06-09-2025, 11:53 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
SOMETIME LATER AT TANISHQ
The sprawling glass facade of the TANISHQ office glittered in the afternoon sun. Inside, the twelth floor buzzed with the efficiency of boardrooms, ringing phones, and the muted clicks of heels on polished floors. Here, strategies for nationwide expansions and multi-crore vendor deals were decided. It was a place where power dressed in subtle suits and gold logos gleamed from every wall.
Sonarika sat in her corner cabin, the glass wall framing a skyline. The title Chief Operations Manager was etched onto the glass door in bold, dignified letters. Her desk was lined with reports awaiting her signature — procurement forecasts, retailer agreements, new product rollouts. Colleagues often said she was the backbone of this office, the one who kept the machinery of TANISHQ’s Mumbai hub moving without friction.
But today, her mind was not on jewelry margins or annual contracts. Her eyes skimmed words on the quarterly performance sheets, yet all she saw was Hemant’s broken expression from last night. All she heard was the crack in his voice when she’d mentioned another woman, another child. Her chest tightened, and she reached for the slim folder at the corner of her desk — her therapy notes. Journaling, breathing, affirmations. Balance. Neha Bharadwaj’s handwriting on the last page read: Find your anchor before you drown.
A knock at the door startled her. It was her deputy, Tejas, holding a file.
"Ma’am, these vendor contracts need your review before the CFO meeting. We’re finalizing the supply chain for Diwali season"
She nodded, slipping the therapy notes under a stack of documents.
"Leave it here, Tejas. I’ll get it done before lunch"
As he placed the file, he gave her a tentative look.
"Everything alright, Ma’am? You seem… a little distracted today"
The corners of her mouth lifted into a polite professional smile, one she had perfected over the years.
"Just tired. Late night with work and my son’s college project"
He smiled knowingly, reassured.
"Ah, the volcano model? My nephew had the same one last year. Baking soda and vinegar chaos"
She forced a chuckle.
"Exactly that. Thank you, Tejas"
When he left, her mask slipped. Her fingers tightened around the pen, and she exhaled deeply, fighting the fog in her chest. Her phone buzzed. Vikram. His name flashed against the glass of her desk, cutting through her silence. After a moment of hesitation, she answered.
"Soni?" Vikram’s velvety tone poured into her ear, warm and steady.
"I was thinking about you. How are you holding up today?"
She leaned back, eyes drifting to the monsoon-grey skyline.
"I’m… surviving. Yesterday, Karan had his science project — a volcano eruption model. I helped him put it together. Watching his excitement… it made me feel normal, at least for a while"
"That’s wonderful" Vikram said sincerely.
"You’re a natural with him. Don’t ever doubt it — you’re a great mother. Karan is lucky to have you"
Her lips trembled into a faint smile.
"Thank you. I needed that reassurance"
He teased.
"Do you remember Bali? The snorkeling trip the first day? You panicked in the water and nearly dragged me down with you"
She laughed despite herself.
"You’ll never let me live Bali down"
"Never. Because terrified or not, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen"
"You and your words.....its sometimes so intoxicating and alluring"
"Well...you bring it out of me"
Her smile faltered into silence.
"Vicky… I argued with Hemant last night. He told me he’s lost faith in love. And I—I may have made it worse. I told him maybe another woman would come into his life someday, give him the family I couldn’t. I even said… a sibling for Karan. I saw how much that cut him"
Vikram’s tone softened, though he tried to lighten the blow.
"That’s hard… but if Karan needs a sibling, maybe I can help by putting one in you"
“VICKY!” she gasped, torn between exasperation and reluctant warmth.
"Not now. Please. Don’t talk about sex — I can’t even think about that. you’ll ruin my therapy"
"Therapy?" he echoed, almost scoffing.
"Why? There’s nothing wrong with you, Soni. You just need to be with me — that’s all the healing you need"
Her voice steadied, firm but soft.
"No, Vicky. Right now, I need to be with my truth. I need to find myself again. Only then can you — or anyone — have me. The real me. The woman who might love you back"
Silence stretched. Then, in a low voice, he asked.
"So… are you saying you do love me?"
She shut her eyes, pressing her temple.
"No. I’m saying I don’t know yet. Not about us. Not about what we are. Maybe in the future I’ll see clearly. And then… maybe I’ll know your place in my life"
He exhaled.
"Then I’ll wait. However long it takes"
When the call ended, her cabin returned to the hum of air-conditioning and muted chatter outside her glass wall. She glanced at her desk where two photos leaned against the pen holder. One — her and Vikram in Bali, laughter caught mid-motion. The other, half-hidden, from Karan’s birthday: her, Hemant, and Karan, a perfect frame of a family once whole.
She reached out, tracing both frames with trembling fingers. Two worlds. Two truths. Two men.
Her reflection in the glass window stared back at her — poised in a blazer, yet cracked within.
'I need to find myself first' she whispered in her mind.
'Only then will I know where my heart truly belongs'
The ringtone faded, leaving only the hush of the corporate hum around her. Sonarika straightened her blazer, pulled the files toward her, and slid the two photographs into her drawer. Her face, reflected faintly in the glass, hardened into something controlled, practiced. The Chief Operations Manager could not afford to let tremors of the heart spill into a room where crores were on the table. Five minutes later, she walked into the executive boardroom, its long mahogany table gleaming under soft lights. Around it sat senior managers, finance heads, and two directors from Titan’s Bangalore headquarters, their laptops open, eyes already on the projected quarterly numbers. The air smelled of roasted coffee and anticipation.
"Good afternoon" she greeted, her voice crisp and level, betraying none of her inner turmoil.
She took her seat at the head of the table, adjusting her notes.
"Let’s begin with the supply chain outlook for Diwali. Vendor negotiations have been consolidated, and after reviewing Tejas’s draft, I’ve approved a new pricing model. It cuts overhead by 8.3% without compromising delivery schedules"
Heads nodded, pens scratched notes. The finance director leaned forward, impressed.
"That’s remarkable. The market is volatile right now, and yet you’ve tightened costs without shrinking margins. Excellent work, Sonarika"
She smiled faintly — the kind of smile meant for the boardroom, not the heart.
"We’ll also be launching our ‘Legacy’ collection earlier this year. The creative team in Bengaluru wanted a late October release, but I’ve pushed for mid-September. We’ll catch the pre-festival rush before competitors saturate the ads. The numbers suggest a potential 12% boost"
For the next hour, she led the room with precision — analyzing figures, defusing objections, and aligning strategies. When one of the directors raised a concern about overseas sourcing delays, she had data ready within seconds, quoting both risks and contingencies. By the end of the meeting, the mood had shifted from tense to energized. As people packed their laptops and papers, one of the senior managers whispered to another, just loud enough to be caught:
"This is why she runs this office. Unshakable. Even under pressure"
Sonarika stood last, gathering her files. Her posture was steel, her aura commanding. But as the glass doors closed behind her and the noise of the boardroom faded, she allowed herself a single, shaky exhale. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her folder — not from fear of numbers, but from the storm of her heart. Walking back to her cabin, she felt the dual weight of her two worlds: the woman who carried an empire’s operations on her shoulders, and the woman who sat alone, whispering into her soul that she first needed to find herself before she could belong to anyone — Hemant or Vikram.
SOMETIME LATER AT NEHA'S CLINIC
That evening, Sonarika sat in the quiet, softly lit office of Dr. Neha Bharadwaj, her therapist. The walls were lined with books, plants softened the corners, and the faint smell of lavender incense lingered in the air. Unlike the gleaming corporate halls of Tanishq, this room felt warm, almost forgiving.
Neha leaned forward, her voice steady but gentle.
"You look exhausted, Sonarika. Was it work, or something else today?"
Sonarika exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch.
"Both. Work went well — really well, actually. We closed two major decisions today, and for two hours I was… invincible. Like the old me. But the moment I stepped out of the boardroom, I felt hollow again. Like the success belonged to someone else, not me"
Neha nodded, scribbling briefly.
"That’s a common duality. The professional mask versus the personal storm. Tell me, did anything trigger the shift?"
"Yes" Sonarika’s eyes lowered to her hands, twisted in her lap.
"Vikram called earlier. We talked about Karan, about Hemant… and about us. He tried to cheer me up, even joked in ways I wasn’t ready for. And for a moment, I smiled, I really did. But then guilt hit me like a wave. Guilt for Hemant. Guilt for even daring to feel better with someone else"
Her voice cracked, the control slipping.
"I told Hemant last night that maybe he could find someone new someday, someone who could give Karan the sibling we never gave him. He looked at me like I stabbed him all over again. And maybe I did. Maybe I’m the storm that ruins both men"
Neha let the silence stretch, allowing Sonarika to breathe through her tears before speaking.
"It sounds like you’re still defining yourself by what you are to these men — wife, lover, betrayer, mother. But who are you to yourself?"
Sonarika blinked, her tears halting, as though the question itself had stunned her.
"I… I don’t know anymore" she whispered.
"I used to be strong. I used to be someone Hemant admired. With Vikram, I felt seen, vulnerable, passionate. But in both, I lost… me"
Neha’s tone grew firmer.
"Then that’s our work, Sonarika. Therapy is not to choose between them. It’s to find you again. Because only when you return to yourself can you decide who deserves a place in your life — if anyone at all. For now, let’s focus on you, not Hemant, not Vikram"
For the first time that day, Sonarika allowed herself to close her eyes and breathe slowly, the lavender wrapping around her like a cocoon. The boardroom mask slipped away. The lover’s guilt loosened. The broken wife’s sorrow quieted. And what remained — fragile, raw, uncertain — was simply Sonarika, a woman learning to exist again.
THAT EVENING SOMEWHERE IN BANDRA
The therapy session still echoed in Sonarika’s mind as she stepped into the dimly lit pub in Bandra, one she and Vikram had frequented so many times in their secret days. The familiar scent of beer, faint smoke, and loud laughter hit her like a wave of memory. For a moment, she felt the same rush she used to — the thrill of escape, of stepping into a different world where she wasn’t Hemant’s wife, but just a woman lost in Vikram’s orbit.
Vikram was already there, leaning against the polished wooden bar, dressed in his casual blazer with a warmth in his eyes that pulled her in immediately. He smiled when he saw her, that disarming, easy grin that once made her forget all her troubles.
"You’re late" he teased lightly, handing her a glass of wine.
"I was starting to think you’d forgotten our little corner of the city"
Sonarika managed a soft laugh, sipping.
"Some memories are impossible to forget"
“Like all the dances we've done in the past here in this dim light cocooning ourselves in our own personal happy space?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief. She shook her head, embarrassed but smiling despite herself.
