24-05-2026, 09:55 AM
Chapter 6 — Rain Between Two Lives
Tuesday mornings usually felt mechanical for Shruthi.
Wake up.
Pack Hasini’s things.
Reply to mails while drinking coffee.
Pretend adulthood was sustainable.
But that morning felt lighter.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for her to notice.
---
By the time she reached office, Chennai skies were already heavy with rain clouds.
The sixth floor buzzed with the usual branding-team chaos:
designers arguing over fonts,
marketing executives pretending deadlines were “manageable,”
someone reheating fish curry in the pantry and committing workplace terrorism.
Shruthi walked in carrying coffee and immediately heard:
“Good morning.”
Karthik.
Standing near her cabin with a laptop and that slightly nervous smile he still hadn’t learned to control around her.
“Morning,” she replied casually.
Then narrowed her eyes.
“You came early?”
“I didn’t want to look irresponsible on second day itself.”
“You’ll lose that fear in one week.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It is.”
He laughed immediately.
Again too quickly.
Again too honestly.
And Shruthi found herself smiling without effort.
---
Throughout the morning, they worked together on a campaign presentation.
Karthik sat beside her inside the cabin while she reviewed slides.
“No, no,” she said, leaning toward the screen. “This looks too polished.”
“That’s bad?”
“Sometimes.”
He frowned.
Shruthi rotated slightly in her chair toward him.
“People connect with imperfections. Rawness feels real.”
Karthik looked at her for a second before replying quietly:
“You don’t seem like someone who likes rawness.”
That made her laugh softly.
“You’ve known me for one day.”
“Still.”
Shruthi leaned back thoughtfully.
“You know what my comfort food is?”
“What?”
“Kothu parotta from roadside shops.”
Karthik blinked.
“No chance.”
“I’m serious.”
“You look like someone who orders quinoa.”
“Please. I grew up in Coimbatore, not California.”
He laughed loudly this time.
The sound echoed lightly inside the cabin.
---
And slowly, conversation drifted away from work.
Naturally.
Comfortably.
---
“I still like auto rides during rain,” Shruthi admitted later while they stood near the pantry coffee machine.
“Seriously?”
“Hm.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know…” she smiled faintly. “Feels real.”
Karthik watched her quietly now.
Not flirting.
Listening.
That difference mattered.
---
Shruthi continued before realizing she was opening up unusually fast.
“When life becomes too polished, I start feeling disconnected.”
“Hm.”
“I like random tea shops. Walking without destination. Marina at night. Street food. Cheap bakeries.”
“You don’t seem very corporate suddenly.”
“I’m not corporate internally,” she replied instantly.
That line stayed with him.
She could see it.
---
“Honestly,” Karthik said carefully, “I thought you’d be intimidating.”
“I am intimidating.”
“You’re also… normal.”
Shruthi laughed again.
“Best compliment ever.”
“No, I mean it.”
He hesitated.
“You don’t act fake.”
For a second, something softened inside her unexpectedly.
Because lately most people interacted with versions of her:
professional Shruthi,
wife Shruthi,
mother Shruthi,
responsible adult Shruthi.
But very few saw the raw, simpler version beneath all that structure.
And somehow this twenty-seven-year-old trainee had noticed it within two days.
That realization lingered longer than it should have.
---
By evening, rain finally hit the city properly.
The office windows blurred with water while people rushed downstairs calling cabs dramatically.
Karthik stood beside her near the lift.
“You’re leaving?”
“Hm.”
“Drive safe.”
“You too.”
A pause.
Then:
“And stop behaving like I’m HR.”
He smiled.
“Yes, Shruthi.”
Again the way he said her name carried hesitation mixed with familiarity now.
And for reasons she didn’t examine too deeply…
she liked hearing it.
---
When Shruthi reached home, the apartment smelled faintly of sambar and rain.
Hasini sat at the dining table doing homework dramatically.
Lokesh worked on his laptop nearby.
Domestic normalcy.
Predictable.
Safe.
---
Dinner passed quietly.
Hasini complained about maths.
Lokesh argued with someone over a work call.
Shruthi half-listened while serving food.
The ordinary rhythm of marriage returned effortlessly.
Yet somewhere underneath it…
she carried the strange lightness from office back home with her.
---
Later that night, after helping Hasini finish homework and finally forcing her to sleep, Shruthi walked into the bedroom quietly.
Lokesh was already asleep.
Laptop closed beside him.
One arm across the pillow.
