Chapter 3: Questions of Love and the End of Illusions

But do I really love Arjun?

What is love, anyway?

Swami Vivekananda said: "Love is born from humanity’s longing for its own incompleteness."

A wise guru once said: "Great souls are androgynous; so-called love at first sight is just falling in love with another version of oneself."

So, maybe when I fell for Arjun, it was just me chasing a more complete self.

Then now, I must be complete.

The next day—

When I wake up, Arjun is still asleep. His phone keeps lighting up with messages—every sender with a Bollywood-hero style avatar and name. As for the content, I don’t look. I put his nearly-dead phone on charge, considerate to the last.

As I step over Arjun, he grabs my ankle. Without opening his eyes, he pulls me down, and I land sitting on top of him.

“Do me.” His voice is hoarse, deep, and sexy as hell.

A year ago, I would’ve pounced on him without thinking. Now—

I awkwardly climb off: "Arre, big boss is coming today. I can’t be late!"

Arjun’s face darkens.

Before I leave, I remind him, "Arjunji, I’m going on a business trip for three days. Take care of yourself!"

Just to be sure, I send it again on WhatsApp. But I remember—he’s muted my messages.

So I text one of Arjun’s party friends: [Going on a business trip for three days, please look after Arjun for me, thanks (smiling emoji)!]

I reach work on time.

That night, I stay late to work overtime. The boss is extra kind: "Priya beta, since your business trip was postponed, don’t rush the files. Go home early."

"I’ll leave after I finish this."

Still, I don’t leave until 10:30 pm.

At 10:30—

Through the security camera app on my phone, I see a woman knocking at my door at home. When the door opens, Arjun is in nothing but boxers. The woman looks shy. Arjun sizes her up, then steps aside to let her in.

My foot itches to floor the accelerator.

No rush, Priya. Arjun isn’t that quick.

At 11:00—

I reach my door. My hand shakes as I enter the code, getting it wrong once.

Inside, the flat is a mess—lacy panties, torn stockings, a sight too much for an honest person like me.

But Arjun is even faster than I thought—the bedroom door suddenly opens. A naked woman is shoved to the door, whining, "Arjun, I flew here for you, don’t kick me out so soon. If you want to try something else…"

She’s answered by a piece of women’s underwear thrown out by Arjun.

“I’ve sent you the money for your ticket. Now get lost!”

Arjun drawls as he walks out. The woman isn’t done: "If you don’t like me, I have a friend—she’s a knockout. Want to see a photo?"

"She’s at a club nearby, let’s go party together…"

He glances at the photo, doesn’t even reply.

Then he looks up and sees me—

The woman instantly shuts up.

The room goes silent. My ears ring, but my mind is steady. This is India, not a movie set. Even in our air-conditioned apartment, it feels like a slap of hot, sticky air.