The Pieces (an excerpt)
Lavanya stood on tiptoe and pushed her brown travel bag deeper into the overhead luggage bin, checked the seat number one last time, slumped down on the window seat and sighed. It had been a hectic five days. Lavanya rarely attended weddings. Staying away from her hometown made it much easier. But there was no way she could have avoided her youngest cousin’s wedding.
It had been tougher dodging her mother’s questions, the questions that she must have repeated at least five thousand times in the last five years – “How much longer, Lavu? Why are you wasting your life? Why can’t you come back here? What is left for you there?”
The five days had dragged like five years. But they were finally over. Now she could be alone once more, for at least a year till she dutifully visited her parents again. Lavanya turned her head to her right to look at a woman seated next to her, her straight shoulder length hair shielding most of the side of her face. She half turned in her seat to face Lavanya. This was the first time Lavanya looked at her carefully. A fresh, heart-shaped face. Wheatish complexion. Sort of pretty.
Even through her haze of intense disinterest, she realized she would be thought off as a moron if she continued to nod and smile to everything the woman said. “Uh, where do you work?” She asked for the heck of it.
“Who, me? Pristine. Pristine Analytics.”
Pristine. One word. And Lavanya felt a surge of electricity spread from her fingertips to her brain and before she could blink, to her entire body, putting it on fire. Pristine Analytics. There was a peculiar buzz in her ears.
Do you have a colleague called Saurav? Saurav Rohatgi?
Is there a Saurav Rohatgi working with you?
Is your husband’s name Saurav Rohatgi?
Her frenzied mind kept moving the words around.
There was somebody else. A colleague. At Pristine. They had been friends for a couple of years. Neither of them had realized that they loved each other. Till Saurav got married. And now, he couldn’t bear it. He tried, he swore he tried. He couldn’t live without her. He was sorry he was doing this to Lavanya.
An amazingly sensitive writer, she lives and works in Germany with her family. She can be reached at : email@example.com
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