"Always with the mischevious memories"
"Or" he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"That afternoon in marine drive where we shared a kiss beneath an umbrella , being so open and yet hidden from the world. Remember? I still have that photo planted on my wall"
The memory hit her like a soft flame. She remembered the salty air, the city lights, the warmth of his lips. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"Yes… I remember"
Vikram studied her carefully but said nothing more, only extending his hand.
"Come. Dance with me. For old times’ sake"
The music was heavy, vibrating through the floor, pulling them into its rhythm. Sonarika let herself move, the beat carrying her body into Vikram’s. His hand slid to her waist, hers brushed his shoulder. The crowd disappeared, their bodies finding that same easy rhythm they once had. The closer they moved, the more intimate the dance became. His breath mingled with hers, his hand pressed firmer against her back.
For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel it — the thrill, the passion, the intoxicating pull. But then, in the press of their closeness, she felt Vikram’s arousal against her, and suddenly reality shattered the trance. She froze, pulling back slightly.
Vikram, confused, leaned in.
"What’s wrong? Why did you stop?"
Sonarika’s eyes softened, though her voice was firm.
"Because I can’t. Not right now. I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again"
"Soni?" he said carefully.
"Was it a mistake? Us?"
Her throat tightened. She searched his eyes and spoke quietly.
"No… not a mistake. But right now, yes — it would be. I’m still working on myself. I’m not ready to lose myself again"
He let the words sink in, his jaw tightening, but then he nodded slowly. She continued.
"If you truly love me, Vicky… you’ll understand. We need to take it slow. No shortcuts, no rushing back into what we were"
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then Vikram smiled faintly, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.
"If taking it slow means I get more times like this with you… I’ll take it. I’d rather have you here, laughing and smiling, than just in my bed"
The sincerity in his tone warmed her heart. She leaned against his chest briefly, allowing the comfort of his embrace before gently pulling away.
"Thank you"
Later, as Vikram called her a cab and kissed her forehead goodnight, Sonarika felt a quiet relief. The old thrill lingered, yes, but so did something new — control, clarity. She wasn’t the woman recklessly running into passion anymore. She was walking away on her own terms.
When she reached home, she looked at herself in the mirror, touching her lips softly. For the first time in a long while, she whispered.
"Slow is okay. Slow is safe"
LATER THAT NIGHT
Her drive home was silent, the city’s neon glow washing against the window glass as Sonarika's hand had a firm grip on the steering. Her heart was steady, not racing like before when she used to sneak back from Vikram’s arms, but it was heavy. She had stayed true to her promise to herself — no reckless passion, no surrender — yet the taste of temptation lingered on her lips. When she reached the apartment, the clock had already crossed midnight. She had already informed Anjali and Hemant that she will be late. The flat was dim, the faint glow of the lamp in the living room casting long shadows across the space. Hemant was there, sitting on the sofa, files spread out across the coffee table, though it was clear from the way his eyes were fixed on nothing that he hadn’t been working.
He looked up as she unlocked the door. His gaze lingered on her a moment too long before dropping back to the untouched glass of water in his hand.
"You’re late" he said evenly, no accusation in his tone, but no warmth either.
Sonarika set her handbag down carefully, almost too carefully, as though afraid it would echo through the silence.
"I… went out. Just needed some air after therapy. Cleared my head a little"
Hemant nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Air at midnight. Interesting choice"
Her throat tightened at the faint bite in his words. She wanted to explain, to justify, but the words tangled on her tongue. Instead, she said softly.
"I didn’t want to disturb you or Karan"
"Karan sleeps sound" Hemant replied, leaning back. His eyes finally met hers, sharp yet tired.
"Me, not so much"
The silence between them was suffocating, filled with things unsaid. Sonarika shifted uncomfortably, the memory of Vikram’s warm embrace still clinging faintly to her skin, a secret she couldn’t confess. She broke the silence first.
"Hemant… you don’t have to wait for me like this"
His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
"Old habit, I guess. Waiting for you" His voice dipped lower, rougher.
"Even when I don’t know who you’re coming back from"
Her breath hitched. She wanted to protest, to insist she wasn’t betraying him tonight — not in the way he imagined. But guilt clawed at her chest.
"Hemant, I…" She trailed off, unsure if she could even finish the sentence.
He stood, gathering his files with deliberate slowness.
"Forget it. You don’t owe me answers anymore"
The words cut deeper than if he had shouted. She lowered her gaze, whispering.
"I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have"
For the first time, there was a flicker of raw emotion in his eyes — hurt, sharp and unmasked.
"That’s the thing, Sonarika. You don’t even have to try. It just happens"
Her chest constricted painfully. She wanted to reach for him, to promise him that she wasn’t lost completely. But his back was already turned, his steps retreating toward the bedroom.
When she finally slipped into the bed beside him later, the silence was heavier than the night itself. Hemant lay facing the other side, his breathing steady but not peaceful. She stared at the ceiling, fighting back tears, the weight of both restraint and temptation pressing on her.
In the darkness, her thoughts screamed what her lips couldn’t:
'I’m trying to find myself… but I’m losing you in the process'
THE NEXT MORNING
The next morning, the apartment was unusually quiet. Sonarika busied herself in the kitchen, brewing tea, forcing a calmness into her movements. When Hemant emerged, dressed neatly for the factory, his eyes brushed over her but never lingered.
"Your tea" she offered softly, sliding the cup across the table.
He nodded, taking it without looking at her.
"Thanks" His tone was polite, almost detached, as though she were a guest rather than his wife.
Karan shuffled in soon after, still groggy from sleep. Hemant’s entire demeanor softened as he knelt, ruffling his son’s hair.
"Morning champ. Ready for Institute?"
Karan grinned and nodded, pulling out his project book.
"Papa, Anju Didi said I did great yesterday with the volcano!”
"That’s because you worked hard" Hemant said warmly, before adding.
"And because your mother was there too"
He glanced at Sonarika then, the first real acknowledgment of her presence, but his eyes carried an edge. The comment stung. She wanted to smile and nod, but instead she murmured.
"Yes, he did well" her voice subdued.
Over the next few days, the pattern repeated. Hemant was kind, attentive even — but only with Karan. With Sonarika, his words carried a strange duality: polite on the surface, cutting just beneath.
One evening, as she entered the living room where Hemant was going through some factory papers, she said gently.
"You’ve been working too hard. Maybe you should take a break"
He didn’t look up.
"Breaks are for people who have peace of mind"
A pause.
"Not everyone can find theirs in pubs at midnight"
Her breath caught.
"Hemant—"
But he turned another page, his expression unreadable.
"Don’t worry, I’m not asking where you were. Like I said, I don’t need answers"
She stood frozen, a lump in her throat. It wasn’t an accusation, not directly — but the weight of his suspicion pressed heavily. Two days later, when she returned late from work, she found Hemant in the kitchen, helping Anjali prepare dinner. The sight startled her. A sight she always loved about him.
"Back late again?" Anjali asked casually.
"Work" Sonarika replied quickly, avoiding Hemant’s gaze.
Hemant finally looked at her, his tone calm but sharp.
"Work is important. Just… make sure it’s the kind that pays your soul too"
Anjali frowned, sensing tension but saying nothing.
Sonarika excused herself to the bedroom, her chest tight. She could feel his words sink deeper than she wanted to admit. That night in bed, she lay beside him, unable to sleep. The silence between them was unbearable. Finally, she whispered.
"I’m trying, Hemant. Really trying"
For a long moment, there was no response. Then, without turning to face her, he murmured,
"I know. But sometimes trying isn’t enough"
His words were quiet, almost gentle — yet they broke her more than anger ever could. She turned her face into the pillow, tears sliding silently as Hemant lay awake, his eyes open in the dark, his chest heavy with the storm he no longer had the strength to unleash.
The night dragged heavy in their bedroom, the faint hum of the ceiling fan the only sound cutting through the silence. Sonarika lay curled to one side, her eyes tracing meaningless patterns on the curtain shadows. Hemant sat upright against the headboard, his thoughts far away, a storm held behind his weary gaze.
Finally, his voice came low, trembling not with anger but with exhaustion.
"Sonarika… tell me something. Do you ever stop and think how much this hurts? Not just me, but you too?"
Her throat tightened, her lips trembling.
"Every day, Hemant. Every second. I think of it and I hate myself for it"
He shut his eyes, leaning his head back.
"I know I’ve been cruel these past few days. My words… those taunts, those half-truths. I thought if I cut you enough, you’d bleed honesty. But all I’ve been doing is cutting myself too"
His voice cracked on the last word.
Her tears flowed freely now, soaking the pillow.
"You have every right… every right to hate me. And yet you’re sitting here talking like this—"
"Because" Hemant interrupted gently, turning to face her.
"if all I give you is hate, then what good is that for you? For Karan? For me?"
He sighed deeply, shoulders slumping.
"I’ve lost enough of myself already. I don’t want you to lose what little of yourself you’re still holding on to"
The calmness in his tone startled her. It wasn’t resignation. It wasn’t fury. It was something deeper, something raw. A man who had every reason to destroy her, yet instead chose to steady her.
"Don’t lose hope, Sonarika" he whispered.
"I don’t care how long it takes, or how many times you stumble. Just… don’t stop searching for yourself. Whatever you find, whenever you find it… make sure it brings you peace. Make sure you can finally look in the mirror and not flinch"
The overwhelming gentleness in his words shattered her. She buried her face in her palms, sobbing.
"I don’t deserve you, Hemant. Not after what I’ve done. Not after the mess I’ve made of us"
He reached out hesitantly, then placed his hand on hers, pulling them away from her face. His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear. His eyes, tired yet steady, held hers.
"I don’t know if I’ll ever get back the woman I fell in love with" he admitted softly.
"But I still miss her. I still miss… my Sona"
The name — his name for her, born in their days of pure love — pierced straight into her heart. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was love, scarred but still alive. Sonarika’s sobs slowed, replaced by a quiet trembling. Something shifted inside her — not redemption, not clarity, but a spark. A fragile, necessary spark she thought she had lost forever.
"Hemant…" she whispered, her voice quivering.
"Thank you. I don’t know how… but I’ll try. I’ll try to find myself. For Karan. For me. For… us, even if we’re broken"
He leaned back again, letting go of her hand with a softness that carried no weight of possession.
"That’s all I want, Sonarika. Just… try"
And in that fragile silence, between two broken souls who could no longer promise forever, Sonarika felt something she hadn’t felt in months — hope.
THE NEXT DAY
The following afternoon, Sonarika sat across from Dr. Neha in the serene, sunlit therapy room. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, and the soft ticking of the wall clock filled the silence as Sonarika fidgeted with the hem of her kurti. Her eyes were still swollen from the night before, but her expression held a strange calm that Neha immediately noticed.
