08-10-2025, 12:18 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
The Mumbai skyline shimmered in the distance as the cab dropped Sonarika off at her apartment. The orange glow of twilight burned faintly over the city, casting long, tired shadows on the glass towers. She carried her small suitcase, feeling the weight of the past few days pressing into her shoulders. Hemant stood near his vehicle at the parking, his arms crossed. His face looked carved from stone — unreadable, yet heavy with resentment. He didn’t move toward her, didn’t even offer to take her bag.
"Back already?" he asked dryly, as if she had returned from an errand, not a life-changing trip.
"Yes" she replied, keeping her tone calm.
"Wasn't expecting you for a couple of days....did Vikram had any emergency?"
He gave a humorless smile.
"Regardless , I hope he gave you a good time. Didn't he?"
She sighed, already exhausted from the conversation.
"Hemant, please—"
He cut her off sharply.
"Relax, Sonarika. You don't need to share. I've said it already , I have no interest in being a cuckold. You're free to fuck him anyway you want."
The venom was casual, quiet — the kind that didn’t need to shout. She looked at him, wanting to defend herself, but what was the point? Words were meaningless now.
When they reached the apartment, Karan came running to her.
"Mumma! You’re back!"
Sonarika dropped her bag and hugged him tightly. His small arms around her waist felt like the only thing pure left in her life.
"I missed you, baby" she whispered, burying her face in his hair.
Hemant stood behind them, watching. His face softened for a moment — then hardened again.
He smiled for Karan’s sake.
"See, champ? Mumma came back with her fancy suitcase. Maybe she brought gifts?"
Sonarika forced a smile.
"I did, sweetheart. They’re in my bag"
Anjali appeared from the hallway, folding laundry.
"Finally home" she said cheerfully.
"Karan’s been asking for you every night"
Hemant smirked.
"Well, now he doesn’t have to. His mother’s back from her… official meetings"
"Bhaiya—" Anjali frowned.
"It’s fine" Sonarika interrupted quickly, keeping her tone neutral.
"Your Bhaiya is actually more childish than his son!" Sonarika joked which made Hemant stop.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, she stood by the kitchen sink washing her cup. The light above flickered faintly. Hemant walked in, half-dressed in his nightshirt, leaning against the counter with that same look of quiet mockery.
"So" he began casually.
"How was Goa?"
"It was… enlightening" she said.
"Enlightening?" he repeated, chuckling under his breath.
"You always did find enlightenment in the strangest places — hotel rooms, beaches…"
"Stop it" she muttered, her voice trembling.
He ignored her.
"Did Vikram made you do anal? I’m sure he must been a considerate lover in bed"
"Enough, Hemant!" she snapped, turning to face him.
He didn’t flinch.
"What? I'm just wondering. You have that glow that you always have when you return from this 'Enlightening' trip. I've seen faces like this in the past remember? When you came from Jabalpur , from Bali. Only now I actually know the reason behind those smile"
Her lips quivered, but she refused to cry.
"You’re right. I had a glow when I believed I was being sexually liberated. I don’t deny it. But now its........please… stop reminding me my failures every time I breathe"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a venomous whisper.
"Then stop pretending like you’ve changed. I did the mistake of trusting and sharing my life with you. So drop this innocent damsel act , I can see through your bullshit!"
For a moment, silence filled the kitchen — thick, painful silence.
"You're wrong......this time you're wrong about me" she whispered.
"Is that so?" he said coldly, stepping back.
"Then please , continue your drama. But I am not falling for your pretention ever again!"
He turned and walked away, leaving her frozen, trembling against the counter as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Days passed, and the strange new rhythm of their life settled in. Hemant played the perfect father in front of Karan and Anjali — cheerful, attentive, helpful with homework and dinners. But the moment they were alone, the mask slipped.
If she smiled, he sneered.
If she was quiet, he accused her of sulking.
If she spoke too kindly, he mocked her tone.
One morning, as she poured him tea before work, he said casually,
"Do me a favor, Sonarika — when you move to Goa, take that fake serenity with you. It’s exhausting watching you play saint"
She set his cup down quietly.
"If it helps you hate me less, then fine"
He gave her a sharp smile.
"Oh no, I don’t hate you. I admire you. Takes real talent to ruin a marriage and still look innocent doing it"
Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her bag.
"I’ll be late for work"
“Of course. Have a date with your boyfriend today? Don't let me spoil it , Bye!"
