Chapter 7: Crossroads

Arjun drove me home. The tension between us softened, not as sharp now.

He drove in silence, city lights strobing past. I listened to the indicator’s click, matching my heartbeat.

"Shaadi karne ka socha kaise? Tu toh kehti thi kabhi nahi karegi."

I remembered, half-laughing, half-bitter: “Kabhi socha hi nahi tha ki koi pasand aa jayega. Kismet thi, I guess.”

Actually, Rohan and I didn’t meet via family.

It was a lie, but it made things easier. The truth started with cutting chai and overtime.

I’d worked under Rohan for a few months. He was the best boss—socially sharp, a natural leader, managing everyone perfectly.

He remembered birthdays, brought samosas on Fridays, and never missed a deadline. The first time he praised me, I’d blushed like a schoolkid.

His style made it seem he was born to lead, making me think he and Arjun were the same kind. But where Arjun commanded, Rohan nurtured. I mistook kindness for strength, and found myself drawn in.

I’m a sucker for looks. Rohan’s face was gentle; when he looked at me, it felt like a warm breeze.

He wore simple, slightly crumpled shirts, but his smile reached his eyes. The kind of man who made you feel safe, not just wanted.

The first time I saw him, I thought of Arjun.

Old habits die hard. I compared them, even if it wasn’t fair.

Arjun was handsome too—sharp, like a winter wind with thorns. That’s what I liked.

People would gossip—“Malhotra is a catch!” But his looks hurt more than they healed.

So I quietly liked him for years.

But who says you can only love once?

Rohan was single, from a simple family. No background—perfect. He was someone I could actually reach.

There was peace in his simplicity. No scandals, no strings. Just shared vada pav, Marine Drive walks, dreams small enough to fit my life.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Arjun’s hand gripping the wheel, veins bulging.

His knuckles whitened, but he said nothing. The car was silent, Mumbai’s chaos muted by glass.

He sneered: "Kya fayda kismet ka? Aam aadmi tumhe protect nahi kar sakta, Kunal jaise log pareshaan karte rahenge."

I bit my lip, cheeks burning. The words hurt, but I didn’t show it.

"Priya, divorce kar do. Galti mat dohrana."

I froze. Divorce?

How dare he think my life was his to rearrange?

Arjun looked at me, repeating: "Divorce. Woh bekaar hai, tumhare laayak nahi."

Who was he calling useless?

I glared, refusing to let him win.

Arjun looked away, a flash of pride: "Divorce ke baad... main..."

He trailed off, vulnerability flashing in his eyes, gone in a blink.

My phone vibrated, cutting through the moment.

Only then did I remember Rohan’s missed call.

As I reached for the phone, Arjun grabbed my wrist, sudden and tight. Old habits and feelings collided inside me.

Arjun saw the caller ID, eyes flaring: "Rohan? Tumhare paas uska number kaise hai?"

I was puzzled: "Woh mera pati hai, toh—"

I stopped, suddenly realising: in Arjun’s world, logic and emotion were always at war. For a moment, the past and present blurred—and I didn’t know whose side of the line I belonged to anymore. But the phone kept ringing, and sooner or later, I’d have to choose.