Chapter 42: Saath mein
Part 3 of 3:
The café was quiet at that hour, tucked into a corner with enough distance between tables to make it feel private. Munni was already seated when Mitali arrived, and neither of them quite knew, in the first moment, how to begin something that had no precedent between them.
Mitali sat, folded her hands on the table, and didn't wait for Munni to open it.
"Sabse pehle," she said, "mujhe kuch kehna hai. Saat saal pehle, jo maine kiya — tumhara social media account iss tarah sabke saamne la ke — woh galat tha. Bahut galat. Main tab bhi jaanti thi, aur aaj bhi jaanti hoon."
Her voice didn't waver, though it clearly cost her something to hold it steady. "Maine kabhi maafi nahi maangi, kyunki mauka hi nahi mila. Aaj maang rahi hoon."
Munni studied her for a long moment, some old guard still up. "Kyun kiya tha?"
"Pehle ek malicious curiosity thi — ki ye kaun ladki hai jo Ritik se social media pe interact kar rahi hai. Phir, jab naam pata chala toh nahi pata tha ki tumhara hi naam Manjuri Sinha hai. Lekin tab jis tarah ki meri upbringing thi — mujhe doosron ka tamaashaa banane mein bahut mazaa aaya karta tha. Aur khaas karke Ritik jaise ek seedhe, vulnerable insaan ka," Mitali said simply, without excusing it. "Aur jab pata chala woh tum ho, maine aur meri friends ne Ritik ka bahut mazaak udaaya. Isiliye Ritik tumpe bhadka tha uss din. Yeh koi safai nahi hai. Bas sach hai."
Something in Munni's shoulders eased, fractionally.
"Ritik ne mujhe bataya," Munni said carefully, "ki tum divorce chahti ho."
"Haan."
"Kyun?"
Mitali took a breath, as if she'd rehearsed this and still found it hard to say aloud. "Kyunki ye shaadi hi ek trap thi - mera aur Maasi, I mean Noina ka trap - shayad woh maa ko ek aur zakhm dena chahti thi — unki absence mein unke sabse vulnerable bachche ki zindagi tabaah karke. Tum khud imagine kar sakti ho Munni ki maine Noina ke kehne par use kis hadd tak traumatize kiya hoga ki aaj bhi meri awaaz sunte hi he braces himself for another bout of verbal abuse. Believe me Munni, I’m only trying to right a wrong by divorcing him. I know ise meri galtiyaan sudhaarna nahi bol sakte. Bas ye ek shuruaat hai.
Munni slowly realized what the marriage actually looked like from the inside.
Mitali continued, “Aur agar mujhe Ritik ke liye kisi bhi tarah ke feelings hoti — waisi feelings — toh main khud yeh baat kabhi nahi uthati, Munni. He’s a gem of a person — kisi bhi ladki ko khud ko khushkismat samajhna chahiye uske saath. Lekin main woh ladki nahi hoon. Kabhi nahi thi."
Munni's eyes searched her face, looking for the crack that would tell her this was a performance. She didn't find one.
"Toh phir?" Munni asked quietly. "Agar Ritik ke liye kuch nahi, toh bhi divorce hi kyun? Timsy ke liye toh saath rehna chahiye na.”
"Kyunki yeh sahi hai, shayad sabse zyaada Timsy ke liye hi”, Mitali said. "Isse koi farak nahi padta ki tum aur Ritik aage badhte ho ya nahi. Chahe kuch bhi ho tum dono ke beech — main yeh faisla waise bhi le chuki hoon - bas jo bhi delay hai woh Ritik ki taraf se hai. Timsy ko main woh guilt nahi dena chahti jo maine uthaya apni mom ko dekhke — sirf meri parvarish ke liye hi unhone Noina Maasi pe itna depend kiya aur unka har galat kaam mein saath diya. Main nahi chahti jab Timsy badi ho, use iss baat ka guilt ho ki uske parents sirf uske liye ek zabardasti ki shaadi mein rahe."
She paused. "Yeh mera faisla hai, Munni. Tumhare liye nahi. Apne liye, aur Timsy ke liye."
The words settled between them, and for the first time, Munni's guardedness seemed to genuinely loosen.
"Aur toh aur," Mitali continued, quieter now, something more vulnerable slipping through, "sach kahoon toh — pichhle kuch mahino mein jab mujhe ehsaas hua maine Ritik ki zindagi ka kitna bada hissa barbaad kiya hai, jo cheez mujhe sabse zyaada rok rahi thi ye step lene se, woh Ritik nahi tha. Woh Timsy se door hone ka darr tha. Aur Maa se." Her eyes glistened, just slightly. "Khaas kar Maa se. Mujhe nahi pata main unke bina kya karungi — unki guidance ke bina, roz ki uss presence ke bina." A small, uncertain smile. "Lekin shayad... shayad main dono se mil sakti hoon, jab bhi chahoon. Shaadi khatam hone ka matlab yeh toh nahi ki woh rishta bhi khatam ho jaaye."
Munni was quiet for a long moment, taking all of it in — the apology, the clarity, the confession underneath the confession.
