Chapter 5: Afterthoughts in the Rain

Once the idea of divorce took root, it grew wild, like weeds after the first monsoon.

A week later, I met Dadaji Kapoor.

I told him I wanted a divorce.

He sat on the old sofa, tapping the glass table with his finger. "Why?"

I told him Arjun liked someone else. He controlled his temper with her, wrote her songs, gave her gifts, tried to win her over. With Priya, he was happier—she was more suitable, objectively and subjectively.

Dadaji didn’t speak for a long time. Finally, he cleared his throat and asked quietly,

"Ritu, do you know why I chose you as my granddaughter-in-law?"

"Because I gave Arjun a band-aid?" I said, half-smiling.

He shook his head. "No. I checked your background, knew you were kind. Also knew your situation in the Sharma family—you needed this match. With our name, your life improved."

"Because of that, you’d treat Arjun as a saviour, be grateful, tolerate him, even spoil him. When I heard you chose psychology in college, I was sure—you really are like that."

He sighed. "A boy like Arjun, if not ill, would have lines of girls after him. But he’s sick. I have only one grandson, so I had to plan—find a wife who’d never leave, who’d care for him always."

"This Priya—I don’t know her. I can’t trust Arjun to her."

He looked at me with the weight of years.

"Beta, this is how it is in our families. The world is not kind to girls alone. Here, you are safe. What more is there to ask?"

I understood his point, but I didn’t want to stay home, living a life I could see all the way to the end.

"Arjun drove me away," I told Dadaji. "Now I only make him angry. Lately, his episodes are worse."

Finally, Dadaji’s face grew serious.

"Ritu, I’ll think about it. Go home now. But we have to ask Arjun’s opinion too."

I nodded, stood up, and left.

How could Arjun disagree? He’d be eager to sign the papers.

That day, a soft spring rain was falling, wind strong outside. As I left, I saw Arjun at the half-open door, dressed in a white kurta, holding an umbrella. A puddle had formed at the umbrella’s tip. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, or what he’d heard.

He saw me and pressed his lips tight, face pale. "You said you want to divorce me?"

After I confirmed it, Arjun was silent, as if lost in thought.

Then he asked, "After divorce, you’ll still take care of me?"

I just stared at him, then let out a small, hollow laugh. "Kya, Arjun? Divorce ke baad bhi main tumhare liye nurse banu?"

"I won’t be your wife, no duty to look after you."

"Samajh gaya."

The rain started coming down harder, soaking half his shoulder. Arjun looked at me, shook his head. "No divorce."

I was shocked. "Why?"

"If we divorce, kaun sambhalega mujhe?"

"Don’t you like Priya? She can take care of you."

He shook his head stubbornly. "Nahi. She’s busy, has to create. She can’t always be at home. Tu toh ghar pe hi rehti hai. Kaun sambhalega mujhe?"

I looked down at the puddle, coldness spreading in my chest.

In his eyes, Priya was meant for bigger things, not to be tied down. But I—ordinary, invisible—was born to revolve around him.

A WhatsApp notification buzzed on my phone, the Sharma family group message lighting up the screen, but I didn’t open it. I watched the rain trace lines down the umbrella and wondered—when would my story stop belonging to someone else?