61. DIVORCED.
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It was the day.
The atmosphere was thick.
Heavy with tension, so heavy it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Aarvi was getting ready.
Vivan sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, already prepared yet completely unready. His eyes never left her. He watched her the way one watches something that is about to slip away forever. As if he was memorizing her. Capturing the moment. Capturing her.
After setting her hair, Aarvi exhaled deeply.
“I’m ready,” she said softly, almost like she was saying goodbye.
Vivan nodded.
Then finally, he sighed and stood up from the bed.
Aarvi started moving toward the door. Her steps were slow, hesitant, dragged as if her body itself was resisting the direction. She stopped when she heard his voice.
“Aarvi.”
Low. Barely audible.
She turned.
Their eyes met.
There was something in her gaze something that wasn’t distant. Something painfully familiar. Something that made his chest ache.
Vivan lowered his head, as if choosing his words carefully. He closed his eyes, steadying himself, gathering the courage to speak. But when he looked up again and met her eyes—
The words died in his throat.
He shook his head, almost as if he was refusing his own thoughts. As if he was scared of what would happen if he spoke.
But maybe Aarvi understood.
Because suddenly, she moved toward him—fast—and wrapped her arms around him tightly.
And Vivan didn’t wait.
He wrapped his arms around her, firm and desperate, pulling her into himself like letting go would end him. His face buried itself in the crook of her neck, inhaling her warmth, her scent trying to memorize it in his bones.
Aarvi pressed herself closer, her arms curling around his neck. She rose onto her toes just to reach him, to fit into him, to feel him one last time.
His tears slipped free.
They soaked into the fabric on her shoulder as he sniffed, trying to hold himself together but failing miserably.
They stayed like that.
No words.
No explanations.
Just the sound of their breathing.
Just the frantic thud of two hearts breaking at the same time.
The room fell completely silent.
When Aarvi finally spoke, her voice trembled.
“Le… let me go.”
Vivan’s grip tightened instead.
He shook his head against her neck, his voice breaking into a whisper.
“I… I will die.”
Tears slid down unchecked.
Aarvi sniffed, her own tears spilling.
“I have to… go.”
She tried to push him away but failed. His arms refused to loosen, fear locking them in place.
“Am I—am I not capable of a second chance?” he asked suddenly, his voice shaking.
This time, Aarvi pressed her face into his chest.
“I… I can’t change my past, A-Aarvi,” he continued, words stumbling over each other.
“But I promise—I will never look at any other girl. I s-swear.”
His voice cracked completely.
He shut his eyes tightly as more tears fell.
“I… I can’t breathe,” Aarvi whispered.
Vivan jerked instantly.
He released her at once, panic flooding his face.
“I’m sorry—” he said, completely forgetting everything else for a second.
Aarvi stopped him by grabbing his arm.
She looked at him then.
Tear-stained cheeks.
Wet lashes.
Messy hair.
Tired eyes.
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
He was not like this, she thought.
Her hand reached up, cupping his cheek. She wiped his tears with her thumb, a small, fragile smile appearing on her lips.
And he just stood there—looking at her like she was the only thing keeping him alive.
Aarvi rose on her toes and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.
“Don’t act now,” she said softly, trying to sound playful. “I know you’re strong.”
Vivan looked down.
“I know you want me to feel guilty, right?” she asked gently.
He looked up instantly, shaking his head vigorously.
“No. Never.”
Aarvi smiled faintly.
That’s when the knock came.
She turned and saw Prisha standing at the door, her face unreadable.
“The lawyer called twice,” Prisha said. “You need to go.”
Aarvi nodded. She walked out of the room—but not before turning back and giving Vivan one last look.
He followed her silently.
Step by step.
Following her down a path where neither of them wanted to go—
but both of them were walking anyway.
Aarvi stepped downstairs, Prisha walking beside her, Vivan following a few steps behind.
The moment her feet touched the last stair, she saw them—all waiting.
Her breath hitched.
She exhaled softly and walked toward them.
Pragya moved first.
Slowly, carefully—as if Aarvi might disappear if she hurried—she reached her and cupped her face. Her thumb brushed Aarvi’s cheek before she placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“You still have a chance,” Pragya whispered.
Aarvi smiled faintly and shook her head.
Pragya closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded, stepping aside—acceptance heavy in her silence.
Aarvi turned toward Vinod.
