A TuHir FF: Never Your Wife Again!! Ch-1 pg 1

Hello everyone I’m writing a new TuHir FF! The first chapter is almost ready! Will proofread it and post in the morning! Hope you all like it! It’s starting from the current track not considering the latest episode!

Waiting to read a good ff

Waiting

CH-1; The Truth Uncovered

Tulsi was exhausted. Mentally and emotionally utterly worn out. She, with some help from Pari, had exposed each and every deception, trick and lie woven by Noina, Suchitra and Mitali — a web so intricate, so meticulously constructed, that it could put even the most seasoned masterminds to shame. It had taken ten excruciating days of piecing the puzzle together, bit by painstaking bit, until the very last missing piece finally fell into place.

Nothing had happened between Noina and Mihir that night — the night of Angad's wedding. Every single thing that had occurred before and after it was a trap. Mitali had ensnared Ritik using the exact same method her Maasi had tried — and failed — to use on Mihir during their US trip. The difference was that this time, she had succeeded. Ritik had been found in bed with Mitali, disoriented and insisting he remembered nothing of the night, while the three women performed their anguish with an artistry that would shame the finest actresses. The family, caught in the storm of drama and shame, had pressurized him into marriage. And through it all, Tulsi slowly, painfully, came to understand the full scope of how Noina had used her children — each one of them — as instruments in her game. From Ritik, trapped in a marriage built on violation, to Gautam, whom she had coldly mobilised to fight the case against Pari when she had filed a DV complaint against Ranvijay. None of them had been spared. Not one. Bit by bit, through quiet inquiries and carefully steered conversations with each family member, the full picture had emerged.

And once Tulsi had been able to get past her own devastation and look at things with open eyes, she had noticed what she hadn't allowed herself to see before — something had never quite aligned with the "we are so in love" façade that Noina put forth. Two, three times, she had overheard Mihir saying something cutting, almost derogatory, to Noina — only to immediately soften it into a joke, as though catching himself. It was so unlike the Mihir she had known since childhood. And if Vrinda's quiet observations during her visits to Shanti Niketan were to be believed, they didn't even share a room. And on the window of what had once been their bedroom — his and Tulsi's — Mihir had secretly, stubbornly, nurtured a Tulsi plant. Why though? If he had not truly chosen Noina, why couldn't he simply ask her to leave? What compulsion kept him tethered to a woman he clearly didn't love?

It was Hemant who had first cracked open the door to the truth. Hesitant, guilt-ridden, and years too late, he had finally told her what happened during that US trip. Noina had slipped something into Mihir's drink. In his dazed state, Mihir had whispered I love you, Tulsi — said her name, only her name — before Noina, and that had been enough for the delusional woman to proceed with what she intended. She would have succeeded too, had Hemant not intervened in time and saved Mihir from her. How Tulsi had wished he had told her then itself. Hemant said as much — that not speaking sooner was a regret he would carry for the rest of his life. But all of that was water under the bridge now.

The answer to why Mihir couldn't break free came next — from the private detective, whose conscience Tulsi had appealed to with quiet, unflinching dignity. He had broken. It was Noina who had paid him handsomely to hand over those photographs, dressed up as evidence against Ranvijay. The moment Tulsi understood that Noina had wanted Mihir almost from the very beginning — and had never once hesitated to use the most ruthless of methods to get him — the word blackmail stopped being a possibility and became a certainty. The photographs. The threat of a story so damning that not just Mihir but every Virani would be destroyed in the public eye. And layered beneath all of it — the suicide threats. Twice, the sisters had staged their drama. And on that last, most devastating night, it had been Suchitra who approached Mihir — drunk for perhaps the first time in his life, shattered by a fight with Tulsi that Noina herself had engineered by poisoning his mind against her over Angad's elopement, hollowed out by the belief that the woman he loved most had betrayed him — and told him Noina was about to jump from the bridge. He had gone to save her. Of course he had. That was who Mihir Virani was.

And in that broken, unguarded, grief-soaked state — a man who had never touched alcohol before, utterly undone by it that single night — the rest had written itself for Noina. He had woken up remembering nothing. And she had filled in every blank. A triple lock, Tulsi thought. Guilt. Blackmail. And the terror that if he pushed too hard, she would actually do it this time. No wonder he couldn't throw her out of SN or his life!

