Date: January 16, 2009
Time: 3:00 PM
Location: Garden Lake Park, Dakshin Barasat
The sky stretched wide, painted in soft hues of gold and lavender, as the winter sun began its slow descent. Wisps of clouds drifted lazily, their reflections rippling across the glassy surface of the Garden Lake, where the water mirrored the endless stretch of sky with eerie perfection. A cool breeze whispered through the air, rustling the leaves of the old banyan trees that stood like silent sentinels around the park, their gnarled roots weaving into the earth as if holding secrets from generations past.
Aritra stood by the iron gate of Garden Lake Park, the rusted bars cool under his fingertips as he hesitated for a moment before stepping inside. The park had always been a peaceful escape—a small oasis tucked away from the chaotic rhythm of daily life. But today, it felt different. The tranquility of the place seemed almost mocking, as if the universe found amusement in contrasting the serene beauty around him with the storm brewing in his heart.
The gravel path crunched softly under his worn sneakers as he made his way toward the lake. Each step felt heavier than the last, burdened by thoughts he couldn't escape. His hands remained buried deep in his jacket pockets, the thin fabric doing little to shield him from the cold that seeped not just into his skin but into something deeper—his mind, his heart.
The park was mostly empty, save for an old man feeding crumbs to a flock of pigeons near a faded green bench. A young couple sat by the lakeside, their laughter carried gently by the wind, blending into the rustling leaves above. Aritra avoided looking at them, afraid their happiness might sting more than the bitter wind against his face.
Why did she want to meet me here?
The question had echoed in his mind all morning, relentless and sharp.
Rimi's message had been brief, almost clinical:
"Let's meet at Garden Lake Park tomorrow. 3 PM."
No explanations. No hints. Just a simple instruction that now weighed on him like a stone.
Reaching the edge of the lake, he found an empty bench partially hidden under the shade of an ancient peepal tree. He sat down, his gaze fixed on the still water ahead. The lake reflected not just the sky but fragments of his thoughts—broken, scattered, impossible to piece together.
The cool breeze tugged gently at his hair, carrying with it the faint scent of wet earth mixed with something floral—perhaps jasmine from a nearby bush. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of the park wash over him: the distant chirping of birds, the soft splash of water as a fish broke the surface, the occasional creak of the old wooden dock swaying with the gentle current.
But peace remained elusive.
His mind wandered back to the pre-board results, the numbers etched into his memory: 432/500, 7th place. The disappointment in his parents' eyes haunted him more than the actual score. His father's harsh words replayed like a broken record, each syllable a reminder of expectations unmet.
And then there was Rimi.
Aritra opened his eyes, staring at the lake's surface, trying to find answers in its depths. The memory of her laughter the previous day, the way she had leaned into Anirban Roy, flashed uninvited in his mind. It had stung more than he cared to admit.
Why now? he thought bitterly. Why does she want to meet after all this time?
As he waited, minutes stretched into what felt like hours. His mind, unable to sit still, drifted to memories he'd buried deep—snapshots of his previous life, echoes of conversations, the bitter taste of heartbreak that had followed him even after death.
The scene unfolded like a faded photograph, vivid yet distant. He was older then, maybe twenty-five, standing under the same banyan tree by the lake. The park hadn't changed much, but he had. His face was leaner, eyes shadowed with exhaustion—not from work, but from life itself.
Rimi had stood before him, her expression unreadable, her arms crossed defensively.
"Aritra, we've grown apart. You're always busy, always lost in your world. I need more than that."
Her words had been sharp, final, slicing through the fragile hope he'd clung to.
"I thought we were building something together." His voice had been quiet, more of a plea than an argument.
But she had already turned away, her silhouette growing smaller with each step she took, leaving him standing alone by the lake—much like today.
Aritra blinked, pulling himself back to the present. The lake's surface rippled gently, as if mocking his attempts to suppress the past. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together. His heart felt heavy, not just with the anticipation of Rimi's arrival but with the crushing weight of memories he'd tried to forget.
