01-11-2025, 11:48 PM
(CHAPTER CONTD)
AT THE SAME TIME AT A RESTAURANT IN MUMBAI
They chose a corner table beneath a soft lamp, the restaurant’s polite clatter folding around them like a distant ocean. Meghna watched Vikram as if cataloguing damage: the slump at his shoulders, the dullness around his eyes, the way his laugh had been replaced by a brittle quiet. She stirred her tea slowly, every movement practiced, every smile a small calculus.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, voice velvet.
Vikram laughed—short and empty.
"Like a bad song on repeat. I can’t stop thinking about her. All day, every day"
He rubbed his face with both hands.
"She’s moving to Goa. Sonarika—she’s walking away and I have nothing to show but excuses"
Meghna leaned in, hands folded, the picture of sympathy.
"Don’t say ‘nothing.’ You have more than most men. You have patience. You have a way with people. You can be the man she remembers wanting—the one who makes her feel alive again"
Her words were gentle, but each one landed like an instruction.
He looked up, desperate.
"But she’s decided to leave. She said she wants to start over. She’s doing therapy, going to Vatika, building a life there. How do I even compete with that? With everything she’s trying to leave behind?"
Meghna’s smile sharpened.
"You don’t compete with what she’s leaving. You become the reason she shouldn’t leave. You remind her who she was when she was happiest—and you show her that being with you will be easier, truer, more honest. People abandon things they think are gone. Don’t let her think you’re gone"
Vikram’s voice lowered.
"You think she could come back? Really?"
"I don’t think—" Meghna cut him off, no false modesty in her tone.
"I know. You have history. You have the one thing Hemant never gave you—undeniable passion and the ability to pull her out of herself.” She allowed the word to hang between them. “She pushed you away because she believed she had to. You can make her believe she wants to be pulled back"
Vikram’s fingers tapped the table, the old hunger stirring.
"But how? She’s guarded. She’s trying to be better. I can’t just barge into her life without looking like a fool—or worse"
Meghna’s eyes glinted.
"You don’t barge. You return. You show up not as a tempter but as the man who understands her. Be generous with attention, but be smarter than simple grand gestures. Let her see consistency. Arrive at the send-off not as a desperate lover, but as the man she once chose—the man she might still choose"
He leaned forward, hopeful.
"So, be steady. Be present. Make her see me as the right man"
"Exactly" Meghna’s hand brushed his wrist in a gesture that felt aiding and inscrutable.
"And don’t be shy about intimacy when the moment invites it. Not forcefully—never forcefully—but with confidence. Remind her with touch that you know her body and what makes her laugh and what calms her. Rekindling isn’t a single act; it’s a sequence of carefully calibrated moments. A look, a hand on the small of her back, a shared memory that lands like a warm truth"
Vikram swallowed. The idea of closeness—simple, consensual closeness—brought color back to his face.
"So you’re saying I should try to make her want me again. Make her remember what we had?"
"That’s it" Meghna said, eyes bright.
"Make her remember the man who understood risk and joy in equal measure. Make her see that Hemant may build machines and sway governments, but he can’t give her the reckless, messy, tender parts of herself that you did"
A thin line of doubt creased Vikram’s forehead.
"What about the moral part? What if she rejects me again? I don’t want to become the kind of man I hated when I first chased her"
Meghna’s voice softened into a near-whisper, persuasive with intent.
"Then you step back. You accept. But don’t begin with the fear of failure. Begin with the certainty that you can be better. Be the man who listens more than he speaks. Be the man who makes the world safe enough for her to fall back into. If she chooses him—or herself—then you honor that. But don’t abdicate before the fight has begun"
He ran his hand through his hair, the plan hardening into something he could act on.
"And the send-off?"
"Be there" Meghna said simply.
"Not to make a scene, but to be present. Find a chance to speak to her privately. Remind her of one thing she said once—something only she and you shared. Make her laugh. Then, if the chemistry is real and the moment gentle, take her hand, sit close, and ask for one more night of honesty. Not to trap her. To show her the depth of what you feel"
She watched him carefully—measuring how much of him she could steer.
