The Flight That Circled Back

He was on time, as always. He never liked to be late, even by a millisecond. He firmly believed that every millisecond is precious, and life is too short to waste even one.

So, he was always spot on time—whether it was a personal meeting or a professional appointment.

That day wasn’t any different. However, the moment he was about to get out of his car, he received an SMS.

“Hi. Please don’t be angry. I will be late by an hour. Will explain when we meet. C yaa.”

“Damn!” He slammed the car’s steering wheel hard with his palm and got out. He lit a cigarette and, releasing the smoke with a deep sigh, looked at his wristwatch.

‘Why don’t people value time? Where do I spend this extra time now? The café-restro out there seems to be a good place… nah… it is too crowded,’ he said to himself as he looked around to pass the time until she arrived.

After carefully scanning the area, his eyes fixed on a bookstore on the opposite side of the road. Though he seldom read books or visited bookstores, that day, he didn’t know what came over him—he decided to go in.

He quickly finished his cigarette, crushed the butt under his shoe, and crossed the road.

“Baapre!” he almost shouted the moment he entered and saw a huge crowd surrounding a table.

‘How do people find time to read this crap anyway?’ he thought as he browsed through some books. Suddenly, something made him stop and look towards the crowd gathered around the table.

“Excuse me, why is there such a crowd near that table?” he asked one of the salesboys standing nearby.

“Oh, some author is signing copies for her readers,” the boy replied, unable to recall the author’s name.

“But…” he paused mid-sentence, picked up a random book, and walked towards the table.

“Excuse me,” he said, asking someone in the crowd to make way as he reached the near end of the table.

The scene before him came as a shock. He had mixed feelings about seeing a familiar face signing books. At first, his heart raced like a steam engine, but he quickly calmed himself. Then a strange sense of ease settled in his mind. He kept looking at the person with a soft smile on his face.

The crowd was gradually thinning, and when there were about six or seven people left near the table, he walked forward and called out,

“Hi, what’s up? Long time no see?”

The author, who was signing her umpteenth copy, stopped and looked up almost immediately.

“You?” she almost shouted in surprise.

The two looked at each other, their gaze locked in an inexplicable emotional exchange. They smiled. They frowned. They also shared cold glances.

After the last copy was signed and she was finally free, he walked up to her.

“I never knew you were a writer.”

“Hmm, I know that. Well, it seems you’re a voracious reader. Are you?” she asked, pointing to the book in his hand with her eyes.

Taken by surprise, he looked at his hand.

“Arey! No, not at all. I hardly read. Books don’t attract me. This is just…” he scoffed, looking at the book in his hand. He then placed it on the nearby shelf.

“Well, I am not surprised then. Had you only said that you are a reader, I would have been pleasantly surprised,” she said, with a clear undertone of sarcasm.

“Sarcastic, huh? So, are you free now?”

“Why?”

“Could we sit somewhere and share a cup of coffee?”

“It seems you have a very short memory. I don’t like coffee. I guess I told you. Remember?”

“Oh yes, I remember now. But that was almost a year back! Forgetting something from a year ago… I guess you can’t call that a short memory, or can you?”

“Hmmm… depends on how emotionally attached or involved you are with the person.”

There was an uneasy silence as he looked at her, unflinching.

Sensing it, she smiled and said, “Chill, I was joking—just pulling your leg. Well, the proposal isn’t bad. With a little chill in the air, a hot cup of coffee would indeed be awesome. But on one condition.”

“What?”

“Well, be the 150th buyer of my book. You can at least try it. What do you say?” she asked, handing him a copy of her book.

He looked at her and smiled. “Sure, I would love to, and I promise I’ll finish the book in a week.”

He took the copy from her hand and looked at it.

The Unbaked—the book’s title, in bold white, and it stood out on the cover, with the author’s name below: Mridula.

“I was right, the name is indeed timeless. The kind that does not try to keep up—out of trend, but always classic and elegant.”

He looked at her. She smiled as their eyes met.

“So, is this your first book? When did you start writing? You never told me you write.”

“First? No, this is my fourth novel. I’ve been writing for the past seven or eight years. I’m not well-known enough for you to recognise my name. And… well, I never told you what I do for a living, did I? In fact, you never asked. It was just… well… we had only one thing in mind—at least I did, I must admit,” she said with a smile.

