Chapter 2
499 Words
Arohi and Ishaan packed their bags in silence, the weight of unspoken thoughts hanging heavily between them. When it came time to leave, they bid farewell to their parents—teary eyes, tight hugs, blessings spoken softly into the wind.
The flight to the U.S. was long and quiet. No shared smiles, no idle chatter. Just two strangers with wedding rings and separate hearts.
Back in the States, a surprise awaited them.
Their parents had gifted them a beautiful home—spacious, modern, and perfect for a newlywed couple. A grand gesture for a marriage that, inside, felt hollow.
Arohi quietly moved into the master bedroom upstairs. She thought Ishaan will join her but he didn’t. She didn’t ask him to join her, unsure of what to say or how to begin.
Ishaan, still nursing old wounds, moved into a guest room downstairs. He welcomed the distance.He hardly spoke to her. The pain of his ex is fresh in his heart. How is he supposed to accept a stranger and act like a husband? Talking to her will only make things worse so he decided stay away from her.
Night after night, Ishaan returned home drunk, the scent of whiskey clinging to him like grief. Arohi never questioned him. She kept her distance, finding comfort in silence.
One evening, longing for something familiar, Arohi stepped out and brought back dinner from a nearby Indian restaurant she found online. The reviews were great and they served her favorite Indian dishes. She didn’t know it would ignite a storm.
When she returned, Ishaan was already home. The sharp smell of alcohol filled the living room. His eyes flicked to the takeout bag in her hands—and froze.
His heart sank. His stomach turned.
The logo on the bag—her restaurant. His ex’s restaurant.
Just that morning, he’d heard the news: she was engaged. To a CEO. A future that was never his.
Six years of love. Gone. Replaced. Forgotten.
Something inside him snapped.
Without a word, he grabbed the bag from Arohi’s hands and hurled it to the floor. The food spilled across the tiles, a messy explosion of color and scent.
“Don’t you ever go there again!” he shouted, voice cracking with anger and pain.
Arohi stood frozen. Shocked. Afraid.
She had never seen this side of him—so raw, so broken.
Without speaking, she turned and walked upstairs, shutting her bedroom door with trembling hands. The soft click of the lock echoed like a scream.
The next morning, Ishaan woke with a pounding head and a heavier heart. He dreaded the living room, expecting to see the mess he had made.
But it was clean. Every trace of his outburst—gone.
The food, the packaging, the anger… all wiped away.
Guilt hit him like a wave.
He didn’t apologize. He didn’t know how.
Instead, he showered, dressed, and left for work, pretending nothing had happened.
But something had.
Something unspoken, fragile, and irreversible.
- Writer
