Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 14

This is part 15 of 15 in the book Destined: A Marriage of Convenience

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: The Finale.

9,066 words, 48 minutes read time.

A Marriage of Convenience Love Story Set in Kolkata

Destined: A Marriage of Convenience Love Story – Chapter 14
The Finale

Don’t forget to read Chapter 13 of Destined: A Marriage of Convenience.

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story: Chapter 13

Destined – A Marriage of Convenience Love Story

Mehek

Three Months Later

“Beta, coming outside? Or do you want your lunch in the room?”

“No, Maa. I will come.”

I pushed myself up carefully from the bed. My mother instinctively took a step towards me, ready to help, but stopped herself. She knew how much I hated being treated like I was fragile. Offering me a small smile instead, she watched as I reached for my walking stick and steadied myself before taking my first slow step.

Every movement still demanded effort. My left leg protested with a dull ache, and I shifted my weight carefully before making my way out of the room.

Baba was already waiting at the dining table. The moment he saw me, his face lit up.

“Today, your mother has made a feast.”

I smiled as I lowered myself onto the chair.

“Baba, don’t eat too many sweets. You need to be careful about your sugar.”

He sighed dramatically, looking longingly at the bowl of desserts.

“Then why did Maa Durga make sweets if she was going to invent diabetes?”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“Because sweets are something you can eat forever. So Maa Durga had to create a barrier to stop you from overeating.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment while Maa laughed softly from the kitchen.

Watching Baba laugh so freely still felt strange.

He had changed so much over the past three months that sometimes I found myself wondering if this was the same man who had raised me. The aloof, strict, formal father I had always known seemed to have disappeared after my accident.

Now he waited for me before every meal.

He cracked terrible jokes just to make me smile.

Sometimes I even caught him watching me quietly, relief filling his eyes simply because I was sitting there eating with them.

It had taken sixteen days before the doctors finally discharged me from the hospital. Even then, my recovery was far from over. My right arm and left leg had both been in casts, and they had only come off two weeks ago. Now the doctor insisted on physiotherapy every day.

I hated it.

Every session felt like someone was forcing life back into muscles that had forgotten how to move. By the end of each appointment, I felt more tired, and tears often pricked my eyes from the pain.

Still… I never complained. I wanted my life back. I wanted to work again.

Three whole months had passed without me making a single piece of jewelry. My hands actually missed the tiny beads, the delicate wires, and the familiar rhythm of creating something beautiful from nothing.

The accident had changed all of us. Not just me.

Sometimes I woke in the middle of the night and heard Maa crying softly in the next room, thinking no one could hear her. Baba had developed the habit of checking on me before going to bed, quietly opening my bedroom door just enough to see if I was asleep.

The accident had bruised all our hearts. Not just my body.

And… he hadn’t contacted me. Not once.

Abhoy Chatterjee had finally left me alone.

The last time I had seen him was in the hospital, standing beside my bed with folded hands, promising to divorce me if that was what I wanted. After that… nothing. No calls or messages, or even surprise visits.

I knew he had paid every rupee of my hospital bill before anyone else could. I also knew he remained in touch with Baba, asking about my recovery without speaking to me directly.

He knew my casts were off. He knew I was going through physical therapy. He just… didn’t try to meet me. Maybe because of what had happened the last time he tried.

I rested my elbow on the dining table, absentmindedly tracing circles on my plate.

I… I missed him. I missed him far more than I was willing to admit. But I was too proud to tell him that. Or anyone.

After lunch, Maa and I settled in the living room to watch an old black-and-white movie. She commented on every scene as though she had never watched it before, even though I knew she had probably seen it twenty times.

For a little while, life felt almost normal.

Later, she left for the market while Baba went out on some work, leaving the house unusually quiet.

I sat alone on the sofa, twirling my phone between my fingers. For nearly ten minutes I argued with myself.

Don’t message him.

Message him.

He’s not going to reply.

So what? Before I could lose my courage, I unlocked my phone and typed the simplest thing I could think of. Nothing fancy. Just a general message that could mean nothing, or everything.

Mehek: Hey, how are you?

I stared at the screen.

One minute passed.

Then another.

Nothing.

He didn’t reply. I let out a small sigh.