“Well-known? Are you fucking joking me? Look at the credentials, the honours… Sahitya Akademi, the Assam Valley Literary Award… recognition by the Philippines… And look here—your previous works have been translated into 23 languages across the world! And you are telling me you are now well-known?” he scoffed.

“Well, don’t I look and sound like a fool? You are a literary stalwart—and me?” He was visibly ashamed of his ignorance.

Looking at his predicament, she said in a calming tone, “Calm down, Raktim. It’s absolutely fine. Awards and honours don’t necessarily mean I am popular with everyone. And in no way do they make me a stalwart. I am just a simple person, with basic human feelings and desires.”

He kept looking deep into her, trying to read beyond her words.

“Well, let’s go. The coffee might get cold,” she said, breaking the silence as she got up from her seat.

“Dipu, please look after the belongings. I will come back tomorrow,” Mridula called out to the salesboy Raktim had spoken to earlier.

“I’ll leave for the day. Please convey my regards to Mr Pegu.”

“Sure, baido.”

Mridula closed her laptop, neatly placed it inside the laptop bag, and hung it sideways over her shoulder.

“Sure, but first please sign my copy too, and your QR code please,” said Raktim, handing the book to Mridula as he reached into his pocket for his phone.

Mridula looked at him for a moment. He did not pay much attention to her gaze. She smiled, thought for a while, then took the book, signed it, and signalled towards the UPI box with her eyes.

“Here. Done. 415.” He smiled, took the signed copy, and tucked it under his left arm.

The two had just stepped out of the store when a gust of cool breeze swept through their hair. It was late October, and the temperature had just begun to show the first signs of dipping.

“Do you think this October is going to be cooler than last year’s, or is this coolness in the air just deceptive?” Raktim asked, wrapping his arms around himself.

“Huh! You find this cold? Come on, man, this is just pleasant.” Mridula barely paid attention to what he said as she walked ahead, crossed the road, and entered the café.

She scanned the room and found an empty table by the window.

The moment she stepped inside the café, several eyes followed her, mostly with the look of people trying to remember where they had seen her before.

She smiled back warmly at the ones who smiled at her.

She took the seat and placed the laptop on the table.

“You seem to be quite popular. I can see that.” Raktim said, making himself comfortable on a chair opposite hers and placing the book near her laptop bag.

“Sarcastic?”

“Sarcastic? Who, me? No… no… not at all. I seriously mean it. I just witnessed how people looked at you the moment you stepped in. A complete celebrity vibe.”

“Oh, please! Celebrity?” Mridula scoffed.

“Well… why would I bluff?”

“How can I say why you would?”

“Do you think I need to?”

She looked at him. Deep into his eyes. The faint trace of a smile gradually disappeared from her face.

Their eyes remained locked for a few seconds longer than usual when a waiter broke the silence of their unspoken conversation.

“One mug of black tea with lemon for me and a cup of hot cappuccino without sugar for the gentleman, along with two grilled chicken sandwiches and six coconut cookies for now. We’ll let you know if we want anything more.” Mridula shut the menu card as the waiter noted down the order and left.

“Whoa! You still remember my love for sugarless cappuccino?”

“Well, I guess at my age, memory behaves a bit erratically. Sometimes you remember all the nonsensical things, while on most occasions you tend to forget the daily necessities.”

“Ouch! That’s… cold!”

She looked at him again and let out a hushed laugh. He smiled too.

The food was served soon after, and the two started talking about various topics, nothing in particular.

After some time, Raktim’s phone buzzed.

“Yeah, I am at the café. So, where have you reached?” he asked the caller.

“Oho! What happened? When? No issues. You stay with her. Fine. I understand—no issues,” he said before disconnecting the call.

Then he looked at Mridula, who was staring at him quizzically.

“Oh! Nothing. Yeah… you guessed it right.”

“So… are you serious, or is it just a fling like many others?”

The question made him a bit uncomfortable. The tone in which she asked it was not just a friendly query; it felt like something he had never experienced before. Her tone confused him.

“Well, does it matter?”

“No, not at all. I just wanted to know if… Anyway, your life, your choice. So, will you be leaving?”

“No, not today. Her mother met with an accident, and she is in the hospital. So, today’s plans have been cancelled.”

“And what if her mother wasn’t hospitalised? You would have left once she came, would you not? And here I am… If not their feelings, at least learn to respect someone’s time, Mr.”

“Hey… I… I did not think that much… I…”

“What did you think? That I am available for your entertainment?”

