Three months had passed since the day everything shattered.
The calendar insisted time was moving forward, but Roohi knew better.
Time hadn't healed anything-it had only taught her how to breathe with pain lodged permanently in her chest.
The house still looked the same.
The walls still carried his presence.
But Sidharth hadn't returned.
He hadn't called.
He hadn't texted.
He hadn't even looked back.
In those three months, Roohi had tried-God knew she had tried.
She had stood outside his study door countless times, fingers hovering over the handle, heart pounding with hope and fear tangled together.
Every time, she had turned back, swallowing words that begged to be heard.
When she finally gathered courage and called him...
"I don't want to hear it, Roohi."
That was all he had said.
No anger.
No shouting.
Just... dismissal.
It hurt more than rage ever could.
She had signed the divorce papers with shaking hands.
Not because she wanted to.
Because he had already left her-signatures were only formalities after that.
The court had given them six months.
Six months before everything would officially end.
Six months where she was still his wife on paper, but nowhere else.
"I don't want you in my life after this," he had said, his voice flat, eyes distant.
"I'm leaving for a business trip. I don't want to see you."
And he had gone.
Just like that.
Roohi still remembered the echo of the door closing behind him.
That sound had followed her into every sleepless night since.
She craved him.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
She craved a glance.
A word.
Even his indifference-because at least that meant he saw her.
She had tried everything.
She had studied harder than ever before, pouring her grief into textbooks and sleepless nights.
When the semester results came out and her name stood at the top, she had stared at the screen with trembling hope.
Maybe this would make him proud.
Maybe this would make him look at her again.
She had sent him a message.
I topped this semester.
The message showed delivered.
That was all.
No reply.
Her chest had ached that night in a way she couldn't explain-like her heart had folded inward, trying to disappear.
Sarika maa.
The word still felt strange on her tongue.
Roohi didn't understand when hatred had turned into planning. When indifference had turned into cruelty.
She had approached Sarika once. Just once.
Broken. Vulnerable. Hoping-foolishly-that a mother would finally choose her.
"I need support maa," Roohi had said softly, voice trembling. "He wants a divorce."
Sarika had laughed.
Actually laughed.
"You?" she had scoffed. "You think you deserve him?"
Rinki had stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes burning with satisfaction.
"That fight with Ankita," Sarika had continued, "was the biggest mistake of your life. Rinki doesn't forget insults. She takes them personally."
It had been intentional.
Every word.
Every lie.
Every seed of doubt planted in Sidharth's mind.
Roohi had felt something inside her collapse that day.
"You planned it?" she had whispered.
"Yes," Sarika had said without shame. "And I'd do it again."
Roohi had walked out of that house feeling hollow.
Later, when she had cried alone, the realization had cut deeper-Sarika had never hated her because of anything Roohi had done.
She had hated her because Roohi existed.
"Maybe I am undeserving," Roohi thought now, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
When she was born, she lost her mother.
She never felt a mother's love.
Not truly.
Her father had loved her-but even that love had faded under new responsibilities and new relationships.
When she married Sidharth, she thought-finally-this is it.
A home.
A family.
A place where she belonged.
And now... she had lost that too.
She touched the faint bruises on her arm-the ones Rinki's cruelty had left behind.
She applied ointment carefully, wincing slightly. The sting was sharp but bearable.
This pain was nothing.
Nothing compared to the ache of waking up every day without Sidharth.
She washed her face slowly, letting the water run longer than necessary, as if it could wash away memories too.
When she looked up again, her eyes were red, her face pale, but composed.
She dried her face, stepped out, and walked straight to the cupboard.
Her fingers hesitated.
Then she pulled out one of his shirts.
It still smelled like him.
A clean, masculine scent mixed with something uniquely Sidharth-a memory she couldn't name but instantly recognized.
She lay down on the bed, clutching the shirt tightly to her chest.
Her arms wrapped around it like it was the only thing anchoring her to reality.
"Why couldn't you listen to me?" she whispered into the fabric.
Sleep didn't come.
It never did.
Instead, memories flooded her mind-his anger, his eyes filled with hatred, the way he had looked at her like she was a stranger who had betrayed him.
