Chapter 6: Chai, Choices, and Blue Ticks

I didn’t let the driver take us.

I knew the driver would report back, and some secrets are better kept. Instead, I led Priya to the garage, searching for Rohan’s spare keys.

Instead, I found one of Rohan’s cars in the garage.

It was his old Honda City—the one he never used anymore. Still, it felt right for the occasion.

At first, Priya refused to get in.

She hesitated at the door, hands trembling. Her pride was as fierce as ever.

She asked me, "Do you know where Rohan went?"

Her voice cracked, the words coming out sharper than she intended.

After I married Rohan, she had unilaterally blocked him. My birthday was the last time they contacted each other, and even then, it was through Rohan’s assistant’s phone.

She was stubborn, refusing to be anyone’s burden, not even Rohan’s.

In some ways, she really was a proud and resilient girl.

Her eyes glittered with defiance, daring me to pity her. I respected her for that.

I rolled down the window, my expression a bit cold. "He can’t come back."

"If you came to find him, it must be urgent. If he can do it, so can I. Get in, I’ll help you."

I tried to sound businesslike, masking my own uncertainty. Sometimes, authority is the only way forward.

"If you don’t want to, forget it."

The ultimatum hung in the air, as sharp as the rain on the roof.

After I finished, Priya looked at me deeply, then got into the passenger seat.

She settled in, silent but determined. I caught a glimpse of her wiping her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.

She gave me the hospital address.

Her voice was steady now, practical. She was used to doing things alone, but today she let me help.

I didn’t hesitate and drove straight there.

The traffic was terrible, as always. I leaned on the horn, weaving through auto-rickshaws and cursing under my breath. Somewhere, the sound of a pressure cooker whistle drifted from a roadside stall, mingling with the rain.

Once we arrived, I helped with the admission procedures, paid the fees, and through a friend, found the best doctor in the hospital.

Ayesha’s cousin worked in the admin office. With one call, I had the paperwork sorted. The staff looked at me with the deference reserved for the Sinha name.

When everything was done, I went to the operating room door and saw Rohan.

He was slouched against the wall, face drawn with worry. I’d never seen him look so vulnerable.

Across the hallway, he was travel-worn, half-squatting, comforting his beloved girl.

He didn’t care who was watching. His suit was rumpled, his tie askew—so unlike the polished man everyone knew.

He reached out to wipe away her tears, then took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

He murmured something, voice so soft I couldn’t hear. But the tenderness was obvious in the way he touched her hair.

He said to her, "I’m here for everything."

Even through the glass, I could read his lips. The words were a promise, simple and unwavering.

Priya nodded, her eyes red. "Okay."

She clung to his hand, as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

I thought, there’s no need for me to be here anymore.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I’d done what I could; now, it was time to let them have their moment.

I left the hospital, opened Rohan’s WhatsApp chat, and briefly told him what had happened.

My message was short—just the facts, no emotion. I knew he’d understand.

Then I went home, took a shower, and kept waiting for his message.

The hours ticked by. I changed into pyjamas, tried to read, but my mind kept circling back to the hospital.

At one in the morning, he replied.

My phone vibrated, jolting me awake.

Just two sentences:

[Okay.]

[Thank you.]

I stared at the glowing screen, the blue ticks mocking me. Was this all we’d ever be—two polite messages in the dark?