I had known her for three years before I married her.

She lived next door, quiet and polite, almost invisible in a way most people never noticed.

The day her parents died, the whole village mourned for her. So did I.

Maybe that's why I did not question it when my family chose her for me.

She was safe. Simple. Someone no one would ever doubt.

Three years ago,

Mira sat on the cold cement floor with her hands resting over her knees as she stared at the two lifeless bodies in front of her.

Her parents.

Her eyes were swollen, but no tears came anymore. She only watched, calm and distant, as if something inside her had already gone silent.

The villagers moved around her, performing the last rituals. Just five months earlier, she had come to this village with her parents after her father lost his job and they lost everything. She had left her studies behind.

Now she had lost them too.

When someone asked about her relatives, she simply said they were alone, just like her.

No one questioned it.

The village took care of everything.

Days passed, and Mira stayed because this was all she had left now, a small house in a place where she barely knew anyone.

Except for a few neighbors.

Radha was one of them. Kind and warm, she often checked on Mira and sent her family to help whenever needed. Slowly, Mira became familiar with the village.

And just as quietly, she became part of the Raghuvanshi family.

She was married to dharam, the zamindar's son. A respected family, known for their dignity and power, untouched by scandal, or at least that is what everyone believed.

Five months into the marriage, Mira had settled into a routine.

She had grown used to the silence and to her husband's distance.

Dharam fulfilled every responsibility. He provided, protected, and maintained appearances, but he never truly reached her.

And it was not just him.

Every man in that house was the same.

From his father to his youngest brother, Vihaan.

Controlled. Distant. And hiding something she could not yet understand..

Dharam worked in a company in Mumbai, while Mira stayed back in the village with his family.

He visited every few weeks, stayed for a day or two, and then left again for work.

No one seemed to mind. That was how things worked in most families.

They had a big house, two cars, and land they either rented to farmers or used to give loans.

And today was one of those days when he was coming back.

Mira felt the same quiet excitement she always did.

He would stay for two nights, maybe three days, and then leave again for another twenty.

"Maa, what should I cook?" Mira asked, looking at Radha while making a list of things they needed.

Radha glanced at her. "Should I ask Dharam what he wants to eat?"

Mira nodded with a small smile.

Radha noticed it and chuckled softly before calling him.

Mira waited, hoping he might speak to her too.

But he didn't.

He gave a short reply and ended the call.

Mira lowered her gaze for a moment, then told herself it was fine.

He was coming home anyway.

Radha told her what to prepare, and Mira got busy in the kitchen.

Even after finishing most of the work, she went to their room and checked everything again.

It was already clean.

Still, she adjusted things, folded the bedsheet once more, and looked around as if something might be out of place.

Nervousness, she told herself.

It always happened when he was about to return.

By evening, she heard the sound of a bike entering the courtyard.

Her hands stilled.

Without thinking, she quickly washed them and stepped out of the kitchen.

Dharam had arrived.

Dust clung to his clothes. His boots were dirty, his jacket worn from travel.

He walked in without hurry, placed his bag on the nearest cot, and removed his gloves.

His gaze first went to his parents as he greeted them.

Then, for a brief moment, it shifted to her.

Mira stepped forward and held out a glass of water.

He took it without a word.

That was enough.

She quietly picked up his belongings and carried them to their room.

She had learned not to expect much from him and she had already made peace with it.

As time passed, he took a bath before sitting with his parents and his brother Vihaan in the main hall talking to them.

And Mira prepared dinner with one of the old women they had for work. And then she served them dinner and ate at last.

The house grew quieter as the night settled in.

Dinner was finished. The kitchen was cleaned. Voices faded one by one as everyone moved to their rooms.

Mira stayed back a little longer than needed, rinsing the same plate twice before finally placing it aside.

She knew he would come.

He always did. Late. Quietly.

By the time she entered their room, the lights were dim. She adjusted the bedsheet once again, even though she had already done it earlier.

Then she sat down at the edge of the bed, waiting.

Her fingers moved absentmindedly over the edge of her dupatta as a thought crossed her mind.

Five months.

