Chapter 3: Caught in the Act

It was Sneha. My breath caught as if I’d been slapped. The world slowed. She wore the cobalt blue dress I’d bought for our anniversary, the one I’d saved up for by skipping chai at the office. I remembered her shy video, her playful tongue out, her promise: "I want to wait for Rohan to come home and put it on me—then help me take it off, piece by piece."

Now, bile rose at the memory. Was she so impatient she needed another man to help her undress? Rage burned through me. By the time I snapped out of it, she’d already entered the elevator.

I bolted for the stairs, sweat running down my neck, heart pounding with every flight. Second floor—no stop. Third floor—no stop. Finally, the elevator stopped at the fourth, my floor. I darted into the corridor, wiping my sweaty palms on my trousers, the corridor heavy with the scent of cheap room freshener.

No sign of her—until a nervous knocking echoed from the next corridor. I clung to the wall, peering around the corner. One glance, and my world collapsed.

There she was, glancing left and right, knocking again. The door opened—Amit, my colleague, stepped out. He wrapped his arm around Sneha’s waist and pulled her inside.

My phone buzzed—a WhatsApp notification, that familiar ting. My hands shook as I read: "Bhaiya, sorry, no signal in the elevator just now. Not tonight, I already have an appointment. And today’s client doesn’t accept threesomes, but tomorrow I’m all yours."

Blood drained from my face. I pressed my back to the wall, the corridor closing in. I listened to the moans and the banging bed through the thin wall, my fists clenched so tight my nails drew blood. My phone buzzed, but I only heard the sound of my own heart breaking—again and again.

Desperate, I dialled my boss. "Boss, I’ve decided. I’ll go abroad."