Reunion is a doorway that leads to choices. For weeks after the fundraiser they met with the tentative hope of two people testing old furniture for comfort. They had their time--coffee, dinners, long walks, when conversation was back to manners and little acts of kindness. They began the custom of going out to the bench by the river, where they had kissed each other in the first place, and seeing the river roll on, like an apology and a promise.
They were not brought back to each other with rapturous displays; they were brought back together by tiny masonry of learning to be there. Arjun went away less spontaneously, and on the occasions when he did he recorded videos of his nights so Maya could listen to the rain in Lisbon. Maya talked more about her calendar and less about her guardedness and opened up conversations before resentment could build up. Repeatedly they restored confidence as though it were a fragile edifice: gradually, carefully, with ample intervals of intercepts and jokes.
But ancient fagots are not quickly unspooled. Night after night Maya would lie awake and wonder whether he would steal away again, night after night Arjun would squeeze her hand and shudder as the stability appeared to pinch his edges even narrower. They were forced to make a choice: they were ready to restructure their lives around the needs of one another without achieving perfection?
They imperfectly chose to attempt. The word compromise became part of their vocabulary with a different mindfulness; not of abolishing purposes, but of entering them into a common account. To be able to come back every month, Arjun took a residency; Maya took a sabbatical to spend a season in Lisbon, assisting her in managing a community photography programme. Both changed fragments of what they used to write with a draught of the work co-written, which did permit wandering and roots.