pocket and knelt down near the soil bed she had marked with chalk earlier. The earth was slightly dry, but rich. She began loosening it carefully with a small hand shovel.
Minutes passed quietly.
The repetitive rhythm of digging, arranging soil, and placing saplings began to calm her mind. For the first time in months, her thoughts were not tangled in regret or anxiety.
They were simply present.
"Look at you"
Meenakshi’s voice came from the veranda behind her.
Sonarika turned and saw her mother watching with a soft smile.
"So this is what my daughter does now" Meenakshi continued, stepping down into the grass.
Sonarika replied, brushing soil off her hands.
"Practice, if I’m joining Vatika, I can’t go there like a complete amateur"
Meenakshi chuckled.
"You used to spend hours with plants when you were young. Remember the terrace garden you tried to build in class nine?"
Sonarika laughed softly.
"I killed half of them"
"Yes But the other half survived because you refused to give up" Meenakshi said, amused.
Sonarika planted another sapling into the soil and pressed the earth around it gently.
"It feels good" she admitted.
"Being back with plants"
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The wind rustled the leaves of the neem tree overhead.
Then Sonarika remembered something.
"Ma… I saw someone while coming back from the nursery"
Meenakshi raised an eyebrow.
"Someone?"
"A woman. She looked really familiar… like I should know her. She went into one of the houses near the corner"
Meenakshi’s lips curved into a knowing smile.
"Oh"
Sonarika noticed the expression immediately.
"What?"
"That’s what happens when you stay away for so many years,” Meenakshi teased lightly. “You forget people’s faces"
Sonarika blinked in confusion.
"You mean I know her?"
Meenakshi folded her arms, clearly enjoying the moment.
"You didn’t recognize Reshma?"
The name landed like a small explosion in Sonarika’s chest.
For a moment she simply stared.
"Reshma?" she repeated quietly.
Meenakshi nodded.
"She moved back here about three years ago. Lives in that house now"
Sonarika slowly sat back on her heels, the soil-covered shovel resting loosely in her hand.
Reshma.
Her childhood friend. Her closest companion during secondary years before college took them in different directions. They had been inseparable once. Always together. Always laughing. So close that Meghna used to complain constantly about feeling like a third wheel around them. But the memory that surfaced in Sonarika’s mind now was not just friendship.
It was deeper. More complicated.
Back then they had been teenagers—curious, confused, discovering emotions they didn’t fully understand. In those quiet years of early adolescence, their closeness had blurred into something more intimate. Something secret. Reshma had been her first experience of affection beyond innocence. Her first chapter of intimacy.
A part of her life she had carefully sealed away in memory. And now, after all these years, the universe had placed her right across the street. Sonarika stared at the small garden she was building, but her mind was somewhere else entirely. It felt strangely symbolic.
After everything that had happened in her life… after the mistakes with Hemant, the chaos with Vikram, the slow painful process of therapy and self-reflection…
Now this. Another unfinished chapter returning. She exhaled slowly. Perhaps this wasn’t random. Perhaps the universe had its own way of bringing people back into your path when it was time to confront things left unresolved. Meenakshi gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"You should visit her sometime" she said casually.
Sonarika looked toward the distant corner house beyond the trees.
Reshma.
A name from a life that felt like another era. Maybe this meeting was inevitable. Maybe healing didn’t just mean fixing the present. Sometimes it meant making peace with the past too. And this time, Sonarika felt ready to face it.
Sonarika stood for a moment outside the modest cream-colored house at the corner of the lane. The gate was partly open, and she could see a small porch with potted plants lined neatly along the railing. The house looked warm and lived-in, very different from the quiet mystery it had seemed earlier that day.
She took a slow breath and rang the doorbell.
Footsteps approached from inside.
The door opened.
Reshma stood there, exactly as Sonarika remembered from a few hours earlier—eyes wide with surprise, her expression frozen in disbelief for a brief second.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Sonarika smiled gently.
"I’m sorry, I really should have recognized you earlier" she said softly.
Reshma blinked, as if waking from a trance. The shock slowly melted away and her lips curved into a hesitant but genuine smile.
"It’s been… what… fifteen years?" she said.
"Something like that" Sonarika replied.
Reshma stepped aside and opened the door wider.
"Come in"
The living room felt cozy and warm. A beige sofa set faced a wooden center table, and a television murmured quietly in the background. The walls were decorated with framed photographs, most of them family portraits.
Sonarika’s eyes paused on one frame in particular.
It showed Reshma standing beside a man with kind eyes and two smiling children—an older boy and a little girl.