Now it was time to spring the trap. Tulsi had asked everyone — every member of the family, including Mihir — to gather quietly in the outer lawn of Shanti Niketan and then conceal themselves. To listen. To not come out until she said so. As they dispersed to their hiding spots, Pari turned back and met Tulsi's eyes — a look that passed between them in silence, loaded with everything that didn't need to be said, confusing to anyone watching but perfectly understood between the two of them.

Tulsi stood alone in the vast outer lawn, composed and still, and waited. When Noina stepped out, scanning the grounds with a slight frown at the unusual quiet, she stopped at the sight of her.

Noina (a smile curling at the corner of her lips, contemptuous): Tum yahan? Tum toh badi badi baatein karti thi — ki tum SN mein kabhi kadam tak nahi rakhogi! Kya hua un sab baaton ka?

Tulsi (pleasantly, unbothered): Business partner se milne aayi thi. Uska phone nahi lag raha. Mihir ko bhej do — akele mein kuch baat karni thi. Main gaadi mein wait karti hoon.

She turned and began walking towards the car parked outside, unhurried, as though this conversation was already beneath her. The dismissal was calculated. And it worked. Noina, who had already been subjected to a carefully orchestrated morning of quiet taunts and pointed remarks from virtually every member of the household — all as per Tulsi's plan — along with an array of unplanned barbs by Mihir himself, felt the last of her composure begin to fray.

Noina (her voice rising): Kya kaam hai Mihir se? Woh bhi akele mein? Main sab samajh rahi hoon tum kya karne aayi ho yahan! Tum Mihir ko wapas paana chahti ho! Ye main hone nahi doongi — sunti ho? Kabhi nahi!

Tulsi stopped. Turned back slowly. Tulsi (evenly, almost gently): Noina ... jo jaisi hoti hai, use doosre log bhi apne jaise hi lagte hain. Maine kaha business ki baat hai, toh business ki hi baat hai.

Noina (sharply): Toh akele mein kyun? Tulsi (a faint, knowing smile): Ye tum nahi samjhogi. Beech mein taang adaogi aur mera waqt barbaad karogi — jaise abhi kar rahi ho. Mujhe fursat nahi. Order poora karna hai.

Noina (stung, her voice climbing): How dare you! Tum kal ki aayi — mujhse zyaada business jaanti ho? Ek chhote se business ko itna bada samajhne lagi ho aur apne aap ko bahut badi businesswoman? Maine pichle 25 saalon mein tumse hazaar guna bade business handle kiye hain! Aur pichle 6 saalon se Virani Industries main akele sambhala hai!

Tulsi: Sambhala hai ... ya duboya hai? (her voice dropping, measured) Virani Industries hamesha aasmaan ko chhoota tha. Aur aaj Shanti Niketan nilami ki kagaar pe khada hai. Sab tumhari mehnat ka natija. (a beat, then quietly, with something like pity) Khud ka business 6 saal pehle hi duba chuki thi. Ek bhi cheez thi jo tumne sanwari ho? Itni badi naakaamyabi ... maine nahi dekhi kabhi. You are a failure on all counts - Professional and personal!

Noina (her eyes flashing): Oh really? Apne aap ko dekha hai kabhi? Tumse tumhara pati cheena maine! Tumhe is ghar se nikala maine! 6 saalon se main hoon Shanti Niketan mein — tumhari jagah, tumhare pati ke saath, tumhare ghar mein!

A silence fell. Tulsi looked at her. Really looked at her — and what settled on her face was not anger. It was something quieter, and far more devastating. Tulsi (softly, almost to herself): Mera pati.

She let the words sit for a moment.

Tulsi: 6 saal. Tum 6 saal iske ghar mein rahi. Uske saath rahi. (she tilted her head slightly, something painful crossing her face but her voice remaining utterly steady) Aur phir bhi ... woh tumhara nahi hua. Na dil se. Na naam se. Na kisi bhi tarah se. (a pause, quiet as a blade) Tum sirf doosri aurat ban kar reh gayi — woh bhi sirf naam ki.

Noina (her jaw tightening): Tum —

Tulsi (cutting through, very quietly): Main shayad kabhi uski patni na rahoon, Noina. Woh rishta khatam ho bhi sakta hai. (her eyes meeting Noina's without flinching) Lekin tumhara ... woh kabhi nahi banega. Kabhi nahi. Yeh tum jaanti bhi ho. Isliye toh itni bechain ho.

The words landed like a quiet blade. Noina opened her mouth — and at that precise moment, her phone rang. An unknown number. She picked up, her nerves already raw. A distorted voice came through the speaker.