Two nights at a time.

She tried to count.

Ten nights.

Maybe a few more.

Days were harder to remember.

Two, sometimes three days in between his visits.

Barely a month, if she added it all together.

A whole marriage... and they had hardly spent any time as husband and wife.

The thought sat quietly in her chest.

Minutes passed.

The sound of footsteps outside made her straighten slightly.

The door opened.

Dharam walked in without a word. He had changed his clothes, his hair still slightly damp as if he had washed away the dust of the journey.

He didn't look at her immediately.

He walked past her, placed his watch and phone on the table, and sat down on the chair near the window.

Silence filled the room again.

Mira's eyes followed his action and as he put his watch on the table her eyes narrowed a little new watch she thought but decided to not question as she clasped her hands together, gathering a little courage.

"You came early this time," she said softly.

He gave a small nod. "Work finished sooner."

That was all.

She waited, hoping he might say something more.

He didn't.

Her gaze shifted to him. There was something about the way he sat, calm and still, that made it hard to read what he was thinking.

"Was the journey okay?" she asked after a moment.

"Yes."

Another short answer.

Mira lowered her eyes.

Silence returned, heavier this time.

After a while, he stood up and walked towards the bed. She moved slightly to make space, her fingers tightening over the edge of her dupatta.

He lay down on his side, facing away from her.

Just like always.

Mira lay down too, keeping a careful distance between them.

The room was dark now.

Only the faint sound of night insects and the slow rhythm of his breathing filled the space.

She turned her head slightly, looking at his back.

So close.

And yet, so far.

After a few minutes, she closed her eyes.

But sleep didn't come easily.

Because no matter how she counted it

He still felt like a stranger.

Mira stared at the ceiling for a while before turning slightly toward him.

Her gaze rested on his back for a moment, then she looked away and let out a soft sigh.

"Did you... find your watch?" she asked, another small attempt to start a conversation.

Dharam's posture stiffened almost instantly.

"No," he said. "It got lost."

"Oh."

The word left her lips quietly.

"I liked that watch," she added after a moment.

He turned his head just enough to glance at her once.

Then he looked away again.

A soft exhale escaped him as he closed his eyes.

It was enough for Mira to understand.

He wasn't going to say anything more.

The next day, Mira followed her routine as she always did.

She woke up early, bathed, finished her prayers, and then moved to the kitchen. Tea was prepared, breakfast was made, and the house slowly came to life as the helpers began their work.

After everything was done, she usually sat with Radha for a while or picked up something to read. Sometimes it was Vihaan's college books, sometimes just anything she could find.

Today was no different.

At least, it looked that way.

After breakfast, Dharam left with his father and brother.

The house settled into its usual quiet rhythm again.

Mira sat with a book open in front of her.

But she wasn't reading.

Her eyes remained fixed on the same page, the words blurring together.

After counting the nights yesterday, something had shifted.

A heaviness sat in her chest that she could not ignore.

Radha noticed it.

Before she could ask anything, Mira spoke.

"Maaji... how long have you been with Papaji?"

Radha looked at her, slightly confused. "Almost twenty-eight years."

Mira nodded slowly.

"And... how many nights have you stayed together?" she asked, her voice quieter this time.

Radha's expression changed. Her brows drew together in concern.

"Mira... what kind of question is that? Did something happen?"

Mira blinked, suddenly aware of how strange she must have sounded.

"No... nothing," she said quickly. "I'm sorry."

She lowered her gaze back to the book.

A moment passed.

Then, as if trying to move away from the conversation, she spoke again.

"Should I cook something special for him? Or maybe pack something so he can eat there?"

Radha watched her for a few seconds before letting out a soft sigh.

"No, beta. He has everything he needs there."

Then more gently, "But tell me... did something happen?"

Mira shook her head.

"No."

Her voice was quiet.

She looked back at the open page in front of her, staring at a flowchart she wasn't really seeing.

The lines and arrows meant nothing.

Her thoughts were somewhere else.

Still counting.

Still wondering.

Mira stared at Vihaan, shock flickering across her face, followed by something softer. Something closer to hurt.