"Mujhe laga tha," Munni said finally, "tum khud ko sacrifice kar rahi ho. Kisi majboori mein. Shayad Noina ji ke ghar se nikalne se tum akeli reh gayi thi.”
"Nahi." Mitali shook her head, something almost peaceful settling over her now that it was all said. "Yeh sacrifice nahi hai, Munni. Shayad zindagi mein pehli baar, yeh ek faisla hai jo maine apni marzi se liya hai. Aur rahi Noina ke ghar se nikalne ki baat - woh sab se acha toh mere liye hua. Usi kaaran toh - for the first time in my life mujhe ye pata chala ki maa kya hoti hai - Tulsi maa ke roop mein.”
Munni looked at her for a moment longer, and something that had been braced tight in her chest since Ritik's visit finally, visibly, let go.
"Thank you Mitali," she said quietly. "Itna sach bolne ke liye."
Mitali reached across the table and, a little hesitantly, covered Munni's hand with her own — a small, unrehearsed gesture, nothing like an embrace, but enough.
"Tumhe khush dekhna chahti hoon," Mitali said. "Chahe woh khushi jahan bhi ho."
-----
Tulsi stood outside the Bandhej gate, waiting, the evening traffic drifting past in its usual unhurried way. She'd called Mihir an hour earlier — Ritik held up at the factory, she'd said, some inspection running long — and asked if he could come instead.
He'd taken a beat too long to answer. "Theek hai," he'd finally said, in a tone that gave nothing away, and hung up before she could read anything more into it.
A flower vendor wandered past with a basket of loose roses, calling out his price to no one in particular. Tulsi stopped him on impulse, bought a single rose, and — hearing the distant sound of a familiar engine turning into the lane — tucked it quickly into her handbag, out of sight, before she'd even decided what she meant to do with it.
Mihir's car pulled up a few minutes later. He got out instead of just opening the door for her, which surprised her slightly, and came around to her side with his hands in his pockets, an expression carefully arranged into neutral.
"Ritik nahi aaya?" he asked, glancing toward the factory gate as if checking her story.
"Aaya. Lekin use factory mein time lagega," she said. "Kaam zyaada tha aaj."
He nodded slowly, saying nothing else, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make clear he hadn't forgotten the morning — or the night before it.
"Thank you — aane ke liye," she tried.
"Koi baat nahi." Painfully polite. "Duty hai."
"Duty?" She blinked. "Pati hone ki, ya driver hone ki?"
"Jo bhi tumhe suit kare, aaj ke hisaab se," he said, deadpan, and she had to bite back a smile at how well he was committing to the bit.
Tulsi reached into her bag and produced a small chocolate, holding it out to him with exaggerated seriousness.
"Suna hai chocolate mein kuch... endorphins hota hai," she said. "Jisse insaan ka mood achha ho jaata hai."
Mihir looked at the chocolate, then at her, one eyebrow lifting slowly. He made no move to take it.
"Achha?" he said. "Aur yeh tumne kahan padha?"
"Kahin na kahin padha hoga," she said serenely, still holding it out. "Science hai, Mihir. Mana nahi kar sakte science ko."
He crossed his arms, clearly enjoying himself now, though his face remained stubbornly composed. "Mujhe toh theek hi lag raha hai mood mera."
"Toh yeh mood ko extra theek karne ke liye rakh lo," she said, undeterred, tucking it into his shirt pocket herself before he could refuse again.
He glanced down at the pocket, then back at her. "Aur agar main yeh khaa loon, phir bhi naaraz raha, toh?"
"Toh main samjhungi tumhara sweet tooth science se bhi zyaada powerful hai," she said. "Aur phir mujhe koi aur plan banana padega."
"Plan?" That caught his attention properly now. "Kaunsa plan?"
"Woh," she said, with great dignity, turning to walk toward the car, "abhi secret hai."
He fell into step beside her, arms still crossed, but something in his posture had loosened — the particular loosening of a man who had already decided he was going to enjoy however this evening unfolded, whatever he pretended otherwise.
"Tumhare saare plans mujhe pareshaan hi karte hain," he said, opening her door for her at last.
"Aur phir bhi tum har baar aa jaate ho dekhne ke liye," she said, sliding in, "ki plan hai kya."
He didn't have a ready answer for that. He shut her door, walked around, and got in — and if he was smiling slightly by the time he started the car, he made sure she couldn't quite see it.
The car pulled away from the gate, easing into evening traffic.
"Toh," Mihir said, eyes on the road, tone still carefully light, "yeh plan — kal tak bata dogi, ya aaj hi pata chalega?"
"Depend karta hai," Tulsi said.
"Kis pe?"
"Tumhare behaviour pe." She glanced at him sideways. "Agar tum aise hi roothe rahoge, toh plan bhi rootha reh jaayega, mere bag mein hi."
"Toh main hi galat hoon ab is mein bhi?" He said it with mock indignation, but there was a laugh sitting just under it now, closer to the surface than before.
"Maine aisa kab kaha?" She turned to look out the window, the picture of innocence. "Bas itna keh rahi hoon — jaldi maano, jaldi pata chalega."