"You seem… quieter today" Neha said gently, tilting her head.
"Not heavy quiet, but… centered. What changed?"
Sonarika let out a shaky laugh, brushing at her cheeks.
"Hemant. He changed. Or maybe just… he reminded me of the Hemant I had once"
She paused, then whispered.
"The Hemant who used to call me Sona"
Neha leaned forward slightly, sensing the shift.
"Tell me about last night"
For the next ten minutes, Sonarika poured out every detail — the lack of rage in Hemant’s eyes, the way his words carried pain yet compassion, his plea for her to not lose hope, and finally, that one tender confession: I still miss my Sona. Her voice wavered with every sentence, but there was warmth in her tone that hadn’t been there before.
Neha smiled softly.
"It sounds like he gave you something you weren’t expecting — not judgment, not punishment, but encouragement"
Sonarika nodded, her lips trembling.
"I thought he’d never stop cutting me with words. I thought all he had left for me was anger. But last night… he reminded me that despite everything, I can still try. That maybe I don’t need to define myself only by my mistakes. That I still have a self worth finding"
For the first time in weeks, her tears were not born of shame, but release. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and exhaled deeply, almost like she was setting down a burden.
"I know I don’t deserve him" she admitted, voice breaking.
"But maybe I can still deserve myself. Maybe I can still build a version of me that doesn’t flinch at my own reflection"
Neha gave her a long, approving nod.
"That, Sonarika, is the beginning of healing. Not fixing the past. Not forcing the future. But finally choosing yourself"
And in that quiet moment, Sonarika felt the spark Hemant had lit inside her begin to steady into something stronger. For the first time since the affair, she walked out of therapy with her head a little higher, her steps a little surer, as though the road ahead — though long and uncertain — was no longer impossible.
Later that evening, Sonarika sat by the wide glass window of her apartment, the Mumbai skyline glittering against the night. She had just returned from therapy, her mind still humming with Neha’s words and Hemant’s unexpected tenderness from the night before. Her phone buzzed, Vikram’s name lighting up the screen. She hesitated a moment before answering.
"Hello, Vicky" she said softly.
"There’s that soft tone again. Long day at Tanishq? Or did little Karan drain you out with his science project?"
His voice carried its usual warmth, smooth yet teasing. She smiled faintly, remembering Karan’s excited chatter.
"Both, actually. But it wasn’t a bad day. I… feel lighter today"
There was a pause on his end, then a low chuckle.
"Lighter? That’s new. You sound different, Soni. Usually when I call, there’s a shadow in your voice. Today… I don’t hear it"
Sonarika leaned her head back against the chair, gazing at the stars.
"Maybe because I’m finally starting to let go of some of the heaviness. Therapy’s helping. And… Hemant said something yesterday that struck me"
Vikram’s tone tightened, curiosity laced with unease.
"Hemant? What could he possibly say now that makes you sound like this?"
She hesitated, then spoke slowly.
"He told me not to lose hope. That whenever I finally find myself, I should be content with who I am. And then… he called me Sona. For the first time in years. It felt like he wasn’t angry, just… pained. But still wishing me well"
Silence stretched across the line before Vikram finally spoke.
"So he’s playing the saint now? Even after everything you told me, he still wants to make you feel better?"
"It wasn’t about him being a saint" she replied quietly.
"It was about him letting me breathe again. And I needed that. More than I knew"
Vikram, who was always so quick with banter or charm, didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his tone had shifted.
"You’re changing, Soni. You sound… less like the woman who needed me to hold her together. More like someone who doesn’t need anyone at all"
She smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her eyes.
"Maybe that’s the point. I have to stand on my own. If I can’t love myself in truth, how can I love anyone else properly? Even you"
That stung him, though he masked it with a half-hearted chuckle.
"I don’t like this new distance. Makes me feel like I’m losing my place in your heart"
Her voice softened, touched by his vulnerability.
"You’re not losing, Vicky. But the truth is, I’m still figuring out where my heart belongs. For once, I need to stop running from myself"
When the call ended, Sonarika stared at her reflection in the darkened glass. Hemant’s quiet strength and Vikram’s restless passion both lived inside her memories, but for the first time, she wasn’t drowning between them. She was walking toward herself.
FEW DAYS LATER AT YOD INDUSTRIES
The following week, YOD Industries buzzed with a new kind of energy. The massive government contract had transformed the factory into a hive of activity. Trucks rolled in with raw materials, engineers worked long shifts, and army inspectors moved briskly through the assembly lines to ensure everything matched the Army’s standards. The All-Terrain Vehicle that once stood as a prototype now stood in rows, ready to be refined for mass production. Hemant walked through the production bay, his gaze sharp, noting every detail. He felt a strange sense of pride — not just in the machines, but in the people making them.
Later that afternoon, Hemant entered the Presentation Room. On the projection screen stood a new design, sleek yet rugged — a blueprint for an Indigenous BTR (Armored Personnel Carrier). A young engineer, freshly recruited from IIT, nervously adjusted his glasses as he explained the vehicle’s design, its armoring concept, amphibious capabilities, and adaptability for Indian terrains. Beside Hemant, two Army officers leaned forward with genuine intrigue.
"This design" One of the officers remarked.
"if it performs in real tests, could reduce our dependency on imports drastically. It has promise"
Hemant studied the engineer’s work silently before finally nodding.
"Begin building a prototype. No delays. If we can prove this in trials, it will open a new chapter for YOD"
His words carried authority, but also a spark of vision — the kind that had once made him chase dreams with reckless abandon, now tempered with experience. When the presentation ended and the officers left, Hemant returned to his office. The silence of the room was almost too loud after the day’s rush. He sat at his desk, the sun casting a faint glow across the polished wood. His eyes drifted to his hands. On one finger gleamed the Archangel ring, a symbol of his past life, a reminder of the shadow he once carried. On another, the Garuda ring, radiant with the promise of strength, resilience, and freedom.
He turned them slowly, feeling their weight. Each ring carried a piece of him — one the strategist, the darker self molded by necessity; the other the visionary, the builder seeking to lift others. Yet neither, he realized, fully defined him anymore. His mind wandered back to Sonarika. Her face, her tears, her whispered fears still echoed inside him. For the first time in weeks, he felt no anger. Instead, there was calm acceptance. Perhaps giving her the distance she needed was the truest form of love left between them. She needed to heal — and he, too, needed to build something beyond brokenness.
The two rings glimmered faintly in the dimming sunlight. Hemant’s chest tightened, not in sorrow, but in quiet resolve. For the first time in years, he wasn’t running from his past or chained to his pain. He was shaping himself — like the machines his factory built, forged in fire, tested in storms, but built to endure.
SOMETIME LATER
The DFO room was alive with quiet intensity. Banks of monitors glowed against the darkness, the feeds from the Kohinoor Cultural Center stuttering in shades of grey. On one wall, server fans thrummed, a mechanical heartbeat that never slowed. Kamya typed with sharp precision, code flowing like rivers on her screen. Vaibhav, restless and eager, hovered with his notepad, drawing crude maps of camera angles and hallways.
"We could pull the ATM feeds inside the Center"
Vaibhav suggested, his voice charged with the adrenaline of discovery.
"Piggyback the CCTV loop—they’ll never notice"
From the corner of the room, Hemant moved. He didn’t pace, didn’t fidget—he stepped into the light like a verdict being delivered. His words were blunt, cutting the suggestion off at its knees.
"There are no ATMs inside. Roughly four banks operate ATMs in that center but all of them are located at the outer layer of the center. In a way , it is an added level of 24 hour security for that place"
The room stilled. Vaibhav’s enthusiasm collapsed into silence. He looked at Kamya, who only raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. She knew Hemant’s kind of knowledge didn’t come from research. It came from experience. From walking the ground, studying blueprints, knowing how security men thought because he had once broken their systems a hundred times before.
"Then I’ll go in during the day" Kamya said boldly, spinning in her chair.
"I can find a device, a hub, anything. One hardware access point is all we need"
Hemant’s gaze fixed on her, steady, measured. In a past life, Michael King always loved that bold approach. But here, he was Hemant Kumar—industrialist, strategist, the same man, molded differently.
"Daytime infiltration is messy" he said finally.
"Too many eyes, too many hands that remember faces. But…" he let the silence drag.
"If there’s no other way. If we must, we test the risk"
He leaned closer to the screens, eyes scanning, absorbing. Where others saw static angles and pedestrians milling around, Hemant’s gaze picked out patterns—the sweep of guard patrols, the rhythm of cleaning staff, the irregularities in lighting. His eyes stopped at the far edge of the frame. A toy shop. Hamley’s. Innocuous, almost ridiculous. But not to him. He smiled, faintly. Michael King had once smuggled emeralds inside children’s dolls bound for Singapore. A supply chain was a lifeline, and lifelines could always be tapped.
"Raquel" His voice carried like the pull of gravity.
"Find out everything about that Hamley’s. Supply runs, vendors, manifests, every box that enters that door. If stuffed bears can make it inside, so can we"
Raquel nodded, wordless, already moving.
Hemant turned back to Kamya and Vaibhav, his tone controlled, firm.
"Your job hasn’t changed. Keep mining those feeds. Reflections in glass, shadows in corners, glimpses through open doors. Enhance, layer, rebuild. Squeeze every pixel until it shows us what it’s hiding"
They both nodded without a word. It wasn’t obedience born of fear—it was the weight of working under a man who had survived operations more dangerous than this before most of them had learned to drive. In the past he had once run contraband from Rotterdam to Hong Kong; Hemant Kumar was now building an empire dressed as a company. Together, they were something more—cold certainty sharpened by years of fire.
Hemant checked his watch.
"Raquel and I are going to Darukhana. Time to see the progess of our wheels"
The servers hummed louder in their absence, as if filling the silence he left behind.
SOMETIME LATER IN DARUKHANA PORT
Darukhana was a place where salt and steel coexisted uneasily, the sea corroding everything it touched. In the heart of its rusting skeletons, Manav Chauhan’s garage burned alive with sparks and noise. Trucks sat in skeletal frames, their bodies half-built, engines gutted. Men in welding masks crouched like priests at altars, their torches raining molten fire. Hemant entered like a man walking into a sanctuary of machines, his stride measured, Raquel flanking him like a shadow. He didn’t gawk or hesitate—his eyes swept over every unfinished frame, every tool in motion, already calculating the potential and the flaws. Where others saw metal, Hemant saw vehicles as pieces in a larger machine: the job itself.
Manav wiped grease from his arms as he stepped forward, chest heaving with the pride of creation.