“How?” she asked quietly. “And why?”

Vihaan looked at her for a moment. Unlike his brother, there was a certain ease in him. He was kinder, a little more approachable.

“He had some urgent work, bhabhi,” he said.

“But he never goes like this,” Mira replied, her voice tightening slightly. “Not suddenly. At least he comes home first.”

She paused, her brows drawing together.

“Who just leaves from the fields like that?”

Vihaan noticed it then.

The question was simple, but the pain behind it was not.

He let out a slow breath.

“It was important,” he said. “He’ll come back… and stay longer this time.”

Mira looked at him for a few seconds.

Then she nodded.

Quietly.

There wasn’t much else she could do.

“But his things are still here,” she said after a moment.

“Yes,” Vihaan replied. “Give them to me. I’m going to Mumbai tomorrow. I have some work there. I’ll give it to him.”

“Mumbai?” Mira asked instantly.

Vihaan nodded. “Tomorrow.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Don’t touch his bag.”

Mira stilled.

A small sound left her, almost like a hum of acknowledgment.

She already knew.

No one touched his things.

—

Later, Mira sat in her room with her diary open in front of her.

Even after leaving her studies, she had never stopped writing.

The pen moved slowly across the page, forming words she barely registered.

Because her attention wasn’t on the diary.

It kept drifting.

Back to the same place.

His bag.

Her eyes lifted again and again, drawn to it as if it held something more than just clothes.

A question formed quietly in her mind.

Why?

Why was she not allowed to touch it?

It had never bothered her before.

But today…

It did.

Was he hiding something?

The thought stayed with her, circling again and again.

But what?

Mira’s fingers tightened slightly over the edge of her diary as another possibility crept into her mind.

An affair.

Her eyes widened, not suddenly, but slowly, as the idea settled in.

Before she could think further, there was a knock on the door.

A helper stood outside, asking for clothes to be washed.

Mira nodded and got up.

She began collecting the clothes from around the room, folding them absentmindedly before handing them over.

The helper turned to leave.

“Wait,” she said quickly. “There’s… more.”

Her gaze shifted to the chair.

To his bag.

For a moment, she just stood there.

Then she took a slow breath, steadying herself, and walked toward it.

Her fingers hesitated over the zipper before she finally pulled it open.

She took out his shawl first.

Then a few clothes.

Nothing unusual.

She handed them to the helper, who left without question.

The door closed.

Silence returned.

Mira turned back.

Her eyes went straight to the bag again.

Something felt… off.

Slowly, she reached inside and pulled out a smaller pouch.

Her brows drew together.

She opened it.

And froze.

A phone.

A gun.

And a watch.

His watch.

The one he said was lost.

Her heartbeat quickened.

She picked up the watch, staring at it for a moment before placing it aside.

Then she grabbed the phone.

It was switched off.

She pressed the button.

Once.

Twice.

Nothing.

A faint vibration came, then silence again.

Her frustration grew.

“Bhabhi.”

The voice snapped through the room.

Mira flinched.

She turned.

Vihaan stood at the door.

His eyes held something sharp.

Not just anger.

Something closer to panic.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Mira stood up quickly, her hands instinctively moving to close the pouch.

“Nothing,” she said. “I… I was just collecting clothes for washing.”

She placed the pouch back and zipped the bag.

“Why did you open his bag?” Vihaan asked, stepping closer.

Mira straightened slightly this time.

“I had to take out the clothes,” she said, a little firmer.

Vihaan looked at her.

Longer than necessary.

“And whose phone is that?” she asked.

He took a sharp breath.

“It belongs to one of his colleagues,” he said. “They were travelling together. He left it behind, so Bhai kept it.”

Mira watched him carefully.

There was doubt in her eyes.

But after a moment, she simply nodded.

“Okay.”

She didn’t question the gun.

Guns were not unfamiliar in this house.

Vihaan looked at her once more before picking up the bag and leaving the room.

The door closed behind him.

Mira let out a slow breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Her heart was still racing.

She turned back toward the bed.

Her gaze fell on something

The watch. She had taken it out earlier.

