Chapter 7: Kebabs, Confessions, and the Real Plot Twist

One night, my girlfriend came home late from a real company dinner. She even video-called me to prove it.

I messaged the guy on WhatsApp (he’d asked for my number, but I never gave it—always contacted him through WhatsApp).

I casually asked about investment-type insurance, if it was worth it. He sent a long-winded reply, analysing pros and cons. I didn’t read a word.

After about ten minutes, I messaged him again.

I said, "Even though I’m married, I still can’t let go of you. After we met again, those old feelings came back. Maybe life is just too bland now, the thrill is tempting, but I don’t want to betray my wife."

He replied with a question mark. I immediately deleted the message, then sent a voice note.

"Bro, sorry, wrong person."

He said it was fine, he didn’t even look at it closely.

I called him on voice, asked if he was free to grab some kebabs, said I wasn’t in a good mood and wanted to talk.

He agreed right away. "Bro, no problem."

The reason I dared meet him was because, judging from their chat history, he really didn’t know my girlfriend had a boyfriend. She told him she’d broken up with her short-term boyfriend after the New Year.

Eating my food, living at my place, spending my money on beauty parlour visits, driving my car to party with her girlfriends, but acting single in front of her old flame.

Impressive.

I drove to pick him up. First thing he did when he got in: adjusted his shirt collar, then offered a half-sheepish, half-confident grin—the kind you see on grooms at their own baraat.

"Bro, I’ve never seen you post this car on your Status."

I just smiled and didn’t answer.

That’s the vibe I wanted—someone who doesn’t care about material things.

He kept chatting, saying, "You rich people are all like this, switching between cars. Must be nice."

Maybe because I invited him out, he felt flattered and did most of the talking. I just played along.

In between his chatter, I kept my eyes on the rearview, watching the city lights flash by, hearing the distant blare of a train horn and a sudden burst of laughter from a chai tapri as we stopped at a signal.