Disguised Voice: Noina Sarabhai? Mujhe pata hai sab kuch. Us raat kya hua tha — Angad ki shaadi ke baad. Mihir Virani aur tumhare beech kuch nahi hua tha. Main jaanta hoon tumne unhe kaise fasaya. Mere paas saboot hai. Kal shaam tak 20 crore transfer karo — warna yeh saara saboot Virani parivaar ko bhi milega, aur police ko bhi. Blackmail ka case toh seedha jail tak jaata hai, Noina ji.

The colour drained from Noina's face. Noina (into the phone, her voice cracking, all control dissolving): Koi saboot nahi hai tumhare paas! Us raat kuch nahi hua tha — haan, kuch nahi hua tha, toh kya? Yeh toh main bhi jaanti hoon! Lekin Mihir ko kya pata tha? Usay kya yaad tha? Kuch nahi! (her voice rising, hysterical now, all performance falling away) Maine sirf woh gap bhara jo us bewakoof ko yaad nahi tha! Aur woh tasveerein — woh maine khud banwayi thi! Poori zindagi usi ke peeche laga kar rakhi — aur jab woh milne wala tha mujhe, tab us Tulsi ne —!

She stopped. In the ringing silence that followed, she seemed to suddenly become aware of herself. Of what she had just said. Of where she was standing. She turned. From behind the pillars, from the sides of the lawn, from the shadows of the veranda — they emerged. One by one. The entire Virani family. Hemant. Ritik. Shobha. Gayatri. Daksha. Parth. Dev. Saloni. Pari — who quietly slipped her phone back into her dupatta, the voice disguiser tucked away, her expression unreadable but her eyes shining. And last — Mihir. He had stepped out from behind the far pillar, and he stood very still. His face was ashen. His eyes — those eyes that had carried six years of guilt, six years of shame, six years of believing something that had never been true — were fixed on Noina with an expression beyond anger. It was the look of a man watching the ground shift and crack beneath the entire architecture of his life. He had heard everything. The staged photographs. The gap she had filled in for him. The lie she had fed a broken, grieving man who had never touched alcohol before in his life — a man who had gone to save her and woken up believing he had destroyed everything he had ever loved. His lips parted, but no words came. Noina looked at him — and for the first time in perhaps her entire life, she had nothing left to say.

What followed was swift and without ceremony. Mihir — his voice hoarse, his hands shaking with a fury he had held behind a locked door for six years — told Noina and Suchitra to leave Shanti Niketan. Not tomorrow. Not after a conversation. Now. Suchitra wept dramatically. Noina argued, bargained, threatened. None of it landed. The family stood together, and for the first time in six years, every voice in that house said the same thing.

Mitali, sensing what was coming, locked herself in her room and refused to come out — clutching the one card she had left: Ritik was her husband. Timsy was her daughter. This was her home now whether they liked it or not. For now, the family left her to it. That battle would be fought another day. Noina and Suchitra walked out of the gates of Shanti Niketan.

Tulsi watched from the outer lawn — the same spot where she had stood throughout, she who had not once set foot inside SN through all of this. And when it was done, she turned and began to walk toward the gate herself.

"Maa." Ritik's voice. She stopped. She turned to find him standing there — her son, the one whose life had been quietly stolen from him, whose pain she had helped uncover too late, whose eyes now held something both broken and desperate. "Aap abhi bhi ja rahi ho?" Then Pari was beside him. Then Shobha. Then Daksha and Gayatri. Then Parth. Then Dev and Saloni. They gathered around her in the outer lawn — not dramatically, not with theatrics — just the way a family closes around the person it cannot bear to lose again.

"Hum sab ko aapki zaroorat hai, Maa." Pari's voice was barely above a whisper. "Mujhe. Sabse zyaada mujhe — kyunki main jaanti hoon maine kitna galat kiya aapke saath. Aur phir bhi aap mere liye ... aap mere liye thi." Gayatri and Daksha Chachi, who had seen more of this family's history than anyone, stood a little apart, watching.

Then Gayatri spoke, and for once there was no sharpness in her voice. "Tulsi. Yeh ghar tum se bana tha. Jo bigaad Noina ne macha ke rakha hai — hum mein se koi nahi suljhaa sakta. Sirf tum." Daksha nodded, her eyes full.

Tulsi looked at all of them. Her children. The elders. This house that had been her world for decades.

