Chapter 29
Kushal’s Penthouse – Night
Kushal set the pasta on the table, not sparing her a glance as he began eating. Arundhati, whose fingers were still faintly stinging from earlier, leaned back in her chair and sighed dramatically.
“I can’t hold the fork properly,” she murmured in mock helplessness. “You’ll have to feed me. Or else I’ll starve.”
He stilled for a moment, knowing exactly what she was doing. But instead of arguing, he picked up a forkful of pasta and held it out.
She leaned forward and took it, savouring both the bite and the way his hand hovered close.
“Mmm.” Her lips curled into the faintest smile. “You really do cook well.”
Still, no reply. He calmly went back to eating, scooping pasta into his mouth from the very same fork he’d just fed her with.
Her heart leapt at the intimacy of it, though she didn’t dare point it out, afraid he’d immediately change the fork if she did. Instead, she stayed quiet, savouring the small, secret sweetness of the moment.
When he lifted the fork toward her again, she leaned in deliberately slow this time.
“Mmm, you feed me so good,” she hummed.
That was when his eyes finally snapped to hers. For the first time all evening, he looked directly at her. He had caught the double meaning after all.
“You said you’re hungry. So, stop flirting and eat.”
“I’m hungry, but not just for food.”
He exhaled sharply, trying to ground himself.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Arundhati.”
“Exactly what you were doing back in Dalhousie… when I was blindfolded and you were feeding me.”
The words faltered on her tongue because the moment she said them, memories of that night came crashing back. That night they had come so close, got so intimate. It was the first time they had crossed so many lines together in one night.
Kushal’s face hardened, colour rising faintly in his cheeks as his own mind betrayed him with the same memory. Arundhati’s thighs pressed together beneath the table, instinctive, desperate to curb the ache building in her core just from thinking of that night.
And Kushal? He read it all…her struggle, her want…just by the look on her face.
His stare dropped to her lips as she licked away the trace of sauce, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the effort to restrain himself.
Every unspoken desire was written across his face, plain as day.
If their world wasn’t so fractured, if pride and pain weren’t standing between them, she knew he would have kissed her by now.
And God, she wanted him to. Desperately.
He continued eating in silence, occasionally lifting the spoon to feed her, too.
No words passed between them, only the sound of cutlery and their shallow breaths filling the air.
Arundhati had a thousand things to say, but the words refused to line up in her mind.
Instead, she just sat there, drinking him in, letting the quiet stretch.
But one question clawed at her, refusing to stay buried.
When he fed her the last morsel and pushed his chair back, reaching for the plates, she instinctively caught his wrist. His hand stilled as his eyes met hers.
“Do you really want me to sleep in the guest room?” she asked softly.
For a heartbeat, his expression flickered. Then the mask slipped into place…that hard, ego-driven armour he always wore when he was bleeding inside.
“I want you to sleep away from me. The whole house is yours, Aru. Pick any room… just not my bed.”
Her grip faltered, fingers loosening around his wrist as she let him go. Not his bed. That hurt!
Kushal saw the hurt flash across her face. Yet he turned away, forcing himself to ignore it. Without another word, he gathered the plates and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her alone with the ache of his rejection.
****************
Arundhati barely slept a wink in the guest room.
She kept staring at the door she hadn’t locked, clinging to the foolish hope that it might open in the middle of the night, that he might walk in, lie down beside her, or better yet, carry her back into their bedroom.
She prayed for it, her heart aching with every glance at the door, ears straining for the faintest sound of the knob turning.
But the silence never broke, and in that restless wait, exhaustion finally dragged her into a shallow, uneasy sleep.
Kushal’s night was no better. He tossed and turned in their bed, the duvet tangled around him, sleep galaxies away.
His wife was home again, under the same roof, yet in another room, because he had pushed her there.
She had wanted their bedroom. She had wanted him.
And still, he had denied her. So why did it hurt so much now?
In some corner of his heart, he thought she might come to him in the dead of night, the way she once had in Dalhousie.
Maybe that was why he had left the door unlocked.
And God help him, he didn’t even know what he’d do if she had.
