07-06-2025, 01:22 AM
CHAPTER – 55
A few days later…
The apartment that had once felt like a fragile house of cards now breathed easier. The air wasn’t as tense. The silences weren’t as heavy. There were no more whispers behind closed doors.
Rahul had moved out of the apartment quietly—taking only what was essential. No confrontation, no bitterness at the end. Just a long, tired silence. A few days after that, both Kavya and Rahul had filed for divorce. The legal process was underway, and while the lawyers and paperwork moved at their own pace, the emotional fallout lingered.
But Rahul didn’t want a messy battle. He still loved her, somewhere deep in the cracked shell of his heart. Despite the betrayal, despite the trauma, a small part of him refused to hate her. And maybe that made everything worse.
He had told the lawyer:
“No alimony. No mudslinging. Just end it quietly.”
He wanted peace. Or whatever version of it he could build from scratch.
Back in the apartment…
The days began to flow again.
Kavya stood in the kitchen one morning, pouring tea into two cups. The clinking of the spoon, the smell of cardamom, the light spilling through the curtains—it all felt oddly normal. Danish came from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist gently.
Danish: “You’re up early.”
Kavya (smiling faintly): “Couldn’t sleep much.”
They sat across from each other at the dining table. For the first time in what felt like months, they could look into each other’s eyes without guilt dragging their gaze down.
There was a quiet understanding between them—an unspoken truth that now, no one stood between them. No lies. No secrets. No fear of getting caught.
Later that week…
They went back to the gym together. Kavya wore her usual black leggings and fitted t-shirt, her hair tied up, her eyes more relaxed. Danish lifted weights with his old confidence, occasionally looking at her with the warmth of a man who had fought for his love—and still had her.
They laughed more. They took evening walks together around the society compound, held hands without glancing over their shoulders. Grocery trips, coffee on the balcony, quiet dinners—life resumed, piece by piece.
But beneath it all, Kavya was still healing. There were moments she’d stare at her phone longer than needed, expecting a message from Rahul—or her parents. But the silence stayed.
One evening, Danish looked at her as they lay side by side.
Danish: “Do you regret it? Any of it?”
Kavya turned toward him slowly. “No,” she whispered. “But I wish it hadn’t hurt so many people.”
He nodded. “I know.”
They stayed quiet after that. Not every silence needed to be filled now.
Meanwhile, somewhere else in Mumbai…
Rahul sat alone in his temporary rented flat. A cup of untouched coffee rested on the table in front of him. He scrolled through old pictures on his phone—laughing moments with Kavya, Diwali celebrations, candid selfies. He stopped at one where she was smiling wide in the kitchen, holding a plate of food she had made just for him.
He stared at that photo a little longer… then slowly locked his phone and placed it face down.
Rahul (to himself, softly):
"It’s time to let go."
Healing in Layers
Healing doesn’t happen all at once. It comes in quiet, unannounced waves. And for Kavya, each day now felt like peeling away an old layer of guilt and fear… slowly revealing something raw, honest, and a little stronger underneath.
At first, it was small things.
She began by cleaning out her wardrobe. Clothes she hadn’t worn in years, memories stitched into fabrics that reminded her of her old life with Rahul, her wedding, the routines, the pretending. She folded each one with trembling hands and placed them in a separate bag. Not to throw away — not yet — but to acknowledge that those pieces belonged to a life she was no longer part of.
The silence in the apartment, which used to be heavy and full of unspoken words, started to feel calmer. Kavya began spending more time on the balcony — not just with Danish, but alone too. She’d sit with a blanket around her shoulders and a warm cup of tea in her hands, watching the city move beneath her like a quiet witness.
She would write.
Not full pages at first — just lines.
“I’m not who I used to be.”
“Is this what healing sounds like?”
“I feel guilt, but I also feel free. Can both exist together?”
Some mornings, she’d cry while doing the dishes or brushing her hair. Not because she missed Rahul in a romantic way — but because of the pain she caused him. Because she never imagined herself being the one who broke someone else’s heart. That was never supposed to be her.
