18-09-2026, 08:07 AM
Chapter 28
The apartment was unusually quiet when they returned, the door closing with a heavy, final thud.
Padma entered first, her movements slow and deliberate. She slipped off her sandals, placing her handbag on the console table with an uncharacteristic sharpness. She didn't look at him. She walked straight into the master bedroom and stood near the window, staring out into the evening light.
She was still wearing the saree from the café, but the fleeting confidence she had carried earlier had completely evaporated, replaced by a cold, protective stillness.
Mohan lingered at the doorway, hesitant to cross the threshold into her space.
“Padma…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
She didn't turn around immediately. “Don’t say sorry again, Mohan. I don't want apologies.”
He stopped in his tracks, his throat tight.
Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but her gaze was steady—searching, demanding clarity.
“I want the whole truth.”
Mohan took a deep, shaky breath, knowing that any more lies would shatter whatever was left between them. “I’ll tell you. Everything.”
“Everything about that WhatsApp group,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to hold it firm.
Mohan lowered his head, unable to meet her gaze directly. “I joined it months ago... out of a stupid, reckless curiosity. Men in the complex were sharing... photographs of women from the society.”
Padma’s posture stiffened. Her fingers clutched the edge of her saree pallu. “And then?”
“I started looking at them,” Mohan confessed, the shame heavy in his voice. “And eventually… I shared a few pictures of you.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Padma looked away, a sharp intake of breath the only sound in the room as the reality of his words settled into her chest.
“How many?” she asked softly, her voice breaking on the words.
“I… I don’t remember exactly,” Mohan stammered.
That answer hit her harder than the confession itself. A tear slipped down her cheek, but her expression remained tightly controlled. “You don’t even remember?”
“Padma, please... I know how wrong it was. I hate myself for it.”
She stepped toward the wardrobe, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as if trying to hold herself together. “Did you ever think about how I would feel if I found out? Did you think about my dignity, Mohan?”
Mohan’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Yes. That’s why I hid it from you. I was terrified of you finding out.”
Padma gave a small, bitter laugh—a sound completely devoid of humor. “So you knew it was wrong... and you kept doing it anyway.”
She fell silent for a long moment, the quiet in the room stretching until it felt suffocating. When she spoke again, her voice carried a haunting, vulnerable curiosity that pierced straight through him.
“Did you ever want another man to have me?”
Mohan froze. The question hung heavily between them, stripping away every excuse and pretense.
“I... I had fantasies I didn’t understand,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Dark, confusing thoughts... but I never wanted to hurt you, Padma.”
Padma looked at him, her expression softening just enough to reveal the profound heartbreak underneath her anger.
“Fantasies are one thing, Mohan,” she said, touching her chest where the ache was deepest. “But you made decisions involving my body, my modesty, without ever asking me. You exposed me to strangers.”
Mohan took a small step closer, though he kept a respectful distance, sensing her wall of defense. “You’re right. There is no excuse for what I did.”
Padma locked eyes with him, tears finally spilling over.
“I love you, Mohan,” she said quietly, the confession carrying both her traditional devotion and her deep pain. “That’s exactly why this hurts so much. Because my entire world was built around trusting you.”
Mohan’s own eyes welled with tears. “I don’t want to lose you, Padma. Please... I’ll do anything.”
Padma looked down, taking a deep, shuddering breath to steady her emotions. “Then don’t give me another reason to doubt you ever again.”
Silence filled the bedroom once more, heavy but clear.
Padma slowly reached into her handbag and picked up her phone. The screen lit up, displaying a fresh notification from Rajan’s unsaved number.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the name on the screen, her shy, reserved nature warring with the lingering memories of his touch and the confusion inside her heart.
Finally, with a soft, decisive movement, she pressed the power button, locking the screen into darkness. She placed the phone face-down on the nightstand.
“This isn’t about Rajan tonight,” she said, looking up at Mohan with a quiet, resolute gaze. “Tonight, it’s about us.”
And as Mohan stood in the dim light of their bedroom, he realized that earning back her trust—and repairing the sacred bond he had compromised—would be a far harder journey than simply telling the truth.
