Chapter 5: Old Chains, New Choices

Kunal actually apologised.

He mumbled, "Ms Priya, main toh bas ek maindak tha jo chand ko dekh raha tha. Ab dobara kabhi pareshaan nahi karunga."

He folded his hands, muttering, “Galti ho gayi, madam. Maaf kar do.” For a moment, I almost laughed at the filmy drama.

He glanced nervously at Arjun.

Arjun’s look was pure ice, the kind that makes grown men sweat. If looks could kill, Kunal would’ve been finished then and there.

Kunal turned pale, miserable: "Uncle, I swear, if I knew she was your woman, main toh zinda hi nahi rehta."

He shuffled backwards, words tumbling out. I nearly felt sorry—nearly.

I coughed, correcting: "I was, but now we’re done."

My voice was steady, chin up. For once, I wanted it clear—I belonged to no one but myself.

Arjun looked at me, saying nothing. After a moment, he turned to Kunal, cold: "Abhi tak gaya nahi?"

He didn’t raise his voice, but the steel was unmistakable. Kunal nodded, nearly tripping as he fled.

He vanished so fast, I almost laughed. The silence he left behind was suffocating.

The car felt colder. I shivered.

Arjun’s car always smelled of sandalwood and leather. Tonight, it felt like a deep freeze—the tension thick enough to slice.

Arjun pulled off his coat, tossing it onto my lap.

The expensive fabric brushed my arms, and for a second, I felt the old comfort—his protectiveness, as familiar as the sound of monsoon rain on a tin roof.

I’d dressed light today, sleeveless kurti for the heat. Arjun never liked me showing skin. He was possessive—sometimes, obsessively so.

I remembered all those times he’d frown at my clothes, his hand hovering over exposed skin, eyes full of jealousy.

In memory, his fingers pressed against my arm, inch by inch, his voice low: "Yahan, yahan… aur yahan."

That finger would curl, and I’d shiver.

He’d say slowly: "Sab mera hai. Dikhana mana hai. Touch toh bilkul nahi."

"Jo bhi touch karega, uski khair nahi."

......

His words still echoed, half warning, half promise. Sometimes, I felt marked—invisible as sindoor, but twice as binding.

I cleared my throat. "Toh… main bhi nikal jaun?"

My fingers twisted the coat’s edge, not sure what answer I wanted.

Arjun’s lashes drooped, as if he hadn’t heard. Then he looked at me: "Kahan rehti ho? Ghar chhod deta hoon."

His tone was gentle, but the command underneath was clear.

I waved it off. "No need, I’ll take the local. Bohot convenient hai."

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Virar Fast mein bhej doon tujhe? No way."

He paused, then sneered: "Dar lag raha hai mujhse?"

I was stunned. He mocked: "Main Kunal nahi hoon. Married woman ko haath bhi nahi lagata."

His words were a challenge. I held my breath, unsure if I feared him or myself more.

Indeed.

Arjun was always picky. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have waited for me.

I was nearly thirty, not as pretty as those fresh-faced girls, not as perfect as Rhea Singh from a matching family.

My reflection in the glass showed tired eyes, dark circles, hair in a messy bun. Did Arjun even see me, or just remember the girl from all those years ago?

He surely wouldn’t care now. If he did, it would only be out of boredom.