Monsoon Hearts

Chapter 7: The Weight of Choices

They made love that night as the storm raged around them, in the guest room that smelled of sandalwood and old roses. Arjun was gentle, reverent, as if he were painting her with his hands. Meera felt something unlock inside her chest—not just desire, but a recognition of herself she’d been missing for years.

Afterward, lying in his arms while rain continued its percussion on the roof, she felt simultaneously more herself and more lost than she’d ever been.

“What happens now?” she whispered into the darkness.

“Now we sleep,” he said, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Tomorrow we’ll figure out the rest.”

But tomorrow brought complications neither of them had anticipated. Meera woke to the sound of a car door slamming in the courtyard below. Through the window, she saw a familiar figure unfolding from a taxi—Marcus, looking utterly out of place in his London business attire as he stood in the mountain drizzle.

“s**t,” she breathed, scrambling for her clothes.

Arjun was already awake, pulling on jeans with economical movements. “Your husband?”

“I don’t know why he’s here. I need to—”

“Meera?” Marcus’s voice carried up from the courtyard. “Are you there?”

She made it downstairs just as he reached the veranda, looking haggard and worried in a way she hadn’t seen since the early days of their relationship.

“Marcus, what are you doing here? How did you even find me?”

“Your credit card,” he said simply. “The flight to Delhi, the train tickets. I was worried when you stopped answering my calls.” His eyes moved past her to where Arjun had appeared in the doorway, shirtless and obviously having just woken up. “I see I was right to be concerned.”

The silence stretched between the three of them, heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Marcus laughed—a sound completely devoid of humor.

“How long?” he asked.

“Marcus—”

“How long have you been unhappy, Meera? Because I’ve been pretending not to notice for about two years now, but I think I deserve to know when it actually started.”

The question hit her like a physical blow, because it was so much more generous than she’d expected. Not anger about finding her with another man, but a genuine request for honesty about their marriage.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “Maybe from the beginning. Maybe I never knew how to be happy with you, and I mistook that for love.”

Arjun moved closer, not possessively but protectively, and she could feel the warmth of him at her back.

“Who is he?” Marcus asked.

“I’m Arjun,” he answered for himself, extending a hand that Marcus didn’t take. “I was a friend of Meera’s grandmother.”

“And now you’re sleeping with my wife.”

“Marcus, please—”

“No, it’s a fair question,” Arjun said calmly. “Yes, I care about your wife. More than I should, probably, given the circumstances.”

Marcus studied him for a long moment, then turned back to Meera. “Do you love him?”

The question hung in the air like a blade waiting to fall. Meera looked at Arjun, at this man who’d painted her longing before he’d ever met her, who danced with storms and spoke of truth like it was something sacred.

“I think I could,” she said honestly. “I think I could love him in a way I never learned how to love you.”

Marcus nodded slowly, as if this confirmed something he’d already known. “I came here to fight for you,” he said. “Spent the entire flight planning what I’d say to convince you to come home. But looking at you now…” He shook his head. “You look more like yourself than you have in years.”