I dragged the word document on my desktop slowly into the recycle bin, as carefully as I would have helped a blind old man cross the road. The desktop looked empty, almost reminiscent of the state of my mind. I wiped my face with my palms and stood up from the chair I was sitting in. Walking towards the balcony, I saw the food carefully arranged by her on the dining table. I had no appetite. I lit a cigarette and stood facing the huge apartments with their doors closed and clothes left to dry on the railings. The cigarette smoked itself as I stood wondering about the time I have been spending at home, doing nothing effectively. It was exactly three years ago that I took a decision to quit my job and decided to be a house husband to concentrate on my writing. 

The first year was great. She went to work at around 9 AM after having breakfast together and I had the entire house to myself. I read a bit, till I thought I was inspired enough and wrote till 1 PM. We called each other at lunch after which I got out, bought groceries, did some chores and prepared coffee for myself. I read what I wrote and discarded most of it, but when I called it a day at 6 PM I usually had something to read for her in the night. She usually hated most of what I wrote and I defended that she does not belong to my target readers. She never complained about her work and I never felt a need to ask. After about a year, I was ready with my manuscript and several rejections followed. I laughed the first few away but their relentlessness took a toll on me. I got protective of my work and stopped reading to her. She didn’t seem too concerned one way or the other. I discarded more, wrote less and drank myself silly. 

I went in and quickly retrieved the document from the recycle bin. I read it entirely twice and felt frustrated about it. It felt hideous and amateur and I don’t think such work should occupy any space. It was another three months of my work. I pressed the shift and delete button angrily on the key board when I heard the sound of her letting herself in. The door to my room was slightly ajar from where I could see her discarding her shoes and collapsing on our sofa. If she was disappointed with my failures, she never let me feel it. It added more to my guilt and I decided that three years was enough time I could have given to myself. I wanted to actually do something and contribute to our family. I could not bear to look into her eyes anymore unless I make myself useful in some way.
I could see the gap widening between us. We rarely speak to each other these days. We eat separately and do not sleep together anymore. I usually pass away with the amount of drinking I do and she watches a movie or goes to sleep early. We don’t feel awkward when we face each other but I feel thankful when I come back to my room. Sometimes I notice her through the open door, like how I’m doing now, and want to reach out to her. But I never had anything to say to comfort her. But now, I have it and I open the door and sit beside her on the sofa. Her eyes are still closed and her head resting on the pillow facing our ceiling where the fan whirled nonchalantly. We are on the same room sitting on the same sofa, but we could not be any farther than we are to each other now. 

With the power cut and a dull sound, the fan and the lights went off in every room and we were engulfed in darkness and silence. I could hear her breathing and the rhythmic inhale and exhale of air. I called out her name and put my hand on her shoulder. She snuggled closer to me just by a wee bit and I informed her of my decision to go for a job again, with a resigned voice. She didn't say anything and after a while said that she was feeling hungry and suggested that we eat together. I asked her if she wanted to go out to eat, but she preferred eating at home, whatever was available. I prepared a table, lit candles and we sat facing each other. The only sounds that were heard for the next few minutes were those of the spoons clattering on the porcelain plates as I was still unsure of her reaction to my decision. The power came on as we finished our dinner and I pushed for her reaction again. She smiled and said that she was feeling sleepy. She asked me to come with her to watch a movie together in her room. We saw Rituparno Ghosh’s Antarmahal. She dozed off mid-way, her head resting precariously on my shoulder as if she was unsure if I would be able to bear her weight. I made her sleep properly on the bed and got out of the room. 

I can’t remember when and how long I slept, but I woke up to the gentle ruffling sounds of her packing her clothes into a travel suitcase. She was also packing my clothes and I asked her if she was going somewhere. She ordered me to get ready and left to book us a cab. We reached the airport together in the cab, when I asked her where we were going, she smiled and asked me to let her surprise me. 

We reached the airport, where she checked us in to the flight leaving to the Maldives in an hour. It took me five years back, when we first went to the country immediately after getting married. I had very fond memories of the place and the time we spent together. Though it was thoughtful of her to choose the spot again for a holiday, I was not sure if I was prepared for it. I was shabbily dressed and with my scraggy beard I felt totally out of place in the flight which has newlyweds giggling sheepishly, muttering their words so that only they can hear each other with not a care for others in the world. I took my seat near the window and she followed me, the seat next to us remained vacant.

We reached our hotel around 7 PM in the evening and decided to call it off a day. I shaved myself clean and put on a clean white shirt the next morning and ordered coffee for us. We had our coffee in bed as she looked at me admiringly. We lazed around the entire day in our private bungalow that she has booked for us. It was the same one we stayed five years ago and it almost felt surreal to be there again. We sat on the chairs looking at the azure waters that covered the vast expanses of our sight. I could have stayed there for another day without doing anything but she suggested we go out for our dinner.  

The sun was setting when we got out of our bungalow and we both knew the exact place to dine. It was after all the same one we dined earlier and it was not difficult to find it again. We took a corner seat and for the first time on our trip I looked into her eyes as we settled ourselves. Then I started speaking. It was an endless stream of all the thoughts and frustrations that were suppressed in me for the last two years. I told her everything about my work and how inferior I always found it. I told her about my lack of discipline and how I resorted to drinking as an escape, about my guilt in being home all day and not being worth anything to our family, about my inability to communicate or to make sense either with my writing or with my behavior. 

She sat silently and never took her eyes off me. She did not say anything, nor stopped my flow. She sat there looking at me as if I’m performing a single act stage play with her as an exclusive audience. Her eyes were riveted to me and I don’t know what I found in them or if I understood what she felt. Is she forgiving my failures and saying that it was okay. Is she pushing me to face the reality and to man up. Is she accusing me of being so full of myself and never having any concern about her? Does she accept my failure? More importantly is she suggesting that I’m a failure and it’s about time I accept it? Is this trip a taunt on my inabilities, financial and familial?

We finished our dinner and she paid the bill. We got back to our bungalow and with a drink in our hands sat again on the chairs that we left before going out. I did not stop talking to her and she seemed to be processing all that I was blabbering. I even told her that I was ready to take a job again, start working and become useful. I think I was exhausted by the night and could no longer speak about anything. She went to refill our glasses and I was left with my silence again. It felt great to finally get everything out of my system. I needed that and she knew that. That was the whole point of this trip. A solitary tear drop tried in vain to break through the reservoir of my eyes but I controlled it before she returned with our drinks. I snuggled closer to her and she kept her hand on mine, closed her eyes, smiled and said that we are leaving to Hyderabad the next day and that she would accept any decision of mine. I felt a mountain was lifted off my back and was surprised how easy it always was and how stupid I was not to realize it earlier. 

We sat waiting for the flight back to Hyderabad when she showed me this video, saying this was how she got the whole idea of this trip. “Only change is, I had to play the romantic.” She smiled and I joined in.

P.S : This is a work of fiction.

This story is written as a part of Go Further to get Closer contest by British Airways hosted by IndiBlogger