Chapter 2: Secrets and Shadows

Final-year internship.

I still remember how excited I was, filling out that application form with sweaty hands, determined to be part of Arjun’s world in a way that wasn’t just as his wife. Everyone at home teased me: “What’s the need to intern at your own husband’s company? Spend time at home, learn some recipes!” But I insisted. My heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Arjun in the corridors, his voice echoing in the boardroom.

Just so I could see my handsome husband every day, I insisted on interning at Arjun’s company—as a low-level employee.

Every morning, I’d get up early, fix my hair in a loose braid, and slip into the crowded local to Churchgate. I kept my head down, blending in with the other interns. My ID card simply said ‘Sneha S.’, nothing more. No one suspected a thing, not even Arjun.

I kept such a low profile that even Arjun didn’t know I was there. I just didn’t want to bother him, or distract him.

I ate lunch quietly in the canteen, never joined the chai breaks, and always finished my work before time. It was strange, seeing Arjun from a distance, watching him laugh with his team, so different from the man who would cradle my face at night and call me his 'jaan'.

Sometimes, I’d overhear the other interns talking about Arjun. I listened carefully, but never joined in.

Their voices always carried an undercurrent of awe. It made me proud and a little nervous. What if they found out who I was? What would they say then?

"Boss Arjun is so handsome. Thirty-five is a man’s prime, isn’t it?"

They’d sigh dramatically, doodle his name in their notebooks, and even argue about who would get a chance to fetch his coffee. Sometimes, I’d have to stifle a laugh. If only they knew he left his socks all over our bedroom!

"It’s a pity he’s married, and his wife is just some unknown girl."

That one stung more than I expected. An 'unknown girl'. I wanted to shout, 'I’m right here!' But I held my tongue. In this big city, anonymity is both a shield and a curse.

"Sigh, why couldn’t I be that lucky..."

Their words would float above my head, mixing with the canteen’s spicy smells—sambar, aloo paratha, cheap instant coffee. Sometimes, I’d clutch my steel tiffin just a bit tighter, feeling like an imposter in my own life.

When I was eighteen, Arjun confessed his feelings to me. On the very first day he started pursuing me, he said he wanted to marry me. He even gave me a wedding ring right then and there.

He was so sure of himself, so confident, standing beneath the rain-soaked trees outside my college gates, holding a simple gold ring. My friends squealed, my mother fainted when she heard, but Arjun just grinned and said, 'Sneha, you’re my destiny.'

I accepted, completely smitten.

My friends teased me for days, and my phone buzzed with endless memes. But nothing could touch the happiness I felt when I slipped that ring onto my finger.

After a year of dating, we got our marriage registered. It was impulsive, reckless, but sweet and blissful. He gave me a love that felt like a dream—so overwhelming, so direct, it left me breathless, swept away like a leaf in the monsoon.

We ran from the registrar’s office to the kulfiwala down the road, sharing a melting cup of kulfi. The city felt alive, like it was celebrating just for us. My parents, shocked at first, eventually relented. They said love marriages are always a leap of faith, and ours seemed especially headlong.

If not for this internship, maybe I’d never have discovered his secrets.

Sometimes I wish I’d just stayed at home, learned to make rasam like my mother wanted. But fate, or maybe my own stubbornness, brought me here instead.

Priya. Arjun’s secretary. Glamorous, beautiful, the perfect image of a mature woman. She always accompanied Arjun on business trips and social events. She managed everything at the company, sometimes seeming to know even more than Arjun himself.

Her sarees were always perfectly draped, her heels clicked on the marble like she owned the place. She was the type of woman who could silence a room with just a raised eyebrow. I watched her sometimes, both intimidated and strangely admiring.

So, before people knew Arjun was married, everyone in the company assumed Priya was the boss’s wife.

I overheard a group of admin staff once, speculating about how perfect Arjun and Priya looked together. In the office grapevine, they were already a power couple, even before the truth came out.

When I queued up for lunch in the canteen, I’d overhear senior employees sighing:

"Boss Arjun really has no taste, not cherishing a beauty like Priya right beside him."

Their voices were sharp, tinged with both admiration and jealousy. I pretended to focus on my curd rice, but the words echoed in my ears.

"It’s a shame Priya left her job as a city executive just to become Boss Arjun’s secretary."

Rumours ran wild—some said she’d turned down a promotion at another firm just for him. Others claimed she had rich parents and didn’t need to work at all.

"Just wait, once the passion fades, Boss Arjun will divorce and end up with Priya sooner or later."

I sometimes smiled at their certainty. They spoke as if they could predict our futures, as if marriages and affairs were as easy as switching TV channels.

There were plenty of rumours. I never took them seriously. After all, the passion between Arjun and me played out every night.

Every night, his arms wrapped around me, his lips tracing the line of my jaw. I’d fall asleep listening to the city’s distant rickshaw horns, convinced that our love was unbreakable.

Until one day, at a company get-together, Priya got drunk and confessed to Arjun in front of everyone.

It was one of those Friday nights at a bar in Lower Parel, with everyone slightly tipsy after too many rounds of Kingfisher. The AC hummed loudly, but you could still hear Priya’s voice, trembling with something like hope—or maybe desperation. Neon lights flickered over a faded Shah Rukh Khan poster near the bar.

It was less of a confession and more of an ultimatum.

Her eyes glittered, cheeks flushed. All the old-timers stopped talking, watching the scene unfold like it was a TV serial.

Priya asked if Arjun had her in his heart.

I heard she said it softly, but in that crowded room, everyone understood what she meant. The silence was almost painful.

Arjun was silent for a long time.

