05-04-2026, 10:34 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-04-2026, 10:44 PM by Harry Jordan. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
(CHAPTER CONTD)
The night came alive the moment Sonarika and her family arrived at the concert venue of Arijit Singh. The air itself seemed to hum with anticipation—lights flashing, people pouring in, laughter and excitement blending into a shared rhythm. It felt like stepping into a different world, one where emotions were louder, brighter, and harder to hide.
At the entrance, they were greeted by Vikram, standing confidently with his younger siblings, Pawan and Sriti. The contrast from the last time Sonarika had seen them—at Ritesh’s memorial in Gurgaon—was striking. That day had been filled with silence and grief; tonight was full of life. Conversations flowed more easily, smiles came quicker, and the heaviness that once lingered between them had softened, if only for the evening.
Jagjeet quickly found common ground with Vikram, their discussion drifting into business, particularly Bajajcorp and its legacy. Their voices carried a tone of mutual respect, a familiarity built on past dealings. Meanwhile, Meenakshi was introduced to Sreelekha Naik, and the two women slipped into a conversation that felt both polite and quietly evaluative—especially when it turned toward Sonarika’s future in Goa.
"Where’s Katherine?" Sonarika asked softly at one point.
Sreelekha shook her head.
"She stayed back at the hotel. Crowds like this… they’re not easy for her"
Sonarika nodded, understanding more than questioning. Soon, the group moved into the main concert area. The energy there was overwhelming in the best way—lights sweeping across the crowd, music vibrating through the ground, and an atmosphere soaked in romance and nostalgia. It felt like every person there was carrying a story, and the music was stitching them together for a few fleeting hours.
Karan, full of excitement, was soon whisked away by Anjali and Ragini toward a cozier section, where they could enjoy the show more comfortably. Sonarika watched him go with a smile before turning back to the stage, letting herself absorb the moment. Not long after, Vikram approached her.
"Come" he said with a soft smile.
"I want to show you something"
He led her and the others to a private gallery he had booked—an elevated space with a perfect view of the stage. The entire group gathered there, laughter returning, voices rising as song after song filled the night. Sonarika found herself singing along with Ragini, Anjali, and even Karan when he returned briefly, their voices blending with thousands of others.
For a while, everything felt simple. But then, curiosity tugged at her. She noticed an upper section of the gallery—more secluded, dimly lit, almost hidden. Drawn to it, she made her way upstairs quietly. What she saw there felt like stepping into a different kind of space.
Mouni and Sagar stood close together, lost in their own world, swaying gently to the music. Nearby, Meghna and Disha shared a similar closeness, their laughter low, their presence intimate. The sight unsettled her slightly—especially Meghna, whose role in bringing her and Vikram together still lingered uncomfortably in her mind.
And then, in the far corner—Vikram. He stood alone, his gaze distant, as though the music hadn’t quite reached him. But the moment he noticed her, his entire expression changed—like a lighthouse cutting through darkness.
"You came" he said, a warmth returning to his voice.
Sonarika felt a quiet relief seeing that shift. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything—the complications, the guilt, the weight of decisions waiting ahead. They stood there together, just like they used to. In Galaxy Apartments. In Bali. During those late-night dinners where time seemed to pause just for them. And then, as if the night itself had chosen the moment, Arijit started to sing 'Aavan Jaavan' from War 2.
"This is your moment" Vikram smiled softly.
Sonarika turned toward the stage, her heart stirring as the familiar melody filled the air. Without realizing it, she began to sing along, her voice blending into the music. The world around her faded—the crowd, the noise, everything.
![[Image: Arijit-Singh-Concert.png]](https://i.ibb.co/pjgm9HQT/Arijit-Singh-Concert.png)
Vikram stepped closer, his arms gently wrapping around her from behind. They moved with the rhythm, their voices low, their breaths syncing with the song. Memories flooded in—moments that once felt beautiful, full, undeniable. The mornings they had shared, the laughter, the quiet understanding that had once convinced her he was everything she needed. For a fleeting moment, it all felt real again.
Complete.
Ni tere sufne de vich sohneya (Oh beloved, in your dreams)
Ni tere sufne de vich sohneya (Oh beloved, in your dreams)
Saanu vi kadi aavan jaavan de (At times allow me to come and go as well)
He turned her gently, his hand guiding her face toward his. Their eyes met, and something in that gaze held her there—something deep, almost hypnotic.
Mere ambar mein aake joh thehra hai (The one who has settled in my sky)
Hai woh suraj nahi tera chehra hai (It's not the sun, but your face)
Zyada sone se bhi joh sunehra hai (It's more golden than even gold itself)
Sajra sajra, sajra sajra (It's fresh and radiant)
Tere toh dil nu laga ke sohneya (Oh beloved, I've given my heart to you)
Tere toh dil nu laga ke sohneya (Oh beloved, I've given my heart to you)
Saanu bhi kadi jashan manaavan de (At times allow me to celebrate as well)
The distance between them closed slowly, their breaths mingling, their lips just a heartbeat away. And then—Something broke. The trance shattered. Reality rushed back in. Sonarika stepped back abruptly, her expression changing in an instant. The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something uncertain, shaken.
"What happened?" Vikram asked softly.
But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she turned and walked away—quickly, almost urgently—leaving the quiet intensity of that space behind. Back in the lower gallery, she found Ragini.
"Where were you?" Ragini asked.
Sonarika didn’t respond. Not to that. She simply gathered Anjali and Karan, her hand instinctively reaching for her son’s.
"Come, Let’s go closer to the stage" she said gently.
They moved into the crowd, into the heart of the concert, where everything was louder, brighter, harder to think through.
Sonarika held Karan close as the music continued, his small presence grounding her in a way nothing else could. At one point, as she looked at him smiling, singing along, she imagined Hemant standing beside them.