Her breathing grew uneven.
Her chest felt tight. Too tight.
Suddenly, she jerked upright, gasping.
Her heart was racing, lungs burning like she had forgotten how to breathe.
"No... no..." she whispered, pressing her palm against her chest.
She hurried to the side table and opened the drawer.
The pill strip lay there silently.
She stared at it for a long moment.
Then she took two pills.
Not thinking.
Just wanting peace.
She swallowed them with water and lay back down.
Slowly, gradually, the world began to soften.
The ceiling blurred.
The pain dulled-not gone, but distant, like an echo fading into a tunnel.
Her body relaxed, exhaustion finally pulling her under.
Sleep wrapped around her gently, almost kindly.
In her dreams, Sidharth stood at a distance.
Not angry.
Not cruel.
Just... watching.
And Roohi ran toward him, heart full of hope and fear-
-but every time she reached out, he disappeared.
Tears slid silently from the corners of her closed eyes as she slept.
Three months had passed.
But her heart was still standing on the day he left.
And somewhere far away, Sidharth remained unaware-
That the woman he had walked away from was slowly disappearing too.
***
The canteen was noisy.
Plates clattered.
Friends laughed.
Someone argued about notes.
Life was happening everywhere.
Except around me.
I sat at the corner table, my tray untouched. The smell of food made my stomach turn, but I forced myself to sit there anyway-because if I didn't, it would feel too obvious how alone I was.
"Eat, Roohi," I murmured to myself. "At least pretend."
I lifted the spoon.
My hand shook.
Before I could take a bite, a familiar laugh reached my ears.
Sharp.
Mocking.
I didn't have to look up.
I already knew.
"Wow," Rinki's voice rang out loudly.
"Look who's sitting all alone."
I froze.
My fingers tightened around the spoon.
"Didn't your shadow follow you today?" she continued, dragging a chair and sitting opposite me without permission.
"Oh wait... you don't have anyone anymore, right?"
I kept my eyes on my plate.
"Move," I said softly. "I don't want trouble."
She laughed.
"Trouble?" she scoffed. "You are trouble."
A few heads turned toward us.
My chest tightened.
"Why are you sitting here like some bechari?" she asked loudly. "Trying to get sympathy?"
"I'm just eating," I whispered.
"Eating?" she leaned closer. "Or counting how lonely you are?"
Her words pierced deeper than I expected.
I looked around instinctively.
People were there.
So many people.
But no one stood beside me.
No one said, stop.
No one even met my eyes.
"You know," Rinki continued cruelly, "I heard even your husband doesn't want you."
Something inside me cracked.
"That's not your business," I said, my voice trembling despite my effort.
She smirked. "Everything about you is entertainment."
She pushed my tray slightly.
"Careful," she said mockingly. "Don't drop your food like you dropped your self-respect."
My throat burned.
I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly.
"Enough," I said, barely holding myself together. "Please leave me alone."
She stood too.
Towered over me.
"Or what?" she asked softly. "Who will save you?"
Silence.
Heavy.
Loud.
I looked around again.
Still... no one.
My hands curled into fists.
"I don't need anyone," I said, even though my voice betrayed me.
Rinki leaned in, whispering so only I could hear.
"That's good," she said with a smile. "Because no one is coming."
She stepped back, laughing.
"Enjoy your lunch, Roohi," she said loudly. "Alone suits you."
She walked away.
The noise of the canteen returned.
Laughter.
Plates.
Life.
I stood there for a second.
Then slowly sat back down.
My food was cold now.
Just like my hands.
I swallowed hard, forcing the tears back.
Don't cry here, I told myself.
Don't give them that satisfaction.
I took one bite.
It tasted like nothing.
Because loneliness, I realized, is loudest when you're surrounded by people.
****
I knew something was different the moment I stepped into the house.
Not because someone said anything.
Not because something had changed physically.
But because the air felt... alive.
"Roohi beta, you're home early today," Rekha aunty said from the living room.
"Yes," I replied, placing my bag down. "College finished sooner."
I walked a little further in and stopped.
Everyone was smiling.
Rekha aunty's lips were curved into that teasing smile she always wore when she knew something I didn't.