And forgotten to put it back……or she didn't put it back on purpose

Quietly, she picked it up, holding it in her palm.

Her fingers curled around it.

“What are you hiding…” she murmured under her breath.

Her eyes lifted slightly.

“I’ll find out.”

Mira stared blankly into the courtyard.

A few women sat nearby, talking with Radha about some household matter, their voices blending into a distant hum.

She wasn’t listening.

Her fingers tightened around her phone.

Without thinking much, she typed out a message. The words came quickly, almost as if they had been waiting.

She stared at the screen for a moment.

Then pressed send.

A wave of guilt crept in immediately.

Her eyes moved around the courtyard, as if she was seeing everything for the last time.

She swallowed and stood up.

Without saying anything, she walked toward Vihaan’s room.

He was inside, busy with his laptop.

“Vihaan,” she called.

“I want to go to Mumbai too.”

It wasn’t a question.

Vihaan looked up, slightly amused.

“No. You can’t,” he said.

“And don’t even ask Maa and Papa. They’ll get angry.”

“Why?” Mira asked. “I just want to go once. See where he lives… if he’s there, if he’s fine.”

“No,” Vihaan repeated, more firmly, his eyes returning to the screen.

Mira’s brows drew together.

“But why?” she asked, her tone sharpening.

“Because he’s my brother,” Vihaan said. “I know he’s fine. He lives well. You don’t need to worry about that.”

He paused for a second, then added, “If you want, I can ask him to send videos.”

Mira shook her head.

“No. I want to go and see it myself.”

“You’re already going,” she continued, her voice steady. “It will only take a few days.”

Vihaan sighed.

“Bhai is busy. He doesn’t have time. If you go, he’ll just worry about you.”

Mira’s jaw tightened.

“Worry?” she repeated quietly.

“Has he ever worried about me?”

Her voice was calm.

But her eyes weren’t.

Vihaan looked at her.

Then away.

Then back again.

Something in his expression shifted.

“Fine,” he said at last. “You can come with me. Pack your things. We’ll stay there for three days.”

Mira blinked, slightly taken aback.

He agreed… just like that?

“What about Maa and Papaji?” she asked.

“I’ll handle it,” Vihaan said. “Don’t worry. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

Mira nodded slowly and walked out.

—

As soon as the door closed, Vihaan let out a breath and looked back at his laptop.

The screen was still active.

Dharam was on the call.

“Now what?” Vihaan asked.

“I’ll arrange everything,” Dharam replied. “She’s starting to doubt.”

He took a sharp breath.

“Smarter than I expected. Or maybe just slow. Took her long enough to notice.”

Vihaan’s jaw tightened.

“But find out who took my pen drive,” Dharam continued. “It was in my bag the last time I was there.”

Vihaan nodded once.

The call disconnected.

He closed the laptop slowly.

Then stood up and walked toward his father’s room.

Mira sat in the car on the passenger seat, a little excited and nervous. It had been years since she had gone out of the village like this. She looked outside with fascination, the fields passing by-she had seen them many times before-but still, her eyes stayed there, then shifted to the roads, the boards, the small shops. Even while sitting in the car, her eyes kept dancing outside, reading every path name as if memorising the route somewhere deep in her consciousness.

"You like going out?" Vihaan asked as he noticed her interest.

"Yeah... in school we used to go on picnics and trips. Other than that, I had gone out with my family to many places," she said, but as soon as the words left her mouth, something heavy settled in her chest. She sighed, still looking outside.

Vihaan noticed it instantly. "Missing them?" he asked, taking a turn.

She hummed softly. "It's been years since I saw them," she said, then looked at him. "I-I mean... I can't see them anymore." She gave a small, sad smile before turning back to the window.

Vihaan chose not to say anything after that, letting her sit with her thoughts. The ride stretched longer than she had expected. She hadn't known it would take fourteen hours to reach Mumbai from their village. They had left early in the morning, around 4 a.m., and now it was already getting dark.

They hadn't talked much the whole way. They stopped once at a restaurant to eat and a few times for snacks, but neither of them slept, not even for a moment.

