Chapter 25
Armaan
I sent everyone home around midnight. Dadi did not want to leave, but she was exhausted and still recovering herself. Papa convinced her that they needed rest, that they would be no help to Viya if they collapsed from exhaustion.
Uncle Vinay left reluctantly, guilt written all over his face.
But I stayed. I could not leave. Would not leave.
I pulled a chair close to Viya's hospital bed and sat down, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The monitors beeped rhythmically, tracking her heartbeat, her oxygen levels, all the numbers that told me she was alive.
But she was not awake. Had not opened her eyes since the surgery.
The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. I held her hand, careful of the IV line, and talked to her even though she could not hear me.
"I am so sorry, Viya. I am so, so sorry. I should have told you the truth. I should have been honest from the beginning. I was a coward. I was selfish. I was wrong."
The words poured out of me in the dark, quiet room. Apologies and confessions and desperate promises.
"Please wake up. Please give me a chance to make this right. I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. Please do not leave me."
But she did not stir. Did not open her eyes. Did not give me any sign that she heard me or cared or would ever forgive me.
Around four in the morning, just as exhaustion was finally starting to pull me under, I felt her hand twitch in mine.
My eyes snapped open. I leaned forward, watching her face intently.
Her eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. Then slowly opened.
"Viya," I breathed, relief flooding through me so powerfully I felt dizzy. "Thank god. You are awake."
Her eyes were unfocused at first, confusion clouding her features as she tried to figure out where she was. Then her gaze landed on me.
And everything in her expression shut down. Went cold and hard and distant.
She tried to pull her hand away from mine, but the movement made her wince in pain.
"Do not move too much," I said quickly. "You are hurt. Let me call the doctor."
I stood and moved toward the door, pressing the call button for the nurse. Within minutes, the night shift doctor arrived and began examining her, checking her pupils, her reflexes, asking her questions about her pain levels.
I stood back and watched, my heart in my throat.
Finally, the doctor smiled.
"You are very lucky, Mrs. Khanna. You are going to make a full recovery. The baby is fine as well. But you need to rest and avoid any stress or strain."
Viya did not react to the mention of the baby. Did not look surprised or happy. Just nodded slightly and closed her eyes again.
The doctor gestured for me to follow him out into the corridor. We walked to his office, and he spent the next twenty minutes explaining medications, recovery timelines, physical therapy recommendations. I listened carefully, taking mental notes of everything.
"The most important thing," he emphasized, "is that she remains calm and stress free. No arguments. No emotional upheaval. Her body has been through significant trauma. Stress could cause complications, both for her and for the pregnancy."
"I understand," I said. "I will make sure she has everything she needs."
I returned to her room, my mind already planning. I would take care of her. I would be there for every need, every discomfort. I would show her through actions that I loved her, that I was committed to making this right.
But when I reached her door, the nurse stopped me.
"I am sorry, sir. The patient has requested that you not enter the room."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"What? I am her husband. I need to see her."
The nurse's expression was sympathetic but firm.
"I understand, sir. But the patient has the right to refuse visitors. And given the doctor's orders about avoiding stress, I would recommend respecting her wishes."
"But I—"
"Sir, please. It will be better for her recovery if you stay out here for now."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to push past the nurse and go to my wife anyway. But the doctor's words echoed in my mind. No stress. No emotional upheaval.
If my presence was causing her stress, if seeing me was hurting her, then I had to stay away. No matter how much it killed me.
I stumbled to the chair outside her room and collapsed into it, my head in my hands.
This was my punishment. This was what I deserved for what I had done.
◆◆◆
The next day, I was still in that same chair when I saw Puneet walking down the corridor. He spotted me and his expression hardened, but he did not say anything. Just walked past me to Viya's room.
The nurse let him in without question.
I sat outside and listened to the low murmur of voices from inside the room. Heard Viya's soft voice, still weak but talking more than she had with the doctor. Heard Puneet's responses, gentle and supportive.
He was in there for half an hour while I sat outside like a stranger. Like someone who had no right to be there.
When he finally emerged, he looked at me with something between pity and contempt.
"You should leave," he said bluntly. "She does not want to see you. She does not want anything to do with you or your family. I will take care of her."
The audacity of this man. The sheer guts to stand there and tell me to leave my own wife.
I stood up, my hands clenched into fists at my sides.
"I am not going anywhere. I will be here until my wife is well enough to go home. I do not care if she does not want to see me. I am not leaving her."