"You wanted monsters, Chief. I’m building them. Reinforced suspension, torque-heavy engines. But I need details. Payload weight, specifically. Otherwise I’m guessing"
Hemant’s gaze lingered on the lead truck, its skeletal chassis like a predator stripped to bone. His voice came level, calm, without hesitation.
"Close to a ton. And it needs to run without compromise under it"
Manav blinked, almost laughing.
"A ton? That much weight will choke performance. If there’s a chase, you won’t make it past the first turn"
Hemant stepped into his space, lowering his voice until it cut through the clangor of metal like a blade against silk.
"There won’t be a chase. Not if everything goes as I intend"
The certainty in his words was unnerving. This wasn’t arrogance—it was lived experience. In the past , he had once moved a stolen treasury across London in armored vans under the noses of security officer convoys. He had hijacked trains in Guangdong, slipped gold through customs at Chittagong, vanished fleets of cars into Dubai warehouses without a trace. He didn’t hope for clean getaways—he built them. And Hemant Kumar, the industrialist, gave him the tools to do it smarter, sharper, cleaner. Manav swallowed hard, then grinned.
"Then I’ll give you trucks that won’t break, even under that weight. They’ll roar when you need them to"
His men, overhearing, worked faster—driven by the gravity Hemant carried. This wasn’t just another job. It was something bigger. Something legendary. Hemant gave a single nod, no wasted words, then turned for the exit. Raquel followed. The clang of welders and the roar of engines grew louder in their absence, as though the garage itself had been charged with new fire. Outside, the port air was thick with salt and smoke. Hemant inhaled deep, then exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on Mumbai’s distant skyline. His marriage was ashes. His empire-to-come was fire. And Hemant Kumar knew better than anyone: fire didn’t falter. Fire consumed.
FEW DAYS LATER
Hemant adjusted his suit jacket as he walked into the grand ballroom of the Royal hotel. The stage lights glowed with golden warmth, reflecting off the polished marble floor. He had attended many corporate functions, but tonight felt different. He wasn’t here as YOD Industries’ rising magnate. He was here for Tamanna. For weeks, his life had been clouded by the grief of Sonarika’s betrayal and the slow descent to divorce. But this evening, he had promised himself he would put that aside and share in someone else’s happiness.
As the ceremony proceeded, he spotted Tamanna stepping onto the stage in her dazzling gown, her confidence radiating across the hall. The audience erupted in applause, and Hemant found himself clapping harder than anyone else, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of lightness.
Tamanna took the microphone, her voice steady and graceful.
"This award belongs to my team at Dhrishti Studios" she said warmly.
"Without their passion, none of this would be possible. It also belongs to my daughter, Shraddha, who inspires me every single day. And… to friends who remind me that even when the world turns heavy, we can still rise"
Her eyes briefly found Hemant’s in the audience, and his chest tightened. He knew she was speaking of him. When the applause settled, she rejoined the audience. Hemant rose from his seat and met her halfway, offering his hand.
"Congratulations, Tammu" he said, his voice gentler than usual.
"You owned that stage"
Tamanna laughed softly, still flushed with the glow of her win.
"Thank you, Hemant. For being here. I know how much you’ve had on your plate. It means a lot"
He shook his head.
"No, it means a lot to me. To see you finally get the recognition you deserve. You’ve built this from scratch. I know how much it cost you"
Her smile softened.
"And you would know… since you’ve walked the same path. The success story of YOD Industries is catching steam!"
Hemant chuckled.
"Yeah just like you I too have dedicated workers backing me. But look at us now. Two single parents pretending we have everything under control"
Tamanna tilted her head.
"Pretending? Or surviving?"
"Both" Hemant admitted, his voice dropping.
"Some days, it feels like grief is the only constant. Sonarika… and what she did… it still cuts"
He inhaled, steadying himself.
"But lately, I feel like I have opened up , seeing my life take a different path"
Her gaze lingered on him.
"We've bolth carried storms inside each other, Hemant. But I’m glad you let me in, finding me as a source of strength in your vulnerable moments , even a little. For Shraddha, too, it’s been comforting. She likes you, you know"
That drew a real smile from him.
"I like her too. She’s bright… just like her mother" He hesitated, then teased
"Tell me, has—Sandeep—ever bothered you again?"
Tamanna rolled her eyes, amused.
"Don’t remind me of him. No, he hasn’t. And even if he tried, I wouldn’t waste my time. I think it’s finally clear where my interest lies"
For a moment, their eyes met in a silence that carried more weight than words. Hemant broke it with a deliberate shift in tone.
"Speaking of interests, YOD Industries just secured the military contracts. First time in our history. To celebrate, I’m hosting a party next week for the city’s elites. I would feel great if you attend"
She arched a brow.
"You know I can’t stay late. Shraddha’s routine…"
"I know" Hemant interrupted gently.
"But even if you stay for just a while, I’ll make sure it’s worth it. Memorable"
Her lips curved in a smile, tender yet teasing.
"Memorable? Hemant, it’s already memorable—because this time, I’ll be celebrating your success"
For the first time in a long while, Hemant felt warmth spread in his chest. Tonight, surrounded by applause and lights, his grief loosened its grip, and in its place, something gentler began to take root. The after-party was held in one of the hotel’s rooftop lounges, overlooking the glittering Mumbai skyline. The air carried a mix of ocean breeze and champagne fizz, and the elite crowd buzzed with conversations about contracts, brands, and politics. Hemant arrived at the lounge a little later than Tamanna, pausing at the bar before searching for her in the clusters of guests. He wasn’t here to network, though plenty tried to shake his hand. Tonight, his focus was elsewhere.
He spotted her near the terrace railing, holding a glass of sparkling water, her gown shimmering under the fairy lights. She seemed a little apart from the crowd, watching the city rather than the people. Hemant approached, his voice low and teasing.
"You look like someone who just conquered the advertising world and then escaped to the balcony to catch her breath"
Tamanna turned, smiling knowingly.
"Maybe because I did. And maybe because crowds still overwhelm me sometimes"
"Same" Hemant admitted, standing beside her, resting his hands on the railing.
"Though I don’t usually have such a dazzling partner in crime to share the view with"
She laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"Careful, Mr. YOD Industries. Flattery like that might be mistaken for something else"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"And what if it is?"
For a moment, the noise of the party blurred into the background, the city lights reflecting in her eyes. Tamanna broke the silence first, sipping her drink.
"You know, Shraddha asked me the other day why I don’t smile as much as I used to. Tonight, I think I’ll tell her I remembered how"
Hemant’s chest tightened at that, the words striking deeper than she intended.
"I hope… I had some small part in that" he said softly.
"You did" she replied without hesitation.
"Hemant, I know you’ve been carrying more than anyone should. I can’t erase what Sonarika did, or the pain of it. But I can be here, when the weight feels too much"
He looked at her then, really looked—this woman who had once been just a college friend with unspoken feelings, now standing beside him in his hardest season, offering something he didn’t think he deserved: comfort.
"You already are" He whispered.
Before the moment grew too heavy, he cleared his throat, shifting the subject.
"So… will you come to my party next week? The first one YOD has ever hosted?"
Tamanna’s smile returned, gentle yet mischievous.
"I’ll come. But don’t expect me to dance until midnight. My daughter still needs her tiffin packed the next morning"
Hemant chuckled, a sound that felt almost foreign to his own ears.
"Then I’ll make sure you dance at least once before you leave. That way, I’ll win my bet with myself"
She shook her head, amused.
"You and your bets. Fine, one dance. But only because tonight… it already feels like the beginning of something worth remembering"
As the party continued around them, Hemant realized that the grief tethering him to the past had loosened a little more. Standing beside Tamanna, the night didn’t feel like another reminder of loss—it felt like a doorway to a future he hadn’t dared imagine.
The music in the lounge shifted, the live band sliding into a softer, melodic tune. The crowd on the dance floor thinned as conversations drew people back to their tables, leaving only a few couples swaying under the dim lights. Hemant glanced toward the space, then back at Tamanna, who was still leaning on the railing, the glow of the city framing her silhouette. He extended his hand, a playful tilt in his voice.
"You did promise me one dance, Tammu. And the song’s too perfect to waste"
Tamanna hesitated, her smile lingering as her eyes searched his. For a second, the years of distance, the grief, and the scars between them seemed to hang in the air. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his.
"Alright, Mr.Hunk. Just one"
They moved onto the floor, the world narrowing to the soft rhythm that carried them. Hemant’s hand rested gently against her back, guiding her in measured steps, while her fingers lightly curled over his shoulder. It wasn’t practiced or polished, but it was theirs. For the first time in years, Hemant felt a strange calm, as if the weight on his chest had lifted just enough for him to breathe freely.
Tamanna studied him with a quiet intensity, her eyes glimmering.
"You know… you’ve changed tonight" she murmured.
"I see the same Hemant I knew back in college. Though I feel sad that it took a heartbreak to find yourself”
Hemant tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Is that a good thing? Or should I be worried that the old Hemant is back?"
Her answer was immediate, soft but sure.
"It’s definitely a good thing. I just… I wish this dance had happened back then"
Her gaze drifted downward for a moment, then returned to meet his.
"Maybe things would have been different"
Hemant’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, his voice dropping low.
"Back then, I was already entangled… with someone else. But now…"
He drew in a breath, steady yet deliberate.
"Now I’m no longer involved with anyone. Not Sonarika, not anyone. Just… here, with you"
Tamanna’s steps faltered for a moment at the weight of his words, but she recovered, her lips parting slightly as her heart raced.
"Hemant…"
She whispered, the single word carrying all the emotions she had tucked away for years. Their eyes locked, and the dance slowed until they were barely moving, their closeness speaking louder than the music. In that suspended moment, both understood what was happening—two broken souls, drawn to each other not out of weakness, but out of the recognition of strength in shared pain. Tamanna exhaled, her voice trembling yet steady.
"This… whatever this is, it feels different. Deeper. Not just friendship, not just comfort. Are we sure we're not making a mistake?"
Hemant leaned in, his forehead nearly touching hers, his tone earnest.
"Let me be honest Tammu , you and me this close. Maybe it is a mistake. Because my faith in love is seriously cracked. I want to see you that way but I can't.......but this.....this is something special......"
The music swelled around them, but neither noticed. For them, the dance was more than movement—it was a confession, a promise, and the fragile beginning of something intimate. Two people scarred by loss, finding in each other not just solace, but a bond for each other.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
The sprawling glass facade of the TANISHQ office glittered in the afternoon sun. Inside, the twelth floor buzzed with the efficiency of boardrooms, ringing phones, and the muted clicks of heels on polished floors. Here, strategies for nationwide expansions and multi-crore vendor deals were decided. It was a place where power dressed in subtle suits and gold logos gleamed from every wall.