I didn’t expect him to. He wasn’t someone who obsessively checked his phone like me. He worked, and he didn’t even like messaging. He had told me once that he would rather pick up the phone and talk than waste time in endless texts.

Another decision made, I dialed his number before I could stop myself.

It rang. Once. Twice. Thrice. Damn. I went to disconnect the call when the ringing stopped.

“Hello.” His calm voice came through the speaker.

“Hello,” I said quietly.

“Hi, Mehek.” There was the briefest pause before he continued. “How are you?”

“Good. I mean… better. The cast is off.”

“I know.”

Of course he knew.

“Are you doing physical therapy?”

I nodded instinctively before realizing he couldn’t see me.

“Yes.”

“Great.”

God… why was it so difficult to talk to him? Before… I could go on and on… argue with him for an hour without running out of things to say, fight with him for about everything.

“How are you?” I asked then.

“Work keeps me busy.” He dodged the question.

We both got quiet. Well, it was his turn to talk now. That was how phone conversations worked, wasn’t it? I had asked about him. Now he was supposed to keep the conversation alive.

Instead, he spoke after a long pause.

“Get better, Mehek. Do you need anything?”

You. But I didn’t tell him that. “Okay. And no, I don’t need anything.”

“Take care.”

“You too.”

“Bye.”

The line disconnected.

I stared at the screen until it went dark. Then something inside me cracked, and before I could stop myself, I threw the phone onto the floor.

The sharp sound echoed through the empty house.

“Oh no.”

I quickly bent down, wincing as my leg protested, and picked it up. Turning it over in my hands, I checked every corner. No cracks, thankfully.

A breath of relief escaped me. Then I leaned back against the sofa, clutching the phone to my chest. It was over. Not just from my side. From his too.

I didn’t know whether I should feel relieved or heartbroken. For so long I had wanted him to stop forcing me to return.

Now he wasn’t fighting anymore. Not for me. Not for us.

And somehow… that hurt even more than when he had.

Abhoy

A soft knock on the door pulled me away from the papers spread across the desk. I looked up.

“Maa.”

A faint smile found its way to my face as she stepped inside. I placed the file aside and leaned back in my chair. She walked over without saying a word and stood behind me, her hands settling gently on my shoulders before one of them slid up to cup the side of my face. Her touch was as familiar as my own heartbeat, warm and protective, the way it had always been whenever life became too heavy.

“Can I say something, Shona?”

I nodded.

Reaching back, I caught her wrist gently and guided her around the chair. She sat on the edge of the bed while I turned to face her. The study table I used for work now was installed for Mehek. But she had rarely used it, preferring to spread her jewelry supplies all over the floor instead, yet I had never removed it. Somehow, I never found the heart to.

I used it instead, whenever I was at home.

Maa looked at me for a long moment before speaking.

“It’s one year.”

I nodded solemnly. “It is.”

I didn’t react, even though I felt so much inside me. One year. Our first anniversary. I had once believed I was simply unlucky in love. Losing Yagini had convinced me that perhaps some people weren’t destined to find happiness. But now… now I understood something far crueler.

But now I understood the truth. I wasn’t unlucky in love. I was unlucky in life.

Silence filled the room. Outside the window, I could hear birds chirping somewhere in the garden, the distant sound of a gardener watering the plants, life continuing exactly as it always had.

Inside me, it was chaos, yet I felt frozen through all of it. I felt all of it, yet I couldn’t react. I just couldn’t.

Maa’s eyes slowly filled with tears. She tried to blink them away, but one escaped anyway. I looked at her and wished I knew how to comfort her. I didn’t. I didn’t have anything to tell her. I didn’t know what could make any of this better.

It had been almost a month since I had last spoken to Mehek.

Sometimes I still replayed that phone call in my head. I applauded her bravery. She had called me. First messaged me, that I checked late that night. But she had called me, and I was proud of her for that.

But things had changed between us, irrecoverably. Nothing could change my decision now. When the doctor had walked out and told me how miraculous it was that she had survived, everyone around me had heard hope.

I hadn’t. I had only heard how badly I had fucked up.

The woman who had once looked at me with hope had become so terrified of me that she had run onto a busy road just to escape. No punishment could ever be harsher than realizing that.

It had opened my eyes in a way nothing else could.

