I nodded and followed him inside. Our room was a stunning blend of stone and wood, a Balinese oasis that felt carved directly from nature. I wandered through the space, trailing my fingers over the cool walls and inhaling the scent of fresh frangipani. Through wide glass doors, a private balcony overlooked the valley; in the distance, a waterfall caught the light like a ribbon of gold.
I looked at Saurav, my chest tightening with awe and a flickering, fragile hope. He caught my stare and raised his eyebrows.
"What is it? Is everything alright?"
"This isn't real, is it?" I asked softly. "You booked this? Saurav, this must have cost you a fortune."
He dropped the luggage, letting out a deep sigh that seemed to strip away his professional armor.
"Does it matter, Kavya? If something makes you happy, it doesn't have to be expensive. The most precious thing is how happy you're feeling right now. To me, that’s worth every penny."
My heart softened. I searched his eyes, looking for the man I knew still lived behind the silence. He offered a small, rare smile before turning toward the view.
"If we’re doing this," he said quietly, stepping onto the balcony to face the jungle surrounding our hotel, "then we’re doing it right."
If we’re doing this. The words clung to me. I joined him at the railing, leaning against the wood. This was our chance for a fresh start, and Ubud seemed determined to help us find it.
Over the next few days, Bali worked its quiet magic on us. We found ourselves, almost by chance, at the Ubud Water Palace, a place we hadn’t planned to visit, but somehow ended up at after being dropped off nearby. We followed the soft hum of excitement through the gates and stopped completely, struck by what lay ahead.
Usually, on trips like this, we reach a point where everything begins to blur, every statue, every temple, every carefully carveddetail blending into one another. But this place… this was different. The Water Palace, Puri Saren Agung, held me still in a way nothing else had. We had arrived at the perfect moment. The sky stretched above us in a piercing shade of blue, reflected flawlessly in the still lily ponds below. As I walked through the courtyard, surrounded by architecture preserved from another century, I felt something inside me soften. A kind of peace I hadn’t felt in years.
Saurav walked beside me, his hand occasionally brushing mine. I liked it when he touched me, I liked how big his hands were and I liked how easily I still felt drawn to him.
We sought out the quiet corners, too. Our guide led us to a hidden gem called Sumampan Waterfall. Unlike the towering, tourist-clogged falls near the city, Sumampan was intimate and unassuming. We followed a narrow dirt trail, guided only by the growing roar of rushing water, until the canopy broke to reveal it. We had the place to ourselves for nearly an hour. We sat on the mossy rocks, letting the water’s song wash over us, before finally working up the courage to jump in.
The water was bracing, a sharp, cool shock that made the world feel new.
In a moment of uncharacteristic playfulness, Saurav grabbed me, dunking me under the surface. For a few terrifying seconds, he held me there. I panicked, my lungs burning as I thrashed against his grip until I finally broke the surface, gasping for air. He laughed, splashing water on me, but I didn't join in. I stood there, shivering, my eyes burning with tears as I glared at him.
"You look so cute when you’re angry, babe," Saurav laughed, his voice bright and clear against the stone walls of the canyon.
"Shut up! I hate being underwater!" I snapped, my voice cracking.
Seeing the genuine distress on my face, his laughter died instantly. He rushed toward me, wading through the water to wrap his strong arms around me.
"Hey… I’m sorry, I didn't know. I was just playing," he whispered, I felt his face buried in my hair.
"My Paa tried to..." I bit my lower lip, catching the words before they could spill out. The memory flashed vividly: I was seven or eight, the taste of salt and fear in my mouth as my father held me down. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the image.
"What did your Paa try to do?" Saurav pulled back, searching my face. His expression had hardened into something protective, almost fierce.
"I was drowning... he saved me," I lied, forcing a small, sad smile. I chose the version of the story that didn’t break me.
"Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Kavya." He pulled me back into a tight and protective hug. I pressed my face against his chest, the scent of the river and his skin grounding me. In that moment of physical closeness, I realized how much I liked his warmth. We spent the rest of the evening in silence, staring at the falls and listening to the soothing chords of the crashing water.
The next morning was slower. We spent it at the Art Market, weaving through stalls that felt as though they had been there for centuries. It was a feast for the senses: hand-woven bags, shimmering silk scarves, and intricate wood carvings. Locatedright opposite the palace, the energy of the market was infectious.
Despite my protests, Saurav bought me everything I lingered over. "I like spending money on my favorite woman," he said simply, pressing a new bag into my hand. "And you’re the only one."
The following day, we traveled to the Tegalalang Rice Terraces. This was the place I had dreamed of most. I had insisted on a sunrise trek, obsessed with the idea of seeing the emerald layers of the valley wake up. We bypassed the crowded "Bali Swings" and the noise of the day clubs, choosing instead to walk deep into the fields where the air was light and the mist still clung to the stalks.
There, we met an old Balinese farmer tending his crop. Watching him work in the quiet morning light, the distance between Saurav and me felt smaller than ever. As we walked back up the trail, my husband reached out and took my hand firmly in his. He didn't say a word, but he didn't have to. In the heart of Ubud, I realized we weren't just trying anymore but we were finally living.
In those quiet hours, I learned so many small, precious things about my husband. I learned that he hated cats and loved the color red. I learned his soul craved dal chawal after a long day, and that if he wasn't a Flight Lieutenant, he would have spent his life as a mountain trekker. He spoke of his childhood, too, how he used to love his father more than his mother, a bond that shattered when his mother walked out on them. He even joked about being a precocious toddler, potty trained by the age of two.
I told him everything in return except the truth.
I didn't have happy childhood anecdotes to share. How could I tell him that while he was learning to hike, I was learning to hide? I couldn't tell him that my mother died when I was small, that my father had been my first predator, or that my stepmother and brother had treated me like a punching bag. The only person I had ever truly loved was currently struggling to breathe in a hospital bed, my sister Kirti.