Being the Constant by Kasturi Sinha

Kasturi Sinha

Ashok was a man whose life was a mosaic of people, experiences, and moments. He was the kind of person who moved easily between worlds, sharing parts of himself with everyone yet never fully with anyone. His laughter was shared with his childhood friends, the ones who knew him before life got complicated. They gathered every now and then to recount old stories, their conversations rich with nostalgia.

At work, Ashok was different—focused, determined. His colleagues saw a side of him that was driven, ambitious, and always striving for more. He often stayed late, not because he had to, but because work had become another piece of his ever-expanding puzzle. His coworkers admired him, but few really knew him beyond the professionalism he wore like a second skin.

Then, there was Niara. To her, Ashok was open, reflective, often philosophical. He shared his dreams, his fears, the in-between moments that didn’t fit anywhere else in his life. Niara was his sounding board, the person he turned to when he wanted to unravel the threads of his day. Yet, even with her, there were pieces of his life she never saw—stories untold, people unmet.

In the evenings, Ashok found solace in solitude, retreating into books or music, finding comfort in spaces where no one else existed. This was the part of him that no one touched, the inner sanctum he kept for himself.

Ashok’s life was a collection of these moments—each person holding a piece, but never the whole. Niara was a part of his story, an essential one, but just one of many that made up the man he was. And perhaps that was how he wanted it to be—a life shared in fragments, but never entirely given away.

One day when Niara sat by the window, watching the raindrops race down the glass, lost in thought... She loved Ashok truly. In his eyes, she saw warmth and in his presence, she felt like she mattered. He often told her that she was the one he loved the most, the one who knew him better than anyone. And for a time, that was enough.

But there were other parts of his life—pieces of him that were shared with others. The late-night chit-chat with his friends, the spontaneous road trips with his colleagues, and the hobbies he enjoyed in the quiet of his solitude. These were the things he never invited her into, not out of malice, but because they were his own, or shared with others who knew him differently.

Niara couldn't help but wonder why she wasn't a part of those moments, why he needed to seek out joys that didn't include her. She wasn't jealous, exactly, but curious—curious about this side of him she only glimpsed in fleeting conversations or through the stories he'd casually recounted.

Ashok was charming and full of life, always surrounded by people who adored him. He was generous with his time, but never in the way Niara hoped. While she cherished their quiet moments, he found excitement in the company of others.

She often wondered why. Was she not enough? Did her love not reach deep enough to claim that part of him? Ashok was never unkind to her, never dismissive. Yet, Niara felt like a secret kept in the shadows of his vibrant life. He spoke to her in gentle tones but never revealed the parts of himself that truly mattered—the ones that lived in his heart, the ones he gave to the world but never to her.

One evening, as they sat together, she mustered the courage to ask, "Do you ever think about sharing those parts of your life with me?"

Ashok looked at her, a gentle smile forming on his lips. "I do, Niara. But some things... some moments are just for me, or for others. It doesn't mean I love you any less. You are the heart of my life, but there are things that help me breathe, things that keep me grounded outside of us."

Niara had always loved Ashok with a quiet intensity. From the moment they met, her heart had been his. She admired his brilliance, his kindness, and the way he seemed to navigate the world with ease. They spent hours together, walking through roads, sharing laughter, and weaving dreams about the future. But no matter how close they seemed, there was always a distance between them, a part of Ashok that she could never quite reach.

Niara wanted to try one more time, which was, of course, never her last. As they sat in a quiet café, Niara asked, her voice barely above a whisper, "Why do you never share that part of your life with me? The one you give so freely to others?"

Ashok looked at her with a mixture of affection and regret. "I don’t know, Niara. It’s not that I don’t care for you. I do. But you’re the calm in my storm, the one place I can rest. Maybe I’ve been selfish, but I always thought you’d understand."

Niara nodded, though her heart ached. She understood now, more clearly than ever, that his love for her was different—not less, but not the same. He saw her as a refuge, a place to return to when the world overwhelmed him. But he was never hers in the way she had hoped.

His words settled over her, bittersweet but honest. She realized then that love didn’t always mean being part of every moment or every joy. It meant being the constant, the one he returned to, even if there were parts of him that danced in different circles.