59. PAAKAR KHONA
He grabbed her hand firmly and took her out of the party.
The music, the laughter, the lights-everything blurred behind them as he cut through the crowd without looking back. His fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist, not rough, not cruel, but unyielding. As if letting go would make him lose something he could never get back.
"Vivan," she called him.
But he was really not in the mood to hear anything.
Her voice reached him, yet he kept walking, jaw clenched, shoulders stiff. She tried to free herself from his grip, tugging once, then again, but failed. His hold was firm-not hurting her, never hurting her-but also never letting her go.
When they reached the parking lot, the night air hit them sharply. He finally slowed down. His grip loosened slightly. He stopped beside the car, opened the door for her, and said quietly, almost mechanically, "We're leaving."
She didn't sit.
She just stood there, staring at him as if he had done something completely out of place. As if he had crossed a line she didn't even know existed.
"We haven't eaten anything yet," she said, turning away and starting to walk back toward the party.
Before she could take more than two steps, Vivan grabbed her wrist again and pulled her back toward him. His voice dropped low, controlled, restrained-too controlled.
"We're not going back to the party again," he said.
She didn't listen.
"Maa didn't make anything for us," she said, slipping her hand from his grip. "Are you going to sleep hungry?"
She started moving again, still unaware of the storm gathering inside him.
He closed his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then he grabbed her wrist again-and this time pulled her toward his chest.
Their bodies collided softly but firmly. Their faces were inches apart. She looked up at him, breath uneven, and his eyes burned into hers. Not shouting. Not accusing. Holding everything back with terrifying effort.
"I will make something for you," he said, voice strained but steady. "Just sit in the car."
That was when something in her snapped.
She met his gaze firmly this time. No softness. No confusion.
"But I will eat in this party only. Do whatever you want."
She pushed him slightly, intending to walk away.
And that was when he lost control.
As she turned to leave, he jerked her back, pinning her between the car and his body.
Her eyes widened.
She was suddenly too close-so close she could feel his breath, his heat, the tremor in his restraint. His hands were still holding hers, but now both of them were beside her head, caging her in without touching her face.
"Leave me," she whispered, suddenly aware of how close they were.
"Why didn't you stop him?" he asked.
His voice shook-not with volume, but with emotion. With anger. With jealousy. With the unbearable weight of standing this close to her.
"Wh..What?" Aarvi asked, confused.
Vivan closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, forcing the anger down-at least in front of her.
"Aarvi..." he said, trying to sound calm. Trying. He paused, as if preparing himself for the question. "He was so close to you. Why didn't you stop Yuvan?"
She looked at him, suddenly very aware of his tone, his restraint, his trembling control. And instead of answering, she snapped.
"And why do you care?"
He had no answer.
He just looked at her.
"Because-" he started, then swallowed hard.
His chest thudded violently, as if it might burst open. She waited. Watching him. Forcing him.
"Because," she whispered back.
He gulped.
"Because..." His breath grew heavy as the words finally tore out of him. "I am losing my mind, Aarvi."
She didn't say anything.
"I don't know how to stand next to you without wanting you."
His grip tightened on her hand, not in force but in desperation, as if the words themselves were hurting him.
"I don't know how to breathe when someone else touches you."
His voice cracked.
"I tried to stay away. To not let it affect me, but... but I failed."
He swallowed again, eyes locked into hers.
"I am in love with you. And I hate myself for it."
The ground shifted beneath her feet.
A tear slipped from her eye.
She stared at him, stunned, unable to process what he had just confessed.
Then she said the one thing that shattered him.
"Divorce takes time. We should apply for it now."
She tried to push him away.
Instead, he pulled her closer, his grip now on her arms. They were so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath, feel the frantic beat of his heart.
"You heard what I said, right?" he said, voice hoarse. "I love you, Aarvi. I am freaking in love with you."
She ignored him, struggling to get free.
"Le... leave me."
His brows creased at her resistance.
He pinned her again to the car.
"Why are you not responding?" he demanded. "I said I love you. Say something."
