She is like the fertile earth, quivering with delight at the first monsoon droplets, her spirit awakened by nature’s tender touch. She sways like tender branches, stirred by the whispering breeze, brimming with joy as if reborn. Her steps are buoyant, like a young maiden dancing in the bloom of youth, her heart alight with newfound vigor. A radiance gleams in her eyes, a spark dances across her face, unlike anything I’ve ever seen.

What stirs this transformation? From behind the morning paper, I observe her quietly, my mind a tangle of questions.

She has always been the heart of our home. Devoted to her husband, her children, the intricate web of family ties. Yet now, she adorns herself with care, like a young bride awaiting her beloved, her elegance reminiscent of a peacock’s graceful dance or a cuckoo’s lilting song.
For whom does she bloom? For me, surely… or is it?

Her gait, her demeanor—there’s a shift, a subtle difference that catches the eye. Something is unfolding, a secret stirring beneath the surface. How do I unravel it?

My thoughts whirl, fragmented, crashing like waves, unsettling my heart. Could there be another in her life? The notion grips me, and I shake it off, turning my gaze to the street.

A middle-aged couple passes by. He strides ahead, she trails behind, a shadow tethered to his presence—much like us, I muse, a bitter lump rising in my throat.
Is she merely my shadow? The question looms, staring into my soul, demanding an answer.

*** ***

At sixteen, her hand was placed in mine, bound by the traditions of her parents and three elder brothers. Her dreams of college were silenced by an early marriage, her aspirations folded away like a forgotten saree.

In those early days, she was a spark of vitality, weaving everyone into her warmth. Yet with me, she was reserved, a quiet distance in her eyes, perhaps intimidated by the nine years that separated us. I saw her as a child, not a partner.

Within a year, she cradled our first child. As the eldest daughter-in-law, she bore the weight of familial duties—caring for my parents, their parents, upholding the sacred rituals passed down by mothers and grandmothers. Her longing for education drowned beneath the tide of responsibilities.

She wove her life into the fabric of our household, ensuring every need was met, every tradition honored. What did I offer in return? A handful of rupees for expenses, nothing more.

She navigated the expectations of elders, raised three children, and kept the hearth alive. The elders faded into time, the children spread their wings and flew. For the past four or five years, she has been a solitary figure in this house, tending to its quiet corners.

*** ***

Now, she blooms anew, like parched soil kissed by rain, her spirit stretching toward life. Her laughter sparkles like stars in the night sky, her face radiant with an unfamiliar glow.

In my world - work, social gatherings, I mingle freely with women, sometimes drawn to their charm, never questioning my actions. Have new bonds entered her life too? How deep do they run? Suspicion coils around my heart, igniting a storm within.

Anger flares, but wisdom restrains me. Could another have claimed her? No, it cannot be. I wrestle with my thoughts, striving for composure, but fear whispers, what truth might I uncover if I ask?

She prepares dinner, arranging the table with the care of a temple offering. As she steps out, I demand, “Where are you going? Why?”
She turns, her eyes locking onto mine, silent but piercing. Her gaze is a mirror, reflecting my own unspoken wanderings.

You never shared your comings and goings, why must I? it seems to say. The sting of her look lashes my pride.

I trail her, but she vanishes into the crowd. Is someone waiting for her, a bike or a car? My mind burns with questions I cannot answer. A fleeting thought of hiring a detective crosses my mind, but I dismiss it. I cannot wait. I need clarity now.

Should I confront her, cage her in accusations? Will she defend herself, crumble in shame, or plead for mercy? My conscience warns against haste, rushing in would cast me as the fool.

*** ***

She’s at home, reading a book. Seizing the moment, I say, “Let’s dine out tonight?”
Her eyes widen in surprise, but she nods, closing her book. “Where shall we go?” I ask.
She stares, as if peering into the depths of my heart, her gaze both tender and searching.

At the restaurant, she marvels at the crystal goblets, silver spoons, and soft strains of music, savoring the moment like a rare festival. I take her hand. “You’ve been radiant lately. What’s the secret?”
She pauses, her eyes meeting mine with a clarity I’ve never known. In forty years, I’ve never seen her look at me this way... open, unguarded.

After a pause, she smiles softly. “Today feels like the heavens have descended. You’ve never asked my opinion before. Your word was law, and I followed. You issued commands, spoke sparingly otherwise. But today, you brought me here, sat beside me, held my hand. You’re seeing me. It’s strange, exhilarating.”

She snaps a selfie, sends it to someone. Her phone rings. She speaks softly, her face glowing like a diya in the dusk. I feel unease, humiliation, yet her radiance draws me in.

Another call, a brief “Thank you,” and she smiles at me, her lips curving like a crescent moon.

Then, looking into my eyes with unwavering calm, she says, “I’m in love.”

The words strike like thunder. The earth seems to split beneath me, my nerves frayed, my pride roaring. She sits tall, unshaken, like a sacred hill, her gaze free of guilt.
Is this my fault? Hers? My head bows in shame, heavy with realization. My conscience whispers: Look within. Who is to blame?

If my neglect drove her away, can I forgive myself? Anger urges me to lash out, but fear grips me, she might slip away forever. What will the world say? Shame engulfs me, as if I’m bound to a pyre.

She confessed her love. The choice is mine. What should I do?

Her luminous eyes kindle a love I never knew, a stirring deep within. Is she drifting away, or am I falling for her anew? I’m adrift in confusion.

Looking back, she nurtured our family like a river nourishing the land. I never saw her as a woman with her own heart, her own dreams.

I caged her in duties, offered scorn instead of love. My life was filled with work, friends, outings, hers with rituals and prayers, all for us.

I speak of preserving nature but ignored the erosion within her. Like the earth, she gave endlessly, despite my plunder. I pushed her away, and now I’m caught in a tempest of my own making.

My voice trembles. “Who is he?” She laughs, a cascading, playful laugh, like temple bells ringing. The server, placing our plates, glances at us curiously.
“Not a ‘he,’” she says, her eyes twinkling. “A ‘she.’”
I freeze. A woman?
“Yes, it’s me,” she says, her smile unwavering. “I’m in love with myself.”

I stare, speechless, as her words settle.
“I’m telling the truth,” she continues, her gaze steady. “I’ve claimed time for myself. I spend it with those who value me, and visit places that spark joy. I’m living as me, discovering who I am.”

Relief washes over me, like a boulder lifted from my chest. My heart lightens, my face softens. I want to hold her, to beg forgiveness for my doubts, my neglect. Tears brim in my eyes.

She senses my turmoil. “When I began loving myself, I knew you’d love me more too,” she says, her voice warm as a hearth.

A young woman approaches. “Congratulations, ma’am! I saw your photo and interview in the paper.” She shakes her hand. “My sister-in-law says your storytelling is unmatched. Children adore your tales.”

I’m stunned. My wife celebrated in the news? Her worth shines, and I feel mine diminish. She’s been weaving stories, teaching children the art of storytelling. That’s why she leaves the house.

She has found herself, kindled her own flame. She walks with confidence, earning respect, basking in love.

“Nature gifts every soul with potential,” she says. “Few fully embrace it. I lived for others, neglecting myself. But now, I love myself. Life is vibrant, and it loves me back.”

Her eyes gleam like moonlight on a sacred river, brimming with love for life. A young couple takes a photo with her, inviting me to join. They apologize for interrupting and leave.

I gently clasp her hand, offering congratulations. Her touch carries a new warmth, a shared renewal.

Now I understand who she is.

Now I understand her love.