The days had grown quieter in Shruti's apartment. The laughter had faded. Even the sunlight seemed dimmer through the gauze curtains. Lakshmi sat by the window most mornings, a cup of untouched tea resting beside her, her eyes fixed on nothing in particular. Time passed, but grief had made it shapeless.
Shruti tried to bring small joys—her favorite jasmine incense, freshly baked bread, a playlist of Carnatic songs Lakshmi used to hum during college days. But Lakshmi barely responded. The silence was not cold, but it was thick—like the lull that came after fire had burned everything to the ground.
Then came the night the storm arrived.
Wind lashed against the windows as thunder growled in the distance. Shruti lit a candle during the power cut and placed it in the living room. "Come lie down," she had said gently. But Lakshmi shook her head. Something in her stirred as the lightning flashed. The storm, for once, matched the chaos inside her.
She wandered to the corner of Shruti's storage room—some of her things had been hastily brought from her old apartment after Vedanth's death. Covered in dust was a trunk—hers and Vedanth's from their early days of marriage. She hadn't dared to open it since.
With trembling fingers, she unclasped the lock.
Inside, time was frozen. A blue file filled with court documents—her first public interest litigation. A broken wristwatch of Vedanth's. A clay diya they had made together during Diwali, its colors chipped. And then—a worn leather-bound book.
Her breath caught. Vedanth's journal.
It smelled faintly of ink and sandalwood. The pages were creased at the edges, smudged by hurried fingers. She sat on the floor, crossed her legs, and opened it.
July 3, 2022
Lakshmi argued a case today that left me speechless. Not just because she was sharp and composed, but because I saw in her the woman I fell in love with—unyielding, passionate, fierce. I sometimes worry she doesn't know just how powerful she is.
September 11, 2022
She laughed in her sleep last night. A soft, gentle laugh. It made me feel safe, like everything was still okay. I didn't tell her, but I've been receiving calls—strange ones. I haven't told Lakshmi. Not yet. Not until I know more.
Lakshmi clutched the pages, her fingers growing cold.
October 20, 2022
I've written and rewritten this page a hundred times. Something feels wrong. I've filed a report anonymously about the land case. Minister Raghavan and Shetty won't stop until someone silences us. If I don't come back one day, Lakshmi, promise me you won't crumble. You're more than my wife. You're a warrior. You were never meant to fade into someone's shadow.
Don't shut the world out.
Don't shut yourself down.
Find your voice again.
And when you do—burn brighter than ever.
The words blurred through her tears. Her chest heaved, and she let out a sob that shattered the silence.
Shruti found her there an hour later—on the floor, the journal clutched tightly to her chest, her tears soaking into the ink. She didn't say a word. She simply sat beside her, one arm around her shoulder, and let her cry.
The storm outside softened into drizzle.
The next morning, a faint smell of filter coffee filled the apartment. Lakshmi stood in front of the mirror in a cotton off-white saree with a crimson border. Her hair was tightly pulled back. A soft red bindi adorned her forehead.
Shruti blinked in surprise.
"Are you... going somewhere?"
Lakshmi nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "To the place I thought I lost myself."
