Chapter 1

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.

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