He said mockingly, waving his hand. But as she left the apartment and stepped into the morning light, something inside her held steady. The barbs hurt, yes — but they no longer defined her. She had weathered worse storms, and this one, too, would pass.
At work, she immersed herself in her duties. Evenings were spent nurturing her plants, losing herself in the rhythm of watering, pruning, and caring — the quiet, grounding ritual that reminded her she could still grow, even in poisoned soil. Hemant’s cruelty was the thorn she had earned. Her peace — her quiet defiance — was the bloom she was nurturing against all odds.
And every night, as she read her botany books under the soft yellow light, she whispered to herself,
"He will move on , once I am gone. I’ll rebuild myself anyway — root by root"
The humid summer air hung thick over Mumbai, the kind that left everything sticky with memory. Sonarika sat at the dining table sorting through Karan’s clothes for their summer vacation trip, her movements slow but deliberate. Across the room, Hemant sat on the sofa, typing something on his laptop, the soft clicking of the keys filling the quiet. Karan was already excited — bouncing around the room with Anjali, talking about their train ride to Delhi. The family’s plan was set: Sonarika, Karan, and Anjali would spend the summer at her parents’ house in Delhi, while Hemant stayed behind in Mumbai to complete some 'business matters'
It felt practical — almost normal — except nothing about their lives was normal anymore.
Late that evening, as she folded Karan’s T-shirts into a small suitcase, Hemant called from the living room.
"Sonarika, can you come here for a moment?"
She wiped her hands on her dupatta and approached cautiously. On the table before him lay a few official-looking documents — sale deeds, registry papers, a property transfer form.
"I need your signature here" he said plainly, tapping the bottom of one page.
"Witness column"
She blinked, confused.
"What is this for?"
"The sale deed of this flat" he said, his tone casual.
"It’s done. The papers will be filed next week"
Her heart gave a small jolt.
"You really are selling this place?"
He nodded, flipping another page.
"Yes. I already told you before — the renovation at Silver Beach Villa is finally done. The contractor sent me the final clearance. It’s ready to move in. With the cashout next week after this filing is done , the rest of the pending money will be paid and the Silver Beach Villa will belong to me. In short , an upgrade"
For a second, the words didn’t register. Silver Beach Villa. The reality of a dream they once shared when life was still kind — a silent gift of Hemant to his family , a life they dreamed together. When Hemant’s mind was filled with the hopes of a big house in the future and their nights weren’t hollow.
He caught her silence and gave a crooked smile.
"Don’t look so shocked. I am just glad you're not going to be a part of it. Let this be the final nail in the coffin of this circus called our marriage"
She hesitated, then managed a small smile.
"I am sure Karan and Anjali will love it"
He leaned back, his tone sharpening like a knife being turned.
"Yes, they will. So try not to ruin the surprise when you talk to them at Delhi. You’ve ruined enough already"
The words hit her like cold metal — quiet but heavy. She froze for a moment, then nodded softly.
"I won’t say anything"
"Good" he said, gathering the papers again.
"Let me handle this part. You just… do what you do best. Stay out of the way"
She said nothing. She’d learned silence was her only armor. That night, as she sat on the balcony, the sound of the city humming below her, she thought about the villa — how they had once dreamed of it together, back when life was full of promises and not regrets. A big home with open spaces, she remembered saying once, so Karan can play, and she can plant her little garden in the back.
It had been their shared dream. Now, it was just his.
And somehow, she felt proud. Proud that he had built it — without her, despite her. That he had evolved from the uncertain man she once knew into someone commanding and sure. Maybe that’s what healing looked like for him — success instead of forgiveness. She would not take that away.
Over the following nights, the uneasy rhythm between them continued. Hemant would speak little at dinner, his eyes mostly on Karan, his words clipped when directed at her. But after the dishes were done and everyone had gone to bed, he’d linger — half-tipsy on his late-night drink, pacing the living room like a restless ghost.
One night, when she was working on her notes and research papers at her desk, he appeared behind her with a smirk.
"You know" he said softly.
"Whatever Vikram did to you in Goa — it must’ve been magical. You walk around glowing now, like some reformed saint"
She didn’t look up from her papers.
"You can think whatever you like, Hemant. I’m not bothered anymore"
He laughed under his breath.
"Of course you’re not. You have a new millionaire man now. Congratulations"
She turned slightly, her tone steady.
"I’m doing what I should’ve done long ago — fixing myself"
"Fixing yourself" he repeated mockingly.
