Chapter 4: Lucknow Nights

Rohan had a group of old friends in Lucknow. The kind who grew up sharing secrets over chai and mischief in college canteens.

After finding Sneha, he was in no hurry to return. Why rush when life felt like an endless shaam on the Gomti, full of laughter and stories?

First, Sneha was playful and didn’t want to go back. She loved the old city’s narrow lanes, the smell of kebabs at dusk, the echoes of music from distant courtyards.

Second, he had already left all the wedding preparations to Priya. It was her duty, after all—he told himself.

So what was the rush?

"Rohan is truly romantic—wandering Lucknow with the new love, leaving the old one in Mumbai to prepare the wedding."

The men lounged on faded red sofas, Old Monk and Thums Up bottles sweating on the table, plates of half-eaten kebabs between them.

"Won’t the wife be angry?" Someone brought this up at the bar, swirling his glass of Old Monk like a seasoned gossipmonger.

Someone immediately replied:

"Yaar, you don’t know, do you?"

"Rohan is skilled at managing his wife. Priya is famous for her deep affection for him. Everyone in the colony knows!"

"Let alone marrying a second wife—even if he asked her to step down and become the second wife herself, to make way for the newcomer, she would agree."

"Rohan, am I right?"

Rohan raised his brows, a smug smile flickering on his lips.

Not wrong at all.

Priya was obedient and gentle. Never raised her voice, never argued. Her eyes were always full of him, searching for the smallest sign of approval.

That day, he told her he was going to marry Sneha, and she didn’t object at all. She just nodded, as if she’d heard he was going for a business meeting.

Instead, she urged him to return home early. She couldn’t be without him even for half a day—he believed this as easily as one believes the morning tea will be ready.

Just as the attendant pushed open the door, Rohan smiled and beckoned him over:

"Did Priya reply?"

It was the first time he had written to her while away, and he had entrusted her with such an important task. She must be overjoyed, he thought, expecting a letter filled with devotion.

The attendant bowed, glanced at the people at the table, hesitating.

"It’s fine, all close friends. Speak."

The attendant lowered his head and replied:

"It was Accountant Sharma who brought the message—Madam has left home."

"Left home?"

"Yes… Madam packed her things, took her dowry… and left home…" His voice was barely above a whisper, as if afraid of the words themselves.

Rohan suddenly stood up, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.

"Pfft…"

Sneha, who had been silent, suddenly laughed—a brittle, nervous sound.

"So elder sister is learning from me, acting a bit spoiled."

"But where will she go, Rohan? She’s your patni, not some runaway heroine." Her voice shook, revealing a crack in her confidence.

In the next moment, her eyes turned red; "Ah, it’s all my fault…"

"So wilful, I’ve even led elder sister astray…"

"Rohan, let’s go back quickly."

"If elder sister is so angry that she never returns to your house, that would be terrible!" Sneha’s voice was half-mocking, half-genuine worry. The others exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh.

Rohan sneered.

Not return to his house? Go back to her greedy uncle’s family? He couldn’t imagine it.

"Amit," he called to the attendant, "extend the hotel room for another month."

He wanted to see—

Leaving home, how far could she go, and for how long? The men at the table nodded, the challenge hanging in the air.