Just for a moment. A complete picture. A family. Her chest tightened, but she didn’t let herself linger there. She glanced once toward the private gallery. Vikram stood there, watching. Even from a distance, she could see the disappointment in his eyes—but he still smiled. And after a moment, so did she. A small, quiet smile. Then she turned back—to Karan, to Ragini, to the music, to the life still in front of her. And somewhere deep within, beneath all the confusion and noise, a feeling settled softly into place.
For now—She was doing the right thing.
As the final notes of the concert faded into the night and the crowd began to thin, a soft exhaustion settled over everything—like the calm after a storm of emotions. Lights dimmed, conversations grew louder again, and people slowly began returning to their own realities.
"Mumma… can we call Papa?" Karan tugged gently at Sonarika’s hand.
There was no hesitation this time. Sonarika nodded and pulled out her phone. She knew one thing for certain—no matter what stood broken between them, Hemant would never ignore Karan. Not him. The call rang. Once. Twice. Again. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, her heartbeat slowing with each passing second. But the call kept ringing… and ringing…Until it stopped. No answer.
"Papa didn’t pick…" Karan’s face fell almost instantly.
Sonarika quickly pulled him close, smoothing his hair gently.
"Papa must be busy, baby" she said softly, forcing a reassuring smile.
"We’ll call him later, okay?"
Karan nodded, though the disappointment lingered in his small eyes. Sensing it, Sonarika shifted his attention, pointing toward the stage, talking about the lights, the music—anything to bring his smile back.
And slowly, it worked. But for Sonarika, something had shifted again. A small, quiet doubt had crept in. After the concert, Vikram had arranged a grand dinner at a posh hotel. The setting was lavish—soft golden lighting, a long table reserved exclusively for them, impeccable service. It felt like a celebration meant to close the night on a high. Everyone was there. Talking. Laughing. Reliving moments from the concert.
Sonarika smiled along, participating where she could, but there was a tension beneath her calm. Being surrounded by so many people—especially Meghna and Mouni—felt… unsettling. These were not just faces in a crowd. These were people who had, in their own ways, played roles in the choices she had made. In the mistakes she now carried.
At one point, Sreelekha raised her glass.
"To new beginnings, to Sonarika, and the incredible journey that awaits her at VATIKA. I expect nothing but the best from you"
She said warmly. Glasses lifted around the table. Smiles followed.
"To Sonarika"
She nodded, offering a grateful smile, though her fingers tightened slightly around her glass. As she lowered it, her eyes met Vikram’s. He was already looking at her. There it was again—that same magnetic pull, that quiet intensity in his gaze. It unsettled her more now than it comforted her. She broke eye contact first. After dinner, she excused herself and walked toward the washroom, needing a moment alone. But she didn’t find it. Meghna was already there. She caught Sonarika’s reflection in the mirror and smiled—a slow, knowing smile that immediately put her on edge.
"Well, looks like you’ve finally found your path. Goa suits you, doesn’t it?"
Meghna said casually, turning on the tap, Sonarika didn’t respond immediately, focusing on washing her hands.
"And Vikram, your connection with him seems stronger than ever"
Meghna continued, her tone light but pointed.
"That’s not true"
Sonarika said firmly. Meghna laughed softly.
"Oh please. I saw you both upstairs. You can pretend all you want, but you can’t ignore what’s there"
She leaned slightly closer.
"It’s not just infatuation, Sonarika. It never was"
"Stop it" Sonarika snapped, her patience thinning.
Meghna only smiled wider.
"What? Planning to go back to Hemant now? After everything?" she said mockingly.
The words hit harder than Sonarika expected.
"That’s not your concern"
She replied, her voice tight. Meghna let out a short laugh.
"You really think that’s possible? After what you’ve done? You’ve done too much damage"
She shook her head. Sonarika’s jaw clenched.
"And anyways, Hemant’s doing quite well for himself. Haven’t you heard?"
Meghna added, almost casually. Sonarika looked at her sharply.
"In certain circles, they’ve started calling him ‘Alpha' Kumar..."
Meghna continued, drying her hands slowly, The name alone felt unfamiliar.
"Seems he’s been… quite popular lately" Meghna added, her tone dripping with implication.
"Especially among the Bollywood Ladies"
Something burned inside Sonarika—anger, disbelief, something sharper than both.
"Be careful" she said, her voice low but firm.
"Don’t make the mistake of turning me into your enemy"
"We’re long past that, dear" Meghna paused, then laughed softly.
She stepped closer, her voice dropping just enough to feel personal.
"You still don’t get it, do you?" she said.
"You were never just making choices. You were being moved"
"What are you talking about?" Sonarika frowned.
Meghna’s smile didn’t fade.
"You’re a pawn, Sonarika. Always have been" She tilted her head slightly.
"And whether you like it or not… your fate is still in play. In things much bigger than you"
Before Sonarika could respond, Meghna turned and walked out. Leaving behind silence. And unease. Sonarika stood there for a moment, her reflection staring back at her—but it didn’t feel like her anymore. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her phone. She called Hemant again. Engaged. The same result. A deep breath later, she dialed another number. Tara. The call connected.
"Tara, where is Hemant?" Sonarika asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
There was a brief pause before Tara responded.
"Sir had to leave the city for an important matter"
“Where?” Sonarika pressed.
"London" Tara replied.
"London? Why?" The answer caught her off guard.
"He mentioned… settling some old business" Tara said carefully.
The call ended, but the thoughts didn’t. London. Her mind immediately went back—long ago, when Hemant had first traveled there before the birth of YOD Industries. The first prototype. The first deals. And then it clicked.
ANVIL
The private military corporation—his biggest clients. A chill ran through her. As the family made their way home later that night, still talking about the concert, laughing, reliving moments, Sonarika sat quietly among them. Physically present. But mentally somewhere else. With Hemant. With the life he was building. With the man he was becoming. And for the first time, she wondered—not just who he had been…But who he was now. And whether she had already lost him to a world she never truly understood.