"Yeh toh blackmail hai, Tulsi."
"Blackmail nahi," she corrected primly. "Incentive."
He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth had given up pretending it wasn't fighting a smile. "Business terminology bhi seekh li tumne ab."
"Bandhej chalate chalate," she said, "kuch toh seekhna hi tha."
They drove another minute in something warmer than silence now — not quite truce, but close enough to see it from here.
As the car approached a familiar stretch of road, Tulsi sat up slightly. "Chalo na, usi café mein chalte hain. Pichli baar wala."
Mihir glanced at the turning as it approached, then let it pass without slowing down.
"Aaj nahi," he said simply.
"Kyun?" She turned to look at him properly now.
"Back to back meetings thi aaj," he said, eyes still on the road, giving nothing else away. "Already bahut coffee ho gayi."
He didn't suggest an alternative. He didn't need to — the silence that followed was doing its own quiet work, and he seemed perfectly content to let her sit in it.
Tulsi studied him for a moment, then decided to just say it plainly.
"Tumhara gussa thanda karne ke liye, ice cream chalegi?"
Something flickered at the corner of Mihir's mouth before he could stop it — the first real crack all evening.
"Mera gussa?" he said, recovering quickly, eyes still fixed dead ahead. "Kisne kaha main gusse mein hoon?"
"Tumhare chehre ne," she said. "Kal raat se yehi bata raha hai."
He didn't answer that directly, but the car, almost of its own accord, began indicating toward a turning that led nowhere near Shantiniketan and everywhere near the good ice cream place on the old market road.
"Sirf isliye," he said, "kyunki mujhe khud bhi kuch meetha khana hai. Tumhari wajah se nahi."
"Bilkul," Tulsi agreed, entirely too readily. "Meri wajah se nahi."
He glanced at her, caught the barely-hidden satisfaction on her face, and shook his head — but he didn't turn the car back around.
They found a spot at the small ice cream parlour, a place with mismatched chairs and a ceiling fan that rattled more than it cooled, tucked into a corner table by the window. Mihir ordered without asking her — the same two flavours they'd shared for years, out of habit more than thought — and for a moment neither of them said anything, the ease of the ritual doing more work than either of them wanted to admit out loud.
Tulsi reached into her handbag as the ice cream arrived, and drew out the rose, a little crushed at the edges now from sitting folded in her bag all evening. She held it out to him across the table.
"Main sach mein galat thi," she said, her voice dropping the playfulness of the car ride, gone properly serious now. "Mujhe please maaf—"
"Arre, itna serious hone ki zaroorat nahi hai, Tulsi." Mihir took the rose from her, but his face had already broken into the smile he'd been fighting all evening.
"Main toh sirf yeh dekh raha tha tum kya kya karti ho mujhe manaane ke liye." He twirled the rose once between his fingers. "Tumhe pata hai tum kitni cute lagti ho jab manaati ho? Khaas kar jab tum gaate gaate woh poora performance de rahi thi."
Tulsi stared at him, caught somewhere between relief and mild outrage. "Toh yeh sab — poora din — sirf tamasha dekhne ke liye tha?"
"Bas thoda sa," he admitted, entirely unrepentant.
A pause settled between them, and his expression shifted, something more genuine coming through underneath the teasing.
"Waise galti meri bhi thi," he said. "Mujhe pehle tumhe samjhaana chahiye tha, convince karna chahiye tha — ki Vaishnavi ke paas iss tarah ke conferences attend karne ka experience nahi hai, aur usse hamari help ki zaroorat hai. Kyunki yeh experience hamare paas hai — mere aur Ritik ke paas — aur hum requirements samajhte hain. Chupke se karne ke bajaye, mujhe tumse baat karni chahiye thi. Khule taur pe."
Tulsi looked at him for a long moment, something in her softening further at the admission — not because it undid what she'd said that morning about Bandhej being hers alone, but because it sat alongside it now, both things true at once.
"Toh ab se," she said, "khule taur pe?"
"Khule taur pe," he agreed, setting the rose down beside his bowl. "Promise."
"Achha," she said, picking up her spoon at last. "Ab ice cream khatam karo. Pighal rahi hai."
They ate in comfortable quiet after that, the day's argument finally, fully behind them.
-----
The chamomile sat between them that night, the day's storm long past, both of them settled back into the easy quiet of the balcony ritual.
"Ek baat poochhoon?" Tulsi said, turning her cup slowly in her hands.
"Poocho."
"Jab Noina pehli baar humari zindagi mein aayi thi — dost ban ke—" she saw him stiffen slightly at the name, the old wariness surfacing even now, and continued gently, "—aur tumne Mitali ko pehli baar dekha tha, uski niece ke roop mein. Tab tumhare mann mein uske liye kya feelings thi?"
Mihir was quiet for a moment, thinking back. "Main use... beti ki tarah dekhta tha," he said finally. "Khaaskar kyunki uske father nahi the. Bahut young thi tab, bahut akeli si, aimless si lagti thi kabhi kabhi, apni Maa aur Noina ke saaye mein. Mujhe laga tha shayad main uski kuch kami poori kar sakoon."
