Chapter 24
Armaan
I came home from the restaurant feeling both relieved and terrified. Relieved that I had finally ended things with Avija. Terrified about what came next.
Telling Viya the truth.
I could not put it off any longer. Papa was right. She deserved to know everything. About the prophecy. About the arrangement. About why I had really married her. And then I would have to pray that she loved me enough to forgive me.
The house was quiet when I entered. Mamta informed me that Dadi and Papa were resting in their rooms. And Viya had not returned from the office yet.
I went upstairs to our bedroom and paced restlessly. I had rehearsed what I would say a hundred times in my head, but none of it sounded right. How do you tell someone that your entire relationship started as a lie?
My phone rang, startling me out of my thoughts.
Vinay uncle. Viya's uncle.
That was strange. He had never called me before.
I answered immediately.
"Hello?"
The voice that came through was panicked, shaking, barely coherent.
"Armaan, it is Vinay. Viya... there has been an accident. I am taking her to the hospital right now. City Hospital. Please come quickly."
The phone slipped from my suddenly numb fingers. For a moment, I could not move. Could not think. Could not process what I had just heard.
Accident.
Viya.
Hospital.
Then everything snapped into sharp, terrible focus.
I grabbed my car keys and ran. Down the stairs, through the foyer, past the living room where Dadi was sitting with her evening tea.
"Armaan? What is wrong?"
"Viya had an accident," I managed to say without stopping. "City Hospital."
I heard her gasp behind me, heard her calling for Ramesh, but I was already out the door, already running to my car.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of traffic and red lights and my own thundering heartbeat. I drove faster than I should have, weaving between cars, my hands gripping the steering wheel so hard my knuckles went white.
Please let her be okay. Please let her be okay. Please let her be okay.
The words repeated in my mind like a prayer, like a mantra, like the only thing keeping me from falling apart completely.
I could not lose her. Not now. Not when I had just realized how much she meant to me. Not when I had not even told her the truth yet. Not when we were supposed to have forever.
I screeched into the hospital parking lot and abandoned my car at the entrance, not caring if it was towed, not caring about anything except getting to her.
I ran through the automatic doors into the bright, sterile lobby. The smell of antiseptic and floor cleaner hit me immediately. People in white coats moved purposefully through the corridors. Somewhere, a monitor was beeping steadily.
I spotted Vinay uncle standing in a corridor near the operating theater. His clothes were stained with blood. Viya's blood.
"Where is she?" I demanded, running up to him. "What happened? Is she okay?"
He looked at me with red rimmed eyes, his face aged ten years in the span of an afternoon.
"She is in surgery. The doctors are with her now. They said she has multiple injuries. Head trauma. Broken ribs. Internal bleeding."
Each word was a knife to my chest.
"How did this happen? How did she get hit?"
Uncle's face crumpled.
"She came to visit me today. She was in a good mood, so happy. And then... then Avija came home. She was so angry, Armaan. I have never seen her that angry. She told Viya everything."
The world tilted.
"What do you mean everything?"
"Everything. About the prophecy. About the arrangement. About you and Avija planning to get married. About how Viya was only supposed to be temporary. About how I lied about my health to convince her to agree to the marriage."
My legs gave out. I stumbled backward and caught myself against the wall.
No. No, this could not be happening.
"Viya just... she could not process it. She ran out of the house. I tried to follow her, tried to stop her, but she was not listening. She was in shock, walking without seeing where she was going. She stepped into traffic and a car hit her."
I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the cold hospital floor, my head in my hands.
This was my fault. All of it. If I had told her the truth myself, if I had not waited, if I had been honest from the beginning, this never would have happened.
I heard footsteps approaching and looked up to see Dadi and Papa hurrying down the corridor. Ramesh was with them, looking worried.
"Armaan!" Dadi rushed to me, her face pale with fear. "Where is Viya? Is she alright?"
"She is in surgery," I said, my voice hollow. "They do not know yet."
Papa helped me to my feet, his grip steady and strong. Then he turned to Uncle Vinay.
"What happened? How did this accident occur?"
Uncle repeated the story, his voice breaking several times. I watched Dadi's expression shift from fear to horror to something that looked like guilt.
"This is my fault," she whispered. "I insisted on the prophecy. I pushed for this arrangement. Oh god, what have I done?"
Before anyone could respond, I heard sharp footsteps echoing down the corridor. I turned to see Avija and Sangeetha aunty approaching.
Avija's eyes were red from crying, but there was something defiant in the set of her jaw. Something unrepentant.
Rage, white hot and all consuming, flooded through me.
"You," I said, my voice dangerous and low. "This is your fault."
"My fault?" Avija's voice was shrill. "How is this my fault? I just told her the truth. Something you should have done weeks ago."
"You told her out of spite! Out of jealousy! You wanted to hurt her!"
