9 hours ago
Chapter 16 - Only Her
The bathroom door opened.
Only Tara stepped out.
She stood in the soft bedroom light wrapped in a light towel, hair dripping onto her shoulders, skin still flushed and warm from the shower. For a full second she simply stared at him, surprise clear in her eyes. Then the surprise shifted into mild annoyance.
“You came in early.”
Jeeva could not answer. The panic was still written across every part of him — the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his gaze kept darting behind her toward the bathroom, the shallow, uneven way he was breathing. His hands hung uselessly at his sides.
Tara’s expression changed as she read his face.
The annoyance drained away. What replaced it was something quieter, almost tired, mixed with a thin smile that did not reach her eyes.
“You really thought I would do it in our house… in the second week?”
She stepped aside and gave a small nod toward the open bathroom door.
“Go. Check.”
Jeeva didnt move, but she pulled him inside, past her on unsteady legs. The bathroom was empty. Steam still clung to the mirror. Only her clothes hung on the hook — the same dress she had worn for dinner. One towel. One pair of slippers. No second presence of any kind.
He stepped back out. The relief hit him so hard that his knees felt weak. He had to put a hand on the wall for a moment.
Tara watched him carefully, then reached out and took his hand. She guided him to the edge of the bed and pulled him down to sit beside her. Their shoulders touched. She did not move away.
“Do you still doubt me?” she asked, voice low.
“No.” The word came out rough. He swallowed. “But the hall… the dining table. All the vessels were pushed to one side. The chairs were left at strange angles. The bedsheet was pulled out—”
Tara let out a short, disbelieving laugh, then quickly composed herself.
“Sam left at 8:15, latest 8:18. After he went I felt sticky and oily from standing over the stove all evening and then sitting through that heavy dinner. I just wanted a quick shower before you came up. That is all.”
She leaned across him, picked up her phone from the bedside table, and unlocked it.
First she opened the messaging app and showed him a text she had typed but never sent:
He’s gone. You can come up.
Then she switched to the apartment gate application and played the visitor log. Clear as day: Sam Arya’s vehicle exited at 8:18 p.m.
Finally she opened WhatsApp and held the screen toward him.
Sam:
Thank you for dinner, Tara. Everything was really good.
Good night.
Time stamp: 8:21 p.m.
Jeeva read every word twice. The solid, time-stamped proof sank into him slowly, pushing the worst images back into the corners of his mind. His shoulders finally dropped.
Tara kept her eyes on his face. When she spoke again her voice had lost all playfulness. It was soft, and underneath the softness there was a clear thread of hurt.
“I’ve followed every single rule we wrote together. Every one. And you still walked in here looking like the world had ended.”
She shifted closer and rested her forehead against the side of his neck. He felt the warm dampness of her hair against his skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to see you like this.
Is this what cheating does to people? Is this the kind of trauma it leaves behind?”
Jeeva said, you did nothing wrong its me overthinking,
A tear escaped before she could stop it. It ran down her cheek and fell against his collarbone. She wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand, but Jeeva had already felt it. In seven years of marriage he could count on one hand the times he had seen her cry. The sight left a strange, heavy pressure in his chest.
He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her against him. She allowed it, her body slowly relaxing into his.
“Sam only ate and talked,” she said into his shirt. “Nothing else happened.”
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside the window.
Much later, after Jeeva’s breathing had finally evened into sleep, Tara remained awake.
She lay with her back to him, eyes open in the dark. The tears returned without permission — quiet, stubborn, sliding across the bridge of her nose and soaking into the pillow. She could not name the exact reason. Guilt for the look she had put on her husband’s face. Guilt for the experiment itself. Or something deeper that she was not ready to look at.
Minutes passed.
Her gaze drifted across the dark floor near the leg of the cot. Something small and square caught the faint light coming through the curtains.
A condom packet.
It must have slipped out earlier when she had moved her things.
Tara’s body went completely still.
She held her breath and listened. Jeeva’s breathing remained deep and steady. Slowly, carefully, she stretched out her hand, closed her fingers around the packet, and pulled it toward her. Without making a sound she pushed it far under the bed until it disappeared into the shadows.
Then she turned her face fully to the wall, drew her knees up slightly, and closed her eyes.
Sleep did not come.
In the darkness she kept seeing two images at the same time:
the broken, terrified expression on Jeeva’s face when she had stepped out of the bathroom…
and the small square packet now hidden under their bed.
Both stayed with her until the sky began to lighten.
