CHAPTER 21
KW Capital Office
An hour later, Karan finally came down to leave for home. He walked toward the parking area, his phone in hand, already half immersed in the next call he had to make.
That was when he saw her.
Mishti stood near the edge of the parking lot, waiting for her driver.
She never used his car. That had been decided long ago.
Their schedules rarely aligned, and he had made it clear that he did not want the responsibility of driving her to and from work, regardless of whether they were married.
The more space he kept between them, the better it was for him. For his plans. For his control.
She still looked lost. Not just tired, but absent in a way that caught his attention immediately.
Every few seconds, she wiped the corner of her eyes, as if hoping no one would notice.
Her fingers were clenched tightly around something, and even from where he stood, he knew what it was.
The broken mangalsutra rested in her fist, the black beads peeking through her fingers as she looked down at it again and again, as if trying to understand how it had slipped out of her life so easily.
Seeing her so disturbed, something stirred in that stone heart of his, which she always accused him of having.
Karan reached his car and opened the door, fully intending to get in and leave.
That was the sensible thing to do. That was what he always did.
He did not want her to affect him any further.
But his hand froze on the door handle, and his gaze went back to her.
Even from a distance, he saw another tear slip her eye, which she immediately wiped away.
Damn!!
He shut the car door with a sharp breath and marched toward her.
“Mishti.”
The sudden sound startled her so badly that she clutched the mangalsutra tighter, as she turned around, only irritating him further.
“What are you still doing with that in your hand?” he snapped. “Put that damn thing away.”
Anger flared in her eyes through the tears.
“Ssh,” she scolded him angrily. “How can you talk about it like it is nothing?” She held the mangalsutra closer to her heart. “It is a mangalsutra, Karan. It is not just jewellery. I told you it’s what connects us in this marriage.”
She did not stop there.
“It carries prayers, promises. Every bead, every knot is tied with the hope that the bond will stay protected forever. Women wear it with faith, not fashion. It’s sacred.”
Karan listened patiently without interrupting her, watching her vent the anger and hurt she had been holding in ever since this mishap happened.
“I’ve worn this every single day since you tied it around my neck. And today it just… snapped. Like it couldn’t hold on anymore.”
She wiped her tears once more, looking away from him, as if embarrassed by how much she had revealed.
He exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair.
“So how long are you planning to drag this?” he asked bluntly. “How many hours do I have see you in this sulking mood, all because of this chain?”
“Until I get it fixed,” she replied, not looking at him when she answered.
Mishti already knew he did not care. That was evident in the way he spoke and the way he dismissed it.
Karan nodded once, as if accepting something internally and the very next moment, he stepped forward and grabbed her arm. The sudden contact made her gasp, but before she could protest, he pulled her with him and dragged her toward his car.
“Karan? What are you doing?” She hissed under her breath and twisted her arm. But Karan did not slow down. He reached his car first, unlocked it, and pulled open the front passenger door.
“Get in,” he said, leaving no room for discussion.
But Mishti stood her ground. Her chin lifted, eyes still glossy. “I am not going home. I need to fix this first.”
He turned to her then, stepping into her space. His face was close enough for her to feel his breath. “Not a word now, Mishti,” he added. “Just get inside the car.”
There was something in his tone that dissolved her resistance. She wiped at the tear slipping down her cheek and slid into the seat, pulling the door shut behind her.
Karan walked around the car, got into the driver’s seat, and started the engine. The car rolled out of the parking area smoothly.
Mishti pressed the broken mangalsutra to her chest again.
If he were taking her home, she would have to wait until tomorrow to get it fixed.
One whole night without wearing it. The thought made her heart ache.
Every night when she slept alone on the bed, she always touched it, sometimes even shared her loneliness with it.
How was she supposed to sleep without it resting against her skin?
She looked outside the window, letting the city blur past while she hid her tears. She knew if he noticed, he would only think she was being dramatic.
Karan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her rigid posture and the way her hand stayed clenched near her heart annoyed him further.
