Page 55 of Mrs. Pandey
"A woman like you deserves to be treated this way!" he snapped, his nostrils flaring, eyes burning with a fierce intensity. "Did youseriously just tell my mother that my father was grateful he died because he wouldn’t have survived being married to someone like her?”
"Prashant, I didn't…" I started, my voice desperate, trying to deny the outrageous accusation, to explain the cruel fabrication.
But he didn't give me time to finish myself, to offer a single word of defense. He grabbed my forearm roughly, his fingers digging into my skin, the pain a sharp counterpoint to the emotional turmoil.
"Listen, Ira, I don't know why I married you. I swear, if I had known, I would have kicked you out of the mandap last night when you dared to lie that you were pregnant with my child. But you were lucky, I stayed silent and accepted you. But please… just please, don't you dare to bring my parents into this war. You don't know how much I love my father, he died and now you…"
His voice cracked, a raw, unexpected vulnerability in his tone as he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Just be a good person, please."
He exhaled sharply, a long, ragged breath, and slowly, his grip loosened on my arm, letting me go. I watched him, mesmerized, as his expression shifted, revealing that dark, tormented side he always struggled to keep hidden. He looked like a man on the brink. I said nothing, not a single word, despite the burning injustice. I didn't correct him, didn't tell him that it was his own mother who had framed me with that heinous lie. He had been through so much already, so much unspoken pain and loss. I couldn't burden him further, not with the truth of his mother's cruelty, not now. He was already broken beyond repair, or soit seemed, and I couldn't be the one to push him further into despair.
"I'm sorry," I said, my voice soft, trying to steady it, to infuse it with sincerity, "I will try to become a good person, Prashant,” I said while hugging him.
I felt him tense for a moment, a subtle rigidity in his broad shoulders, before he slowly relaxed his body in my embrace and placed his hand, almost hesitantly, on my back. It wasn't a hug in return; he was merely letting me embrace him, accepting the physical comfort without reciprocating it fully.
Prashant had always been good to me, despite everything, despite our strained relationship. I still remembered how innocent he was when he first came to the training center, fresh-faced and earnest. He was a virgin then, untouched by the world, but I was not. I had taught him so much, how to be a man, how to face problems head-on, how to navigate the treacherous waters of bad people in life. Yet, through it all, he had somehow managed to stay kind, even to those who were mean to him, including me.
"You sleep on the bed," Prashant said, his voice quiet, pulling himself back from my embrace completely. "I'll sleep on the mat since we have a single bed and we're unable to fit on that together comfortably."
"It's okay, I'll sleep with you on the mat," I offered, a desperate hope fluttering in my chest that he might agree, that this small act of closeness could bridge the chasm between us.
"No," he refused, his voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "You can't…" He didn't finish the sentence, just pushed megently towards the bed with a soft hand on my back, then turned and walked out of the room, presumably to fetch the mat.
After a few moments, he returned, the rolled-up mat tucked under his arm. He spread it carefully on the floor beside the bed, then grabbed a pillow and lay down, his back to me. I lay on the bed, staring at his still form.
"You believe what your mother said?" I mumbled quietly into the silence, the question barely audible, but I knew he heard it.
He shifted, turning his head slightly to look into my eyes, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"I didn't believe it at first, but then Priya and Pari told me they saw you and maa were arguing in the kitchen…" He paused, his gaze hardening slightly. "Maa has already been through so much, Ira. Just mind your words next time."
"Good night, Prashant," I said, my voice flat, devoid of emotion, and turned around from him, facing the wall, forcing myself to close my eyes and somehow, impossibly, fall asleep in the cold reality of our shared, yet separate, existence.
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Chapter 26
PRASHANT
THREE YEARS AGO
I watched Ira from a distance, her laughter echoing softly through the glass walls of her favorite restaurant. She was sitting with her friends, glowing in a way that only she could. I had just traveled all the way from Jammu to Udaipur just to see her.
It had been six months since I last saw her. Six months since she looked into my eyes and coldly turned down my proposal. Since then, there had been no calls, no messages, just silence between us. But not in my heart, never there. Her memories were still vivid, etched into me like a story I didn't know how to stop reading. I loved her then; I still loved her.
I stood there, right outside the restaurant, watching her. She was smiling. And even though I knew that smile wasn't for me, I smiled too. That's what she always did to me. Even in pain, she made me feel warm.
Pulling the hood of my jacket over my head, I stepped inside. My heart was racing, but I pretended to be calm. I chose a table near hers, not too close, not too far, just close enough to hear her voice. That voice, soft and musical, had always been my favorite sound.
Ira didn't know I was in town. She wouldn't have liked it if she did. She'd probably think I was stalking her. Maybe I was, but what else could I do? I couldn't stay away. Not yet. Not like this.
"How's your boyfriend, Ira? When are you two getting married?" one of her friends asked, excitement bubbling in her voice.
Ira's eyes lit up, and her lips curled into a smile I hadn't seen in a long time. It was soft and affectionate, but not for me. "He just came back last night from his duty," she said, her tone almost dreamlike. "My parents want us to get married soon, but Aryan says we should wait a couple of years. He wants to focus on his career first."
Aryan. That name hit harder than I expected. She said it with so much care, so much love. Every word felt like a dagger twisting slowly. She never considered me anything to her. And I was still stuck in her memories.
Just then, the door swung open and Aryan walked in. He was tall, confident, with a smile that matched hers. The way her face lit up when she saw him broke something in me. It made me feel sad.