Silence.
That was it.
He snapped.
"I LOVE YOU, AARVI!" he shouted. "I FREAKING LOVE YOU!"
She shoved him hard.
This time, he stumbled back.
"BUT I DON'T!"
The sentence was simple.
But It destroyed him.
This time, he didn't say anything.
He just stood there, staring at her, as if the words she had thrown at him had knocked the air out of his lungs.
She continued, her voice breaking despite her trying so hard to keep it steady.
"You don't love me," she said, each word trembling. "You feel responsible. You saw me cry. You saw me break... and now you want to fix it."
Tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked, as she shook her head slowly, almost helplessly.
"It- it's not love," she whispered. "You're just pitying me."
She wiped her tears roughly with the back of her hands, as if angry at herself for letting them fall.
Vivan shook his head immediately, the denial instinctive, desperate. He took a step toward her, unable to stay still any longer-but she lifted her hand, stopping him.
"N-no," she said, her voice cracking completely now. "I was never your choice-"
"Aarvi-" Vivan tried to speak, his voice strained, his throat burning.
She shook her head again, cutting him off, refusing to hear it.
"Try to understand, Vivan. This... this is all pity-"
But he couldn't let her finish. The words felt like knives carving into his chest.
He wanted to explain. To tell her how wrong she was. To tell her how deeply, painfully real this was for him.
But all that came out, broken and hoarse, was, "Believe me, Aarvi."
She looked down, her shoulders shaking slightly as she whispered, "I don't."
The words hit harder than any scream could have.
He let out a shaky breath. Watching her cry like this because of him was unbearable.
He swallowed hard, forcing the lump in his throat down, and asked quietly, almost fearfully,
"What will make you believe me, then?"
Silence fell between them.
No music. No voices.
Just the sound of her uneven breathing... her sniffles filling the space between them.
She didn't answer immediately. It felt like she was fighting something inside herself.
Then, finally, she spoke slowly, carefully, as if saying it aloud might break her completely.
"Let... let me go."
Vivan's face drained of all color.
His breath hitched sharply, his chest tightening as if invisible hands were crushing his heart.
It beat so violently he thought it might explode.
He refused to accept what he'd just heard.
He tried to speak, but his throat ached.
Only her name escaped him, barely a sound.
"Aarvi...?"
She finally looked at him.
Her teary eyes met his eyes filled with pure terror, terror of what she was about to do to him.
"If you love me," she said softly, "you won't cage me."
He stumbled slightly, his balance faltering.
He didn't want to hear what was coming next.
He already knew.
"Divorce me, Vivan."
That was it.
The tears he had been holding back slipped free.
His ears rang. The world went numb.
His lips parted, trying to form words-but nothing came out.
He just stared at her.
It felt like his soul had left his body.
He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. She watched him, tears still falling, as if both of them were drowning together.
"I- I can't live like this anymore," she said quietly. "Not after what you said today."
He looked down, unable to bear her gaze any longer.
Her words were cruel not because they were meant to be, but because they were honest.
He sucked in a deep breath, nodded slowly, and forced the words out-words that felt like poison on his tongue.
"If that's what you want..."
His lips trembled.
"Then... okay."
A pause.
A long, devastating pause.
"From now on," he continued, his voice barely holding together, "you're free from me."
He looked up at her then, tears shining in his eyes, meeting her teary gaze head-on.
It felt less like agreeing to a divorce... and more like signing his own death warrant.
No one said anything after that.
The silence was unbearable.
After a few moments, he turned away and walked toward the car.
He opened the passenger door for her-but didn't ask her to sit.
He thought, he had lost that right the moment he announced their divorce.
He simply opened it.
Then he circled the car and sat in the driver's seat.
He waited.
His fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel, shaking uncontrollably.
He swallowed again and again, trying to force the lump in his throat down.
He blinked repeatedly, fighting the tears threatening to spill.
After a few seconds that felt like hours, Aarvi sat in the passenger seat.
Without saying a word, he started the engine.