"Maybe someday you’ll fix what you broke in me too"
And with that, he turned away, leaving her staring at the half-finished notes under the soft glow of her lamp.She didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears had burned themselves out long ago.
(TO BE CONTD)
"Back already?" he asked dryly, as if she had returned from an errand, not a life-changing trip.
"Yes" she replied, keeping her tone calm.
"Wasn't expecting you for a couple of days....did Vikram had any emergency?"
He gave a humorless smile.
"Regardless , I hope he gave you a good time. Didn't he?"
She sighed, already exhausted from the conversation.
"Hemant, please—"
He cut her off sharply.
"Relax, Sonarika. You don't need to share. I've said it already , I have no interest in being a cuckold. You're free to fuck him anyway you want."
The venom was casual, quiet — the kind that didn’t need to shout. She looked at him, wanting to defend herself, but what was the point? Words were meaningless now.
When they reached the apartment, Karan came running to her.
"Mumma! You’re back!"
Sonarika dropped her bag and hugged him tightly. His small arms around her waist felt like the only thing pure left in her life.
"I missed you, baby" she whispered, burying her face in his hair.
Hemant stood behind them, watching. His face softened for a moment — then hardened again.
He smiled for Karan’s sake.
"See, champ? Mumma came back with her fancy suitcase. Maybe she brought gifts?"
Sonarika forced a smile.
"I did, sweetheart. They’re in my bag"
Anjali appeared from the hallway, folding laundry.
"Finally home" she said cheerfully.
"Karan’s been asking for you every night"
Hemant smirked.
"Well, now he doesn’t have to. His mother’s back from her… official meetings"
"Bhaiya—" Anjali frowned.
"It’s fine" Sonarika interrupted quickly, keeping her tone neutral.
"Your Bhaiya is actually more childish than his son!" Sonarika joked which made Hemant stop.
Later that night, after everyone had gone to sleep, she stood by the kitchen sink washing her cup. The light above flickered faintly. Hemant walked in, half-dressed in his nightshirt, leaning against the counter with that same look of quiet mockery.
"So" he began casually.
"How was Goa?"
"It was… enlightening" she said.
"Enlightening?" he repeated, chuckling under his breath.
"You always did find enlightenment in the strangest places — hotel rooms, beaches…"
"Stop it" she muttered, her voice trembling.
He ignored her.
"Did Vikram made you do anal? I’m sure he must been a considerate lover in bed"
"Enough, Hemant!" she snapped, turning to face him.
He didn’t flinch.
"What? I'm just wondering. You have that glow that you always have when you return from this 'Enlightening' trip. I've seen faces like this in the past remember? When you came from Jabalpur , from Bali. Only now I actually know the reason behind those smile"
Her lips quivered, but she refused to cry.
"You’re right. I had a glow when I believed I was being sexually liberated. I don’t deny it. But now its........please… stop reminding me my failures every time I breathe"
He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a venomous whisper.
"Then stop pretending like you’ve changed. I did the mistake of trusting and sharing my life with you. So drop this innocent damsel act , I can see through your bullshit!"
For a moment, silence filled the kitchen — thick, painful silence.
"You're wrong......this time you're wrong about me" she whispered.
"Is that so?" he said coldly, stepping back.
"Then please , continue your drama. But I am not falling for your pretention ever again!"
He turned and walked away, leaving her frozen, trembling against the counter as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Days passed, and the strange new rhythm of their life settled in. Hemant played the perfect father in front of Karan and Anjali — cheerful, attentive, helpful with homework and dinners. But the moment they were alone, the mask slipped.
If she smiled, he sneered.
If she was quiet, he accused her of sulking.
If she spoke too kindly, he mocked her tone.
One morning, as she poured him tea before work, he said casually,
"Do me a favor, Sonarika — when you move to Goa, take that fake serenity with you. It’s exhausting watching you play saint"
She set his cup down quietly.
"If it helps you hate me less, then fine"
He gave her a sharp smile.
"Oh no, I don’t hate you. I admire you. Takes real talent to ruin a marriage and still look innocent doing it"
Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her bag.
"I’ll be late for work"
“Of course. Have a date with your boyfriend today? Don't let me spoil it , Bye!"
He said mockingly, waving his hand. But as she left the apartment and stepped into the morning light, something inside her held steady. The barbs hurt, yes — but they no longer defined her. She had weathered worse storms, and this one, too, would pass.
