Chapter 3: Truths Washed Ashore

I stumbled home in a daze, rain-soaked and numb. The streets buzzed with honking cars and people crammed under shopfronts, but all I could hear were those voices from the bar replaying in my head.

“That girl is really stupid, deserves to be tricked.”

“Three years ago, Kabir lost a bet and ended up pretending to be a bar boy at a karaoke lounge.”

“The women before her all knew it was a joke—she was the only one who believed him.”

How blind I’d been. Couldn’t even spot the difference between a rich boy’s ‘pretend-poor’ act and real struggle. Didn’t notice the holey sweater was Sabyasachi, or that the battered silver watch was a Patek Philippe worth more than our whole building.

He told me about his dad’s gambling, his mom’s illness—and I saw my own past reflected in his stories. I thought we were kindred souls, fighting the world together. With that face straight out of a Shah Rukh Khan movie, he drew out every bit of softness in me.

But I never knew he was weighing every move, calculating. [Tch, Ananya, you actually believed all this?] my inner voice scolded.

I poured myself into trying to change him, even tried finding him a proper job. My research assistant salary was peanuts, but I still spent two thousand on a suit for him, while I wore the same faded trench coat for years.

He’d narrow his eyes and tease, “Pretty didi treats me so well, how will I ever repay you?” Then he’d pull me close, all warmth and charm, making the rest of the world disappear.

He was barely twenty—hungry for love, for the thrill of the forbidden. The rental’s thin walls made me blush just thinking what the neighbours might hear. Every time, I’d have to beg, whispering for mercy before he’d let me go.

He was handsome, loved to act spoilt, and could make a killer anda-pav. I thought this was forever.

I took extra shifts—tutoring, grading, anything—to save up for a ring. I wanted to be the one to propose.