"If she responds, be tender. If she withdraws, don’t roar—retreat with dignity. Men who scare women with neediness lose any chance of rekindling anything true"
Vikram breathed out, half relief and half resolve.
"You’re dangerous" he told her, a rueful smile cracking his misery for a second.
Meghna returned the smile, all sugar gloss over steel.
"Dangerous gets results"
He stood, the decision settling into his posture.
"I’ll be there this weekend. I’ll do it your way—steady, careful, convincing. I’ll make her see that I’m the right man for her"
Meghna rose with him, slipping into her coat like a second skin.
"And Vikram—no theatrics. No revenge. Win her with truth, or don’t win her at all. But for God’s sake, don’t creep her out. We want a love regained, not a scandal"
Outside, they parted on the sidewalk—Meghna with a satisfied, secretive tilt to her mouth, Vikram walking away with a small, dangerous hope pulsing under his ribs. Behind him, the city moved on: lights, traffic, lives that would cross and recross. Inside him, something had shifted from longing to strategy. Meghna had handed him a map back into Sonarika’s life—one that required charm, persistence, and a willingness to cross moral lines he hadn’t yet named.
As he disappeared into the crowd, Meghna watched him go and whispered into the night, not for his ears but for her own.
"Make sure you do it right"
THAT WEEKEND EVENING
The private banquet hall glimmered like a palace of fleeting dreams—golden dbangs, chandelier lights, champagne flows, and the hum of corporate pride. Tonight was Sonarika’s night, the firm’s legend, the face of their success story , but now bidding farewell to the company. Applause and camera flashes greeted her arrival; none knew the ruin she carried within.
She stepped into the hall in a long emerald gown, slit running tastefully yet dangerously high, occasionally revealing the sculpted strength of her legs. She smiled, poised, elegant—but only she knew the tremor beneath all of it.
Tejas waved first, followed by Gayathri, Pooja, Aniket, Vishnu, and Pragya. Compliments flew like confetti—'You look stunning!', 'Star of the night!'—and she received every one with a soft grace, a trained smile masking the faint ache behind her eyes. Then came Meghna, dbangd in a rich blue saree, walking beside Rachika—bright-eyed, unsuspecting Rachika, who still believed Vikram was Sonarika’s destined future. The irony stung. If fate had a sense of humour, tonight it was cruel.
Sonarika hugged them, mind rehearsing composure. Meghna’s eyes shimmered with quiet triumph—she wasn’t here to celebrate; she was here to see how her seed of chaos was growing. And then, like a prince stepping out of a fairytale—but one stained with borrowed dreams—Vikram entered. No dark blazer tonight. Instead, a cream suit, sky-blue shirt beneath, radiating confidence and hope. The crowd cheered his arrival, and his face lit up when he saw her. Almost like love, almost like obsession.
"You look… radiant"
He said softly when they met, voice carrying a reverence that once made her feel invincible.
"And you" she replied, forcing a light laugh.
"Look more colourful than usual. Very unlike you"
"Tonight is your night" he smiled.
"I don’t deserve the spotlight"
If only he knew how little she wanted it.
Later, an executive approached her.
"Will your husband be joining us?"
She hesitated just a beat too long.
"He… might. He’s been busy. The business is doing exceptionally well"
The executive nodded and left, satisfied. But Sonarika wasn’t. Her mind replayed the cavernous steel empire she’d seen—her husband’s world now, forged by fire and betrayal. The Hemant she once loved—gentle, soft-spoken—had melted away into someone steel-edged, relentless, powerful. A man sculpted by hurt.
Her infidelity had not only broken a marriage; it had broken a man—and rebuilt him into something formidable and unreachable.
And yet, God help her, she felt drawn to that new Hemant more than ever.
Then the music changed.
Mozart. Soft, melancholic, dripping nostalgia.
