Aisha Kapoor
The disappointment that engulfed me when he refused to kiss me morphs into butterflies the instant the words leave his mouth.
The truth is, I am done pretending as well. I am done pretending that I am okay with us being away. I am done pretending that I am okay with the divorce—which is funny because I was the one who proposed it. I was the one who decided it would be best for us to part ways.
What I didn’t know was that it wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought in my mind it would be. I didn’t think Reyansh would care because for the longest time he made me feel like he didn’t. And I should hate him for that.
But I don’t.
God, I hate that I don’t.
Instead, he decided to become the person I fell in love with, if not better. He became the one I had dreams about, the one I cried for, the one I missed with all my heart, and now I don’t know what to do.
But on top of that, I am done betraying myself.
I am done betraying my heart by saying that I don’t want him anymore.
Because I do. God, every part of me yearns to be with him.
“I—”
Just then a loud shriek and the door of the bathroom opening make us pull away from each other.
“I am so sorry,” the woman says, and embarrassment fills my chest. I am not someone who takes pleasure in being caught in a compromised position in public.
“No, no,” I say, glaring at Reyansh, who seems to be enjoying this situation as I limp my way out.
Reyansh follows suit, taking my hand in his in order to give me support or touch me, I don’t know. I think both.
I vote for both.
“How much does it hurt?” he asks.
“A nine,” I say, and he snickers.
“What’s so funny about this?”
“Nothing,” he shakes his head innocently before making me sit on a nearby chair in the hall.
I narrow my eyes, and before I can argue further with him, I see Aarav coming our way with a knowing smile, and I lower my eyes.
Goddamn, I was with my husband, not anyone else. Why am I so embarrassed?
“It took you guys too long, didn’t it?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow
“Yes,” Reyansh gives him a nonchalant answer.
“Why?”
“Why would I tell you?”
I look between them, their banter going back and forth, and I slowly feel a headache coming on.
I swear, if you didn’t know them, you would think they were siblings.
“Because I am her brother-in-law, and I refuse to not know if she is fine or not.”
Reyansh crosses his arms, and the sight makes me want to ogle his biceps, but I refrain from doing so.
He is just a man, I remind myself.
“But he is your man,” taunts my conscience.
“Guys,” I say, and their eyes land on me. “Can you cut it? I want to go home.”
After the heavy confrontation and the tension that I can feel lingering between us still, I need to go home.
That brings their attention back to me, and the urge to squirm under the gaze of my soon-to-be ex-husband is intense.
“Of course, baby,” he says before taking my sling bag and putting it across him.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes widening in shock.
Is he seriously going to carry my purse like this?
“You can’t walk,” he states the obvious. “And you are not going to carry this purse since I am going to carry you.”
“I think I can walk,” I say, standing on my feet, and the pain that shoots up my leg is horrifying.
I am never wearing heels again.
“That wasn’t a question,” he says, picking me up in his arms swiftly, and all I can do is stare at him with my mouth open.
“Ahem,” Aarav gives us a teasing look, and I glare at him. This isn’t what it looks like. “I am still here.”
“So why don’t you go, fucker? Back to the woman who’s glaring at you.”
He turns to look back, and I tilt my head slightly.
Surely, his nemesis is glaring at him but looks away just when she sees him turn.
“Can we leave?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“See you tomorrow, Aarav.”
“See you later, fucker.”
I shake my head at him, done with his antics.
I don’t know what is funnier. Him getting jealous or him getting jealous of Aarav, who is literally like my brother.
I let my hair fall in front of my face, practically to shield it from the view of other people who are staring at us weirdly and from him.
I can handle the general public looking at us. But his eyes on me make me feel all the things I should’ve long forgotten.
All the feeling I shouldn’t be feeling at all.
He doesn’t say anything, just keeps walking towards where he parked his car, and for once, I am thankful for the silence.
The realization that we were going to kiss haunts me.
The fact that if I pushed him he would have kissed me makes me both embarrassed and sad.
Sad because I didn’t push him, and he didn’t kiss me.
Embarrassed because he would’ve only kissed me if I pushed him.
Despite what he says, I am not entirely convinced that he did want to kiss me but stopped himself for whatever reason he gave me back there.
Maybe I am trying to hold a grudge, but who cares at this point?
I am done suppressing my needs.
I have never been a shy woman when it comes to pleasure, but I have always been selective.
I do not believe in the societal norm that men get to talk and boast about their needs, but women get shamed for them.
I give a big middle finger to that.
But I also never took pleasure in random, meaningless encounters for a few seconds of pleasure. The only man I have ever been open with is my husband. And for the past six years, ever since we got married, that has slowly expired.
Our sexual life doesn’t exist at this point, and I am not shy about the fact that I miss it.
Because sex between us wasn’t just about pleasure. It was about how we made each other feel. Things we both couldn’t speak out loud, we could with a mere touch.
And good lord, I miss that.
I don’t look at him when he secures me in the car seat with a seat belt. Nor do I look at him when he rounds the car and sits inside.
He waits a few seconds, and I busy myself in making sure not an inch of my lehenga is getting creased.
I look up when he starts driving, and I feel a silent breath leave me. An exhausted sigh from all the things unspoken between us.
What are we even doing? Where are we even headed?
These questions constantly filter in and out of my mind, but I am never able to come even remotely close to an answer.
The radio starts playing Bollywood songs, and I rest my head against the window to stare outside.
Clouds mist around the sky in typical London weather, and though I miss the sun sometimes, I have grown to love the moodiness of London weather.
It puts my chaotic mind at ease, letting me believe that just like the weather, things do change. People change, and so do situations.