THE NEXT MORNING
Sonarika woke with a start, her breath uneven, her body still wrapped in the warmth of something that didn’t exist. For a fleeting moment, she didn’t question it. She was back there. Back in Mumbai. Back in that apartment that once held her entire world together. She felt his arm around her, firm and familiar. Heard his voice, soft and close.
"Sona…"
The name alone melted something inside her. She turned toward him, instinctively, her fingers brushing against his chest, her lips finding his in a moment that felt so real—so achingly real—And then—She woke up. This time for real. Her eyes opened to the quiet stillness of her room in Janakpuri. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her. The air felt colder, emptier. There was no warmth. No presence. Just absence. She sat up slowly, her hand unconsciously touching the space beside her, as if expecting him to still be there. But there was nothing. After freshening up, still carrying the lingering ache of that dream, she reached for her phone. A message from Tara blinked on the screen.
'Sir returned to Mumbai late last night'
Her heartbeat quickened. Without thinking twice, she dialed his number. The call connected. And the moment he answered, everything she had been holding in spilled out.
"Where the hell were you?" her voice came sharp, unfiltered.
"Do you have any idea how many times I called you?"
"I was out of the city" Hemant replied calmly.
"I had something important to take care of"
"Excuses, every time" she snapped.
"Even Tara didn’t know. I thought she was your assistant"
There was silence on the other end. Then his voice came again—steady, controlled.
"A close associate of mine passed away. I was attending the funeral"
The anger drained out of her instantly.
"I… I’m sorry" she said, her tone softening, guilt creeping in.
"I didn’t know"
"Its all alright , I am used to the grimm and brooding moments , tragedies are consistent with me. Atleast I am glad it didn't affect you and your perfect family. Would've ruined your night with family at the concert"
The words hit her harder than she expected.
"Concert? You knew?"
"Of course. I saw the pictures in your social media" Hemant said simply.
"Karan missed you" she said quickly, almost defensively.
"Some of those video calls… he wanted his Papa there. He wanted to show you"
There was a brief silence. Then Hemant spoke, his voice softer—but distant.
"He can have his happy moments with his Papa when he comes home from vacation. After all he has a new home waiting for him"
"He’ll love it. I’m sure" Sonarika tried to soften the space between them.
"Hope so....its just been few days and I already miss his antics...I saw how happy he was in those concert photos.."
Hemant said. with a faint exhale. For a second, there was no bitterness. Just… something real. But it didn’t last.
"I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.....surrounded by your loved ones. Your parents. Karan. Anjali. Your friends. Mouni. Sagar. Your Vikram"
"My Vikram? What are you talking about?" Sonarika stiffened.
“How did the double date go?” he asked, almost casually.
"Double date? Hemant, who told you this?" Her breath caught.
"Kunal told me. Mouni bragged to him about their planned double date with you and Vikram to rekindle the kind of bonding you guys had in the past"
Hemant confessed with a bitter tone. Sonarika shut her eyes briefly, frustration building.
"Hemant....There was no double date...you have to believe me" she said firmly.
Silence followed. A long one. Then—
"How can I believe you...after everything. But one thing is certain Sonarika. I am no longer upset , lately I was bothered by the separation. But this isolation also helped seeing things a little clearly. Maybe somewhere , I did slip up in our marriage and that resulted in you choosing Vikram. And now , I am no longer bothered by it!"
Her chest tightened. His words felt heavier than anger ever could.
"I’m happy for you. Truly. You’ve found someone who makes your life feel complete. And it’s time I let you go—for real. So this divorce doesn’t become another wound. I don't want us to end up like a toxic couple and learn to hate each other. We will just focus on Karan and his well being for now and make sure our individual time is spend on his childhood so that he doesn't feel anything left out in life!"
Her throat tightened. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop him. Her vision blurred.
"Life has taught me that not everytime one can have hope. Sometimes its just suffering , and for someone to truly move on , one has to use that suffering as a motivation rather than a means of pain. I have accepted that you have moved on and for the moment. It has given me peace. So I wish you nothing but a bright future ahead , even if I am not a part of it!"
He finished
"Call me in the evening for Karan. Have a good day and a great future Sonarika. Bye!"
He gave his final words in the call.
"Hemant, wait—"
The line went dead. Sonarika sat there, frozen, the phone still in her hand. His words echoed again and again, each one carving deeper than the last.
A broken sound escaped her lips as the tears finally fell. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t resentment. This was worse. This was acceptance. And it shattered her. Slowly, she stood up, her steps unsteady, and made her way to the garden outside. The morning light felt too bright, too indifferent to the storm inside her. She sat down, away from everyone, her face buried in her hands. And for the first time in months, the weight of it all truly settled in. Not just the mistake. Not just the betrayal. But the loss. The finality of it. Regret flooded her—sharp, relentless. Regret for the choices she had made. Regret for the moment everything had changed. Regret for not seeing what she had… until it was too late. She thought of Hemant. Of who he had been. Of who he had become. And how far away he felt now. The distance wasn’t just physical anymore. It was something deeper.Something she didn’t know how to cross. And as she sat there, quietly breaking under the weight of it all, one truth became impossible to ignore—She hadn’t just lost her marriage. She had lost him.
A few hours later, Sonarika stood outside Vikram’s hotel room. Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her pink saree. She had chosen it carefully—soft, elegant… controlled. She had come here with a purpose. To stop this. To make sure last night never repeated itself. She took a quiet breath and rang the bell. The door opened. Vikram stood there in an open shirt and loose pants, his hair slightly messy, like he had been in the middle of something. But the moment he saw her, his expression shifted—his eyes lighting up instantly.
"Sonarika…"
That smile. That same magnetic pull. For a brief second, she forgot everything she had rehearsed.
"Hi…" she said softly.
Vikram stepped aside, letting her in, his gaze not leaving her.
"You look… incredible" he said, almost under his breath.
"This saree—honestly, it just… amplifies everything about you"
She gave a faint, playful scoff, trying to steady herself.