And drove away.
___
As they reached their home, Vivan got out of the car and instinctively moved toward her side, about to open the door for her-like he always did. But before he could even take two steps, Aarvi pushed the door open herself and stepped out. No pause. No waiting. No glance in his direction.
He stopped mid-step.
For a second, he just stood there, his hand hovering uselessly in the air, watching her walk toward the house as if he wasn't even there. As if the space he occupied no longer mattered. She didn't look back. Not once.
He sighed & followed her inside, a few steps behind, the distance between them feeling heavier than the silence filling the house.
Vivan went straight to the kitchen.
He didn't change his clothes. He didn't step into his room even for a moment. He didn't sit down.
The moment they entered, he moved directly into the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator and stared inside longer than necessary, his eyes unfocused. Finally, he noticed the boiled potatoes kept on one shelf. Aloo parathas, he thought distantly. Something simple. Something she would eat.
He began preparing them, his face completely blank-like all expressions had been wiped off him. His hands moved on autopilot, doing what they had done countless times before.
Until her words echoed in his head.
"Divorce me."
His breath hitched.
His eyes burned instantly, and this time, he didn't blink the tears away. There was no one here. No one to see. No one to judge. He was alone with his breaking heart.
He sniffed quietly, trying to focus on the paratha lying on the pan, but his vision blurred more with every passing second. Tears slipped down unchecked, dropping onto the counter.
He wiped his face with his arm, roughly, impatient with himself, and forced his attention back to the pan.
Focus. Just focus.
But his hands were trembling.
He knew how to make parathas-he always had-but today, no matter how hard he tried, the dough refused to form into a perfect round shape. His fingers shook too much. His grip faltered. The edges came out uneven, broken-just like him.
If anyone looked at him right now, they would be embrace him without even listening to his story. Because even he didn't realize how vulnerable he looked in that moment.
His ears, cheeks, and nose were red from crying. His eyes burned fiercely as he fought tears that refused to stop. His head hung low, shoulders slumped, breath uneven, soft sniffles escaping despite his effort to suppress them. His hands trembled as if they no longer belonged to him.
He looked like everything he had sworn he would never become.
But right now, he wasn't in his senses enough to think about pride, dignity, or control. Right now, he was just a man who had lost his world.
Finally, he finished making four parathas.
He placed them carefully on a plate, pausing for a moment-unsure how many she would eat, unsure of everything now. He didn't make anything for himself. He had no appetite left.
Why would he?
He had lost his love.
He had lost his world.
And when you lose that... appetite is the last thing that survives.
He finally wiped his face enough to make sure the tears weren't visible, schooling his expression into something neutral, something acceptable. He picked up the plate and walked toward their room.
He knocked.
No reply.
He sighed softly and opened the door.
The sight of her made something inside his chest tighten painfully.
She was lying on the bed, fully covered with a blanket, turned toward his side of the bed. His side.
He walked closer and said slowly,
"I made this for you."
He waited.
Silence.
He placed the plate on the table beside the bed and said quietly,
"I know you are awake, don't let your anger on the food. Eat it before it gets cold... Atleast one."
Again, he waited.
Nothing.
He exhaled sharply, the sound betraying how much it took out of him just to stand there. Then he turned slowly and left the room.
And there Aarvi lay awake.
She had heard everything.
Every word. Every pause. Every breath he took.
But she couldn't reply.
When he said he knew she was awake, a tear slipped silently from her eye, trailing down to the bridge of her nose as she lay with her arm tucked beneath her head.
After some time-after she was sure he had gone-she slowly sat up against the bedrest and looked at the plate placed beside her.
The parathas were irregular in shape.
A small smile formed on her lips.
Because she knew how much effort it must've taken him to make these-especially when she thought he didn't even know how to make parathas.
She picked up the plate slowly.
Four parathas?
Does he think I eat this much? she thought, smiling sadly at his imperfect guessing.
She took a bite.
And froze.
The filling.
Perfect.