And then she looked at Mihir, who had come to stand at the edge of it all — not pushing, not pleading — just standing there with the expression of a man who knew he had no right to ask for anything and was asking anyway, with his eyes alone. "This changes everything, doesn't it?" he said quietly. It wasn't triumphant. It was barely a question. It was a man offering something and not knowing if it would be taken.

ulsi looked at her children a moment longer. "Pehle main tumhare papa se baat karna chahti hoon," she said gently. "Phir tum sabse. Thodi der ke liye hume akela chhod do." One by one, the children moved back inside — some reluctantly, some wiping their eyes, Ritik the last to go, pausing to press a brief, quiet kiss to his mother's hand before finally letting go.

Then it was just the two of them. In the outer lawn of Shanti Niketan. The same ground where the truth had been dragged into the light less than an hour ago.

The evening was settling in around them, the light going amber and low, and neither of them spoke for a long moment.

It was Mihir who broke the silence.

Mihir (quietly, carefully, the way a man speaks when he knows one wrong step will cost him everything): Yeh sab kuch change karta hai na, Tulsi? (a beat) Jo hum dono ke beech hua — us raat kuch nahi hua tha. Woh — woh toh sach hai ab. Toh phir —

Tulsi said nothing. She was looking at some middle distance, her hands folded, her face composed. She let him finish.

Mihir: Matlab jo maine socha tha ... jo mujhe lagta tha maine kiya — woh hua hi nahi. Koi bewafaai nahi thi, Tulsi. Technically. Toh phir ... toh phir sab kuch wapas ho sakta hai na? (his voice tightening with something desperate underneath it) Hum wapas aa sakte hain — wahaan, jahan the.

A silence.

Then Tulsi turned to look at him. Her expression was not unkind. It was something more unsettling than that — it was patient.

Tulsi (evenly): Technically. She let the word sit between them for a moment. Tulsi: 38 saal ki shaadi ko tum "technically" se naap rahe ho, Mihir?

Mihir (quickly): Nahi — main woh nahi keh raha —

Tulsi (gently, but not giving him the exit): Toh kya keh rahe ho? Main sunna chahti hoon. Poora.

He exhaled. Ran a hand through his hair. Mihir: Main keh raha hoon ki ... jo tumhe lagta tha hua — woh hua nahi. Toh jo dard hai, jo doori hai — ussi baat pe toh hai na? Aur agar woh baat hi nahi hui toh —

Tulsi (still quiet, still patient): Toh dard khatam ho jaana chahiye?

He said nothing.

Tulsi: Mihir. (she turned to face him fully now) Jo Noina aur tumhare beech hua ya nahi hua — woh tumhara aur uska masla tha. Uska nateeja jo bhi ho, jo bhi badlav aaye tumhari zindagi mein — woh tumhara faisla hai. Mera uss se koi lena dena nahi.

Mihir (confused, a flicker of hope): Toh phir —

Tulsi: Main baat kar rahi hoon hamare beech ki. Tumhare aur mere beech ki. Aur wahan jo hua — woh kisi raat ki baat nahi hai.

She paused, gathering the words with care, the way she always did before saying something that mattered.

Tulsi: Tumne us aurat par bharosa kiya. Ek aisi aurat par jise tum mujhse kitne kam jaante the — aur mujh par, jise tum bachpan se jaante the, shaadi ke 38 saalon se jaante the — tumne mujh par shak kiya. Pari ko le ke ... tumhe laga main Pari ki dushman hoon! Angad ke bhaagne ki poori zimmedaari — bina ek baar seedha mujhse poochhe — mujh par daal di. Ek conversation. Bas ek seedhi, seedhi baat. "Tulsi, Noina keh rahi hai tumne yeh kiya — kya yeh sach hai?" Itna kaafi tha. Itna hi kaafi tha, Mihir.

His jaw tightened. He looked away.

Tulsi: Lekin yeh bhi nahi hua. Kyunki us waqt tak woh tumhare andar itni gehri utar chuki thi ki tumhare 38 saalon ki shaadi, tumhara bachpan ka rishta — sab pe haavi ho gayi. (a pause) Tumne uske saath hamara rishta tak discuss kiya! Apni patni ke baare mein kuch bhi kehne diya — ki hamaari shaadi mein kuch bacha nahi, ki sab khatam ho gaya — aur tum chup rahe. Hamaare bachhon ke baare mein faisle hue jisme mera koi hissa nahi tha. Aur tum khamosh rahe.

