Chapter 13 #2
The moment he released her hand, she stood and walked away while Kushal sat back in his chair, eyes heavy, and finished his meal in silence.
Alone…again.
****************
She stepped out of the restaurant with hurried steps, the ache in her chest sharper than the wind that met her outside.
The soft glow of the garden lights led her to the back lawn of the resort.
It was a quiet, secluded area nestled on the edge of the property.
A low stone boundary separated the manicured garden from the breathtaking view of the Dhauladhar mountain range, now a shadowy silhouette under the night sky.
Dalhousie’s chill had settled deeper with the fall of darkness, and the cold pierced through her woollen dress and thin cardigan, but she barely registered it.
She walked toward the edge, then stopped, arms folding across her chest. And just like that, the tears she had been holding back finally slipped free.
It wasn’t just what he had said, it was how he had said it.
The way his eyes didn’t beg for pity but carried years of unspoken pain.
For so long, she had seen Kushal as this ambitious, charming, emotionally inaccessible man who had hurt her by keeping secrets, by making decisions she never agreed to.
But tonight, for a moment, he hadn’t looked like any of that. He had just looked… human.
And she had snapped at him, using cruel words and a dismissive tone. As if the confession of a lonely, grieving eleven-year-old boy trying to feed himself didn’t matter. How could she call his pain part of his manipulation?
She hated herself for it.
Arundhati hated herself for what she did, and hugged herself tighter, almost shaking, not just from the cold, but from the shame crawling across her skin.
She knew what it meant to lose parents young.
But she had been fortunate that Raj uncle had taken her in, surrounded her with love and stability.
She never had to cook a bland meal alone at eleven, never had to sit at a table and stare at an empty chair, willing it to be filled.
She had grieved, yes, but never known that kind of silence.
She should have listened better.
Should have understood.
Should have let him speak without trying to protect her pride.
The wind picked up, and she turned her face away from it, eyes squeezed shut. The cardigan she wore offered little defence. But she didn’t move. It felt right to be cold. A self-inflicted punishment for what she did with Kushal when he was at his lowest.
But just then, without warning, she felt a thick jacket smelling faintly like him draped gently over her shoulders. His large hands covered her upper body from the chilling cold in a quiet, wordless gesture.
She didn’t need to look to know it was him.
Her hands reached up and clutched the lapels of the jacket tightly around her, her throat closing with guilt so fierce it nearly strangled her.
Despite everything she’d said, he had come looking for her.
Despite the fact that she had thrown his pain back at him and called it a performance.
He had still noticed she was shivering. He still cared enough to protect her.
She turned instantly, heart thudding, ready to say something. But he was already walking away.
Gone, without waiting for thanks. Or her apology.
***************
An hour later
Arundhati returned to the resort nearly an hour later. She walked silently through the warm hallway, stopping in front of her room. Kushal’s door was right next to hers.
Her fingers hovered over the jacket wrapped tightly around her.
She could knock. She could hand it back and say the one word she owed him—sorry.
But not knowing how to frame the apology and if he would be even interested in bearing her anymore tonight, held her still. So she decided to say it tomorrow.
She unlocked her door, stepped inside, and slowly walked over to the recliner, removing the jacket from her shoulders. She folded it gently and placed it there as if it were something sacred. A part of him.
Determined not to overthink, she then headed straight to the bathroom.
A long hot water bath followed, steam rising like a cocoon around her body as she tried to wash away the guilt, the tension, the memories.
But Kushal’s words, his confession, his pain, looped in her mind like an unstoppable reel.
Wrapped in a towel, she padded into the now-warm room, dimmed the lights, and picked out a nightdress from her luggage. A clingy, house-cotton nightie that barely grazed her mid-thigh.
She applied lotion to her arms and legs in silence, then crawled into the bed, tucking herself in under the thick duvet.
She’d barely rested her head on the pillow when her eyes found the jacket again, lying alone on the recliner.
The memory of him draping it over her shoulders returned.
Without thinking, she rose from the bed and crossed to it. Picked it up. Sniffed it.
That familiar earthy, fresh, slightly spicy scent hit her instantly. Kushal always smelled like that. Clean and masculine. She shut her eyes and held the jacket close.
In the months since they had separated, this is what she had missed most. Not the arguments.
Not even the intimacy. But the comfort. The sensation of being wrapped in his arms from behind, her body curled into his, his breath warm against her neck.
In the beginning, after they parted ways, she hadn’t been able to sleep without him.
She used to arrange pillows behind her to mimic the feel of his chest pressed against her back.
It was a ridiculous comfort. But it had worked until the day she accepted that divorce was inevitable.
And yet, tonight, here she was again… needing that closeness, craving that warmth. Needing him, even if just the scent of him, woven into the threads of his jacket.
She slipped under the covers again and curled into the jacket like it was a shield. Just as sleep began to blur the edges of her consciousness, a knock echoed.
She sat up at once.
Another knock. This time, softer.
Her eyes scanned the room. She realised it wasn’t the main door. The knock came from the connecting door between their rooms.
She flipped on the bedside lamp.
“Aru…” came his voice from the other side with another knock.
She swung her legs over the bed, padded softly across the room, and stood on the other side of the door.
“What?” she asked.
“Open the door,” he said.
She hesitated but only for a moment.
Something in his tone… or maybe something inside her just didn’t want distance anymore.
She unlatched the bolt and slowly opened the connecting door. And there he stood.
