Page 96 of Mrs. Pandey
I didn't care if I sounded rude. Let him stew.
But he didn't leave.
Instead, his voice cut through again. "Ira, I need to talk to you. About my sister and Kabir. The videos and threats he sent me."
I froze, phone still to my ear. Slowly, I put my Mom’s call on hold, my hand trembling.
"He's dead, Prashant," I said, my voice sharp. "It's over. There's nothing more to talk about." I swallowed hard, the words bitter. "And I don't want to justify my actions again."
His face shifted. "I thought you wanted to marry me because you..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Well. Leave it."
I clenched my fists. "Yes. I would have married him, if he hadn't turned out to be a monster. But he was. He beat his ex-wife. He tried to hurt me." I stopped, my throat tightening. "My father opposed my decision to expose him. You were the only one who stood with me. So yes, I used you, Prashant. Used you for my own satisfaction. To put him behind bars."
Silence stretched between us. His jaw tightened, but his eyes... They looked tired and sad.
"How's Pari?" I asked finally, my voice soft, a desperate attempt to change the subject.
"She's fine," he said quietly, a sad smile ghosting his lips. "Wanna have dinner now?"
I hesitated, then nodded. "Sure."
We sat together at the table. He spoke, asked questions, and tried to bridge the gap. I answered with single words. Yes. No. Fine. Nothing more. The air between us was thick, suffocating, each unspoken word louder than anything we said aloud.
Not once did I bring up Riddhima. Not once did I ask for his justification. I didn't want it. The scene I had witnessed was enough, it spoke louder than any excuse he could give.
There was only one thought burning in my head.
Divorce.
Later, as he stood in the doorway, he turned back. His voice was steady, almost casual. "I'm announcing our relationship this week. Are you ready?"
"Yes," I said bluntly, no hesitation.
"Good night, Prashant."
Without waiting for his reply, I stepped back inside and closed the door gently.
Leaning against it, I pressed my palms flat, breathing shakily. My chest felt tight, my throat raw.
I dragged myself to the bed, phone in hand. I played the old videos of me and Prashant, laughing, teasing, stealing kisses in the rain. The man in those videos felt like a stranger now, someone I could never touch again.
If I could go back, I would hold him tighter, so tight he could never slip away. But time didn't go backward, and I was left only with memories that cut like glass.
My fingers trembled as I clutched his photo to my chest. The tears came again, hot and unstoppable. I pressed my face into my pillow, muffling the sound.
God, I hated crying. It made me feel weak, pathetic. But when the storm inside finally emptied through tears, I felt a little lighter.
Be strong.
Be brave.
I whispered the words into the dark like a vow.
I would do it.
I had to.
And this time, I promised myself, I wouldn't break.