Tulsi nodded slowly, filing that away, something in her expression suggesting she was building toward more than idle curiosity.
"Woh feeling," Tulsi said carefully, "abhi bhi hai kya?"
Mihir looked at her, something shifting in his face as he understood this wasn't idle conversation. "Haan," he said slowly. "Kyun poochh rahi ho?"
Tulsi set her cup down. "Kyunki main soch rahi thi... agar Ritik aur Mitali ka rishta khatam bhi ho jaaye — shaadi ke roop mein — toh zaroori nahi ki Mitali humari zindagi se, ya hamare ghar se nikal jaaye. Timsy ki maa hai woh. Aur agar tumne use hamesha beti ki tarah dekha hai—"
She let the thought hang, unfinished, watching his face carefully for how it landed.
Mihir sat with it for a long moment, the shape of what she was suggesting slowly becoming clear to him.
"Tum keh rahi ho," he said slowly, "hum use apni beti bana len. Bahu nahi — beti."
"Haan." Tulsi's voice was quieter now, more vulnerable than the idea itself. "Woh iss ghar ki hokar rahegi, Timsy ke saath, hamesha. Sirf Ritik ki patni banke nahi — hamari beti banke. Rishta badlega, khatam nahi hoga."
Mihir was quiet, turning it over, and something in his eyes suggested he was already picturing it — Mitali at their table for every meal, celebrating every festival still, Timsy never having to choose, the whole shape of the family holding rather than breaking.
"Yeh..." he started, then stopped, genuinely moved. "Yeh idea khoobsurat hai, Tulsi." He paused. "Lekin—"
"Lekin?" She looked at him, waiting.
"Odd hoga," he said slowly, working through it as he spoke. "Awkward hoga — Ritik ke liye, Mitali ke liye. Aur kal ko agar Munni aati hai iss ghar mein Ritik ki wife banke — toh uske liye bhi. Ek hi ghar mein, ek hi table pe — pehli patni beti banke baithi hai, aur doosri patni bahu banke. Sabko roz iska saamna karna padega."
He said it gently, not as an objection to the feeling behind her idea, but as the practical shape of it settling in — the kind of thing that sounded beautiful in the abstract and complicated the moment real people had to live inside it every day.
"Mere khayal se teeno maturely deal kar paayenge," Tulsi said. "Aur waise bhi, Mitali se abhi iss baare mein baat nahi karungi. Pehle kuch picture clear ho — agar actually divorce proceedings shuru hon, tab hi baat karungi."
Mihir studied her for a moment. "Tumhe ab bhi koi gunjaaish lagti hai ki shayad yeh divorce na ho?"
"Sachi bataaon toh, nahi." Tulsi shook her head, certain. "Chahe Ritik aur Munni apne baare mein jo bhi faisla len — Mitali aur Ritik toh divorce lenge hi. Woh faisla ho chuka hai, uske dil mein. Baaki sab sirf uske baad ki baatein hain."
Mihir nodded slowly, letting it settle. "Toh ab bas... wait karna hai."
"Haan." Tulsi picked her cup back up, the chamomile gone lukewarm now, and didn't mind. "Wait karna hai, aur dekhna hai kya hota hai."
He reached over and took her free hand, the way he had every night now for weeks, and they sat like that a while — the garden dark and quiet below, the day's storm and its making-up both folded away now into the same easy stillness.
"Kal phir se naya din hai," he said finally.
"Haan," she agreed, and finished the last of her chamomile. "Chalo, sone chalte hain."
-----
A quiet corner of the mansion, evening light fading through the windows. Ritik and Mitali sat across from each other, the kind of careful distance two people maintain when they're finally having the conversation they've been circling for days.
"Ek baat," Ritik said. "Alimony ke baare mein sochna hoga. Jo bhi amount tumhe chahiye, mahine ka — bata dena. Main khushi se doonga."
Mitali shook her head. "Zaroorat nahi hai, Ritik."
"Mitali, seriously—"
"Main serious hi hoon." She held up a hand gently. "Gautam bhaiya ne assure kiya hai — Maine aur mom ne jo case Noina ke against file kiya tha, property mein humara hissa maangte hue, woh jaldi hi settle ho jaayega. Mere paas kaafi hoga apna."
Ritik looked unconvinced, but she continued before he could argue further.
"Aur waise bhi," she added, something lighter creeping into her voice now, "jaldi hi apna kamaana shuru karungi. Modeling se. Kya pata" — a small, almost teasing smile — "shayad tumse zyaada hi kamaane lagun."
Ritik looked at her for a moment, and whatever reflexive joke might have come to him in an earlier version of this conversation didn't come now. Instead, something quieter and more genuine crossed his face.
"Main chahta hoon tum khoob kamaao," he said sincerely. "Mujhse zyaada hi kamaao, Mitali. Sach mein — tumhe apne field mein khoob success mile, dil se yehi chahta hoon."
Mitali looked briefly caught off guard by the warmth of it — not the joke she might have expected back, but something that landed as real.
"Toh main Gautam bhaiya se keh doon, papers banwane ke liye?" Ritik asked after a pause.