Mihir (voice breaking): Main ... mentally main ek ajeeb si raah par tha. (self-deprecatingly) Egoistic ... ek ajeeb sa superiority complex tha mujhe. Sochta tha jo bhi decision le raha hoon ghar ke baare mein, bachhon ke baare mein — sab sahi the. Tum mera almost har decision oppose kar rahi thi ... jo sahi tha, kyunki woh bahut galat the! Lekin uss waqt ... mujhe sirf tum par gussa hi aata tha. Especially since Noina supported me whole-heartedly. I — the fool that I was — thought she's supporting me being just a friend while you, being my wife, were opposing me! It all led me to think ... I thought hamare beech dooriyaan aa gayi hain. I thought hamari soch bahut alag ho gayi hai. Of course Noina did her best to encourage that thought!

Tulsi (wryly, after a moment of silence): Of course she did! Wohi toh uska jaal tha! Us din ... (she breaks, thinking about the scene she saw in her own bedroom — Noina and Mihir standing hugging, Noina tightly and Mihir lightly, Noina saying "I love you, Mihir")

Mihir understood immediately which day she was talking about. The understanding that can only come with years of togetherness between a couple. Mihir (scared the explanation would only sound foolish or hurt her even more): Us din usne khud ko hamare room mein band karke suicide ... of course ab samajhta hoon natak tha. Par uss waqt! Main ne abhi usse hanging se bachaya tha — isliye mere haath uske aagey the. I guess she saw you and said that line. Sab planned tha!

Understanding dawned on Tulsi as to the full extent of the subterfuge by the two sisters. She continued the chain of events.

Tulsi: Aur tumhe Suchitra ne bheja hoga? Noina suicide kar rahi hai bolke?

Mihir nodded, realising how completely a fool he had been played for. Anyone wanting to actually commit suicide would not choose someone else's house — much less a couple's bedroom — to do it.

Tulsi waved her hand as if she didn't want to talk any more about that incident. After a while —

Tulsi (accusing): Phir jaise hi maine ghar chhoda, tum uss aurat ko leke aaye. Shanti Niketan mein! Apne ghar mein! Mere ghar mein! Baa aur Bapuji ne jis ghar ko mandir banaya tha — usme!

Mihir (his voice rough): Main blackmail mein tha, Tulsi. Main — mujhe nahi pata tha kya karna hai. Main dara hua tha. Poore parivaar ki izzat — Baa-Baapuji ki dharohar, bachhon ka future ...

Tulsi (firmly, but without cruelty): Main samajhti hoon. Woh darr sach tha. Woh trap sach tha. Aur jo tumhare saath hua — woh galat tha, bilkul galat tha. Iss mein tumhari koi galti nahi thi. He blinked. He hadn't expected that. Tulsi: Lekin Mihir — tum mujhe bata sakte the. Tum chahte toh mujhe dhoondh sakte the. Tum jaante the Baa ne apna woh Anjaar wala ghar mere naam pe kiya hai. Ek baar nahi socha — wahan jaake dekhoon toh, kahin Tulsi wahan toh nahi hai? (and now, for the first time, something underneath the composure shifted — not breaking, but present) Kisi bhi ek raat. Kisi bhi ek pal mein. Tum aa sakte the aur keh sakte the — Tulsi, main phas gaya hoon. Main dara hua hoon. Mujhe samajh nahi aa raha. Tumne yeh nahi kiya. Tumne choose kiya — akele rehna. Usse andar rehne dena. Aur mujhe bahar.

Silence. Mihir (barely above a whisper): Haan. (he swallowed) Haan, Tulsi. Yeh sab sach hai. Aur main — main jaanta hoon koi bhi lafz kum padega. Lekin phir bhi — (he looked at her, and his voice cracked very slightly at the edges) — main tum se bahut pyaar karta hoon. Sirf tumse! Karta tha. Karta hoon. Woh kabhi nahi gaya. Ek pal ke liye bhi nahi gaya. Woh Tulsi ka paudha — tumhe pata tha? Main roz —

Tulsi (quietly): Pata tha.

Mihir: Toh phir tum jaanti ho. Tum jaanti ho ki jo bhi hua, jo bhi maine kiya ya nahi kiya — tum mere dil se kabhi nahi gayi. (a step closer) Ek maafi. Bas aur ek baar. Main jaanta hoon maine bahut bada zakham diya hai. Lekin tumne hamesha maafi di hai — parivaar ko, bachhon ko, mujhe bhi itni baar —

Tulsi (patiently, with a quiet finality that stops him mid-breath): Mihir.

