Chapter 32: One Year of Waiting

Poornima

One year.

It sounded simple when he said it. Just two words. Just time.

But living it felt like walking barefoot through glass—slow, careful, bleeding in places no one could see.

The first days were the hardest. I woke up reaching for him, my hand falling on cold sheets, my heart forgetting—then remembering all at once. I followed his rule. No calls. No messages. No breaking the silence, even when it screamed inside me.

I kept the divorce papers locked away. I couldn’t bring myself to look at them again. Signing them would mean believing he wouldn’t return—and I wasn’t ready to lose that hope.

So I chose faith instead.

Every morning, I stood before God with folded hands and tired eyes.

Give him clarity, I prayed.
Give me strength.
If this love is meant to survive, don’t let it turn into punishment.

Some days, I went to his company.

Not inside—never inside.

I stood across the street, watching the building that carried his name, his vision. VP Industries. Us, he had said. I told myself that if the company was standing strong, then some part of him was still rooted here. Still connected to me.

I visited temples—many of them. Quiet ones hidden between trees. Loud ones filled with bells and chants. I sat on cold floors, tears slipping freely, asking the same question again and again.

Will he come back?

When the prayers felt too heavy, I escaped to places where the world felt softer.

Green hills where the wind didn’t judge.
Beaches where the waves spoke endlessly, like they understood longing.

I walked barefoot on sand, letting the sea wash over my feet, pretending each wave carried a message from him. Sometimes, I cried there—openly, without shame. Because missing him hurt more in beautiful places.

I missed his presence.
His weight beside me.
Even his silence.

And that scared me.

Because love shouldn’t survive fear. Yet mine did.

At night, doubt crept in like a thief.

What if he doesn’t come back?
What if this year is just another way of leaving?
What if I was never enough to make him stay?

I hated myself for trusting him so easily. For believing a promise from a man who had once betrayed me so completely. And yet—every time I tried to imagine life without him, my chest felt hollow.

Trust, I realized, isn’t blind.

It’s brave.

I chose to believe not because he had earned it fully—but because without belief, I would break.

I counted days quietly. Marked festivals alone. Celebrated my birthday without candles. Every important moment felt unfinished, like he was missing from the frame.

Still, I waited.

Not passively—but with hope stitched into fear, faith wrapped around pain.

Because he promised.

And because loving him, even from a distance, was still better than letting go completely.

One year wasn’t just time.

It was a test of my heart—
of whether belief could survive silence,
and whether love could endure not knowing.

And on every night I fell asleep whispering his name, I prayed that wherever he was…
he was remembering me too.