Suparna Verma
1
Maya Iyer adjusted the collar of her navy-blue jumpsuit and glanced once more at the ornate wall clock above her desk. 11:27 a.m. The Deshmukh settlement was scheduled for noon, but she knew they’d be late. High-profile clients always were—especially when their breakup had been trending on social media for a week. She sipped her filter coffee from the oversized wine glass she insisted on using—her tiny rebellion against conventional labels. Her office, nestled in a sleek corner of Banjara Hills, didn’t scream “divorce.” It whispered it—soft couches, muted pastels, and an aroma diffuser that smelled like eucalyptus and emancipation. Maya didn’t deal in drama; she specialized in dignity. As India’s first certified divorce planner, she orchestrated exit strategies the way wedding planners arranged mandap decor. Her mission was simple: help people part ways with grace. She liked endings. They were clean. Predictable. Unlike messy, overrated beginnings.
Today’s meeting was wrapping up a six-month journey of mediation, asset division, and brand de-merging. Mr. Deshmukh, a Tollywood film financier, and Mrs. Deshmukh, a fitness influencer with a combined following of 3.2 million, had finally agreed on the number of cars, the Maldives villa, and custody of Mowgli, their golden retriever. All thanks to Maya’s method: structure, silence, and well-timed sarcasm. As she reviewed the final clauses, her assistant popped in. “There’s someone here to see you. Walk-in client. No appointment.” Maya raised an eyebrow. Walk-ins were rare. Divorce wasn’t dental work. She gathered her paperwork with a sigh, about to politely reject the intrusion, when her assistant added, “He says it’s urgent. Wants to throw a goodbye party. For his divorce.”
The man who walked in was all sunshine. Rolled-up sleeves, travel-tanned skin, camera slung across his neck like a third arm. “Hi, I’m Vivaan Mehra,” he said, flashing the kind of smile that usually came with drone shots and a jazzed-up YouTube soundtrack. Maya didn’t shake hands; she nodded, ever the professional. “So you’re planning a celebration?” she asked, skeptical. “Not just a party,” he replied. “A tribute. A memory of everything we did right. Before we say goodbye for good.” Maya studied him—either he was heartbreak’s most poetic fool or a complete narcissist. “Do both parties know about this celebration?” she asked. He hesitated. “Not yet. My wife… I mean, my almost-ex-wife… she doesn’t know I’m still in love with her.” Maya stared at him, deadpan. “That’s not how breakups work, Mr. Mehra.” But even as she said it, something inside her shifted. This was new. Unnecessary. And oddly… sincere.
She almost turned him down. It wasn’t her kind of project—too emotional, too uncertain. But there was something compelling in his quiet desperation, the kind that didn’t beg, just hoped. “Fine,” she said. “One consultation. But I charge double for sentiment.” He grinned again, as if he’d just won a lottery of closure. Maya pulled out her structured notepad and pen, the same one she used to draft marital dissolution timelines. And as Vivaan Mehra began to talk about his wife, the good times, the memories, the mistakes—Maya caught herself wondering, for the first time in years, if maybe some endings weren’t as final as they seemed. Maybe, just maybe, some exits weren’t exits at all. Just detours.
2
Vivaan talked with a rhythm that reminded Maya of a well-edited vlog—pauses in the right places, a touch of self-deprecation, and bursts of unexpected honesty. He spoke about Ananya like someone describing a favourite city he could never quite conquer. “She’s elegance in silence,” he said, “the kind of person who finishes sentences in her head and expects the world to hear them.” Maya took notes, not because she needed to, but because it gave her something to do while he slowly unraveled. He described how they met at an art café in Hampi, argued over the playlist, and ended up painting a wall together. Their love had been spontaneous and dramatic—sunrises in Spiti, arguments in hostels, make-ups under neon street signs. But it had also been exhausting. “She wanted stillness,” he confessed. “I kept moving.” Maya, watching him fiddle with the lens cap of his camera, wondered if this man had ever stopped to let love settle.
The more he spoke, the clearer it became—Vivaan wasn’t trying to throw a party for closure; he was trying to preserve something. A legacy. A feeling. “I want her to remember us in colour,” he said. “Not just through legal paperwork and WhatsApp threads that end with ‘take care.’” Maya asked the usual questions—was the divorce mutual, was there bitterness, was there another person involved. Vivaan answered with unflinching calm. No bitterness. No betrayal. Just distance, like a landscape gradually fading from view during a long flight. Maya had heard hundreds of break-up stories—some acidic, some absurd—but this one felt unsettlingly quiet. The kind that doesn’t make a sound when it breaks, but leaves echoes for years. “You know she might not even show up, right?” Maya asked. He nodded. “That’s okay. I just need to do this.”
