33

-• are you my wife? •-

Taranya

I was in the wrong.

But I couldn't admit it in front of him. I couldn't tell him all that I said to Niharika meant nothing to me. It was all empty words. The moment he asked if I meant what I said, I felt weak, seen, almost naked. Because I didn't need to think of an answer. I know the truth. And I was afraid to acknowledge it. I was trying to protect myself, my heart, my trust. Unfortunately, I ended up hurting him.

During the two months we spent as husband and wife, I have benefited more as a wife than him. And to think he wanted to marry me.

While I barely even glance at him, he bends over backward to make sure I'm happy and comfortable. Those nightly cuddles that I pretend to hate, I cannot fall asleep without them anymore. The I love yous I pretend to have grown tired of, my day feels incomplete if I don't hear them once. I wait for him to come back home just so I can tell him about my day, because he has made it into a habit to ask me about it and listens to me attentively. I don't even bother to ask if he had eaten anything throughout the day.

I had no right to say he suffocates me. He's the only person in this cold palace that makes me feel warm. I long for his presence. Without him, I feel absolutely alone and stranded.

Everything I said to Niharika was a lie, and I knew that. I knew it when she confronted me, I knew it when I said all that bullshit, and I knew it when Shourya asked me whether it was true.

It wasn't.

The door to the bathroom opens and he walks out. I step forward, my lips falling apart to call his name, but he enters the closet and slams the door close. I sigh in defeat. He's angry right now. Rightfully so. I should give him some time to calm down.

I take a shower and get ready for the office. He doesn't wait for me to join him for breakfast downstairs. Hence, I run a little behind the schedule. By the time I make it to the dining hall, he's getting up from his chair and putting it back in its place, excusing himself from the Chairman and Virendra Pratap. Then he walks past me as if I wasn't standing right in front of him.

The two men at the table stare at me perplexed. Shourya always kisses me on the forehead before heading for his office. I hated it. Or I thought I did, because now I miss it.

"Good morning," I wish the men timidly.

"Good morning, Bahu." The Chairman nods with a smile.

"Good morning," Virendra says half-heartedly. "I'm done. I'll see you later, Papa." His chair screeches back and in less than a minute, he's walking out of the dining hall.

The Chairman gets done with his breakfast soon after. He takes the last sip of his coffee and grabs his cane from the side, standing up using the support. "Have a great day ahead, Bahu,"

I force a smile at the man. "You too, Your Majesty,"

The door falls close with his exit.

I look down at the bowl of soup in front of me and mindlessly stir the spoon until it stops releasing steam. Picking up the bowl, I drink the soup quickly and pat the corners of my mouth with the tissue before grabbing my phone from the table. I put the chair back in its place and swing my handbag over my shoulder, leaving the dining hall to reach the car waiting for me outside the palace. The valet hands me my keys. I thank him and settle in. The rich leather smell emanates. I press the pump of air freshener and start the car, driving out of palace premises.

At the first red light, I get a call from Agastya. I lean in and accept the call. "Yes, Agastya,"

"Should I just become a pilot?"

"Aren't you too old for that?"

"Shut up. I'm 25."

"Oh, are you?" I tease. "The last time I saw you, I noticed some fine lines on your forehead. They weren't wrinkles?"

He gasps. "What? Wrinkles?" I hear some shuffling from the other side. No doubt he went to the mirror to check his face. "I don't have wrinkles!" He growls.

I laugh.

"Tara, I need the serious you!"

"How can I be serious? Last week you wanted to be Astronaut. I can't be serious with a man whose career options change as fast as an infant disposes a diaper."

"I don't -" he stops short realising that's how exactly he's behaving. "I'm just confused!" He whines. "All my life I knew what I wanted to do. And I prided myself on it. Every time someone asked me what I wanted to become after growing up, I would just say baseball player. And there was no doubt in my mind about it. I didn't know a life beyond baseball, Tara. It's pathetic but it's true."

"Then who's asking you to make up your mind right away?" I turn a street. "No one's forcing you-"

"I feel ashamed." He cuts me off. "Everyone's doing excellent in their chosen fields. Ayush shared he saved a patient on-site yesterday. Yuvraaj Bhai complimented Arush for how well he's picking up on things in business. Yuvaan had his umpteenth exhibition day before yesterday. You're on TV every other day. People younger than me are working, earning, making a name for themselves. And I'm doing nothing. You've no idea how much the realisation hurts me. I feel incompetent. I feel like a loser."