"Haan," Mitali said simply.
Nothing more needed to be said. The word sat between them, plain and unheavy, the way a decision sounds once it's actually settled rather than still being fought over.
Ritik nodded, and for a moment neither of them moved to end the conversation — some quiet acknowledgment passing between them that this, whatever else it had been, was ending better than it had any right to.
-----
The next afternoon, Tulsi was going over invoices in her cabin when her phone rang, Munni's name on the screen.
"Munni? Sab theek hai?"
"Malkini." Munni's voice was careful, a little nervous. "Aapse akele mein baat karni hai. Main Bandhej aa sakti hoon, abhi — thodi der mein?"
Tulsi set her pen down, something in the request's careful formality catching her attention. "Haan, zaroor. Aa jao."
"Thank you, Malkini." A pause, then the call ended.
Tulsi sat for a moment after, turning the phone over once in her hand. *Kuch toh hai*, she thought. *Iski awaaz mein aaj kuch alag hai.*
She went back to her invoices, though her mind had already left them behind.
Tulsi’s cabin was quiet by the time Munni arrived, the factory beyond the glass winding down for the day. She sat across from Tulsi, hands folded tightly in her lap, and for a moment said nothing at all.
"Jab bhi mujhe maa ki zaroorat mehsoos hui hai," she said finally, "main aapke paas hi aayi hoon, Malkini." Her voice wavered slightly on it. "Maine Ritik se bhi baat ki, Mitali se bhi. Phir bhi... mujhe kuch samajh nahi aa raha ki kya karna chahiye."
Tulsi watched her for a long moment, something careful settling into her expression.
"Toh ek maa ki tarah hi jawaab dungi," she said slowly. "Munni — mera maanna hai, tumhe apne mama-mami ka laaya hua rishta accept kar lena chahiye. Ritik tumhare liye sahi nahi hai."
Munni's eyes dropped to her hands. "Aap sahi keh rahi hain, Malkini," she said quietly. "Shaayad main bhi yehi soch rahi thi, kahin na kahin. Hum dono ke status mein bahut fark hai. Main toh kabhi iss ghar mein kaam karti thi. Main kaise soch bhi sakti hoon khud ko unke barabar?"
"Aisi hi soch hai tumhari?" Tulsi's voice cut in, sharper than Munni had expected, something almost fierce in it. "Maine tumhe isliye itna padhaya-likhaya tha? Ki aaj Collector jaisi prestigious post pe hone ke bawajood bhi tum khud ko kisi se kam samjho?"
Munni looked up, startled.
"Tumne mujhse ek maa ki haisiyat se poocha," Tulsi continued, "toh maine kaha — Ritik tumhare liye sahi nahi hai. Maine yeh nahi kaha tum Ritik ke liye sahi nahi ho." She let that land fully before continuing. "Yeh dono baatein bilkul alag hain, Munni. Aur agar tumne inhe ek samajh liya, toh tumne meri baat bilkul nahi samjhi."
Munni sat very still, the correction landing somewhere deeper than the words themselves.
"Kisi bhi maa ke saamne aisa rishta aaye apni beti ke liye," Tulsi said, "toh woh ek divorcee, aur ek bachche ke pita ko nahi pasand karegi apni beti ke liye."
She let the words settle before continuing, her voice steady but not unkind.
"Yeh status ki baat nahi hai, Munni. Yeh sirf itna hai — agar tumhare mama-mami ka laaya rishta ek sidha-sadha, akela ladka hota, jispe koi purani complications nahi hoti — toh kisi bhi maa ki tarah, main bhi yehi kehti ki woh behtar option hai. Ritik ke saath aayega ek shaadi ka itihaas, ek chhoti bachchi jiski poori zimmedari uski hai, aur ek family jo abhi bhi apni khud ki uljhanon se nikal rahi hai." She paused. "Maa ki nazar se dekhoon, toh yeh tumhare liye aasaan raasta nahi hai, Munni. Isliye maine kaha."
Munni was quiet, absorbing this — a very different objection than the one she'd braced herself for.
Munni's chin lifted slightly, something steadier coming into her voice now. "Malkini, maine aapse pehle bhi kaha hai — main Ritik ke alawa kisi aur ke baare mein soch bhi nahi sakti."
Tulsi looked at her for a long moment, something in her expression finally softening into what might have been the beginning of a smile — as if she'd been waiting exactly for this answer.
"Toh phir," she said quietly, "sawaal yeh nahi hai ki main kya sochti hoon behtar hai tumhare liye. Sawaal yeh hai ki tum khud kya chahti ho, sab kuch jaante hue — uski complications, uski zimmedariyan, sab kuch." She reached over and took Munni's hand. "Bolo, Munni. Sach sach bolo."
Munni's grip tightened slightly around Tulsi's hand. "Malkini... ab main Ritik ki Maa se poochna chahti hoon."
Something shifted in Tulsi's face — the shift from a woman testing another woman's resolve, to a mother suddenly being asked the question that mattered most.
"Poocho," she said softly.
"Kya main Ritik se shaadi kar sakti hoon?" Munni's voice trembled slightly, but held. "Aapki bahu ban sakti hoon?"
