one day, even the ocean will go still and silent

"Robbie. Feels like you've been living here forever, ya."

Like I had become part of the furniture, I joked back. Smita had been repeating that line since day one. I knew she always meant it in the best possible way. But then I'm not sure what triggered the thought on this night. It had unfolded like any other. The three of us would have our midnight meal together, without fail. Some nights we'd watch Arnab Goswami grill some pigheaded official on The Newshour, other times we'd just sit on the couch and discuss books I should read, share family stories or laugh giddily about how much weight the three of us had gained since I came to Bombay. It was a good thing too, we'd agree, over green tea. We had all found some kind of happy routine together, temporary as it would be. But on this night Smita couldn't imagine how it would feel when Puji and I would no longer be there. 

In many ways Smita had become the adopted older sister I never had. Forget that I was actually the eldest. She was far more responsible and mature than I would ever be. But we still had a lot in common. We had both just come out of very long-term relationships. We both looked to avoid unnecessary drama in our lives and called things out exactly as we saw them. So I can't say I was surprised we got along so well. I just never thought I'd have an opportunity to get to know her as well as I had. There had been several times where we got to speak about our pasts, one on one, while Puji was either sleeping or doing her own thing. I always spoke to her as honestly as possible. I never made myself out to be the good guy. And what I had written in that letter to her still stood. This is why we never felt like strangers. 

But on this one particular night she wanted to hear the story of how Puji and I met. She was, after all, a storyteller at heart. It's not as if she didn't know most of it already. But then Puji had managed to keep many of those early months secret from her - possibly because the two of them had been fighting so much at the time. And while she had never really approved of any of her sister's choices, with me there had been little protest. Just be careful. That was all Smita had said. Maybe it was a feeling. Despite her realistic streak, Smita still believed all things happened for a reason.

It felt like ages since I had told this story. I had forgotten how beautiful a story it was. And the fact that I had come to know Puji in a completely different way didn't diminish that one bit. 

I filled in as many blanks as I could, especially about Amy. She was an important part of the story. And with her birthday looming she had been on my mind a lot. I still worried for her happiness. I had put her through hell, even when trying my best to be honest. I had lied to her. I had fallen off the map emotionally and pulled the rug out from under a life we had been building up for so many years. And then I had given her no choice but to move on. I knew she would too. Maybe she already was. It was hurting less to think so. I felt free to speak about all this in front of Smita. I felt free. It was a feeling more powerful than any guilt or homesickness. All I felt that night was intense love for all concerned.

Puji and I shared storytelling duties and quietly smiled at each other every now and then. It might have been the nicest conversation the three of us had had together.

I think Puji and I had needed to hear the story as much as her sister had. Maybe we had lost track of just how incredible ours was. Smita smoked, listened and asked many questions. Was she comparing my story to her own? I knew she understood that somewhere along the line I had fallen out of love with Amy. Maybe the two of us had grown too comfortable together. And us being best friends had just made it all the more heart wrenching to say goodbye. I thought these were the kind of things only people who had lived through long-term relationships could truly understand. But then that was only half of the story. Smita also had to know that the only reason things had worked out between Puji and I was because we both wanted it to. God or fate alone would not have been enough. 

She told me how the Buddhists believed that any person incapable of learning from their mistakes in one life would be destined to repeat them in the next life. Those who harmed you would reappear in different forms. Even from a non-religious angle this made perfect sense to me. He who doesn't learn from history is doomed to repeat it. I knew in my heart that Smita would heal as she needed to. Just as Amy would. And as for Puji and I, these moments made our own insecurities seem inconsequential. It was exactly the kind of night we all needed to have. And I hoped there would be many more like this before we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways.