Chapter 5: Welcome
The announcement about the flight having landed blared through the speakers. I stood, my foot tapping nervously, the fingers fidgeting around the keys to my SUV. The passengers started arriving and my eyes searched for that face I had last seen four years ago. I felt like a teenager anticipating his first date as I waited for Neeta.
I had to keep reminding myself that this wasn't the Neeta from college. This was Sukhi's wife, Charmi's mom, a woman who probably hated me for walking out of her life.
I was the man who had abandoned her for a debt I owed her husband. I was the man who had let her go. I was the man who had never stopped loving her.
---
Then I saw her.
Neeta stepped through the doors, pulling a small suitcase behind her. She was dressed in a simple yet elegant saree, the fabric clinging to her curves in all the right places. Her hair was tied back in a loose braid, a few strands framing her face.
I also noticed heads turn as she walked past, eyes lingering on her cleavage, her hips, her curves, her magnetic beauty. She had aged like fine wine, her beauty deepened by time, her confidence in the way she carried herself. I felt my heart race as I watched her approach, trying to hide the nervousness I felt.
She stopped in front of me, her eyes meeting mine for the first time in years. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—recognition, maybe, or the ghost of a memory. Her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something, but no words came.
"Neeta," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me. "You look... amazing."
She gave me a small, polite smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Vijay," she said, her voice soft but controlled. "Thank you for coming to pick me up. I appreciate it."
I nodded, my throat tight. "Least I could do." I reached for her suitcase, my fingers brushing against hers as I took it from her. The contact sent a jolt through me, a spark that I hadn't felt in years. I quickly pulled my hand back, trying to ignore the way my skin tingled.
"Let's get you home," I said, heading towards the luggage carousels. Her checked-in bag arrived a few minutes later and we walked in silence to the parking lot, the weight of unspoken words between us heavier than her two bags I dragged behind me.
I could feel Neeta’s eyes on me, studying me, evaluating. I wondered what she saw—if she saw the man who had loved her, the man who had left her, the "uncle" who made her daughter's dreams come true, or just a stranger.
The drive home was awkward, the silence hanging between us like a thick curtain. The city lights blurred past the windows, casting fleeting shadows across her face. She had her face turned away, looking out the window. I tried to break the silence with the Bollywood music she used to like in our college days.
Her head turned as the first song came on. Her eyes said, *you still remember* for a fleeting moment before she turned her head back to look out the window.
We reached home in silence. I showed her to the guest room and left her bags just inside the guest room door.
"Hungry? How was the food on the flight?" I asked trying to break the awkward silence between us.
"Famished," she said with a faint smile, "and the food on the plane was miserable." She ran a hand through her hair, loosening the braid so it cascaded over her shoulders. The gesture was so familiar it made my chest ache.
"You freshen up while I fix us lunch." I said pointing to the door to the guest bathroom door, getting a silent *thanks* from her eyes. I left for the kitchen, closing the guest room door behind me.
---
I was setting the table in the dining room when the familiar aroma of her shampoo and soap announced her arrival behind me -- she still used the same shampoo and soap after all these years!
I didn't have to turn or see her to feel the stirring in my pants and had to remind myself she was a married woman before turning to face her and pulling out a chair for her to sit.
"Oh my God!" Neeta exclaimed as she lifted the lid of the first pot that contained the Gori Amti. I smiled at her childlike excitement as she opened the next pot containing the Kismur and finally the fried fish, "you still remember!" she exclaimed, her eyes shining with tears.
I nodded, my throat tight with emotion. I watched her serve herself and dive in like nothing had changed.
"Heaven!" She moaned as she took the first bite, "just as I remember it." I watched her eat, a stupid smile on my face. I had given up the chance to see this scene unfold every single day in my life. What a fool I had been.
I was forgotten, the world was forgotten, the past 20 years were forgotten as Neeta shoveled the food like she hadn't eaten in weeks. And then it happened -- again. That gravy leaked out of her mouth, down her chin and a drop landed on her cleavage, just above the edge of her blouse. I watched the drop trickle down the valley of her breasts and disappear.
I had to walk away because I didn't trust myself to not try and recreate history. I made an excuse about a call I had to make and left her to finish the lunch.
I was at my computer twenty minutes later, when she appeared wiping her hands on the pallu of her saree, "you not eating?"