Back at her desk, Maya drafted the outline. Event budget, guest list, theme curation, audio-visual concept. Samar peeked over her shoulder, sipping bubble tea. “You’re actually planning a love funeral?” he asked, grinning. Maya didn’t answer. She was busy researching venues that looked like both beginnings and ends. “Maybe The Glass Courtyard,” she murmured, mostly to herself. Samar raised an eyebrow. “Oof. That place screams classy heartbreak.” They chuckled, but inside, Maya was unsettled. Vivaan’s story was starting to tug at threads she’d neatly sewn up years ago. Threads tied to her parents’ divorce, to the courtroom silences, to the idea that all love eventually expires—some with fireworks, some like a dying phone battery. She shook it off and sent Vivaan the initial concept file. It was just another project. Just another elegant disaster to be choreographed.
That night, Maya found herself watching one of Vivaan’s travel vlogs. It was a montage of Ananya and him dancing barefoot on a rainy Goan beach, laughing at a broken umbrella, their voices occasionally interrupting the waves. She didn’t know why she watched it twice. Maybe she was studying the fault lines. Or maybe, she was quietly rooting for the kind of ending that refused to end. As the video faded to black and the words “Love was here” appeared on screen, Maya closed her laptop slowly and stared out of her balcony window, the Hyderabad skyline blinking like a pulse. And for the first time in a long while, she wondered if people like Vivaan were fools… or if maybe she had missed something the entire time.
3
Maya’s days were usually spent in a comfortable rhythm—client calls, strategic meetings, and the occasional debate with Samar over the best way to launch her next ‘Closure Workshop.’ But today, something felt off. The plan for Vivaan’s “goodbye” party was taking shape, but Maya couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking through it as a spectator rather than a participant. She was used to keeping emotions out of her work, but Vivaan’s quiet vulnerability was starting to seep into her thoughts. It was the way he talked about Ananya—the way he still looked for traces of her in every conversation. Maya knew that kind of attachment. Her own parents had taught her early that love was a contract with an expiry date, and when that date arrived, you simply signed the papers and moved on. There was no room for “what-ifs” or “maybe someday.”
As the days wore on, Maya’s skepticism towards Vivaan’s grand plans grew. How could a person say goodbye with a party? How could you celebrate an ending when the love had yet to fade? She met with him at a café to discuss the final touches for the event. Vivaan had a new idea, something he’d been thinking about—a video montage featuring places they’d visited together. “Places never forget,” he said, a strange emotion flickering in his eyes. Maya couldn’t help but admire his determination to preserve the past. She wondered if she was being too cynical. After all, she had spent years helping people let go, move on, and redefine their futures. Perhaps she was the one who had forgotten how to cherish memories rather than bury them. She had never been the type to look back, but now, she found herself questioning the very approach that had defined her career.
Maya’s sister Sahana had been pressuring her for weeks to address her own unresolved feelings. “You can’t keep pretending you’re immune to love, Maya,” Sahana said one evening over dinner. “You’re good at planning exits for others, but when are you going to plan your own?” Maya bristled at the comment, as if the words had hit a raw nerve. “I don’t need a love story, Sahana,” she retorted, taking a bite of her salad. “I’m fine. I’ve built a life based on structure and reason. Not messy emotions.” Sahana shook her head, the knowing smile on her face both comforting and infuriating. “You think you’re fine, but you’re not. I’ve seen you lock yourself away every time something real comes along.” Maya wasn’t sure how to respond. She didn’t have an answer. But the conversation stayed with her long after, like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
That night, as Maya lay in bed, she thought about Vivaan’s words again. Places never forget. She thought about her parents’ divorce, the way their house had been sold off, the way her childhood memories seemed to vanish with each passing day. She had long ago convinced herself that nothing was permanent, that attachments were fleeting, but something about Vivaan’s approach unsettled her. Was it really that simple to say goodbye and let go? Or did some things linger in the corners of your mind, no matter how hard you tried to move on? She didn’t have the answers, but one thing was clear—Vivaan’s request for an end was not just a request for closure. It was a question she didn’t know how to answer: Could an ending really be an opportunity for a new beginning?
