Between Tea & Tandoori (In Between #1)

Aisha Kapoor

Ishould have known I was marrying the wrong man the day I found out he liked his chai black.

But clearly, I didn’t think it would turn out to be a major red flag. At the time, I was a lovesick fool, thinking it was one of his “quirks.” Now I think it’s utter bullshit.

I am yet to find another desi person who likes their chai black. No milk. No sugar. Atrocious.

“Why does my chai have so much sugar in it? And milk?” Reyansh questions, annoying me in the morning itself

Reyansh Carter—my dear husband, who once was the light of my eyes—has apparently made it his life’s mission to annoy me every single morning with his weird requests.

Though he is half Indian—from his father’s side—he clearly takes after his British mother, who reeks of elegance and etiquette, though she is the sweetest woman alive.

I used to think he was a great combination of wit and intelligence. Little did I know.

I heave in a calm breath, smoothing a hand over my beige pencil skirt as I make my way out of our kitchen—my proper chai in hand. With milk and sugar.

“How many times have I told you that if you want that thing that tastes like poison derived from the gates of hell itself, then you have to mention it as black tea? If you ask me to make you chai, then you will get a proper chai,” I say with a smile on my face, even when my insides burn with something other than just agitation.

Is it because my husband of six years doesn’t remember today is my birthday eve? Or is it because he is just a man? Or is it because after six years the love in our relationship that everyone used to praise has fizzled out?

He rolls his eyes, taking a sip from the cup with a grimace plastered on his face as if I made him drink expired milk.

“It’s been six years to our marriage, Aisha.” He shakes his head, breaking his toast into pieces before taking a bite. “You should know by now what I like and what I don’t.”

I look at him from over my cup, sipping my hot chai and burning the tip of my tongue.

A retort sits on my tongue, but I refrain from saying it out loud.

I want to say that nothing has remained the same in these past six years.

That in these six years both of us have changed so much to the point that I can’t recognize who we were back in university, when we were falling madly for each other.

Back when one look from each other was enough to say what words could not.

Now, no matter how much we talk to each other, we are still not able to understand what we want.

“Well, I am not the same woman you fell for six years ago now, am I, Reyansh?” I ask, hope lingering in my heart that maybe his answer would make me feel slightly better.

But I have learned from the past that hoping leads to nothing. Especially from my dear husband.

After all, when has he actually stood up to my expectations?

He looks at me for a beat, his hazel brown eyes, the ones that used to warm me up from one look itself, gazing deeply into mine.

If there’s one thing that hasn’t changed for the worse in the past six years, it’s his beauty.

Reyansh Carter remains the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.

He can give any Bollywood hero a run for their money with his chiseled jawline, the beard that is the perfect amount and always styled, and hair that is as smooth as silk that no amount of gel can keep in place.

He gulps down the entire cup in one go before letting his thoughts out.

“You are still the same for me, Aisha,” he says, and for a moment I let myself believe in our dying marriage. But his next words prove otherwise. “But I am not. We both know that.”

He doesn’t wait for my response, choosing to get up and leave.

No goodbye. No forehead kiss, which was our ritual from the day we started dating.

Just the loud thud of our front door and silence that has become my best friend now.

In the silence and loneliness that engulfs me and leaves me feeling cold, I realize the blatant truth—the one I had been avoiding for months—our marriage is dying.

And nothing can save it at this point.

* * *

I punch in the button in my office’s elevator to take me straight up to the sixth floor—where I spend most of my days now. And sometimes, even nights.

When I first started working as an editor at Maple I would never miss a chance to work with you. One last thing before we wrap up this meeting, will someone be accompanying you there? I meant your partner, because then we will have to arrange something for them too, right?”

A look of hesitation comes over her face, one I am too familiar with.

“No,” she plasters a smile on her face. “My boyfriend hates traveling. It will just be me and my books.”

I nod, writing down the details. “No problem. We will make sure to have fun on this tour. Boys aren’t necessary anyways.”

She chuckles, and I sigh, knowing I lifted her mood a bit.

“I will email you the details. Thank you so much for your time,” I tell her before we say our goodbyes, and I sigh just imagining how much fun we will be having on this tour.

This will also be my first time going out of the UK after my honeymoon, and the thought alone is enough to give me jitters.

I look out the window of my office; the sun set down hours ago, and a sheet of black covers the sky.

There has been no text from my husband, and I try my best to ignore how much it makes me want to cry. By now, I should be numb to these feelings. But I am afraid, when it comes to Reyansh, I have never been able to think rationally.

“Aisha,” Sasha calls my name as she walks in with two glasses of wine in her hand. I have told her multiple times to not drink when we are in the office, but my girl doesn’t listen. “Let’s celebrate your birthday before you get busy with your hot husband.”

She wiggles her eyebrows. She knows every single detail of our relationship, but she is way more optimistic regarding our relationship than I am.

“I am not in the mood; besides, I have nothing planned with my husband,” I tell her before taking a sip of the wine. My husband doesn’t care about me or my birthday, is what I stop myself from saying out loud.

“Come on,” she almost cries. “You guys need to fix this. You guys are the perfect couple, after all.”

I chuckle at that. That was my belief when we first fell in love.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect couple,” I settle down on the couch in my office, with my legs in the air. They are sore from wearing heels all day.

Why can’t sneakers be included in formal wear?

Sasha looks at me for a few minutes, and I know she must have a retort already coming.

“Let’s forget about him,” she says, and I quirk up my eyebrows in surprise. Usually she would give me relationship advice. “Tell me, if you could get one thing as your birthday gift, what would it be?”

I think upon her question. There’s not much I want in life now. I have the career I wanted, and I live in my dream house. The only thing I wanted was a peaceful and loving home with my husband, but that is far out of reach. I doubt I even want that anymore.

The only thing that fills my mind right now is something twenty-one-year-old me would never think about in the first place. In fact, she would hurl and cry at the word being spoken about itself.

But that me was optimistic, loving, and kind. She seemed to have her life altogether even when she had nothing.

Quite opposite of the current me.

I look at her, and she waits for my response as I sit up straight. My face remains void of any emotion.

“Tell me,” she nudges me once more, and I break.

“Divorce.”

Her mouth falls open beside me, and I look ahead, dead serious.

“I would like to have a divorce.”