"They’re beautiful" Sonarika said sincerely.
Reshma followed her gaze and smiled proudly.
"That’s my husband, Suresh" she said.
"And the kids—Arjun and Poonam"
"Lovely names" Sonarika said.
Reshma sat down across from her.
"Suresh works at a government institution. Administrative department" she explained.
"He’s usually busy, but he’ll be home later"
Sonarika leaned slightly forward to look closer at the photograph.
"Arjun must be… what… eight?"
"Nine" Reshma replied.
Sonarika chuckled softly.
"That means he’s about a year older than my son Karan"
Reshma’s eyebrows lifted.
"You have a son?"
"Yes" Sonarika said with a small smile.
For a while the conversation drifted naturally into old memories.
They spoke about college days, the endless practice sessions for cultural events, the excitement of annual functions.
"Do you remember how we used to dominate the dance competitions?" Reshma laughed.
Sonarika grinned.
"We were the cultural program"
"That’s true, if we weren’t performing, the audience would lose interest"
Reshma said with mock pride. They both laughed. Reshma leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling with nostalgia.
"And poor Ranvijay" she added suddenly.
"He was so hopelessly smitten with you"
Sonarika raised an eyebrow.
"Oh God" she groaned.
"Don’t remind me"
Reshma laughed again but then added casually—
"Honestly, I always felt bad for him. He never knew you and I were actually—"
She stopped abruptly.
The sentence hung unfinished in the air. The awkwardness arrived instantly. Reshma’s eyes widened slightly as she realized what she had almost revealed aloud. For a brief moment, silence filled the room. Sonarika broke it gently.
"It was a long time ago" she said calmly.
"And clearly we both moved on"
Reshma studied her face carefully, trying to read her reaction. Sonarika gave a small, reassuring smile.
"Honestly" she continued,
"Those silly teenage adventures… they were part of growing up. We were curious, confused… figuring ourselves out"
Reshma’s shoulders relaxed slightly.
"I guess that’s true" she said quietly.
Then after a small pause she admitted softly,
"I’m actually glad… that my first time experiencing something like that was with you"
Sonarika laughed lightly.
"Well technically" she said teasingly.
"We didn’t really have a first time. There was no… you know"
Reshma burst into embarrassed laughter.
"That’s true" she admitted.
Her expression then shifted to curiosity.
"I was shocked when I heard you started dating Rocky after college"
Sonarika’s smile faded just slightly.
"That was… a dark chapter" she said honestly.
"One I’d rather leave behind"
She paused for a moment before adding quietly,
"Honestly, if I think about it now… I’d rather consider our teenage phase as my first intimacy in this lifetime. It feels healthier than remembering Rocky"
Reshma nodded slowly, understanding the weight behind those words.
The conversation shifted again after that.
"So, tell me about your husband" Reshma asked gently,
Sonarika hesitated for a split second. The truth sat painfully at the edge of her mind—the broken marriage, the distance, the uncertainty. But she chose not to open that wound here.
Not today.
"His name is Hemant Kumar...he used to work as a project manager at an IT firm called Quadron"
She said calmly. Reshma’s eyes widened slightly.
"Wait… Hemant Kumar?"
Sonarika nodded.
"He left the company a few years ago. Now he runs his own company—YOD Industries"
Reshma leaned forward.
"I know that name! I’ve seen articles about it in business news"
Sonarika gave a modest smile.
"It’s growing faster than anyone expected"
"Wow...That’s impressive" Reshma said sincerely.
The afternoon sunlight had begun to shift toward evening.
Sonarika glanced at the clock and slowly stood up.
"I should head back" she said.
Reshma walked her to the door. It felt strange and comforting at the same time—reconnecting after so many years, confronting a piece of the past they had both quietly buried.
"Come again" Reshma said warmly.
"I will" Sonarika replied.
They shared one last smile before Sonarika stepped out into the lane. As she walked back toward her parents’ house, the cool Delhi breeze brushed gently across her face. The conversation replayed softly in her mind.
Memories.
Mistakes.
Old emotions resurfacing and settling again. For the first time in a long while, she felt something close to peace. Her past wasn’t something she could erase. It was filled with impulsive choices, broken relationships, and painful consequences. But meeting Reshma had reminded her of something important. Mistakes didn’t have to define the future. They could become lessons instead. As the familiar gates of the Sharma bungalow appeared ahead, Sonarika felt lighter than she had that morning. She couldn’t undo what she had done. But she could rebuild herself. And this time, she intended to do better
(TO BE CONTD)
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