One day, she found a letter Rahul had written to her before going to the U.S. It was sweet, full of dreams — small wishes like, “We’ll go to Manali this winter,” and, “I’ll try to come home early every Friday.” She sat with the letter clutched in her hands, tears dripping onto the paper.
She whispered to the empty room:
“I’m sorry… I really did love you once.”
And maybe that was a part of healing too — accepting that love doesn’t always last in the same form.
Reconnecting with Herself
She began walking every evening by herself. No phone, no headphones — just the sound of the breeze and her own thoughts. The walks became a kind of therapy. She’d observe the world around her: mothers holding children, lovers fighting and laughing, old men sitting quietly on benches — and she’d feel like a part of life again, instead of just someone watching it go by.
She picked up poetry books from a roadside vendor — something she hadn’t done in years. She read Rupi Kaur, Gulzar, and sometimes just bookmarked lines that felt like they understood her before she understood herself:
“If you were born with the weakness to fall, you were born with the strength to rise.”
“Sometimes the apology never comes, and you have to learn to live without it.”
She highlighted those lines.
She read them aloud.
She believed them.
A Confession to a Friend
One night, unable to contain it all, she called her childhood friend Meera. It had been months since they last spoke. The call began casually — catching up, laughter, little updates — but quickly turned into something deeper.
Kavya’s voice cracked as she whispered,
“I’ve done something I never thought I would… and I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”
Meera listened, and after a long pause, simply said,
“You’re human, Kavya. You didn’t plan to hurt anyone. You just… chose what made you feel alive. Sometimes it’s messy. But it’s still your truth.”
They cried together. Not out of regret. But because healing sometimes needs a witness.
Relearning Joy
Days turned into weeks. Kavya began cooking again — not just basic meals, but recipes she once loved making. She’d hum while stirring the pot, or play old Hindi songs that reminded her of college days. Danish would sometimes peek into the kitchen and find her smiling to herself — and he knew. She was returning. To herself.
She started taking care of her plants again. A tiny thing, perhaps — but it was something she had stopped doing long ago, during the height of her inner chaos. Now, she watered them with care, trimmed the dead leaves, and even bought two new pots.
"Even I’m learning to bloom again," she thought.
A few days later…
The apartment that had once felt like a fragile house of cards now breathed easier. The air wasn’t as tense. The silences weren’t as heavy. There were no more whispers behind closed doors.
Rahul had moved out of the apartment quietly—taking only what was essential. No confrontation, no bitterness at the end. Just a long, tired silence. A few days after that, both Kavya and Rahul had filed for divorce. The legal process was underway, and while the lawyers and paperwork moved at their own pace, the emotional fallout lingered.
But Rahul didn’t want a messy battle. He still loved her, somewhere deep in the cracked shell of his heart. Despite the betrayal, despite the trauma, a small part of him refused to hate her. And maybe that made everything worse.
He had told the lawyer:
“No alimony. No mudslinging. Just end it quietly.”
He wanted peace. Or whatever version of it he could build from scratch.
Back in the apartment…
The days began to flow again.
Kavya stood in the kitchen one morning, pouring tea into two cups. The clinking of the spoon, the smell of cardamom, the light spilling through the curtains—it all felt oddly normal. Danish came from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist gently.
Danish: “You’re up early.”
Kavya (smiling faintly): “Couldn’t sleep much.”
They sat across from each other at the dining table. For the first time in what felt like months, they could look into each other’s eyes without guilt dragging their gaze down.
There was a quiet understanding between them—an unspoken truth that now, no one stood between them. No lies. No secrets. No fear of getting caught.
Later that week…
They went back to the gym together. Kavya wore her usual black leggings and fitted t-shirt, her hair tied up, her eyes more relaxed. Danish lifted weights with his old confidence, occasionally looking at her with the warmth of a man who had fought for his love—and still had her.
They laughed more. They took evening walks together around the society compound, held hands without glancing over their shoulders. Grocery trips, coffee on the balcony, quiet dinners—life resumed, piece by piece.
But beneath it all, Kavya was still healing. There were moments she’d stare at her phone longer than needed, expecting a message from Rahul—or her parents. But the silence stayed.
One evening, Danish looked at her as they lay side by side.