Vikram extended a hand.
"Dance with me?"
She hesitated—but the crowd expected it. The past expected it. She placed her hand in his, and they drifted into the spotlight. Their bodies moved close in the slow classical rhythm—an echo of old sins. Once, this dance meant passion and secret nights tangled in forbidden sheets. Now, the touch felt hollow. Wrong. Almost suffocating.
She wasn’t that woman anymore.
But Vikram was still that man—eyes searching hers, every subtle movement trying to reignite something long turned to ash. His hands were gentle yet desperate, his heart beating too loud for the room.
She didn’t feel fire.
She felt nothing but the ghost of regret.
He sensed the shift. For the first time, defeat flickered across his face—but pride held him upright. Hope is a stubborn poison.
Across the hall, Meghna watched… and smiled, believing her web still held. Then she slipped away quietly with Rachika, whispering poison of future promises into the night.
Sonarika continued to dance, but she wasn’t here anymore.
She was somewhere between who she had been
and the woman she was terrified she could never become again.
And outside this cocoon of music and illusion, a storm was walking toward them—cold-hearted, steel-clad, sword-bound.
Hemant was coming.
Not as her husband.
Not as the man she once broke.
But as the empire she inadvertently forged.
SOME TIME LATER
The dance floor glowed under soft golden lights. Sonarika and Vikram moved in slow rhythm, Mozart floating like an old memory that refused to die. For others, it was elegance. For Sonarika, it was a silence filled with ghosts.
Then came the sound.
A soft hush in the parking driveway, heads turning as camera flashes shifted, murmurs rising.
A deep navy-blue Lexus LM 350h — four-seater, ultra-luxury — rolled to a stop at the entrance. Its polished surface gleamed like still water under moonlight. On the grille, the YOD Industries emblem shone like a rising dynasty's crest.
The doors opened with ceremonious slowness.
Hemant stepped out.
Black silk suit. Crimson shirt glowing under the night lights. His long hair neatly brushed back, face calm… but eyes carrying the quiet violence of someone who had drowned and learned to breathe underwater.
A man forged, not born.
Executives from Tanishq rushed to him with sudden reverence — palms folded, backs slightly bent, voices filled with respect. Years ago, they wouldn’t have spared him a glance. Tonight, they looked honoured just to greet him. It felt good. For a second, truly good.
Then he saw them.
Across the hall, Sonarika—elegant, radiant, breathtaking—dancing with Vikram. Her leg glimmering through the high slit of her gown, her body lightly aligned with Vikram’s. And Vikram’s eyes… still burning with the same hunger from his nightmares.
A slow, clean stab in Hemant’s chest.
His jaw flexed. His eyes darkened. Meghna, watching from the corner, smirked, relishing the storm she believed she controlled. But then something else happened. Hemant inhaled. Blinked the pain away. His posture straightened, and he calmly turned back toward the executives, offering them a tempered smile, as though nothing ever touched him.
Cold poise.
A king refusing to bleed in public.
The song ended. Applause erupted. Sonarika turned — and froze. He came. Joy surged through her chest, and in a heartbeat she abandoned Vikram and walked toward him, hesitating only long enough to tuck her hair behind her ear, breathing hope as if it were oxygen.
"I’m so glad you came" she whispered, eyes shining.
Hemant’s expression didn’t soften. He gave a polite nod.
"I noticed. Looked like you were… already having a wonderful time. With your man"
The words hit like a quiet explosion.
"No, Hemant— that’s not—"
He raised a hand lightly, not to stop her—just to end the moment. Then he walked past her without another word. Sonarika stood still, breath shaky, the warmth draining from her evening.
The party carried on.
Speeches began. Sonarika sat tense, fear swirling — Hemant was unpredictable in moments like these. What if he humiliated her? An executive nudged Hemant to speak. The mic landed in his hand. He looked at the crowd, then at Sonarika — and she braced herself. But his voice was calm. Proud. Not of marriage. But of who she was to the world.
