When You Let Her Go

She's smiling when she opens the door but it fades as soon as she realizes who it is and he can't help the way his heart stutters at that. The months have been kind to her. She's dressed in a plain sundress and her hair is shorter than he remembers. He makes a mental note of how it's the first time he's seen her in western clothes. It suits her. Everything suits her.

"Hi," he manages to choke out, cursing his vocal chords for the way his voice breaks on such a simple word.

She doesn't acknowledge his pleasantries, simply sides the door open wider to let him in. It surprises him because he'd been sure he'd have to grovel just to get her to let him inside. But she seems quite unperturbed by his presence.

As if sensing his question, she says, "Mahi called; she mentioned you were coming. I didn't realize it would be right now."

"You talk to Mahi?"

"She's a friend," and to that he wants to say that so was he but he knows he no longer has any right. He follows her into the small dining room, looking left and right at the interior as he goes. There's no pictures of her or her family. The Tejo for whom memories were everything, seemed to now want to erase her past completely.

"It's a nice house," he says, "very elegant."

"Let's not do this Fateh."

"Do what."

"The small talk. Sit and get whatever it is you've got to say to me out of your chest."

"Mahi didn't tell you?""

"No, she seemed to think I should hear it from you. I didn't have the heart to tell her that most things regarding you and me, I never hear from you."

He flinches at the accusatory taunt. Of course he deserves it; he deserves much worse but hell if it doesn't sting. And what stings worse is that he sees guilt in her eyes, as hard as she masks it. She has always been far too kind and far too unwilling to hurt anybody even when they deserve it.

"The court dates," he falters and he can see the realization of what he's about to say dawn on her face, "the court dates for our divorce have been finalized."

There's a moment of silence before, "I know."

"You know?"

"They do send mail here you know," and his foolishness elicits a small cheeky grin from her and he revels in the happiness of making her smile, albeit little, albeit accidentally.

"Right. You'll have to come back."

"I know."

They melt into an uncomfortable silence. In the years he's known her (do these six months apart count?) they've never been awkward. They'd either yelled and bickered or laughed and teased. And when there had been quiet, it had been comfortable; peaceful even. But this, this weird silence was uncharted territory.

"Is that all?" she says finally, "you came all the way here to tell me about the divorce dates? You could have called."

"You would pick up?", she looks away at that and it's the only answer he needs. He knows it's unfair for him to be upset about that. She has every right.

"That can't be the only reason you're here. I know--," she cuts herself off and a mocking smile takes over her delicate features, "sorry, I don't suppose I do know you. The real you at least."

He grimaces at the emphasis on real. Fateh had always prided himself in being his true authentic self. His elder sister had always told him to be unabashedly himself and not wanting to ever disappoint her, he had done his best to live his life as close to the real him. But then he'd met Jasmine and suddenly he was doing everything he'd never thought he could. Giving up his identity for what? For a conditional love that was never meant to last. And in the process he hadn't only broken himself, he'd broken the girl - no she was far too mature for that - the woman in front of him too. First her walls, and then her heart.