Sonarika sat in her corner cabin, the glass wall framing a skyline. The title Chief Operations Manager was etched onto the glass door in bold, dignified letters. Her desk was lined with reports awaiting her signature — procurement forecasts, retailer agreements, new product rollouts. Colleagues often said she was the backbone of this office, the one who kept the machinery of TANISHQ’s Mumbai hub moving without friction.
But today, her mind was not on jewelry margins or annual contracts. Her eyes skimmed words on the quarterly performance sheets, yet all she saw was Hemant’s broken expression from last night. All she heard was the crack in his voice when she’d mentioned another woman, another child. Her chest tightened, and she reached for the slim folder at the corner of her desk — her therapy notes. Journaling, breathing, affirmations. Balance. Neha Bharadwaj’s handwriting on the last page read: Find your anchor before you drown.
A knock at the door startled her. It was her deputy, Tejas, holding a file.
"Ma’am, these vendor contracts need your review before the CFO meeting. We’re finalizing the supply chain for Diwali season"
She nodded, slipping the therapy notes under a stack of documents.
"Leave it here, Tejas. I’ll get it done before lunch"
As he placed the file, he gave her a tentative look.
"Everything alright, Ma’am? You seem… a little distracted today"
The corners of her mouth lifted into a polite professional smile, one she had perfected over the years.
"Just tired. Late night with work and my son’s college project"
He smiled knowingly, reassured.
"Ah, the volcano model? My nephew had the same one last year. Baking soda and vinegar chaos"
She forced a chuckle.
"Exactly that. Thank you, Tejas"
When he left, her mask slipped. Her fingers tightened around the pen, and she exhaled deeply, fighting the fog in her chest. Her phone buzzed. Vikram. His name flashed against the glass of her desk, cutting through her silence. After a moment of hesitation, she answered.
"Soni?" Vikram’s velvety tone poured into her ear, warm and steady.
"I was thinking about you. How are you holding up today?"
She leaned back, eyes drifting to the monsoon-grey skyline.
"I’m… surviving. Yesterday, Karan had his science project — a volcano eruption model. I helped him put it together. Watching his excitement… it made me feel normal, at least for a while"
"That’s wonderful" Vikram said sincerely.
"You’re a natural with him. Don’t ever doubt it — you’re a great mother. Karan is lucky to have you"
Her lips trembled into a faint smile.
"Thank you. I needed that reassurance"
He teased.
"Do you remember Bali? The snorkeling trip the first day? You panicked in the water and nearly dragged me down with you"
She laughed despite herself.
"You’ll never let me live Bali down"
"Never. Because terrified or not, you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen"
"You and your words.....its sometimes so intoxicating and alluring"
"Well...you bring it out of me"
Her smile faltered into silence.
"Vicky… I argued with Hemant last night. He told me he’s lost faith in love. And I—I may have made it worse. I told him maybe another woman would come into his life someday, give him the family I couldn’t. I even said… a sibling for Karan. I saw how much that cut him"
Vikram’s tone softened, though he tried to lighten the blow.
"That’s hard… but if Karan needs a sibling, maybe I can help by putting one in you"
“VICKY!” she gasped, torn between exasperation and reluctant warmth.
"Not now. Please. Don’t talk about sex — I can’t even think about that. you’ll ruin my therapy"
"Therapy?" he echoed, almost scoffing.
"Why? There’s nothing wrong with you, Soni. You just need to be with me — that’s all the healing you need"
Her voice steadied, firm but soft.
"No, Vicky. Right now, I need to be with my truth. I need to find myself again. Only then can you — or anyone — have me. The real me. The woman who might love you back"
Silence stretched. Then, in a low voice, he asked.
"So… are you saying you do love me?"
She shut her eyes, pressing her temple.
"No. I’m saying I don’t know yet. Not about us. Not about what we are. Maybe in the future I’ll see clearly. And then… maybe I’ll know your place in my life"
He exhaled.
"Then I’ll wait. However long it takes"
When the call ended, her cabin returned to the hum of air-conditioning and muted chatter outside her glass wall. She glanced at her desk where two photos leaned against the pen holder. One — her and Vikram in Bali, laughter caught mid-motion. The other, half-hidden, from Karan’s birthday: her, Hemant, and Karan, a perfect frame of a family once whole.
She reached out, tracing both frames with trembling fingers. Two worlds. Two truths. Two men.
Her reflection in the glass window stared back at her — poised in a blazer, yet cracked within.
'I need to find myself first' she whispered in her mind.
'Only then will I know where my heart truly belongs'
The ringtone faded, leaving only the hush of the corporate hum around her. Sonarika straightened her blazer, pulled the files toward her, and slid the two photographs into her drawer. Her face, reflected faintly in the glass, hardened into something controlled, practiced. The Chief Operations Manager could not afford to let tremors of the heart spill into a room where crores were on the table. Five minutes later, she walked into the executive boardroom, its long mahogany table gleaming under soft lights. Around it sat senior managers, finance heads, and two directors from Titan’s Bangalore headquarters, their laptops open, eyes already on the projected quarterly numbers. The air smelled of roasted coffee and anticipation.
"Good afternoon" she greeted, her voice crisp and level, betraying none of her inner turmoil.
She took her seat at the head of the table, adjusting her notes.
"Let’s begin with the supply chain outlook for Diwali. Vendor negotiations have been consolidated, and after reviewing Tejas’s draft, I’ve approved a new pricing model. It cuts overhead by 8.3% without compromising delivery schedules"
Heads nodded, pens scratched notes. The finance director leaned forward, impressed.
"That’s remarkable. The market is volatile right now, and yet you’ve tightened costs without shrinking margins. Excellent work, Sonarika"
She smiled faintly — the kind of smile meant for the boardroom, not the heart.
"We’ll also be launching our ‘Legacy’ collection earlier this year. The creative team in Bengaluru wanted a late October release, but I’ve pushed for mid-September. We’ll catch the pre-festival rush before competitors saturate the ads. The numbers suggest a potential 12% boost"
For the next hour, she led the room with precision — analyzing figures, defusing objections, and aligning strategies. When one of the directors raised a concern about overseas sourcing delays, she had data ready within seconds, quoting both risks and contingencies. By the end of the meeting, the mood had shifted from tense to energized. As people packed their laptops and papers, one of the senior managers whispered to another, just loud enough to be caught:
"This is why she runs this office. Unshakable. Even under pressure"
Sonarika stood last, gathering her files. Her posture was steel, her aura commanding. But as the glass doors closed behind her and the noise of the boardroom faded, she allowed herself a single, shaky exhale. Her hands trembled as she pressed them against her folder — not from fear of numbers, but from the storm of her heart. Walking back to her cabin, she felt the dual weight of her two worlds: the woman who carried an empire’s operations on her shoulders, and the woman who sat alone, whispering into her soul that she first needed to find herself before she could belong to anyone — Hemant or Vikram.
SOMETIME LATER AT NEHA'S CLINIC
That evening, Sonarika sat in the quiet, softly lit office of Dr. Neha Bharadwaj, her therapist. The walls were lined with books, plants softened the corners, and the faint smell of lavender incense lingered in the air. Unlike the gleaming corporate halls of Tanishq, this room felt warm, almost forgiving.
Neha leaned forward, her voice steady but gentle.
"You look exhausted, Sonarika. Was it work, or something else today?"
Sonarika exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch.
"Both. Work went well — really well, actually. We closed two major decisions today, and for two hours I was… invincible. Like the old me. But the moment I stepped out of the boardroom, I felt hollow again. Like the success belonged to someone else, not me"
Neha nodded, scribbling briefly.
"That’s a common duality. The professional mask versus the personal storm. Tell me, did anything trigger the shift?"
"Yes" Sonarika’s eyes lowered to her hands, twisted in her lap.
"Vikram called earlier. We talked about Karan, about Hemant… and about us. He tried to cheer me up, even joked in ways I wasn’t ready for. And for a moment, I smiled, I really did. But then guilt hit me like a wave. Guilt for Hemant. Guilt for even daring to feel better with someone else"
Her voice cracked, the control slipping.
"I told Hemant last night that maybe he could find someone new someday, someone who could give Karan the sibling we never gave him. He looked at me like I stabbed him all over again. And maybe I did. Maybe I’m the storm that ruins both men"
Neha let the silence stretch, allowing Sonarika to breathe through her tears before speaking.
"It sounds like you’re still defining yourself by what you are to these men — wife, lover, betrayer, mother. But who are you to yourself?"
Sonarika blinked, her tears halting, as though the question itself had stunned her.
"I… I don’t know anymore" she whispered.
"I used to be strong. I used to be someone Hemant admired. With Vikram, I felt seen, vulnerable, passionate. But in both, I lost… me"
Neha’s tone grew firmer.
"Then that’s our work, Sonarika. Therapy is not to choose between them. It’s to find you again. Because only when you return to yourself can you decide who deserves a place in your life — if anyone at all. For now, let’s focus on you, not Hemant, not Vikram"
For the first time that day, Sonarika allowed herself to close her eyes and breathe slowly, the lavender wrapping around her like a cocoon. The boardroom mask slipped away. The lover’s guilt loosened. The broken wife’s sorrow quieted. And what remained — fragile, raw, uncertain — was simply Sonarika, a woman learning to exist again.
THAT EVENING SOMEWHERE IN BANDRA
The therapy session still echoed in Sonarika’s mind as she stepped into the dimly lit pub in Bandra, one she and Vikram had frequented so many times in their secret days. The familiar scent of beer, faint smoke, and loud laughter hit her like a wave of memory. For a moment, she felt the same rush she used to — the thrill of escape, of stepping into a different world where she wasn’t Hemant’s wife, but just a woman lost in Vikram’s orbit.
Vikram was already there, leaning against the polished wooden bar, dressed in his casual blazer with a warmth in his eyes that pulled her in immediately. He smiled when he saw her, that disarming, easy grin that once made her forget all her troubles.
"You’re late" he teased lightly, handing her a glass of wine.
"I was starting to think you’d forgotten our little corner of the city"
Sonarika managed a soft laugh, sipping.
"Some memories are impossible to forget"
“Like all the dances we've done in the past here in this dim light cocooning ourselves in our own personal happy space?”
His eyes twinkled with mischief. She shook her head, embarrassed but smiling despite herself.
"Always with the mischevious memories"
"Or" he leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"That afternoon in marine drive where we shared a kiss beneath an umbrella , being so open and yet hidden from the world. Remember? I still have that photo planted on my wall"
The memory hit her like a soft flame. She remembered the salty air, the city lights, the warmth of his lips. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
"Yes… I remember"
Vikram studied her carefully but said nothing more, only extending his hand.