"Sonarika’s journey here" he began.
"Has turned her into the woman she always deserved to become. Tanishq didn’t just employ her — it shaped her. Gave her confidence, strength, and refinement"
Hemant continued.
"I’ve often joked that Tanishq is her true husband. I was only the decorative piece in the living room"
Laughter echoed — light, affectionate.
"But jokes aside, her dedication, her discipline, her grace — these will remain long after she leaves. She leaves not just as an employee, but as a legacy"
He paused, voice steady, eyes unreadable.
"I am proud. Not as her husband — but as someone who had the fortune of witnessing her growth"
Applause thundered. Sonarika exhaled, overwhelmed, wanting to both smile and cry. She wasn’t sure whether he meant to honour her… or quietly remind everyone she was no longer his to introduce. The celebration resumed — except for Sonarika. Her gaze followed Hemant like a prayer, a plea, a regret. Later, she caught him walking out.
"Where are you going?" she asked, voice fragile.
"My obligation is done" he replied.
"I attended. That was the expectation"
"Hemant, please—"
He stopped.
"Are you coming home tonight?" he asked quietly.
Sonarika hesitated.
"I… I told Ragini I’d stay with her and the girls tonight"
His smile cut deeper than anger ever could.
"Of course. Another night. Another excuse"
“It’s not a lie—”
"Enjoy your night and future with your big dick lover" he murmured, gaze distant.
"I’ll go home to my son and my sister. At least there, I don’t feel like the extra piece in someone else’s story"
The Lexus door shut gently, yet the sound echoed like finality.
As the car pulled away, Sonarika’s vision blurred. Glass halls, glittering gowns, applause… yet she had never felt so alone.
Hemant didn’t look back once.
She stood in the driveway, tears gathering, watching him vanish into the Mumbai night — successful, untouchable, wounded beyond reach… and somehow still the man she loved most when she least deserved to.
And for the first time that night, she felt the full weight of her choices.
The curtain had not fallen.
It had only just begun to tear.
(TO BE CONTD)
They chose a corner table beneath a soft lamp, the restaurant’s polite clatter folding around them like a distant ocean. Meghna watched Vikram as if cataloguing damage: the slump at his shoulders, the dullness around his eyes, the way his laugh had been replaced by a brittle quiet. She stirred her tea slowly, every movement practiced, every smile a small calculus.
"How are you holding up?" she asked, voice velvet.
Vikram laughed—short and empty.
"Like a bad song on repeat. I can’t stop thinking about her. All day, every day"
He rubbed his face with both hands.
"She’s moving to Goa. Sonarika—she’s walking away and I have nothing to show but excuses"
Meghna leaned in, hands folded, the picture of sympathy.
"Don’t say ‘nothing.’ You have more than most men. You have patience. You have a way with people. You can be the man she remembers wanting—the one who makes her feel alive again"
Her words were gentle, but each one landed like an instruction.
He looked up, desperate.
"But she’s decided to leave. She said she wants to start over. She’s doing therapy, going to Vatika, building a life there. How do I even compete with that? With everything she’s trying to leave behind?"
Meghna’s smile sharpened.
"You don’t compete with what she’s leaving. You become the reason she shouldn’t leave. You remind her who she was when she was happiest—and you show her that being with you will be easier, truer, more honest. People abandon things they think are gone. Don’t let her think you’re gone"
Vikram’s voice lowered.
"You think she could come back? Really?"
"I don’t think—" Meghna cut him off, no false modesty in her tone.
"I know. You have history. You have the one thing Hemant never gave you—undeniable passion and the ability to pull her out of herself.” She allowed the word to hang between them. “She pushed you away because she believed she had to. You can make her believe she wants to be pulled back"
Vikram’s fingers tapped the table, the old hunger stirring.
"But how? She’s guarded. She’s trying to be better. I can’t just barge into her life without looking like a fool—or worse"
Meghna’s eyes glinted.
