Vimal could see Divya from afar, packing her bags and smiling to herself. They were finally going to Switzerland after years of planning. She had never taken such a long flight and was both excited and nervous. She had been to Switzerland over a thousand times in her dreams, but never had she thought it would truly happen.

Divya took out her blue chiffon sari and gazed at it. This sari always reminded her of Sridevi dancing in the ice-cold Alps to “Tere Mere Hothon Pe” – the deep blue against white snow, the impossible glamour of it all. She used to wonder how the actresses didn’t freeze in such scanty clothing. She folded it gently and placed it in the suitcase. She had decided – she would wear it at Titlis, no matter what.

This trip had stirred something long buried. As she sat before the mirror that evening, the overhead light caught every line she had once ignored. Fine wrinkles creased her forehead, and the once-tight skin around her eyes had softened. The freckles across her cheeks had darkened with time. Her body had borne more than age – it had carried pain, secrets, surgery scars and silence.

Her eyelashes were still thick, but they no longer framed a girl. They framed a woman who had lived decades of devotion, disappointment and duty. She was nearing fifty now. So many years had passed in caring for others that she hadn’t noticed herself fading at the edges.

She had aged. Not unpleasantly – but unnoticed. She picked up her phone and booked a facial appointment right away. She wanted to look beautiful for Switzerland. Or maybe…for him.

Vimal reminded her to pack medicines. He told her, gently but firmly, not to carry her snacks ka pitara this time – but she still tucked in his favourite theplas, achar and bhujia. Just in case.

By 4 am the next morning, Divya was up, too excited to stay in bed longer. Vimal kept snoozing alarms till six, but eventually they made it out. By the time they left, she had watered all the plants, locked every door and window, and instructed the gardener and house staff carefully. The house would rest while she finally lived her dream.

It was her first international journey. Vimal had travelled abroad several times for work, but this was different. As the flight took off, he noticed her glow. She looked childlike, scrolling through the in-flight movies with wonder. When the air hostess asked about beverages, she chose white wine. Day drinking wasn’t her habit, but that day felt worth the exception.

Divya crossed her legs and sat upright. She closed her eyes and played her meditation track through her ear pods. Shishir Sadhana was a practice she never skipped, not even in transit. Meditation had been her shield through seasons of storm, a ritual that steadied her breath when the world spun too fast.

Vimal watched her quietly. There was something unspoken between them – warmth, yes, but something heavier too. He had tried, over the past few months, to talk to her. Tried to broach things delicately, to begin a conversation. But each time, she had sensed it – his pauses, his hesitations – and slipped away. Into another room. Off to her mother’s. Behind the curtain of politeness.

Now, sitting next to her 35,000 feet above the ground, he realised this might be his only moment. He wasn’t proud of what he was about to do. But he also knew there was no easy way.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a folder. His hands trembled slightly. For a moment, he considered putting it back inside. Maybe it could wait till after landing. But the plane felt like the only place left where she couldn’t walk away – where silence couldn’t save them both.

He placed the folder gently on the tray table in front of her.

Divya opened her eyes and stretched. She noticed the folder and looked at Vimal, confused. He gave her a slight nod – more a plea than a gesture. Her smile faded. Her hand hovered over the papers. Something inside her knew.

The moment she saw the first page, her chest tightened. Her ears filled with a muffled hum, her vision blurred. She tried to blink, to breathe, but her fingers were shaking.

Her voice cracked as she whispered, “Why now? Why here?”

Vimal looked down. “I tried, Divya,” he said softly. “I tried for months to talk to you about this. But every time I even hinted, you shut it down. You’d change the topic. Stand up mid-sentence. Walk away. I didn’t know how else to reach you.”

“You’re blaming me for this?”

“I’m not blaming you,” he said gently. “I’m saying we both stopped speaking.”

She looked away, biting back tears.

His voice broke a little. “I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. I brought you here because I owed you this – your dream. You deserve it. But I couldn’t put this off anymore. Not because I wanted to ruin this moment. But because I didn’t know when I’d get another one where we could just…talk.”

Divya stared at him, her heart pounding. “Talk? Is this what you call talking?”

Vimal’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not proud of this. I don’t think I ever imagined it would come to this. But I’ve been carrying it around for so long. Watching your joy only made it worse. I know what this place means to you. That’s why I waited till you had it.”

He finally looked at her – his eyes full of weariness, not anger. “I wanted you to see the mountains. To breathe here. Even if I’m no longer part of the picture you carry home.”

Divya couldn’t believe her ears. Had Vimal become so heartless that he had chosen to turn the place of her best dream into the place of her worst nightmare? She felt betrayed, broken, fragile and vulnerable. “You waited thirty years to do this? Why now?”

Vimal closed his eyes. “My mother’s dying, Divya. She’s barely holding on. And the only thing she keeps asking for – every day, every night – is to see the face of her grandson before she goes.” His voice trembled. “You know how she is. You know what family means to her. To all of us.”

Divya sat silently, her throat dry.

“I tried to forget that dream,” he continued. “Tried to accept that we had a daughter and that was it. But it never went away. Not for me. Not for her. It just slept inside me.”

He swallowed hard. “And then the doctors said she may not last the year. That’s when it all came rushing back. The weight of her disappointment. The rituals left undone. The silence in the family tree. I know how it sounds, Divya – I do. But in my world, having a son isn’t just desire. It’s duty.”

Divya stared at him. “So you’re leaving me to chase a ghost.”

Excerpted with permission from ‘The Long Flight’ in Tea Cups and Turning Points: A Collection of Short Stories, Naina More, Rupa Publications.