"Come. Dance with me. For old times’ sake"
The music was heavy, vibrating through the floor, pulling them into its rhythm. Sonarika let herself move, the beat carrying her body into Vikram’s. His hand slid to her waist, hers brushed his shoulder. The crowd disappeared, their bodies finding that same easy rhythm they once had. The closer they moved, the more intimate the dance became. His breath mingled with hers, his hand pressed firmer against her back.
For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel it — the thrill, the passion, the intoxicating pull. But then, in the press of their closeness, she felt Vikram’s arousal against her, and suddenly reality shattered the trance. She froze, pulling back slightly.
Vikram, confused, leaned in.
"What’s wrong? Why did you stop?"
Sonarika’s eyes softened, though her voice was firm.
"Because I can’t. Not right now. I told myself I wouldn’t make the same mistakes again"
"Soni?" he said carefully.
"Was it a mistake? Us?"
Her throat tightened. She searched his eyes and spoke quietly.
"No… not a mistake. But right now, yes — it would be. I’m still working on myself. I’m not ready to lose myself again"
He let the words sink in, his jaw tightening, but then he nodded slowly. She continued.
"If you truly love me, Vicky… you’ll understand. We need to take it slow. No shortcuts, no rushing back into what we were"
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Then Vikram smiled faintly, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.
"If taking it slow means I get more times like this with you… I’ll take it. I’d rather have you here, laughing and smiling, than just in my bed"
The sincerity in his tone warmed her heart. She leaned against his chest briefly, allowing the comfort of his embrace before gently pulling away.
"Thank you"
Later, as Vikram called her a cab and kissed her forehead goodnight, Sonarika felt a quiet relief. The old thrill lingered, yes, but so did something new — control, clarity. She wasn’t the woman recklessly running into passion anymore. She was walking away on her own terms.
When she reached home, she looked at herself in the mirror, touching her lips softly. For the first time in a long while, she whispered.
"Slow is okay. Slow is safe"
LATER THAT NIGHT
Her drive home was silent, the city’s neon glow washing against the window glass as Sonarika's hand had a firm grip on the steering. Her heart was steady, not racing like before when she used to sneak back from Vikram’s arms, but it was heavy. She had stayed true to her promise to herself — no reckless passion, no surrender — yet the taste of temptation lingered on her lips. When she reached the apartment, the clock had already crossed midnight. She had already informed Anjali and Hemant that she will be late. The flat was dim, the faint glow of the lamp in the living room casting long shadows across the space. Hemant was there, sitting on the sofa, files spread out across the coffee table, though it was clear from the way his eyes were fixed on nothing that he hadn’t been working.
He looked up as she unlocked the door. His gaze lingered on her a moment too long before dropping back to the untouched glass of water in his hand.
"You’re late" he said evenly, no accusation in his tone, but no warmth either.
Sonarika set her handbag down carefully, almost too carefully, as though afraid it would echo through the silence.
"I… went out. Just needed some air after therapy. Cleared my head a little"
Hemant nodded, his expression unreadable.
"Air at midnight. Interesting choice"
Her throat tightened at the faint bite in his words. She wanted to explain, to justify, but the words tangled on her tongue. Instead, she said softly.
"I didn’t want to disturb you or Karan"
"Karan sleeps sound" Hemant replied, leaning back. His eyes finally met hers, sharp yet tired.
"Me, not so much"
The silence between them was suffocating, filled with things unsaid. Sonarika shifted uncomfortably, the memory of Vikram’s warm embrace still clinging faintly to her skin, a secret she couldn’t confess. She broke the silence first.
"Hemant… you don’t have to wait for me like this"
His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.
"Old habit, I guess. Waiting for you" His voice dipped lower, rougher.
"Even when I don’t know who you’re coming back from"
Her breath hitched. She wanted to protest, to insist she wasn’t betraying him tonight — not in the way he imagined. But guilt clawed at her chest.
"Hemant, I…" She trailed off, unsure if she could even finish the sentence.
He stood, gathering his files with deliberate slowness.
"Forget it. You don’t owe me answers anymore"
The words cut deeper than if he had shouted. She lowered her gaze, whispering.
"I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have"
For the first time, there was a flicker of raw emotion in his eyes — hurt, sharp and unmasked.
"That’s the thing, Sonarika. You don’t even have to try. It just happens"
Her chest constricted painfully. She wanted to reach for him, to promise him that she wasn’t lost completely. But his back was already turned, his steps retreating toward the bedroom.
When she finally slipped into the bed beside him later, the silence was heavier than the night itself. Hemant lay facing the other side, his breathing steady but not peaceful. She stared at the ceiling, fighting back tears, the weight of both restraint and temptation pressing on her.
In the darkness, her thoughts screamed what her lips couldn’t:
'I’m trying to find myself… but I’m losing you in the process'
THE NEXT MORNING
The next morning, the apartment was unusually quiet. Sonarika busied herself in the kitchen, brewing tea, forcing a calmness into her movements. When Hemant emerged, dressed neatly for the factory, his eyes brushed over her but never lingered.
"Your tea" she offered softly, sliding the cup across the table.
He nodded, taking it without looking at her.
"Thanks" His tone was polite, almost detached, as though she were a guest rather than his wife.
Karan shuffled in soon after, still groggy from sleep. Hemant’s entire demeanor softened as he knelt, ruffling his son’s hair.
"Morning champ. Ready for Institute?"
Karan grinned and nodded, pulling out his project book.
"Papa, Anju Didi said I did great yesterday with the volcano!”
"That’s because you worked hard" Hemant said warmly, before adding.
"And because your mother was there too"
He glanced at Sonarika then, the first real acknowledgment of her presence, but his eyes carried an edge. The comment stung. She wanted to smile and nod, but instead she murmured.
"Yes, he did well" her voice subdued.
Over the next few days, the pattern repeated. Hemant was kind, attentive even — but only with Karan. With Sonarika, his words carried a strange duality: polite on the surface, cutting just beneath.
One evening, as she entered the living room where Hemant was going through some factory papers, she said gently.
"You’ve been working too hard. Maybe you should take a break"
He didn’t look up.
"Breaks are for people who have peace of mind"
A pause.
"Not everyone can find theirs in pubs at midnight"
Her breath caught.
"Hemant—"
But he turned another page, his expression unreadable.
"Don’t worry, I’m not asking where you were. Like I said, I don’t need answers"
She stood frozen, a lump in her throat. It wasn’t an accusation, not directly — but the weight of his suspicion pressed heavily. Two days later, when she returned late from work, she found Hemant in the kitchen, helping Anjali prepare dinner. The sight startled her. A sight she always loved about him.
"Back late again?" Anjali asked casually.
"Work" Sonarika replied quickly, avoiding Hemant’s gaze.
Hemant finally looked at her, his tone calm but sharp.
"Work is important. Just… make sure it’s the kind that pays your soul too"
Anjali frowned, sensing tension but saying nothing.
Sonarika excused herself to the bedroom, her chest tight. She could feel his words sink deeper than she wanted to admit. That night in bed, she lay beside him, unable to sleep. The silence between them was unbearable. Finally, she whispered.
"I’m trying, Hemant. Really trying"
For a long moment, there was no response. Then, without turning to face her, he murmured,
"I know. But sometimes trying isn’t enough"
His words were quiet, almost gentle — yet they broke her more than anger ever could. She turned her face into the pillow, tears sliding silently as Hemant lay awake, his eyes open in the dark, his chest heavy with the storm he no longer had the strength to unleash.
The night dragged heavy in their bedroom, the faint hum of the ceiling fan the only sound cutting through the silence. Sonarika lay curled to one side, her eyes tracing meaningless patterns on the curtain shadows. Hemant sat upright against the headboard, his thoughts far away, a storm held behind his weary gaze.
Finally, his voice came low, trembling not with anger but with exhaustion.
"Sonarika… tell me something. Do you ever stop and think how much this hurts? Not just me, but you too?"
Her throat tightened, her lips trembling.
"Every day, Hemant. Every second. I think of it and I hate myself for it"
He shut his eyes, leaning his head back.
"I know I’ve been cruel these past few days. My words… those taunts, those half-truths. I thought if I cut you enough, you’d bleed honesty. But all I’ve been doing is cutting myself too"
His voice cracked on the last word.
Her tears flowed freely now, soaking the pillow.
"You have every right… every right to hate me. And yet you’re sitting here talking like this—"
"Because" Hemant interrupted gently, turning to face her.
"if all I give you is hate, then what good is that for you? For Karan? For me?"
He sighed deeply, shoulders slumping.
"I’ve lost enough of myself already. I don’t want you to lose what little of yourself you’re still holding on to"
The calmness in his tone startled her. It wasn’t resignation. It wasn’t fury. It was something deeper, something raw. A man who had every reason to destroy her, yet instead chose to steady her.
"Don’t lose hope, Sonarika" he whispered.
"I don’t care how long it takes, or how many times you stumble. Just… don’t stop searching for yourself. Whatever you find, whenever you find it… make sure it brings you peace. Make sure you can finally look in the mirror and not flinch"
The overwhelming gentleness in his words shattered her. She buried her face in her palms, sobbing.
"I don’t deserve you, Hemant. Not after what I’ve done. Not after the mess I’ve made of us"
He reached out hesitantly, then placed his hand on hers, pulling them away from her face. His thumb brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear. His eyes, tired yet steady, held hers.
"I don’t know if I’ll ever get back the woman I fell in love with" he admitted softly.
"But I still miss her. I still miss… my Sona"
The name — his name for her, born in their days of pure love — pierced straight into her heart. It wasn’t just nostalgia. It was love, scarred but still alive. Sonarika’s sobs slowed, replaced by a quiet trembling. Something shifted inside her — not redemption, not clarity, but a spark. A fragile, necessary spark she thought she had lost forever.
"Hemant…" she whispered, her voice quivering.
"Thank you. I don’t know how… but I’ll try. I’ll try to find myself. For Karan. For me. For… us, even if we’re broken"
He leaned back again, letting go of her hand with a softness that carried no weight of possession.
"That’s all I want, Sonarika. Just… try"
And in that fragile silence, between two broken souls who could no longer promise forever, Sonarika felt something she hadn’t felt in months — hope.
THE NEXT DAY
The following afternoon, Sonarika sat across from Dr. Neha in the serene, sunlit therapy room. The faint scent of sandalwood lingered in the air, and the soft ticking of the wall clock filled the silence as Sonarika fidgeted with the hem of her kurti. Her eyes were still swollen from the night before, but her expression held a strange calm that Neha immediately noticed.