"You don’t barge. You return. You show up not as a tempter but as the man who understands her. Be generous with attention, but be smarter than simple grand gestures. Let her see consistency. Arrive at the send-off not as a desperate lover, but as the man she once chose—the man she might still choose"
He leaned forward, hopeful.
"So, be steady. Be present. Make her see me as the right man"
"Exactly" Meghna’s hand brushed his wrist in a gesture that felt aiding and inscrutable.
"And don’t be shy about intimacy when the moment invites it. Not forcefully—never forcefully—but with confidence. Remind her with touch that you know her body and what makes her laugh and what calms her. Rekindling isn’t a single act; it’s a sequence of carefully calibrated moments. A look, a hand on the small of her back, a shared memory that lands like a warm truth"
Vikram swallowed. The idea of closeness—simple, consensual closeness—brought color back to his face.
"So you’re saying I should try to make her want me again. Make her remember what we had?"
"That’s it" Meghna said, eyes bright.
"Make her remember the man who understood risk and joy in equal measure. Make her see that Hemant may build machines and sway governments, but he can’t give her the reckless, messy, tender parts of herself that you did"
A thin line of doubt creased Vikram’s forehead.
"What about the moral part? What if she rejects me again? I don’t want to become the kind of man I hated when I first chased her"
Meghna’s voice softened into a near-whisper, persuasive with intent.
"Then you step back. You accept. But don’t begin with the fear of failure. Begin with the certainty that you can be better. Be the man who listens more than he speaks. Be the man who makes the world safe enough for her to fall back into. If she chooses him—or herself—then you honor that. But don’t abdicate before the fight has begun"
He ran his hand through his hair, the plan hardening into something he could act on.
"And the send-off?"
"Be there" Meghna said simply.
"Not to make a scene, but to be present. Find a chance to speak to her privately. Remind her of one thing she said once—something only she and you shared. Make her laugh. Then, if the chemistry is real and the moment gentle, take her hand, sit close, and ask for one more night of honesty. Not to trap her. To show her the depth of what you feel"
She watched him carefully—measuring how much of him she could steer.
"If she responds, be tender. If she withdraws, don’t roar—retreat with dignity. Men who scare women with neediness lose any chance of rekindling anything true"
Vikram breathed out, half relief and half resolve.
"You’re dangerous" he told her, a rueful smile cracking his misery for a second.
Meghna returned the smile, all sugar gloss over steel.
"Dangerous gets results"
He stood, the decision settling into his posture.
"I’ll be there this weekend. I’ll do it your way—steady, careful, convincing. I’ll make her see that I’m the right man for her"
Meghna rose with him, slipping into her coat like a second skin.
"And Vikram—no theatrics. No revenge. Win her with truth, or don’t win her at all. But for God’s sake, don’t creep her out. We want a love regained, not a scandal"
Outside, they parted on the sidewalk—Meghna with a satisfied, secretive tilt to her mouth, Vikram walking away with a small, dangerous hope pulsing under his ribs. Behind him, the city moved on: lights, traffic, lives that would cross and recross. Inside him, something had shifted from longing to strategy. Meghna had handed him a map back into Sonarika’s life—one that required charm, persistence, and a willingness to cross moral lines he hadn’t yet named.
As he disappeared into the crowd, Meghna watched him go and whispered into the night, not for his ears but for her own.
"Make sure you do it right"
THAT WEEKEND EVENING
The private banquet hall glimmered like a palace of fleeting dreams—golden dbangs, chandelier lights, champagne flows, and the hum of corporate pride. Tonight was Sonarika’s night, the firm’s legend, the face of their success story , but now bidding farewell to the company. Applause and camera flashes greeted her arrival; none knew the ruin she carried within.
She stepped into the hall in a long emerald gown, slit running tastefully yet dangerously high, occasionally revealing the sculpted strength of her legs. She smiled, poised, elegant—but only she knew the tremor beneath all of it.