Tulsi didn't answer immediately. She stood up, simply reached out and pulled Munni into an embrace, the kind that said more than any words could have.
"Haan," she said finally, against her hair. "Sau baar haan."
"Ek arsaa beet gaya hai Ritik ko actually khush dekhe hue, Munni," Tulsi said, still holding her close. "Bas aa jao uski zindagi mein, aur use khushiyon se bhar do."
Munni held on a moment longer, something finally unclenching in her after days — years — of holding it all in.
"Karungi, Malkini," she said, her voice thick. "Poori koshish karungi."
Tulsi pulled back just enough to look at her properly, brushing a stray tear from Munni's cheek with unusual tenderness.
"Ek baat aur," she said, something warmer creeping into her tone now. "Ab jab yeh tay ho gaya hai — Malkini kehna band karo. Jaise Ritik mujhe Maa bulata hai, waise hi tum bhi Maa kaho.”
Munni let out a small, watery laugh. "Theek hai... Maa."
The word sat between them, new and a little uncertain in her mouth, but real.
"Chalo, ghar chalte hain," Tulsi said, wiping her own eyes now, laughing a little at herself for it. "Tumhari car toh hai hi na?"
"Haan, Maa," Munni said, and the word came easier this time.
They stood together, and for a moment Tulsi simply looked at her — the same young woman who'd once quietly cleaned this family's floors, now about to become its daughter twice over.
"Toh chalo," Tulsi said, picking up her bag. "Aaj ghar mein bahut kuch bataana hai."
The car pulled out of Bandhej's gate, Munni's driver at the wheel, Tulsi beside her in the back seat, already dialling.
"Mihir," she said, the moment the call connected, something bright and unguarded in her voice that he hadn't heard from her in days. "Office mein kuch urgent na ho toh, sabko leke ghar pahuncho. Abhi."
"Kya hua?" Mihir's voice sharpened, half-alarmed. "Sab theek toh hai?"
"Sab bahut theek hai," she said, laughing now. "Bas ghar aa jao, sabko leke. Main Gautam ko bhi phone lagati hoon."
She hung up before he could ask anything further, and dialled again immediately, Munni glancing over at her, still faintly disbelieving of the last half hour.
By the time the two of them reached Shantiniketan, the house was already stirring with the particular energy of a family sensing something good without yet knowing what. Mihir arrived minutes later with Angad and Ritik in tow, all of them still in their work clothes, clearly having left the office without a full explanation. Gautam and Damini came down together from upstairs. Gautam had just rushed home from court and barely had time to change. Shobha, Vrinda, Pari, Daksha Chachi, and Gayatri Chachi gathered near the living room, drawn by the commotion.
Ritik stopped short at the sight of Munni standing beside his mother, something uncertain and hopeful crossing his face all at once.
Tulsi didn't make them wait.
"Munni ne haan bol diya hai," she announced simply, and the room seemed to hold its breath for exactly one second before it broke into noise — Shobha's hands flying to her mouth, Daksha Chachi murmuring a blessing under her breath, Gayatri Chachi already reaching for Munni's hands.
Ritik crossed the room in a few quick steps and stopped in front of Munni, not quite touching her, as if he still needed permission for this new reality.
"Sach mein?" he asked quietly, just for her.
"Sach mein," Munni said, and finally let herself smile fully, for the first time all evening.
Munni turned then, and bent to touch Mihir's feet, the old instinct still intact even now.
"Welcome to the family, beta," Mihir said, something gruff and moved in his voice as he helped her up.
"Thank you, Sahib ji," Munni said.
Mihir's face shifted at once into mock outrage. "Yeh kaisi bahu laayi ho tum, Tulsi?"
The room's chatter dipped slightly, a few heads turning. Munni froze, eyes widening. "Kya hua, Sahib ji? Mujhse koi galti hui kya?"
"Galti nahi," Mihir said gravely, shaking his head. "Mere saath naa-insaafi hai."
Munni's eyes darted between Mihir and Tulsi, thoroughly alarmed now, clearly replaying the last ten minutes for whatever she might have gotten wrong.
"Tum Tulsi ko Maa kahogi," Mihir said, "aur mujhe Sahib ji?"
The room caught up half a second before Munni did, and the laughter broke out even as her face was still shifting from panic to dawning, mortified relief.
"Papa," Mihir finished, unable to hold his own stern face together any longer, "kaho. Sahib ji nahi."
Munni let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. "Papa," she said, and Mihir pulled her into a brief, warm embrace before she could even finish saying it properly.
Mitali stepped forward then, Timsy's hand in hers, something quiet and genuine in her face amid all the noise.
"Main bahut khush hoon tum dono ke liye," she said to Ritik and Munni both, her voice steady, warm — no strain in it that anyone but Tulsi might have caught.
She crouched slightly beside Timsy. "Beta, Papa aur Juri aunty ko ek pyaara sa kiss do gaal pe. Aaj bahut khaas din hai unke liye."
