Chapter 6: The Lounge, the Line, and the Breakdown

On the night of the reunion, it was 11:30 p.m.

The city was quiet, the only sound the distant barking of street dogs and the occasional auto rattling past. I sat by the window, my phone glowing in my hand.

Arjun still hadn’t come home.

I checked the clock for the tenth time, anxiety gnawing at my insides. The house felt emptier than usual.

I hesitated over whether to text him, but his message arrived first.

[Drank too much, not safe to drive, I’ll stay at Kabir’s lounge tonight. Don’t wait up.]

His message was short, to the point. I read it twice, trying to ignore the pang of disappointment.

On a whim, I asked Kabir for the address, planning to pick up Arjun and surprise him.

I told myself it was just concern for his safety, but deep down, I wanted to see him—wanted him to know I cared.

Unfortunately, my brother had flown to London on a business trip last week.

If he’d been here, he would’ve teased me mercilessly, but he would’ve given me the details I needed. I missed his presence, his easy laughter.

Otherwise, I could have quietly asked him for more details.

Instead, I was left to piece things together on my own, nerves jangling with every passing minute.

I guessed the usual time the gatherings ended, then drove to Kabir’s new lounge.

The roads were empty, the streetlights throwing long shadows. My heart pounded as I pulled up outside the sleek, glass-fronted building.

After searching around, just as I was about to call Kabir, my eyes caught a familiar figure.

Arjun stood out in the crowd, tall and composed, a glass of whiskey in hand. The sight of him made my heart stutter.

Under the dim lights, Arjun leaned against the bar, his back straight, long fingers idly swirling a glass of whiskey.

He looked every bit the suave, self-assured man I’d always admired. Yet there was a hint of weariness in his posture.

His elegance and quiet confidence were unmistakable.

Even surrounded by people, he seemed alone. I wondered what he was thinking.

I smiled, watching him for a long moment before walking over.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, before weaving through the crowd towards him.

But then I heard Arjun casually say, "...A marriage alliance without feelings is the most stable."

The words hit me like a slap. I stopped in my tracks, the smile frozen on my lips.

My smile froze.

I gripped my dupatta tightly, forcing myself not to cry, as his words echoed in my mind. Had I been foolish all along? Was I just a convenience in his well-ordered life? My throat tightened, and my eyes burned with unshed tears. Was this what he truly believed?

His cold words pierced straight into my heart.

It felt like all my hopes, all my dreams, had been for nothing. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of him.

My eyes instantly stung with tears.

I blinked rapidly, willing myself not to cry. I refused to make a scene—not here, not now.

I didn’t dare listen further and fled in panic.

I hurried to the bathroom, pushing past the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest.

Unbeknownst to me, I missed Kabir’s next words:

"Come on, Arjun, even you don’t believe that. How can you use that to persuade me to marry for an alliance..."

Kabir’s voice was full of disbelief, but I was already gone, lost in my own pain.

I stumbled into the bathroom.

The harsh fluorescent lights made everything seem stark, unforgiving. I gripped the edge of the sink, struggling to breathe.

Salty tears mixed with cold water slid into the corner of my mouth.

I wiped my tears with the edge of my dupatta, the fabric rough against my cheeks. My tears tasted bitter, a reminder of all I’d tried to hide.

People’s hearts are greedy.

No matter how much we have, we always want more. I wanted Arjun’s love, his heart, his everything.

Arjun had been so good to me after marriage—

He’d share his schedule, remember my preferences, knew I was afraid of the dark and would leave a night lamp on for me every night...

He’d even ordered my favourite biryani for lunch, just because I’d once mentioned it in passing. Every gesture felt like a promise, a hope.

So I mistook his sense of responsibility for affection.

I told myself that care was just another form of love. Maybe, for us, it was enough.

After a while,

I raised my head and forced a terribly ugly smile at the mirror.

The woman staring back at me was tired, her eyes red-rimmed. I tried to look brave, but my mask was slipping.

"Priya, you should learn to be content," I muttered to myself.

I squared my shoulders, drawing strength from somewhere deep inside. I’d survived worse—I could survive this.

I hoped Arjun would never find out about my secret love for him.

It was my burden, my secret cross to bear. Better he never knew, never pitied me.

When I finally composed myself and turned to leave,

I took a deep breath, smoothing my hair and straightening my kurta. It was time to face the world again.

I saw Kabir and his group walking toward me.

They were laughing, arms slung around each other’s shoulders, the easy camaraderie of old friends.

Arjun was looking down at his phone, bringing up the rear.

His face was unreadable, lost in thought. I wondered what he was thinking.

Kabir spotted me first, waved, and greeted me.

He flashed a wide grin, calling my name across the corridor.

"Priya..." Kabir said, then nudged Aman, who was still chattering beside him.

Aman barely noticed, lost in his own world. Kabir rolled his eyes, elbowing him harder.

But Aman didn’t get the hint and kept talking:

He launched into his story, oblivious to the tension around him.

"Priya, we were just talking about Meera returning from the US and looking for a job."

My heart skipped a beat at her name. I forced a polite smile, masking my nerves.

"Do you think if she’d come back earlier, Arjun..."

He trailed off, the implication hanging in the air. I clenched my fists, struggling to keep my composure.