"You’re just saying that because you like staring at my midriff and navel"
"I do" He didn’t even hesitate.
The honesty caught her off guard. To distract herself, she looked around.
"What were you doing?"
"Trying to fix this. Buttons came off" Vikram picked up his shirt slightly.
"You? Fixing clothes? I thought someone like you would just buy a new one"
She raised an eyebrow.
"I could. But this one’s my favorite shirt" He chuckled lightly.
"Do you even know how to stitch properly?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"I try, though I’ve stabbed myself a few times already" he admitted.
She noticed the tiny pricks on his fingers—and without thinking, she stepped closer.
"Give it to me" she said gently.
Vikram watched her as she took over. Her fingers moved with quiet precision, pulling out a longer thread when she noticed his was too short.
"You even messed this up" she teased lightly.
"I had faith in improvisation" he replied.
She shook her head faintly, a small smile forming despite herself. Carefully, she threaded the needle, her focus shifting entirely to the task. For a moment, it felt simple. Normal. But the air between them began to change. Too quiet. Too aware. She could feel his gaze on her. When it was done, she leaned forward instinctively, bringing the thread to her mouth to bite it clean. The action bared the line of her throat. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
She had to look up then. Their eyes met. The world stopped. It was the concert all over again, but a thousand times more potent. There was no crowd here, no music to blame. Just the two of them, and a decade of unfinished desire screaming in the quiet. He moved first. His thumb came up, brushing against her lower lip. He showed her the tiny black filament caught on his skin. The touch was incendiary. It sparked a conflagration that raced down her spine, pooling low in her belly.
Then he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was possession. A reclaiming. His lips were demanding, his tongue seeking immediate entrance, and with a broken sob she granted it. Her hands, frozen at her sides, were forcibly lifted by him and wrapped around his neck. The feel of his warm skin, the solid muscle of his shoulders under her fingers—it shattered the last of her resistance. He broke the kiss only to shrug off the shirt she had just mended, letting it fall to the floor. Her handiwork, discarded. The symbolism was lost in a haze of need. Her palms slid over his naked torso, rediscovering the familiar landscape of him. The heat of his skin was a brand.
His mouth was everywhere. Her cheeks, her jaw, the frantic pulse at the base of her neck. His teeth scbangd her collarbone through the silk of her blouse, and a whimper escaped her. He unwrapped her pallu in one swift, practiced motion, the six yards of pink silk sighing to the carpet. He knelt before her, his eyes dark with worship, fixed on the hole of her navel.
"Vicky…" she pleaded, but it was not a stop.
![[Image: Vikram-Hotel-Room.png]](https://i.ibb.co/t7rYbRy/Vikram-Hotel-Room.png)
He leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her stomach, just above the waistband of her petticoat. Then his tongue flicked out, tracing the delicate dip of her navel. The sensation was so intimate, so shockingly erotic that her knees buckled. A sharp, ragged moan tore from her throat.
He guided her back until she was sitting on the edge of the large couch, his hands working the tiny hooks of her blouse with an urgency that made her shiver. The pink fabric parted. He peeled it open, then fumbled with the front clasp of her matching bra. It sprang open, and her full, heavy breasts spilled into his waiting hands, into the cool air of the room.
"God, Soni. I’ve dreamed of these" A groan ripped from his chest.
His mouth was on her left nipple before she could draw another breath. There was no tenderness, only raw, desperate hunger. He suckled hard, his tongue lashing the stiffened peak, his teeth grazing the sensitive areola. Pleasure, sharp and electric, shot directly to her core, making her arch off the couch with a cry. He switched to the right breast, giving it the same relentless, worshipful attention, sucking and slurping as his hands kneaded the soft, yielding flesh.
"I want to drink you" he gasped against her damp skin, moving back to the left.
"I want to taste your milk here"
A hysterical, breathless laugh bubbled up in her.
"You’d… ah!… you’d have to learn how a woman’s body works first"
He looked up, his lips glistening, his eyes burning.
"I know how it works. I’ll put my baby in this belly, and then I’ll have my fill"
The crude, possessive promise should have revolted her. It did the opposite. It stoked the fire higher.
"Has anyone ever loved these like I do?" he demanded, his thumb circling a nipple.
"Has anyone ever made you moan like this?"
"Hemant" The name fell from her lips, unbidden, a stupid, reflexive truth.
Hemant
The sound of his name was a bucket of ice water. Reality crashed back in a sickening wave. The taste of Vikram’s skin turned to ash in her mouth. The pleasure curdled into a deep, gut-wrenching shame. She looked down—at her breasts exposed and glistening from his mouth, at this man who was not her Hemant on his knees between her thighs, at the wreckage of her marriage scattered in this hotel room.
"No"
The word was a gasp. She shoved him back, hard, scrambling away. Her hands flew to her chest, clumsily hooking her bra, yanking her blouse closed.
"No, no, no. This is a mistake. A terrible mistake"
"Sonarika, wait—" Vikram reached for her, confusion and lingering desire warring on his face.
But she was already running, snatching her pallu from the floor, fumbling with the lock. She didn’t look back. She fled down the corridor, the echo of her own heartbeat a frantic drum of condemnation in her ears. The ride home was a silent, nauseating blur. She walked into her maternal home on trembling legs, ignoring everyone else, and locked herself in her old bedroom.
Only then did she collapse. Her back slid down the length of the door until she hit the floor, a broken doll. The tears came then, hot and silent and full of a despair so complete it choked her. She crumpled forward, her forehead touching her knees, the expensive pink silk of her saree bunching around her. She wept for the woman she had been, for the wife she had failed to be, for the tempting, ruinous path she had almost taken.
'I am a wreck. A shipwreck'
The thought was a cold, certain truth.
'Hemant left because he saw this in me. This weakness. This chaos. I don’t deserve to be saved. I deserve to sink'
In the dark silence of the room, hunched on the floor, Sonarika felt all hope dissolve, leaving nothing but the salt of her tears and the aching, hollowed-out memory of Vikram’s mouth on her skin.