I slow down the car on the side of the highway. "I'm sorry. I assumed since no one's pressuring you, it should be fine. I didn't stop to think sometimes we're our worst enemies."

"Help me, Tara. Just tell me to do something. Should I take law? Bhai will be happy."

"Will you be happy?"

He clicks his tongue in frustration.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to play baseball again." He whispers, so desperately, so incessantly. If it was possible, he would skip to the next life just to start over again.

I feel my eyes tear up. "Then do it. Do whatever you want to do."

"But nothing is coming out of it, Tara. I'll be just wasting my time."

"Agastya-"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be disturbing you right now. You must be on your way to office. Bye. Drive safe." And he hangs up before I can get a word out.

I drop my head on the steering wheel.

Agastya is being too hard on himself. But it'll be insensitive of me to say he should stop feeling that way. If I was in his place, I would have felt the same, probably worse. It's easy to figure out someone else's life than your own. You can't measure the social and mental burden someone's carrying unless you feel it on your shoulders. I can't make it better for Agastya. But I sure can be there for him whenever he needs me. Like now. Like always.

Pulling the car back on the road, I resume driving.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm parking my car in the basement of Bharat Times. As I'm locking my car, I notice one of my colleagues locking their own. "Nitya!" I wave eagerly at the young woman. She stops and looks around, beaming when her eyes meet mine. "Hi, good morning," I approach her with quick strides.

"Good morning!" She locks her arm around mine and we make way towards the elevator. "How come you're always late?" She asks me. I punch for the seventh floor.

"We literally arrive together everyday." I remind her sharply.

"I've kids." She defends.

"And I'm a kid." I jest playfully.

She laughs softly. "I was thinking you'll say your husband is a kid."

"Oh, no," I shake my heads. The metal doors open and we walk out. "He's more disciplined than me."

"Nitya!" The director calls out sharply. We both come to an abrupt standstill. "Live in five minutes. C'mon, stop fooling around!" He claps his hands. She nods hastily and dumps her belongings on the desk before rushing towards the make up artist waiting for her. "Taranya, you'll be filling in for the debate round this afternoon. Shweta called sick this morning." He extends the strict tone towards me.

"Yes, sir." I answer as confidently as I could.

I place my things on the desk and move towards the studio. Nitya stands in front of the green screen, now prim and proper, and confidently reads off the news from the teleprompter.

I know I look good on screen. But I also know I'm not as confident as her. Nitya has been in the industry for three years now. She's a remarkable news anchor. The way she can work under pressure is outstanding. I cannot imagine being half as talented as her.

When I was young, I didn't think working as a news reporter goes beyond good looks and a curious mind. How wrong I was. It's when I started working here that I understood the nuances of this profession. Being well read, confident, updated in current affairs, proficient in at least two languages, knowing how to well articulate, is just the tip of an iceberg. And I'm glad I didn't overestimated myself. I stayed humble to my knowledge, and hence, I was open to learning new things.

"Taranya," Akshay, our team writer walks up to me with a file in his hand. "Your script for the debate." I take the file from him.

"Did Shweta drop this off?" I frown.

"No, I wrote one for you." He turns to leave.

"Everyone gets one?"

He sighs and looks over his shoulder. "No, but you need it."

"Why-"

"I don't know, yar. Sir asked me to write one for you. Ask him. Excuse me." He walks back to his desk and plops down tiredly in his chair.

I clutch the file tightly in my hand.

"Not because I'm privileged?"

"No."

Scoffing, I throw the file on my desk. If this is not being privileged, then I don't know what is. I don't need to be spoon fed. But these people are too scared to let me make mistakes. I'm not incompetent. I didn't get this job using connections. I've earned it. And I deserve to prove my potential in the field I've chosen as my passion. I love my job. And I want my job to love me. I want these people to trust me enough to let me make mistakes and learn from them.

I grab the file and push the door of the studio room open. Our director stands behind the camera operator, watching Nitya give the headlines. I walk up to him and pat on his shoulder. He nods absent-mindedly.

"Sir, I need to talk to you."

He hums, barely even glancing at me.

I wait until he's ready to give me his attention.

Once Nitya has moved to regular news, he relaxes and turns towards me. "What is it?"

"Why do I get the script?"

He frowns.

