Chapter 12 — Home
And thus begins Chapter Twelve.
The final chapter.
Now, children.
Eventually
Malpe.
Again.
The council cheers weakly.
We had made it back.
Carlos alive.
Axe alive.
Nuo alive.
Both phones accounted for.
Wallet accounted for.
Upper clothing?
Still classified as missing in action.
But honestly
acceptable losses.
We reached the resort.
Returned to our ridiculous kingdom of a room.
Opened the door.
Saw the Cloud.
And children
collapsed.
No ceremony.
No:
Should we shower first?
No:
Let’s talk about what happened last night.
No attempt to reconstruct the missing hours.
The bed existed.
We required it.
We merged.
The council nods.
Instantly.
Axe curled against me.
I curled around Axe.
And after a night of neon,
bass,
chemistry,
fifteen unexplained kilometres,
sand,
dogs,
missing clothes,
dead fuel tanks,
and emergency Carlos resurrection
sleep.
Deep.
Earned.
Beautiful sleep.
Children.
There is sleeping because you are tired.
And then there is sleeping because your body has submitted a formal request to discontinue consciousness.
This was the second.
And lying on the softest bed I had ever experienced,
with the woman I loved curled against me,
every muscle exhausted beyond comprehension
heaven.
Different heaven from the Jacuzzi.
Different heaven from Axe appearing naked with a bong.
Different heaven from the rave.
This one required nothing.
No stimulation.
No adventure.
No laughter.
Just warmth.
Her.
Cloud.
Darkness.
The council grows quiet.
And apparently,
that is how we spent most of Day Two of our romantic anniversary getaway.
Unconscious.
The council pauses.
You paid for a resort to sleep through it?
Children.
Worth every rupee.
Eventually
knock.
Or phone.
Or staff.
Some mechanism of civilization intruded upon paradise.
Checkout.
The council groans.
Already?
Apparently.
Time,
which had behaved like an abstract concept for most of the weekend,
had suddenly become extremely administrative.
We woke.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Looked at each other.
Probably looked like absolute disaster.
And realized:
We have to leave.
The council mourns the Cloud.
But before departure
one final ritual.
Children.
Jacuzzi.
One last joint.
The council nods.
Correct.
We climbed in.
Warm water.
Bubbles.
Smoke.
Much quieter than the first time.
No manic excitement.
No:
HOLY SHIT WE HAVE A JACUZZI.
We were veterans now.
Seasoned luxury users.
Forty eight hours of experience.
The council laughs.
We sat together.
Passing the joint.
Letting the body soften one final time.
And somewhere during that little goodbye
Hat Guy.
Ribbon Girl.
The council turns.
We wondered.
Where were they?
What happened to them after the rave?
Did they leave before us?
Did we leave together?
Were they involved in the missing fifteen kilometres?
Did they know why Carlos had ended up there?
Did they perhaps possess the lost chapter of our anniversary?
Children.
No idea.
We never saw them again.
Not at breakfast.
Not at the beach.
Not at the resort.
Not on the road.
Nothing.
They simply entered the Wandering,
shared weed,
opened a secret door into another world
and vanished.
The council grows suspicious.
Were they even real?
Children.
Probably.
Almost certainly.
We both remembered them.
Hat.
Ribbon.
Conversation.
Joint.
Party.
The envelope.
Very elaborate shared hallucination otherwise.
But given the weekend?
The possibility was funny enough to entertain.
Hat Guy and Ribbon Girl.
Temporary pack.
First pack.
No surnames.
No numbers.
No sequel.
Just one night.
The council nods.
Some people belong exactly where you met them.
You do not need to carry every stranger into the rest of your life.
Sometimes they appear,
hand you a joint,
lead you through a coded metal hatch,
dramatically alter your evening,
and disappear from history.
The council pauses.
An extremely specific philosophy.
Wanderings create extremely specific philosophies.
We finished the joint.
Climbed out.
Got dressed.
With whatever clothing still remained within our jurisdiction.
Packed.
And by “packed,”
children,
I assume Axe packed.
Let us respect established systems.
The council nods.
Then
checkout.
Axe went to the counter.
Adult mode.
Payment.
Details.