(TO BE CONTD)
The night came alive the moment Sonarika and her family arrived at the concert venue of Arijit Singh. The air itself seemed to hum with anticipation—lights flashing, people pouring in, laughter and excitement blending into a shared rhythm. It felt like stepping into a different world, one where emotions were louder, brighter, and harder to hide.
At the entrance, they were greeted by Vikram, standing confidently with his younger siblings, Pawan and Sriti. The contrast from the last time Sonarika had seen them—at Ritesh’s memorial in Gurgaon—was striking. That day had been filled with silence and grief; tonight was full of life. Conversations flowed more easily, smiles came quicker, and the heaviness that once lingered between them had softened, if only for the evening.
Jagjeet quickly found common ground with Vikram, their discussion drifting into business, particularly Bajajcorp and its legacy. Their voices carried a tone of mutual respect, a familiarity built on past dealings. Meanwhile, Meenakshi was introduced to Sreelekha Naik, and the two women slipped into a conversation that felt both polite and quietly evaluative—especially when it turned toward Sonarika’s future in Goa.
"Where’s Katherine?" Sonarika asked softly at one point.
Sreelekha shook her head.
"She stayed back at the hotel. Crowds like this… they’re not easy for her"
Sonarika nodded, understanding more than questioning. Soon, the group moved into the main concert area. The energy there was overwhelming in the best way—lights sweeping across the crowd, music vibrating through the ground, and an atmosphere soaked in romance and nostalgia. It felt like every person there was carrying a story, and the music was stitching them together for a few fleeting hours.
Karan, full of excitement, was soon whisked away by Anjali and Ragini toward a cozier section, where they could enjoy the show more comfortably. Sonarika watched him go with a smile before turning back to the stage, letting herself absorb the moment. Not long after, Vikram approached her.
"Come" he said with a soft smile.
"I want to show you something"
He led her and the others to a private gallery he had booked—an elevated space with a perfect view of the stage. The entire group gathered there, laughter returning, voices rising as song after song filled the night. Sonarika found herself singing along with Ragini, Anjali, and even Karan when he returned briefly, their voices blending with thousands of others.
For a while, everything felt simple. But then, curiosity tugged at her. She noticed an upper section of the gallery—more secluded, dimly lit, almost hidden. Drawn to it, she made her way upstairs quietly. What she saw there felt like stepping into a different kind of space.
Mouni and Sagar stood close together, lost in their own world, swaying gently to the music. Nearby, Meghna and Disha shared a similar closeness, their laughter low, their presence intimate. The sight unsettled her slightly—especially Meghna, whose role in bringing her and Vikram together still lingered uncomfortably in her mind.
And then, in the far corner—Vikram. He stood alone, his gaze distant, as though the music hadn’t quite reached him. But the moment he noticed her, his entire expression changed—like a lighthouse cutting through darkness.
"You came" he said, a warmth returning to his voice.
Sonarika felt a quiet relief seeing that shift. For a moment, she allowed herself to forget everything—the complications, the guilt, the weight of decisions waiting ahead. They stood there together, just like they used to. In Galaxy Apartments. In Bali. During those late-night dinners where time seemed to pause just for them. And then, as if the night itself had chosen the moment, Arijit started to sing 'Aavan Jaavan' from War 2.
"This is your moment" Vikram smiled softly.
Sonarika turned toward the stage, her heart stirring as the familiar melody filled the air. Without realizing it, she began to sing along, her voice blending into the music. The world around her faded—the crowd, the noise, everything.
Vikram stepped closer, his arms gently wrapping around her from behind. They moved with the rhythm, their voices low, their breaths syncing with the song. Memories flooded in—moments that once felt beautiful, full, undeniable. The mornings they had shared, the laughter, the quiet understanding that had once convinced her he was everything she needed. For a fleeting moment, it all felt real again.
Complete.
Ni tere sufne de vich sohneya (Oh beloved, in your dreams)
Ni tere sufne de vich sohneya (Oh beloved, in your dreams)
Saanu vi kadi aavan jaavan de (At times allow me to come and go as well)
He turned her gently, his hand guiding her face toward his. Their eyes met, and something in that gaze held her there—something deep, almost hypnotic.
Mere ambar mein aake joh thehra hai (The one who has settled in my sky)
Hai woh suraj nahi tera chehra hai (It's not the sun, but your face)
Zyada sone se bhi joh sunehra hai (It's more golden than even gold itself)
Sajra sajra, sajra sajra (It's fresh and radiant)
Tere toh dil nu laga ke sohneya (Oh beloved, I've given my heart to you)
Tere toh dil nu laga ke sohneya (Oh beloved, I've given my heart to you)
Saanu bhi kadi jashan manaavan de (At times allow me to celebrate as well)
The distance between them closed slowly, their breaths mingling, their lips just a heartbeat away. And then—Something broke. The trance shattered. Reality rushed back in. Sonarika stepped back abruptly, her expression changing in an instant. The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something uncertain, shaken.
"What happened?" Vikram asked softly.
But she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Instead, she turned and walked away—quickly, almost urgently—leaving the quiet intensity of that space behind. Back in the lower gallery, she found Ragini.
"Where were you?" Ragini asked.
Sonarika didn’t respond. Not to that. She simply gathered Anjali and Karan, her hand instinctively reaching for her son’s.
"Come, Let’s go closer to the stage" she said gently.
They moved into the crowd, into the heart of the concert, where everything was louder, brighter, harder to think through.
Sonarika held Karan close as the music continued, his small presence grounding her in a way nothing else could. At one point, as she looked at him smiling, singing along, she imagined Hemant standing beside them.
Just for a moment. A complete picture. A family. Her chest tightened, but she didn’t let herself linger there. She glanced once toward the private gallery. Vikram stood there, watching. Even from a distance, she could see the disappointment in his eyes—but he still smiled. And after a moment, so did she. A small, quiet smile. Then she turned back—to Karan, to Ragini, to the music, to the life still in front of her. And somewhere deep within, beneath all the confusion and noise, a feeling settled softly into place.