Tejas waved first, followed by Gayathri, Pooja, Aniket, Vishnu, and Pragya. Compliments flew like confetti—'You look stunning!', 'Star of the night!'—and she received every one with a soft grace, a trained smile masking the faint ache behind her eyes. Then came Meghna, dbangd in a rich blue saree, walking beside Rachika—bright-eyed, unsuspecting Rachika, who still believed Vikram was Sonarika’s destined future. The irony stung. If fate had a sense of humour, tonight it was cruel.
Sonarika hugged them, mind rehearsing composure. Meghna’s eyes shimmered with quiet triumph—she wasn’t here to celebrate; she was here to see how her seed of chaos was growing. And then, like a prince stepping out of a fairytale—but one stained with borrowed dreams—Vikram entered. No dark blazer tonight. Instead, a cream suit, sky-blue shirt beneath, radiating confidence and hope. The crowd cheered his arrival, and his face lit up when he saw her. Almost like love, almost like obsession.
"You look… radiant"
He said softly when they met, voice carrying a reverence that once made her feel invincible.
"And you" she replied, forcing a light laugh.
"Look more colourful than usual. Very unlike you"
"Tonight is your night" he smiled.
"I don’t deserve the spotlight"
If only he knew how little she wanted it.
Later, an executive approached her.
"Will your husband be joining us?"
She hesitated just a beat too long.
"He… might. He’s been busy. The business is doing exceptionally well"
The executive nodded and left, satisfied. But Sonarika wasn’t. Her mind replayed the cavernous steel empire she’d seen—her husband’s world now, forged by fire and betrayal. The Hemant she once loved—gentle, soft-spoken—had melted away into someone steel-edged, relentless, powerful. A man sculpted by hurt.
Her infidelity had not only broken a marriage; it had broken a man—and rebuilt him into something formidable and unreachable.
And yet, God help her, she felt drawn to that new Hemant more than ever.
Then the music changed.
Mozart. Soft, melancholic, dripping nostalgia.
Vikram extended a hand.
"Dance with me?"
She hesitated—but the crowd expected it. The past expected it. She placed her hand in his, and they drifted into the spotlight. Their bodies moved close in the slow classical rhythm—an echo of old sins. Once, this dance meant passion and secret nights tangled in forbidden sheets. Now, the touch felt hollow. Wrong. Almost suffocating.
She wasn’t that woman anymore.
But Vikram was still that man—eyes searching hers, every subtle movement trying to reignite something long turned to ash. His hands were gentle yet desperate, his heart beating too loud for the room.
She didn’t feel fire.
She felt nothing but the ghost of regret.
He sensed the shift. For the first time, defeat flickered across his face—but pride held him upright. Hope is a stubborn poison.
Across the hall, Meghna watched… and smiled, believing her web still held. Then she slipped away quietly with Rachika, whispering poison of future promises into the night.
Sonarika continued to dance, but she wasn’t here anymore.
She was somewhere between who she had been
and the woman she was terrified she could never become again.
And outside this cocoon of music and illusion, a storm was walking toward them—cold-hearted, steel-clad, sword-bound.
Hemant was coming.
Not as her husband.
Not as the man she once broke.
But as the empire she inadvertently forged.
SOME TIME LATER
The dance floor glowed under soft golden lights. Sonarika and Vikram moved in slow rhythm, Mozart floating like an old memory that refused to die. For others, it was elegance. For Sonarika, it was a silence filled with ghosts.
Then came the sound.
A soft hush in the parking driveway, heads turning as camera flashes shifted, murmurs rising.
A deep navy-blue Lexus LM 350h — four-seater, ultra-luxury — rolled to a stop at the entrance. Its polished surface gleamed like still water under moonlight. On the grille, the YOD Industries emblem shone like a rising dynasty's crest.
The doors opened with ceremonious slowness.
Hemant stepped out.
Black silk suit. Crimson shirt glowing under the night lights. His long hair neatly brushed back, face calm… but eyes carrying the quiet violence of someone who had drowned and learned to breathe underwater.
