I'd read the interpreter of maladies a long time back, and it hadn't left much of an impact.
However there was one story in it, which didn't fade from memory like the others. One, whose last line remain etched, which wouldn't go away.
It was a story of a couple as they drift apart, following a loss. You can see the signs of the dying relationship as you flip the pages, and finally as a last nail in the coffin, the couple tell each other things, seemingly little things, which they'd withheld while they had still loved each other.
The last line of the story, which I was reminded of yesterday..
.. They wept together, for the things they now knew.
Knowledge is a funny thing, and so is memory. When you string together memory and knowledge, sometimes you're left rather surprised.