"For the debate," I say, my tone begrudging. "If you think I'm not fit for the task, don't give it to me. But I can't stand being spoon fed. Just say it if you don't trust my abilities." I slam the file on the table and exit the studio room.

"Tara!" He opens the door and follows me out. I turn around, standing nervously in my place as he storms over looking furious. He slaps the file in my hands. "I'm not spoon feeding you. I don't have so much time to waste. Shweta was supposed to do this. You've to fill in all of a sudden. The debate will be live this afternoon. Shweta knew the topic, had researched, discussed and practiced for it. You didn't get the time to prepare. Hence, this!" He points to the file in my hands. I swallow anxiously, embarrassed being called out in front of everyone in the office. "I know you're a princess. And I know, all your life, you've been treated as someone special. People might coddle you with the hope of getting something in return, but I'm not one of them. I'm true to my work, and fair towards my juniors. This is the last time I'm excusing your behaviour. I'll not tolerate that tone again. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." I nod. "I'm sorry-" he strides back inside the studio. I slap the file to my forehead, cursing myself internally.

Embarrassed to the core, I turn around, keep my head low and return to my desk. Thankfully, people go back to their work.

I hate this day.

It didn't start on a good note, and it's only getting worse.

Akshay wheels his chair back until it reaches my desk side. "You really don't need to take it to heart, you know? The debate is between three news anchors of three different channels. It's live so there's no room for mistakes. Most of these debates are scripted anyway, they only happen for the sake of TRP. And it doesn't have a prime time slot. So don't worry about pronouncing boots as boobs. No one's going to watch it. You'll be fine." He pats my shoulder before going back to his desk. I look at the man sourly. Was that supposed to assure me or what? I focus ahead.

As I begin to rehearse the script, I realise how necessary it is for a rookie like me. Forget speaking in a debate on the spot, I couldn't have researched the topic enough to get all my facts straight. Before I know it, I'm already in front of the camera.

The debate lasts an hour.

As soon as the live concludes, I lean back on the chair and release a deep breath. One of the staff members approach me with a bottle of water. I thank him and take a few sips, returning it to him.

The director walks up to me. I sit straight.

"You didn't follow the script completely."

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I added a few of my points in there."

He nods. "Good work." Then he walks out.

I grin triumphantly.

I leave office feeling accomplished. On the way, I stop at the supermarket and buy some scented candles. It might help lifting Shourya's mood. If he's still angry about the morning, I'll apologise to him.

I return to the palace at 8 o'clock. My feet halt at the doorstep when I see Shourya packing his suitcase. I walk in slowly and close the door.

"Are you going somewhere?"

He looks over his right shoulder, unstoppably folding his clothes in the suitcase. "Yeah, Scotland."

I frown. "Scotland? Out of the blue?"

He hums. "I'll be back in three days." He hauls the suitcase out of the bed and walks out without a word. It takes me a moment to come to the terms with the news and I quickly exit the room, spotting him at the end of the living room as he lets Amir carry his luggage for him.

"Shourya!"

He disappears behind a corridor.

I descend the staircase hurriedly, but as I'm stepping through the large double doors, his car drives out of the main gates of the palace.

I walk back to the room defeated.

He's pissed. He's so pissed at me. He never treats me so coldly. He doesn't like a frown on my face. This time, he's really hurt.

All because of Niharika. Fucking bitch. I fucking hate her.

I throw the candles to the ground. So much for trying to lift his mood.

I skip dinner.

I even skip sleep.

I wake up haggard the next day. I also skip gym. I don't trust myself around Niharika. I might just rip off her hair from the roots if I see her again.

At the end of the day, Janet tries cheering me up.

"Try calling him. He loves you. He can't stay mad at you for long."

I fall back on the bed and play with the ends of my raven locks. "He was really hurt this time."

"You didn't mean it."

"But I didn't tell him that." I mumble.

"You don't want him to know you still like him?"

I stay quiet.

"And you don't think your actions might have already gave you out. Because why else would he be so hurt?"

I sit up straight.

"Do you think he knows I still like him?"

"I mean, you don't kiss the man thrice that you don't like, do you?" She deadpans. "But then again, you like every other good looking man. Maybe you do."

I gasp, offended. "How dare you, you slut."

She gasps louder. "Did you just- you whore!"

I blink. "You're a hoe."

"And you're a confused bitch. Can't even figure out her own feelings. Such an attention seeker."

"I think you're right. I like him." I nod after a few seconds of musing.