She bent down to touch his feet.
He didn’t stop her.
Didn’t bless her.
Didn’t even look at her.
So she straightened and softly said, “Papa.”
His jaw tightened.
“Stop calling me that,” he said firmly.
Aarvi smiled—not hurt, not angry. She knew this anger. It was love wearing armor.
She stepped forward and hugged him anyway.
“You’re such an actor,” she murmured.
Vinod froze for a second—then his arms came around her, patting her head like he always did.
“I’m still not with this rubbish decision of yours,” he said gruffly.
She pulled back, smiling through the ache.
“But nothing can change now.”
Behind her, Vivan let out a broken, silent chuckle.
Late? he thought bitterly. You just have to say no… and I’ll stop everything.
Aarvi moved toward Vedant.
He turned away, about to leave.
She caught his wrist.
“I know you’re angry,” she said gently, “but what if we don’t get this chance again?”
Vedant’s resolve shattered.
He hugged her tightly. “Don’t leave… please.”
Aarvi closed her eyes for a second—then pulled away.
Instead of answering, she patted his head softly and walked toward Prisha.
Prisha didn’t waste a second before hugging her.
“I’ll miss you so much,” she said, voice muffled.
Aarvi laughed lightly and slapped her arm playfully.
“If you DJ, call me—I’ll come. Or you come to my place, okay?”
“No,” Pragya interrupted firmly. “I want you to live here. As my bhabhi.”
The words hung in the air.
Vivan’s phone rang.
The hug broke.
After ending the call, he looked at Aarvi.
“We’re getting late.”
She nodded.
Without another word, she walked toward the exit.
Outside, as Aarvi headed toward her car, Vivan called softly, “Aarvi.”
She turned.
He walked closer, hesitation written all over his face.
“Wi–will you go with me?” he asked quietly. “I’ll tell my driver to drop your car at your place.”
Hope flickered in his eyes—fragile, afraid.
She looked at him for a long second.
Then nodded.
Vivan smiled—small, relieved—and opened the car door for her.
As she sat inside, he closed it gently and took the driver’s seat.
The car moved forward.
And with it, two hearts that were already divorced—
but still, painfully, choosing each other.
They finally reached the place.
The lawyer’s private office.
Their marriage had been private—
so its ending would be too.
As they stepped inside, the air felt cold. Professional. Detached.
A sharp contrast to the storm sitting heavy in their chests.
The lawyer stood up, shaking hands with them—first Vivan, then Aarvi.
Formal. Polite. Unaware of the history he was about to erase.
They moved toward the desk.
Vivan pulled out a chair for Aarvi.
Then one for himself.
Small habits.
Still intact.
The silence pressed down on Aarvi’s chest.
She hadn’t felt this scared on her wedding day—
not even when she had walked toward him in silence, bound by circumstances.
This fear was different.
Final.
The lawyer cleared his throat.
“Are you both sure you want to proceed?”
Vivan let out a quiet scoff before nodding.
Certain. Resigned.
Aarvi hesitated.
Then nodded too.
The lawyer gave a brief, professional smile and slid the papers forward.
“Please sign here.”
Aarvi’s fingers closed around the pen slowly.
And then—
The memory hit her.
The bathroom door was slightly ajar.
Vivan stood inside, irritation flickering across his face as he realised he’d forgotten his shirt.
He peeked out carefully.
Empty.
Satisfied, he stepped out—shirtless—heading toward the wardrobe.
Just then, the door creaked open.
He startled.
Aarvi stood at the doorway.
Frozen.
So was he.
His hands flew to his chest instinctively.
“Meri ijjat,” he muttered dramatically.
Aarvi rolled her eyes, stepping inside and locking the door behind her.
Vivan’s eyes widened.
“H–hey, why are you locking the door?”
She smirked.
“Come on, Vivan. Remove your hands. Let me see the view.”
His cheeks flushed instantly.
“Your intentions are not looking good,” he muttered, rushing to the wardrobe.
He grabbed the first shirt he found, slipping it on hurriedly, fingers fumbling with the buttons.
Then—
“By the way,” Aarvi said casually,
“your ijjat looks hot.”
He froze.
His ears turned red.
Eyes shut tight, he finished buttoning the shirt at record speed and walked out without a word.