For now—She was doing the right thing.
As the final notes of the concert faded into the night and the crowd began to thin, a soft exhaustion settled over everything—like the calm after a storm of emotions. Lights dimmed, conversations grew louder again, and people slowly began returning to their own realities.
"Mumma… can we call Papa?" Karan tugged gently at Sonarika’s hand.
There was no hesitation this time. Sonarika nodded and pulled out her phone. She knew one thing for certain—no matter what stood broken between them, Hemant would never ignore Karan. Not him. The call rang. Once. Twice. Again. Her eyes stayed fixed on the screen, her heartbeat slowing with each passing second. But the call kept ringing… and ringing…Until it stopped. No answer.
"Papa didn’t pick…" Karan’s face fell almost instantly.
Sonarika quickly pulled him close, smoothing his hair gently.
"Papa must be busy, baby" she said softly, forcing a reassuring smile.
"We’ll call him later, okay?"
Karan nodded, though the disappointment lingered in his small eyes. Sensing it, Sonarika shifted his attention, pointing toward the stage, talking about the lights, the music—anything to bring his smile back.
And slowly, it worked. But for Sonarika, something had shifted again. A small, quiet doubt had crept in. After the concert, Vikram had arranged a grand dinner at a posh hotel. The setting was lavish—soft golden lighting, a long table reserved exclusively for them, impeccable service. It felt like a celebration meant to close the night on a high. Everyone was there. Talking. Laughing. Reliving moments from the concert.
Sonarika smiled along, participating where she could, but there was a tension beneath her calm. Being surrounded by so many people—especially Meghna and Mouni—felt… unsettling. These were not just faces in a crowd. These were people who had, in their own ways, played roles in the choices she had made. In the mistakes she now carried.
At one point, Sreelekha raised her glass.
"To new beginnings, to Sonarika, and the incredible journey that awaits her at VATIKA. I expect nothing but the best from you"
She said warmly. Glasses lifted around the table. Smiles followed.
"To Sonarika"
She nodded, offering a grateful smile, though her fingers tightened slightly around her glass. As she lowered it, her eyes met Vikram’s. He was already looking at her. There it was again—that same magnetic pull, that quiet intensity in his gaze. It unsettled her more now than it comforted her. She broke eye contact first. After dinner, she excused herself and walked toward the washroom, needing a moment alone. But she didn’t find it. Meghna was already there. She caught Sonarika’s reflection in the mirror and smiled—a slow, knowing smile that immediately put her on edge.
"Well, looks like you’ve finally found your path. Goa suits you, doesn’t it?"
Meghna said casually, turning on the tap, Sonarika didn’t respond immediately, focusing on washing her hands.
"And Vikram, your connection with him seems stronger than ever"
Meghna continued, her tone light but pointed.
"That’s not true"
Sonarika said firmly. Meghna laughed softly.
"Oh please. I saw you both upstairs. You can pretend all you want, but you can’t ignore what’s there"
She leaned slightly closer.
"It’s not just infatuation, Sonarika. It never was"
"Stop it" Sonarika snapped, her patience thinning.
Meghna only smiled wider.
"What? Planning to go back to Hemant now? After everything?" she said mockingly.
The words hit harder than Sonarika expected.
"That’s not your concern"
She replied, her voice tight. Meghna let out a short laugh.
"You really think that’s possible? After what you’ve done? You’ve done too much damage"
She shook her head. Sonarika’s jaw clenched.
"And anyways, Hemant’s doing quite well for himself. Haven’t you heard?"
Meghna added, almost casually. Sonarika looked at her sharply.
"In certain circles, they’ve started calling him ‘Alpha' Kumar..."
Meghna continued, drying her hands slowly, The name alone felt unfamiliar.
"Seems he’s been… quite popular lately" Meghna added, her tone dripping with implication.
"Especially among the Bollywood Ladies"
Something burned inside Sonarika—anger, disbelief, something sharper than both.
"Be careful" she said, her voice low but firm.
"Don’t make the mistake of turning me into your enemy"
"We’re long past that, dear" Meghna paused, then laughed softly.
She stepped closer, her voice dropping just enough to feel personal.
"You still don’t get it, do you?" she said.
"You were never just making choices. You were being moved"
"What are you talking about?" Sonarika frowned.
Meghna’s smile didn’t fade.
"You’re a pawn, Sonarika. Always have been" She tilted her head slightly.
"And whether you like it or not… your fate is still in play. In things much bigger than you"
Before Sonarika could respond, Meghna turned and walked out. Leaving behind silence. And unease. Sonarika stood there for a moment, her reflection staring back at her—but it didn’t feel like her anymore. Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her phone. She called Hemant again. Engaged. The same result. A deep breath later, she dialed another number. Tara. The call connected.
"Tara, where is Hemant?" Sonarika asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
There was a brief pause before Tara responded.
"Sir had to leave the city for an important matter"
“Where?” Sonarika pressed.
"London" Tara replied.
"London? Why?" The answer caught her off guard.
"He mentioned… settling some old business" Tara said carefully.
The call ended, but the thoughts didn’t. London. Her mind immediately went back—long ago, when Hemant had first traveled there before the birth of YOD Industries. The first prototype. The first deals. And then it clicked.
ANVIL
The private military corporation—his biggest clients. A chill ran through her. As the family made their way home later that night, still talking about the concert, laughing, reliving moments, Sonarika sat quietly among them. Physically present. But mentally somewhere else. With Hemant. With the life he was building. With the man he was becoming. And for the first time, she wondered—not just who he had been…But who he was now. And whether she had already lost him to a world she never truly understood.
