Aisha Kapoor
Inever knew our ceiling would be so interesting, but apparently it is. Because for the past hour all I have been doing is stare at it as if it were carved from gold and diamonds.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself because I know if my strength wavers and all the pep talks I have been giving myself fail, I will go and fold right back into the arms of the man who has hurt me countless times.
I was so close to losing my control when he was close to me in his car. His forehead resting against mine and his warm breath hitting my tender skin was enough to make me weak. I have always been weak for intimacy with him. Even a touch of his fingers makes me melt.
But I need to remember that this could all be his potential guilt. If he loved me enough, he wouldn’t have jeopardized our relationship.
But if I loved him enough, wouldn’t I have done so too?
The distance between us wasn’t created in a day or abruptly.
It happened when we stopped regarding each other in those small moments where we should have instead held each other’s hand.
It happened when we let our ego get in between our relationship, and now it’s crumbling down to dust.
I toss and turn all night, my eyes hurting from holding back my tears, but I don’t let them fall.
Not yet, at least. Besides, I will have plenty of time to cry in the next coming days.
* * *
My alarm manages to wake me up on time for once, and I get up groaning. I don’t know how or when I fell asleep, but my neck hurts, most probably from the weird position I took while sleeping.
I lower my feet on the rug below, staring at it as if it is the most interesting thing in the world.
Truth is, I have no energy in me. I don’t want to even leave the comfort of my bed, the comfort of the house we built with love.
But knowing I will have to sooner or later breaks my heart slowly and slowly, shattering me into a fragile mess.
I get up from the bed, my eyebrows furrowed when I hear a familiar voice outside.
My heart races as I rush out of my room, my mind not believing it to be true.
“Why is your house so empty, Reyansh beta?” I hear her questioning, and my heart leaps out of my chest.
Of course, it is her.
“Maa,” I move towards her, my feelings taking over as I hug her, ignoring how she must be tired from such a long flight. But she is here, and that’s all I want.
That is all I wanted all along.
She hugs me back, her arms tightening around me, and suddenly I am the little girl who was leaving Maa for the first time. Tears in my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
She still doesn’t know my decision; she doesn’t even know what has happened between us. I am not even ready to tell her the truth yet.
Because she is just as attached to him as I am. She sees a son in him that she never had, and I know and hate the fact that our divorce will impact her so much.
“Aisha,” she says softly. “Let me breathe, beta.”
I chuckle as I pull away, and she smiles warmly at me. The lines beside her eyes wrinkle as she smiles, and I almost forgot how beautiful my mother is.
At fifty, Meher Kapoor can still pass for any model or actress. Her features are soft and beautiful, and as I grow older, I begin to morph into her copy.
“You didn’t tell me you were planning on visiting,” I say as I pull her towards our couch, ignoring how Reyansh looks at us with a soft smile as he takes her luggage into the guest room.
“Oh, it was sudden,” she tells me, her eyes roaming over me as if checking if I am alright. While my mother has always been affectionate and doted over me, right now, the way she is looking at me is different. Something I can’t decipher.
“Sudden?” I quirk an eyebrow, curiosity taking over me.
“Yes,” she says. “Reyansh arranged everything. He is amazing.”
I roll my eyes internally. She idolizes him too much. More than he deserves, maybe.
“That I am,” he comes in, and I roll my eyes physically this time. He winks at my mom, and she laughs, and I swear I feel like an outsider.
“Cute,” I deadpan. “You came here for me or him?”
“Both of you, Aisha,” she says as if tired from my antics. “I spoiled you too much.”
I raise my hands up in the air as they both chuckle at my helplessness.
If I could give one tip to any woman getting married—make sure your mother doesn’t adore your husband too much because one day they will start ganging up on you and you will feel like the outsider.
“Stop ganging up on my daughter-in-law, you two,” my eyes widen as I hear my mother-in-law’s voice. A smile breaks onto my face as she makes her way inside.
I giggle like a child as she engulfs me in a hug, and her familiar scent wafts through my nose. I love my mother so much. Both of them. I adore my father-in-law too. He literally dotes on me like I am his daughter, and I like the affection.
But he rarely shows up; he’s too busy managing his business alone. This is another reason why Reyansh felt guilty wanting to start his own firm. But his parents love him more than he cares to admit they do.
They pushed him to pursue his dreams, and that’s all he did.
“Glad someone’s here to take my side,” I say as she caresses my hair.
“Happy belated birthday, sweetheart.” She presses a kiss to my forehead before joining my mom and Reyansh on the couch.
“Hi, Mom,” Reyansh says, his eyes narrowed on us. “Good to see you too.”
“Now, who’s the one getting jealous, huh?” I taunt back.
Tit for tat.
He rolls his eyes, getting up.
“What will you guys like for breakfast? I will whip something up real quick.”
“You guys haven’t had breakfast yet?” Mum asks.
“No, I just woke up.”
I smile sheepishly as my mom gives me a look. She hates me getting up late, but what she doesn’t know is that I was tired because of her beloved son-in-law and not for the right reasons.
“We will decide what to make, don’t worry,” my mom says. “You go take a shower. You stink, Aisha.”
“Geez, thanks, Mom.”
Reyansh chuckles as he watches me drag myself away to my room, and after months a genuine smile takes over my face.
All I am worried about is how to break the news to them too.
* * *
I get out of the shower, my hair completely wet, wearing a baby pink chikankari kurta and white palazzo.
I stop and look at myself in the mirror once. My eyes are not as swollen as they were before, but the dark circles beneath my eyes are prominent, so I apply a soothing gel eye cream to fix it temporarily.
I put on a smile on my face as I make my way outside, but before I can even reach the kitchen, I bump into my dear husband’s chest.
I grit my teeth as I look up at him. Why does he look good? Why does he even have to smell so good?
God, I dislike him so much at the moment.
“You look pretty,” he says, flicking my hair behind my ear.
I open my mouth, ready to argue, but close it as I register his words. What?
“Thanks,” I say, confused. “When are you planning to tell them?”
His eyebrows furrow. “Tell them what?”
I narrow my eyes. “About us?”
“Us?”
I clench my teeth. He is so annoying. Why did I marry him?
“About divorce.”
I try to keep my voice low and not completely lash out at him.
“Yes, that’s not happening.”
I cross my arms. “You won’t tell them? How long will you hide it from the—?”
“I won’t give you a divorce, Aisha.”
“Rey—”
Before I can further argue, the voices of our mothers practically bickering reach us, and we both stop and peek into our kitchen, which now looks like a mess.
“What the hell is going on?” Reyansh asks, and I just shrug.
“We will eat Aloo Parathe, and that is final,” my mom argues, a belan in her hand.
“No,” Reyansh’s mom takes it from her hand. “We are eating something light for breakfast. Aloo Parathe are too oily.”
“No.”
“Yes—”
“You are just too British, Margot,” my mom exaggerates.
“Of course, I am.”
I clutch my head as their bickering continues. Reyansh stares ahead, his arms crossed at his chest.
“This is going to be tough, isn’t it?” he whispers in my ear.
“Tough and dramatic.”