“Are you…?” Maa began softly, but the words refused to leave her mouth. She burst into tears instead. My eyes stung, but I controlled myself. Breaking down was easy, but I had to stay strong.

I lost in love. Not once, but twice, and that would be a lesson enough for me.

“Yes, Maa. The papers are ready. It’s for the better. Believe me.”

“I just wanted you to be happy. I never imagined everything would become… this.”

Neither had I.

“Marriages shouldn’t be forced,” I said after a long pause. “Maybe that’s the lesson all of us were supposed to learn.”

Maa looked at me through tear-filled eyes.

“Abhoy…”

She reached for my hand and held it tightly.

“Will you forgive me?”

I frowned immediately.

“For what? For wanting your son to be happy? For seeing him shatter a thousand times before doing something once so he could feel happiness? So he could get out of his shell? No, Maa… you did nothing wrong.”

She cried harder. “But my son… he lost everything. Because of me… he died twice.”

And for that… I had no answer. Maybe there wasn’t one. Sometimes life simply happened. Sometimes even faith demanded more from us than we thought we could endure.

I had always believed Maa Durga only gave us burdens we were capable of carrying. And if the mother of the universe thought I could handle this, then I could.

I just had to keep moving, keep living.

“Are we going tonight to their place?”

I nodded. “I spoke to Mehek’s father. Told him to inform Mehek beforehand. He said he asked Mehek, and she has agreed to meet me for one last time. I mean… we would meet for the proceedings, but this would be the last time we would meet at a personal level.”

I stood and sat beside her. Maa nodded and laid her head on my shoulder.

Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her. Resting my chin lightly on her head, I closed my eyes. For the first time in months, I realized that I wasn’t the only one grieving.

Maa had lost too. She had lost the daughter she had embraced as her own. She had lost the dream of watching her son build the family she had prayed for.

She had watched me survive one heartbreak only to walk straight into another.

And despite everything… I had no way to lessen her pain. So I simply held her, hoping that for a little while, my silence could do what words no longer could.

The car rolled to a stop outside Mehek’s house, yet for a few moments none of us moved. The silence inside the car felt heavy, pressing against my chest. I was the first to step out. Walking around to the passenger side, I opened the door for Dad. He climbed out quietly, smoothing a hand over his kurta before looking toward the building. Then I went around to help Maa. She accepted my hand with a faint smile, stepping down carefully while adjusting the edge of her saree.

I picked up the folder I had spent the last month preparing. Every document inside it had been checked again and again, yet holding it still made my fingers feel strangely numb. Maa lifted the boxes of sweets and the fruit basket she had insisted on bringing. Even today, she refused to visit someone’s house empty-handed.

Mehek’s parents were already waiting near the main door. The moment we reached them, they folded their hands in greeting. My parents returned the gesture, and after a few polite words, we stepped inside. The familiar house felt different today. The air was filled with an uncomfortable stillness, as if everyone was carefully choosing each breath.

“Please sit,” Mehek’s mother said softly.

We settled into our seats, exchanging quiet glances instead of conversation. Then a faint thump echoed from inside the house. It came again, slow and uneven. My eyes lifted instinctively toward the hallway.

Mehek appeared a moment later.

The walking stick touched the floor before every careful step she took. She moved slowly, her balance still uncertain, and each step felt like a reminder of everything I had failed to protect. I had not seen her since that day in the hospital. I knew she hadn’t needed me beside her to heal. If anything, she had needed distance from me.

Before I could stop myself, I was already on my feet.

I crossed the room in quick strides and reached her. Without saying a word, I slipped an arm around her carefully, making sure not to hurt her. She leaned into me without protest, allowing me to steady her as we walked toward the couch. Somewhere behind me, I heard someone suck in a sharp breath, but it barely registered.

She was still my wife.

Helping her lower herself onto the couch, I waited until she was comfortable before returning to my seat. My hands rested on my knees, tightly clasped together. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. My gaze stayed fixed on the floor while Dad began speaking, discussing ordinary things that sounded distant in my ears.

Maa quietly handed the sweets and fruits to Mehek’s mother. I heard her politely refuse at first, but everyone knew there was little point arguing with my mother once she had made up her mind. After a little hesitation, the gifts were accepted.

“How are you, Mehek?” Maa asked gently.

