Chapter 3: Ants, Old Flames, and Hidden Tests

I tossed the pregnancy test stick in the dustbin, grabbed some tissues, crumpled them up, and covered it.

Not that the maid would ever check, but still—one can never be too careful in a joint family setup. Secrets don’t last long here. I wrapped it in old newspaper, tucked it under a pile of empty Fair & Lovely tubes—just in case.

I wanted to disappear.

Pregnant.

Pregnant, in this city, with my luck? Wah, what a joke fate has played on me.

My heart was pounding out of my chest.

What do I do, what do I do?

My mind was going full filmi heroine—tears at the ready, but not a single friend to call. My only plan: panic, panic some more.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door—a deep, magnetic male voice: "Jaan, why have you locked the door?"

Even when angry, Arjun’s voice could melt kulfi. But today, I just felt like screaming.

His voice was lovely.

But hearing it right now just made me more annoyed.

If I could roll my eyes any harder, they’d pop out.

I made up an excuse: "I’m taking a shower."

Outside, he said, "It’s not like we haven’t showered together before. Pagal, open up."

That ‘pagal’ again—sometimes sweet, sometimes just sticky, like leftover rasgulla syrup. But I didn’t have the energy to fight.

Playing along, I quickly stripped, grabbed a towel, and opened the door.

As soon as the door swung open, before I could even see his face, I was scooped into a broad embrace.

His arms around me were always warm, but today I just wanted space. I fidgeted with the edge of my t-shirt, hoping he wouldn’t notice how restless I was.

He held me tight, chin resting on top of my head.

The scent of sandalwood and aftershave surrounded me.

Sometimes I’d wonder if he mixed attar with his shaving cream—he always smelled like someone’s puja shelf and a men’s salon at the same time.

He spoke first: "Jaan, the woman you saw today was just my old college classmate. She called my name, but honestly, I’d forgotten who she was. I was just confused about how she recognised me, so I talked to her. There’s nothing between us."

He launched into a full explanation, as if reading out a statement for the police, all sincerity and hand on heart.

"Back in college, there was nothing either. I never dated anyone, never had any messy relationships."

For a Mumbai boy to say he never had any affairs? Wah, kya dialogue.

"I didn’t explain earlier because I wanted you to get jealous. Jaan, don’t be angry."

If only he knew what was actually going on in my head.

He was talking rubbish. I couldn’t even listen. I started picking at my dupatta, just to keep my hands busy.

I said, "I’m not angry."

"You are. You’re in a bad mood."

That’s because my period’s late.

I’ve never had irregular periods.

Last month, on his birthday, he made some requests.

We didn’t leave the house for a whole day and night.

I forgot to take my pill.

That night, with the rain lashing the window and the smell of biryani in the air, I forgot everything—myself, the world, even the pill. Filmi mistake.

I forced myself to calm down, hooked my arms around his neck: "No, you’re just imagining things."

He looked down at me.

I blinked. "Really, I’m not angry."

His frown didn’t ease.

"You are."

I couldn’t argue and didn’t want to fight.

I kissed him, skillfully unbuckling his belt.

Arjun suddenly let go: "Why does it always end up like this?"

He sounded tired. Like he wanted to talk, but neither of us knew what to say.

Then he pushed me away and left the bathroom.

Me:

I stared blankly at myself in the mirror.

For a minute, the only sound was the tick-tick of the wall clock, and somewhere outside, a pressure cooker whistled. Typical Mumbai morning.

Hmm, even without makeup, I looked great. My figure was amazing.

Clearly, it wasn’t my fault.

What was wrong with Arjun?

Was he hiding something too, or was it just one of those days when even the ceiling fan judges you silently?