Waiting for the truth to unfold (1069 words)

My husband and I enjoy sitting daily in the late evenings on our spacious balcony on the fifth floor. We have a panoramic view if we look up at the dark sky with the shimmering stars and if we looked down, we can see the landscape of the busy city illuminated with lights of various hues from different buildings advertising various products, some in marquee, some in changing colours and some in blinding constant light. The contrast was at once baffling and soothing.

 One evening, as we settled into our usual chairs, I turned to Murali.

“I have something to tell you,” I began. “Do you remember Suresh? He studied with me at IIM and later joined an MNC.”

Murali smiled knowingly. “Yes, Savitri. You once told me he fell in love with you and wanted to marry you. What happened to him?”

I smiled at his sharp memory. “You’re right. He did. At first, I wasn’t sure how I felt. He was intelligent and charming, even chivalrous. He helped me a lot with study material and our group projects. But certain things about him bothered me. He was extremely opinionated and didn’t take disagreement well. He wasn’t popular for that reason — a bit abrasive despite his otherwise gentlemanly nature.”

“And yet,” Murali said, “you had a soft corner for him. Until something perhaps changed and you distanced yourself. Did he get in touch recently?”

I laughed. “A soft corner? I just knew he’d never be the partner I needed. But yes — he called. He’s in the city for work and asked if we could catch up over lunch. I suggested Samrat restaurant for tomorrow. It is close to my office. I just wanted to keep you informed.”

Murali looked amused. “Why do you say so? Do you think I’m the jealous or suspicious type? All friendships don’t have to end with marriage, Savitri.”

The next evening, back on our balcony, it was Murali who brought up the luncheon meeting.

“So, did you have lunch with your classmate? How did it go?”

“I meant to tell you,” I said with a giggle. “But you beat me to it.” He made a face, and I continued. “He came on time. He looked different — older than I remembered. His face was pale, and he had a receding hairline. Not the healthy, energetic guy he used to be.”

Murali waved it off. “I’m not asking about his looks. What did he say?”

I sensed the edge in his tone. “Nothing big. We just chatted. He hasn’t married, still works in Delhi — some big-shot position. President of something or the other. He didn’t look well, and when I asked, he brushed it off. He spoke about old friends, professors… he asked about you, too.”

“That’s unfortunate — his health, I mean. You should’ve invited him home. Breakfast tomorrow, maybe? I’d like to meet him.”

I looked at Murali in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Of course. Call him. Let’s ask him over.”

 I dialled his number once, twice, three times. “It’s ringing, but no answer.”

“Call the hotel where he’s staying,” Murali suggested.

“Good idea,” I called. “What? What do you mean he didn’t check in? I had lunch with him this afternoon! He told me he was flying out tomorrow.”

The receptionist repeated her earlier statement, and I passed the phone to Murali, confused and frustrated. “They’re saying nonsense. You talk to them.”

Murali took the phone. “Can you clarify why there’s a problem reaching Mr. Suresh?”

The receptionist responded gently. “Sir, he had booked a room from Delhi, but he never checked in. When we followed up with his secretary, we learned that he suffered a cardiac arrest mid-flight. His body is being flown back to Delhi. We didn’t want to alarm the lady who called earlier.”

There was a long pause. Murali’s face turned pale with disbelief. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

“One hundred percent, sir. I can give you his secretary’s contact number, if needed.”

Murali ended the call and looked at me, stunned. “Savitri… she says he passed away on the flight. They never saw him at the hotel.”

I stared at him. “No. That’s not possible. I met him. I spoke to him. He was sitting across from me, smiling, talking. He remembered everything… asked about you, laughed at old stories. Murali, believe me… who was I with, if not Suresh?”

Murali didn’t speak. He wrapped his arms around me and gently guided me inside, away from the glimmering lights and the stars, to the bedroom.

​I was trembling — not just from fear, but from disbelief.

“Lie down for a bit and have this tranquiliser”, he whispered as he handed a glass of water. “I’m right here.”

I closed my eyes. His presence was calming. Within minutes, I drifted into a sleep.

Once he was sure Savitri was resting, Murali quietly went to the other room and called the Samrat restaurant.

“This is Murali,” he said. “I understand my wife, Savitri, had lunch at your hotel this afternoon with Mr. Suresh. She had made a reservation. Can you please confirm if the two had lunch there?”

After a brief pause, a soft-spoken waiter came on the line.

“Yes, sir. The lady was here — she arrived around 1 PM. She waited for about forty minutes. When no one joined her, she seemed disappointed and left. The lunch was never served.”

Murali’s heart sank. “Are you sure? No one else sat with her?”

“No, sir. She was alone for quite some time, but mumbling intermittently.”

Still unsettled, Murali hung up and immediately called their family doctor. As he explained what had happened, the doctor listened carefully before responding.

“I am not sure. This could be due to some unresolved strong emotion manifesting as a vivid experience,” the doctor said. “But it’s important that Savitri talks about it — not just to you, but perhaps to a professional. Don’t push, just be present and patient.”

Murali sat back, troubled but thoughtful. He looked at his sleeping wife, her brow now calm, her breathing even.

Who or what had joined her that afternoon, as she says? The waiter confirms she was alone. No food served. Could it be a hallucination?

Murali didn’t have the answers for the new problem. But tonight, he decided he would simply hold her close but remain awake. Maybe, Savitri would throw more light in a day or two.