“I’m doing better, Maa.”

“I miss you,” Maa whispered, her voice trembling despite her attempt to smile.

For a few seconds, there was only silence. I could almost picture the expressions without looking up. Then I heard Maa let out an awkward little laugh.

“Sorry… I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

“No, Maa.” Mehek’s voice softened. “I’m sorry.”

The simple exchange tightened something painfully inside me.

Then Mehek spoke again.

“How are you, Abhoy?”

There was no escaping her question.

I finally raised my head.

Our eyes met for the first time in months.

She looked thinner. Her face had lost its healthy glow, and exhaustion lingered beneath her eyes. Yet the moment she looked at me, something warm flickered across her face. My chest tightened so hard it hurt.

I nodded once, but before I could stop it, a tear slipped free.

Her lips parted slightly.

I wiped it away almost immediately, embarrassed by how little control I seemed to have these days. Seeing her still recovering, still needing a walking stick because of what had happened, robbed me of every rehearsed sentence. Everything she had suffered led back to me. Because of me, she had married a man who couldn’t let go of his past. Because of me, she had run onto that road. Because of me, she was still fighting to walk normally again.

“I’m… good,” I managed, my voice rougher than I intended. “How are you?”

“I’m still not able to work properly,” she admitted with a tiny smile. “But I’m okay. Only one medicine is left now, so that’s better. I hate medicines.”

The faint wrinkle on her nose as she said it was so painfully familiar that, for just a second, I remembered the old Mehek who complained about everything with complete honesty.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Drawing in a slow breath, I stood and walked over to her. This time I deliberately chose the seat beside her instead of the one opposite. I felt both our parents watching us, but no one interrupted. I had expected Mehek to shift away or stiffen beside me.

She didn’t.

Instead, she looked at me quietly, waiting.

“Can we speak?” I asked.

She nodded without hesitation.

I opened the folder resting on my lap and carefully pulled out the first sheet.

Before I could hand it to her, she gently placed her hand over the papers, stopping me.

“Let’s talk alone,” she said softly.

I searched her face for a moment before nodding.

She reached for my hand.

Her fingers were warm, lighter than I remembered, yet the simple touch sent something sharp through my chest. Holding onto me for balance, she rose slowly from the couch. I instinctively tightened my grip, matching my pace to hers as we walked toward her bedroom.

Every step was careful. Every movement reminded me of the months she had spent learning to walk without support again.

Once we entered the room, I quietly closed the door behind us.

Mehek made her way to the bed and sat down slowly, setting the walking stick against the side. I remained standing where I was, the folder still in my hand, looking at the woman I had loved far too late.

“Sit, Abhoy.”

I nodded and lowered myself onto the chair opposite her.

For a few moments, neither of us spoke. The room felt painfully quiet, broken only by the distant sounds drifting in through the window. Tightening my grip on the folder, I opened it carefully and pulled out the first document.

“This is a fixed deposit I opened in your name.” I placed it gently in her hands. “It will take care of your future.”

She accepted it hesitantly, her brows drawing together as she read through the papers. Then her eyes widened at the amount mentioned there. She looked up at me in disbelief, but before she could say anything, I took out the next set of documents.

“This is an apartment I bought for you in Jodhpur Park.”

I handed over the property papers, along with the legal documents that still needed to be signed before the ownership could officially be transferred to her. We had to complete the registration, but I wanted her to know the place was hers now.

She stared at them for a long moment, as though she couldn’t quite process what she was reading. Without giving either of us the chance to dwell on it, I reached for another file.

“This is for the Mumbai apartment where we stayed when you were going to Panchgani.” My voice softened despite myself. “I know you liked that place. That’s yours too.”

She looked from the papers to me, her lips parting slightly. Shock lingered on her face, but I still wasn’t finished.

I pulled out another sheet.

“This is a list of all the jewelry Maa and I bought for you.” I slid it across to her. “Everything is in your bank locker now. It’s yours.”

The final document remained in my hand for a second before I offered it to her.

“This is the college where I think you should do your MBA. You’ll have to earn your admission yourself. I know you can. I’ll handle everything else after that.”

The folder suddenly felt much lighter. I closed it quietly and rested it on my lap before looking at her properly.

