Chapter 237: Consoling A Hearbroken Wife - Part 1
Fifteen minutes later, near the reception, Rohit was still cleaning up the mess.
A few crumpled five-hundred rupee notes changed hands with the staff, along with a quiet assurance that tonight’s little scene wouldn’t travel any further than this lobby.
Robin appeared at his elbow, voice dropped low, pressing a small unlabeled flask into his hand. "Sir. Take this."
Rohit turned the bottle over. The crude sticker simply read Quality Rum in bold, almost mocking letters.
"What the hell is this supposed to be?"
"Local brand," Robin murmured. "I figured she might need it."
Rohit stared at him. "That’s your logic? Seriously?"
Robin didn’t flinch. "I’ve been there, sir. When something like this breaks a person, the grief hits harder than anyone expects. She just lost her marriage. If she’s left alone with it too long... she might lose her footing completely. Just in case."
Rohit exhaled through his nose. "Then tell your girlfriend to give it to her directly. Coming from me, it’s going to look strange."
Robin hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It’s complicated. Priya can’t stand the smell of alcohol. But sister-in-law didn’t seem to mind the cocktail earlier, so I thought—"
Rohit’s eyebrow lifted at the casual sister-in-law. Robin had already claimed Sheetal as family in his head. He decided not to touch that particular landmine tonight.
He slipped the flask into his pocket. "Fine. I’ll take it. Where are they?"
"Priya called a few minutes ago. They’re sitting alone on the staircase. I figured they needed the time."
Rohit checked his watch. 1:15 a.m. The night was already too long.
"Let’s wrap this up before it turns into something we can’t contain."
They moved toward the stairwell. The door had been left slightly ajar. Through the gap, Rohit saw her.
Sheetal sat on the steps, body curled in on itself, sobbing without restraint. Priya’s arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, silent and steady. The sight hit him harder than he expected.
He stepped closer but found he couldn’t speak into a moment that raw. Priya looked up and caught his eye. He raised a single finger to his lips. She understood.
Then her phone rang. She checked the screen, glanced toward Robin waiting at the door, and after a brief, hushed exchange, she rose and slipped out — deliberately leaving the space open for him.
Rohit took the seat beside Sheetal. For a moment, words simply refused to come. She was still crying, forehead pressed to her knees, eyes hollow and distant, broken only by sharp, involuntary sniffs that made her shoulders tremble.
He sighed, pulled the flask from his pocket, and cracked it open. One sip and the cheap, rough burn lit up the back of his throat like liquid fire. Exactly what the moment demanded.
Sheetal noticed. Without a word, she reached over, took the flask from his hand, and drank straight from it. Sobs still shook her body between swallows. Rohit didn’t stop her. He simply waited.
When the words finally came, they were broken and raw.
"I knew this would happen someday," she whispered. "I told Arya so many times... I need to give him more time. I need to slow down. She never listened. She kept pushing me back into the office." A hollow, humorless laugh escaped her. "I used to joke about it. About how one day it would actually break something. And now it—"
Her voice collapsed into fresh tears.
Rohit laid a hand gently on her shoulder. The contact was light, careful.
"Gold doesn’t stop being gold just because it’s been dipped in water," he said quietly. "You only find out what someone’s really made of when things get hard."
Something flickered behind his eyes — a memory from another life. Another marriage. A wife he had failed to protect. Everything she had given up for him. His voice roughened.
"If someone can’t stand beside you through pain after promising you a lifetime of it... that was never about you. It just means they were never worth keeping in the first place. So stop carrying this like it’s your fault."
She shook her head weakly. "You don’t understand, Rohit. I really didn’t give him enough time. Maybe if I had, none of this—"
"And what happens six months from now?" he cut in, still gentle but firm. "A year? If you’d been pregnant, would that excuse have magically disappeared? Or would he have simply found a new one?"
He leaned in slightly, voice low and steady.
"A man who actually meant his vows doesn’t run into someone else’s arms the second things get difficult.. He waits. He fights for it. He doesn’t jump."
Her sobbing slowed, though it didn’t fully stop. She sat with his words for a long moment before asking, in a small, broken voice:
"Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just not... enough. Not pretty enough to keep someone. Maybe I really am pathetic."
Rohit gave her shoulders a firm, deliberate shake — just enough to cut through the spiral.
"Stop that. Look at me."
She turned slowly. Her eyes were still glassy, red-rimmed, fragile.
"To me," he said, holding her gaze without looking away, "you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve come across in this entire city."
Silence.
Then a small, deliberate smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Alright — not magazine-cover beautiful. But day-to-day, walking-around-this-campus beautiful? That’s still a pretty high bar you’re clearing."
A weak laugh slipped out of her despite herself. "You’re just saying that to make me feel better."
Something shifted in his expression. His hand slid from her shoulder to rest lightly at her waist. She flinched at the change in contact — not in fear, but in sudden awareness.
He tilted her chin up gently, forcing her eyes to meet his. His voice dropped.
"Look at this face. Who needs a rating."
A pause. Heavier this time.
"If it weren’t for you being tangled up in my sister’s life, I’d have kissed you already. Rotten luck, really. I get to admire from a distance while some other man gets to actually claim you."
She stared at him, startled into complete stillness, blinking as if she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
Then he broke into an easy, familiar grin, pulling back just enough to lighten the air.
"Was that convincing enough?"
She let out a surprised laugh and swatted him lightly on the head. "Don’t you dare. I’m basically your sister."
"Wrong," he said, leaning in slightly closer, voice low and warm. "You’re better than her. Which is exactly why I can’t help myself around you."
Her cheeks colored. She pushed his face away with mock exasperation, though her hand lingered a second longer than necessary.
"You absolute rascal. Behave yourself."
He clutched his chest, feigning heartbreak. "The tragedy of it all — you’re finally free, and I still can’t make a move. What a cruel world."
That earned him a genuine giggle. She studied him for a moment, quieter now, almost hesitant.
"Are you being serious? Do you actually think I’m pretty?"
Rohit almost laughed. Understanding a woman properly, he concluded, was harder than negotiating with the mafia.
Maybe it was the alcohol working through her. Maybe it was simply that everyone — no matter how strong — needed to hear it said out loud once in a while. Either way, her mood had lifted. If he could keep nudging her further from the edge, that was worth playing along for.
Bonus point something good might happen.
He held her gaze, letting something more deliberate settle into it, and leaned in until only inches separated them. His eyes traced slowly over her face — the curve of her cheek, the redness around her eyes, the soft, uncertain line of her lips.
"Yes," he said, voice low and steady. "Pretty enough that I could lose myself in it completely. Deep enough that I wouldn’t have to think about anything else ever again."
Her face flushed a deep crimson. Her breath caught audibly. She murmured awkwardly, her voice barely a whisper,
"Dont push it... or Arya will be furious."
Rohit gave a smug smile.
"I am not anyone’s property. Neither are you."
The sentence was incomplete, but the meaning was profound and subtle. Sheetal said nothing. She simply stared at Rohit’s lips, clearly interested, yet still conflicted — and so she made no move.
And then — instead of taking what the moment offered — he pressed a soft, careful kiss to her cheek. When he pulled back, his hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
"Come on. It’s far too late for this. We should get moving."
She nodded, though she lingered a moment longer on the step, lost in some thought she didn’t share.
Rohit gave her the silence. His part in tonight, he told himself, was done.
Whatever came next wasn’t his to carry.