Chapter 13
Dalhousie – Hotel
Despite claiming she would order room service, Arundhati had changed her mind.
Hunger, the boredom of being locked in a hotel room, and perhaps something more restless beneath the surface because she had blatantly denied Kushal dinner together, compelled her to dress and come downstairs to the restaurant.
She told herself it was just to eat, alone, in silence. Nothing more.
The resort’s restaurant was warm and candlelit, filled with soft jazz playing in the background. The pinewood smell mixed with roasting garlic and freshly baked bread floated through the air, wrapped around her senses. As she stepped inside, a smiling attendant greeted her warmly.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the woman said before Arundhati gave her room number.
The attendant checked it on her list and smiled back at her.
“Mrs. Nair, your husband is already seated,” she added, gesturing politely toward the far end of the dining room.
Arundhati blinked, surprised, then followed her line of sight.
Kushal sat alone at a corner table, half-turned toward the room, a tumbler of scotch in one hand.
He was dressed casually in a fitted navy T-shirt, dark jeans, and a rugged black jacket.
The dim lights gave his features an extra edge, making him stand out amongst all the men around here.
Before Arundhati could ask the attendant for another table, the attendant added with a wink, “Happy honeymoon, Mrs. Nair.”
Her cheeks flamed instantly. “It’s not a honeymoon,” she said quickly. “We’re here for work.”
The woman chuckled softly. “Honeymoon or not, ma’am… this place has romantic energy. When you’re here with your partner, it all begins to feel like one.”
Arundhati didn’t have a response to that. She looked around, hoping to find a vacant table for herself, any excuse not to share space with Kushal tonight, but the restaurant was packed.
Resigned, she nodded politely and followed the attendant, who walked her straight to his table.
Kushal’s eyes lifted when she approached, surprise flickering in his gaze. He didn’t say anything as the attendant pulled out a chair for her, just watched as Arundhati carefully sat down, adjusting the hem of her cardigan over her lap.
“We’ll order shortly,” he told the attendant, as if he were waiting for his wife all this time to decide on the order. As if he was confident that Arundhati would come despite denying him just moments ago.
When the woman left, Arundhati straightened. “I didn’t come here to dine with you. I was bored in the room; besides, there were no empty tables here.”
He didn’t reply. Just leaned back in his chair, took another slow sip from his glass, and slid the menu toward her without breaking his gaze from her.
She reached for the menu, pulling her cardigan a little closer around her chest. The fit of the wool-blend bodycon dress she had worn today was once perfect, but now it hung a little loose around her waist and chest. She hadn’t worn it for over a year.
Now the neckline dipped a little lower than she recalled, revealing more of her collarbone and neckline than she preferred for a dinner with him.
She realised this in the room when she wore it, but hunger had won over hesitation, and rather than wasting more time changing into something else, she simply threw on a cardigan and came down as she was.
Now, as she scanned the menu and tried to distract herself, she felt the focused heat of Kushal’s gaze on her. Like he was studying her again after months apart. Like he was reacquainting himself with a memory that still made him desire her.
She looked up at him in irritation, but that didn’t bother him at all. Instead, he just took another swig of his drink and set the glass down, eyes still on her.
“You’ve lost weight,” he said.
That caught her off guard. For a second, she felt that familiar sting, another reminder of how often her uncle and colleagues had made similar observations lately.
But from Kushal, it felt different. More personal.
As if he had noticed not just the change, but the reason behind it.
That she hated living alone. That she skipped her meals often.
So, without thinking, she snapped, “Maybe I’ve lost some weight, but I have it in all the right places. Where it counts.”
The words were out before she could stop herself.
He raised an eyebrow, then grinned slowly.
Her reaction had given him exactly what he needed.
“I’m sure,” he murmured, and then let his gaze dip briefly but deliberately over the neckline of her dress.
His smirk deepened, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes, like he was checking the proof himself and quite enjoying the confirmation.
The moment his eyes lifted back to hers, she regretted saying anything at all. She had walked into dinner expecting distance. Instead, she found herself already caught in a fire she hadn’t meant to ignite.
And he? He was already burning.
Arundhati glared at him from across the candlelit table, jaw tight, though anyone who knew her well enough could tell she was only pretending to be truly angry.
