The Weight of Thirty Years (What If! I met her Again)

A quiet corner in a bustling university library cafe, somewhere outside India. Late afternoon light streams through the window.

 * Aru: Mid-50s. Dressed impeccably but conservatively. His face is lined, his eyes hold a deep weariness beneath a carefully controlled, almost cold exterior. He carries himself with a heavy stillness.

 * Sara: Mid-50s. Looks professional, perhaps a professor. There's intelligence and strength in her eyes, but also a guardedness, a hint of old pain beneath the surface.

(Aru spots Sara first. He freezes for a moment, the carefully constructed wall around him visibly cracking before reforming. He hesitates, then slowly walks towards her table where she's reading a book, a half-empty cup beside her.)

Aru: (His voice is low, slightly rough, unused to this particular name) Sara? Is that… is it really you?

(Sara looks up, startled. Recognition dawns slowly, then sharply. Her posture stiffens, the warmth draining from her expression, replaced by a complex mix of shock and coldness.)

Sara: Aru. My god. What… what are you doing here?

Aru: I had a conference. In the city. I didn't know… I never imagined seeing you.

Sara: (Looks away briefly, then meets his eyes, her gaze flinty) No. I suppose you wouldn't have. It's been a long time. Thirty years.

Aru: Thirty years, two months, and… about a week. (He says it quietly, factually, the precision betraying something deeper).

Sara: (A flicker of surprise at his precision, quickly masked by bitterness) Counting? Why? Moved on, married, living happily ever after, wasn't that the story you wrote for me in your head? The one that let you off the hook?

Aru: (Doesn't flinch, but his eyes hold a deep shadow) I heard you left India. That you married. I assumed… I hoped… you found peace, Sara. Happiness.

Sara: (Lets out a short, brittle laugh devoid of humor) Peace? Happiness? Is that what you call building a life from rubble? You assumed. You always did assume, Aru. You assumed you knew what I wanted, what I felt, what happened… You assumed wrong. About everything.

Aru: (Looks down at his hands, then back at her. His coldness seems less like indifference now, more like a shield for immense pain) What could I have thought? You left. You never replied. The things that were said… the way it ended… You believed the worst of me.

Sara: (Leans forward slightly, her voice dropping, intense) Believed? You showed me the worst, Aru! You talk of storms? You were the storm. You broke everything. You didn't fight. You didn't explain. You just... vanished behind a wall of silence and let me drown in what I thought was the truth. Did you expect me to wait? To beg?

Aru: (His voice thick with suppressed emotion, the cold facade cracking) Beg? No. Never. Explain? Sara, I tried. In my clumsy, terrified way, I tried. But you wouldn't see me. Wouldn't hear me. The conviction in your eyes… that I had betrayed you… it shattered me. I thought… I thought letting you go, letting you believe that lie, was the only way to stop hurting you more. I was a coward. I see that now. A fool who thought silence was a kindness.

Sara: (Shakes her head slowly, a deep, old anger mixing with something that might be sorrow) Kindness? You call that kindness? Leaving me with that belief? Letting me build an entire life, an entire ocean away, thinking the man I loved… the man I thought I knew… was capable of such careless cruelty? That wasn't kindness, Aru. That was abandonment. You didn't just break my heart; you poisoned the memory.

Aru: (Looks directly at her, the weariness profound, the guilt naked in his eyes for a moment) There hasn't been a day, Sara. Not one single day in thirty years, where that memory hasn't been my companion. My penance. I never… I couldn't love anyone else. Not like that. It wasn't possible after you. I see you now, working here, your life… I am glad you rebuilt. Truly. Even if it was built on the ruins I caused.

Sara: (Studies his face. The anger is still there, but the certainty wavers slightly. She sees the genuine pain, the emptiness he describes. Her own feelings are a confusing storm she's kept locked away.) Glad? It cost me everything. My home. My family's understanding. Years of learning to trust again. My husband… he’s a good man, Aru. Kind. Patient. He deserved someone whole, not someone pieced together.

Aru: (Nods slowly, accepting the blow) I understand. Better than you know. Wholeness feels… like a memory from another life.

(A heavy silence falls between them, filled with the unspoken weight of three decades, misunderstandings, and enduring pain. The noise of the cafe seems distant.)

Sara: (Finally, she gathers herself, pulling her professional mask back into place) I have a class soon. It was… unexpected. Seeing you.

Aru: (Recognizes the dismissal, the closing off. He stands slowly.) Yes. Unexpected. I won't keep you, Sara. I just… seeing you… I had to say… I'm sorry. For the pain. For the silence. For failing you. For failing us. It wasn’t just romance we lost. It was… everything.

Sara: (Doesn't reply immediately. She looks out the window, then back at him. Her expression is unreadable, a mix of old hurt and perhaps a grudging acknowledgment of his own suffering.) Goodbye, Aru.

Aru: Goodbye, Sara.

(He turns and walks away, his steps measured, carrying the same heavy stillness he arrived with, perhaps even heavier now. Sara watches him go until he disappears, then stares down at her book, unseeing, the past swirling around her in the quiet corner of the cafe.)