"You need to tell him."

"No, too soon." I shake my head.

"Fine. Keep wasting time. That Niharika will come and sweep your husband off his feet. You just watch."

"No one's sweeping my husband off his feet." I say adamantly.

"Sure." She sings.

We talk until I doze off in the middle of the conversation. I spend another morning without gym and Shourya's presence.

"Hey, Tara," I look up from the computer screen. Nitya stands leaning over my desk wall. "Are you free tonight?"

"I am, why?"

"Actually, my wedding anniversary is around the corner. I was thinking if you could help me select a gift for my husband. You've a rich taste."

I chuckle. "Sure, this evening?"

"Yeah, I'll treat you to dinner as a token of gratitude."

"It better be a five star."

"Sure." She chuckles and walks back to her desk.

As planned, we head to the shopping mall after office hours. I might have a rich taste, but nothing that my taste reflects fits Nitya's budget. I offer paying for her, but she denies. She wants to buy something for him with her own money. When she told me he likes video games, I quickly take her to the game store, but the prices there almost give us a heart attack. My brothers play these high end games all the time. I never stopped to think how expensive they must be. I don't mind spending money on skin care or clothes, but when it comes to things that I don't usually buy, I turn into a miser.

"Oh fuck!" Nitya yelps when a young woman accidently collides into her. Her round frames fall to the floor and crack. "What the hell?" She glares at the woman.

"I'm so sorry! I need to use the washroom -"

Nitya waves her off annoyedly.

The woman apologises again and scurries off.

"My glasses." Nitya laments, picking up the broken frames.

"Can you see?" I ask hesitantly.

She snorts. "Of course, Tara. I'm long sighted. Not blind."

"Oh,"

She stuffs them away in her purse and grabs my hand. "Help me navigate."

I chuckle.

We decide to call it a day and end it with dinner. The food court is on the third floor. I take a seat and she excuses herself to use the washroom.

"You want my help?"

"I can manage. Thank you."

I smile bemused.

When she returns, a man tags along with her, dressed in shaggy clothes and messy, disarrayed hair. I get up to greet the unfamiliar face, before realising it's familiar up close and get the shock of my life the moment those light brown eyes meet mine.

I freeze.

"I thought you said Shourya is on a business trip?" Nitya inquires. "I found him in front of a jewelry store. He looked lost."

My blood runs cold.

He's so similar. So fucking similar it sends chills down my body.

"He looks different on TV, doesn't he? Or is it my eyesight?" Nitya mumbles to herself.

He doesn't say anything. Doesn't speak. He simply stares at me. Where did he come from? Why is he here? I thought Shourya was taking care of him? If he remembers everything, why didn't he go back to the palace? Why is he here?

"Tara," Nitya waves a hand in front of my face.

I need to think of something. I need to get him away from here.

"He's - he's sick. What are you doing here, Shourya? You need rest." I blabber. "I- I'll take him home. Bye, Nitya." I grab his hand, warm to my touch, and almost throw it off because that face doesn't belong to that warmth. It should have been cold. "C'mon!" I drag him from there.

"Tara-"

"I'm sorry, I'll call you tomorrow!" I shout over my shoulder.

He follows me wordlessly. Too compliant for a person without an identity and perhaps thousand different questions. We get to my car and I make him sit inside. As soon as I drive out, I call Yuvraaj. He answers on the second ring.

"Tara, I'm busy-"

"Shourya's with me." I glance at the man to confirm. He sits immobile in the seat, staring blankly ahead.

Yuvraaj falls unnaturally quiet. Then he whispers, shock evident in his voice, "What? How did you find him? We were looking for him-"

"In the mall." I cut him off. "I'm terrified. Please, come get him."

"I'll text you an address. Bring him there." He hangs up.

I put the address in the gps. The tracker estimates a drive of forty minutes. I clench the wheel tighter, forcing my gaze ahead.

Then, to my disbelief, he speaks, more like asks, a question I didn't expect, but dread to answer: "Are you my wife?"

My head snaps towards him. He stares at me intensely.

"Wha-What?"

"She said she knows my wife. And then she brought me to you. Are you my wife?"

I sit tongue tied, aghast.

Before I can answer, he picks up the magazine from the dashboard. I look away regrettably. I should have thrown it away. It has me and Shourya on the cover page as a couple.

Fuck.

"You are." He says with conviction.

Boom!

Leaving you on a cliffhanger again.

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