Author's Note: There are about 100 things I should be doing and writing this doesn't even appear on this list. But once the plot bunny found me, there was no getting rid of it. And so here I am. This story takes an alternate route to what was shown in the show because Vir hitting a woman is so outrageous and ridiculously ooc that it even doesn't bear thinking.
All the disclaimers apply
Please leave me a comment on what you thought about it. It'll motivate me to update faster. Happy reading!
One
Virendra can barely comprehend the images that play on the screen when the video abruptly cuts from his mother's smiling face. Long, endless seconds pass before understanding finally dawns on him and with the understanding comes a heartache so sharp, he thinks he must be dying.
This cannot be, he tells himself. Only a nightmare.
But even before he can believe those words he's repeating in his head like a chant, the memories of the previous night flashes before him like a film reel. Purvi, receiving that phone call. Purvi, leaving the auditorium with that snakelet. Purvi, alone in that hostel room with him. Purvi, hugging him.
And now it turns out that she has done much more than those things. Much worse things.
Involuntarily his eyes seek out the one person who has been his strength for most of his life, who has comforted him through many disappointments, many heartbreaks. He needs that comfort, now more than ever, needs the solace that only a mother can provide to her child.
Her watery eyes are already fixed on him and he almost cries out his anguish to her. But she doesn't need any verbal proof of his pain, has never needed it. She has always known when and how much he's hurting. Just as she knows now.
Seeing his own hurt mirrored in her eyes is almost his undoing. He grinds his teeth together so hard his jaws hurt. But he can't let the sob building in his chest escape his lips. Not here. Not in front of all these people.
"Stop that thing," his uncle shouts.
Virendra closes his eyes, both in gratefulness and to evade those abhorrent images. But there is no escaping them. They are imprinted in the back of his eyelids in stark vividness. He's unlikely to ever forget them.
He hears Anjali shouting something at Purvi but the words come from too far away to make any sense. As though his head is under water. As though he is drowning. A new voice joins the cacophony. Mama Sarkar's. In defence of his wife.
Wife.
His knuckles whiten as his hands form two tight fists. His wife. But she wasn't his anymore. Perhaps she has never been.
Red hot rage surges in his veins. At her, at that b*stard who has dared to touch her but mostly at himself. Virendra feels it tear at his seams, threatening to unravel him completely, battering at his shaky control.
And he can't afford to lose his control.
Every eye in the room is on him. He can feel the weight of their gazes on his face. He can taste the dread, the anticipation, the excitement hanging thick in the air with every shaky breath he draws. They are waiting for his reaction, he knows. And any reaction will only multiply this humiliation ten folds.
The motion of him standing from his seat is abrupt. It causes the chair to fall onto the floor. The thud echoes in the now silent hall.
He keeps his gaze trained on the pattern of the floor tiles, not trusting himself to meet anyone's eyes.
What will he see in them, he wonders. Mockery? Or worst still, pity?
Most of all, he fears looking at her. Fears what seeing her will do to him. And what that feeling might cause him to do to her.
No. He has seen enough of her today. Already, he is bordering on a reaction fueled by rage. And that will be the last thing he needs.
He cannot stay here. Virendra takes in a deep breath. When he moves towards the door on fairly steady steps, the crowd parts for him like the Red Sea parted for Moses.
His family calls for him to stop. Among their cries of his name, Purvi's cry of Mukhiji burns the most in his eardrums. He quickens the pace of his steps in response.
It is cowardly. He’s fleeing from his own house. But he cannot bear the thought of hearing her say his name again, of looking at her. Perhaps he will never be able to look at her again.
But that thought brings with itself a different sort of hurt.
Life without Purvi in it? Is such a thing even possible?
Of course it is, he snaps at himself. She has betrayed me.
His eyes prickle with hot tears as he walks past the gates of his house and onto a street. Virendra drags a hand over his face, wiping off the moisture gathering in his eyes. It shouldn't hurt this much. In fact, it shouldn't hurt at all. They had nothing between them that would warrant such a reaction from him. Hadn't she told him that she could never love him? Hadn't she told him that he was too old for her to love?
And yet, all her actions had pointed to the contrary, hadn't they?
