On her way to her new husband’s hometown, the bride asked the driver to stop at a cemetery so she could light incense for her ex-husband. But as they left, the driver whispered to the bride about what he had witnessed.

In the evening light, the wedding car quietly passed through a red, dusty village road on the outskirts of Lucknow. In the car, the new bride, Ananya, sat quietly, her hand gently caressing her ivory lehenga. Today, she was visiting her relatives at her in-laws’ (her new husband’s hometown), a traditional ritual following the housewarming ceremony. There was no groom by her side, only Arun—her husband’s longtime driver—a calm man of forty, his face always impassive, as if a treasure trove of memories were hidden behind his eyes.

At a turn through the old banyan trees, Ananya whispered:

—Arun, please wait a moment at the cemetery ahead… I want to light incense for my ex-husband.

Arun looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes slightly puzzled. He didn’t ask anything, but quietly stopped the car near the Catholic cemetery next to a small, shady church.

Ananya got out, holding a wedding bouquet. She went to a stone grave hidden behind a clump of ferns, knelt down, took a few incense sticks from the bouquet, and lit them. She didn’t cry, just whispered something. In the fading afternoon sun, the long shadow of a bride in a white lehenga fell near the grave of an old man—a sad but peaceful sight.

When she got back in the car, Ananya sat down, her eyes dry but deep. The car started moving again.

There was silence for a few minutes, then Arun whispered softly, as if speaking close to her ear:
— I… I saw him standing behind her when she was lighting incense.

Ananya paused, but showed no fear.

— He smiled… looking at her. Very softly. But then…— Arun hesitated.

— But then what?

— He didn’t look at her for long… just turned and looked at me. As if… he knew me.

Ananya looked at Arun. As if a needle had pierced a thin thread from the past, a suspicion surged again:

— You… know my ex-husband?

Arun was silent for a moment, then said:

— Six years ago, I was the driver who caused the accident that killed Rahul – her ex-husband. I intended to surrender. But… his mother begged me not to. She was afraid she would be hurt further, afraid her daughter-in-law would be trapped in pain forever.

Ananya turned:

— Then why did you say that today?

Arun looked at her in the mirror, his eyes filled with pain:

— Because his eyes… weren’t blaming. Rather… they were giving permission. As if he wanted me to take him on the unfinished journey of his life.

The air in the car was thick. Ananya didn’t cry. She turned her face to the window, the afternoon breeze blowing through her loose hair. In the distance, the sound of temple bells echoed in the dim fields.

As the car stopped in front of a large tiled-roofed house in Barabanki, Ananya got out, straightened her wedding dress, and turned to Arun—the driver she’d always considered a stranger in her life’s journey.

—Come with me. Meet my new husband’s family. I think… it’s time I learned more about the man who will hold my hand for the next few years.