Present Day

The empty kitchen echoed the voice coming from the iPad, as loud as the vessels clanked. My daughter, Risha, resounded her concerns. She had been coaxing me to see a doctor for my bad knee for the last two months. Considering that she lived oceans away from me, made her magnified concerns sound like nagging. I was reminded of my  late wife, who always pressed on the matter of my health being the last of my priorities. Risha seemed to have taken after her. In fact, the tone of her voice was so close to how my wife would've shown her concern. 

“Of course, I have an appointment.” I assured her. “What do you think, am I that careless?”

“Dad, I just don’t trust you to take this seriously,” she sighed.

“I am a doctor,” I reminded her. I allowed my voice to sound as nonchalant about this fact as possible. “Ignoring it would be irresponsible. Don’t you worry too much about your old man. I have already met my orthopedic doctor who has referred me to a surgeon, and I have an appointment with her tomorrow.”

Satisfied with my momentary victory, I ended the call and returned to my cooking. It was my wife’s famous goan fish curry, though I had taken some liberties with the recipe. It didn’t taste the same, but it was close enough to trick my heart into feeling lighter. I lived to eat, anyway, and this was enough compensation for the knee ache, and a resultant rebuke from Risha over FaceTime.

*** 

The next morning, I walked into the hospital expecting just another appointment. I would get into the doctor’s office, discuss the reports and scans, finalise a date for the surgery and be out in a couple of minutes. Routine. Something similar to what I was attuned to, for almost thirty years being a dental surgeon. 

But boy! Was I ready for a collision with the past?

“Rey, I didn’t realise you were the surgeon I was being advised to see,” I said, struggling to keep my enthusiasm in check. “When my ortho suggested a surgeon, I only imagined it to be a second opinion, since I already have a surgeon friend.” I realised I was babbling incoherently, and suddenly stopped talking. The image of a train crashing into a wall crossed my mind.

She peered through her grey rimmed glasses scanning each line on my face, trying to gather the expressions. Was it surprise, was it shock, or was it nonchalance. I was finding it difficult to slot my reaction. 

“Are you disappointed, Frumpy?” she smirked. The corners of her eyes lifted in mirth. Her heavy Marathi accent was still as vivid in my ears as it was thirty-seven years ago.

Dr. Revati Paresh Parekh.

Revati Suresh Gokhale, for me. Rey, the only person who could ever stump me with her left slant, dimpled smile.

My college best friend. My confidante. My almost.

Her hair, now streaked with grey, fell softly over her temple. I resisted the urge to tuck it behind her ear, just like I would have, back in our Pondicherry college. It seemed like ages ago before she slipped through my fingers.

As if sensing my thoughts, she flicked the stray strand of her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear, exposing the length of her doe eyes fanning out into mild crows feet. My glance traced the lines on her face. Even her wrinkles seemed to embrace her, and not just the other way around. 

She studied my reports and explained the process for the surgery, her eyes moving up and down along with the tip of her pen, indicating the damage evident on my scans. While she hummed the indications from the reports, my mind continued to replay the moments spent together as youngsters. 

“Surgery is imminent. We can schedule it next week. It’s good that you’re getting the knee replaced now rather than later. Your sugar levels are also borderline.” She looked up. “Do you have someone at home for aftercare?”

I paused to consider if the question was from Rey or my surgeon. Involuntary words popped out of my mouth, “I’ll manage.”

She smiled, and those dimples, the ones that had once launched a thousand crushes, reappeared. 

“You’re a doctor. How could you let this happen to your health?”

Was she tripping me?

“I’m a dental surgeon. I spend my life fixing teeth. Being on my feet for long hours is a part of my job.”

She almost winked. “You could have kept a check on your weight, Frumpy.”

“Gah! How condescending.” I realised how quickly she switched roles from a doctor to the girl I knew years ago. Was she enjoying meeting me as much as I was? “You know, how my love for food surpasses all.”

She chuckled. It felt just like old times.

I leaned back. “So, you finally married Paresh Parekh?”

“Hmm. Thirty-four years ago,” she said casually. “He’s the VP here.”

I nodded, fighting to keep my expressions as unreadable as possible. How did I not know this, being in the medical fraternity, was beyond me. But we all know how anyone in Mumbai can get lost in their own lives, trying to find themselves. I, for one, was only trying to focus on my life, hoping to get as far away as possible from her. From them.