“Do you want anything else?” I asked gently. “Whatever you want is yours. Just tell me. After the divorce, I don’t want you to be weak in any way. I know I took a lot from you. More than I can ever repay. But please… let me make sure you’re secure. Financially independent. Able to stand on your own.”

She didn’t even glance at the papers anymore. Instead, her eyes remained fixed on me.

“Why?” she asked softly.

“What?”

“Why did you hold back?” Her voice trembled despite her efforts to keep it steady. “Why did you never give us a chance?”

I lowered my eyes for a moment before meeting hers again. “You want to know the truth?”

She nodded.

“Then don’t interrupt me.” I swallowed hard. “Promise me you won’t interrupt.”

“I promise.”

I leaned back, letting out a slow breath that seemed to carry years of exhaustion with it. “Yagini,” I began quietly. “The girl I loved… her name was Yagini.”

Even saying her name after so long still carried weight.

“We met in junior college, in first year. We became friends before anything else. Somewhere between endless conversations, stupid fights, and dreaming about the future, love happened on its own. Neither of us planned it. It simply… became our life.”

A faint smile tugged at my lips before disappearing just as quickly.

“We started dating after that. Then became a couple everyone envied. Through college, through the years that followed. Then we got engaged. I remember thinking I was the luckiest man alive. Work was going well. I was building the company I had dreamed about. I had the woman I wanted to spend my life with. My family was happy. Everything felt… complete. I genuinely believed nothing bad could happen anymore.”

When I looked at Mehek, tears shimmered in her eyes.

“Where is she now?” she whispered.

I gave her a tired look. “I told you not to interrupt.”

She wiped at her cheek impatiently. “Whatever.”

A humorless smile crossed my face before fading. “Mehek… she’s no more. Yagini died.”

For a second, she simply stared at me. Then both her hands flew to her mouth. Even that wasn’t enough to stop the gasp that escaped her.

“We were driving home one night,” I continued quietly. “Everything happened so fast. I don’t even remember the impact. We met with an accident that night. She died on the spot.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “I survived.” The words still sounded wrong. “I was in a coma for six months.”

“Oh my God…”

Her whisper cracked in the middle.

“Didn’t Romil tell you this?” I asked.

She slowly shook her head. “He knew?”

“I don’t know.” I frowned. “I thought he did.”

“He left when I was in the hospital.”

I nodded. Silence settled over the room again. This time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was simply heavy.

“So many times…” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, “I asked myself one question.”

I looked straight into her eyes.

“Why didn’t I die that day? Why her? I hated myself after that accident. Every single day. But I never told anyone. Not Maa. Not Baba. Not my sisters.”

I let out a shaky breath.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever said this to. Mehek… why didn’t I die? Why did I have to survive and spend years carrying that guilt? Why did I have to wake up every morning knowing the person who deserved life more than me was gone? Why did I have to live through the grief, the silence, the emptiness that followed?”

Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. True to her promise, she didn’t interrupt.

She simply listened.

“Years passed,” I continued after gathering myself. “I buried myself in work because it was the only place where my mind stopped hurting for a while. I refused every marriage proposal that came my way because I believed I could never love another woman the way I had loved Yagini. I couldn’t imagine standing beside someone while carrying another person’s memories.”

A small, broken smile appeared on my face. “But… I was wrong.”

She blinked through her tears. “You were wrong?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

The corners of my lips trembled as I finally admitted the truth I should have spoken months ago.

“I fell in love again.” My voice broke despite my best efforts to keep it steady. I held her gaze and finished the sentence I should have said long ago. “With… you.”

Her lips parted, and she simply stared at me.

Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks one after another, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. They rolled silently over her skin while her eyes searched mine, as though trying to decide whether to believe what she had just heard.

“I tried to make sure that didn’t happen,” I admitted quietly. “I really did. I fought it for a long time, convincing myself it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t stop. You were… you were unlike anyone I’d ever met. Even different from Yagini.”

A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything.

“You pulled my hair, argued over the smallest things, pressed every button I had, and somehow made me feel alive again. Every day with you was unpredictable. I never knew what you would say next or what new way you’d find to irritate me. But somewhere in all that chaos… life returned. I just didn’t realize it.”

I lowered my eyes for a second before looking back at her.

“By the time I understood I loved you… I’d already lost you. And here we are.”