Kushal, lounging back in his chair, met her gaze with a raised brow.
“What?” he said, entirely too casual. “I wouldn’t know what else to say. I mean, it’s not like I’ve had hands-on experience with your so-called ‘right places.’”
The comment hit her like a spark to dry firewood.
Her cheeks turned scarlet in an instant, and her thighs pressed together reflexively beneath the table in a desperate attempt to quell the deep, aching pulse that bloomed in her body without warning.
It was ridiculous how easily Kushal could unravel her composure, sometimes just with a look.
And tonight, with a line delivered in that maddeningly calm tone, full of heat and mischief and devastating honesty, she couldn’t control her bodily reactions no matter what.
Before she could find a way to cut the tension with a retort, the attendant returned, not noticing the storm between them.
“Shall I take your order, ma’am?” the woman asked brightly.
Arundhati cast a polite smile as she placed her order.
“And for you, sir?” the attendant asked, turning to Kushal.
“I’ll have whatever my wife is having,” he said, eyes still locked on Arundhati.
The attendant smiled as though she were watching a couple mid-flirt, oblivious to the complexity of what truly simmered between them.
As she began to turn away, Kushal added, “Just make it less spicy, please. We’ve got enough spice between us to set the whole table on fire, right, baby?”
Arundhati gripped the table fork tightly, pressing it between her palms to keep from hurling it at him. Kushal chuckled, clearly enjoying her restraint, and leaned back again, swirling the last sip of his drink before downing it in one smooth motion.
The food arrived shortly after, and for a few minutes, they both ate in silence. Arundhati focused on her plate, refusing to look at him, refusing to acknowledge the way her body still responded to him even when her brain screamed no.
But Kushal broke the silence; this time, his voice had something far deeper than flirtation. “Feels like ages since we sat and ate together.”
She didn’t respond.
“I hate eating alone,” he added, pushing a piece of food around on his plate.
Still, she said nothing. But something in her softened.
Kushal’s eyes remained fixed on his food as he continued.
“You know, Aru… ever since I understood what loneliness really meant, I’ve eaten alone.
That small, cold house, I continued to live alone after my parents died…
I used to boil potatoes or whatever I could cook at eleven years old.
No salt, no spice. I didn’t know any better to cook at that age.
And I never complained. I thought… maybe that was my fate. ”
Her fork paused midway to her mouth. She looked up slowly, her gaze meeting the shadows in his.
“I grew up eating alone all the f*cking time. Houses changed. Status changed, but one thing never changed, and that was the fact that I was lonely.”
Her eyes welled up just visualising what he said.
“But then you came,” he said, finally lifting his head to look at her. “As my wife. You stepped into my house, into my life. You made tea. I made breakfast. You cooked daal. I burnt toast. We fought over it, but we laughed. We shared something in that kitchen. At that table.”
He swallowed, his jaw tightening. “And then you left. Just like that. And I was back to eating alone. Staring at that same chair. Wondering how I’d never realised just how much worse it is, to eat alone once you’ve known what it’s like to share.”
Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, but she forced herself to pretend calm. His words had struck something vulnerable, but she wouldn’t show it.
Instead, her voice turned cold. “You’re getting better at this every day.”
His brow creased slightly. “At what?”
“Manipulation,” she said. “This entire speech? Your orphan story, your pain, your loneliness, it’s your victim card, Kushal. Maybe true, but nicely played.”
The pain in his eyes was immediate, but fleeting. He masked it with a tight smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
She realised it was cruel of her to say that, the moment she said it. She had crossed a line. A bad one. And she hated herself for it. But her pride wouldn’t let her take it back.
She wiped her lips with her napkin and pushed back her chair to go. But before she could fully rise, his hand reached across the table and caught her wrist, not hard, but enough to stop her.
“I’m not playing the victim here, Aru. If manipulation was what I wanted to do with you, you’d never have walked out that door nine months ago. You wouldn’t have left me. You wouldn’t have made it two steps out of our home if I’d truly wanted to control our marriage.”
There was no smirk now. No teasing. Just wounded pride and too much truth.
For a second, her heart caved.
But she didn’t say a word.