Chapter 3: Resignations and Rituals

Two days ago, I’d left something important at the office and turned back to retrieve it. Passing Arjun’s cabin, I saw the light was still on.

The corridor was silent, except for the low hum of the AC and the distant chime of someone’s phone—maybe the security guard, watching his favourite serial on mute.

Neha was sitting sideways on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, nestled in his embrace.

They looked comfortable, like a scene out of one of those sappy Hindi serials that my bua watches religiously. The office, with its glass partitions and potted plants, suddenly felt too intimate.

She said coyly, “Arjun, I want to get married.”

Her voice was almost a whisper, but it carried through the door. I held my breath, feeling like an uninvited ghost at my own funeral.

I’m not in the habit of eavesdropping, but that sentence made me pause.

My hand tightened around my keys. I could have walked away, but something rooted me to the spot.

Arjun wore a lazy smile, eyes half-closed, his fingers combing through Neha’s long hair again and again.

His touch was absent-minded, like a man lost in thought. He used to do that to me once, on Sunday mornings when the city was still asleep.

“What’s wrong, can’t wait to get married, little one?”

The way he called her ‘little one’—it was both endearing and patronising. Typical Arjun, always half-joking, never serious until forced to be.

“That’s not it.” Neha pouted. “I just want to marry you. Arjun, will you marry me?”

Her tone had that dramatic flair you find in girls who’ve watched too many films. But her sincerity was real.

I stood outside the door, looking at Arjun through the half-open gap. He was silent for a long time. The smile faded from his face. He quietly met my gaze. Then he said softly, “Okay.”

The word echoed in my mind, as if it had been meant for me all along. In that moment, our eyes met, and I realised—he had already left.

“Ms. Meera, Arjun doesn’t like you anymore. The one he loves now is me.”

Neha spoke with confidence, watching me with both nervousness and pride.

Her words were like a slap, but I kept my face blank. In our world, losing gracefully is an art.

I lowered my eyes. “Then congratulations.”

My lips managed a small smile, the kind you give when you’re too tired to fight.

Arjun returned to the office the next afternoon. As soon as he came in, he called me over.

The receptionist barely looked up as I passed. Inside, his office smelled of stale coffee and cheap aftershave. I noticed a packet of Hajmola on his table—his go-to remedy for hangovers.

When I pushed open the door, he was sitting there, looking exhausted, his head in his hands, thumbs pressing hard against his temples. His hangover had triggered a migraine.

A strip of Saridon lay by his elbow. The room was dim, the blinds half-drawn against the harsh afternoon sun.

“Sort out the Prakash Infra project and hand it over to Neha.”

His sudden words made me freeze for a moment. “What?”

He didn’t repeat himself, just looked at me deeply.

His gaze was sharp, almost challenging. The old Arjun would have joked, but this one was all business.

“The Prakash Infra project is important. Neha doesn’t have the experience—”

My voice faltered. I’d built that project from scratch, pouring over every detail, every tender document.

“That’s why she needs an opportunity, a good start, a shiny resume.”

His words were final, the tone that brooked no argument. In Indian offices, this is how things work—one decision from the top, and everything changes.

I fell silent.

In that silence, the hum of the ceiling fan grew louder, almost mocking.

“Meera, I’m not discussing this with you.”

Arjun slammed the desk, patience gone.

The sound echoed, making Neha—who was outside—jump. I unclenched my fists, breathing slow and deep, remembering what my dadi used to say: "When the world loses its head, you must keep yours."

I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists. “Fine. But I have one condition.”

He raised his chin, signalling for me to continue.

His eyes narrowed. He always liked a good bargain.

“Don’t change the original team, just make her the project lead. The team gets every bit of their bonus and dividend—no one gets shortchanged.”

I spoke slowly, making sure he couldn’t twist my words later. In India, people rarely fight for themselves, but always for their team.

“Fine, I promise.”

His answer was curt, but I could see a flicker of respect in his eyes. Some things never change.

After getting his answer, I turned and left.

As I walked out, I could feel the weight of invisible eyes—everyone waiting to see how the wife would react. In our office, gossip is a sport.

It took me an hour and a half to organise everything and explain the situation to the team. Their looks were full of pity, sympathy, indignation, and anger.

One by one, my colleagues trickled into the conference room. Some avoided my gaze, others looked ready to start a mutiny. Someone passed me a chai without a word—silent solidarity.

I knocked on the table. “Don’t let personal feelings get in the way. Don’t talk to me about loyalty. This is just work—do your job and get paid.”

My voice was steady, but my hands trembled under the table. In India, we’re taught to swallow our pride and keep moving. That day, I tried to believe it.

With everything ready, I went back to Arjun’s office. Neha was there too, smiling as she fed him kaju biscuits.

I paused, watching her offer him sweets as if feeding a child. The smell of roasted cashews filled the air. I remembered how Arjun always preferred spicy over sweet, but let her continue anyway.

Arjun doesn’t like sweets. Though he frowned, he still let her do it.

He shot me a look, half embarrassment, half defiance. The roles in this room had shifted, and we all knew it.

Seeing me, Neha quickly straightened up. “If you two have business, I’ll step out.”

She tucked her hair behind her ear, nervous.

“No need,” Arjun said, putting the biscuit box in her hands. “Go eat on the side.”

He sounded almost bored, as if this was a normal day.

Then he turned to me, his tone unfriendly. “Next time, remember to knock before coming in.”

Did I not knock? I guess I really didn’t. Old habits die hard.

In our old life, my knock was the only one he waited for.

“There won’t be a next time.”

“What?”

I placed all the documents on his desk. Meeting his wary gaze, I handed him the bottom sheet of A4 paper. In bold letters: my resignation letter.

The moment I let go, I felt lighter, as if a weight I’d carried for too long had finally slipped off.

Arjun paused for two seconds. When he looked up again, his eyes were icy.

“What’s this supposed to mean? Trying to threaten me?”

I pressed my palms together, voice soft. “It’s just time, Arjun. Everything’s settled now, isn’t it?”

Behind me, the office phone rang and rang—a reminder that life went on, regardless.

Arjun glared at me. Neha seemed frightened.

Her hands shook, kaju biscuits trembling. The lines between guilt and relief flickered on her face.

“Ms. Meera, I won’t do the project anymore. Please don’t be angry. I know I’m not qualified, I just wanted to learn from you. I’ll withdraw, it’s my fault, I apologise.”

Her voice cracked. In the background, someone’s laughter from the next cabin broke the tension.

Arjun’s face grew even darker. He pulled Neha over. “If you want to do it, do it. You don’t have to apologise to anyone.”

His tone was harsh, but his hand on her shoulder was gentle. Old habits.

“Resigning, huh? The company won’t collapse without you, will it?”

He picked up a pen and quickly signed at the bottom, tossing the resignation letter in front of me. “Get out.”

The words stung, but I refused to let him see. I picked up my bag, chin high.

I looked down at the paper on the floor. “One more thing.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Arjun’s face was still cold.

He looked away, jaw tight.

“Since you and Neha are getting married, shouldn’t we end our marriage first?”

The silence in the room was deafening. Even the AC seemed to hum more quietly.

Even Neha stopped sobbing. She clung to Arjun’s arm, looking at him nervously and expectantly.

Her eyes darted between us, searching for an answer that wouldn’t come.

Arjun stiffened. He slowly turned his head. “What did you say?”

His voice was low, dangerous.

“I said, let’s get divorced too—while we’re at it.”

It was time to close the chapter. I felt lighter with every word.