Page 135 of Mrs. Rathore

“Four months,” I replied quietly.

“One hundred twenty-two days,” he corrected, a sigh escaping his lips as he finally turned his head to look at me.

The weight of time pressed between us.

“Are you going to marry Ira?” I asked, the question slipping out my mouth accidentally.

His eyebrows furrowed. “No.”

I swallowed, my voice more hesitant now. “Why?”

The guilt gnawed at me again. I had ruined any future they might have had. But beneath that guilt was a small, selfish relief I could never admit aloud. Because if I hadn’t broken them… I might never have had this moment. I might never have had him.

“I have a confession,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Aryan turned to me fully now, curious. “What kind of confession?”

I bit my lower lip, nerves tingling across my skin as I looked at him. He was watching me, his expression unreadable but attentive. My voice was hesitant when I said, “I used to write you letters… in Ira’s name.”

His eyes didn’t widen in shock. He didn’t flinch.

“I know,” he said simply.

My heart skipped. “What?”

He smiled faintly, stroking his thumb along my jaw. “I found out from the very first one you sent. Her letters were short, practical. Yours were something else. They were full of emotion, thoughts… longing.” His voice became softer. “They were beautiful.”

I flushed, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just…”

“I’m not angry,” he interrupted gently. “In fact, I looked forward to them. I began to wait for those letters more than anything else.”

He brushed a strand of damp hair from my cheek and smiled, softer this time. “I almost believed you were falling in love with me.”

I let out a small laugh, flustered. “In your dreams.”

But my voice faltered as I looked at him. His face was open, vulnerable, breathtaking in its honesty. Aryan wasn’t just the man I had married under strange, messy circumstances. He was the man who had crept into my thoughts, my letters, and my heart.

His hand moved up and cradled the back of my head, his thumb resting against my temple. He examined my face.

“Are we not working on our marriage?” he asked suddenly, his voice low and sincere. “Is divorce really necessary?”

The words hit me like cold water.

I searched his eyes, trying to understand his intention. “You’re the one who wanted the divorce first,” I reminded him. “You couldn’t wait to get rid of me.”

“That was before,” he said, brushing his lips gently across the bridge of my nose. “Before I got to know you. Before I realized you’re not just someone who entered my life…you’ve become the best part of it.”

My heart swelled and ached at the same time.

“I don’t know why,” he whispered, “but the thought of letting you go… it makes me feel like I’d be losing more than a wife.”

I placed my hand on his cheek, feeling his warmth under my palm. “Me too,” I murmured. “I thought I was prepared to walk away. But now… I don’t want to.” He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, long and lingering, as if sealing a silent promise neither of us knew how to voice.

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Chapter 55

AVNI

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