21-03-2026, 05:32 PM
Chapter 22: Anandhi’s Quiet Storm (Her POV)
The evening she came out of college bit earlier.. Anandhi walked the familiar lane toward the villa, Her cloth bag held a few fruits and a small jar of homemade pickle for the old lady. Riya and Rohan were safe at college; she had an hour before she needed to return.
The gate creaked as she pushed it open. The garden was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. She stepped into the physiotherapy room — a wide, sunlit space with low mats, parallel bars, and the wheelchair waiting by the window.
Madam — the retired headmistress — smiled from her chair. Her silver hair was neatly braided, eyes sharp despite the frailty of her body.
“You’re early today, Anandhi.”
“I wanted to make sure you’re comfortable,” Anandhi replied, setting the bag down and kneeling beside her.
She began the routine — gentle pressure on the thighs, slow circles to stimulate blood flow, careful stretches to ease the stiffness. Madam sighed with each press — “Ahhh… ahhh…” — small sounds of relief mixed with discomfort. Anandhi worked in silence for a while, her hands steady, practiced, caring.
But her mind wandered.
It always wandered to him lately.
Jeeva.
The first time she saw him in the corridor — tall, fair, sharp jaw, intense dark eyes — her heart had stopped. For one impossible heartbeat she thought Rahul had come back — young again, the way he looked when they eloped under the banyan tree, when he tied the mangalsutra with trembling fingers, when he carried her across the threshold of their tiny shack.
The resemblance was uncanny. The voice. The smile. The way he chopped vegetables — same grip, same rhythm. The way he carried Riya on his shoulders, Rohan climbing him like a tree. The way he looked at the kids — pure love, no calculation.
She had felt it — deep, dangerous, forbidden.
A spark.
A pull.
Like she was twenty-two again, heart racing, body awakening.
But she had pushed it down.
When he stood behind her in the kitchen — close enough that she felt his heat — when his voice dropped low (“I just wanted to spend time with you”) — she had turned and seen the bulge in his shorts, the hunger in his eyes. She had shut it down — gently, firmly — because she had to.
“I would love only once… Maybe that’s only Rahul.”
The words had been true when she said them.
But they hurt her too.
And then his cold reply — “I’m not your husband. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll stay for a few more days and then leave.”
It had stung more than she expected.
She had grown used to his presence — his quiet help, his laughter with the kids, the way he made the flat feel full again. For the first time in years she hadn’t felt alone. And now he was pulling away — distant, silent, eyes avoiding hers at breakfast.
She felt… rejected.
Not because she wanted him — she couldn’t want him — but because she had started to rely on him.
To enjoy him. To feel young again when he smiled at her.
It was wrong.
She knew it was wrong.
He looked like Rahul. Acted like Rahul. Made her feel like she was back in love.
But he wasn’t Rahul.
She had kids.
She had Rahul — somewhere, missing, silent for weeks.
She had herself — a woman who had chosen one man, one love, one life.
She finished the physio session — Madam thanking her softly, eyes grateful.
Anandhi helped her back to the window, adjusted the blanket over her legs.
“You’re distracted today,” Madam said gently.
Anandhi smiled — small, forced.
“Just… family things.”
Madam nodded.
“Family is everything. Hold it close.”
The word hit her.
She knows she is having this love feel on someone not her husband but looks like her husand
and he is much younger than her.
Anandhi walked home slowly — saree swaying, mind churning.
She decided: she would slow down.
Hide it.
Bury the feelings.
Pretend he was just a helpful relative.
A brother-in-law.
No more lingering glances.
No more accidental touches.
No more letting him stand too close in the kitchen.
She would be polite. Friendly. Distant.
For her kids.
For Rahul — wherever he was.
For herself.
But deep down — in the quiet part she didn’t want to admit — she knew it was already too late.
The spark had caught.
And it was burning.
She does'nt know she is falling for young man, and the young man is none other than her own husband.