She stared at me through her tears. “You told me you loved someone else.”

“At that time,” I said honestly, “I believed that was true. I thought I was still holding on to Yagini because I never allowed myself to look beyond my grief. I didn’t understand when those feelings began changing. I really didn’t.”

I let out a quiet, tired laugh. “I always called myself intelligent. Rational. Someone who could analyze anything. But living with you…” I shook my head. “Living with you meant I was always on my toes. I was always ready for your taunts, your impossible questions, your unnecessary arguments. I was so busy reacting to you that I never noticed everything else happening inside me.”

A thousand memories crossed my mind at once. “When you left… the house changed. The rooms were exactly the same. The furniture hadn’t moved. Your slippers were still outside the bedroom. Your jasmine lotion that made me kiss you for the first time was still in the bathroom.”

I smiled faintly. “But everything felt empty. My room became unbearably silent. The same silence that had comforted me for years suddenly became unbearable. I kept expecting you to barge in and argue with me over something ridiculous. I waited for your footsteps outside my study. I waited to hear you complain about my work, my attitude, or my sighing.”

I shook my head. “None of it came. I didn’t know what to do after that. You weren’t willing to speak to me. You weren’t willing to hear me out either. Whenever we did speak, I only made things worse. I was out of options, Mehek. Then your Kaka called and asked me to come over because he wanted me to speak with you. Rohil had agreed to help as well.”

A painful sigh escaped me. “I grabbed that opportunity without thinking. I just wanted five minutes alone with you. But… everything went out of hand. And then… you met with the accident.”

The room fell silent again.

After a long moment, Mehek lowered her eyes.

“That was my mistake,” she whispered. “I wasn’t running away from you. I was running away from my feelings for you.”

I frowned slightly.

“Because at that time…” she continued, “I thought I was the only one in love.”

For a second, neither of us spoke. Then, despite everything, a soft laugh escaped me.

“God…” I rubbed a hand over my face. “We really need better communication between us.”

She almost smiled through her tears. I looked down at the folder resting in my hands.

“Anyway…” I said quietly. “Do you want anything else?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Before we divorce…” I held her gaze. “Do you want anything else?”

She slowly shook her head. There wasn’t any anger left in her face anymore. Only sadness. I nodded once and stood.

Every step toward the door felt heavier than the last. When my hand settled on the doorknob, I stopped. Without opening it, I turned around one final time.

“Mehek,” I said softly, “I’m always just one phone call away. No matter what happens… if you ever need my help, call me.”

I smiled sadly. “I’ll send all the things you left behind too.”

She didn’t answer, but simply kept looking at me. There were a hundred things sitting between us, but neither of us seemed capable of saying any of them.

I gave her one last nod before opening the door and stepping outside.

The moment I entered the living room, I found our parents speaking quietly among themselves. Their conversation stopped the instant they saw me. I looked toward Baba and gave him a small nod. He slowly rose to his feet.

“Please… don’t leave like this,” Mehek’s mother said gently. “I’m making tea.”

I folded my hands before her. “Maa… I’m sorry. For everything.”

She looked at me with moist eyes.

“If you truly think of me as your Maa,” she said softly, “then don’t leave like this. Please, beta. Whatever happened… we just want to forgive and forget. Sit for a little while.”

Her voice carried no accusation, but only affection. I couldn’t refuse. So I nodded quietly and sat back down. About ten minutes later she returned with tea and snacks arranged neatly on a tray. Everyone took a cup, but I couldn’t bring myself to touch the food. The tea had already grown lukewarm before I finished it.

All that while, Mehek never came out of her room.

I stared at the closed bedroom door more times than I cared to admit, knowing I had no reason to knock anymore.

She was already gone from my life.

Half an hour later, we stood to leave.

Mehek’s parents folded their hands respectfully before us. Even after everything that had happened between our families, they still treated us with kindness. It humbled me in ways I couldn’t explain.

They were good people, and we had played with them. A divorced daughter wasn’t something our society accepted easily, but Mehek and her family had to live with this tag forever. Because of me. But I had done everything I could. Now, it was up to Maa Durga and Mahadev.

I bent down and touched their feet one last time. As I straightened, the bedroom door opened. I looked over instinctively, and saw Mehek walk out slowly.