Behind him, Aarvi laughed freely—
soft, unguarded, happy. As she thought "he is acting like I am some stranger and not his wife"
"I am really not her wife now" a thought lingered in her mind. A faint smile touched Aarvi’s lips.
For just a second.
Then another image crashed into her mind—
Kiara in his arms.
His lips on hers.
His silence.
Her breath hitched.
The pen trembled in her hand.
Aarvi looked down.
And signed.
Vivan watched her sign.
The moment the pen left the paper, something inside him cracked—quietly, violently.
His fist tightened on his thigh as he looked away from her, jaw locking.
He couldn’t watch her for even a second longer.
Aarvi slid the papers toward him.
He took them.
When his fingers closed around the pen, they trembled.
His heartbeat spiked—fast, uneven—like his body was panicking before his mind could catch up. For a moment, he just stared at the papers in front of him.
White sheets. Black ink.
An ending written too cleanly.
No expression crossed his face.
But inside—
Maybe he was remembering that day.
He had just returned home from the office, loosening his tie as he stepped into the hall.
The entire family was gathered, the TV playing softly in the background.
He smiled—tired, automatic.
Then his eyes found her.
Aarvi.
Curled on the couch, fast asleep.
“Why is she sleeping here?” he asked, brows knitting together.
Pragya replied casually,
“Prisha insisted she watch a movie with us. She fell asleep halfway.”
Vivan huffed lightly.
He removed his blazer without another word and walked over.
Scooping Aarvi up as if she weighed nothing.
She stirred slightly, face nuzzling into his chest, her hair falling across her cheeks.
Still looking at her, he said calmly—but firmly,
“Don’t force her into things she doesn’t like.”
Everyone went quiet.
“She works hard in the office. She gets tired,” he continued.
“She won’t complain—but she needs rest.”
And with that, he walked away.
Behind him, Prisha pressed her hands to her mouth, barely containing a scream at her brother’s soft, infuriating concern.
In their room, Vivan lowered Aarvi onto the bed gently—like she was something fragile.
Precious.
He brushed the strands of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering.
A soft kiss pressed to her forehead.
A faint smile curved on his lips as he murmured, almost to himself,
“I wish I could see this view every day.”
He tucked the blanket around her carefully.
Then walked into the bathroom.
Back in the lawyer’s office—
Vivan’s grip tightened around the pen until his knuckles whitened.
He swallowed hard, forcing his fingers to steady.
Finally—
He signed.
The pen scraped against the paper, each stroke feeling heavier than the last.
When he slid the papers toward the lawyer, something in his chest went numb.
The lawyer checked the documents once.
Then spoke, voice neutral. Professional.
“You are both legally divorced now.”
Aarvi gasped softly.
Vivan didn’t react.
Except—
His jaw clenched.
Hard.
Because some things don’t break loudly.
They shatter in silence.
They stepped out of the lawyer’s office with hearts heavier than when they had entered.
The silence between them was no longer awkward—
it was suffocating.
Vivan moved first, walking around the car and opening the passenger door for her. Aarvi paused, then slid inside, offering him a small smile. It was soft. Polite. Painfully familiar.
He nodded once before closing the door.
Then he took the driver’s seat and started the engine.
The drive was quiet.
Too quiet.
Aarvi glanced at him from time to time. His face looked calm, composed—as if nothing had happened. But his hands told a different story. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, knuckles paling with pressure, like he was holding himself together by force.
Did I do something wrong?
She had thought divorce would feel like release.
Freedom.
Instead, it felt like something had been buried alive.
They reached her house.
Her home.
The car came to a stop. Both of them stepped out and stood there, facing the same gate, yet worlds apart.
Aarvi looked at the house in front of her.
She was finally back where she belonged.
And yet—there was no warmth. No relief.
“I… I should go now,” Vivan said softly.
She turned to him.
He was already stepping back, as if afraid to stay even a second longer. As if this place—this moment—might break him if he did.
“Vivan,” she called.
He stopped.
Turned.
A small, practiced smile appeared on his lips as he walked back toward her, standing in front of her like he always used to—attentive, careful.
“I know you’re hurt,” Aarvi said, trying to sound light, playful. But her throat felt heavy. “That doesn’t mean you’ll start drinking or smoking, huh?”
He let out a quiet chuckle. Barely audible.
“Hm,” he murmured, nodding.
“And,” she added, forcing herself to continue, “once Ved understands everything… come back as CEO soon.”