"Of course I wanted to hurt her!" Avija screamed. "She ruined my life! She took everything that was supposed to be mine! So yes, I told her the truth. I wanted her to know that you never wanted her. That she was just a convenient placeholder!"
I took a step toward her, my hands clenched into fists. Papa grabbed my arm, holding me back.
"If something happens to her," I said, my voice shaking with fury, "if something happens to my wife because of what you did, I will never forgive you. Never."
"Your wife?" Avija laughed bitterly. "She is only your wife because of a stupid prophecy. Because my mother wanted to protect me. You married her for me, Armaan. For us."
"I married her because I was a coward. Because I went along with a cruel plan instead of standing up for what was right.
But I love her now. I love her more than I have ever loved anyone.
And if she does not survive this, if I lose her because you could not keep your mouth shut, I will make sure you regret it for the rest of your life. "
“I hope she dies.” Avija said.
Before I could respond, Dadi stepped forward.
And slapped her.
The sound echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. Avija's head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her reddening cheek.
"How dare you," Dadi said, her voice cold and hard in a way I had never heard before. "How dare you stand there and justify what you have done. You wished death on an innocent girl. You said it would be better if she died. What kind of person are you?"
Sangeetha aunty moved to defend her daughter, but Dadi held up a hand.
"No. I do not want to hear it. I understand now. I understand why Armaan had that flaw in his kundali. The prophecy was not a curse. It was protection. God was trying to save my grandson from marrying someone like her." She pointed at Avija with disgust. "Someone cruel and selfish and heartless."
Avija's eyes filled with tears, but Dadi was not finished.
"Get out of this hospital. Get out of our lives. I never want to see your face again. Neither of you." She looked at Sangeetha aunty with equal disdain. "You are not welcome in my home. You are not welcome near my family. Leave. Now."
For a moment, Sangeetha aunty looked like she might argue. But something in Dadi's expression made her think better of it. She grabbed Avija's arm and pulled her toward the exit.
"This is not over," Avija said, looking back at me. "When she wakes up and realizes you lied to her, she will leave you. And you will have nothing."
Then they were gone, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
I slumped back against the wall, all the fight draining out of me. Without Avija there to focus my rage on, there was nothing left but fear and guilt and desperate, aching hope.
Please let her live. Please let her be okay. Please give me a chance to make this right.
We waited. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Nurses came and went. Doctors walked past with clipboards. The world kept turning while mine hung suspended in terrible uncertainty.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the operating room doors opened. A surgeon emerged, still in his scrubs, pulling down his mask.
We all stood immediately, moving toward him as one.
"How is she?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Is she okay?"
The doctor looked tired but not grim. That had to be a good sign. Right?
"Your wife is stable. The surgery went well. We repaired the internal bleeding and set her broken ribs. She has a concussion, but the brain scans show no permanent damage. She is going to be fine."
Relief hit me so hard I nearly fell. Papa caught my arm, steadying me.
"And the baby" the doctor continued. "Both mother and baby came through the surgery without complications."
The world stopped.
Baby?
"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
The doctor looked surprised.
"You did not know? Your wife is pregnant. About two weeks along. We were very careful during the surgery to make sure both she and the fetus were safe. They both came through perfectly."
Pregnant. Viya was pregnant. We were going to have a baby.
Dadi let out a cry of joy and grabbed Papa's arm. Papa was smiling, tears streaming down his face. Uncle Vinay was laughing and crying at the same time.
But I could not move. Could not process what I had just heard.
A baby. Our baby.
"When can I see her?" I managed to ask.
"She is in recovery now. She should regain consciousness within the next hour or two. Then you can see her. But I must warn you, she is going to be very groggy and disoriented when she wakes up. Do not expect much conversation at first."
The doctor left to check on other patients. We all moved to the waiting area outside the recovery room and sat down.
Papa settled into the chair next to me. He did not say anything for a while, just sat there in solid, supportive silence.
Then he spoke, his voice quiet and serious.
"You need to fix this, Armaan. You need to do whatever it takes to win her back. To earn her trust again. To show her that you love her."
"I know," I said, my voice rough. "I will do anything. Everything. I do not care what it takes. I will spend the rest of my life making this up to her if I have to."
"Not just because of the baby," Papa said, making it a statement rather than a question.
"No. Not because of the baby. Because I love her. Because I cannot imagine my life without her. Because she is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I was an idiot to risk losing her."
Papa nodded, satisfied with my answer.
"Good. Then when she wakes up, you tell her that. You tell her everything. The truth, the whole truth, and then you tell her how you feel. And then you give her time to decide if she can forgive you."
"What if she cannot? What if this is too much? What if she leaves?"
"Then you respect her decision. But you do not give up. You show her every day that you are worthy of a second chance. You prove to her that your love is real."
I nodded, determination settling into my bones alongside the fear.
I would not lose her. I could not.
Whatever it took, however long it took, I would win back my wife.
The woman I loved.
The mother of my child.