My eyes immediately dropped to the rolling bag she was dragging behind her.

I frowned.

Without thinking, I hurried toward her and gently took the bag from her hand before she had to struggle with it. She was still leaning slightly on her walking stick, each step careful despite her attempts to hide the discomfort.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confusion knitting my brows together. “Where are you going?”

She shrugged lightly, as though the answer were obvious. “Maybe Mumbai. To my new home?”

My frown deepened. “You’re still recovering, Mehek.” I looked at the walking stick in her hand before meeting her eyes again. “You need to finish your physiotherapy first. After that, you can go wherever you want.”

She remained quiet. I could feel irritation beginning to creep into my voice, not because she wanted to leave, but because she was pushing herself before her body was ready.

“The house isn’t going anywhere,” I said more gently. “It’s yours. Once you’re able to walk without the stick, we’ll go to Mumbai together and complete all the legal formalities.”

“Mehek, Abhoy is right,” her mother said firmly. “You’re not going to Mumbai today. What’s gotten into you?”

Mehek turned toward her mother, her cheeks puffing slightly in annoyance.

“You always take his side,” she muttered, the complaint sounding more like a sulk than anger.

“Um… if you want to go, you can. Just wait for a few days,” my mother said gently. She turned to me. “Abhoy, make the arrangements. She can complete her physiotherapy in Mumbai as well. If Induji and Bhaskorji agree, she can go. She must be bored here.”

“But no one will be there to take care of her there.”

“Then take me to your place,” Mehek said suddenly.

Every head turned towards her. The room fell so quiet that even the ticking wall clock seemed loud.

“What?” I asked, certain I had heard her wrong.

She looked straight into my eyes, her grip tightening around the walking stick. “I want to go home. My home.”

My lips parted, but no words came out. My heartbeat stumbled inside my chest.

Mehek’s mother gently turned her towards herself. “What are you saying?”

“I want to go back to my home.” Her voice was soft now, but steady. “I’m married and I can’t stay here forever. I’m sorry, Maa, for everything I put you and Baba through. But… it’s time for me to return.”

“Mehek, marriage is no joke.” Her mother cupped her cheek. “I know you weren’t wrong, but if you go today, you need to understand that marriage takes more than love to work. Love can be part of marriage, but love is not the only thing that matters in a marriage.”

“I know.”

For a moment, Mehek simply stood there, looking at everyone in the room. Then she slowly walked towards me. Every careful step seemed to echo through the silence. Before I understood what she was doing, she bent to touch my feet.

“Mehek…” I whispered, startled.

I immediately caught her by the shoulders before she could bend completely and gently pulled her back up. Her eyes were already shining with tears.

“I love you, Abhoy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “And even if you can’t love me, I still want to live my life with you. Because I know you will take care of me. And… I want to take care of you too.”

A tear slipped down her cheek.

“I’m sorry. I never really fulfilled my responsibilities as your wife. I let you have dinner alone after long days at work. I wasn’t there for you when you needed someone the most. I was so consumed by my own pain that I never stopped to see yours. I never realized how much you quietly cared for me… even when I believed you didn’t love me.”

My throat closed. “I love you too, Mehek.”

She blinked, not expecting me to say the words.

“I didn’t know how it happened,” I admitted quietly. “I still don’t. But when I finally understood what you meant to me, I was ready to let you go instead of forcing you to stay. If that isn’t love… I don’t know what is.”

A sob escaped her before she threw herself into my arms.

I wrapped my arms around her instinctively, holding her as though letting go would be the greatest mistake of my life. Her shoulders shook against my chest while she cried, and I rested my cheek lightly against her hair, closing my eyes. The familiar fragrance of jasmine reached me, and for the first time in months, the emptiness inside me eased.

Behind us, I heard her mother break down. My own mother wiped her eyes with the edge of her saree, and Dad quietly looked away, blinking rapidly. Bhaskor Uncle cleared his throat, but even he couldn’t hide the tears glistening in his eyes.

Was this really happening?

Was she really coming back?

Did this mean… there would be no divorce?

Even as I held her, it didn’t feel real.

Don’t miss the Billionaire’s Fake Marriage, coming on 19th August 2026 on Kindle Unlimited. It has more. Additional chapters and a beautiful epilogue!