When the familiar left turn toward their mansion approached, he did not take it. Instead, he turned the steering wheel sharply to the right, his fingers gripping it hard as he muttered something under his breath.
Mishti barely noticed. Her thoughts were too tangled at the moment. It was only when the car slowed after a few minutes and finally came to a stop that she looked up, confused. He had taken her to a jewellery store.
It was the same one that Karan had bought this mangalsutra from, before their wedding.
Karan had already switched off the engine when she turned toward him.
“Don’t give me that look,” he said. “Get down if you want to fix it.”
For a second, she forgot how to breathe, although her lips curved into a sweet smile. Had he really brought her here? To fix the Mangalsutra? He could have left her standing in the parking lot. Or he could have taken her home and washed his hands of the whole thing. But he had not.
What was this supposed to mean?
But Mishti had no time to think about all this as Karan was already out of the car and walking toward the entrance. She quickly opened her door, stepped out, and followed him, clutching the broken mangalsutra close as she walked into the store beside her husband.
The moment they stepped inside the store, the staff recognised Karan instantly. They had years of association with Karan and his family. They greeted and welcomed them inside.
Karan reached for Mishti’s hand without asking and took the mangalsutra from her.
The care with which he did it surprised her again.
His fingers did not rush, did not tug at the broken chain.
He held it as though it truly was fragile, as though he too, acknowledged the significance of that thin black-and-gold thread in their marriage.
He handed it to one of the senior floor managers. “Get this fixed immediately,” he said.
The manager, Swati, examined it before replying, “It should take about an hour at most, sir. We can send it to the mansion tonight once it’s ready.”
Mishti shook her head at once. “I am not leaving without it.”
Karan clenched his jaw, clearly irritated, but he did not argue with her. Instead, he turned back to Swati. “You heard it. We’ll take it ourselves. Make it fast.”
Swati nodded and hurried away, carrying the mangalsutra toward the workshop area at the back, where the goldsmiths worked.
While they waited, a few staff members politely asked Mishti if she would like to browse other jewellery. But she declined with a soft smile. Nothing else mattered to her at that moment.
Soon, the owner himself approached them. Motilal was an elderly man with kind eyes and a presence that carried decades of legacy. His family had crafted jewellery for the Wadhwas for generations. He shook hands with Karan warmly before turning to Mishti.
“And this must be your beautiful wife,” he said gently.
Karan nodded and introduced her to Motilal, who studied her face for a brief moment. “Poor child,” he murmured. “She is so worried about her mangalsutra.”
Then he looked at Karan. “You are a fortunate husband, Karan. Not every woman knows how to protect her marriage with such faith. She understands what is sacred.”
Karan and Mishti exchanged a glance. This time, neither of them looked interested in breaking away their gaze first.
Motilal continued, smiling, “And Mishti beta, no woman should waste the chance to shop when she is out with her husband. Tell me what you like. Karan can buy this entire store for you.”
Mishti broke her gaze from Karan and turned to the older man. “Thank you.” She smiled softly. “But jewellery does not tempt me. As the elders used to say, a woman’s real jewel is the man she marries. Nothing can be more valuable than that.”
Karan almost missed a heartbeat. What was this woman? Even now, even after everything, she spoke of him and this marriage with such respect and affection. Unable to handle it anymore, he excused himself in the pretext of making calls, leaving Mishti to talk to Motilal.
The next hour passed quietly. Karan took calls, stepping aside when necessary. He even had a client meeting scheduled over video conference which he postponed by two hours because they were still here at the store.
Mishti heard him asking his personal secretary to push the call ahead. He could have left her there and taken the call from home. Yet he stayed back. With her. That one truth warmed her up.
She sat there waiting, watching him speak into his phone, wondering if this was what it looked like when a man who claimed to have a stone for a heart started to soften.
Within the hour, Swati returned with the mangalsutra placed carefully inside a velvet-lined box. It looked whole again, flawless, ready to be worn as if nothing had ever gone wrong. Mishti was relieved the moment she saw it.
Even Karan noticed that smile back on her face, but he chose not to acknowledge how deeply it stirred him.