Chapter 6: The Taste of Betrayal

After showering, the kitchen filled with the hiss of tadka, the clang of steel plates, and the rich aroma of ghee. But none of it stirred my appetite. Sneha had changed into the same blue dress as last night, twirling in front of me, desperate for approval.

She set out my favourite plate, her voice falsely warm. "Honey, I’ve prepared your favourite dishes. Come try them."

I sat at the table, forcing myself to look at her. She spun shyly, posing. "Honey, look! This is the dress you bought me. Sneha loves it. You’re the first to see it—are you happy?"

I felt sick, picturing Amit’s touch still on that dress. I picked at my food, each bite tasteless. "Aren’t you going out?" I asked, flatly.

She blinked, cocking her head. "Of course not. No one is more important than my Rohan. My whole body belongs to you alone."

She reached for my hand. I gagged, running to the sink to vomit. Sneha rushed over, trying to catch my vomit with her hands. "Honey, what’s wrong? Was it my cooking?"

Her concern meant nothing now. I wiped my mouth and brushed her away, pretending it was just too much takeout.

She sobbed, tears falling into the dal. The sight used to break me—now it was just noise. I stared at the wall, numb, as she tried to spoon-feed me, dipping the spoon in dal, blowing on it, her voice trembling: "Mera baccha, eat a little for me."

I said nothing, sending her eight-pack abs photos from my alt account. Her phone dinged, the familiar notification sound echoing between us. She hid her phone under her dupatta, glancing at me from the corner of her eye, cheeks flushing as she flirted with her "bhaiya" online.

Suddenly, she looked up, adjusting her bindi, her voice brittle. "Honey, it’s my girlfriend’s birthday today. Can I spend a little time with her? Sneha promises to be back before dark."

I just stared at her hands, white-knuckled under the table, my whole body trembling with the effort of holding it all in.