The shadows grew longer as the sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow over the water. The park grew quieter, the earlier chatter fading as people slowly trickled out, leaving Aritra alone with his thoughts.
Maybe this meeting is just history repeating itself, he thought, bitterness seeping into the corners of his mind. Maybe I'm doomed to watch her walk away again.
But beneath the cynicism was a flicker of something else—hope, fragile and foolish. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe this time he could change the ending.
The sound of footsteps on gravel snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up, his heart racing, but it wasn't Rimi. Just another passerby, lost in their own world.
A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back against the bench, staring at the sky now painted in shades of pink and orange. The first evening star blinked faintly in the distance, a lonely spark against the growing darkness.
And still, he waited.
The sky was now a canvas of fading gold streaked with deep shades of purple and indigo, as if the sun itself had grown weary and decided to rest. The tranquil waters of the Garden Lake mirrored this breathtaking spectacle, ripples distorting the reflections just enough to make them seem like fragmented memories—beautiful, yet fleeting.
Aritra remained on the same bench, his posture slightly slouched, as though the invisible weight of his thoughts pressed down on him. The anticipation of Rimi's arrival had started to dissolve, replaced by a restless unease. His mind, untamed and stubborn, wandered back to the shadows of his previous life.
It was a similar winter evening, though the chill felt sharper back then—or perhaps it was the coldness within his heart that made it seem that way. He remembered standing near the very same lake, dressed in formal clothes, having just left the office. The world had seemed louder, more chaotic, yet all he could hear was the echo of his own failure reverberating in Rimi's words.
"You've changed, Aritra. I feel like I don't even know you anymore."
She'd said it with an indifferent shrug, her eyes betraying no emotion. He could recall every detail—the faint smell of her jasmine perfume mixing with the winter breeze, the distant laughter of children playing, the metallic taste of regret lingering on his tongue.
In that life, he had been too consumed by ambition to notice the cracks forming in his personal life. The countless hours at work, the neglected calls, the forgotten anniversaries—it had all led to that moment by the lake where she had left him, not with dramatic tears but with casual finality.
Aritra blinked, his focus shifting back to the present. The lake was the same, but he was not. This time, he wasn't just haunted by the ghost of a failed relationship but by the unsettling realization that history had a strange way of repeating itself.
The wind grew colder as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows that seemed to creep closer, like silent spectators to his internal battle. Aritra's fingers drummed softly against his knees, an unconscious rhythm that matched the erratic beat of his heart.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. He fumbled for it, half-expecting a message from Rimi explaining her delay. But it wasn't her. Just a promotional SMS from his mobile provider. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips—a small, hollow sound swallowed quickly by the open air.
Why am I even here? he wondered, his gaze drifting to the water once more. The reflections now shimmered with the soft glow of the streetlights lining the park's pathway. Their light flickered slightly, as if struggling to pierce through the encroaching darkness.
Despite the growing chill, Aritra remained seated, stubbornly anchored by something he couldn't quite define. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was pride. Or maybe, deep down, he believed that meeting Rimi was a necessary chapter in this strange, rewritten version of his life.
The park had thinned out considerably, leaving behind only a handful of people—a young couple lost in whispered conversations, an old man reading under the dim light, and Aritra, trapped in the echo chamber of his own mind.
What if she's here to say goodbye again?
What if nothing has changed?
What if… I'm the problem?
The thought hit him harder than he expected.
Time: 4:45 PM
The temperature had dropped further, the crisp air biting against his skin. Aritra rubbed his hands together, not just to ward off the cold but to ground himself—to feel something real amidst the haze of emotions.
He glanced at the entrance of the park, half-expecting to see Rimi's familiar figure walking towards him, her scarf fluttering slightly with each step. But the path remained empty.
Frustration bubbled beneath the surface, mingling with disappointment and a lingering sense of déjà vu. He was tired—tired of waiting, not just for her but for answers he couldn't find.
The sound of water gently lapping against the lake's edge provided little comfort. It was a melody too soft to drown out the noise in his head.
Maybe she's not coming.
The thought settled over him like the evening mist, cold and unwelcome.