“Hey! Nothing like that. I never really gave it a thought as to what I would have done had she come… And… sorry… But now that she is not coming, I am all here for you.” He tried to smile and ease the situation.

“Seriously? God! You still believe that you can control everyone, every time? Humans are not robots!

“Hey… hey… hey… Where is this coming from? I mean, it was consensual, and I did not force myself on you, did I? Why are you behaving in this absurd way and trying to put the guilt point on me?”

She stopped midway, trying to say something. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Closing her eyes, she heaved a deep sigh.

“Sorry. I guess I overreacted.”

“But why?” he asked, pressing further.

“I don’t know.”

What followed was silence. No one spoke a word. They kept looking at their empty mugs.

“Another cup?” he asked.

She nodded in affirmation.

Soon, the café began to empty, and after some time, only they and two or three others remained.

“Raktim, can I ask you something? Something a bit personal? I generally don’t like to interfere in anyone’s personal matters, but… well, stop staring.”

“Yeah, sure. Shoot.”

“Did you ever feel like settling down with someone? Ever? Or has it always been about flings?”

He thought for a while and then heaved a deep sigh.

“Umm… well… there were moments… but I never really thought much about it.”

“So… it has always been the same way.”

“I am fine with my life the way it is. Why are you asking this? What makes you so interested in my life all of a sudden?”

“Nothing. I was just a bit curious.”

“Hmmm… Well, the coffee is here.”

This time, she sipped her tea slowly. He, too, was in no hurry.

“Now, may I ask you something? A blunt question?”

“What?”

“Are you stuck? Do you still hold me guilty? Do I still exist for you? Have you moved on?”

She looked at him, confused and unsure.

“How does it matter anyway? See, this restaurant is a nice place, and sometimes the taste of the food stays with us for a long time. But it is still a restaurant, and we can’t make it our permanent stopover, can we?”

“But life is not a restaurant. Can this second meeting be a God-sent sign?”

“What? What do we have here? Raktim talking about coincidences and God-sent signs? Omens? Is this a natural change, or are you trying something?” Mridula almost spilt her tea on herself.

“I was just saying it casually. Well, if you find it amusing, then leave it.”

“No… not amusing at all. Please continue.”

“Leave it. Let it be.”

Mridula did not press further. She sensed that though he was trying to stay cool and maintain an “I don’t care” attitude, his expressions betrayed something else.

She looked at her watch for a moment.

“Are you getting late?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“No. Just… why? Is there something on your mind?”

“No.”

Neither of them pursued the matter further and soon drifted into conversations about various things.

Their phones rang from time to time, but neither showed any interest in answering the calls. Every time they disconnected one and complained about the caller, it felt as though they were silently rebuking them for interrupting something beautiful.

They chatted for nearly four hours and finished several cups of black tea with lemon and cappuccinos. Neither of them wanted to leave.

“Raktim… I think we are getting late,” she said after a moment of thought.

“Are we?”

“I guess so. Don’t you think so?”

“Don’t know. Perhaps, if you say so.”

“Does it really matter?”

“Aaa… well… what if I say yes, it does! Then?”

“Hmm… then let’s clear the bills and leave. I have to drop by at a friend’s place.”

“Hmm… sure. Let me call the waiter.”

“Split the bill, please. Let’s not carry anything over.”

“But… okay, if you say so. Please, stop looking at me with that killer look!”

The two paid their shares of the bill and thanked each other. They walked out of the restaurant, and Mridula called an auto-rickshaw standing nearby. Before getting in, she looked back once over her shoulder and smiled faintly at him.

Raktim waved at her and stood there as the auto slowly disappeared into the evening traffic.

A strange calm stayed on his face. Just as he was about to walk towards his car, a waiter came running out from inside the café and handed him the book he had forgotten on the table.

“The Unbaked,” he read aloud, absent-mindedly turning the pages until they stopped at the Acknowledgement page.

“To someone whom I may never meet again.”

He looked up in the direction the auto had gone.

The road ahead was already crowded again. Bikes passed. A bus stopped nearby with a loud hiss. Somewhere behind him, plates clattered inside the café. Yet his mind stayed fixed on that one brief look she had given him before leaving.

He lowered his eyes to the book again and absent-mindedly flipped through a few pages with his thumb. The pages moved back and forth in the evening breeze before stopping once again at the Acknowledgement page.

