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‘You’reright.Ican’t even imagine what you deal with.Butsurvival has become your cage.Atwhat point do you cross over fromsurvivingtothriving?’
Foronce, she had nothing to say.Itseemed so obvious, now that he put it like that.
‘Soin the meantime, you can’t let it hold you back.Youneed to live.Otherwise, you’ll wake up one day and find out life has passed you by and you’re some oldbudhiyawith saggybabbesand loads of regrets.’
‘That’sbleak.’
Wasthis what friend chats were always like?Theywere brutal.Nowonder why she had avoided them.
Witha shaky sigh,Francescaleaned back and closed her eyes.Jaiveerwas right.She’dthought that if she could just keep herself sealed off until the time was right, she’d eventually get her happily ever after.Andwhen she did, everything would magically fall into place.She’dfind some wonderful divorced father, marry him, and that would be the beginning of her life.Ormaybe she’d find a guy who didn’t want kids.Sheknew they existed—except that didn’t solve the fact thatshewanted a family.
Butwhat if, by the time she found this unicorn of a man, she was too emotionally stunted to fall in love?Whatif the numbness became permanent?Whatif there was no wonderful life partner available at the moment she was ready for one?Maybeshe needed to stop only looking after her body and start looking after her soul, too.Butthat begged the question: was she already too late? ‘WhatshouldIdo aboutKrish?’
‘Well, do you love him?’
Herbottom lip trembled.Sheknew the answer; she did loveKrish.Kind, talented, funnyKrishwho made her body light up like a bonfire whenever he came near her. ‘Buthe’s engaged.’
Jaiveershrugged. ‘Ifyou don’t tell him, if you let him marry somebody else without knowing all the facts, you will regret it for the rest of your life.Andregret eats at a person from the inside.’
Shelaughed without mirth.Thethought of confessing her secrets toKrishmade her nauseous. ‘It’snot that easy, you know.Whatwould you suggestIdo?ShallIgo gyrate in a field and sing a song confessing my devotion?Reallife isn’t like aBollywoodfilm.’
‘Yourlife isn’t like aBollywoodfilm because you are making that choice.Don’tyou deserve a happy ending?’
Afterher drink withJaiveer,Francescawalked home with a spring in her step.ShelovedKrish.Maybethere was still a chance for them.Maybeall she had to do was tell him, and he would break off his engagement, and choose her.Shejust need to get out of her own way.Astrange, warm light spread through her chest, and at first, she had trouble identifying what it was.
Hope.Itwas hope.
Buton the other hand,Krishhad already made his choice and it wasn’t her.Thehopeful light sputtered.Tellinghim her truth wouldn’t magically change his mind, plus she couldn’t just steamroller his life because it benefited her.
Jesswas the star of hisBollywoodfilm.Itwas she who would be gyrating in a field, singing about her love for the hero, a village of chipper children dancing behind her and praising her potential fecundity.
Francescafrowned.Ithad taken her exactly 134 steps from the pub to her flat to find herself exactly back where she’d started.
Sheunlocked her door with a heavy heart.Krishcouldn’t possibly love her.Shehad manufactured his feelings for her in her head.Newtears arrived.Herresolve evaporated.Shethrew her keys onto the kitchen counter with a sob.
Howwould he propose?Thequestion wouldn’t leave her alone.Shecrawled into bed with her laptop and searched ‘BestPlacestoProposeinParis’, studying each spot and imaginingKrishgetting down on one knee,Jess’smagnificent head of blonde curls glinting triumphantly in theFrenchsun.
Themound of tissues next toFrancescagrew with each burst of emotion.Gonewas the hope from earlier, replaced by an undulating flow of wet, hot sadness.Betweenher gut and her heart,Francescastruggled to get a handle on herself.Inone crazy moment, she even picked up her phone to text him:
Pleasedon’t do it.Fx
Ittook two seconds to erase, horrified that her thumb might accidentally press send.
Shecontemplated textingJaiveer, who had given her his number, and asking him to meet her for coffee in the morning.Sheliked his vision of her future and wanted him to paint the picture for her again.Butshe couldn’t do that.Theirfriendship was still new, and she didn’t want to be too needy too fast.Hewas probably busy anyway.Atdrinks, he’d said as much.Sincehe won hisFanfareaward, his choreography services were more and more in demand.Infact, he would probably have to stop running theThursdayclass soon.Anotherthing that made her sad.
Butthe idea of being alone with her thoughts that night filled her with panic, knowing that in the morningKrishwould be zipping off toPariswithJess.
Maybeshe should call her sister?Donnawas the only member of her family who seemed interested in having a relationship withFrancesca.Shealways sent an invitation to her house forChristmas, butFrancescahad never gone, worried that the invite was extended out of pity rather than sisterly love.Francescacouldn’t shake the belief that her family collectively viewed her as a mild inconvenience.Theproblem child.Theunhappy accident.WhenFrancescahad started complaining about her ‘lady issues’, they labeled it as ‘histrionics’ and nicknamed her ‘HurricaneFrancesca’; but as it turned out, therehadactually been something wrong with her.Shewasn’t ‘lazy’ or ‘looking for attention’ or ‘being over-dramatic’.Shewas verifiably in pain.
Itwas partially because of them that she’d become so good at hiding it.
So, no, she wouldn’t call her sister.
Thatleft…nobody.
Sheblew her nose loudly and added another tissue to the pile.Herlife was a real mess.
Adull throb in her abdomen added to her pile of woe.Shepushed her laptop aside and picked upHotWillyoff the floor, trudging to the kitchen to fill the kettle.Asshe waited for it to boil, a familiar scratching sound came from under the sink.