“Okay then.” I got up. “I’ll finalize the date for the surgery with my doc, next week.”

“Sure.” She stood as well.

For a moment, warmth flickered between us. Unspoken words seemed like unfinished emotions.

“Homeward bound?” she asked.

“Actually,” I said, grinning, “I’m off to watch a movie.” I paused for effect. She waited for me to continue. “Care to join?” The instinctiveness of the words made me kick myself, in my head. Why would she?

She hesitated, and then pulled off her glasses. Her kohl-lined eyes met mine. “A movie sounds harmless.”

She said it so effortlessly, as if it were just another plan on an ordinary day. A movie. Nothing special.

I nodded. “Great,” I said, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. As if my heart hadn’t just shifted in my chest.

We walked toward the exit, side by side, comfortably silent in each other’s company. The world outside was the same with cars moving, people rushing, life carrying on, but something about this moment felt different. Not dramatic, not overwhelming, just… different.

I ignored the feeling and pushed it away. It was a simple invitation, nothing to read into.

As we stepped into the evening, my heart reached back to another time, another place.

Back to Pondicherry.

***

Pondicherry, 1986

The campus stretched across acres of green. Manicured shrubs lined up the walkways and the salty air blended well with the scent of wet earth. The trees swayed gently, as the breeze rustled the leaves. The sun-bleached walls of the old stone buildings held years of laughter, heartbreak, and discovery within them.

Revati and I spent hours in the lab that was always buzzing, with glass beakers clinking, Bunsen burners flickering, the faint scent of chemicals lingering in the air. As we hunched over our lab benches, I pushed her neatly written notes onto my side to refer to, contrasting my illegible last-minute scribbles. 

Revati adjusted her gloves with practiced ease. A strand of her locks wandered off and her brow furrowed, as she measured exactly 10 ml of the reagent into the beaker. She double-checked her notes, tapping the glass tube lightly before setting it down.

Meanwhile, I was busy causing minor chaos. "Oops," I muttered as a drop of acid narrowly missed my sleeve.

Revati didn’t even look up. "You didn’t read the instructions, did you?"

I grinned, wiping my hands on my coat. "Instructions are just suggestions."

She finally glanced at me, her eyebrows arching in exasperation. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here I am, your lab partner for life," I said, flashing a smile.

She sighed, shaking her head, but I caught the small laugh she tried to hide.

For me, it wasn’t a sudden, dramatic kind of love. No lightning bolts, no earth-shattering moments. It happened quietly, like a melody I hadn’t realized I was humming.

Her effortless and warm dimpled smile caught me first. Then, it was the self-assured way she carried herself. She was completely unaware of the space she occupied in my heart. She never stormed in. She simply settled there. And maybe that’s why I never realized I needed to tell her how I felt about her. She made her space there, and I had foolishly assumed she always would be.

The library was our sanctuary, that cogently allowed us to slow down our pace. The world outside would fade with the ticking of the clock, amidst the quiet rustling of pages. Forgotten love stories would crave to find their place between medical journals and anatomy textbooks.

I would often look around to absorb the feel of the place. Libraries seem to beg for love stories to unfold within their quiet corners, hidden between the musty smugness of coiled words and the hush of turning pages. There’s something about the way time slows down there, how stolen glances linger a little longer, how fingertips graze the same spine on a crowded shelf.

Maybe it's the scent of old paper and ink, or the unspoken understanding that love, like literature, is best discovered when you’re not really looking for it.

And I didn’t need to. Revati was right here. Beside me.

We claimed our usual table near the window, where the light pooled softly onto the pages of our open books. She read through her notes with the intensity of someone carving their future, flipping pages quickly, underlining words, occasionally mumbling complicated medical terms under her breath.

I, on the other hand, spent most of my time pretending to read while stealing glances at her, watching the way she twirled her pen absentmindedly, the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bit her lip when deep in thought.

She must have noticed at some point.

There were times when I’d catch her looking at me, not with recognition, not with certainty, but with something close to curiosity. As if she sensed something transforming between us but wasn’t sure if she imagined it.

Once, she put down her pen and tilted her head. “Why are you staring at me?”

I blinked, caught in the act. “I’m not. I’m just… thinking.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “About?”

I scrambled. “The difference between a molar and a bicuspid.”

She snorted. “Liar.”

