Sammohana

By Jivika Vikamshi

You’re sitting across from someone

you prayed to forget.

Not recently.

Years ago.

Another version of you

was addicted to their attention.

You burned that version.

You smudged your skin clean.

You wrote poems about release.

You wore silence like a sari for months.

But here you are.

Smiling.

They’re saying things you used to beg to hear.

Back then, those words would have shattered you.

Now they land

like incense smoke-

pleasant.

Unnecessary.

Familiar.

You stir your drink longer than needed.

It’s not for flavor.

It’s for rhythm.

You know this isn’t going anywhere.

You know this is not the story that becomes forever.

You know exactly why they texted you.

And you know exactly

why you said yes.

Not for hope.

But for closure

you already had.

This is not stupidity.

This is Sammohana-

the softness of returning to a mirror

after you've accepted your reflection

and still wanting

to trace it again.

You aren’t fooled.

You’re participating.

Gently.

Knowingly.

Because some spells

don’t work on you anymore-

and that’s exactly

what makes them so seductive.

You let them speak.

You listen to your old ache

echo once

and dissolve.

You let it all happen

without trying to fix it

or hold it

or name it

holy.

You just let it

move.

This isn’t karma.

This is the choreography

of memory.

This is Maa letting you watch yourself

not need

what you once craved

and still letting you

sit through the sweetness of remembering.

Shiva sits at the next table.

He doesn’t interrupt.

He just nods

like someone

who's paused here too.

Sammohanāyai Namah.

( To the one who recognised the game- even while playing it)

By Jivika Vikamshi