The months passed, quiet and uneventful. We barely spoke, except the occasional check-in every few weeks. Then, she mentioned she’d be flying to India in December 2023, just four months after she left.

I kept my distance this time. I didn’t want to get drawn in again, and truthfully, I was in a relationship. A happy one, or so I thought. The day after she landed, she met A. Karting, dinner, a plan they clearly had in place. I didn’t question it. Didn’t ask about it. I didn’t meet her. I didn’t want to. I had my reasons.

When she flew back a month later, she left disappointed that we didn’t meet, something she brought up again later, saying she’d make sure it wouldn’t happen the next time.

Come June 2024, things weren’t going well between me and my partner. We were nearing a mutual breaku, it was inevitable. In the haze of emotions, I messaged her. I needed to talk to someone who knew me before all this began. She responded, openly. Kindly. We started talking again. She helped me navigate the breakup, warned me not to linger too close to my ex. “It’ll haunt you in ways you won’t expect,” she said.

The irony.

We picked up conversation again, a few times a week, sometimes from her side, sometimes from mine. She was due to return to India in December 2024. Somehow, time fast-forwarded.

She landed just an hour before I did coming from a work trip. I asked if she was still around the airport. By the time I reached baggage claim, she was already on the road.

Her sister’s wedding was at the end of December, and I was invited. I met old professors, new faces, college friends. It felt less like a wedding, more like a networking event. But seeing her in traditional attire for the first time left me stunned. We exchanged words in a group setting, nothing more. Then A arrived, late, and I saw how his eyes lingered on her. I was confused on what her feelings were. I didn’t want to pry. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to care.

A few days later, we made a plan to meet. Her family had moved out of their old home to Navi Mumbai, making it quite the commute. We picked a neutral spot, my office in Chembur. Coincidentally, that was supposed to be my last working day there. I extended it by a weekend, just for this.

We met one January weekday evening, around 8 PM. Grabbed a drink at Blue Tokai, and then, at her suggestion, returned to the same place we had been 16 months ago. It was quiet, almost empty. We ordered, we talked. About my new job, her life in the US, her plans.

Then she dropped a bombshell: she wouldn’t be coming back to India for the next 4–5 years. Her parents would be splitting time between the US and here. This was it, the last time we’d meet for a long while.

We took a cab to Marine Drive. The long way, through her old neighborhood. She was visibly emotional. I put my arm around her, gently. At Marine Drive, we walked hand-in-hand, quietly. It just… happened. I can’t even recall what we talked about. We got ice cream, sat by the sea, shared music through her AirPods.

Around midnight, I booked a cab, I had to drop her 50 km to her place, then return 40 km to mine, only to wake up at 5 for a 350 km factory visit.

She leaned into me in the cab, head on my shoulder, half-asleep. She called her dad, shared the live location, and drifted back to rest, this time nestled in my chest. I wrapped my arms around her. It felt surreal. She was safe, warm, peaceful. I wanted to kiss her, just a soft one, but didn’t want to wake her. So I left a few gentle kisses on her forehead instead.

Twenty minutes before her stop, I stirred her gently. She opened her eyes, checked the route, and then just… curled back into me.

It felt real.

It felt like something we weren’t supposed to have, not now, not ever, but we did. For just a moment.

At her gate, her father waited. We stepped out. I greeted him. She gave me a soft side hug. And that was it. That was the end of that night, abrupt, unceremonious, overwhelming.

On my ride back, I replayed the playlist. Still feeling her warmth. I slept for a few hours, then got up and did my factory visit like nothing happened.

The next evening, exhausted in my hotel room, I texted her. Told her that during that night in the cab, I had wanted to kiss her. I asked if she’d felt the same.

I never saw her response. I accidentally opened the message, and forgot to read it. It slipped through the cracks.

She flew back to the US by the end of January. We didn’t meet again before she left, her schedule was packed. We still talk, now and then. But it’s different. Distant.

And today, on May 14, 2025 — exactly 9 years and a month since all this started in April 2016, my mom sent me her matrimony profile.

She’s looking for grooms.

Preferably in the US.