I grinned. “And yet, here we are.”

She shook her head, muttering something under her breath, but there was a faint smile playing on her lips.

If she suspected what I really felt, she never asked.

Maybe she didn’t want to know. Maybe she already knew but wasn’t ready to acknowledge it.

Or maybe, she was too busy looking elsewhere.

Because lately, her attention had started to drift toward Paresh, who had begun finding his way between us, little by little.

At first, it was just him dropping by our table, pretending to need a book from the shelf behind us. Then it was him pulling out a chair and joining our table. His presence turned our lighthearted conversations into measured engagements.

But Revati always lit up when he was around.

She sat up straighter, tucked her hair behind her ear a little more often, laughed a little too easily.

And I sat there, cracking jokes, being the lovable idiot and her best friend.

The fool who loved her but never said a word.

And then there was the canteen.

The heart of our campus, always alive with chatter, the clatter of steel plates, the aroma of filter coffee and crispy dosas filling the air. It was where we gathered after long lectures, where we laughed the hardest, and where I learned how to smile through my longing.

Revati and I sat at a table, her plate stacked with idlis while I dug into my chicken biryani.

"You need to stop eating like a famished horse, Frumpy" she said, shaking her head as I took an exaggerated bite.

"Excuse me," I said, mouth full. "I am a growing boy. You wouldn’t understand. And stop calling me Frumpy. I have a name."

She snorted. "You're twenty-two. You’ve done all the growing you can."

I grinned. "My love for food is an evolving phenomenon. That's enough for me."

She laughed, and for a second, everything felt perfect.

Then, Paresh walked in.

Dressed in his usual immaculate white shirt and faded jeans, he ran a hand through his neatly styled hair as he scanned the room. The guy didn’t just walk, he arrived, like he had just stepped out of a Bollywood movie.

Revati’s face lit up instantly. She straightened in her seat, tucking her loose hair behind her ear, her fingers fidgeting with the spoon in her hand.

I felt something twist inside me.

But, of course, I smiled.

"Look at you," I teased. "Fixing your hair like he can even see you from across the room."

"Shuddup," she mumbled as a slight blush creeped up her cheeks.

Paresh finally spotted us and walked over with an effortless grin. "What’s up, lovebirds?"

"Lovebirds?" I gasped dramatically, placing a hand on my chest. "Paresh, I thought what we had was special."

Revati giggled, shaking her head. "Ignore him."

Paresh pulled up a chair and stole a piece of my biryani like it was his birthright.

"Hey! That’s betrayal," I exclaimed. "First, you steal my best friend’s heart, and now my food?"

Revati smacked my arm lightly. "Behave."

Paresh laughed, popping the piece into his mouth. "Well, one of those things is true."

He said it lightly, but I felt the weight of it. Their eyes met.

Revati’s eyes softened as she looked at him, and in that moment, I knew.

I had known for a while, but sitting there, watching the way she looked at him, the way her eyes searched for his approval, it settled deep inside me.

I was her best friend. The fool who loved her in silence.

So I did what I did best. I smiled. I cracked jokes. I acted as if my heart wasn’t slowly unraveling inside me.

And they never noticed.

They never had to.

***

Present Day, A Second Chance

The dim lights of the theatre flickered on as the credits rolled.

Revati turned to me, stretching. “That wasn’t terrible.”

I smirked. “Is that your way of saying you had fun?”

She laughed softly.

Outside, the city glowed with neon signs and streetlights. We walked in silence for a while, until I stopped.

“Do you remember the Euphoria concert we had booked but never made it to?” I asked and looked at her, awaiting her response.

She frowned, searching her memory.

“College days,” I prompted. “You were so excited to see them perform live, and then... something happened… we never made it.”

Recognition flickered in her eyes, her face softened. A memory unstuck itself from that time.

“Oh yes!” she said, a soft smile escaping her lips. “Paresh proposed that day. We got so caught up in it that we completely forgot about the concert.”

“Right.” I didn’t mean to show any emotion, but she may have gathered some disappointment in my tone.

“Let’s go somewhere.”

She raised a brow. “Where?”

“Pondy.”

She blinked.

“I’m serious,” I said. “Let’s go back. One weekend. No surgeries, no responsibilities. Just us.”

She hesitated. “That’s… a terrible idea.”

“Is it?”

She looked at me for a long time. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded.