"What happened?" I asked slowly. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"
Rekha aunty tilted her head, pretending to think.
"Should I tell her, or should I let her guess?" she said playfully.
My stomach tightened.
"Tell me what?" I asked, my voice suddenly careful.
She leaned closer and said softly, teasingly-
"Sidharth came."
The word came echoed in my ears.
My smile froze.
I felt it-how my face went blank, how my lips forgot how to curve, how my eyes lost their light in a single second.
"Sidharth...?" I whispered.
"Yes," Rekha aunty said, watching me closely. "He just arrived."
Three months.
After three months...
My heart started racing so fast it scared me.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
I pressed my hand against my chest.
"Oh," I said. Just that. "Oh."
Rekha aunty smiled knowingly. she gently and walked away.
The room suddenly felt too big.
Too quiet.
Too loud inside my head.
He's here.
He's actually here.
I tried to breathe normally.
I really tried.
"Calm down, Roohi," I whispered to myself. "It's just... him."
But it was never just him.
My feet moved without asking permission.
"Dadi," I said quickly, forcing my voice steady, "I'll just-check something."
She nodded. "Go, beta."
I walked toward her room first.
"Dadi?" I asked softly, peeking inside.
Empty.
The bed was neatly made. The lamp was off.
"Okay," I murmured to myself.
I turned and walked faster now.
Our room.
I stood outside the door for a second.
My fingers trembled as they touched the handle.
What if he's there?
What if he looks at me the way he used to?
What if he doesn't look at me at all?
I opened the door.
The room was silent.
Empty.
I swallowed hard.
My chest felt heavy.
"Not here," I whispered.
I went to the study room next.
"Sidharth?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
Nothing.
I turned to leave-
And that's when I saw him.
He stood near the hallway window, his back to me, one hand in his pocket.
Time stopped.
My world narrowed down to just him.
He looked thinner.
Tired.
Exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix.
His shoulders were tense, his posture rigid, like he was carrying weight he refused to share.
He turned slowly.
Our eyes met.
My breath caught painfully.
I admired him without shame.
His sharp jaw.
The familiar curve of his lips.
The man I still knew by heart.
His eyes were unreadable.
Not angry.
Not soft.
Just... distant.
My vision blurred instantly.
"Sidh-" I tried to speak.
He looked away.
Walked past me.
Didn't say a word.
Didn't pause.
Didn't acknowledge me.
The sound of his footsteps faded, each step hitting me like a silent rejection.
I closed my eyes.
Tears slipped out before I could stop them.
It hurt.
God, it hurt.
But somewhere beneath that pain-
I smiled.
Because after three months...
I had seen him.
I wiped my tears quickly.
"Get it together," I whispered to myself. "He's home."
I rushed to the kitchen.
If he was here, he had to eat.
I tied my hair, washed my hands, and started cooking.
"What should I make?" I muttered. "What does he like?"
I already knew the answer.
His favorite curry.
I cooked slowly, carefully, like my hands remembered him better than my heart did.
The smell filled the kitchen.
Soon, footsteps approached.
He entered the dining area.
I didn't look at him.
I couldn't.
Arjun's voice cut through the silence.
"Wow," he said loudly. "Bhai, your favorite food. Looks like someone remembered."
My heart skipped.
I waited.
For a reaction.
For anything.
Sidharth said nothing.
Didn't look up.
Didn't respond.
He ate quietly.
Each bite felt like a victory and a wound at the same time.
"Good food," Papa said lightly, trying to ease the tension.
"Yes,"
Rekha aunty agreed. "Roohi cooks well."
Silence.
After dinner, I saw him lying on the couch.
Asleep.
Exhausted.
I stood there, watching him quietly.
"I missed you," I whispered, though he couldn't hear.
I walked into the bedroom and lay down.
He came in later.
Lay beside me.
Turned his back to me.
I stared at the ceiling.
Sleep wouldn't come.
My chest felt tight.
Slowly, quietly, I reached for the pills.
Two.
I swallowed them.
Laid back.
Closed my eyes.
The pain softened.
And my last thought before sleep claimed me-
At least today... I saw him.
___________________________
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