"You seem… quieter today" Neha said gently, tilting her head.
"Not heavy quiet, but… centered. What changed?"
Sonarika let out a shaky laugh, brushing at her cheeks.
"Hemant. He changed. Or maybe just… he reminded me of the Hemant I had once"
She paused, then whispered.
"The Hemant who used to call me Sona"
Neha leaned forward slightly, sensing the shift.
"Tell me about last night"
For the next ten minutes, Sonarika poured out every detail — the lack of rage in Hemant’s eyes, the way his words carried pain yet compassion, his plea for her to not lose hope, and finally, that one tender confession: I still miss my Sona. Her voice wavered with every sentence, but there was warmth in her tone that hadn’t been there before.
Neha smiled softly.
"It sounds like he gave you something you weren’t expecting — not judgment, not punishment, but encouragement"
Sonarika nodded, her lips trembling.
"I thought he’d never stop cutting me with words. I thought all he had left for me was anger. But last night… he reminded me that despite everything, I can still try. That maybe I don’t need to define myself only by my mistakes. That I still have a self worth finding"
For the first time in weeks, her tears were not born of shame, but release. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and exhaled deeply, almost like she was setting down a burden.
"I know I don’t deserve him" she admitted, voice breaking.
"But maybe I can still deserve myself. Maybe I can still build a version of me that doesn’t flinch at my own reflection"
Neha gave her a long, approving nod.
"That, Sonarika, is the beginning of healing. Not fixing the past. Not forcing the future. But finally choosing yourself"
And in that quiet moment, Sonarika felt the spark Hemant had lit inside her begin to steady into something stronger. For the first time since the affair, she walked out of therapy with her head a little higher, her steps a little surer, as though the road ahead — though long and uncertain — was no longer impossible.
Later that evening, Sonarika sat by the wide glass window of her apartment, the Mumbai skyline glittering against the night. She had just returned from therapy, her mind still humming with Neha’s words and Hemant’s unexpected tenderness from the night before. Her phone buzzed, Vikram’s name lighting up the screen. She hesitated a moment before answering.
"Hello, Vicky" she said softly.
"There’s that soft tone again. Long day at Tanishq? Or did little Karan drain you out with his science project?"
His voice carried its usual warmth, smooth yet teasing. She smiled faintly, remembering Karan’s excited chatter.
"Both, actually. But it wasn’t a bad day. I… feel lighter today"
There was a pause on his end, then a low chuckle.
"Lighter? That’s new. You sound different, Soni. Usually when I call, there’s a shadow in your voice. Today… I don’t hear it"
Sonarika leaned her head back against the chair, gazing at the stars.
"Maybe because I’m finally starting to let go of some of the heaviness. Therapy’s helping. And… Hemant said something yesterday that struck me"
Vikram’s tone tightened, curiosity laced with unease.
"Hemant? What could he possibly say now that makes you sound like this?"
She hesitated, then spoke slowly.
"He told me not to lose hope. That whenever I finally find myself, I should be content with who I am. And then… he called me Sona. For the first time in years. It felt like he wasn’t angry, just… pained. But still wishing me well"
Silence stretched across the line before Vikram finally spoke.
"So he’s playing the saint now? Even after everything you told me, he still wants to make you feel better?"
"It wasn’t about him being a saint" she replied quietly.
"It was about him letting me breathe again. And I needed that. More than I knew"
Vikram, who was always so quick with banter or charm, didn’t respond right away. When he finally spoke, his tone had shifted.
"You’re changing, Soni. You sound… less like the woman who needed me to hold her together. More like someone who doesn’t need anyone at all"
She smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her eyes.
"Maybe that’s the point. I have to stand on my own. If I can’t love myself in truth, how can I love anyone else properly? Even you"
That stung him, though he masked it with a half-hearted chuckle.
"I don’t like this new distance. Makes me feel like I’m losing my place in your heart"
Her voice softened, touched by his vulnerability.
"You’re not losing, Vicky. But the truth is, I’m still figuring out where my heart belongs. For once, I need to stop running from myself"
When the call ended, Sonarika stared at her reflection in the darkened glass. Hemant’s quiet strength and Vikram’s restless passion both lived inside her memories, but for the first time, she wasn’t drowning between them. She was walking toward herself.
FEW DAYS LATER AT YOD INDUSTRIES
The following week, YOD Industries buzzed with a new kind of energy. The massive government contract had transformed the factory into a hive of activity. Trucks rolled in with raw materials, engineers worked long shifts, and army inspectors moved briskly through the assembly lines to ensure everything matched the Army’s standards. The All-Terrain Vehicle that once stood as a prototype now stood in rows, ready to be refined for mass production. Hemant walked through the production bay, his gaze sharp, noting every detail. He felt a strange sense of pride — not just in the machines, but in the people making them.
Later that afternoon, Hemant entered the Presentation Room. On the projection screen stood a new design, sleek yet rugged — a blueprint for an Indigenous BTR (Armored Personnel Carrier). A young engineer, freshly recruited from IIT, nervously adjusted his glasses as he explained the vehicle’s design, its armoring concept, amphibious capabilities, and adaptability for Indian terrains. Beside Hemant, two Army officers leaned forward with genuine intrigue.
"This design" One of the officers remarked.
"if it performs in real tests, could reduce our dependency on imports drastically. It has promise"
Hemant studied the engineer’s work silently before finally nodding.
"Begin building a prototype. No delays. If we can prove this in trials, it will open a new chapter for YOD"
His words carried authority, but also a spark of vision — the kind that had once made him chase dreams with reckless abandon, now tempered with experience. When the presentation ended and the officers left, Hemant returned to his office. The silence of the room was almost too loud after the day’s rush. He sat at his desk, the sun casting a faint glow across the polished wood. His eyes drifted to his hands. On one finger gleamed the Archangel ring, a symbol of his past life, a reminder of the shadow he once carried. On another, the Garuda ring, radiant with the promise of strength, resilience, and freedom.
He turned them slowly, feeling their weight. Each ring carried a piece of him — one the strategist, the darker self molded by necessity; the other the visionary, the builder seeking to lift others. Yet neither, he realized, fully defined him anymore. His mind wandered back to Sonarika. Her face, her tears, her whispered fears still echoed inside him. For the first time in weeks, he felt no anger. Instead, there was calm acceptance. Perhaps giving her the distance she needed was the truest form of love left between them. She needed to heal — and he, too, needed to build something beyond brokenness.
The two rings glimmered faintly in the dimming sunlight. Hemant’s chest tightened, not in sorrow, but in quiet resolve. For the first time in years, he wasn’t running from his past or chained to his pain. He was shaping himself — like the machines his factory built, forged in fire, tested in storms, but built to endure.
SOMETIME LATER
The DFO room was alive with quiet intensity. Banks of monitors glowed against the darkness, the feeds from the Kohinoor Cultural Center stuttering in shades of grey. On one wall, server fans thrummed, a mechanical heartbeat that never slowed. Kamya typed with sharp precision, code flowing like rivers on her screen. Vaibhav, restless and eager, hovered with his notepad, drawing crude maps of camera angles and hallways.
"We could pull the ATM feeds inside the Center"
Vaibhav suggested, his voice charged with the adrenaline of discovery.
"Piggyback the CCTV loop—they’ll never notice"
From the corner of the room, Hemant moved. He didn’t pace, didn’t fidget—he stepped into the light like a verdict being delivered. His words were blunt, cutting the suggestion off at its knees.
"There are no ATMs inside. Roughly four banks operate ATMs in that center but all of them are located at the outer layer of the center. In a way , it is an added level of 24 hour security for that place"
The room stilled. Vaibhav’s enthusiasm collapsed into silence. He looked at Kamya, who only raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. She knew Hemant’s kind of knowledge didn’t come from research. It came from experience. From walking the ground, studying blueprints, knowing how security men thought because he had once broken their systems a hundred times before.
"Then I’ll go in during the day" Kamya said boldly, spinning in her chair.
"I can find a device, a hub, anything. One hardware access point is all we need"
Hemant’s gaze fixed on her, steady, measured. In a past life, Michael King always loved that bold approach. But here, he was Hemant Kumar—industrialist, strategist, the same man, molded differently.
"Daytime infiltration is messy" he said finally.
"Too many eyes, too many hands that remember faces. But…" he let the silence drag.
"If there’s no other way. If we must, we test the risk"
He leaned closer to the screens, eyes scanning, absorbing. Where others saw static angles and pedestrians milling around, Hemant’s gaze picked out patterns—the sweep of guard patrols, the rhythm of cleaning staff, the irregularities in lighting. His eyes stopped at the far edge of the frame. A toy shop. Hamley’s. Innocuous, almost ridiculous. But not to him. He smiled, faintly. Michael King had once smuggled emeralds inside children’s dolls bound for Singapore. A supply chain was a lifeline, and lifelines could always be tapped.
"Raquel" His voice carried like the pull of gravity.
"Find out everything about that Hamley’s. Supply runs, vendors, manifests, every box that enters that door. If stuffed bears can make it inside, so can we"
Raquel nodded, wordless, already moving.
Hemant turned back to Kamya and Vaibhav, his tone controlled, firm.
"Your job hasn’t changed. Keep mining those feeds. Reflections in glass, shadows in corners, glimpses through open doors. Enhance, layer, rebuild. Squeeze every pixel until it shows us what it’s hiding"
They both nodded without a word. It wasn’t obedience born of fear—it was the weight of working under a man who had survived operations more dangerous than this before most of them had learned to drive. In the past he had once run contraband from Rotterdam to Hong Kong; Hemant Kumar was now building an empire dressed as a company. Together, they were something more—cold certainty sharpened by years of fire.
Hemant checked his watch.
"Raquel and I are going to Darukhana. Time to see the progess of our wheels"
The servers hummed louder in their absence, as if filling the silence he left behind.
SOMETIME LATER IN DARUKHANA PORT
Darukhana was a place where salt and steel coexisted uneasily, the sea corroding everything it touched. In the heart of its rusting skeletons, Manav Chauhan’s garage burned alive with sparks and noise. Trucks sat in skeletal frames, their bodies half-built, engines gutted. Men in welding masks crouched like priests at altars, their torches raining molten fire. Hemant entered like a man walking into a sanctuary of machines, his stride measured, Raquel flanking him like a shadow. He didn’t gawk or hesitate—his eyes swept over every unfinished frame, every tool in motion, already calculating the potential and the flaws. Where others saw metal, Hemant saw vehicles as pieces in a larger machine: the job itself.
Manav wiped grease from his arms as he stepped forward, chest heaving with the pride of creation.