Timsy, delighted at having a job to do, marched over and planted enthusiastic kisses on both their cheeks, giggling at her own importance, and the small, easy laughter that followed did more to smooth the room than anyone's words could have.
Gautam raised his voice above the fresh noise, half-laughing. "Kisi ko mithai mangwaani chahiye, ya main hi jaake le aaun?"
"Tum rehne do, maine order ki hai already," Damini said teasing him, "agar tumhe laane bheja toh khud hi khaa jaaoge saari."
The house filled with the particular warmth of good news arriving all at once — nothing formal yet, no rituals, just a family finding its way, again, to something whole.
-----
The morning after, Ritik knocked and stepped into Mihir's cabin, the folder under his arm again — genuine work this time, not a pretext.
"Papa, woh main—" he started.
"Ab khush hai na, Ritik?"
Ritik's face broke into a heartfelt smile, all the tension of the past days finally gone from it. He nodded, and Mihir stood and pulled him into a brief, warm hug — a father's embrace, not a boss's handshake.
"Papa, woh conference ki preparations toh ho hi gayi hain," Ritik said, stepping back, "lekin..."
"Maine kitni baar kaha hai, Ritik, itni tension mat le." Mihir clapped him on the shoulder. "Mujhe poora yakeen hai, tu yeh conference achhe se handle kar lega."
Ritik hesitated, clearly working up to the actual point.
Ritik opened his mouth again, then closed it. "Woh... matlab..." He shifted his weight, looked at the folder in his hands as if it might supply the words he needed.
"Conference toh theek hai, Papa, bas..."
"Bas kya?" Mihir looked at him, genuinely puzzled now. "Koi problem hai kya presentation mein? Vaishnavi ne kuch— Bandhej ka paperwork?”
"Nahi, nahi, woh sab theek hai." Ritik shook his head quickly, then stalled again, the sentence he wanted clearly refusing to form itself into something he could actually say out loud to his father, of all people.
Mihir waited, increasingly confused. "Toh phir?"
"Kuch nahi, Papa." Ritik gave up, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach the rest of his face. "Sab theek hai. Main chalta hoon."
He left before Mihir could press further, and Mihir sat back down, frowning slightly at the closed door, turning the strange, unfinished conversation over in his mind without landing anywhere close to the actual reason behind it.
-----
Ritik found Tulsi in her cabin at Bandhej that evening, and shut the door behind him before he spoke.
"Maa, ek kaam hai."
"Bolo."
"Papa se kuch keh nahi paa raha," he admitted, a little sheepish. "Conference ke baare mein. Mujhe... mujhe jaana nahi hai abhi, Maa. Kam se kam iss baar."
Tulsi raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"Munni ko main properly propose karna chahta hoon," he said, the words coming easier now that he'd started. "Aur uska birthday bhi aa raha hai, agle hafte. Main uske saath rehna chahta hoon uss din. Itne saalon baad jab sab kuch theek ho raha hai humare beech, main abhi door nahi jaana chahta."
He paused. "Lekin Papa ko yeh kaise kahoon? Aisa lagega jaise main kaam se bhaag raha hoon."
Tulsi smiled slightly. "Toh mujhe kyun bata rahe ho yeh?"
"Kyunki," Ritik said, a little sheepishly, "aap unhe samjha sakti hain jaise sirf aap samjha sakti hain."
-----
Earlier the previous evening, before any of the celebrations, Tulsi had found a quiet corner and made the call she'd been dreading since days.
"Namaste," she'd said, when Munni's mama picked up. "Main Tulsi bol rahi hoon."
There'd been a pause, then careful politeness. "Namaste, Tulsiji. Ji kahiye?”
"Aapko bura na lage toh ek baat poochhna chahti hoon." She'd steadied her own voice before continuing. "Agar Munni humare ghar bahu banke aaye, toh aapko koi aapatti hogi?"
Silence, long enough that she'd wondered if the call had dropped.
"Aap... aap mazaak toh nahi kar rahi hain, Tulsiji?"
"Bilkul nahi. Main poori tarah serious hoon."
"Lekin kaunse bete ke liye? Humein toh laga tha aapke sabhi bete shaadi-shuda hain."
And then she'd had to say it — Ritik, the impending divorce, seven years of feelings neither of them had let themselves speak of until now. The silence that followed had turned to something sharper, almost angry.
"Hum garib ho sakte hain, Tulsiji," the mama had said, his voice tight, "lekin apni ladki ko kisi bhi ameer aadmi ke haathon nahi bech denge. Ek divorcee? Ek bachche ka baap?"
It had taken the better part of twenty minutes — explaining, gently, insistently, that this wasn't wealth buying a girl, that Munni herself had refused every match they'd brought her for years, and now they finally understood why. She could hear, over the line, the moment it landed for them — the years of Munni's quiet refusals suddenly making sense.
By the end, the anger had softened into something more like disbelief, then cautious hope. They'd agreed, finally, to come in a day or two for the Gor Daana — the first small, formal step toward fixing the match.
-----
On the balcony that night, chamomile between them, Mihir looked at her over his cup.
"Munni ke mama-mami se baat hui?"