Keys.
Whatever resort humans do before being permitted to leave luxury.
And I?
Idle Mode returned.
The council smiles.
I stood near a window.
Looked outside.
Malpe.
Ocean somewhere beyond.
The place that forty eight hours earlier had been unknown.
Not anymore.
Children.
Now it contained things.
Dogs.
Carlos.
A cloud bed.
A Jacuzzi.
A buffet we had assaulted.
Hat Guy.
Ribbon Girl.
Campfires.
A hidden metal door.
A dreadlocked gatekeeper.
Neon.
Axe dancing.
Darkness.
A dog waking me.
A beach fifteen kilometres away.
An empty fuel tank.
A road back.
The council grows quiet.
That is the strange thing about leaving somewhere.
On arrival,
a place is just itself.
Then things happen.
And suddenly you cannot see the place without seeing your version of it.
Malpe was no longer:
That beach near Manipal everyone talks about.
It was ours now.
Not ownership.
Memory.
I took a deep breath.
Big inhale.
Like somehow I could pull one last piece of the place into my lungs and carry it out.
The council smiles.
Then
Axe.
She finished the adult responsibilities.
Walked over.
Took my hand.
No announcement.
No:
Ready?
Maybe.
Just hand.
And we left.
The council follows.
Across the resort.
Out toward Carlos.
Our chariot waited.
Slightly traumatized.
But loyal.
We got in.
I started the engine.
Axe beside me.
And off we went.
Home.
The council checks travel time.
Ninety minutes?
Children.
Please.
We still had protocol.
Road.
Music.
My hand on the gear.
Axe’s hand sometimes resting over mine.
Then
“Dog.”
The council erupts.
BRAKE.
Carlos stops.
Doors open.
Two idiots exit.
Pat head.
Scratch ears.
Who’s a good boy?
Return.
Drive.
The council nods.
Then
“Dog.”
Again.
And somehow,
the journey home stretched the same way the journey out had.
Not inefficiently.
Correctly.
Children.
A road with dogs cannot be rushed.
Eventually,
Manipal returned.
University.
Familiar roads.
My apartment.
Carlos parked.
We got out.
Went inside.
And just like that
the anniversary getaway was over.
The council begins closing the Archive.
And so ends the Ninth Wandering
Wait.
The council freezes.
No.
No extra chapter.
Relax.
There is not enough story left for that.
Just
context.
The council sits back down.
Because children,
there was something hanging over Malpe that I have deliberately not mentioned until now.
University was ending.
Soon.
Very soon.
About a week.
The council grows quiet.
And when university ended
Axe would leave.
Home.
Pune.
I would leave too.
Back to Kerala.
Different states.
Different paths.
Different futures.
And neither of us had any interest in pretending we were going to long distance this shit.
The council nods.
No grand vow.
No:
We’ll make it work somehow.
No promises we did not believe.
Children.
We knew.
The relationship had an expiry date.
Not because something had gone wrong.
That is the cruel part.
Nothing had.
We were good.
Very good.
Maybe even perfect for the versions of ourselves that existed together there.
But life does not care whether two people fit beautifully inside one chapter.
It still turns the page.
The council listens.
Axe had higher studies elsewhere.
A future waiting beyond university.
And me?
Children.
I had the prestigious career path of:
Return to Kerala.
Become unemployed writer.
The council laughs softly.
Excellent prospects.
Thank you.
Our roads simply separated.
No villain.
No betrayal.
No final catastrophic fight required.
Just geography.
Timing.
Life.
The council grows quiet.
And maybe that makes Malpe more precious to me now.
Because we knew,
somewhere underneath the weekend,
that the ending was close.
Not this weekend.
Not this moment.
But close.
One more week.
Then Axe and Nuo,
as they existed in university,
would be over.
Children.
And we still went.
We did not spend the anniversary mourning what was coming.
We did not turn every moment into a goodbye.
We went to Malpe.
Stopped for dogs.
Got high.
Laughed.
Ate like monsters.
Made strangers into pack.
Found a secret rave.
Danced until memory stopped recording.
Woke lost.
Rescued Carlos.
Held hands on the road home.
Then slept together on a cloud.