“To someone whom I may never meet again.” This time, the line felt oddly personal. Almost accusing.

He shut the book and stood there for a while beside his car, uncertain about what exactly he was waiting for. Going after her sounded absurd even in his own head. He was not someone who chased moments—certainly not people.

Still, he did not start the car immediately.

He got in, rested both hands on the steering wheel, and stared blankly through the windshield. The city lights had begun to come alive one by one. Somewhere nearby, someone laughed loudly. A couple crossed the road in front of him. Time moved normally around him, but something inside him felt strangely unsettled.

Perhaps it was the way she had said, “Let’s not carry anything over.”

Or perhaps it was the ease with which she had walked away.

He finally started the engine.

At first, he drove without thinking much, almost convincing himself he was simply heading home. But at the next turn, instead of taking the usual route, he slowed down unconsciously and took the same road the auto had disappeared into.

He exhaled sharply, almost laughing at himself.

“What exactly are you doing?” he murmured under his breath.

Traffic had thickened by then. Shops glowed under bright signboards. People moved hurriedly along the pavements. Amid the line of vehicles ahead, he suddenly noticed the same auto-rickshaw again.

For a moment, he considered turning away. Instead, he kept driving. Not too close. Not too far either.

The auto finally entered a quieter residential lane and stopped near a housing complex. Raktim slowed his car near the gate but remained seated for a few seconds after the engine died.

He watched as Mridula paid the driver and adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder before turning towards the apartment blocks.

Even then, he hesitated. His fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel. He could still leave. He probably should. But before he could think himself out of it again, he stepped out of the car and walked towards her.

“Hi there.” He smiled at her warmly.

“You? You have been following me?”

He did not answer immediately. He simply stood there, slightly out of breath, looking at her as though he himself did not fully understand why he had come.

“Perhaps this second meeting happened for a reason,” he said quietly.

“Maybe that’s why today’s meeting got cancelled,” he added almost immediately.

She said nothing. The noise of distant traffic filled the silence between them.

“I think…” He stopped midway and gave a small laugh at himself.

“I think I did feel like settling down once. But perhaps I was too lost… too busy enjoying life. I guess I failed to understand the sign then.”

The words remained suspended between them.

She looked at him for a long moment. Not searching. Not questioning. Just looking.

“You don’t usually say things like this,” she said softly.

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

“That day,” she said slowly, “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“Yes.”

“And today?”

This time, he answered without hesitation.

“No. I am not sure what I am doing, but… But something is different today, and what I am saying holds a bigger pursuit, I feel.”

Something in that answer stayed with her, perhaps because it lacked performance.

“I think we should leave. We should have left long back,” she said with a faint smile. “You are saying something you usually don’t stay for. And you might not like what staying feels like.”

“I know. I know all of it, but…”

“But?” She looked at him carefully.

“Do you really think there can be a ‘but’ here?” she pressed in.

For a second, she looked away at the rows of apartment lights coming alive one after another. Then she turned back towards him.

“You are late,” she said. Not harsh. Not soft. Just true.

“I know.” He nodded slowly.

“Am I really that late?” he asked after a pause.

“I am here finally, despite being late. Ain’t I?”

Neither of them moved for a while. People crossed the road nearby. A child cycled past them. Somewhere above, a pressure cooker whistled from one of the flats. Life carried on around them as though nothing important was happening.

“Would you like to have a cup of coffee?” she asked suddenly.

“I am not much of a coffee person, but I can make decent coffee.” She smiled warmly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Why? Are you afraid?”

“No. If you don’t have a problem, then I am game.”

She smiled and led the way towards her flat on the ground floor of Block A.

The corridor leading to the apartment was unusually quiet compared to the noise outside. Somewhere on the upper floors, a television played faintly. A pressure cooker whistled again from another flat, followed by the distant sound of someone calling out to a child.

Mridula unlocked the door and pushed it open slowly.

“Come in.”

Her flat was small and cosy, carrying the lived-in warmth of someone who preferred silence over decoration.

A soft yellow lamp glowed near the corner of the living room. On the walls were framed photographs of her family—her parents, a much younger version of herself, and a few others he could not recognise immediately.

Near the window stood a modest bookshelf crowded with novels, journals, loose papers, and a few stacked manuscripts tied together with clips.

A faint smell of old books and coffee lingered in the room.

Raktim stood in front of the wall and looked at the photographs hung there.