The salt, the chilli, every flavour balanced just right, like it was made by someone who had mastered it. Her brows knitted together in confusion.
If he didn't know how to make parathas... then how did he make this so good?
A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
He could've been a chef instead of a businessman, she thought.
For a few moments, everything faded away. The anger, the hurt, the chaos. It was just her-and his parathas.
Her new favourite thing.
But maybe... it was the first and last time she would ever taste them.
The thought weighed heavy on her chest.
She sighed deeply.
Meanwhile, Vivan lay on the sofa in the hall.
One arm rested on his forehead, the other pressed against his chest-as if trying to keep something from breaking apart inside. He was fast asleep.
Maybe from exhaustion.
Maybe from alcohol.
Or maybe because he was too tired of fighting whatever was happening in his life-and sleep was the only escape his body could find.
Aarvi descended the stairs slowly, her steps hesitant, as if the house itself felt unfamiliar today. The hall came into view and so did everyone seated there.
Her gaze moved automatically, scanning faces... until it stopped.
Him.
Vivan lay asleep on the sofa, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting loosely on his chest. His posture looked uncomfortable, yet peaceful in a way that hurt to look at.
"What happened?" Prisha's sudden voice broke the stillness. "Already regretting, huh?"
Aarvi froze.
Her eyes widened, heart stuttering.
Did he tell everyone?
The thought slammed into her chest, stealing her breath.
"N-no-" she started, panic creeping into her voice.
"Prisha," Pragya's firm voice cut in instantly. "I told you not to tease her."
Aarvi turned to her, confusion replacing fear.
"But bhabhi," Vedant added casually, completely unaware of the storm beneath the surface, "you should've shown a little mercy on bhai. Kicking him out of the room? Is the fight really that serious?"
Aarvi swallowed hard.
Thank God, she thought, relief washing over her like a fragile shield.
"Stop talking you all," Pragya continued, her tone softening, "or you'll wake him up. Let him sleep."
She sat on the small stool in front of the sofa, her fingers gently stroking Vivan's hair-slow, protective, almost reverent.
"He barely sleeps like this," she murmured, a faint smile touching her lips.
Then her eyes lifted to Aarvi.
"Aarvi..."
Aarvi straightened instantly.
"Ji, maa."
Pragya paused, choosing her words carefully.
"Don't let him sleep outside again," she said gently. " If he annoys you, make him sleep in another room, or on the couch in your room. But not outside."
Her gaze flicked briefly to Vivan, then back to Aarvi.
"It gets too cold at night. He thinks he's strong enough to endure anything. He always does."
Her voice softened further.
"But he isn't. He's... too fragile."
Aarvi listened silently, her chest tightening.
"And next time," Pragya added with a small smile, "if you kick him out, at least give him a blanket."
Aarvi smiled back, weak but genuine.
The moment broke when a low chuckle filled the room.
Vinod.
He lowered his newspaper slightly, amused.
"You did the right thing, Aarvi," he said. "At least now we know someone exists who can punish this brat."
He rolled the newspaper and lightly tapped it against Vivan's arm.
Vivan didn't even stir.
"Stop," Pragya said immediately, worried. "You'll wake him."
Vinod shrugged, unconcerned.
After sometime they moved to the dining table.
By the time breakfast was served, Vivan appeared-freshly showered, calm, unreadable. He descended the stairs quietly, his eyes instinctively finding Aarvi.
She didn't look at him.
Not once.
Without expression, he walked to the table and sat beside her-the seat everyone had deliberately left empty for him.
Silence lingered.
Then, after a while, Vivan spoke.
"Papa."
Vinod hummed, eyes still on his plate.
Vivan cleared his throat, fingers tightening around the spoon.
"Uhm... one year of our marriage completes in a week."
Aarvi stopped eating.
She knew what's coming next.
Vivan continued, voice steady but hollow.
"I... I applied for divorce."
The spoon slipped from Aarvi's fingers, clinking softly against the plate.
Silence fell-thick, suffocating.
Vinod looked up slowly.
