Chapter 2: The Wife and the Mistress

Three years after I married Rohan, he took a mistress.

Her name was Sneha.

Just like her name—

Standing alone, proud and unyielding.

She refused to enter the house as a second wife, but loved Rohan too deeply to leave him. Her resolve was like a river in spate—nothing could stand in its way, not even family rules or societal taunts.

Unable to bear the pain, she would soon flee the city.

Each time, Rohan would search for her madly, as if possessed—calling up his old friends, threatening, pleading, even bribing with gifts. Auto-wallahs in Bandra, hotel managers in Andheri—everyone knew when Sir was on a hunt.

And after finding her, he cherished her even more, as if absence was the secret masala his affection needed.

Counting now, this was already the third time she had run away from Mumbai. And this time, it happened to be my birthday.

"Madam, is Sir really leaving?"

As soon as Rohan left, Chitra rushed in, the pallu of her saree slipping off one shoulder in her hurry:

"Aren’t you going to stop him? Didn’t Sir promise you…"

Rohan had promised to spend my eighteenth birthday with me.

For that, I had prepared for an entire month. The cook was to make kheer with extra almonds, and I’d chosen my favourite red silk saree for the evening.

Suddenly, I thought of the first time I met Sneha.

It was after Rohan returned from accompanying the Chief Minister on a tour down south. He’d heard that a girl had saved his life.

I asked him to take me to her home to thank her, feeling an odd twist in my chest as I made the request.

She sat on a swing that Rohan himself had built, as radiant as the summer stars, her laughter ringing out across the courtyard like temple bells at dawn.

But when Rohan turned away, she leaned close to my ear and laughed softly:

"So, even someone unloved dares to be Sir’s wife?"

"Are you sure you can win against me?" Her voice dripped with mischief, almost playful, but with a sharpness underneath.

There was no need to compete.

I could never compare to her. Her beauty was effortless, her confidence blinding.

I smiled and put away the divorce papers on the table. My hands shook only a little—enough that Chitra noticed but pretended not to.

I traced the edge of my dupatta, voice low: "Chitra, my dowry list—it should still be here, na?"