The bathroom door opened.
Only Tara stepped out.
She stood in the soft bedroom light wrapped in a light towel, hair dripping onto her shoulders, skin still flushed and warm from the shower. For a full second she simply stared at him, surprise clear in her eyes. Then the surprise shifted into mild annoyance.
“You came in early.”
Jeeva could not answer. The panic was still written across every part of him — the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his gaze kept darting behind her toward the bathroom, the shallow, uneven way he was breathing. His hands hung uselessly at his sides.
Tara’s expression changed as she read his face.
The annoyance drained away. What replaced it was something quieter, almost tired, mixed with a thin smile that did not reach her eyes.
“You really thought I would do it in our house… in the second week?”
She stepped aside and gave a small nod toward the open bathroom door.
“Go. Check.”
Jeeva didnt move, but she pulled him inside, past her on unsteady legs. The bathroom was empty. Steam still clung to the mirror. Only her clothes hung on the hook — the same dress she had worn for dinner. One towel. One pair of slippers. No second presence of any kind.
He stepped back out. The relief hit him so hard that his knees felt weak. He had to put a hand on the wall for a moment.
Tara watched him carefully, then reached out and took his hand. She guided him to the edge of the bed and pulled him down to sit beside her. Their shoulders touched. She did not move away.
“Do you still doubt me?” she asked, voice low.
“No.” The word came out rough. He swallowed. “But the hall… the dining table. All the vessels were pushed to one side. The chairs were left at strange angles. The bedsheet was pulled out—”
Tara let out a short, disbelieving laugh, then quickly composed herself.
“Sam left at 8:15, latest 8:18. After he went I felt sticky and oily from standing over the stove all evening and then sitting through that heavy dinner. I just wanted a quick shower before you came up. That is all.”
She leaned across him, picked up her phone from the bedside table, and unlocked it.
First she opened the messaging app and showed him a text she had typed but never sent:
He’s gone. You can come up.
Then she switched to the apartment gate application and played the visitor log. Clear as day: Sam Arya’s vehicle exited at 8:18 p.m.
Finally she opened WhatsApp and held the screen toward him.
Sam:
Thank you for dinner, Tara. Everything was really good.
Good night.
Time stamp: 8:21 p.m.
Jeeva read every word twice. The solid, time-stamped proof sank into him slowly, pushing the worst images back into the corners of his mind. His shoulders finally dropped.
Tara kept her eyes on his face. When she spoke again her voice had lost all playfulness. It was soft, and underneath the softness there was a clear thread of hurt.
“I’ve followed every single rule we wrote together. Every one. And you still walked in here looking like the world had ended.”
She shifted closer and rested her forehead against the side of his neck. He felt the warm dampness of her hair against his skin.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to see you like this.
Is this what cheating does to people? Is this the kind of trauma it leaves behind?”
Jeeva said, you did nothing wrong its me overthinking,
A tear escaped before she could stop it. It ran down her cheek and fell against his collarbone. She wiped it away quickly with the back of her hand, but Jeeva had already felt it. In seven years of marriage he could count on one hand the times he had seen her cry. The sight left a strange, heavy pressure in his chest.
He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her against him. She allowed it, her body slowly relaxing into his.
“Sam only ate and talked,” she said into his shirt. “Nothing else happened.”
They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside the window.
Much later, after Jeeva’s breathing had finally evened into sleep, Tara remained awake.
She lay with her back to him, eyes open in the dark. The tears returned without permission — quiet, stubborn, sliding across the bridge of her nose and soaking into the pillow. She could not name the exact reason. Guilt for the look she had put on her husband’s face. Guilt for the experiment itself. Or something deeper that she was not ready to look at.
Minutes passed.
Her gaze drifted across the dark floor near the leg of the cot. Something small and square caught the faint light coming through the curtains.
A condom packet.
It must have slipped out earlier when she had moved her things.
Tara’s body went completely still.
She held her breath and listened. Jeeva’s breathing remained deep and steady. Slowly, carefully, she stretched out her hand, closed her fingers around the packet, and pulled it toward her. Without making a sound she pushed it far under the bed until it disappeared into the shadows.
Then she turned her face fully to the wall, drew her knees up slightly, and closed her eyes.
Sleep did not come.
In the darkness she kept seeing two images at the same time:
the broken, terrified expression on Jeeva’s face when she had stepped out of the bathroom…
and the small square packet now hidden under their bed.
Both stayed with her until the sky began to lighten.
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