Chapter 8 #2
Without a single word, without giving her the satisfaction of a reaction, Kushal walked out of the cabin. His fingers reached up and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, as though the tension in the room had wrapped itself around his throat. The door closed behind him with a muted click.
“What was that?” Raj looked helplessly at Arundhati. “Why now?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, Uncle. I know I promised I wouldn’t start another argument today of all days. But… I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
Raj pressed his temples in worry.
“You’re angry. I get that. You’ve always had a sharp tongue when your heart’s involved. But do you really think bringing up Kamya now, today, helps anything?”
“Have you invited her for the party tonight?” she asked suddenly.
Raj’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you serious right now, Aru? Why would I invite her?”
“I just asked,” she shrugged. “Kamya is one of the top clients of this firm. I know she and Kushal go back a long way. You’ve both shared ties with her that go beyond the courtroom.”
“Only family and a few close friends are invited tonight. Kamya is not one of them. You think I don’t know how you feel about her?
About everything that happened? Aru, I would never bring her into your space again.
I may have pushed you and Kushal into this marriage, but I’m not blind.
I can see where the cracks began. And I see who’s hurting most.”
Arundhati gave a bitter smile. “It’s not about her anymore.
It never really was. It’s the man I married, Uncle.
The one who, for his greed, chose to hide some of the most crucial facts of his life.
The one who pretended to see me, when all he really saw was a chai, an opportunity—Verma she took no nonsense from anyone. She was, in many ways, exactly the kind of woman Kushal Nair had always imagined ending up with.
Smart.
Controlled.
Unattached.
And she noticed him.
Kamya had a way of looking at him when they were in the same room, not overtly obvious, never crossing any professional boundaries.
But there was something in her gaze. A flirtation wrapped in intellect.
And slowly, that look became a conversation.
Those conversations turned into coffees.
The coffees turned into late-night drinks.
It hadn’t been love. It hadn’t started with fireworks.
No breathless glances. Just mutual admiration.
But somewhere in the middle of it all, the office whispers began.
The kind that co-workers traded behind lifted coffee mugs and hallway glances.
They called them the perfect power couple in the making.
It was strange how sometimes it’s the assumptions of others that push you into believing them yourself.
He hadn’t thought about Kamya as anything more than a professional contact until everyone around him did.
The teasing, the side glances, the constant nudging from colleagues, somewhere, it had planted a seed.
And something in Kushal started shifting. He began seeing her not as she was, but as how others wanted her to be with him.
She mirrored his drive. She made plans like him, calculated risks like him, even drank her scotch the same way—neat, no ice, no drama.
The resemblance to himself was uncanny.
They went out more. More coffee shops, more private lounges, and once or twice dinner dates, too. It wasn’t official. But in everyone’s eyes, it was.
Yes, there had been a kiss. A missed kiss. It was messy and drunk and half-finished, somewhere between a bad joke and a goodnight. But even then, it had left something unsaid between them. The possibility.
So, he did what any logical man might. He began to think about making it real. Official.
She was intelligent. Beautiful. Powerful. She understood the demands of his job. She could talk politics and litigation over scotch. She never asked questions he didn’t want to answer. She was, on paper, perfect.
And just when he was about to take that step, just when he had convinced himself that Kamya might be the perfect companion to his ordered life, Raj Verma called him in.
The man who had shaped his career. The man who had picked him out of a crowd of hungry, half-broken lawyers and put him in the fast lane to success.
Who had trusted him, backed him, made him what he was today.
Raj Verma didn’t ask for things. He merely stated them, with the kind of gravity that felt impossible to refuse.
That day, he asked for one thing.
To marry his niece.
Arundhati.
It wasn’t a demand. It was a proposal veiled in legacy.
“I see you as my heir, Kushal. Not just in the firm, but in this family. And Arundhati… well, she’s not just my niece. She’s a woman who needs someone who won’t just match her, but challenge her. I see that in you.”
That one sentence had detonated whatever world he had begun to build with Kamya.
All his life, he had worked for this. To become something. To mean something. And here was the man who had mentored him, trusting him with the one person he considered his own flesh and blood.
How could he say no?
He chose the firm. He chose Arundhati.
Even though he hadn’t even met her yet.
What did that make him?
Strategic. Calculating. Practical.
But also, cowardly. Maybe even cruel.
He remembered how his colleagues were stunned. How Kamya had smiled too tightly for days before pretending like it never mattered. How he never once sat down to explain anything to her. Because deep down, he knew he didn’t owe her more than what had existed between them—an almost.
And then he met Arundhati, who had intrigued him from the moment he heard about her. A part of him had known, even back then, that it wasn’t just about the position. That Arundhati wasn’t just a pawn in his climb.
But what he hadn’t predicted was how Arundhati would become so much more than the name he had said yes to.
Especially when he saw her that night at that party, dressed in a blue cocktail gown, eyes like rebellion and lips like defiance. It was at that time that he’d known.
Yes, Kamya was the right choice.
But Arundhati was the one he couldn’t walk away from.
And now, here he was. Married to a woman who couldn’t see past his ambition. Standing on a balcony, smoking his frustration into the sky, trying to quiet the guilt that never really went away.
She thought he didn’t have a heart.
But what she didn’t know, what no one knew, was that somewhere along the way, he had started making decisions with that very thing. His heart beat for her.
Even if it was too late to convince her of that now.
He took one final drag of his cigarette, crushed the stub in the ashtray fixed along the railing, and then walked back inside to continue his day.