His eyes dropped.
His fingers curled into a fist at his side.
He didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.
The weight in his chest made even breathing difficult.
Aarvi smiled and reached up, lightly ruffling his hair.
He looked at her then.
“You also promise me something,” he said, lifting his hand and extending his pinky toward her.
She raised a brow.
“If your parents ever force you to marry someone again,” he said quietly, “I’m just one call away.”
Her lips curved into a small laugh as she hooked her pinky with his.
“I promise.”
For a moment, neither of them moved.
“Also—” Vivan began.
But Aarvi interrupted, her voice suddenly softer. “There’s something in your hair.”
He frowned slightly, then leaned forward instinctively, lowering his head toward her.
She reached up, pretending to pick something out.
And then it hit her.
That night after the treat.
How she had lied the same way, just to touch him.
How he had smiled then—so unaware of how fragile everything was.
Her eyes burned.
She looked away quickly.
“Done,” she said.
Vivan straightened.
“Bye,” she whispered.
He didn’t reply.
He walked back to the car slowly, sat inside, and drove away without looking back.
Aarvi stood there long after the car disappeared from her sight.
Only when it was gone did she finally exhale—shaky, broken.
She had never imagined it would end like this.
Not with anger.
Not with hate.
But with love still standing there—
silent, helpless, and unfinished.
That night, Aarvi lay on her bed.
Alone.
The room felt unfamiliar—despite being her own. The walls she had grown up with now seemed distant, hollow. Her suitcase lay open near the cupboard, half-unpacked. She hadn’t had the energy to finish.
She turned to her side.
Empty.
No one scrolling on their phone. No quiet breathing. No familiar presence filling the space beside her.
Her chest tightened.
She told herself this was what she wanted.
Freedom.
Peace.
So why did it feel like something had been torn out of her instead?
She sat up slowly, pulling her knees to her chest.
Her eyes fell on her phone.
No messages. No missed calls.
She stared at the screen longer than she should have—half-expecting his name to appear. When it didn’t, she locked the phone and tossed it aside, annoyed with herself.
“Get a grip, Aarvi,” she whispered.
She stood up and walked to the balcony.
The night air was cool, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside her. The city lights blinked endlessly, people living their lives as if nothing had changed.
As if a marriage hadn’t just ended.
Her gaze dropped to her wrist.
Empty.
She instinctively rubbed the spot where his fingers used to rest—protective, possessive, familiar. A bitter laugh escaped her lips.
She walked back inside and opened the cupboard.
Her clothes were neatly placed.
Too neatly.
He had always done that.
Her throat tightened again.
She picked up a random T-shirt from the shelf—and froze.
It smelled like him.
Not strong.
Not obvious.
Just him.
Her grip tightened around the fabric.
Memories flooded in without warning.
His quiet presence behind her while she worked late. The way he used to hand her coffee without asking. How he always waited for her—even when she was late.
“I don’t miss him,” she said aloud.
But her voice broke.
She slid down to the floor, back against the cupboard, clutching the T-shirt to her chest like it was the only thing anchoring her.
Tears slipped out silently.
Uncontrolled.
She buried her face in the fabric, inhaling deeply.
And that’s when it hit her—sharp and undeniable.
She didn’t miss the marriage.
She missed him.
The way he looked at her like she was home. The way he chose her—quietly, fiercely, even when it cost him everything.
Her sob turned into a quiet gasp.
“What did we do?” she whispered.
The room offered no answer.
Only silence.
And the growing, terrifying realisation—
She hadn’t walked away because she stopped loving him.
She had walked away because she was afraid of how deeply she still did.
That same night, Vivan’s house was dark.
Not because the lights were off—but because nothing inside felt alive enough to matter.
He stood in the doorway for a long moment, keys still in his hand. The silence hit him first. No soft footsteps. No voice asking if he’d eaten. No presence filling the space without trying.
He stepped inside and closed the door.
The sound echoed.
Too loud.
He loosened his tie and tossed it on the console table. It landed beside her hair clip.
He froze.
He stared at it as if it didn’t belong there. As if touching it would hurt more than leaving it behind.
Slowly, he picked it up.
Blue.
Simple.
She used to complain it never held her hair properly—yet she wore it every day.
His jaw tightened.
He walked into the bedroom.
The bed was perfectly made. Untouched. Too neat. He hadn’t slept on it last night. Or the night before.