"Does he drive this long?" she asked after a while. "To reach home?"

"Who? Bhai?" Vihaan asked.

"Yeah."

He nodded slightly. "It's quite long."

"Then why not just come by train?" she asked. "It will be easy... or maybe bus."

Vihaan stayed quiet for a second, wondering if he could tell her why they never used public transport. "No," he said finally. "Bhai likes biking... and he hates crowded places."

"Oh," she replied, sighing softly. "I don't know much about him. It's weird... we are married and yet I only know what I have heard about him," she said, a quiet sadness settling in her voice as her eyes grew heavy.

"You can sleep if you want. I will wake you up when we reach," Vihaan said as he drove along the Marine Drive road.

"No," she said, looking ahead. The night sky illuminated the sea, making it a perfect view, but her eyes stayed on the road as if afraid she would forget the route.

Vihaan didn't speak further. Soon, her body gave up. She leaned against the window and fell asleep.

And as soon as she was out, Vihaan called his brother. On the third ring, the call connected.

"Bhaiya... we are near the villa. Where should we come?" he asked.

"I will send you the address," Dharam said. "Come there. I have arranged everything."

Vihaan took the turn as soon as he saw the address and drove the car in the opposite direction, toward a location safe enough for her to not doubt anything.

"Bhabhi... bhabhi, get up. We are here."

Mira stirred in her sleep as she heard Vihaan's voice. She blinked slowly and looked around, taking in where she was. She adjusted her dupatta over her head before stepping out of the car, her eyes moving over the flats around her. It wasn't new. She had lived in flats too... with her parents.

Vihaan took out the bags and looked at her. "Let's go."

"Where is he?" she asked as she followed him.

"At his office," Vihaan said.

"Shouldn't he have at least come downstairs?" she said in a low voice, more to herself-but his ears were sharp.

"He is busy. I had told you... he is still in the company."

Mira looked at him, confused. It was over 11 p.m. Which company treats their employees like mules? she thought.

"302..."

She paused in front of the room, her eyes fixed on the number for a second longer than needed. It looked more like a hotel room than an apartment. Maybe Mumbai flats are different, she told herself as she stepped inside.

Her eyes moved slowly across the place, taking in everything. Clean. Neat. Everything exactly in its place. The kitchen was spotless, not a single thing out of line. Everything... perfect. Too perfect. For a man who supposedly stayed in the office all day.

Vihaan walked to the fridge, took out a water bottle, and handed it to her. She took it absentmindedly, still looking around, when he spoke again. "I am going to sleep. I won't eat anything. If you want, order something."

Before she could say anything, he had already walked toward a room and shut the door, leaving her alone in the silence.

Her mind started racing again, one doubt layering over another. A soft glow fell on her face as she walked to the fridge and opened it, looking inside carefully this time. A half-drunk soda can. Snacks. Dahi. Vegetables.

But no leftovers.

"Maybe I am doubting it all for nothing, she thought.

She walked toward the room where Vihaan had gone and opened the door. He was asleep, fast, like he had dropped the moment his head touched the pillow. She quietly shut the door again and moved to the other room.

Inside, there was a small lamp by the bedside, a book kept neatly, a cupboard, hangers lined up, his shirts hanging on the door, and the air conditioner humming softly.

Her eyes moved over everything slowly, taking it all in, when her thoughts broke with the low sound of her stomach.

Food

Mira glanced at the watch hanging on the wall and sighed. Almost 11:30. Too tired to cook.

She walked back to the fridge, took out a fruit she had seen earlier, and ate it quietly. Then she sat down on a chair in the small space, her body finally giving in.

Maaji was right, she thought. He has everything here... everything he needs to live peacefully.

Tired from the long journey, Mira slowly fell asleep on the chair.

The next day, her eyes opened slowly. She blinked twice, trying to remember where she was, then sat up as faint sounds reached her ears. She followed them toward the kitchen and stopped.

He was there.

Dharam.

Pouring tea, already dressed in his office attire.

Her instincts took over before her thoughts could catch up. She walked straight to him. "Move aside," she said, taking the strainer from his hand. "You could have woken me up," she added as she strained the tea.