“That’s my small family,” she said, placing her laptop bag on the table. “Please make yourself comfortable.”

Raktim nodded, though for some reason he remained standing for a few seconds longer than necessary.

For the first time that evening, the reality of where he was seemed to reach him fully. This was not a café table. Not a passing encounter. Not a hotel room between flights. This was her life.

“Water?” she asked casually.

“Huh? Oh… yes. Sure.”

She disappeared briefly into the kitchen while he slowly walked towards the bookshelf.

His fingers moved absent-mindedly over the spines of the books. Classics. Poetry. Assamese literature. Translated fiction. Some books had folded corners and handwritten notes sticking out from between the pages.

One notebook lay half-open on the shelf with hurried pen marks across several pages. He instinctively looked away from it, almost feeling as though he had intruded into something private.

Mridula returned and handed him a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

Neither spoke for a few seconds.

“You really read all these?” he finally asked, mostly to fill the silence.

“Hmmm. Most of them. Some are only there to make me feel intelligent.”

He laughed softly. The tension eased a little.

“So, what happens now?” he asked after a pause as she sat down opposite him.

“What happens?” She shrugged lightly. “Nothing. We can share a cup of coffee, and if you have time, maybe I can cook some fish for you. I have plenty stored in the refrigerator.”

“Fish?”

The word immediately pulled up an old memory. He remembered casually mentioning during their flight journey that fish was probably the only thing he could never get tired of eating.

The fact that she remembered stayed with him strangely.

“You like fish? I never knew that,” he said.

“Hmmm…” she replied, holding his gaze for a moment longer than usual. “You don’t know a lot about me.”

This time, he did not try to respond immediately.

Outside, a car passed through the lane with loud music playing briefly before fading away again.

He slowly sat back on the sofa. For the first time in years, he felt oddly unsure of himself—not in an uncomfortable way, but unfamiliar enough to make him quiet.

“We don’t rush this,” he said after a long silence.

“Rush?” She smiled faintly. “We? Leave me, but are you sure you are not rushing?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

She read her expressions carefully for a moment, as though trying to decide whether she believed him or not.

Then she let out a slow breath and stood up. “Wait. I’ll bring your coffee.”

He nodded.

As she walked towards the kitchen, he looked around the room once again. The silence no longer felt awkward now. Only still.

His eyes stopped at one of the family photographs near the lamp. Mridula looked younger there—smiling openly, without the restraint she carried now.

Something about that photograph unsettled him unexpectedly. For a brief second, he almost felt like leaving. Perhaps this had already crossed into territory he did not know how to handle. He rubbed his palms together slowly and exhaled.

“What exactly are you doing?” he murmured to himself again.

A few minutes later, she returned carrying a tray with two mugs of coffee and some cookies. He took the cup carefully.

“Careful. It’s hot.”

“Hmmm.”

They sipped quietly.

Mridula seemed completely lost in the warmth of the coffee itself—eyes half closed, fingers wrapped around the mug, smiling faintly without realising it.

He kept looking at her silently. Not with desire this time. Just looking.

“I am done.”

“Hhh… what?” She snapped back.

“I said my coffee is over.”

“Oh.” She smiled awkwardly. “Coffee is over. Hmm… so what’s on your mind?”

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he placed the mug down slowly and walked towards her.

Even then, he hesitated for a brief second before gently holding her by the arms and helping her stand.

“I don’t have anything on my mind,” he said quietly. “Nothing that you think I usually have on my mind. Not today. Maybe not anymore.”

He paused.

“Perhaps I am willing to stay. Not for a moment, not temporarily, but forever.”

She looked at him without speaking.

There was no dramatic reaction on her face. Only a long silence filled with thoughts she did not say aloud.

“I am leaving my number here,” he said softly, slipping a folded piece of paper beneath the black diary lying on the tea table. “Call me if you think what I am saying can be trusted.”

He smiled faintly and walked towards the door before either of them could complicate the moment further. He softly closed the door behind him.

Mridula remained standing there for several seconds after he left.

Then slowly, she walked back towards the tea table and lifted the diary. The small folded paper rested quietly underneath it.

She sat back on the sofa and leaned into the cushion, still holding the paper loosely between her fingers.

A faint smile appeared on her face as she closed her eyes and let the silence settle around her once again.

ALSO READ THE FIRST PART | A Flight Journey That Did Not End