CHAPTER 8
AARAV
I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the pile of paperwork in front of me until it blurs. There’s a mountain of work waiting to be done, but my mind keeps drifting back to this morning.
Anika. Draped in that red saree, she looked like a dream.
Absolutely breathtaking. A silent curse escapes my lips as I close my eyes for a second, trying to push the image away—the way the fabric hugged her curves, the way her hair danced in the breeze, and how the sunlight caught her skin and made her glow.
I shake my head, frustrated. Focus, Aarav. You’ve got deadlines. You have responsibilities. But still, my thoughts keep slipping back to her. I can't believe I actually hid behind the pillar in the dining room just to catch a glimpse of her. What the hell is wrong with me?
My phone rings, snapping me out of my thoughts. It's Bhabhi.
I pick it up. “Hello?”
“What can I do for you, Bhabhi ji?” I ask, half-teasing. She rarely calls me. She doesn’t need to. I’m usually with her when I’m home—especially now that Aditi’s gone off to college. Bhabhi’s always been more like a friend than just Bhai’s wife. I genuinely adore her.
“You didn’t come for breakfast.” She jumps straight in, and her voice carries a weight of quiet disappointment.
I pause. How do I even begin to explain? I wanted to. I could smell that sandwich—my favorite, the one only she knows how to make just right. But the moment I saw Anika, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want her to think that anything was okay. That I was okay.
I hate her. No, maybe not hate. But when she wasn’t around, I could pretend. I could at least pray she was happy, wherever she was. But now she’s here. With me. And all I can think about is everything she’s done. The silence. The betrayal. The years.
“I had work, Bhabhi,” I say finally.
She sighs. “Aarav, I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m lecturing you—you’re older than me, and I’m sure you know better—but…
” She trails off for a second. I don’t say anything.
I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully.
"It’s just… Today was her first day, and no one really made her feel welcome.
Things felt tense. It’s your responsibility now to stand by her.
She’s your wife.” I flinch a little at that word.
“I don’t know what happened between you two, and I’m not asking,” her voice cracks a bit, “but thinking from her side… It’s just sad, Aarav. She must be feeling so alone.” I press my lips together, guilt washing over me like a wave I can’t stop.
“You’re right, Bhabhi,” I whisper.
I hadn’t even thought about how Anika must be feeling.
In a house where everyone kept their distance, where no one smiled at her or welcomed her.
I’ve been so wrapped up in my own hurt, I didn’t even stop to consider hers.
My fingers drum against the desk, restless.
This isn’t who I am. I don’t ignore pain—especially not hers.
Bhabhi’s right. Like it or not, Anika is my wife.
And I owe her… something. If not kindness, then at least decency.
“I’m so tired of crying,” Bhabhi chuckles weakly, breaking the silence.
I smile faintly. “Don’t stress, okay? I’ll make things right. Promise.”
“I know you will,” she says softly, her voice already sleepy. “Have a good day, Aarav.”
“You too, Bhabhi.” I end the call, staring at my phone for a few seconds before dialing Anika’s number. We exchanged numbers in the car when we were driving back home.
She picks up after four rings. Not three. Not two. Four.
That little pause before answering—it's her way of saying, I don't care you're calling. I know her patterns better than I know my own. She’s always done that when she’s mad. Or pretending not to care. Or both. Guess that has not changed.
“Hello?” Her voice is clipped. Cold. But not shaking. Not soft.
I lean back in my chair, trying to keep my voice neutral, even though my fingers are tightening around the phone. “You settled in?”
There's a pause, and then she replies sharply, “Is that why you called? To check if I’ve settled in?”
I sigh, dragging my hand over my face. This is exactly why I don’t talk unless I have to. She’s already armed, already prickling with defenses. But I asked for this. I picked up the phone knowing damn well she wouldn’t greet me like sunshine.
“I called because…” I trail off, choosing my next words carefully. “Look. This morning. I should’ve sat down for breakfast.”