Her eyes shifted to the stove. A half-burnt paratha was cooking. She quickly put it aside and started making another one.

Dharam went still. Completely still. His eyes stayed on her.

She had just pushed him aside.

And didn't even realise it.

"You were asleep," he said in his usual cool, aloof tone, stepping back and letting her handle things.

"Yeah... but you could have woken me up," she said, turning toward him, then pausing as realisation slowly settled in. She finally looked at him properly-shirt tucked in, black pants, clean black shoes, his sharp features calm and detached, like he owed nothing to anyone.

Which... was true.

She looked away as she felt his gaze on her. "Sorry," she said softly. "I-I was sleepy..." trying to cover what she had just done.

He hummed in response and walked past her toward the small sitting area where Vihaan was already ready for the day.

"You will stay here," Dharam said. "Take care of her. And let me know if you need anything."

The words were simple, but the meaning was clear.

Don't let her go out.

Vihaan nodded firmly, understanding without needing anything more.

Mira walked out with a plate of paratha and tea and placed it in front of Dharam, then stood there quietly, watching him eat. An awkward silence settled between them, heavy with things unsaid.

"Why did you suddenly decide to come?" he asked.

Mira looked at him, slightly shocked. He was initiating a conversation.

"I... just wanted to see where you live," she said. "And... maybe visit Mumbai."

Dharam paused for barely a second before looking at her again. His wife. Five-foot-three, soft features, calm, kind-completely opposite of him-and suddenly she wanted to come here.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

Mira looked at him instantly. "Anywhere. I haven't gone anywhere in a long time."

He thought for a moment, then looked at Vihaan. "No. You can't. You will go back to the village after two days. Until then, stay here. It's not safe outside."

Mira looked at him, then lowered her gaze. "Ji..." Her voice was soft, hurt, like an obedient child who had just been refused.

"You are supposed to take care of my parents," he continued. "Not decide you want to go somewhere."

Mira's eyes lifted. "I am also supposed to take care of you," she said. "I married you."

Vihaan stilled. He looked at her, then at Dharam, and quietly got up and walked to his room, as if he already knew what was about to happen.

Dharam stood and stepped closer, towering over her. "You are supposed to do as I ask," he said.

Mira held his gaze. For once, she didn't look away. She was done. At least for now. The weight of this marriage had started to numb her.

"I am doing what you ask," she said. "But do you ever think about what I want?" Her voice didn't shake. "You stay here all the time, and I stay with your parents. I don't mind it... but we are like strangers."

Her eyes didn't leave his. "I know nothing about you. What you like, what you eat... nothing."

"There is no need to know," Dharam said, his gaze hardening slightly as her obedient-wife image cracked for the first time.

"There is," she said quietly. "If you want us to have a happy marriage... then there is."

Dharam didn't say anything immediately. He just stood there looking at her properly this time, not the quiet girl who just listened, not the simple wife his family had picked, but her like this, speaking back. Something shifted in his eyes, very slight but there.

"You talk a lot today," he said, his tone the same as always, calm... too calm.

Mira didn't move. "Maybe I just wasn't heard before."

That made his jaw tighten a little, not in anger, more like control. "You don't need to think so much. Things are fine the way they are."

"Fine for you," she said.

That made him pause again. For a second he just looked at her, like he was trying to place something, understand where this was coming from.

"You're getting affected staying alone too much," he said.

Mira almost laughed at that, almost, but didn't. "I am not alone," she said quietly, "I'm just not with my husband."

Silence stretched between them. This time he didn't look away quickly. He kept looking, longer than before, like measuring her, calculating something.

"You should rest," he said finally.

A clear dismissal, but not as cold as before. Mira noticed it but didn't say anything. She stepped aside and he walked past her toward the door, then stopped for a second.

"Don't open anything in this house that doesn't concern you."

There it was.

Mira's fingers curled slightly at her side. "Then maybe you should tell me what concerns me," she said.

He didn't reply. He just walked out.

But this time it wasn't indifference.

He was thinking.

And that... was new.