"Haan. Kal hi ho gayi thi shaam ko." Tulsi kept it brief, not reliving the whole conversation aloud. "Thoda mushkil tha shuru mein — gussa bhi hue, sawaal bhi kiye. Lekin maan gaye. Gor daana ke liye ek-do din mein aayenge."
Mihir nodded slowly, respect in it for whatever that conversation must have actually cost her. "Tumne sambhaal liya."
"Maa hoon," she said simply, and let the subject rest there.
She set her cup down after a moment. "Mihir, ek suggestion hai."
"Bolo."
"Ritik ko conference nahi jaana chahiye, iss baar," Tulsi said. "Tum chalo naa."
Mihir looked at her, surprised. "Kyun? Usne kuch kaha kya?"
"Nahi, seedha kuch nahi kaha," she said carefully. "Lekin main samajh sakti hoon. Munni ka birthday hai agle hafte, aur abhi-abhi sab kuch theek hua hai unke beech. Woh nahi chahta iss waqt door jaana."
Mihir was quiet for a moment, and then something shifted in his expression — the pieces of this afternoon’s strange, unfinished conversation in his cabin finally falling into place.
"Ohh," he said slowly, a smile spreading despite himself. "Isliye aaj dopahar ko itna ajeeb behave kar raha tha mere saamne. Kehna kuch chahta tha, keh nahi paaya."
"Woh tumse seedha nahi keh sakta tha," Tulsi said. "Isliye mujhse kaha."
Mihir studied her for a moment, something knowing creeping into his expression. "Main samajh gaya, Tulsi," he said slowly. "Ritik toh ek bahaana hai. Tum seedha bolo na - you want to mix pleasure with business."
Tulsi blinked, caught, and then let out a short laugh despite herself. "Haan, socha toh yehi tha," she admitted, entirely unrepentant now. "Hum Maa-beta khoob enjoy karte saath mein, conference ke bahane." She sighed theatrically. "Lekin ab use apni Maa se zyaada interest apni fiancée mein hai. Toh ab main tumse hi struck hoon."
Mihir laughed properly now, reaching over to take her hand. "Toh main hi bacha hoon tumhare liye?"
"Filhaal," Tulsi said, with great dignity, "haan."
Mihir kept her hand in his, moving his chair next to her and for a while neither of them said anything more, the night settling comfortably around them.
"Kitna kuch ho gaya," Tulsi said finally, half to herself, "sirf kuch dinon mein."
"Haan." Mihir looked out at the dark garden below, the tulsi plant just visible in the faint light. "Ritik-Munni. Mitali. Woh gussa jo humare beech aaya, aur chala bhi gaya." He glanced at her. "Bahut kuch sambhal liya humne, iss baar. Saath mein."
"Pehle akele karti thi," Tulsi said quietly.
"Har cheez. Ab..." she paused, searching for the right shape of it. "Ab bhi thoda mushkil lagta hai, kabhi kabhi, chhodna. Lekin seekh rahi hoon."
"Main bhi seekh raha hoon," Mihir said. "Kab poochna hai, kab chup rehna hai. Kab tumhare faisle pe bharosa karna hai, bina samjhe bhi."
She looked at him, something soft settling into her face. "Hum dono seekh rahe hain."
"Toh theek hai," he said, lifting her hand briefly to his lips before setting it back down, "seekhte rahenge. Saath mein."
The chamomile had gone cold between them, neither of them minding. Above, the house had gone quiet for the night — Ritik somewhere inside, presumably still smiling to himself; Mitali's light still on, some private accounting of her own still underway; Munni's house far off, holding its own quiet hope for the days ahead.
Tulsi rested her head against his shoulder, and for a long moment they simply sat there, two people who had weathered a small storm and come out steadier for it — not because nothing had gone wrong, but because, this time, neither of them had had to weather it alone.
“Kal se sab kuch phir shuru hoga," Mihir said softly. "Conference ki taiyari, Munni ka gor daana, Mitali ka apna raasta." He paused. "Lekin aaj ki raat, bas itna kaafi hai."
"Haan," Tulsi agreed, and closed her eyes, content. "Bas itna kaafi hai."
For a while they just relaxed in the companionable silence, until Mihir broke it.
"Ab agle do din mujhe bahut preps karni padegi, conference attend karne ke liye," Mihir said. "Ritik ka confidence badhaana tha, isliye maine sab uspe chhod diya tha — mujhe koi idea hi nahi hai iss baar ke papers ka. Lekin ab mujhe jaana hai, toh bahut homework karna padega."
A pause, and then he glanced at her.
"Tumhari toh preps ho gayi na?"
"Kaise nahi hoti?" Tulsi said, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "Vaishnavi ke alawa do-do experienced log kaam kar rahe the mere paperwork pe. Aur pichle ek hafte se, roz lunch ke baad, Vaishnavi aur Vandana meri class lete hain — presentation ki taiyaari karwate hue."
Mihir let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Toh sirf mujhi ko homework bacha hai."
"Lagta toh yehi hai," Tulsi said, entirely unbothered, settling back against him again.
Edited by ElitePerfumer - a day ago
Yeh Rishta Kya Kehlata Hai
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