Chapter 28 #2
The moment Kushal finished talking with the other lawyer and strode back toward his cabin, she rushed after him, slipping inside his office before he could shut the door.
“Kushal,” she blurted out, breathless, “it’s not what you think. Please, let me explain.”
He turned on her angrily. “Explain what? That while I was trying to win my wife back, she was busy waiting for me to sleep with another woman? So that she could use it as evidence for divorce?”
“No… no, that’s not true! That’s not what I wanted. God! How do I make you understand?”
“I don’t want to understand,” he snapped. “Just leave.”
“I won’t!” she shot back, standing her ground. “Not until I clear this. Yes, I asked Akash to keep an eye on you. To see if you were moving on with someone else. At that time, I truly thought you and Kamya… still had something.”
“Again Kamya?” Kushal groaned. But she rushed on before he could interrupt.
“Call it a wife’s instinct if you want. We were living under two different roofs.
I just wanted to know if you were refusing the divorce, was it because of us?
Or was it just for the sake of Verma & Associates?
Believe me, Kushal, I wanted every woman away from you.
Kamya, the juniors, all of them. Because you were still my husband.
Even while demanding a divorce, I wanted you to stay loyal to me… ”
Kushal grabbed her arms and yanked her closer.
“I AM LOYAL TO YOU, ARU! You could have just asked me, and I would’ve told you straight to your face that you are the only one I ever wanted since the day your uncle proposed this marriage. But instead of trusting me, you put a spy on me? To confirm my loyalty? Wow!”
“Wouldn’t you?” she asked. “If you knew I had someone in my past, and I was still in touch with him while we were fighting for a divorce, wouldn’t you check on me? Wouldn’t you want to know if I was slipping back into my ex’s life?”
“Kamya was never my ex,” he spat. “And as for your ex… I doubt any man alive could handle you as a partner. No one but me. You get that? And if it were me, if I had such a problem with you moving on amidst a divorce I asked for, I wouldn’t waste my life spying. I’d walk away. I’d let you go.”
“Well, I’m not like you then, Mr. Nair!” she fired back. “What I claim as mine… is mine for life. And so are you.”
She shoved at his chest, breaking free from his hold. “Like it or not, admit it or not…you’re mine. Yes, I made mistakes, countless mistakes, and I regret every single one of them. I’m sorry, Kushal. I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”
For a moment, the fight drained from him. She looked small, vulnerable, ready to humble herself entirely just to reach him. But his pride stood tall between them.
“Even a thousand ‘Sorry’ won’t melt me this time,” he said coldly.
“Then what will?” she asked instantly, her lower lip jutting into a genuine, helpless pout.
That look—the innocence, the desperation, the stubborn love shining in her eyes, stabbed right into his gut. His desire for her surged again. But he wrenched his gaze away, exhaling harshly.
Just then his assistant poked her head in, announcing, “Sir, Mr. Anant Mukherjee is here. Waiting in the conference room.”
Kushal gave her a curt nod. Without sparing another glance at Arundhati, he strode out.
****************
The meeting with Anant wrapped up smoothly.
Once again, Kushal and Arundhati worked side by side, briefing him, never letting their personal storm bleed into the professional front.
Tomorrow was the first hearing of Anant and Sadhna’s divorce, and with the media already circling like vultures, they had to be prepared for every angle.
By the time Anant left, it was evening. Arundhati walked up to Kushal’s desk.
“I’m leaving for the day,” she said quietly.
His eyes didn’t lift from the file he was reviewing. “I’m not your boss. You don’t have to report your schedule to me.”
“I know,” she replied softly, “but I still wanted to tell you. I’m going home.”
The slight pause in his movements gave him away. He lingered on a page longer than necessary, as though silently asking—which home?
She caught it and clarified. “To my apartment. Just to pick up my things. I’ll be back at the penthouse… before dinner. As I said, I’m going to live there. With you.”
He didn’t acknowledge it, didn’t look up, didn’t utter a word. Just flipped to the next page.
Annoyed, she leaned forward and shut the file right under his hands. “I need the passcode, Kushal. The one you changed. Either switch it back to the old one…my birthday…or give me the new one. I hate ringing the doorbell like a stranger at my own house.”
His gaze finally locked with hers. But for a long moment, he just stared. Then, without a word, he rose, slipped his hand into his suit pocket, and placed his penthouse key card flat on the desk. Picking up the file she had closed, he walked to the door and left her standing there.
Arundhati stared at the key card. So this was how he wanted it? He gave her a key card? Like she was just some guest allowed temporary entry into his world. He wouldn’t change the code. He wouldn’t give her the new one?
How Rude!
Still, she picked it up, pressing it briefly against her heart. Guest or not, passcode or not, he hadn’t stopped her from living under the same roof. And that was enough for now. Because once she was in, once she stayed close enough, she would find a way to reach his heart. She had to.
*****************
Night
The keycard beeped, and the door slid open. Arundhati dragged her bag inside, glancing around the silent penthouse. Was he even home? She left her bag by the living room and made her way to the bedroom, only to hear the shower running. So he was here.
For a moment, she considered setting up her things in their room.
She longed to. But his words from the morning echoed in her head.
It was his clear instructions that if she stayed, it would be in the guest room.
If she insisted on the bedroom, he’d move out himself.
And she couldn’t bear the thought of him giving up his bed.
She knew how he struggled to sleep anywhere else. How only his bed brought him peace.
So she swallowed her urge, turned around, and carried her bag into the guest room. The space felt alien, awkward. Yet… a small relief flickered inside her chest. At least they were under the same roof again.
Determined to bridge that silence, she made up her mind to cook dinner. After freshening up, she walked into the kitchen only to stop dead in her tracks.
Kushal stood at the counter, dressed in a simple grey tee and loose night pants, hair still damp from the shower, drops of water tracing his temples.
He looked devastatingly effortless, sleeves tugged high as he chopped vegetables with precise strokes.
A pot of pasta was already bubbling on the stove.
God, why did he always look so good?
He noticed her, but without a word, he turned back to the chopping board.
“I can help,” she offered, stepping closer.
No response.
She reached out, her hand brushing his to still the knife. “Let me chop.”
He pulled away sharply and kept going.
She frowned. “Fine. Don’t let me chop. But I’m still going to help. Because this time, Kushal… we’re not just co-existing. It’s more than that—”
Her words cut off with a sharp cry as her fingers brushed the rim of the boiling pasta pot. The searing pain shot through her hand.
“Aru!” His knife clattered to the counter as he grabbed her wrist. “What the hell were you thinking, touching that hot pot?”
Without waiting, he dragged her to the sink, turned the tap on, and thrust her burnt fingers beneath the stream of cold water.
The sting eased, but the ache in her heart deepened.
She stared at him, drinking in the man who had always been this protective and attentive towards her.
And how much of this had they lost in ten wasted months apart?
After a long beat, he shut off the water and looked her squarely in the eye. “Go sit outside. I’ll cook. I’ll serve.”
“But—” she began.
“No,” he cut her off, commandingly. “Either you sit, or we don’t eat together at all. Your choice.”
Her lips parted in protest, but she stopped, knowing he was serious. Annoyed, she huffed, shooting him a glare, but relented and walked out.
She sank onto the couch, chin resting on her hand, eyes locked on her man in the kitchen. Watching him cook, sleeves rolled, hair still wet, moving with such practiced ease. Uff!
What a sight it was!