4
The day of the event was finally here. Maya stood in the venue, the Glass Courtyard, taking in the lavish decor she had carefully curated. The venue’s contemporary design combined sleek glass walls with outdoor gardens that looked like something out of a dream. There was something eerily serene about it—the perfect blend of modern luxury and the quiet finality of an ending. It was a fitting backdrop for Vivaan’s “goodbye party,” though Maya couldn’t shake the feeling that the evening was more than just a celebration. For Vivaan, it seemed, it was an act of letting go, a ceremony to honor something that had slipped quietly into the past without any real acknowledgment. Maya had seen countless divorces in her career, but this was different. This wasn’t about closure—it was about preserving memories. She had to admit, it made her uncomfortable.
The guest list was small, intimate. Vivaan’s closest friends and family, a few mutual acquaintances, and Ananya’s estranged sister, who was still holding onto hope. The moment Vivaan arrived, his face lit up with a smile that didn’t quite match the event’s somber undertones. He moved around the room with the grace of someone who knew he was about to make a final exit. Maya watched him interact with the guests, laughing and reminiscing about the moments he and Ananya had shared. But it wasn’t the carefree celebration she had anticipated. Every conversation seemed laced with nostalgia, with what-ifs, and with silent regrets. Ananya was nowhere to be found, and Maya knew that, despite the cheerful atmosphere, Vivaan was still waiting for a part of him to come back—waiting for her to walk through the door and make everything whole again.
As the evening wore on, Maya felt an odd connection to Vivaan’s struggle. She had never allowed herself to dwell on the past, never entertained the idea of holding onto something that was no longer viable. Her work had always been about moving on, finding closure, and cutting ties. But tonight, as she watched Vivaan stand near the giant window overlooking the garden, his smile faltering as he looked at the empty chair reserved for Ananya, something shifted. Maya realized that this wasn’t just about a party. It was about how far people were willing to go to keep the pieces of their heart intact. Vivaan wasn’t celebrating the end of his marriage; he was mourning it. And Maya, who had never allowed herself to mourn anything, found herself unexpectedly moved by his grief.
The night reached its climax when Vivaan stood at the center of the room and raised a toast, his voice soft but clear. “To memories that never fade, and to goodbyes that leave us with lessons we didn’t expect.” There was silence, the kind that envelops a room when people are unsure whether to clap or to cry. It was a perfect moment of bittersweet acknowledgment, but just as quickly, it was broken by the sudden arrival of Ananya. She had come, after all. Maya watched the two of them lock eyes from across the room, and she saw something she hadn’t expected—hope. Maybe it was the hope of reconciliation, or maybe it was just the final recognition that they had both been holding onto something they couldn’t let go. Maya excused herself and stepped out onto the terrace. She didn’t know what had just happened, but for the first time in a long while, she wondered if endings were ever truly complete.
5
The days following the goodbye party were a blur for Maya. She had received a flurry of texts from Vivaan, thanking her for helping create such a beautiful experience, but the gratitude felt hollow to her. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the recognition—it was just that something about the event lingered uncomfortably. Vivaan had thrown a party to celebrate the end of his marriage, but Maya realized it had done more than just close a chapter. It had opened a door—a door she didn’t want to walk through. Every time she thought about him, about how vulnerable he had been, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if she was losing sight of what she truly believed in: clean, definitive endings. No room for “what-ifs,” no room for second chances. But Vivaan had cracked that philosophy wide open, and now, Maya was left to pick up the pieces of a life she thought she understood.
That evening, Maya sat across from her sister Sahana at their favorite café. The place had been their weekend retreat for years—a little spot tucked away in the heart of the city, where they could escape from the world. Sahana was sipping her cappuccino, studying Maya over the rim of her cup. “I can see it in your eyes,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “You’re still thinking about him.” Maya frowned, looking away. “I’m not thinking about him,” she replied, though the words didn’t feel convincing. Sahana raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been this affected by a client before. This isn’t about Vivaan. This is about you.” Maya’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to have this conversation, didn’t want to unpack the things she’d been avoiding for years. But her sister was relentless, and there was no escaping the truth. “I don’t believe in love, Sahana,” Maya confessed. “I’ve seen too many relationships fall apart. People hurt each other, leave each other, and move on. And in the end, there’s nothing left but the paper trail. It’s all contracts and paperwork.” Sahana set her cup down, her expression softened. “You’re not the same person you were when you started all this, Maya. You’re not immune to love, no matter how hard you try to be.”
Maya didn’t respond. She couldn’t. She had never allowed herself to believe in love because it was too complicated, too messy. And yet, every interaction with Vivaan made her question that belief. She wasn’t sure if she was drawn to his optimism or his pain, but there was something in his vulnerability that touched her in a way she didn’t expect. He had risked everything to preserve something that seemed lost. How could she, the queen of goodbyes, the woman who could end any relationship with a neatly signed contract, reconcile that with the chaos of real emotions? She had made a career out of helping people let go, but with Vivaan, she couldn’t seem to let go of the question: what if love wasn’t just about contracts and exits? What if, like him, she could believe in something more?