Irony she fell twice for same man unkowingly.
The evening she came out of college bit earlier.. Anandhi walked the familiar lane toward the villa, Her cloth bag held a few fruits and a small jar of homemade pickle for the old lady. Riya and Rohan were safe at college; she had an hour before she needed to return.
The gate creaked as she pushed it open. The garden was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirp of birds. She stepped into the physiotherapy room — a wide, sunlit space with low mats, parallel bars, and the wheelchair waiting by the window.
Madam — the retired headmistress — smiled from her chair. Her silver hair was neatly braided, eyes sharp despite the frailty of her body.
“You’re early today, Anandhi.”
“I wanted to make sure you’re comfortable,” Anandhi replied, setting the bag down and kneeling beside her.
She began the routine — gentle pressure on the thighs, slow circles to stimulate blood flow, careful stretches to ease the stiffness. Madam sighed with each press — “Ahhh… ahhh…” — small sounds of relief mixed with discomfort. Anandhi worked in silence for a while, her hands steady, practiced, caring.
But her mind wandered.
It always wandered to him lately.
Jeeva.
The first time she saw him in the corridor — tall, fair, sharp jaw, intense dark eyes — her heart had stopped. For one impossible heartbeat she thought Rahul had come back — young again, the way he looked when they eloped under the banyan tree, when he tied the mangalsutra with trembling fingers, when he carried her across the threshold of their tiny shack.
The resemblance was uncanny. The voice. The smile. The way he chopped vegetables — same grip, same rhythm. The way he carried Riya on his shoulders, Rohan climbing him like a tree. The way he looked at the kids — pure love, no calculation.
She had felt it — deep, dangerous, forbidden.
A spark.
A pull.
Like she was twenty-two again, heart racing, body awakening.
But she had pushed it down.
When he stood behind her in the kitchen — close enough that she felt his heat — when his voice dropped low (“I just wanted to spend time with you”) — she had turned and seen the bulge in his shorts, the hunger in his eyes. She had shut it down — gently, firmly — because she had to.
“I would love only once… Maybe that’s only Rahul.”
The words had been true when she said them.
But they hurt her too.
And then his cold reply — “I’m not your husband. You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll stay for a few more days and then leave.”
It had stung more than she expected.
She had grown used to his presence — his quiet help, his laughter with the kids, the way he made the flat feel full again. For the first time in years she hadn’t felt alone. And now he was pulling away — distant, silent, eyes avoiding hers at breakfast.
She felt… rejected.
Not because she wanted him — she couldn’t want him — but because she had started to rely on him.
To enjoy him. To feel young again when he smiled at her.
It was wrong.
She knew it was wrong.
He looked like Rahul. Acted like Rahul. Made her feel like she was back in love.
But he wasn’t Rahul.
She had kids.
She had Rahul — somewhere, missing, silent for weeks.
She had herself — a woman who had chosen one man, one love, one life.
She finished the physio session — Madam thanking her softly, eyes grateful.
Anandhi helped her back to the window, adjusted the blanket over her legs.
“You’re distracted today,” Madam said gently.
Anandhi smiled — small, forced.
“Just… family things.”
Madam nodded.
“Family is everything. Hold it close.”
The word hit her.
She knows she is having this love feel on someone not her husband but looks like her husand
and he is much younger than her.
Anandhi walked home slowly — saree swaying, mind churning.
She decided: she would slow down.
Hide it.
Bury the feelings.
Pretend he was just a helpful relative.
A brother-in-law.
No more lingering glances.
No more accidental touches.
No more letting him stand too close in the kitchen.
She would be polite. Friendly. Distant.
For her kids.
For Rahul — wherever he was.
For herself.
But deep down — in the quiet part she didn’t want to admit — she knew it was already too late.
The spark had caught.
And it was burning.
She does'nt know she is falling for young man, and the young man is none other than her own husband.
Irony she fell twice for same man unkowingly.
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