Virendra stops in the middle of the road, his fingers fisting in his hair. The pain does nothing to dispel the memories playing in his head.
Memories of every time she had smiled at him, of every moment shared between them, of every time his heart had stuttered at the blatant desire in her eyes, of that ill-fated moment when she had said that she loved him.
But all of it was a lie.
It was his imagination that had made each moment seem more than it was.
No. This isn't her fault. This isn't a betrayal on her part, except of their marital vows. And what did those vows even mean? She had been bought to be his bride. She had never loved him. She hadn't even wanted to marry him.
No. If anyone was at fault, it was him. He had allowed himself to trust her, to need her, to want her even after she had made it explicitly clear that she could never love him. He had allowed himself to fall for her like a prime idiot, to chase after her, even going to the extent of enrolling into the college just so he could stay close to her and see her.
But that wasn't entirely true, was it? He had also enrolled into that college because he had been jealous of her friendship with Karan. Only now he knows, it wasn't just friendship they had.
Unbidden, the memories of the previous night comes to him. Oh God, he had created such a scene, hadn't he, even going so far as to slap Chaurasia's misbegotten spawn. And what had he said? He and Purvi were a couple.
Virendra lets out a hysterical laugh. Spotting a pavement, he sits down on it, pressing an arm against his aching stomach as laughter keeps bubbling out of his mouth uncontrollably.
Purvi and Karan must've had quite a laugh about it. At the old, senile Mukhiji, so smitten by a girl half his age. Oh, what a precious fool he is! What an absolute, fcuking idiot!
It takes him a moment to realize that his laughter has turned into sobs. Virendra tries to stop himself, one hand wiping the tears forming in his eyes but his efforts are in vain. Fresh tears keep taking their place. The tightness in his chest is intensifying into pain. So much pain. Like his heart is being ripped into two parts and the pain is going to last forevermore.
"Take this."
Virendra looks up at the two words and finds the hazy image of a hand extending something towards him. Blinking the tears away, he looks again and finds a bottle being thrust at him. He determines it to be half full of cheap whiskey. His eyes travel higher to take in a bearded man, looking at him with compassionate eyes.
Does this man know of my humiliation? Does he know I've been cuckolded? He will surely. By tomorrow, Rewari will know of my shame. Virendra shakes his head. "No, thank you…"
"Really helps," the man slurs, pushing the bottle in his hand and moving to sit beside him.
Virendra stares at the cemented street for a long moment before he takes a swig of unwatered whiskey. The alcohol burns a line of fire down his throat, causing him to cough. The momentary discomfort however distracts him from the pain in his chest so he lifts the bottle to his mouth again, taking a larger gulp.
"See. I told you."
Virendra ignores his companion and lifts the bottle for another swig.
_________________________________________
The sound of the clock ticking keeps track of the passing time in the dark room. Three hours and eight minutes, Purvi counts. Three hours and eight minutes since her happiness had crumbled into ash. It didn't seem like a long time. And yet, she feels like she has lived a million lifetimes in these three hours and eight minutes.
She hugs her knees tighter, hiding her face in her arms as she counts another restless minute.
He has still not returned. Mukhiji had left without saying a word, without even looking at her and somehow, she can't cast away the fear that he will never speak or look at her ever again. The thought pierces her heart like a shard of glass.
For the umpteenth time, she thinks about the video and just like all the other times, her mind draws a blank on how such a thing could've been made. The only thing that is somewhat clear to her is that Karan did all this.
As a revenge for how she had stood up against him? It couldn't be anything else. And she had brought this on herself. Oh, what a fool she had been to trust him! To think he was a nice person at heart. To think he was trying to be a friend. Mukhiji had been right all along.
She presses her hand against her mouth, stifling the sob rising from her chest. Mukhiji.
Seeing that video had surely hurt him.
Purvi wipes the tears from her eyes. No, she'll not cry anymore. She will not waste her energy on crying. The most important thing right now was to speak to him, to explain that whatever he had seen wasn't true. He will surely believe her. He had to.
"Please come home," she whispers again and again, like a prayer. "Please just come back to me."