The next day, Maya was back at her desk, reviewing contracts and finalizing another divorce settlement. Her phone buzzed—Vivaan had sent her a message. “I’m heading to Goa for a new project. Would you be interested in coming along? Not as a planner, just… to clear your head.” The invitation was simple, casual. And yet, Maya felt her pulse quicken. This wasn’t part of the plan. She wasn’t supposed to get emotionally involved. She wasn’t supposed to second-guess everything she believed in. But the message lingered in her mind, its implications too complicated to ignore. She stared at her screen, torn between the boundaries she had spent so long constructing and the unexpected pull toward something she couldn’t quite define. It wasn’t just an invitation to Goa. It was an invitation to reconsider everything.
6
Maya had never been one to break her own rules. She ran a tight ship, balancing each divorce with precision, removing any trace of personal bias. Yet, as she found herself packing for a weekend trip to Goa with Vivaan, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was crossing a line. It was only a weekend getaway, a “breather” as Vivaan had put it, but she knew it was more than that. He had asked her to come not as a planner, but as something else—something she wasn’t ready to name. Her rational side screamed at her to stay focused, to keep her distance. But the allure of breaking free, even for a few days, pulled her in like a magnetic force.
The trip was simple—Vivaan had rented a small villa by the beach, a place where he could film his next travel vlog without interruptions. When Maya arrived, the sea breeze was cool, the sky a perfect shade of sunset gold. Vivaan greeted her at the door with a grin, looking effortlessly relaxed in a casual tee and shorts. It was hard not to notice how much lighter he seemed, his usual intensity replaced by a more carefree demeanor. “Welcome to the end of the world,” he said, his voice warm. The villa was charming, with open windows and soft, airy rooms that felt like they were made for a slow, quiet retreat. Maya couldn’t help but feel out of place, as if the whole setting was meant for something other than a divorce planner on business.
As the evening wore on, Vivaan set up his camera and started recording a vlog. Maya stood in the background, trying her best to remain a quiet observer. Watching him talk about his travels, about how the world was full of fleeting moments, she was struck by how much of himself he put into each video. It wasn’t just content—it was his way of sharing his soul with the world, of leaving a piece of himself in each place he visited. Maya, who had always compartmentalized emotions and experiences, suddenly felt like an outsider in her own life. She’d spent so many years helping others let go, helping them move forward, but Vivaan was the kind of person who left behind footprints everywhere he went. And now, Maya realized, she was being swept into the wake of his presence, unsure of where her own steps would lead.
Later that night, after Vivaan finished his recording, the two of them sat on the porch, looking out at the stars. The silence between them was comfortable, but there was an unspoken tension in the air, something that neither of them acknowledged. Maya tried to focus on the peaceful sound of the ocean waves, but her mind kept drifting back to their conversation at the party—how he had looked at Ananya and then at her, with the same longing, the same hope that things could somehow be fixed. “I used to think endings were clean,” Maya said, breaking the silence. “You know, that you could just sign the papers and move on. But it’s never that easy, is it?” Vivaan turned to her, his gaze steady. “No,” he said softly. “It’s never that easy. But sometimes, it’s the mess that makes it real.”
Maya looked at him, her thoughts swirling. She had always been in control, always kept her emotions at arm’s length, but there was something about Vivaan’s honesty, his raw openness, that made her question everything she’d built her life around. Was it possible to move beyond the walls she’d built, beyond the neat endings she had always planned? Or was she destined to keep her distance, never fully experiencing the messiness of love? As the night stretched on, Maya found herself wondering if she was truly ready to let go of the safety of her carefully constructed life.
7
Maya had never been one to break her own rules. She ran a tight ship, balancing each divorce with precision, removing any trace of personal bias. Yet, as she found herself packing for a weekend trip to Goa with Vivaan, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was crossing a line. It was only a weekend getaway, a “breather” as Vivaan had put it, but she knew it was more than that. He had asked her to come not as a planner, but as something else—something she wasn’t ready to name. Her rational side screamed at her to stay focused, to keep her distance. But the allure of breaking free, even for a few days, pulled her in like a magnetic force.
The trip was simple—Vivaan had rented a small villa by the beach, a place where he could film his next travel vlog without interruptions. When Maya arrived, the sea breeze was cool, the sky a perfect shade of sunset gold. Vivaan greeted her at the door with a grin, looking effortlessly relaxed in a casual tee and shorts. It was hard not to notice how much lighter he seemed, his usual intensity replaced by a more carefree demeanor. “Welcome to the end of the world,” he said, his voice warm. The villa was charming, with open windows and soft, airy rooms that felt like they were made for a slow, quiet retreat. Maya couldn’t help but feel out of place, as if the whole setting was meant for something other than a divorce planner on business.
