The Way We Were: Of Modern Day Rom-Com And Second Chances

The Way We Were brings to readers a story featuring a second-chance romance between two lovers who are torn apart by time and brought together by the Lord’s good humour in a grand city of millions.

The Way We Were, An Excerpt

I’m not a morning person. It’s not when I’m alive and kicking. I’m not a night owl either. I’m a tweener. A spirit of the daylight hours.

I sometimes wish the day would stretch, like an English summer day, when the sun forgets to set. A series of extended coffee breaks when I could lock into what needed to be done.

Today ran out on me like one of those social media stories I forgot to hold.

Each time my thoughts drifted in the direction of the why or what of the affair, someone knocked on my cabin door or I was called into a meeting or there was a public relations person hawking shoelaces.

I wondered if Pooja would’ve been a factor if Meena’s betrayal hadn’t socked me in the gut. I shook my head. Pooja didn’t count because of Ravi. Pooja is the present, I want to say, Andrew is in the past, but I would only be lying to myself.

Wounds should be allowed to heal.

I pulled on my running shoes a little after I unlocked the door to my apartment. I was spruced up in running gear that lined my contours. I started slowly, but as the conversation of a couple of yesterdays ago with Chhaya turned in my head, my feet picked up pace. I was pushing without feeling it. My teeth were grinding, and my nostrils flared. It wasn’t for the physical effort.

Did Andrew hit on Meena? Was that where it all started?

Was he the game? The estuary of the affection.

It was a beautiful spring evening, as are most days at this time of year in this city I love to distraction. The wind was soft, a little wet, and it was constantly rearranging my curls. I had pushed them back with my mother’s handkerchief (she actually carried that stuff around, beautifully embroidered maybe, but…), which I had converted into a headband.

Why had he done what he had done?

Did the ‘what’ actually matter? A rope I could use to hang myself with.

Why? A million times why.

I had run for more than an hour and stopped only once to take off my running jacket and wrap it around my waist. I stopped again, this time at a roadside stall, one of the many that dot Bengaluru’s undone pavements and bought a bottle of water. I did a bottoms-up with the 330 ml container and looked around me. There was nothing familiar. It wasn’t the same tin box I stopped for water at whenever I ran. I had no idea where I was. I remembered then that I hadn’t taken my usual route. I probably turned left once I exited the apartment. I normally turn right and run along the CBD before getting into Cubbon Park and cutting across it. I had probably run some 10 kilometres, which meant I was in a suburb.

In a sense, learning of their affair was liberating. Strangely so.

I had wondered: What happened to him? To us? We hadn’t broken up; we hadn’t drifted apart. Yet I hadn’t heard from him. I swung back and forth between concern and curiosity until I spotted his next byline. I was tempted to mail him…

I had written a great number of emails, which, until they disappeared, lay in the draft basket of my mailbox.

Dearest Andrew, Dear Andrew, Andrew…

How do you address one who was once a part of you? I’m one of those creatures who walk around with a shawl or cardigan all day, all year. That’s the reason I own a running jacket, living in Bengaluru. I have an aircon blasting inside me. I always feel cold, but Andrew only had to throw an arm around me, and I was instantly warmed. It was the same in spirit.

Then he was gone.

Now I know what happened in that time – those eight years were accounted for. Not all eight, but I didn’t need a count for the seasons that followed. Suddenly, the ache gave way to anger that erupted in my head in unfettered waves. Expletives were flying across my mind like rockets against a dark sky when I heard my name.

‘Myraaaahhhh – aaahh.’ It carried in the evening breeze like a cry. It came from somewhere behind me. Was it Andrew or was it the wind? It was blowing a gale. I heard it more than felt it. I couldn’t stop though I was tiring. My heart was heavy, but my feet kept going. My nails had bitten into the palms of my hands. I felt my eyes burning. I wanted to stop, to lean. I wanted to be held, but it was only the cold embrace of twilight that I was surrounded by.

‘Myraah! Is that you?’

It was him. I slowed down and then nodded into the darkness. I didn’t want to see him.

As I turned, I felt a stiff wind rustling through the branches above me. I sniffed rain and caught a whiff of his fragrance before my eyes found him.

‘You look a mess,’ Andrew said. I remembered I hadn’t taken off my kajal. Or my lipstick even. Dior 999. He was in front of me now and wearing an undecided expression. Like he wanted to smile but wasn’t sure if he should.

I pulled on my jacket. To look less of a mess maybe…

Excerpted from The Way We Were by Prajwal Hegde. Published by Hachette India.

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