"You wanted monsters, Chief. I’m building them. Reinforced suspension, torque-heavy engines. But I need details. Payload weight, specifically. Otherwise I’m guessing"
Hemant’s gaze lingered on the lead truck, its skeletal chassis like a predator stripped to bone. His voice came level, calm, without hesitation.
"Close to a ton. And it needs to run without compromise under it"
Manav blinked, almost laughing.
"A ton? That much weight will choke performance. If there’s a chase, you won’t make it past the first turn"
Hemant stepped into his space, lowering his voice until it cut through the clangor of metal like a blade against silk.
"There won’t be a chase. Not if everything goes as I intend"
The certainty in his words was unnerving. This wasn’t arrogance—it was lived experience. In the past , he had once moved a stolen treasury across London in armored vans under the noses of security officer convoys. He had hijacked trains in Guangdong, slipped gold through customs at Chittagong, vanished fleets of cars into Dubai warehouses without a trace. He didn’t hope for clean getaways—he built them. And Hemant Kumar, the industrialist, gave him the tools to do it smarter, sharper, cleaner. Manav swallowed hard, then grinned.
"Then I’ll give you trucks that won’t break, even under that weight. They’ll roar when you need them to"
His men, overhearing, worked faster—driven by the gravity Hemant carried. This wasn’t just another job. It was something bigger. Something legendary. Hemant gave a single nod, no wasted words, then turned for the exit. Raquel followed. The clang of welders and the roar of engines grew louder in their absence, as though the garage itself had been charged with new fire. Outside, the port air was thick with salt and smoke. Hemant inhaled deep, then exhaled slowly, eyes fixed on Mumbai’s distant skyline. His marriage was ashes. His empire-to-come was fire. And Hemant Kumar knew better than anyone: fire didn’t falter. Fire consumed.
FEW DAYS LATER
Hemant adjusted his suit jacket as he walked into the grand ballroom of the Royal hotel. The stage lights glowed with golden warmth, reflecting off the polished marble floor. He had attended many corporate functions, but tonight felt different. He wasn’t here as YOD Industries’ rising magnate. He was here for Tamanna. For weeks, his life had been clouded by the grief of Sonarika’s betrayal and the slow descent to divorce. But this evening, he had promised himself he would put that aside and share in someone else’s happiness.
As the ceremony proceeded, he spotted Tamanna stepping onto the stage in her dazzling gown, her confidence radiating across the hall. The audience erupted in applause, and Hemant found himself clapping harder than anyone else, a faint smile tugging at his lips. For the first time in months, he felt a flicker of lightness.
Tamanna took the microphone, her voice steady and graceful.
"This award belongs to my team at Dhrishti Studios" she said warmly.
"Without their passion, none of this would be possible. It also belongs to my daughter, Shraddha, who inspires me every single day. And… to friends who remind me that even when the world turns heavy, we can still rise"
Her eyes briefly found Hemant’s in the audience, and his chest tightened. He knew she was speaking of him. When the applause settled, she rejoined the audience. Hemant rose from his seat and met her halfway, offering his hand.
"Congratulations, Tammu" he said, his voice gentler than usual.
"You owned that stage"
Tamanna laughed softly, still flushed with the glow of her win.
"Thank you, Hemant. For being here. I know how much you’ve had on your plate. It means a lot"
He shook his head.
"No, it means a lot to me. To see you finally get the recognition you deserve. You’ve built this from scratch. I know how much it cost you"
Her smile softened.
"And you would know… since you’ve walked the same path. The success story of YOD Industries is catching steam!"
Hemant chuckled.
"Yeah just like you I too have dedicated workers backing me. But look at us now. Two single parents pretending we have everything under control"
Tamanna tilted her head.
"Pretending? Or surviving?"
"Both" Hemant admitted, his voice dropping.
"Some days, it feels like grief is the only constant. Sonarika… and what she did… it still cuts"
He inhaled, steadying himself.
"But lately, I feel like I have opened up , seeing my life take a different path"
Her gaze lingered on him.
"We've bolth carried storms inside each other, Hemant. But I’m glad you let me in, finding me as a source of strength in your vulnerable moments , even a little. For Shraddha, too, it’s been comforting. She likes you, you know"
That drew a real smile from him.
"I like her too. She’s bright… just like her mother" He hesitated, then teased
"Tell me, has—Sandeep—ever bothered you again?"
Tamanna rolled her eyes, amused.
"Don’t remind me of him. No, he hasn’t. And even if he tried, I wouldn’t waste my time. I think it’s finally clear where my interest lies"
For a moment, their eyes met in a silence that carried more weight than words. Hemant broke it with a deliberate shift in tone.
"Speaking of interests, YOD Industries just secured the military contracts. First time in our history. To celebrate, I’m hosting a party next week for the city’s elites. I would feel great if you attend"
She arched a brow.
"You know I can’t stay late. Shraddha’s routine…"
"I know" Hemant interrupted gently.
"But even if you stay for just a while, I’ll make sure it’s worth it. Memorable"
Her lips curved in a smile, tender yet teasing.
"Memorable? Hemant, it’s already memorable—because this time, I’ll be celebrating your success"
For the first time in a long while, Hemant felt warmth spread in his chest. Tonight, surrounded by applause and lights, his grief loosened its grip, and in its place, something gentler began to take root. The after-party was held in one of the hotel’s rooftop lounges, overlooking the glittering Mumbai skyline. The air carried a mix of ocean breeze and champagne fizz, and the elite crowd buzzed with conversations about contracts, brands, and politics. Hemant arrived at the lounge a little later than Tamanna, pausing at the bar before searching for her in the clusters of guests. He wasn’t here to network, though plenty tried to shake his hand. Tonight, his focus was elsewhere.
He spotted her near the terrace railing, holding a glass of sparkling water, her gown shimmering under the fairy lights. She seemed a little apart from the crowd, watching the city rather than the people. Hemant approached, his voice low and teasing.
"You look like someone who just conquered the advertising world and then escaped to the balcony to catch her breath"
Tamanna turned, smiling knowingly.
"Maybe because I did. And maybe because crowds still overwhelm me sometimes"
"Same" Hemant admitted, standing beside her, resting his hands on the railing.
"Though I don’t usually have such a dazzling partner in crime to share the view with"
She laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"Careful, Mr. YOD Industries. Flattery like that might be mistaken for something else"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"And what if it is?"
For a moment, the noise of the party blurred into the background, the city lights reflecting in her eyes. Tamanna broke the silence first, sipping her drink.
"You know, Shraddha asked me the other day why I don’t smile as much as I used to. Tonight, I think I’ll tell her I remembered how"
Hemant’s chest tightened at that, the words striking deeper than she intended.
"I hope… I had some small part in that" he said softly.
"You did" she replied without hesitation.
"Hemant, I know you’ve been carrying more than anyone should. I can’t erase what Sonarika did, or the pain of it. But I can be here, when the weight feels too much"
He looked at her then, really looked—this woman who had once been just a college friend with unspoken feelings, now standing beside him in his hardest season, offering something he didn’t think he deserved: comfort.
"You already are" He whispered.
Before the moment grew too heavy, he cleared his throat, shifting the subject.
"So… will you come to my party next week? The first one YOD has ever hosted?"
Tamanna’s smile returned, gentle yet mischievous.
"I’ll come. But don’t expect me to dance until midnight. My daughter still needs her tiffin packed the next morning"
Hemant chuckled, a sound that felt almost foreign to his own ears.
"Then I’ll make sure you dance at least once before you leave. That way, I’ll win my bet with myself"
She shook her head, amused.
"You and your bets. Fine, one dance. But only because tonight… it already feels like the beginning of something worth remembering"
As the party continued around them, Hemant realized that the grief tethering him to the past had loosened a little more. Standing beside Tamanna, the night didn’t feel like another reminder of loss—it felt like a doorway to a future he hadn’t dared imagine.
The music in the lounge shifted, the live band sliding into a softer, melodic tune. The crowd on the dance floor thinned as conversations drew people back to their tables, leaving only a few couples swaying under the dim lights. Hemant glanced toward the space, then back at Tamanna, who was still leaning on the railing, the glow of the city framing her silhouette. He extended his hand, a playful tilt in his voice.
"You did promise me one dance, Tammu. And the song’s too perfect to waste"
Tamanna hesitated, her smile lingering as her eyes searched his. For a second, the years of distance, the grief, and the scars between them seemed to hang in the air. Then, slowly, she placed her hand in his.
"Alright, Mr.Hunk. Just one"
They moved onto the floor, the world narrowing to the soft rhythm that carried them. Hemant’s hand rested gently against her back, guiding her in measured steps, while her fingers lightly curled over his shoulder. It wasn’t practiced or polished, but it was theirs. For the first time in years, Hemant felt a strange calm, as if the weight on his chest had lifted just enough for him to breathe freely.
Tamanna studied him with a quiet intensity, her eyes glimmering.
"You know… you’ve changed tonight" she murmured.
"I see the same Hemant I knew back in college. Though I feel sad that it took a heartbreak to find yourself”
Hemant tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Is that a good thing? Or should I be worried that the old Hemant is back?"
Her answer was immediate, soft but sure.
"It’s definitely a good thing. I just… I wish this dance had happened back then"
Her gaze drifted downward for a moment, then returned to meet his.
"Maybe things would have been different"
Hemant’s grip on her hand tightened slightly, his voice dropping low.
"Back then, I was already entangled… with someone else. But now…"
He drew in a breath, steady yet deliberate.
"Now I’m no longer involved with anyone. Not Sonarika, not anyone. Just… here, with you"
Tamanna’s steps faltered for a moment at the weight of his words, but she recovered, her lips parting slightly as her heart raced.
"Hemant…"
She whispered, the single word carrying all the emotions she had tucked away for years. Their eyes locked, and the dance slowed until they were barely moving, their closeness speaking louder than the music. In that suspended moment, both understood what was happening—two broken souls, drawn to each other not out of weakness, but out of the recognition of strength in shared pain. Tamanna exhaled, her voice trembling yet steady.
"This… whatever this is, it feels different. Deeper. Not just friendship, not just comfort. Are we sure we're not making a mistake?"
Hemant leaned in, his forehead nearly touching hers, his tone earnest.
"Let me be honest Tammu , you and me this close. Maybe it is a mistake. Because my faith in love is seriously cracked. I want to see you that way but I can't.......but this.....this is something special......"
The music swelled around them, but neither noticed. For them, the dance was more than movement—it was a confession, a promise, and the fragile beginning of something intimate. Two people scarred by loss, finding in each other not just solace, but a bond for each other.
(CHAPTER TO BE CONTD)
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