Completely exhausted again.
---
Rain tapped softly outside.
The room felt cold.
Shruthi sat beside him for a moment watching silently.
Then absentmindedly reached for his phone.
Not out of suspicion initially.
Just curiosity.
Maybe loneliness.
Maybe both.
---
She unlocked it easily.
Same password for years.
Predictable man.
---
She checked casually:
WhatsApp,
Instagram,
Facebook.
Nothing suspicious.
Mostly work chats, memes, college group irritation, reels sent by friends.
Normal.
Comfortingly normal.
Then she opened the gallery.
And paused.
---
Photos.
Hundreds of them.
Old trips.
Pregnancy pictures.
Random selfies.
Badly lit hotel dinners.
Hasini as a baby sleeping on his chest.
Shruthi laughing unknowingly in candid shots.
There were so many versions of them stored quietly inside that phone.
Younger.
Closer.
Hungrier for each other.
Shruthi kept scrolling slowly.
Some memories hit unexpectedly hard.
Because somewhere along the years, life had become so busy that they had stopped noticing their own history together.
---
Then she noticed browser tabs.
Pornhub.
She stared for one second.
Then rolled her eyes immediately.
“These boys…” she muttered under her breath.
No attempt to even hide it.
Typical Lokesh.
---
She clicked once out of curiosity more than shock.
And burst into silent laughter instantly.
Big-dick fantasy videos.
Of course.
Absolutely predictable male behavior.
Shruthi shook her head smiling to herself.
No emotional betrayal.
No secret affair.
Just stress, exhaustion, and occasional porn like half the married men pretending to be sophisticated.
Oddly enough, it comforted her.
Because it made him feel human again.
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
Still physically wanting things even when too tired to reach for her properly.
---
She locked the phone and placed it back gently.
Then slowly lay beside him.
Outside, rain continued across the sleeping city.
Inside, Lokesh remained deeply asleep only inches away from her.
Close enough to touch.
Too tired to hold her.
---
Shruthi turned toward the balcony side and pulled the blanket slightly closer.
Tonight she didn’t want excitement.
Or fantasy.
Or validation.
She only wanted warmth.
And as rain softened against the windows through the night…
she drifted to sleep beside the man she still loved deeply—
while quietly feeling alone anyway.
Tuesday mornings usually felt mechanical for Shruthi.
Wake up.
Pack Hasini’s things.
Reply to mails while drinking coffee.
Pretend adulthood was sustainable.
But that morning felt lighter.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for her to notice.
---
By the time she reached office, Chennai skies were already heavy with rain clouds.
The sixth floor buzzed with the usual branding-team chaos:
designers arguing over fonts,
marketing executives pretending deadlines were “manageable,”
someone reheating fish curry in the pantry and committing workplace terrorism.
Shruthi walked in carrying coffee and immediately heard:
“Good morning.”
Karthik.
Standing near her cabin with a laptop and that slightly nervous smile he still hadn’t learned to control around her.
“Morning,” she replied casually.
Then narrowed her eyes.
“You came early?”
“I didn’t want to look irresponsible on second day itself.”
“You’ll lose that fear in one week.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It is.”
He laughed immediately.
Again too quickly.
Again too honestly.
And Shruthi found herself smiling without effort.
---
Throughout the morning, they worked together on a campaign presentation.
Karthik sat beside her inside the cabin while she reviewed slides.
“No, no,” she said, leaning toward the screen. “This looks too polished.”
“That’s bad?”
“Sometimes.”
He frowned.
Shruthi rotated slightly in her chair toward him.
“People connect with imperfections. Rawness feels real.”
Karthik looked at her for a second before replying quietly:
“You don’t seem like someone who likes rawness.”
That made her laugh softly.
“You’ve known me for one day.”
“Still.”
Shruthi leaned back thoughtfully.
“You know what my comfort food is?”
“What?”
“Kothu parotta from roadside shops.”
Karthik blinked.
“No chance.”
“I’m serious.”
“You look like someone who orders quinoa.”
“Please. I grew up in Coimbatore, not California.”
He laughed loudly this time.
The sound echoed lightly inside the cabin.
---
And slowly, conversation drifted away from work.
Naturally.
Comfortably.
---
“I still like auto rides during rain,” Shruthi admitted later while they stood near the pantry coffee machine.
“Seriously?”
“Hm.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know…” she smiled faintly. “Feels real.”
Karthik watched her quietly now.
Not flirting.
Listening.