***

Pondicherry, Again

The sea was still the same deep blue, stretching endlessly toward the horizon. The streets still smelled damp stone, as if they had trapped time within their narrow alleys.

We walked through the old lanes, reminiscing.

“What are we doing here?” Revati asked with curiosity.

I shrugged. “Just… being.” I glanced at her, noticing the way a few silver strands had escaped from her bun, caressing her cheek like a delicate veil. “Making up for lost time, I guess.”

She sighed, letting her fingers trail along the weathered walls of the buildings we passed. “No, I mean, why Pondy?”

“You’ll know.” I grinned.

The place wrapped around us like a warm hug. It didn’t feel like three decades had passed. It felt like just yesterday we were hopping into a café to escape the rain, laughing over stolen bites of banana walnut cake. Or stepping into a dusty local bookstore, arguing over which book was worth spending our last few rupees on.

I remembered walking these sidewalks, a few steps behind Revati and Paresh, watching them in an animated conversation, my jokes hovering in the background, unnoticed.

The past was here. And so were we.

I finally asked the question that had been sitting on my tongue all day. “Why didn’t you come for the silver jubilee reunion?” It would’ve been a perfect time for us to reconnect then.

I had expected a well-reasoned excuse from her. Instead, she just tilted her head and shrugged, mouthing a careless “Meh.”

That wasn’t Revati. She always had a reason, an explanation, a conviction. But now, there was nothing.

Back at the guest house, I sensed something amiss in her. The nostalgia I had seen on her face earlier was replaced by a quiet melancholia.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She nodded, but her expression was far away, lost in thoughts she seemed far from okay. “I didn’t realize coming back here would feel so… overwhelming.”

I felt a stab of guilt. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her back. Maybe some doors were meant to stay closed.

But before the thought could root itself, she turned to me. Her gaze was clear, raw, unguarded.

“Thank you for bringing me back here.”

The smile that followed wasn’t just on her lips but reached her eyes, her entire being.

Then she stepped closer with hesitant steps. Before I could react, she lifted herself onto her toes, her lips reaching out for mine. 

Her fingers skimmed my jaw and her arms settled in a cross behind my neck. A slow, rhythmic pull. Soft. Tender. Vulnerable.

I kissed her back. My hands instinctively found the small of her back, holding her close as if she had always belonged there.

She arched against me. Her hand cupped my face, deepening the kiss. A silent confession in a language we had never spoken before.

It could have been minutes, or just a moment. But in that moment, it felt like a lifetime had folded itself into the warmth of her mouth. 

When the moment slipped away, I searched in her eyes what she’d meant by this. I was still the same. Not one to come between her and Paresh.

“Paresh.” I muttered. Was it the best way to bring him up now, especially after she’d kissed me a minute ago? I didn’t intend to guilt trip her, at least.

She waved her hand and swatted the thought away. “Divorced, a decade ago. Right about the time of the college silver jubilee reunion.”

That connected the dots. Only if I had known it then. Was it a relief that just cast over my face? Because she smiled and turned away. 

That evening, we got ready to head over to a large outdoor arena. Euphoria was performing again. I wanted to surprise her with the show we had missed while in college.

We stood in the crowd, just like we had intended to thirty-seven years ago. There were lightbulbs shining bright in Revati’s eyes. This wasn’t what she had anticipated, while I’d planned the trip around this show.

As the music started playing for the fourth song, she turned to me.“I need to tell you something.”

I looked at her. “What?”

Her fingers trembled slightly. “I… loved you.”

Loved me? What did that mean? Like a minute ago, a few hours ago or years ago? The words hit me like a wave.

“In college,” she said over the music. “But you never professed. And I waited. And waited. And then, one day, I realized you never would.”

“You could’ve said something. We were close.” I arched my eyebrows in shock.

“I guess, I chickened, fearing a heartbreak.”

I stared at her, heart pounding. “I thought… you wanted Paresh.”

“It was you, Frumpy” she said, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. “But you never fought for me.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it. All the years that we had lost settled between us.

I did the only thing I could. I took her hand in mind and kissed it. She let me.

And as Palash Sen sang about love and longing, we stood together. Exactly where we were meant to be. At fifty nine.

***
This story is a distend of Past Present submitted for QuinTale-38

***
 Just like every love story has sound track, this story has this. The story is inspired by the beautifully done video.