Chapter 2: Suspicion and Sleepless Nights

2

I’d been with Ananya for four or five years now, and both our families had started hinting at marriage.

Last week, I suggested, “Let’s go for a premarital checkup first.” She looked a bit uneasy.

“Huh? Isn’t that optional?”

I didn’t think much of it back then.

“The premarital checkup is free, and if we do it, we’ll get a few extra days of marriage leave. Don’t you want to go abroad for our honeymoon? This way, we’ll have more time to enjoy.”

The sound of water running from the bathroom filled the flat—she was taking a shower inside.

When did she do all this behind my back?

I stared at my phone, and then a detail caught my eye.

Almost half a year?

I remembered—half a year ago, Ananya was in her final year at Pune College of Fine Arts. The college had sent her on a project, and she was out of town for over a month.

So… it happened then?

My jaw clenched, anger bubbling up inside me.

Just then, the bathroom door creaked open. I hurriedly locked my phone screen.

Ananya came out in those thin pyjamas, acting all cute, asking me to hold her.

But all I could picture was her with another man, and not even using… My stomach churned—I nearly ran to the bathroom to throw up.

I forced myself to swallow the anger, and started fiddling with the TV remote, pretending to cough.

“Baby, I think I’m catching a cold. Don’t want to give it to you.”

She didn’t notice anything, just crawled into bed and turned away from me.

My smile faded instantly.

That night, I couldn’t sleep at all.

Sleep was miles away. Every time I closed my eyes, the ceiling pressed down on me, heavy with questions. The faint streetlight filtered through the curtains. Outside, stray dogs barked in the distance, a mosquito buzzed near my ear, and the faint scent of incense from the neighbour’s pooja drifted in. I tossed and turned, remembering her little gestures—the way she’d steal the last kaju katli from my plate, or how she’d hum old Lata songs when she thought I wasn’t listening. All those promises of ‘no secrets’—broken now, like a pataka that fizzled out before bursting.