Puneet studied me for a long moment, then shrugged.
"Suit yourself. But you are wasting your time. She is done with you."
He walked away, and I sat back down in that chair.
And I stayed.
Days turned into a week. A week turned into two. Two weeks became a month.
Thirty days of sitting outside that hospital room. Thirty days of watching doctors and nurses and Puneet go in and out while I remained in the hallway.
Dadi came every day, bringing food and clean clothes. She would sit with me for a few hours, sometimes crying, sometimes praying, always asking if Viya had agreed to see me yet.
The answer was always no.
Papa and Aryan came when they could, offering quiet support and words of encouragement that felt hollow in the face of Viya's absolute rejection.
Uncle Vinay came once and tried to go in to see her. The nurse told him the same thing she told everyone. Viya only wanted to see Puneet.
I watched my wife slowly recover without being able to help. Without being able to comfort her. Without being able to tell her how sorry I was, how much I loved her, how much I needed her.
The baby was growing. The doctors said everything was progressing normally. But I was missing all of it. Missing the chance to be there for her during the pregnancy. Missing the chance to be the husband and father I wanted to be.
Tomorrow was her discharge day. I had already made all the arrangements. Her room at home was ready. The car was waiting. I had hired additional help, bought every possible thing she might need during her recovery.
But I knew she would not come home with me. Puneet had made that clear during his daily visits.
Still, I had to try. I had to see her, had to talk to her, had to make one last attempt before she walked out of this hospital and possibly out of my life forever.
Today, I gathered every ounce of courage I had and walked to her door. The nurse tried to stop me, but I held up a hand.
"I am her husband. I have the right to see her. I will only be a moment."
Before the nurse could argue, I opened the door and stepped inside.
Viya was standing near the small closet, folding clothes and placing them carefully in a bag. She was moving slowly, still favoring her left side where her ribs were healing. She was thinner than I remembered, her face pale, dark circles under her eyes.
But she was still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
She froze when she heard the door, then turned to look at me. Her expression did not change. Did not soften. Just remained cold and closed off.
"Let me help you pack," I said, moving toward her.
She held up a hand, stopping me in my tracks.
"Do not bother."
The words were quiet but final. Like a door slamming shut.
"Viya, please. Let me help. Let me do something."
She looked at me then. Really looked at me for the first time in a month. And what I saw in her eyes broke something inside me.
There was no love there. No warmth. Just pain and betrayal and exhaustion.
Tears gathered in her eyes, but her voice remained steady.
"You have used me enough, Armaan. What else is there left to take?"
"Viya—"
"Stop." Her voice cracked. "Just stop. I do not want to hear your excuses or your apologies or your explanations. Nothing you say will change what you did."
"Then let me show you. Let me prove that I love you. That what we have is real."
She laughed, but it was a broken, bitter sound.
"Real? None of it was real. You married me because of a prophecy. Because you needed a disposable wife for a year. Because I was convenient and stupid enough to believe you actually wanted me."
"That is not true anymore. It was never true. From the moment I met you—"
"Do not." Her hands were trembling as she gripped the edge of the bed. "Do not stand there and rewrite history. Do not pretend you loved me from the beginning when we both know you did not."
"I did not know what love was until I met you," I said desperately. "What I felt for Avija was nothing. What I feel for you is everything."
Tears were streaming down her face now.
"In my entire life, I thought I had finally found something real. A family. A person who genuinely loved me. Someone who chose me not out of obligation or pity but because they wanted me."
Her voice broke completely.
"But it was all a lie. All of it. You did not choose me. You were forced into this marriage just like I was. And everyone I trusted, everyone I thought cared about me, they all betrayed me. Used me like I was nothing. Like I was trash to be thrown away when you were done with me."
"Viya, please—"
"I am leaving tomorrow," she said, cutting me off. Her voice had gone flat, emotionless. "Puneet is coming to pick me up. I am going to stay with him. And you will receive divorce papers within the week."
The words felt like bullets, each one finding its mark.
"No. Viya, no. Please do not do this. Please give me a chance to make this right."
"There is nothing to make right. You got what you wanted. You fulfilled the prophecy. You can marry Avija now like you planned all along."
"I do not want Avija! I want you! I love you!"
But she was not listening anymore. She turned away from me and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a decisive click.
I stood there, staring at that closed door, my entire world crumbling around me.
She was leaving me.
She was taking our child and leaving me.
And I had no idea how to stop her.