Delhi or Dilli-bustling streets, endless chai tapris, and a city where dreams are both made and broken. In this chaos, Anchal is focused on her career, dodging her parents' shaadi ki baatein, while Varshith, a perfectionist set to inherit his father...
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| Behind Her Doors |
Running into Anchal Gupta before the official meeting of our families was merely a coincidence.
She frequented the hospital often, and although I did spot her from afar several times these last few days, I never was in her line of sight. She remained blissfully unaware of my existence, while I kept noticing hers. Still, I knew it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed again.
Dad had told me about our families dynamics the same day I saw her on the hospital bed next to me. I was flabbergasted at the information. Akhil was humored, and had jokingly spewed something about fate. I call bullshit. Though, I'd love to see the look on his face when he eventually hears about all the bizarre encounters that happened even before the accident.
Fate was a heavy word. Something that seems rational only in movies and fiction. I don't want to think that some high power or some supernatural forces were shaping the course of actions in our lives. I snorted.
Coincidence, though? That I could accept.
Then again... I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that if you kept running into the same person unexpectedly, they were meant to serve some purpose in your life. Not necessarily romantic. Sometimes they arrived to teach you something, save you, or change the direction of your story without either of you realizing it.
If there was any truth to that, perhaps Anchal's purpose had already been fulfilled.
She had unknowingly donated the blood that kept me alive. And now, without intending to, she had become the bridge that reunited two families who had spent years living as strangers despite sharing so much history.
Dad had been unable to hold back his tears when he saw Mr. Gupta after all these years. They had embraced like time had never separated them, only for reality to settle in moments later when he noticed how much illness had taken from the man. Even Mom, who found expressing emotions harder than anyone I knew, had quietly wrapped Mrs. Gupta in a hug that spoke more than words ever could.
Watching them that day had made one thing painfully obvious.
Some bonds never truly disappeared. They merely waited for the right moment to find each other again.
I smiled to myself. Coincidence, it all was.
Now as we stand in front of the luxurious three storey house located in a posh locality of Gurugram, my nerves were in jitters again. Mrs. Gupta welcomed all of us inside with a beaming smile and Sanket carefully helped adjust his Uncle on the couch across us. However, Anchal and her friend were nowhere to be seen. My eyes took in the lively living room of the Gupta's. This place looked like home. Family portraits, trophies, devotional paintings lined up the walls.
Aunt Swati proved to be every bit as welcoming as the house itself. She refused to let anyone lift a finger, dismissing every protest with the same argument—we were meeting after years, and everyone simply had to endure her hospitality.
