“To tell you the truth,” he began tentatively, “I realized only recently how my conceit would've affected your life. It took the meanness of a woman to make me realize how mean
I was to you. It was a sort of poetic justice for you that made me cry in shame and regret all that night. Ever since, I was dying to tell you that fate had paid me back in the same coin. I hope you will care to listen, at least this time.”
“I'm sorry on both counts,” she said melancholically. “Don't I know that not giving you my ear then was the cause of my ruin? How I rued that mistake I only know. Maybe, I owed it to my horrible fate. Barring that accursed time, I always felt your fortunes and misfortunes are mine as well. Oh, tell me what happened?”
As Sathya narrated the tale of his unrequited love, Prema saw the mirror images of her past agonies.
“It‟s thus fate made it even for me,” he said in the end. “Now it‟s up to you to forgive me.”
“Oh, your suffering was ethereal for its purity of love and the spirit of sacrifice,” she said moved herself. “But my predicament was all about hurt pride fouled up by spite.”
“Whatever it was,” he said, “you'd undergone what you'd undergone because of me. I seek your forgiveness if you don't feel the same bitterness now.”
“I've always felt you've a heart of gold and the soul of a saint, in spite of that sin that is,” she said holding his hand. “I'm happy that my belief in you is proved right.”
“Your understanding is heartening,” impulsively he went on his knees to her. “But it's your forgiveness that I seek.”