Yet, he stayed.
Because leaving felt like admitting defeat. And Aritra Naskar wasn't ready to lose—not again.
Time: 5:00 PM
Location: Garden Lake Park, Dakshin Barasat
He pulled his jacket tighter around him, feeling the sharp bite of the evening chill seep through the fabric. The cold wasn't just outside; it had found a place within him, coiling around the edges of his heart. His eyes remained fixed on the lake, now a dark, glassy expanse reflecting scattered pinpricks of light from the streetlamps bordering the park.
The anticipation that had once fueled his patience was now a fading ember. Doubt crept in, whispering thoughts he didn't want to entertain.
Maybe she's not coming.
Maybe this meeting was never meant to happen.
Maybe… I'm holding onto something that's already gone.
His phone buzzed again, breaking the oppressive stillness. He grabbed it quickly, his heart involuntarily leaping—only to plummet just as fast. It was a network message. No Rimi.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, soft and short-lived. He leaned back on the cold wooden bench, staring up at the sky, tracing constellations he didn't recognize. The universe seemed indifferent to his turmoil, its vastness mocking the smallness of his worries.
But they didn't feel small.
Not to him.
He remembered another evening like this, years ago—or rather, in another life. The same park, the same lake, but a different version of himself. Older, wearier, hardened by disappointments both professional and personal.
He had waited then too. Hours felt like minutes, consumed by the stubborn hope that she'd show up. But she hadn't.
And when she finally did—days later—it was not with apologies, but with closure.
"Aritra, I've met someone else. I think it's better if we don't keep in touch."
The words had cut deeper than any blade could, not because of the betrayal, but because of the realization that he had been holding onto a ghost—an idea of a person rather than the person herself.
The memory faded, but its sting lingered, woven into the fabric of who he was.
Time: 5:30 PM
Aritra stood up, his legs stiff from hours of sitting. He walked slowly along the lake's edge, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. The rhythmic sound was oddly comforting, grounding him in the present moment.
The lake's surface reflected the dim lights, broken occasionally by ripples from unseen fish or falling leaves. It was beautiful in its stillness—a sharp contrast to the chaos in his mind.
Why am I still here? he wondered, stopping to lean against the rusty railing overlooking the water.
Perhaps he was waiting for more than Rimi. Perhaps he was waiting for closure, not from her, but from himself.
The realization settled over him quietly, like the cool evening mist rolling in from the water.
Maybe I needed this… to face it all.
The failures. The heartbreak. The regrets.
A cold gust of wind swept past, carrying with it the faint scent of winter—dry leaves, damp earth, and something nostalgic he couldn't quite place. It was a reminder that seasons changed, people changed, and life… life moved on.
Aritra let out a deep breath, his exhale visible in the cold air. It felt lighter than the ones before.
And then, just as he was about to turn and leave, footsteps echoed softly from the park's entrance.
He didn't look immediately. He didn't need to.
Somehow, he already knew.
The footsteps grew louder, crunching softly against the gravel path that twisted like a ribbon along the edge of the darkened lake. Aritra didn't turn immediately. He stood there, leaning against the rusted railing, his eyes fixed on the rippling water, as if bracing himself against the inevitable. The chill in the air had deepened, mingling with the cold that had already settled somewhere deep inside him.
The faint sound of those steps slowed as they drew nearer, hesitant perhaps, just like the thoughts swirling in Aritra's mind. The park, nearly empty now, was swallowed in a blanket of dusk, save for the faint glow of the dim streetlights casting long shadows across the uneven ground. The wind picked up slightly, carrying with it the distant scent of burning wood from nearby homes and the faintest trace of jasmine—familiar and sharp, a ghost of a memory wrapped in a fragrance.
Finally, curiosity—or maybe something deeper—nudged him to turn around. His heart didn't race this time. It simply… waited, suspended in that fragile space between hope and resignation.
And there she was.