Danish: “Do you regret it? Any of it?”
Kavya turned toward him slowly. “No,” she whispered. “But I wish it hadn’t hurt so many people.”
He nodded. “I know.”
They stayed quiet after that. Not every silence needed to be filled now.
Meanwhile, somewhere else in Mumbai…
Rahul sat alone in his temporary rented flat. A cup of untouched coffee rested on the table in front of him. He scrolled through old pictures on his phone—laughing moments with Kavya, Diwali celebrations, candid selfies. He stopped at one where she was smiling wide in the kitchen, holding a plate of food she had made just for him.
He stared at that photo a little longer… then slowly locked his phone and placed it face down.
Rahul (to himself, softly):
"It’s time to let go."
Healing in Layers
Healing doesn’t happen all at once. It comes in quiet, unannounced waves. And for Kavya, each day now felt like peeling away an old layer of guilt and fear… slowly revealing something raw, honest, and a little stronger underneath.
At first, it was small things.
She began by cleaning out her wardrobe. Clothes she hadn’t worn in years, memories stitched into fabrics that reminded her of her old life with Rahul, her wedding, the routines, the pretending. She folded each one with trembling hands and placed them in a separate bag. Not to throw away — not yet — but to acknowledge that those pieces belonged to a life she was no longer part of.
The silence in the apartment, which used to be heavy and full of unspoken words, started to feel calmer. Kavya began spending more time on the balcony — not just with Danish, but alone too. She’d sit with a blanket around her shoulders and a warm cup of tea in her hands, watching the city move beneath her like a quiet witness.
She would write.
Not full pages at first — just lines.
“I’m not who I used to be.”
“Is this what healing sounds like?”
“I feel guilt, but I also feel free. Can both exist together?”
Some mornings, she’d cry while doing the dishes or brushing her hair. Not because she missed Rahul in a romantic way — but because of the pain she caused him. Because she never imagined herself being the one who broke someone else’s heart. That was never supposed to be her.
One day, she found a letter Rahul had written to her before going to the U.S. It was sweet, full of dreams — small wishes like, “We’ll go to Manali this winter,” and, “I’ll try to come home early every Friday.” She sat with the letter clutched in her hands, tears dripping onto the paper.
She whispered to the empty room:
“I’m sorry… I really did love you once.”
And maybe that was a part of healing too — accepting that love doesn’t always last in the same form.
Reconnecting with Herself
She began walking every evening by herself. No phone, no headphones — just the sound of the breeze and her own thoughts. The walks became a kind of therapy. She’d observe the world around her: mothers holding children, lovers fighting and laughing, old men sitting quietly on benches — and she’d feel like a part of life again, instead of just someone watching it go by.
She picked up poetry books from a roadside vendor — something she hadn’t done in years. She read Rupi Kaur, Gulzar, and sometimes just bookmarked lines that felt like they understood her before she understood herself:
“If you were born with the weakness to fall, you were born with the strength to rise.”
“Sometimes the apology never comes, and you have to learn to live without it.”
She highlighted those lines.
She read them aloud.
She believed them.
A Confession to a Friend
One night, unable to contain it all, she called her childhood friend Meera. It had been months since they last spoke. The call began casually — catching up, laughter, little updates — but quickly turned into something deeper.
Kavya’s voice cracked as she whispered,
“I’ve done something I never thought I would… and I hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”
Meera listened, and after a long pause, simply said,
“You’re human, Kavya. You didn’t plan to hurt anyone. You just… chose what made you feel alive. Sometimes it’s messy. But it’s still your truth.”
They cried together. Not out of regret. But because healing sometimes needs a witness.
Relearning Joy
Days turned into weeks. Kavya began cooking again — not just basic meals, but recipes she once loved making. She’d hum while stirring the pot, or play old Hindi songs that reminded her of college days. Danish would sometimes peek into the kitchen and find her smiling to herself — and he knew. She was returning. To herself.
She started taking care of her plants again. A tiny thing, perhaps — but it was something she had stopped doing long ago, during the height of her inner chaos. Now, she watered them with care, trimmed the dead leaves, and even bought two new pots.
"Even I’m learning to bloom again," she thought.
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