THE NEXT MORNING
Sonarika woke with a start, her breath uneven, her body still wrapped in the warmth of something that didn’t exist. For a fleeting moment, she didn’t question it. She was back there. Back in Mumbai. Back in that apartment that once held her entire world together. She felt his arm around her, firm and familiar. Heard his voice, soft and close.
"Sona…"
The name alone melted something inside her. She turned toward him, instinctively, her fingers brushing against his chest, her lips finding his in a moment that felt so real—so achingly real—And then—She woke up. This time for real. Her eyes opened to the quiet stillness of her room in Janakpuri. The ceiling fan spun lazily above her. The air felt colder, emptier. There was no warmth. No presence. Just absence. She sat up slowly, her hand unconsciously touching the space beside her, as if expecting him to still be there. But there was nothing. After freshening up, still carrying the lingering ache of that dream, she reached for her phone. A message from Tara blinked on the screen.
'Sir returned to Mumbai late last night'
Her heartbeat quickened. Without thinking twice, she dialed his number. The call connected. And the moment he answered, everything she had been holding in spilled out.
"Where the hell were you?" her voice came sharp, unfiltered.
"Do you have any idea how many times I called you?"
"I was out of the city" Hemant replied calmly.
"I had something important to take care of"
"Excuses, every time" she snapped.
"Even Tara didn’t know. I thought she was your assistant"
There was silence on the other end. Then his voice came again—steady, controlled.
"A close associate of mine passed away. I was attending the funeral"
The anger drained out of her instantly.
"I… I’m sorry" she said, her tone softening, guilt creeping in.
"I didn’t know"
"Its all alright , I am used to the grimm and brooding moments , tragedies are consistent with me. Atleast I am glad it didn't affect you and your perfect family. Would've ruined your night with family at the concert"
The words hit her harder than she expected.
"Concert? You knew?"
"Of course. I saw the pictures in your social media" Hemant said simply.
"Karan missed you" she said quickly, almost defensively.
"Some of those video calls… he wanted his Papa there. He wanted to show you"
There was a brief silence. Then Hemant spoke, his voice softer—but distant.
"He can have his happy moments with his Papa when he comes home from vacation. After all he has a new home waiting for him"
"He’ll love it. I’m sure" Sonarika tried to soften the space between them.
"Hope so....its just been few days and I already miss his antics...I saw how happy he was in those concert photos.."
Hemant said. with a faint exhale. For a second, there was no bitterness. Just… something real. But it didn’t last.
"I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.....surrounded by your loved ones. Your parents. Karan. Anjali. Your friends. Mouni. Sagar. Your Vikram"
"My Vikram? What are you talking about?" Sonarika stiffened.
“How did the double date go?” he asked, almost casually.
"Double date? Hemant, who told you this?" Her breath caught.
"Kunal told me. Mouni bragged to him about their planned double date with you and Vikram to rekindle the kind of bonding you guys had in the past"
Hemant confessed with a bitter tone. Sonarika shut her eyes briefly, frustration building.
"Hemant....There was no double date...you have to believe me" she said firmly.
Silence followed. A long one. Then—
"How can I believe you...after everything. But one thing is certain Sonarika. I am no longer upset , lately I was bothered by the separation. But this isolation also helped seeing things a little clearly. Maybe somewhere , I did slip up in our marriage and that resulted in you choosing Vikram. And now , I am no longer bothered by it!"
Her chest tightened. His words felt heavier than anger ever could.
"I’m happy for you. Truly. You’ve found someone who makes your life feel complete. And it’s time I let you go—for real. So this divorce doesn’t become another wound. I don't want us to end up like a toxic couple and learn to hate each other. We will just focus on Karan and his well being for now and make sure our individual time is spend on his childhood so that he doesn't feel anything left out in life!"
Her throat tightened. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she couldn’t stop him. Her vision blurred.
"Life has taught me that not everytime one can have hope. Sometimes its just suffering , and for someone to truly move on , one has to use that suffering as a motivation rather than a means of pain. I have accepted that you have moved on and for the moment. It has given me peace. So I wish you nothing but a bright future ahead , even if I am not a part of it!"
He finished
"Call me in the evening for Karan. Have a good day and a great future Sonarika. Bye!"
He gave his final words in the call.
"Hemant, wait—"
The line went dead. Sonarika sat there, frozen, the phone still in her hand. His words echoed again and again, each one carving deeper than the last.
A broken sound escaped her lips as the tears finally fell. This wasn’t anger. This wasn’t resentment. This was worse. This was acceptance. And it shattered her. Slowly, she stood up, her steps unsteady, and made her way to the garden outside. The morning light felt too bright, too indifferent to the storm inside her. She sat down, away from everyone, her face buried in her hands. And for the first time in months, the weight of it all truly settled in. Not just the mistake. Not just the betrayal. But the loss. The finality of it. Regret flooded her—sharp, relentless. Regret for the choices she had made. Regret for the moment everything had changed. Regret for not seeing what she had… until it was too late. She thought of Hemant. Of who he had been. Of who he had become. And how far away he felt now. The distance wasn’t just physical anymore. It was something deeper.Something she didn’t know how to cross. And as she sat there, quietly breaking under the weight of it all, one truth became impossible to ignore—She hadn’t just lost her marriage. She had lost him.
A few hours later, Sonarika stood outside Vikram’s hotel room. Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her pink saree. She had chosen it carefully—soft, elegant… controlled. She had come here with a purpose. To stop this. To make sure last night never repeated itself. She took a quiet breath and rang the bell. The door opened. Vikram stood there in an open shirt and loose pants, his hair slightly messy, like he had been in the middle of something. But the moment he saw her, his expression shifted—his eyes lighting up instantly.
"Sonarika…"
That smile. That same magnetic pull. For a brief second, she forgot everything she had rehearsed.
"Hi…" she said softly.
Vikram stepped aside, letting her in, his gaze not leaving her.
"You look… incredible" he said, almost under his breath.
"This saree—honestly, it just… amplifies everything about you"
She gave a faint, playful scoff, trying to steady herself.