Rimi stood at the edge of the path, her figure framed against the backdrop of the fading light. She wore a simple blue salwar kameez, the dupatta loosely draped around her neck, fluttering slightly in the breeze. Her hair was tied back, strands escaping to dance freely against her cheeks. She looked both familiar and distant, like a photograph slightly faded with time. The same sharp eyes, the same tilt of her head when she noticed him looking, but there was something different—a distance not measured by steps but by moments lost in the past.
Aritra straightened, his hands slipping out of his jacket pockets instinctively. The silence stretched between them, not awkward but heavy, filled with all the unspoken words from both this life and the one before it.
Rimi took a tentative step forward, her eyes searching his face for… something. Maybe it was guilt, maybe regret, or perhaps she was just trying to find the boy she used to know beneath the layers of time and silence.
"You've been waiting long?" Her voice was soft, almost swept away by the breeze, but it found him—sharp and clear.
Aritra gave a slight shrug, a practiced gesture that said nothing and everything at once. "Not really. The lake's good company." His attempt at casualness felt brittle, cracking slightly under the weight of his own words.
She managed a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. She closed the distance slowly, stopping a few feet away from him, as if crossing that invisible boundary might undo something fragile.
They stood in silence for a while, the only sounds were the faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets waking with the night. Aritra didn't rush to fill the void with words. Words had failed him before, tangled in misunderstandings and moments that slipped through fingers like sand.
Rimi broke the silence first. "I wanted to talk to you… about a few things." Her eyes flickered toward the lake, avoiding his gaze.
Aritra nodded slowly, his throat dry though he hadn't spoken much. "I figured."
She let out a breath, one of those sighs people release when they've been holding something in for too long. "It's about us… I mean, about school, everything. I didn't know how else to say it."
The words hung there, half-formed, as if she wasn't sure where to start.
Aritra didn't rush her. He just watched—the way she fiddled with the edge of her dupatta, the way her foot traced invisible lines in the gravel, how her shoulders tensed with the weight of unspoken truths.
He knew this scene too well. It played out before, albeit with different words, different clothes, and under a different sky. But the essence was the same—a conversation where one person held the knife, and the other bled quietly without making a sound.
Rimi finally met his eyes, and for a fleeting second, he saw something raw there—hesitation, maybe even sadness. "I think we've changed, Aritra. We're not the same people we were before."
There it was.
Simple words, dressed in diplomacy but sharp enough to cut.
Aritra felt the sting, but he didn't flinch. Not this time.
"Yeah, I guess we have," he replied, his voice steady, surprising even himself.
Rimi looked relieved, as if his agreement made things easier. "You're different now… distant. I don't know if that's because of school stress or—" she paused, searching for the right words, "or maybe it's just us. Maybe we're not meant to be."
The sentence hung between them, suspended like the faint mist rising from the lake.
Aritra's chest felt tight, but not in the way he expected. It wasn't heartbreak—not exactly. It was more like a quiet ache, the kind that comes from realizing something you'd already known but didn't want to admit.
"Maybe you're right," he said softly, his gaze drifting back to the lake.
The water reflected the pale glow of the moon now rising, its light fractured by the ripples—beautiful, even in its brokenness.
Rimi shifted slightly, as if expecting more, maybe even hoping for him to argue, to fight for something already slipping through their fingers.
But Aritra didn't.
Because this wasn't the first time he'd lived this moment.
And somehow, that made it easier.
Or maybe it just made him numb.
She sighed again, softer this time, almost wistful. "I didn't want to hurt you. I just… I didn't know how else to do this."
Aritra nodded, his jaw tight. "You didn't. Not really. Some things are just… inevitable, I guess."
Rimi didn't respond. She just stood there for a moment longer, then gave him a small, almost apologetic smile before turning to walk away.
Aritra watched her go, the sound of her footsteps fading with each step.
This time, he didn't call after her.
This time, he let her go.
The cold wind wrapped around him again, but it felt different now—sharper, yet somehow freeing.
Aritra sat back down on the bench, staring at the dark water, his heart oddly steady amidst the storm he expected.
Maybe it was the past life's scars shielding him.
Or maybe he had finally learned that not every goodbye deserved a broken heart.