He sat down at the edge, elbows resting on his knees.
For a long time, he did nothing.
Then his eyes fell on the other side of the bed.
Empty.
He laughed—quietly, bitterly.
“So this is it,” he murmured.
He stood up abruptly and opened the cupboard, as if looking for proof that she had really gone.
Her side was half-empty.
Not cleared out.
Just… paused.
Like she hadn’t left forever.
Like she might come back.
That thought was dangerous.
He shut the cupboard harder than necessary and leaned his forehead against the door.
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Then stopped.
He didn’t check.
He already knew what he wanted to see—and what he wouldn’t.
He walked to the balcony instead.
The city stretched endlessly before him, bright and indifferent. Somewhere out there, she was probably lying awake too.
That thought should have comforted him.
It didn’t.
It hurt more.
“I kept my promise,” he whispered into the night.
No one answered.
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
His hand tightened around the railing.
And that night, for the first time since the divorce, Vivan let himself admit the truth he would never say out loud:
Letting her go hadn’t made him strong.
It had just made him alone.
Aarvi was sleeping when her mother came into her room.
She shook her vigorously.
“Wake up. How much will you sleep?” Shivani said firmly.
Aarvi groaned, pulling the blanket over her face.
“Five minutes more,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fabric.
But Shivani didn’t allow it. She jerked the blanket off her face.
Aarvi sat up abruptly—and that’s when it hit her.
There was no Vivan beside her.
No gentle knock.
No soft “Aarvi wake up,you will get late” in a low voice.
No gentle warning to wake her.
Her eyes blinked, unfocused, still half-lost in sleep when her mother’s sharp voice cut through.
“Have you gone mad?” Shivani snapped. “Vivan is no more your husband. If you go late, he won’t save you anymore.”
The words landed but didn’t sink in properly.
Aarvi didn’t argue.
Didn’t react.
She just nodded silently and got out of bed.
She went through her routine mechanically—brushing, bathing, dressing—her body moving on habit while her mind lagged behind, heavy and numb.
At breakfast, she ate without tasting anything.
When she stepped outside, her eyes paused on the familiar sight.
Her car stood parked in front of the house.
“Their driver came and dropped it,” her father said casually, as if it meant nothing. Then added, “Drop me at my office first.”
She agreed with a nod.
The drive was quiet.
She dropped him off, then continued toward her own office.
Inside the elevator, the space felt too small, too quiet.
Just then, a girl stepped in, eyes glued to her phone, scrolling absently through Instagram.
Aarvi’s gaze fell there unintentionally.
And froze.
Her eyes widened.
The headline burned itself into her vision—
“VIVAN SINGHANIA ENDS ANOTHER RELATIONSHIP — SOURCES CLAIM INFIDELITY.”
Her heart sank so violently it felt like it dropped to her stomach.
Her breath hitched.
She quickly took out her own phone, fingers trembling as she unlocked it.
She searched.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Nothing.
No headlines.
No posts.
No reels.
No fan pages.
Not even his profile.
It was as if he didn’t exist.
Her pulse raced.
Something was wrong.
The elevator doors opened, and she rushed out, her steps hurried, uneven.
Straight to the CEO’s cabin.
The name on the panel stopped her.
Where Vivan Singhania once was.
Her chest tightened.
She pushed the door open without knocking.
Vedant looked up instantly, startled.
“Bhabhi?” he said, standing up. “What—”
“Can I… can I get your phone?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He nodded immediately, handing it to her without question.
Her fingers flew over the screen.
She typed: Vivan Singhania relation—
Before she could finish, Vedant snatched the phone back.
“Bha—bhabhi, what happened?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.
Aarvi looked at him, eyes glossy, hurt and confusion mixing dangerously.
“Why can’t I see anything related to Vivan on my phone?” she asked directly.
Vedant gulped.
“M-maybe… your phone has some issue,” he tried, the lie weak even to his own ears.
She closed her eyes.
Slowly.
As if gathering the little strength she had left.
Then she folded her hands in front of him.
“Please, Ved,” she whispered.
“Please tell me.”
Tears brimmed, slipping past her lashes.
“I need to know.”
Vedant looked away, helpless.
Silence stretched between them.
Finally—
“Okay,” he said softly.
Aarvi looked up at him instantly.
Vedant took a deep breath.
And began.