At work, she immersed herself in her duties. Evenings were spent nurturing her plants, losing herself in the rhythm of watering, pruning, and caring — the quiet, grounding ritual that reminded her she could still grow, even in poisoned soil. Hemant’s cruelty was the thorn she had earned. Her peace — her quiet defiance — was the bloom she was nurturing against all odds.
And every night, as she read her botany books under the soft yellow light, she whispered to herself,
"He will move on , once I am gone. I’ll rebuild myself anyway — root by root"
The humid summer air hung thick over Mumbai, the kind that left everything sticky with memory. Sonarika sat at the dining table sorting through Karan’s clothes for their summer vacation trip, her movements slow but deliberate. Across the room, Hemant sat on the sofa, typing something on his laptop, the soft clicking of the keys filling the quiet. Karan was already excited — bouncing around the room with Anjali, talking about their train ride to Delhi. The family’s plan was set: Sonarika, Karan, and Anjali would spend the summer at her parents’ house in Delhi, while Hemant stayed behind in Mumbai to complete some 'business matters'
It felt practical — almost normal — except nothing about their lives was normal anymore.
Late that evening, as she folded Karan’s T-shirts into a small suitcase, Hemant called from the living room.
"Sonarika, can you come here for a moment?"
She wiped her hands on her dupatta and approached cautiously. On the table before him lay a few official-looking documents — sale deeds, registry papers, a property transfer form.
"I need your signature here" he said plainly, tapping the bottom of one page.
"Witness column"
She blinked, confused.
"What is this for?"
"The sale deed of this flat" he said, his tone casual.
"It’s done. The papers will be filed next week"
Her heart gave a small jolt.
"You really are selling this place?"
He nodded, flipping another page.
"Yes. I already told you before — the renovation at Silver Beach Villa is finally done. The contractor sent me the final clearance. It’s ready to move in. With the cashout next week after this filing is done , the rest of the pending money will be paid and the Silver Beach Villa will belong to me. In short , an upgrade"
For a second, the words didn’t register. Silver Beach Villa. The reality of a dream they once shared when life was still kind — a silent gift of Hemant to his family , a life they dreamed together. When Hemant’s mind was filled with the hopes of a big house in the future and their nights weren’t hollow.
He caught her silence and gave a crooked smile.
"Don’t look so shocked. I am just glad you're not going to be a part of it. Let this be the final nail in the coffin of this circus called our marriage"
She hesitated, then managed a small smile.
"I am sure Karan and Anjali will love it"
He leaned back, his tone sharpening like a knife being turned.
"Yes, they will. So try not to ruin the surprise when you talk to them at Delhi. You’ve ruined enough already"
The words hit her like cold metal — quiet but heavy. She froze for a moment, then nodded softly.
"I won’t say anything"
"Good" he said, gathering the papers again.
"Let me handle this part. You just… do what you do best. Stay out of the way"
She said nothing. She’d learned silence was her only armor. That night, as she sat on the balcony, the sound of the city humming below her, she thought about the villa — how they had once dreamed of it together, back when life was full of promises and not regrets. A big home with open spaces, she remembered saying once, so Karan can play, and she can plant her little garden in the back.
It had been their shared dream. Now, it was just his.
And somehow, she felt proud. Proud that he had built it — without her, despite her. That he had evolved from the uncertain man she once knew into someone commanding and sure. Maybe that’s what healing looked like for him — success instead of forgiveness. She would not take that away.
Over the following nights, the uneasy rhythm between them continued. Hemant would speak little at dinner, his eyes mostly on Karan, his words clipped when directed at her. But after the dishes were done and everyone had gone to bed, he’d linger — half-tipsy on his late-night drink, pacing the living room like a restless ghost.
One night, when she was working on her notes and research papers at her desk, he appeared behind her with a smirk.
"You know" he said softly.
"Whatever Vikram did to you in Goa — it must’ve been magical. You walk around glowing now, like some reformed saint"
She didn’t look up from her papers.
"You can think whatever you like, Hemant. I’m not bothered anymore"
He laughed under his breath.
"Of course you’re not. You have a new millionaire man now. Congratulations"
She turned slightly, her tone steady.
"I’m doing what I should’ve done long ago — fixing myself"
"Fixing yourself" he repeated mockingly.
"Maybe someday you’ll fix what you broke in me too"
And with that, he turned away, leaving her staring at the half-finished notes under the soft glow of her lamp.She didn’t cry. Not anymore. The tears had burned themselves out long ago.
(TO BE CONTD)
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