The apartment was unusually quiet when they returned, the door closing with a heavy, final thud.
Padma entered first, her movements slow and deliberate. She slipped off her sandals, placing her handbag on the console table with an uncharacteristic sharpness. She didn't look at him. She walked straight into the master bedroom and stood near the window, staring out into the evening light.
She was still wearing the saree from the café, but the fleeting confidence she had carried earlier had completely evaporated, replaced by a cold, protective stillness.
Mohan lingered at the doorway, hesitant to cross the threshold into her space.
“Padma…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper.
She didn't turn around immediately. “Don’t say sorry again, Mohan. I don't want apologies.”
He stopped in his tracks, his throat tight.
Slowly, she turned to face him. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but her gaze was steady—searching, demanding clarity.
“I want the whole truth.”
Mohan took a deep, shaky breath, knowing that any more lies would shatter whatever was left between them. “I’ll tell you. Everything.”
“Everything about that WhatsApp group,” she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to hold it firm.
Mohan lowered his head, unable to meet her gaze directly. “I joined it months ago... out of a stupid, reckless curiosity. Men in the complex were sharing... photographs of women from the society.”
Padma’s posture stiffened. Her fingers clutched the edge of her saree pallu. “And then?”
“I started looking at them,” Mohan confessed, the shame heavy in his voice. “And eventually… I shared a few pictures of you.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Padma looked away, a sharp intake of breath the only sound in the room as the reality of his words settled into her chest.
“How many?” she asked softly, her voice breaking on the words.
“I… I don’t remember exactly,” Mohan stammered.
That answer hit her harder than the confession itself. A tear slipped down her cheek, but her expression remained tightly controlled. “You don’t even remember?”
“Padma, please... I know how wrong it was. I hate myself for it.”
She stepped toward the wardrobe, crossing her arms tightly across her chest as if trying to hold herself together. “Did you ever think about how I would feel if I found out? Did you think about my dignity, Mohan?”
Mohan’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Yes. That’s why I hid it from you. I was terrified of you finding out.”
Padma gave a small, bitter laugh—a sound completely devoid of humor. “So you knew it was wrong... and you kept doing it anyway.”
She fell silent for a long moment, the quiet in the room stretching until it felt suffocating. When she spoke again, her voice carried a haunting, vulnerable curiosity that pierced straight through him.
“Did you ever want another man to have me?”
Mohan froze. The question hung heavily between them, stripping away every excuse and pretense.
“I... I had fantasies I didn’t understand,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “Dark, confusing thoughts... but I never wanted to hurt you, Padma.”
Padma looked at him, her expression softening just enough to reveal the profound heartbreak underneath her anger.
“Fantasies are one thing, Mohan,” she said, touching her chest where the ache was deepest. “But you made decisions involving my body, my modesty, without ever asking me. You exposed me to strangers.”
Mohan took a small step closer, though he kept a respectful distance, sensing her wall of defense. “You’re right. There is no excuse for what I did.”
Padma locked eyes with him, tears finally spilling over.
“I love you, Mohan,” she said quietly, the confession carrying both her traditional devotion and her deep pain. “That’s exactly why this hurts so much. Because my entire world was built around trusting you.”
Mohan’s own eyes welled with tears. “I don’t want to lose you, Padma. Please... I’ll do anything.”
Padma looked down, taking a deep, shuddering breath to steady her emotions. “Then don’t give me another reason to doubt you ever again.”
Silence filled the bedroom once more, heavy but clear.
Padma slowly reached into her handbag and picked up her phone. The screen lit up, displaying a fresh notification from Rajan’s unsaved number.
For several seconds, she simply stared at the name on the screen, her shy, reserved nature warring with the lingering memories of his touch and the confusion inside her heart.
Finally, with a soft, decisive movement, she pressed the power button, locking the screen into darkness. She placed the phone face-down on the nightstand.
“This isn’t about Rajan tonight,” she said, looking up at Mohan with a quiet, resolute gaze. “Tonight, it’s about us.”
And as Mohan stood in the dim light of their bedroom, he realized that earning back her trust—and repairing the sacred bond he had compromised—would be a far harder journey than simply telling the truth.
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