Forget-Me-Not: Taste of Freedom

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

       Geet woke up to an unfamiliar sound: that of laughter. As she opened her eyes and looked around, she realized that she was alone in the room. Gautam had left... for a second, it caused her heart to sink. But then she heard the laughter again, and with it, the distinct voice of her husband. Her eyes flitted to the partially open door of her room, thirsting for a sight of him. She couldn't see anyone, but the fact that he was there, probably playing with the children, lifted her spirits.

       After last night, nothing could have been more surprising than waking up to a pleasant morning. But despite knowing that everything was better, she couldn't help thinking about the darkness, about what she'd lost. Thoughts of her mother, of how she'd become, haunted her. As Geet got out of bed and went to the bathroom, she kept remembering her mother's words from last night, and what they'd done to her.

        'If I wanted to come back, I would never have left in the first place! You're too much like him... and I can't bear it. You never needed me, Geet. You were enough for yourself.'

       She'd made her choice years ago, but Geet had kept waiting for an outcome that was never going to exist. She'd made herself hope, when she knew there was no hope. Now no more, she thought to herself. No more false expectations. No more feeling sorry for herself or for her mother. No more wishing for happier times with her. She was never going to come back. It was time to move on, and forget about it.

       Thinking that, she pulled the door open. But the moment Geet stepped out of her room, Rohan ran to her and hugged her knees, jolting her with surprise. "Mummy! You're not allowed to come outside!"

       "What?"

       "Daddy said it's a rule. You're not allowed in the kitchen today!"

       Geet felt a smile tugging at her lips, but she fought it and made her eyes round with astonishment. "Why is that?" she asked, bending down to her son's height.

       "Because Daddy says it's Sunday, and it's a holiday for you."

       "But what about breakfast?" Geet whispered, pretending to be horrified. "Your daddy can't make parathas like I do."

       "He's not making parathas," Rohan said innocently. "He's making toast."

       "Well, see, that's because it's easy. Only mummy can make parathas. If you want your favourite breakfast, Mummy can't take a holiday. Now take my hand and come with me into the kitchen."

        "Oh, not so soon, Mrs. Kapoor," her husband's voice stalled her, and they both looked up to see him leaning by the wall as he smiled. Geet's heart missed a beat... she moved her eyes over him, noticing the apron and the chef's hat and the mittens, and blinked. He looked... happy. She couldn't believe he was there, dressed like that, and smiling at her. A few weeks ago, all of this would have seemed like a dream— too good to be true. But it was... it was true. It was really happening.

       "Gautam," she whispered. It was the only thing she could manage to speak, without somehow blurting out, you look ridiculous, but I still love you.

       His eyes twinkled, as if he could read her thoughts. She flushed.

       "Did Rohan tell you the Sunday Rule?" he asked, coming to wrap his hands around his son from behind, pulling him against his knees. Rohan grinned, looking up at his father.