Chapter 4: Secrets, Suspicion, and a Shattered Heart

4

After that trip, Ananya and I grew much closer.

We shared an unspoken bond, a secret that set us apart. Our smiles lingered longer, our glances held hidden meaning.

After all, sharing a room is a secret just between us.

It was our little story, never discussed with anyone else. Even Meera sensed a shift—her eyes darted between us suspiciously.

Maybe once you break the physical barrier, the heart opens too.

It felt like something had changed—a new confidence, a sense of belonging. I found myself looking forward to work, just to see her.

Or maybe Ananya realised I wasn’t as bad as she thought, and changed her impression.

Her tone softened, scoldings less frequent. She’d even bring homemade laddoos, packed in neat steel dabbas.

Even though we were close, we barely spoke face-to-face—mostly messaging on WhatsApp to avoid Meera’s suspicion.

Phones buzzed constantly—memes, jokes, inside stories. We used code names, emojis, anything to keep Meera guessing.

It was strange—nothing special in our chats, but it felt like a big secret.

Every ping made my heart race. The secrecy added a thrill, like we were characters in a suspense novel.

Ananya started treating me like a little brother. The fiercer she scolded me before, the more doting she was now.

She’d remind me to eat, check if I’d reached home. Her messages ended with smileys and motherly advice.

From her, I felt a kind of pampering.

She’d pack extra parathas, slip in silly notes. Sometimes, I wondered if this was what having an older sister felt like.

In real life I’m shy, but online I let go, collecting all sorts of jokes. When chatting with Ananya, I’d tease her.

I’d send silly GIFs, puns about her strictness, anything to make her laugh. Her replies were quick, full of exclamation marks and heart emojis.

She’d stare at her phone, cover her mouth, and giggle.

Sometimes, I’d catch her hiding her smile behind her notebook, eyes crinkling. Her laughter was contagious—everyone noticed.

Meera noticed, shot Ananya a look, and frowned: “Ananya Didi, what’s so funny? Not sharing with us?”

Her tone was sharp, but she played it off as casual. Her eyes flickered between us, searching for clues.

Ananya straightened up, explained: “My son’s being naughty again. I need to discipline him at home.”

She said it with a straight face, but I nearly burst out laughing. Her ability to lie on the spot was epic.

I was speechless—how did I become her son just by joking around?

I shot her a look, mouthing, “Really?” She winked, hiding her grin.

Meera turned to me: “Arjun, are you seeing someone? Why always on your phone?”

She leaned in, suspicious. I felt my cheeks burn.

I blushed: “No, just replying to messages.”

I fumbled my phone, nearly dropping it in my hurry to hide the chat.

Meera snorted, dissatisfied: “I called you to eat so many times, but you acted deaf.”

She raised her eyebrows, waiting. I felt her gaze burning my back.

I explained: “Sorry, Meera Didi, I was focused.”

I flashed an innocent smile, hoping she’d let it go. But Meera was relentless.

Meera pouted: “Don’t deny it. You’re definitely dating. Dare to let me see your phone?”

She stretched her hand, eyes gleaming. I clutched my phone tighter, panic rising.

I jumped, instinctively shielding my phone.

I laughed it off, but inside I was sweating. If she ever saw those chats, I’d be finished.

Meera sneered, eyeing me with a half-smile.

She shook her head, muttering about boys and secrets. Her suspicion only grew.

Ananya loved online shopping. Whenever she found something tasty, she’d buy extra for me—my place overflowed with snacks.

Every other day, the delivery guy showed up at my flat, arms full—banana chips from Kerala, Bengali sweets, Gujarati namkeen. My roommates teased me mercilessly.

I had to protest: “Didi, please, stop sending stuff. I can’t finish it all!”

My kitchen shelves overflowed, most of which I couldn’t even pronounce. I started sharing with the watchman, who now greeted me with a huge grin.

Ananya rolled her eyes: “Don’t be ungrateful. Who else spoils you like I do?”

She added a winking emoji, but I knew she enjoyed pampering me. It was her way of caring.

I joked: “I’m honoured. Even your husband doesn’t get this kind of treatment, right?”

I sent a laughing GIF, hoping she’d laugh. But the typing dots lingered too long.

Ananya’s face darkened, her eyes turning misty.

Her reply was slow, tone suddenly serious. I realised I’d hit a nerve.

I closed the office door and asked softly: “Didi, what’s wrong?”

I stepped into her cabin, gently closing the door. She looked up, tears brimming.

Ananya’s tears fell as she choked out: “I think my husband’s cheating on me.”

Her voice broke, pain raw and real. I reached out, unsure what to say, wishing I could erase her hurt. In that moment, all office gossip and secrets faded away, leaving only the two of us—flawed, lonely, desperately human.

I wanted to say something, anything, but all I could do was sit beside her, my own heart pounding louder than the rain outside.