That difference mattered.
---
Shruthi continued before realizing she was opening up unusually fast.
“When life becomes too polished, I start feeling disconnected.”
“Hm.”
“I like random tea shops. Walking without destination. Marina at night. Street food. Cheap bakeries.”
“You don’t seem very corporate suddenly.”
“I’m not corporate internally,” she replied instantly.
That line stayed with him.
She could see it.
---
“Honestly,” Karthik said carefully, “I thought you’d be intimidating.”
“I am intimidating.”
“You’re also… normal.”
Shruthi laughed again.
“Best compliment ever.”
“No, I mean it.”
He hesitated.
“You don’t act fake.”
For a second, something softened inside her unexpectedly.
Because lately most people interacted with versions of her:
professional Shruthi,
wife Shruthi,
mother Shruthi,
responsible adult Shruthi.
But very few saw the raw, simpler version beneath all that structure.
And somehow this twenty-seven-year-old trainee had noticed it within two days.
That realization lingered longer than it should have.
---
By evening, rain finally hit the city properly.
The office windows blurred with water while people rushed downstairs calling cabs dramatically.
Karthik stood beside her near the lift.
“You’re leaving?”
“Hm.”
“Drive safe.”
“You too.”
A pause.
Then:
“And stop behaving like I’m HR.”
He smiled.
“Yes, Shruthi.”
Again the way he said her name carried hesitation mixed with familiarity now.
And for reasons she didn’t examine too deeply…
she liked hearing it.
---
When Shruthi reached home, the apartment smelled faintly of sambar and rain.
Hasini sat at the dining table doing homework dramatically.
Lokesh worked on his laptop nearby.
Domestic normalcy.
Predictable.
Safe.
---
Dinner passed quietly.
Hasini complained about maths.
Lokesh argued with someone over a work call.
Shruthi half-listened while serving food.
The ordinary rhythm of marriage returned effortlessly.
Yet somewhere underneath it…
she carried the strange lightness from office back home with her.
---
Later that night, after helping Hasini finish homework and finally forcing her to sleep, Shruthi walked into the bedroom quietly.
Lokesh was already asleep.
Laptop closed beside him.
One arm across the pillow.
Completely exhausted again.
---
Rain tapped softly outside.
The room felt cold.
Shruthi sat beside him for a moment watching silently.
Then absentmindedly reached for his phone.
Not out of suspicion initially.
Just curiosity.
Maybe loneliness.
Maybe both.
---
She unlocked it easily.
Same password for years.
Predictable man.
---
She checked casually:
WhatsApp,
Instagram,
Facebook.
Nothing suspicious.
Mostly work chats, memes, college group irritation, reels sent by friends.
Normal.
Comfortingly normal.
Then she opened the gallery.
And paused.
---
Photos.
Hundreds of them.
Old trips.
Pregnancy pictures.
Random selfies.
Badly lit hotel dinners.
Hasini as a baby sleeping on his chest.
Shruthi laughing unknowingly in candid shots.
There were so many versions of them stored quietly inside that phone.
Younger.
Closer.
Hungrier for each other.
Shruthi kept scrolling slowly.
Some memories hit unexpectedly hard.
Because somewhere along the years, life had become so busy that they had stopped noticing their own history together.
---
Then she noticed browser tabs.
Pornhub.
She stared for one second.
Then rolled her eyes immediately.
“These boys…” she muttered under her breath.
No attempt to even hide it.
Typical Lokesh.
---
She clicked once out of curiosity more than shock.
And burst into silent laughter instantly.
Big-dick fantasy videos.
Of course.
Absolutely predictable male behavior.
Shruthi shook her head smiling to herself.
No emotional betrayal.
No secret affair.
Just stress, exhaustion, and occasional porn like half the married men pretending to be sophisticated.
Oddly enough, it comforted her.
Because it made him feel human again.
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
Still physically wanting things even when too tired to reach for her properly.
---
She locked the phone and placed it back gently.
Then slowly lay beside him.
Outside, rain continued across the sleeping city.
Inside, Lokesh remained deeply asleep only inches away from her.
Close enough to touch.
Too tired to hold her.
---
Shruthi turned toward the balcony side and pulled the blanket slightly closer.
Tonight she didn’t want excitement.
Or fantasy.
Or validation.
She only wanted warmth.
And as rain softened against the windows through the night…
she drifted to sleep beside the man she still loved deeply—
while quietly feeling alone anyway.
-Pickup, drop, escape.
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