Chapter 4: The Bottle, the Bargain, and the Broken Glass

That night, everyone said Arjun truly didn’t love me anymore.

No one remembered the depth of our old love.

In the end, he was getting married, but the bride wasn’t me.

Everyone assumed Arjun would always wait for me.

Everyone was dying to meet Meera, the girl who had finally tamed Boss Arjun.

I knew Arjun didn’t want to see me again, so I slipped out of the reunion early.

On the ride home, a friend sent me Meera’s photo.

She looked sweet and innocent—exactly the type Arjun liked. My friend asked, "Ananya, don’t you think her smile looks a bit like yours?"

"Do you think Arjun still loves you? Is it really over?"

I let out a sigh, stared at the messages, then typed, "It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t care."

I didn’t want to be tangled up with Arjun again.

My phone buzzed with more notifications, but I let them pile up. My thoughts drifted to the tiny flat I was returning to, the soft snoring of a child who looked like both of us. He would never know—I gave birth to our child in secret.

That child was sick, and might not survive.

This year was the poorest and hardest of my life.

I did everything—went to reunions to beg for loans, worked at clubs as a hostess, drank until my stomach burned. I thought I’d never see Arjun again.

Until a few days later, Meera showed up at the club.

She’d heard people say she looked like me, and wanted to see for herself. She came with a group of friends, calling me by name, wanting to size me up.

One girl eyed me up and down, her voice dripping with disdain: "You’re Ananya? Arjun’s first love?"

Her gaze lingered on my heavy makeup, as if I was filth itself.

I clenched my fists, biting back my anger. "You want to order something? Otherwise, please don’t waste my time."

That girl puffed up, yelling, "Aye, what kind of nakhre is this? Talking big, haan? I’m talking to you, can’t you hear?"

She jabbed at a bottle of Old Monk. "You like money, right? Drink this full bottle in one go, and I’ll give you two lakh."

Drinking that much could put me in the hospital.

The club air was thick with perfume and regret, bar lights flickering above us like they’d seen too much. Meera tried to intervene, "Didn’t we say we’d just look, not trouble Didi Ananya?"

She continued, her voice soft but pointed, "People say she’s good at seducing men, Arjun said I’m too naïve, scared I’d be bullied. But I’m fine."

I listened, understanding—she was reminding me how much Arjun liked her, and how much he hated me.

I smiled, stayed silent, then turned to the friend: "So if I drink the bottle, you’ll give me two lakh, right?"

I picked up the bottle. My hand hesitated, my thumb tracing the faded Rakhi on my wrist—my brother’s last gift before he disappeared—and a flash of Chotu’s hospital bills crossed my mind. My desperation wasn’t just for me.

Then I started drinking.

The crowd went silent. No one thought I’d risk my life for money.

Meera grabbed my hand, pleading, "Didi Ananya, why do this to yourself for money?"

"We’re women, we should know our dignity. I didn’t want to say this, but Arjun hates women like you the most..."

I finished the bottle, my stomach twisting with pain, and cut her off: "Where’s the money?"

"What Arjun likes or hates doesn’t matter to me. I just want the two lakh you promised."

Meera’s face fell. She shook her head sadly. "Didi Ananya, honestly, that’s nothing to me. But I just can’t give it to you. It’s for your own good. I can’t watch you keep falling..."

Her friend shoved me, laughing, "I was joking! Not giving you anything, what can you do?"

I sneered back, then smashed the bottle on the table. Shards flew, slicing Meera’s leg and drawing blood.

The DJ’s music faltered for a second, and even the bar boys stopped wiping glasses to stare.

The women recoiled, their faces draining of colour. Meera started to cry. The private room door banged open. Arjun stood there, cold and unreadable.

He looked different in the smoky club light—more powerful, almost dangerous. I froze, unable to meet his eyes.

With my makeup smeared and my pride in tatters, Arjun saw me at my worst.

But I wasn’t afraid of other people’s judgement. I just didn’t want Arjun to see how low I’d sunk.

Still, even that wish was too much.

I forced myself to look up, watching Arjun gather Meera in his arms, dabbing her tears away.

He turned to me, voice like ice: "Ananya, who are you trying to bully in front of me? You want money? Fine—apologise first."

Watching him protect Meera, I remembered when he’d once protected me.

I knew what he wanted—to see me beg Meera’s forgiveness.

For money, I could do anything.

Meera hid in his arms, throwing me a secret, triumphant smile.

I looked at her bleeding leg, picked up a glass shard, and slashed my palm. Blood welled up.

I held out my hand to Arjun, steady: "Give it to me. Two lakh."

Arjun’s eyes went red.

Meera, shaken, handed over a bank card. "Didi Ananya, I’m giving you this not because I owe you, but because I don’t want to fight over chillar like you."

I ignored her, took the money, and turned to leave. Arjun caught my arm.

He spat my name through clenched teeth, "Ananya, doesn’t it hurt? Will you die for money?"

His voice trembled. I yanked my hand free, sneering, "I’ve always loved money, Arjun. You should know by now. Mind your own business—and your woman, too. Don’t bother me again."