He stopped.

Tulsi: Pyaar hona kaafi nahi hota. (simply, cleanly, like stating a fact about the world) Pyaar ke saath izzat bhi chahiye. Bharosa bhi chahiye. Woh rishta jisme sirf pyaar ho aur izzat na ho — woh rishta nahi hota. Woh sirf ek naam hota hai. Aur main uss naam ke andar nahi reh sakti.

Mihir (his voice tight, trying another angle): Toh phir tumne yeh sab kyun kiya? Yeh 10 din, yeh sab — Noina ko expose karna, yeh sab mehnat — agar mujhse, humse koi lena dena nahi tha toh kyun?

For the first time, something almost wry crossed Tulsi's face. Not quite a smile. Something older than a smile. Tulsi: Maine hamesha sach ka saath diya hai, Mihir. Yeh meri fitrat hai — woh nahi badli, chahe kuch bhi hua ho. Tum 6 saalon se ek trap mein the, ek aisi aurat ke haath mein the jisne tumhara dono haath se istemal kiya. Yeh galat tha. Koi bhi galat cheez ke saath main khamosh nahi reh sakti — chahe woh insaan mujhse kitna bhi door kyun na ho gaya ho.

She paused.

Tulsi: Aur mere bachche. (and now her voice carried something steelier underneath it) Ritik. Pari. Gautam. Uss aurat ne mere har bachche ko apne khel ka hissa banaya. Unki zindagiyon se khela. Main yeh dekh ke chup nahi baith sakti thi. Kabhi nahi. Chahe tum mere pati hote ya nahi hote.

Mihir was quiet for a long time. He had nothing left to dismantle her with. Every door he had tried, she had walked through calmly and come out the other side. He stood there, this man who had loved her his whole life, and felt the particular helplessness of knowing someone is right and still not being able to let go.

Mihir (quietly, his last card, and he knew it): Theek hai. (a breath) Meri baat nahi sunna chahti — mat suno. Mujhe maaf nahi karna — mat karo! Lekin Tulsi ... in bachhon ka kya kasoor hai? Ritik ko apni Maa ki zaroorat hai — ab pehle se bhi zyaada. Pari abhi bhi apne aap ko dhoond rahi hai. Aur Angad — use bhi toh ghar mein wapas laana hai, apni wife aur bachhon ke saath! Kitna abhaga hoon main ... abhi tak apni bahu aur pote-poti ka muh tak nahi dekha! Angad ko uski nayi naveli dulhan ke saath ghar se toh nikal diya gusse mein, par in 6 saalon mein usse maafi maangke ghar wapas bulaane ki himmat nahi hui. Ye bhi sirf tum hi kar sakti ho! Yeh ghar jab tumhara nahi tha, tab se jaise ghar hi nahi reh gaya tha. Chachiyaon ne ek baar bhi shikayat nahi ki, lekin aankhon mein aansu hain aaj bhi. (and he looked at her, stripped of everything else) Yeh ghar tumhara tha. Hai. Hamesha rahega. Woh sab tum se maang rahe hain — main nahi. Woh.

The longest silence of the evening fell between them. Tulsi looked at Shanti Niketan. At its walls, its windows, its gates. Thirty-eight years of her life lived inside those walls. Her children born and raised there. Every festival, every crisis, every ordinary evening that had made up the texture of her existence. She looked back at Mihir. And when she spoke, her voice was quiet, and unhurried, and carried the weight of everything she had decided.

Tulsi: Main sochungi wapas aane ke baare mein. Bachhon ke liye. Chachiyon ke liye. Is ghar ke liye — jo kabhi mera tha aur jo woh aurat mere rehte kabhi apna nahi bana sakti thi. (a breath) Unki Maa ban ke. Unki bahu ban ke.

A pause.

Tulsi: Lekn tumhari patni ban ke nahi!! Kabhi nahi!!

She looked at him steadily. Not in bitterness. Not screamed in rage. Not even with tears. Said the way Tulsi Virani said the hardest things — quietly, with her whole heart sealed behind her eyes, and her spine absolutely straight. Mihir stood very still.

The amber light of the evening had deepened around them, and he looked — for just a moment — like a man who had finally understood the full cost of what he had done. Not the dramatic, sudden cost. The deep, slow, permanent kind.

He nodded. Once. Very slightly. There was nothing left to say.

Res

Will read post my office!