As the evening wore on, Vivaan set up his camera and started recording a vlog. Maya stood in the background, trying her best to remain a quiet observer. Watching him talk about his travels, about how the world was full of fleeting moments, she was struck by how much of himself he put into each video. It wasn’t just content—it was his way of sharing his soul with the world, of leaving a piece of himself in each place he visited. Maya, who had always compartmentalized emotions and experiences, suddenly felt like an outsider in her own life. She’d spent so many years helping others let go, helping them move forward, but Vivaan was the kind of person who left behind footprints everywhere he went. And now, Maya realized, she was being swept into the wake of his presence, unsure of where her own steps would lead.
Later that night, after Vivaan finished his recording, the two of them sat on the porch, looking out at the stars. The silence between them was comfortable, but there was an unspoken tension in the air, something that neither of them acknowledged. Maya tried to focus on the peaceful sound of the ocean waves, but her mind kept drifting back to their conversation at the party—how he had looked at Ananya and then at her, with the same longing, the same hope that things could somehow be fixed. “I used to think endings were clean,” Maya said, breaking the silence. “You know, that you could just sign the papers and move on. But it’s never that easy, is it?” Vivaan turned to her, his gaze steady. “No,” he said softly. “It’s never that easy. But sometimes, it’s the mess that makes it real.”
Maya looked at him, her thoughts swirling. She had always been in control, always kept her emotions at arm’s length, but there was something about Vivaan’s honesty, his raw openness, that made her question everything she’d built her life around. Was it possible to move beyond the walls she’d built, beyond the neat endings she had always planned? Or was she destined to keep her distance, never fully experiencing the messiness of love? As the night stretched on, Maya found herself wondering if she was truly ready to let go of the safety of her carefully constructed life.
8
Maya stood at the edge of the crowd, watching the ceremony unfold with a quiet sense of disbelief. It was a small gathering, just a few close friends and family, but the energy in the room felt electric, like the beginning of something new—something she never thought she’d witness. Vivaan and Ananya had managed to rebuild something that most people considered irreparable, something that even Maya had doubted. She had always been the one to help people close the door on their relationships, to guide them through the emotional wreckage and hand them a neat exit. But today, she was watching a different kind of transformation—a second chance, not based on perfection, but on raw honesty and a willingness to fight for love, even when it seemed impossible.
As the officiant pronounced them husband and wife once again, Vivaan turned to Ananya, his eyes filled with tears, his voice shaky as he whispered, “This time, no more running. I promise to be here, with you, fully.” Ananya’s smile was radiant, her eyes soft with the kind of love that only comes after years of understanding and healing. Maya felt a lump in her throat, but she didn’t cry. She had always prided herself on her ability to keep her emotions in check, but watching Vivaan and Ananya today made her question everything she had believed. Was it really possible for love to survive the kind of cracks they had been through? Was it possible for a relationship to heal, or was she just fooling herself into thinking that any broken thing could be fixed?
Later, as the guests mingled and the newlyweds shared their first dance, Maya found herself alone for a moment, standing by the balcony and staring out at the city lights. She didn’t expect to feel so deeply moved by their journey. She had thought their story would be like any other—an end wrapped in a bow. But instead, it was a new beginning, one that came from embracing the imperfections of their past. It was messy, real, and completely unpredictable, just like love should be. For the first time in years, Maya felt something stir inside her—a warmth she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time. Maybe it was the belief that things could be fixed, not because they were perfect, but because the effort to rebuild was worth it.
Vivaan approached her, his expression soft, almost apologetic. “I never thought I’d see you here, Maya. After all the work you’ve done for others… I wasn’t sure if you’d ever believe in something like this.” Maya turned to him, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t believe in second chances,” she admitted. “But I think I’m starting to understand that some things don’t have to be perfect to be worth fighting for.” Vivaan took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. “I was hoping you’d say that.” For a moment, they just stood there, the noise of the celebration fading into the background as they shared a quiet understanding. Maya knew that her life was about to change, that the neat boxes she had built around herself were no longer enough to contain the emotions she had been running from. And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.
The night wore on, and Maya found herself dancing, laughing, and for the first time in a long while, not thinking about exits and goodbyes. She had planned so many endings, but today, she was witnessing the beginning of something beautiful. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy. But it was real. And that, she realized, was all she had ever needed.
_____