I have always tried to see the positive in everything negative.
Now, all I can point out in my life and everyone else surrounding me are the flaws and the inconsistencies.
The disappointments.
“Aisha,” Reyansh calls out, and I hum, not breaking eye contact with the sky that looks like it will rain anytime soon.
He touches my knee, and that touch makes me look at him.
“What?”
“Are you upset?” he asks, and for a moment, he looks like the man who once could read my mood from a mile away.
“No,” I tell him. “I am never upset with you, Reyansh. I am just always disappointed.”
I know my words hit him because I can still read his face, but I don’t want to hold back my feelings anymore.
He opens his mouth to say something when the car starts making weird noises.
The car comes to a slow and abrupt halt, jerking us forward, and he puts his hand between me and the dashboard, and that minor action makes me blush like a teenage girl having eye contact with her crush.
“Are you okay?” he checks on me, his hand slowly cupping my face.
“Yes,” I answer, and relief crosses his face, making a smile come on my face.
“I will go check,” he says before getting out of the car.
* * *
It has been fifteen minutes since our car broke down. He tried fixing it himself, while I watched shamelessly.
I am just a woman who is obsessed with her husband even if she is mad at him.
The weather is not much help as well, considering the fact I can feel it will start pouring cats and dogs soon.
I increase the volume of the radio slightly, and he comes over.
“I have tried calling one of the mechanics I know,” he says, leaning over the open window, and I feel hot under his gaze. “He should be here in a few.”
“Okay,” I say.
He looks around, and I take a moment to admire him. There are so many things I wish I could say to him, but my mind is a mess and my feelings are foreign.
“The weather’s nice,” he adds. “London at night is my favorite thing.”
I smile. “True that. I love London.”
“Despite its moodiness?”
I chuckle. “Yes. Despite its moodiness.”
The radio switches to “Tum Se Hi” from Jab We Met, and the urge to fulfill one of my Bollywood dreams comes alive.
Are you even obsessed with Bollywood if you have never been obsessed with Jab We Met at least once in your life?
I think every desi girl goes through a phase in their life where they wish a man like Aditya Kashyap would come into their life.
Until they realize that men like him only exist in fiction.
“What timing,” he chuckles.
I open the door of the car to let some cool breeze come inside.
“Care for a dance?” he asks, and I stare at him, bewildered.
“Isn’t my foot twisted?” I ask now. “And do you seriously wish to dance in the middle of the road?”
“You can stand on my toes; that won’t be a problem. Besides, isn’t that one of your checklist things?”
“Dancing in the middle of the road?”
“Dancing in the middle of the road,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me closer to him till I am standing on his toes.
Now I realize how cold it is outside.
I can feel the wet mist on our faces until it actually does starts pouring like I assumed it would.
“See, even the universe wants us to dance,” he smiles, and that sight alone makes me forget every single one of our issues.
For one night, I let myself be his wife.
I promise myself that this is the only moment I will give to us.
He lifts us together, swaying to the lyrics of the song while he tries to match them in his broken Hindi.
While he can speak Hindi well usually, he properly butchers it with his British accent when he starts singing Bollywood songs.
It is funny and adorable at the same time.
“What?” he asks when he sees me holding back my laugh.
“Nothing,” I say. “You just sound funny singing in that British accent.”
He rolls his eyes, but the smile doesn’t leave his face.
“Rub it in, why don’t you?”
“Of course I will. I exist to annoy you.”
He chuckles, and I stare at him.
“You could never annoy me, baby.”
“Are you sure?” I ask as he lifts me in his arms, twirling me around before setting me back down on his feet, and I can’t help but giggle.
“Reyansh,” I start truthfully. “If I ask you something, will you tell me the truth?”
“Yes, meri jaan. Always.”
“Did you really want to kiss me back there?”
He stares at me, his face carrying a million emotions as water drips down his hair.
He balances me on top of him with one hand on my waist as he cups my cheek with the other.
“If I show you, will you believe me?”
Even with the cold water dripping down my spine, I feel my body getting hot. I can tell that my cheeks are getting red like they always do.
His face inches near me, and I can feel his breath on my skin.
“What do you mean?”
I know exactly what he means. I just want him to do it.
“I mean,” he whispers against my lips. Just a single touch, and all my control, all my feelings, and all my restraint will be done for.
“Do you really want to know if I meant it?”
“Yes,” I say, finally breaking free from all the control. “Please, Reyansh.”
Just one word, and all the control he had on him breaks because I see it a second before his lips crash on mine and my world unravels.
A single brush of his lips against mine and we both lose our control.
His lips mold with mine, taking over the kiss.
His hand slowly travels down my waist, and I feel him hesitate from touching me, so I grab his hand and place it where I need it the most.
The thought of divorce leaves my mind when he smiles against my lips, feeling my urgency, and when he slips his tongue inside my mouth, I throw that idea out of my brain.
Divorce be damned. I want him.
Now.
Forever.
“See that?” he asks, breaking away from the kiss, his lips just an inch away, and I catch my breath.
“Feel that?”
I have lost my ability to talk, so I just nod.
“I am in love with you, Aisha Kapoor,” he says, and finally I feel those words in my bones, in my veins. “There’s not a single moment when I don’t want to touch you, be near you, talk to you, hear you talk, or kiss you.”
“I was stupid enough to let that go before. I am grateful enough to realize it and cherish it now.”
I stare in between his eyes, and God, I believe him.
I do.
“Kiss me again till I believe it.”
He smiles, all devilish and handsome.
“Your wish is my command, meri jaan.”