If she demanded to stay, to sleep beside him, would he fight her? Or would he give in completely?
The thought alone burned in his chest. With a groan, he shoved the duvet aside and got up, reaching for the bottle on the nightstand.
He gulped down water, trying to steady his pounding heart, before walking to the tall glass windows.
The city stretched before him in its hush of midnight lights, sleeping soundly while his own world raged.
His gaze inevitably drifted to the high-rise opposite, to the balcony where he often caught that couple wrapped up in each other’s romance.
Now he knew it wasn’t just strangers. It was Rajveer and Ananya.
But tonight, he couldn’t even look. He didn’t want to see anyone’s love. Not theirs, not anyone’s. All he wanted desperately and painfully was his wife. In his arms. In his bed. To finally have the one thing that might quiet the storm and return his peace. This time Forever.
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Next Morning
Today was Anant and Sadhna’s first court session.
Arundhati stepped out of the guest room, wearing a black pantsuit, with laptop and case files tucked neatly under her arm. She looked every bit the confident lawyer, but her heart still carried the pain of the night before.
From the opposite end, Kushal emerged from their bedroom, dressed in his sharp suit, phone pressed to his ear. He was speaking to Anant, reassuring him not to panic and to follow the instructions they’d laid out the previous day.
The moment he dropped the call, Arundhati approached him.
“I made breakfast for us,” she said, waiting for his acknowledgment.
He paused, visibly surprised, though he masked it quickly. “I don’t have time to eat,” he said curtly.
She forced a small smile anyway. “Fine. Maybe not here, but I’ve packed them. We can eat on the way.”
She was assuming they would drive together. Like a married couple. Like partners.
But his reply cut that thought down. “I’m not going straight to court. I have another short meeting before that. I’ll see you directly there.” He didn’t wait for her response; he simply picked up his files and walked out.
She stood there for a moment, clutching the sandwich box she had so carefully prepared. She had thought, just maybe, now that they were under the same roof again, they could at least share a car ride. But Kushal had made his point too clear.
It dawned on her then how often he must have felt this same sting. All those times in the past when he had offered to drop her home after long hours at work, and she had refused, always choosing her cab, her car, her independence. How small and distant he must have felt then, the way she felt now.
Maybe this was his way of showing her what it felt like to be shut out. Maybe this was his way of making her live every mistake she had made until she repented each one.
She steadied herself. No more tears. She tucked the sandwiches into her bag, straightened her shoulders, and with as much composure as she could muster, walked out to drive herself to court.
****************
An hour later
Kushal pulled into the courthouse parking lot, slid his car into a space, and stepped out. To his surprise, he spotted Raj Verma leaning casually against another car, a half-eaten sandwich in hand.
“Sir?” Kushal frowned, walking toward him. “What are you doing here? You weren’t supposed to attend Anant’s session today. You had that meeting at the firm.”
Raj nodded, chewing before replying. “I still have the meeting. I just came to drop Aru.”
Kushal stilled. “Drop her? What happened to her car?”
Raj caught the confusion written plainly on his face and clarified, “Her tyres gave out. Right there, at your tower’s parking. She was already on the phone with me when it happened, so I told her not to bother with a cab. I was passing by, so I picked her up.”
Something twisted in Kushal’s chest. If he had known… he would have let her ride with him. He realised she had wanted that. And instead, he had pushed her away with the excuse of a “meeting” that didn’t exist.
His eyes dropped to the sandwich in Raj’s hand, and before Kushal could ask, Raj smirked knowingly. “Aru made these. She packed a whole box for me. They’re really good… but I’m sure you already know, right? She told me you two had breakfast together at home.”
That was a lie. He hadn’t eaten with her.
After leaving home, he’d grabbed a coffee and croissant at a café on the way instead.
Which only meant one thing—Arundhati hadn’t eaten at all.
She had offered the sandwiches to her uncle, masking the fact that she herself had skipped breakfast. Because of him.
Raj popped the last bite into his mouth, dusted his hands, and checked his watch. “Alright. I need to head out now. Keep me updated about what happens inside, will you? See you two at the firm.”
Sliding into his car, he drove away.