"Did you ask either of us?" he asked, calm but sharp, gesturing toward Pragya and himself.
Vivan stayed silent.
"DID YOU ASKED?" Vinod repeated, roared this time.
Aarvi flinched.
Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she didn't dare look up. She had never seen him this angry.
Vivan exhaled quietly, already prepared for this moment.
He shook his head.
"Then how dare you apply for a divorce?" Vinod demanded, his voice low now-dangerously controlled.
Still, Vivan said nothing.
Vinod stood abruptly.
"No divorce is happening," he announced and turned away.
But he stopped mid-step.
"It is happening," Vivan said.
Everyone froze.
"This week," he added, standing to face his father. "I fulfilled your demand a year ago. Now you fulfill mine."
His gaze never wavered.
"Do not go back on your words, papa."
Vinod stared at him for a long moment-anger, disbelief, something wounded flickering in his eyes.
Then, without a word, he walked away.
Vivan slowly turned back toward the table.
And that's when his eyes met hers.
Aarvi was looking at him now-confused, shaken.
He gave her a small nod.
A reassuring smile-soft, broken, never reaching his eyes.
But it told her one thing...
Meanwhile Prisha and Vedant looked at Pragya.
Completely stunned.
Their eyes silently asked the same question-
But you said he loves her?
Pragya looked back at them.
She had no answer.
The same confusion.
The same shock.
The same disbelief.
But somewhere deep inside, she knew-
Vivan has an answer.
She stood up abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. Without saying a word, she walked to him, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward an empty room.
Vivan didn't resist.
He followed quietly.
Behind them, Aarvi remained seated.
Alone.
For the first time since she entered this house, prisha & ved didn't teased her.
They didn't smile.
They didn't joke.
They sat in heavy silence, unsure where to look, unsure what to say.
The air itself felt awkward-tight, uncomfortable, suffocating.
Meanwhile, inside the room-
Pragya finally released his hand and turned to face him.
"What is happening?" she asked.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it trembled-
with fear,
with confusion,
with a mother's helplessness.
"What?" Vivan asked, pretending innocence.
But Pragya's brows creased instantly.
"Don't act innocent, Vivan," she said, anger dripping into her voice.
"You said you love her. Then what is this?"
Her voice rose slightly on the last words.
"This divorce thing?"
Vivan looked down.
His shoulders stiffened.
And then he said it-
anything.
Anything illogical.
Anything that would keep her away from the truth.
"But I don't love her now."
The words sounded wrong even to him.
Empty.
Hollow.
False.
Pragya stared at him.
"Do you even know what you're saying?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because he knew-
he had said something that made no sense.
Something that didn't belong to him.
Her expression faltered for a second.
Just a second.
Then realization hit her-slow, painful, devastating.
Years of knowing her son collapsed into one truth.
"Aarvi asked you for this?" she asked quietly.
Because she knew-
her son would never ask for a divorce.
Not after realizing his love for her.
Vivan shook his head vigorously.
But his tears betrayed him.
They gathered in his eyes, before he could stop them.
Pragya didn't say anything after that.
She only nodded slowly.
As if confirming something she never wanted to believe.
Then she asked softly, almost carefully,
"Does her family know about this?"
Vivan shook his head again.
Words were stuck in his throat.
He kept gulping-again and again-trying to force the lump down, trying to breathe, trying not to break.
Pragya nodded.
"Okay," she said finally.
"I will tell them."
He nodded in return.
And without another word, he moved out of the room.
The moment he stepped outside, he exhaled deeply-
as if he had just survived a war.
His chest felt hollow.
His legs weak.
His heart-already dead.
---
At evening, Vivan was on his way to Aarvi's house.
Her father had called him earlier, asking if he could meet them for a while. Vivan already knew why they wanted to see him but instead of questioning or avoiding it, he agreed quietly. Pushing it away would only delay the inevitable, and he was too tired to run anymore.
Meanwhile, Aarvi reached home. The moment she stepped inside, her eyes instinctively searched for him. The hall. The stairs. The corridor.