And as if he was summoned by her plea, the door of the bedroom is pushed open and her husband is standing in the doorway. She resists the urge to rush to him, an instinct of self preservation keeping her where she is as his eyes scan the room. With a sigh he steps inside, shutting the door and bolting it.
Only when he steps further into the room and turns the lights on, does he notice her.
They both freeze in their spots, as if afraid they'll startle the other into a run. The clock on the wall keeps track of their impasse faithfully. It's after a full minute that he makes a movement. Dragging a hand over his mouth, he mutters a quiet curse. Then he turns on his heels.
Realising he is about to walk out of the room, Purvi jumps to her feet and puts herself between him and the door.
"Mukhiji, please listen to me."
"Get out of my way."
His words do not come out in anger as she had been expecting. He sounds tired and disinterested instead. For a moment, Purvi doesn't quite know what to do. She had been prepared for anger. Not disinterest.
"No. You've got to listen to me," she reaches for him, her fingers grasping his sleeve but he frees himself with a sharp jerk.
"Don't touch me," he says, his face turned to the side so Purvi can see the muscle in his jaw tick with the effort to control his irritation. He closes his eyes briefly before saying, "Move." His tone is final, brooking no argument.
They have been here before. After a birthday party, no less. But the situations have turned on their heads now. Back then, she would've liked nothing better than to throw the bride price he had paid, at his face and walk out of their marriage. Now the idea that their marriage is in jeopardy fills her with so much dread, she can barely draw enough air in her lungs to sustain herself. She leans against the door and shakes her head.
"What are you doing here anyway?" He takes a step closer to her, close enough that she can touch him if she raises her arm. But she keeps her arms to her side. "I thought by the time I came back you'd be gone with your boyfriend."
The words burn in a way that even Anjali's worst accusations hadn't. There are so many things she should say in reply. That video was a lie. I despise Karan. He's not my boyfriend. I love you. You're the only man I've ever loved in my entire life. But the sour smell of alcohol on his breath causes her to blurt out, "Are you drunk, Mukhiji?"
"Not enough to have a bloody chat with you." He snaps. "Get out of my way."
"No, no, no, no, no. You have to listen to me. It was a lie. Everything was a lie. That video isn't true."
He lets out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, right. Once again you're the only person who is right and the whole world is just trying to frame you, isn't it?"
"Yes. You've got to trust me. You promised me the last time that you'd trust me. You promised."
"And what of your promises? Did you keep yours?"
"You know I did!" Purvi reaches for him but Mukhiji bats her hand away. "I've never lied to you."
He slams his fist against the door, a few inches from her head with enough force to rattle the doorframe. "I've never lied to you," He mimes, lips twisted in a sneer. "Do you really think I don't know where you were last night? Do you take me for a fool?" He looks to the side for a moment, before returning his eyes to meet hers. "But that is exactly what you take me for, isn't it? A fool who will obediently lap up all the shit you can think up."
"What are you even talking about?" Purvi cries.
"I saw you," he snaps. "With your Romeo. In the boys' hostel room."
Blind panic surges in her at those words. No, no. He was taking all of this the wrong way. Purvi takes in a deep breath, finally realising the depth of Karan's deception. He had used Naina to get her in that room.
"Mukhiji, I can explain everything."
"Explain." Her husband scoffs. "I'm not interested in your explanations. Now get out of my way." His hand grabs her upper arm and he tries to push her aside. But Purvi won't have any of it.
Throwing her full weight, she presses her body against the length of his. Her arms encircle his shoulder and she presses her face against the side of his neck. He tries to jerk out of her hold but Purvi only hugs him tighter, clinging to him like she's adrift at sea and he is her lifeline. And if she is being honest, he is indeed her life.
"Don't fcuking touch me!"
"No, no please. Please just talk to me. I'll explain everything. Please just listen to me once"
His fingers fist in her hair and he pulls hard enough that she lets him tilt her head back. Their gazes lock and Purvi would've reeled back at the intense hatred blazing in his dark eyes if his grip wasn't so unrelenting.
"You want to talk?"
Purvi nods. There is nothing else in the world that she wants more.
"How was he?"
"Mukhiji?"
"You said you wanna talk, right? So answer me. How was he?"
TBC
So there it is.
Ciao,
Arya
Ishaani