“You should’ve done a lot of things,” she mutters under her breath, but it’s loud enough for me to catch.
I clench my jaw. “Anika, I’m not here to argue.”
“Then don’t.” She exhales hard, the sound echoing in my ear. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not expecting anything from you. I got the message loud and clear.”
I stare at the view outside my glass window—the skyline blurred under monsoon clouds. My chest tightens, but I’m too used to swallowing things down now. Guilt. Anger. Want. Whatever.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But I don’t want you walking around thinking you’re invisible in that house. You’re not.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, and this time there’s something raw underneath the sarcasm. Something that makes my throat feel like sandpaper.
I look at the clock. Already past one. I haven’t eaten a bite. My stomach growls at the worst time.
“I’m working late today,” I say, switching tracks.
“Okay?”
“So… Pack that sandwich you made in the morning. The one with cheese and chutney,” I say, voice low, not bothering to hide the fact that I remember exactly what it was. “Send it to the office.”
There’s a stunned silence on the other end.
And before she can say anything—before she can read too much into it, twist it into something sentimental—I add, “Just one. Don’t get carried away.”
Then I hang up before she can say something. Because knowing Anika, she’d have some smartass comeback, and I wouldn’t know how to respond. I never do when she gets all sassy. She leaves me speechless, and then I just look dumb.
I’ve spent twelve years wishing I could forget her. Wishing I could erase the memories of us. And now that she’s back, all I can think about is how much I still care—how much it hurts that I care. But I don’t say any of that out loud.
I drop the phone on the desk and let out a frustrated sigh. I have to find Vikram. I need to end this. He has to pay—for what he did to me and for the mess we’re all in now.
I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling like it has answers.
God. I’ve loved her since I was fourteen. Not in that crush way. Not in the dramatic movie way. But in the quiet, soul-deep way. She was... everything. My person. My best friend. The one who understood me without words. The one I thought would always be around.
And then she wasn’t. Her family moved away when I was sixteen, and just like that—she was gone. I didn’t even get a proper goodbye. Just a promise. A simple, stupid promise.
‘I’ll call every day.’
I clung to those words like they were oxygen. I sat by that landline after school, every single day, hoping. Just hoping. One ring. One second of her voice.
Nothing. Twelve years. 4383 days of silence.
I didn’t have her new landline number. Didn’t know where they moved. She disappeared, and it felt like I lost more than just a friend. I lost the only part of my life that made sense. It wrecked me. Properly wrecked me.
And when I finally grew up—when I had the resources, the contacts, the means to find her—I still didn’t.
Not because I didn’t want to. God knows I did.
But every time I even thought about looking her up, this fear would choke me.
What if she had moved on? What if I wasn’t a blip on her radar anymore?
What if I found her and she didn’t even remember what we had— what she was to me ?
I wasn’t ready to face that kind of truth.
It was easier to hold on to the version of her I had in my head than to risk finding a reality where I didn’t matter.
And now? She’s back.
Married to me.
Just like that. Like it’s nothing. Like the last twelve years didn’t happen. Like I didn’t have to stitch myself together alone after losing her.
How the hell am I supposed to act like that kid—so open, so eager—never existed?
I’m not him anymore. I don’t even know how to be him anymore. That boy died the day the phone didn’t ring. And what grew in his place? He’s colder. Sharper around the edges. Guarded.
And yet, one look from her and all those walls I built start to crack.
It pisses me off—how easily she still gets to me. How she’s still inside my bones like she never left.
But I can’t just let it go. I won’t.
Because here's the thing—she doesn’t get it. She doesn’t know how badly she broke me. Or maybe she does and just never cared enough to come back.
I don’t know which would hurt more.
So I keep pushing her away. Not because I hate her. Not because I’ve stopped loving her.
But what if she knew—really knew—what she meant to me and still chose silence?
Then maybe I never meant that much to her at all.