Kushal, bare-chested, wearing only his night pants, his hair tousled in a way that made him look devastatingly handsome as usual.
But when he looked at her, he froze.
Her breath caught as she realised the mistake.
The nightie. Thin straps, loose neckline, short hem.
It barely covered her thighs and clung to her in all the wrong places, the ones he didn’t have a hands-on experience with yet, like he complained before.
The nightie clung to her like a second skin, outlining the softness he had once only felt in pieces through silks and accidental touches, never fully allowed to possess.
And now, there she was, standing in front of him in something barely there, looking like a dream designed solely to torment him.
But it was too late to hide. His eyes had already taken in every inch of her. And he didn’t even bother pretending he hadn’t.
Neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything.
Kushal’s jaw tensed slightly as his gaze slowly rose from her legs to the flutter of her chest, and finally, to her flushed face.
God help him.
If she had given him that second chance he desired, if she had looked at him tonight and said yes instead of running away from him, he didn’t think he would’ve had it in him to be patient anymore. Not tonight. Not after this.
If she had said yes... by now, he’d have crossed the threshold, scooped her effortlessly into his arms, and laid her down on that bed behind her.
He would have tugged that sinful little thing over her head, or hell, just tore it off her body.
He would’ve mapped every curve she tried to hide with his hands, his mouth, and his tongue, slowly and relentlessly, until her anger dissolved into gasps and his name was on her lips.
He would’ve devoured her. Worshipped her.
Taken back what had been denied to them for too long.
And the way she was looking at him now, breathless, unsure, blushing beneath his gaze, he knew she would’ve let him. But this wasn’t that night.
So he blinked hard and tried to steady himself.
“W… what happened?” Arundhati managed to ask in a hushed voice, as she crossed her arms over her chest, instinctively trying to cover the exposed skin his eyes had already devoured.
He glanced away, breathing out through his nose before speaking.
“Uh… my phone. I left it in the jacket.”
His gaze drifted into her room, casually at first… and then paused. The jacket was sprawled across the middle of her bed. And not neatly placed either. It looked wrinkled, sunken in the middle like she had been curled into it. As if she had been hugging it. Holding it for warmth.
He looked back at her, and her face turned the softest shade of pink.
Without saying a word, she stormed to the bed, grabbed the jacket with more force than necessary, and clutched it to her chest as though it had somehow betrayed her.
Her movements screamed damage control, but she knew it was pointless.
Kushal had seen enough. And more than that, he understood enough.
She held the jacket out to him, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Here,” she said quickly. “Take it. I don’t need it.”
He reached for it, then paused. With a half-smile, he pulled his phone from the inner pocket and handed the jacket right back to her.
“You can keep it,” he said casually.
“I said I don’t need it,” she repeated, her voice turning defensive now.
“Suit yourself,” he said, stepping back as she reached for the door. “Goodnight.”
To put a hard stop to the vulnerability still lingering between them, she slammed the door shut, too hard.
A click echoed. And then, the door creaked open again.
She froze.
Confused, she tried to shut it once more. This time slower. But the door wouldn’t catch. It swung back open again, revealing Kushal standing on the other side, just as stunned.
She tried again, pushing it firmly into place. Same result.
“Damn it,” she hissed under her breath.
Kushal leaned against his doorframe, arms crossed now, a grin blooming across his face. Fate was definitely on his side tonight.
She glared at the door and back at him.
“I swear I didn’t touch anything,” he added quickly. “Thank god the lock didn’t break from my side or you’d have accused me of manipulating that too.”
“This isn’t funny, Kushal. I can’t sleep like this. The door has to lock. I need my privacy. Why the hell is it not locking?”
She tried to lock the door again, but nothing worked. He raised a brow at her panic, and then stepped inside her room without permission, and walked past her, heading straight to the desk phone.
“Kushal? What are you—”
He held up a finger, dialling reception and putting it on speaker. “Let’s get this sorted.”
Seconds later, a polite voice answered. “Hello, this is the Reception desk, Palms Retreat Dalhousie. How may I help you?”
“Hi. I’m calling from Room 506,” Kushal said. “The connecting door lock between my room and my partner’s 507 just broke. It’s swinging open and not holding. We need a fix.”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, sir,” the man replied. “Let me check… unfortunately, we are completely booked out for the next three days, including all suites and single rooms.”
Arundhati stood behind him, listening. Still hugging herself. Still not sure whether to be annoyed or moved.
“We will send someone first thing in the morning to repair the lock,” the receptionist continued. “But since the fault is on our end, if you’re uncomfortable, we can arrange to transfer your booking to our sister property about an hour from here. A private villa is available for you both.”
Kushal looked at her, his eyes searching hers, silently giving her the choice to decide.
Her chest rose with a long breath as she stepped forward, and reached past him to speak.
“No, that won’t be necessary,” she told the receptionist. “We’ll continue our stay here. Please send the technician tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am. Noted. Apologies again for the inconvenience.”
She hung up.
“Are you sure?” Kushal asked. “We can shift.”
She met his eyes. “I just don’t want to pack and move at midnight. And…” She hesitated for a beat. “It’s just a door. We both know our boundaries.”
That line hit harder than she intended. He didn’t argue, didn’t smile. Just nodded, gripped his phone, and walked back into his room, the jacket still hanging over his arm.
The door between them remained half-closed.
Not locked.
Not open.
Exactly like the space that still existed between them.
Unfinished and waiting for a reprieve.