The council smiles.
We lived it.
That is all.
And maybe there is something to be said for that.
Not every good thing is supposed to survive forever.
The council grows quiet.
Children,
I dislike the way people sometimes treat endings as proof that what came before failed.
A relationship ends,
so everyone asks:
What went wrong?
Sometimes
nothing.
Sometimes it was simply complete.
The council listens.
Axe and Nuo were not:
Till death do us part.
We were not built for some grand eternal domestic future.
We were two university idiots who found each other at exactly one part of life.
And for that part?
Gods.
We were good.
The council smiles.
Karkala gave us the beginning.
Malpe gave us something close to the final celebration.
One year.
A milestone.
A last little pocket of time where the only relevant fact was:
I love this person.
This person is here.
Nuo happy.
Simple man.
Children.
There is sadness in knowing what came next.
Of course.
But when I remember Malpe,
that is not what arrives first.
I remember Axe saying:
“Dog.”
I remember stopping Carlos.
I remember the resort.
The Cloud.
The Jacuzzi.
Her standing there with a bong and weed.
The buffet.
Hat Guy terrifying me into mentally preparing for prison.
Ribbon Girl calling us cute.
Axe saying:
“We are.”
I remember the secret door.
The pressure of the music.
Looking at Axe and knowing
we are home.
The council grows quiet.
I remember dancing.
I remember waking beside her.
The relief before any other question.
Axe is here.
Axe is safe.
Now figure out the rest.
I remember finding Carlos.
I remember the engine finally coming alive.
And her hand settling over mine on the gear.
Yeah.
This is perfect.
The council nods.
That thought survived.
And perhaps that is the whole Wandering.
Not:
This will last forever.
It didn’t.
Not:
Nothing can separate us.
Something did.
Not:
We are destined.
Children.
Destiny is funny.
Sometimes destiny brings someone into your life
without promising to keep them there.
The council listens.
Some people are chapters.
That does not make them footnotes.
Axe was not a mistake because Axe ended.
Karkala did not become less beautiful.
The Sacred Pose did not become less real.
The indoor rain did not become less ridiculous.
Malpe did not become less perfect.
The council smiles.
It happened.
We were there.
We loved each other.
That is enough.
And all these years later,
I can look backward without wishing the Archive had written a different ending.
Because changing the ending changes the road.
And I like the road we had.
Messy.
Funny.
Stupid.
Tender.
Chemically questionable.
Frequently interrupted by dogs.
The council laughs.
Very us.
So yes.
A week later,
life would move.
Axe toward Pune.
Nuo toward Kerala.
The relationship would finish.
And other versions of us would begin elsewhere.
But Malpe remained.
Untouched.
Two days preserved outside what came after.
The last anniversary.
The last great wandering of Axe and Nuo.
And something I will look back on fondly
until always.
The council grows quiet.
Not forever in the way relationships promise forever.
Forever in the way memory sometimes keeps a room lit after everyone has left.
The Cloud.
The Jacuzzi.
The beach.
The rave.
Carlos.
Her hand over mine.
Still there.
Children.
That is enough.
Thus concludes Chapter Twelve.
The Earned Unconsciousness.
The Final Jacuzzi.
The Vanishing Of Hat Guy And Ribbon Girl.
The Last Look At Malpe.
The Dog Protocol Home.
The Expiry Date.
And The Anniversary That Stayed.
And thus concludes the Ninth Wandering of the Unbegun.
Malpe.
The final prequel.
The Wandering where Axe and Nuo celebrated one year
while quietly standing near the end of their road together.
Not a tragedy.
Not really.
Because endings do not erase what came before them.
Children.
Some things are not meant to stay.
Some people are not meant to follow you through every chapter.
Some roads meet,
run beside each other for a while,
and then separate.
But while they were together?
They were real.
They mattered.
And sometimes
they were perfect.
The council looks toward the Archive.
Nine Wanderings.
Nine tags.
No more buried prequels waiting to be recovered.
The past has finally caught up.
And on one of those old roads,
Carlos still moves toward home.
Axe beside me.
Her hand resting over mine.
A dog appears ahead.
She smiles.
“Dog.”
And naturally
I stop.