Nowhere.
A strange uneasiness settled in her chest.
She walked toward the kitchen where Pragya was, but directly asking about him felt... wrong. Too obvious. Too exposed especially after the declaration of divorce. So she asked casually, carefully,
"Maa, didn't papa come yet?"
Pragya who was avoiding both of them since the announcement, shook her head without looking up.
"He has some important work. He'll be late."
Aarvi nodded slowly. Then, after a brief hesitation just a fraction of a second where her heart argued with her pride, she asked,
"And... Vivan?"
Pragya still didn't look at her. Her voice was calm, almost neutral.
"He went to your parents' house."
Aarvi froze.
"What?" she asked again, as if she hadn't heard it right.
Pragya nodded once more.
"They called him-"
She couldn't hear the rest.
Aarvi grabbed her car keys and rushed out, her movements sharp, almost panicked. Within seconds, she was in the car, driving straight toward her parents' house.
As she drove, her heart thudded violently inside her chest. Her grip tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. She knew.
She knew why they had called him.
They won't let him go easily.
They'll corner him.
They'll remind him of his position.
They'll talk about reputation.
They'll talk about money.
And worst of all-
He'll accept it.
She knew her parents.
She knew their fear of survival.
She knew how desperation made people selfish.
She knew they would use him without even realizing how cruel it was.
She shook her head sharply, trying to clear the storm inside her mind.
This is too much.
She couldn't let him face this alone now. Not again.
Her foot pressed harder on the accelerator.
Meanwhile, at her house, Vivan sat on the sofa, directly across from her parents. His body was composed, posture straight, hands folded together-but inside, he was exhausted. Tired of explaining. Tired of justifying. Tired of being understood only halfway.
They kept talking.
"We trusted you with our daughter when her fiance left her."
"Society blamed us, beta."
"Aarvi is sensitive. She doesn't think long-term."
He nodded quietly, listening. He had been listening to this ever since he arrived. The same sentences, different order. The same guilt, served politely.
"I am aware of your concern," he said calmly, his voice low and steady, "but you can't force us into something we didn't want. You did it once... and this is the result."
He paused briefly, exhaling softly before continuing,
"No one among us will be happy in this marriage. So it's better if we take this step."
He even smiled-a polite, restrained smile-but there was no warmth in the room. No acceptance. He could feel it. He just wanted to leave. Soon.
But they didn't let him.
"Are you sure about this divorce thing?" Shivani, her mother asked finally.
He nodded, eyes lowering.
She exhaled slowly, then looked at Satish, then back at him.
"Okay. We can't force you anymore, but..."
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"Aarvi is a girl. Starting again is difficult for girls."
He listened. He already understood where this was going.
"We don't want to burden anyone, but... You are capable. God has given you a lot."
He looked at her, fully aware now, as she finished,
"At least make sure she doesn't suffer after this."
He sighed.
He didn't argue.
He just-
"I won't let her suffer," he said quietly. "I'll do what's required-"
"Vivan."
He turned.
So did her parents.
Aarvi stood at the doorstep.
She didn't greet them.
She didn't even look at them.
She walked straight toward Vivan.
"What did they say?" she asked, her eyes locked onto his.
He smiled faintly-a careful, protective smile.
"They were worried about you."
She knew better.
She turned to her parents, her voice firm, controlled.
"If you're worried about me, then call me. Not him."
"Look at how you're talking, Aarvi," Satish said sharply.
She didn't budge.
Instead, she grabbed Vivan's hand and started pulling him toward the door.
"Aarvi-" Satish called.
"We need to talk to you."
She started saying, "We'll talk tomorrow-" , but Vivan stopped her gently.
"If they want to, then you should."
Their eyes met.
She saw everything in his eyes-the understanding, the hurt, the concern, the quiet surrender. And suddenly, she couldn't fight it anymore.
She nodded.
Slowly, she let go of his hand.
He stepped out, turned once, and said softly,
"I'm waiting for you."
And then he left.
Leaving her alone in her own house.
~?~