Chapter 1: Shaadi Checklist Blues
Six months of marriage in my sister’s place, and Arjun still treats me like a paying guest. Mumbai’s traffic outside is louder than anything between us.
Even with the city’s endless honking and the local trains rattling past, the silence inside our flat only made the gap between us seem wider. Seriously, what a joke—big apartment, big car, but not a single spark in the bedroom.
Hope used to flutter in my chest, but now it just sits—arms crossed, refusing to budge, like a sulking child after a scolding. These days, divorce feels like the only thing left on my shaadi checklist.
I can’t even listen to Ma’s old Lata Mangeshkar love songs anymore. And watching couples holding hands at Marine Drive? Makes me want to roll my eyes so hard they get stuck. My heart’s just done.
But then, by pure luck, I overheard Arjun’s conversation with his friends.
That day, the colony was buzzing with a wedding below. I paused at the balcony, the dhol beats from downstairs making me feel both connected and utterly alone. The smell of marigolds and fried samosas drifted up, making my stomach twist. Arjun’s laughter was muffled behind closed doors, those heavy wooden ones that always seemed to shut out more than just noise.
“Some people clearly have a strong desire, but because they’re afraid of scaring their wife, they desperately hold back. I won’t say who.”
His friends always talked like that—voices full of mischief, their jokes floating with the cigarette smoke. Only old school friends can get away with that level of teasing.
“Women are most susceptible to temptation. Arjun, if you keep this up, if your wife runs off with someone else, you’ll regret it when it’s too late.”
Arjun, the one being teased, just calmly took a sip of whisky. “What I can’t give her, others can. I just want her to come home after she’s had her fun.”
So desi, na? Acting like he’s doing me a favour, being all magnanimous. But there’s always that unsaid sting in his words. My heart squeezed, but my pride was louder.
His friends burst out laughing. “Stop pretending to be so generous. If you’re really that capable, stop moping on your Insta burner account every day.”
Their laughter echoed so loud I could hear it through our thick walls. For a second, I pictured them sprawled on the sofa, whisky glasses clinking, and Arjun trying to act all cool while his ears probably turned pink.
A wild thought flashed through my mind—I had to check his Instagram.
My fingers shook as I typed his username, half annoyed, half nosy. Didn’t even check if he was nearby—just had to know what was happening in that head of his.
I saw the pinned post.
[Finally married my crush, but I have an addiction problem. How can I give my partner a good experience without scaring her?]
My thumb hovered over the screen, heart hammering as I read the post again. Crush? Addiction? Since when did he talk about me like that?