The first time Jiya saw Tripti, she was arguing fiercely with a cab driver, demanding he drop her at the doorstep because she was a woman. The driver refused, insisting this was the stop she’d mentioned, and pointed out that other passengers were already running late. Even Jiya was in a hurry.
For a moment, Jiya thought of stepping in—but she let it pass. After a long, exhausting day at work, she had no energy left for another fight. She needed to save whatever strength she had to cook dinner for herself and her husband.
Muttering under her breath about Tripti’s insensitivity, Jiya went home.
A few days later, their paths crossed again. Tripti had shifted closer to Jiya’s neighborhood, and soon they began sharing the same cab route. It didn’t take long for them to strike up a friendship. They would go for evening walks, with Tripti filling Jiya in on all the office politics.
Jiya, by nature, was a patient listener, but gossip was never really her thing. Still, she found herself enjoying the warmth of this new friendship—something she hadn’t felt in years. Being an empath, Jiya quickly grew protective of Tripti.
Tripti confided in her: about her brother’s struggle with a false dowry case, her mother moving in with them while leaving her father behind in Lucknow, and a past, painful relationship with a model whose father was a police officer—a man who ghosted her and left her battling months of near-depression. Now, her family was hunting for a suitable groom. But Tripti didn’t want to marry one of those “boring MBA types” with fat salaries, bulging paunches, and receding hairlines. She longed for love. Her mother, meanwhile, was growing anxious seeing both her children unsettled.
Jiya tried to cheer her up—she bought her a cake and gift on her birthday, introduced her to her husband, and even took her out to the mall for lunch. Her husband arranged for a nice studio photo of Tripti to help with matrimonial matches. Tripti later admitted she was grateful but felt awkward going out with a couple while she was single. Jiya understood and never insisted again.
Jiya, too, opened up about her life—the struggle to conceive, the endless tests and monitoring, and the frustration when her husband wasn’t fully on board. She shared how draining it was when her in-laws visited, their lack of cleanliness turning the house into a mess she couldn’t keep up with.
For a while, everything felt easy between them. They went out for pizzas, poked fun at the so-called “cool” office crowd, and even dreamed of working on a project together.
But then Tripti’s attention shifted. She began making frequent calls during their cab rides—time that had once been filled with their chatter. Jiya learned about the new man in Tripti’s life—the books exchanged, the secret meetings outside the city, the small gifts. Tripti confided only in Jiya about these escapes.
And slowly, Jiya felt a growing emptiness. She was used to being alone—but not to feeling excluded like this. And when Tripti announced she was moving to Mumbai, Jiya sensed it was for this man.
When the day of departure came, they said their goodbyes. But to Jiya’s surprise, she felt no sadness. No ache. Only relief.
At last, the air was quiet—no more tales of struggles or endless gossip about the lover. She treated herself to a solo coffee outing, watching people come and go through the windowpane.
This is life, she thought. People come and go. They lean on you to pour out their pain, seek comfort, and when they find someone else, they move on. So, why get attached?
From then on, Jiya befriended herself again. She dove into great books, rediscovered peace, and felt content in her own company.
Tripti did try to reconnect—sending her wedding card, inviting her, checking in once or twice. But by then, Jiya’s heart had grown stronger. The bond had long been broken. She congratulated Tripti, wished her well, but never reopened the door.
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