"You’re just saying that because you like staring at my midriff and navel"
"I do" He didn’t even hesitate.
The honesty caught her off guard. To distract herself, she looked around.
"What were you doing?"
"Trying to fix this. Buttons came off" Vikram picked up his shirt slightly.
"You? Fixing clothes? I thought someone like you would just buy a new one"
She raised an eyebrow.
"I could. But this one’s my favorite shirt" He chuckled lightly.
"Do you even know how to stitch properly?" she asked, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"I try, though I’ve stabbed myself a few times already" he admitted.
She noticed the tiny pricks on his fingers—and without thinking, she stepped closer.
"Give it to me" she said gently.
Vikram watched her as she took over. Her fingers moved with quiet precision, pulling out a longer thread when she noticed his was too short.
"You even messed this up" she teased lightly.
"I had faith in improvisation" he replied.
She shook her head faintly, a small smile forming despite herself. Carefully, she threaded the needle, her focus shifting entirely to the task. For a moment, it felt simple. Normal. But the air between them began to change. Too quiet. Too aware. She could feel his gaze on her. When it was done, she leaned forward instinctively, bringing the thread to her mouth to bite it clean. The action bared the line of her throat. She heard his sharp intake of breath.
She had to look up then. Their eyes met. The world stopped. It was the concert all over again, but a thousand times more potent. There was no crowd here, no music to blame. Just the two of them, and a decade of unfinished desire screaming in the quiet. He moved first. His thumb came up, brushing against her lower lip. He showed her the tiny black filament caught on his skin. The touch was incendiary. It sparked a conflagration that raced down her spine, pooling low in her belly.
Then he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was possession. A reclaiming. His lips were demanding, his tongue seeking immediate entrance, and with a broken sob she granted it. Her hands, frozen at her sides, were forcibly lifted by him and wrapped around his neck. The feel of his warm skin, the solid muscle of his shoulders under her fingers—it shattered the last of her resistance. He broke the kiss only to shrug off the shirt she had just mended, letting it fall to the floor. Her handiwork, discarded. The symbolism was lost in a haze of need. Her palms slid over his naked torso, rediscovering the familiar landscape of him. The heat of his skin was a brand.
His mouth was everywhere. Her cheeks, her jaw, the frantic pulse at the base of her neck. His teeth scbangd her collarbone through the silk of her blouse, and a whimper escaped her. He unwrapped her pallu in one swift, practiced motion, the six yards of pink silk sighing to the carpet. He knelt before her, his eyes dark with worship, fixed on the hole of her navel.
"Vicky…" she pleaded, but it was not a stop.
He leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her stomach, just above the waistband of her petticoat. Then his tongue flicked out, tracing the delicate dip of her navel. The sensation was so intimate, so shockingly erotic that her knees buckled. A sharp, ragged moan tore from her throat.
He guided her back until she was sitting on the edge of the large couch, his hands working the tiny hooks of her blouse with an urgency that made her shiver. The pink fabric parted. He peeled it open, then fumbled with the front clasp of her matching bra. It sprang open, and her full, heavy breasts spilled into his waiting hands, into the cool air of the room.
"God, Soni. I’ve dreamed of these" A groan ripped from his chest.
His mouth was on her left nipple before she could draw another breath. There was no tenderness, only raw, desperate hunger. He suckled hard, his tongue lashing the stiffened peak, his teeth grazing the sensitive areola. Pleasure, sharp and electric, shot directly to her core, making her arch off the couch with a cry. He switched to the right breast, giving it the same relentless, worshipful attention, sucking and slurping as his hands kneaded the soft, yielding flesh.
"I want to drink you" he gasped against her damp skin, moving back to the left.
"I want to taste your milk here"
A hysterical, breathless laugh bubbled up in her.
"You’d… ah!… you’d have to learn how a woman’s body works first"
He looked up, his lips glistening, his eyes burning.
"I know how it works. I’ll put my baby in this belly, and then I’ll have my fill"
The crude, possessive promise should have revolted her. It did the opposite. It stoked the fire higher.
"Has anyone ever loved these like I do?" he demanded, his thumb circling a nipple.
"Has anyone ever made you moan like this?"
"Hemant" The name fell from her lips, unbidden, a stupid, reflexive truth.
Hemant
The sound of his name was a bucket of ice water. Reality crashed back in a sickening wave. The taste of Vikram’s skin turned to ash in her mouth. The pleasure curdled into a deep, gut-wrenching shame. She looked down—at her breasts exposed and glistening from his mouth, at this man who was not her Hemant on his knees between her thighs, at the wreckage of her marriage scattered in this hotel room.
"No"
The word was a gasp. She shoved him back, hard, scrambling away. Her hands flew to her chest, clumsily hooking her bra, yanking her blouse closed.
"No, no, no. This is a mistake. A terrible mistake"
"Sonarika, wait—" Vikram reached for her, confusion and lingering desire warring on his face.
But she was already running, snatching her pallu from the floor, fumbling with the lock. She didn’t look back. She fled down the corridor, the echo of her own heartbeat a frantic drum of condemnation in her ears. The ride home was a silent, nauseating blur. She walked into her maternal home on trembling legs, ignoring everyone else, and locked herself in her old bedroom.
Only then did she collapse. Her back slid down the length of the door until she hit the floor, a broken doll. The tears came then, hot and silent and full of a despair so complete it choked her. She crumpled forward, her forehead touching her knees, the expensive pink silk of her saree bunching around her. She wept for the woman she had been, for the wife she had failed to be, for the tempting, ruinous path she had almost taken.
'I am a wreck. A shipwreck'
The thought was a cold, certain truth.
'Hemant left because he saw this in me. This weakness. This chaos. I don’t deserve to be saved. I deserve to sink'
In the dark silence of the room, hunched on the floor, Sonarika felt all hope dissolve, leaving nothing but the salt of her tears and the aching, hollowed-out memory of Vikram’s mouth on her skin.
(TO BE CONTD)
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