Chapter 1: The Silence Between Us

The first thing I noticed about our marriage was the silence—broken only by the ceiling fan’s low whirr and the sharp hiss of the pressure cooker in the kitchen. Three years as Priya's husband, but it felt like we were roommates in a government guest house, each waiting for the other to check out.

Our conversations barely went beyond awkward murmurs about grocery lists or which plumber to call. The neighbours would pause mid-sip of their chai, eyes darting over the rim of their cups, whenever we walked past the verandah. Their whispers—'Priya is so high-and-mighty, Rohan must be suffering'—were as much a part of our evenings as the mosquitoes.

But none of their gossip could thaw the chill that settled between us each night, as we retreated to our separate corners of the flat.

The day I finally asked for a divorce, Priya agreed with a calm that was almost inhuman. But then, as I picked up the pen, a barrage of strange comments flashed above her head:

[Total psycho vibes! Those chains and custom toys in the basement are all for the male supporting character, yet she’s still pretending to be so proper.]

[Male supporting character, the moment you finish signing, you’ll wake up next to the woman you hate most.]

[Oho, the captivity arc is finally here! This level of hate is just right—so satisfying. The CEO has a huge appetite, and the male supporting character totally deserves to die of exhaustion after all his misdeeds...]

[Sigh, you’re clueless, male supporting character. If you’d shown the second female lead even a little kindness over the years, this love-crazed maniac would’ve instantly knelt at your feet and become your loyal dog. Instead, it’s all twisted into hate...]

I blinked, half-expecting to see someone behind me, but the comments just hovered in the air, invisible to everyone but me. My hand trembled as I signed, staring at Priya across the dining table.

The tube light above us flickered, casting a cold shadow on her sharp features. The AC hummed away, but my shirt stuck to my back with sweat.

“Um, let’s not get divorced after all.”

1

“What?” Priya raised her slender eyelids, her tone so flat it could have been mistaken for boredom.

Her detached manner made me wonder if I’d imagined those barrages. She tapped her pen once, then twice, the only sign she’d heard me at all.

Her eyes, rimmed with a precise line of kohl, barely flickered. She sat back in her ergonomic chair, crossing one leg over the other, as if I was just another file in her inbox. For a moment, the faint smell of mogra oil from her hair drifted across the table, and I almost felt like a child waiting to be scolded for breaking the neighbours’ window with my cricket ball.

I set the pen down, taking a deep breath, and hurried to explain.

“I just suddenly don’t want to get divorced. You know, ‘shaadi ka bandhan toh janmo ka hota hai’—we’ve been together for three years, I’m used to having you around. Honestly, I can’t leave you...”

By the end, Priya’s confusion was written all over her face, and my own confidence faded, my words trailing into silence.