He stared at his whisky glass, swirling the ice, jaw clenched. I wondered if he was thinking about me, about us. The hum of the city outside filtered through the windows, mingling with the low commentary of a cricket match on TV in the background.

She pressed him again: "If you don’t care about me, why won’t you approve my resignation?"

Her voice broke a little, and some people shifted awkwardly in their seats, pretending to look at their phones.

Arjun’s expression turned dark. He replied with a single word: "Yes."

He said it so quietly, but it was as if he’d announced it over the loudspeaker. Everyone held their breath.

Then, looking at Priya, he said, "I have you in my heart. I can’t be without you, so I can’t approve your resignation. Is that okay?"

His words hung in the air, heavy and unmistakable. A few people coughed, unsure of what to do next.

Priya smiled, downed a glass of Old Monk, grabbed her bag, and left.

Her walk was steady, chin high. The room watched her go. Someone whistled quietly. Arjun stared at the door long after she’d left.

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

It was the kind of silence you get after the power cuts out during a cricket match—everyone waiting, not sure what to say or do.

Then Arjun chased after her.

He almost tripped over a chair in his hurry. One of the interns nudged another, eyes wide, mouth open in shock.

Everyone at the gathering had worked with Arjun and Priya for years.

I wasn’t there, but a chubby, gossip-loving girl I was close to secretly recorded the scene and sent it to me.

She messaged me that night, her excitement practically jumping out of the phone screen. [Didi, just wait till you see this!]

She messaged: [Do you think something will happen between Boss Arjun and Secretary Priya tonight?]

I stared at her message, the video looping in my gallery. My heart pounded, but I tried to stay calm.

I replied: [Probably not... right?]

My words were half-hearted, almost a prayer.

[They’re adults, have known each other for years, deep feelings, drinking, confessions... and nothing will happen?]

Her reasoning made sense in a cynical, filmy way. Still, I wanted to believe otherwise.

I typed back, more firmly: [Boss Arjun is married. He should have boundaries. Besides, Secretary Priya wouldn’t settle for being a mistress.]

I added a little namaste emoji, hoping to end the conversation.

[Maybe, but we’ll know tomorrow.]

Her words chilled me. The night suddenly felt too long.

I didn’t understand what she meant by "we’ll know tomorrow"—but as soon as I left our chat, I found out.

My phone buzzed again—Arjun’s name flashing on the screen. I hesitated, then answered.

Arjun messaged me: he wouldn’t be coming home tonight, there was a last-minute business dinner.

His voice was smooth, almost rehearsed. I sensed something was off. The distant chatter in the background sounded muffled, like a hotel room.

My heart clenched.

I bit my lip, fighting back tears. I could almost smell the Old Monk on his breath through the phone.

I called him immediately.

My hands shook as I dialed. Each ring felt like an eternity.

At first, no answer.

The minutes crawled by. I stared at the blinking call timer, refusing to give up.

After several tries, Arjun finally picked up.

His voice was casual, almost too casual.

"Baby, my phone was on silent. I didn’t hear it. What’s wrong?"

His pet name for me sounded hollow. I gripped the phone tighter, nails digging into my palm.

I struggled to keep my voice steady, my nails digging into my palm.

I tried to sound normal, but the words felt like pebbles in my throat.

"Arjun, you’re really not coming home tonight?"

My voice cracked just a little. I prayed he didn’t notice.

"Mm, it’s a gathering, everyone’s here. I can’t come back. Baby, please understand."

He sounded distracted, as if his attention was elsewhere. I imagined Priya sitting close, maybe touching his arm, laughing at his jokes.

I gritted my teeth. "Are there women at your gathering?"

I surprised myself with the question. But I needed to know—needed him to say it wasn’t what I feared.

He paused, then laughed. "No. Since when did you start checking up on me? Want a video call to prove my innocence?"

His laugh was forced, a little too high. I heard the rustle of sheets—expensive, hotel-grade. I recognised the sound immediately.

As he spoke, I heard the rustle of an expensive shirt against hotel bedsheets.

It was a sound I’d only ever heard at home, in our own room. My stomach churned.

In the past, when we were close, I’d often hear that sound.

We’d joke about how the sheets needed changing so often, about the small things married couples tease each other about. Now it felt like a betrayal.

"Mmm..."

A muffled sound escaped Arjun’s lips.

My blood ran cold. I knew what that meant. I’d heard it too many times to mistake it.

The knot in my heart—unexpectedly, in that moment, loosened.

For a second, all the confusion disappeared. I saw the truth, as clear as sunlight streaming through a broken window.

After three years together, I knew exactly what that sound meant. It was his involuntary reaction after intense pleasure—a detail he probably didn’t even realise himself.

I closed my eyes, letting the pain settle. It was done.

Fine. I don’t need to catch him in the act. The affair has already happened.

I forced a smile. "No need for a video call... I’d probably go blind. You have fun. I’m going to sleep."

My words were light, almost playful. But my heart was numb. The world felt far away, like a scene unfolding behind glass. My heart shrank, like a gulab jamun left too long in syrup—sweet on the outside, hollow within.

Arjun spoke again, his voice hoarse and low. "Baby, we closed a big deal tonight. Starting tomorrow, everyone will be working overtime. I might be home late these days—don’t wait up for me for dinner."

He was making excuses, but I didn’t care anymore. The taste of betrayal was bitter, but oddly familiar.

Is it really overtime? Or overtime with Priya? To me, it didn’t matter anymore.

I hung up, staring at the ceiling, the fan spinning slowly above me. Somewhere in the distance, I heard the sound of a pressure cooker whistling, life going on as usual in other homes. But for me, everything had changed.