A man forged, not born.
Executives from Tanishq rushed to him with sudden reverence — palms folded, backs slightly bent, voices filled with respect. Years ago, they wouldn’t have spared him a glance. Tonight, they looked honoured just to greet him. It felt good. For a second, truly good.
Then he saw them.
Across the hall, Sonarika—elegant, radiant, breathtaking—dancing with Vikram. Her leg glimmering through the high slit of her gown, her body lightly aligned with Vikram’s. And Vikram’s eyes… still burning with the same hunger from his nightmares.
A slow, clean stab in Hemant’s chest.
His jaw flexed. His eyes darkened. Meghna, watching from the corner, smirked, relishing the storm she believed she controlled. But then something else happened. Hemant inhaled. Blinked the pain away. His posture straightened, and he calmly turned back toward the executives, offering them a tempered smile, as though nothing ever touched him.
Cold poise.
A king refusing to bleed in public.
The song ended. Applause erupted. Sonarika turned — and froze. He came. Joy surged through her chest, and in a heartbeat she abandoned Vikram and walked toward him, hesitating only long enough to tuck her hair behind her ear, breathing hope as if it were oxygen.
"I’m so glad you came" she whispered, eyes shining.
Hemant’s expression didn’t soften. He gave a polite nod.
"I noticed. Looked like you were… already having a wonderful time. With your man"
The words hit like a quiet explosion.
"No, Hemant— that’s not—"
He raised a hand lightly, not to stop her—just to end the moment. Then he walked past her without another word. Sonarika stood still, breath shaky, the warmth draining from her evening.
The party carried on.
Speeches began. Sonarika sat tense, fear swirling — Hemant was unpredictable in moments like these. What if he humiliated her? An executive nudged Hemant to speak. The mic landed in his hand. He looked at the crowd, then at Sonarika — and she braced herself. But his voice was calm. Proud. Not of marriage. But of who she was to the world.
"Sonarika’s journey here" he began.
"Has turned her into the woman she always deserved to become. Tanishq didn’t just employ her — it shaped her. Gave her confidence, strength, and refinement"
Hemant continued.
"I’ve often joked that Tanishq is her true husband. I was only the decorative piece in the living room"
Laughter echoed — light, affectionate.
"But jokes aside, her dedication, her discipline, her grace — these will remain long after she leaves. She leaves not just as an employee, but as a legacy"
He paused, voice steady, eyes unreadable.
"I am proud. Not as her husband — but as someone who had the fortune of witnessing her growth"
Applause thundered. Sonarika exhaled, overwhelmed, wanting to both smile and cry. She wasn’t sure whether he meant to honour her… or quietly remind everyone she was no longer his to introduce. The celebration resumed — except for Sonarika. Her gaze followed Hemant like a prayer, a plea, a regret. Later, she caught him walking out.
"Where are you going?" she asked, voice fragile.
"My obligation is done" he replied.
"I attended. That was the expectation"
"Hemant, please—"
He stopped.
"Are you coming home tonight?" he asked quietly.
Sonarika hesitated.
"I… I told Ragini I’d stay with her and the girls tonight"
His smile cut deeper than anger ever could.
"Of course. Another night. Another excuse"
“It’s not a lie—”
"Enjoy your night and future with your big dick lover" he murmured, gaze distant.
"I’ll go home to my son and my sister. At least there, I don’t feel like the extra piece in someone else’s story"
The Lexus door shut gently, yet the sound echoed like finality.
As the car pulled away, Sonarika’s vision blurred. Glass halls, glittering gowns, applause… yet she had never felt so alone.
Hemant didn’t look back once.
She stood in the driveway, tears gathering, watching him vanish into the Mumbai night — successful, untouchable, wounded beyond reach… and somehow still the man she loved most when she least deserved to.
And for the first time that night, she felt the full weight of her choices.
The curtain had not fallen.
It had only just begun to tear.
(TO BE CONTD)
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