where the sea was patient to us all.
While we struggled with surfboards and waves,
he came and lay beside me a stray, perhaps,
or perhaps simply free.
as if trust were the most ordinary thing in the world.
When we began to leave,
But he did.
Again.
And again.
I remember thinking then
that affection was permission.
That if someone chose your company,
you could choose for them in return.
So I lifted him
and took him with me to my shelter,
believing I was doing something kind.
But kindness that assumes
is often just another form of arrogance.
My shelter was not safe for him.
Something went wrong.
He was hurt.
Scars where there should have been none.
And the anger came quietly,
sharp, deserved, and unforgiving.
“You were trusted.”
“You were family.”
“You should have known better.”
The words were not loud because of rage alone;
they were loud because disappointment
has a way of cutting deeper than anger.
I tried to explain.
Tried to say that I meant no harm,
that I only thought of him as my own,
that the playfulness I carried
had never been meant to wound.
But Aatmaram was in no mood to listen.
And perhaps that was fair.
So I took him back
to the place he had first chosen for himself, the beach, the wind,
the long indifferent rhythm of the sea.
I watched from a distance
until I knew he would be alright.
Later, when I saw him again,he did not run away.
He did not bark.
He simply refused to look back at me.
And that quiet refusal
hurt more than subtle message.
Because the truth had already settled in
I had mistaken closeness for consent.
I had believed familiarity erased boundaries.
I had treated trust
as if it were ownership.
My intentions had never been to harm him.
But intentions are not what wounds remember.
The lesson stays with me now,
heavy and precise:
Trust must be handled carefully.
And even love
does not grant the right
to cross another’s boundary.
If Aatmaram never comes near me again,
I will understand.
Some forgiveness is not ours to receive.
But the memory of that beach,
of the quiet weight of his head on my arms, will remain
not as comfort,
but as the place
where I finally learned
what responsibility, love and family truly means.
All I beg for is a
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