I am 35, married at 25 to a civil engineer in Mumbai.
Life isn’t wonderful, but it’s not unbearable either. It’s just… after a decade together, it feels like I’m living with a roommate—no emotion, no romance, no care.
My husband, Rajesh, is calm and reserved, working all day, coming home at night, clinging to his phone before sleeping early. I tried to break his shell, but eventually, I gave up and drifted away.
Then—his younger brother—returned from overseas after completing studies and seven years of residency in Singapore.
Arjun—30, attractive, bright, refined, and strikingly sophisticated. My mother-in-law often said:
“If any daughter-in-law marries Arjun, she’ll be happy forever…”
I smiled, but my heart ached. Rajesh had once been ambitious like Arjun. But the years dulled him, and Arjun felt like sunlight in my darkened home.
Since Arjun’s return, I often fell ill—headaches, dizziness, stomach pain… partly genuine, partly excuses to call him over.
Each time he arrived with his medical kit, spoke gently, touched my forehead to check my temperature, my heart raced. I knew it was wrong. Yet I couldn’t suppress my feelings.
One day, heavy rain poured over Mumbai. I called Arjun, claiming severe stomach pain. He arrived drenched, rushing inside with concern.
I sat clutching my stomach. Arjun knelt before me, checked my pulse, then held my hand—longer than usual.
I looked into his eyes—different today. No longer a doctor’s gaze, but that of someone battling inner conflict.
He stayed silent, yet didn’t release my hand.
My breath quickened, my heart pounded, sparks surged through me. I pulled away, whispering:
Arjun… don’t do this…
He stood, staring for a long moment, then said:
I’m not happy either. But if we go on, we’ll both be wrong…
He left, leaving a storm in my heart greater than the one outside.
From then on, he never came again. I told myself to forget. But inside… a wound remained, deep and unhealed.
“Jijaji”—just two words, yet they trapped me in regret, longing, and silent pain…
Three weeks later, we avoided each other. At Sharma Villa gatherings, Arjun was distant and polite before leaving quickly.
My heart, however, still surged whenever our eyes met.
Then, one Saturday evening, my mother-in-law—Savitri Devi—summoned the whole family. Urgency: the Sharma family inheritance.
The meeting room shone brightly. Papers and a land title lay neatly on the table. Rajesh sat beside me; Arjun stood apart, arms folded, eyes avoiding mine.
Savitri began:
– Rajesh is the eldest, but Arjun will control the hospital and all property.
Silence fell. Rajesh banged the table:
– What are you saying, mother? You’re the heir—why give it all to Arjun?
Savitri replied calmly:
Because Arjun deserves it more. And you… your wife…
She stopped, her gaze cutting into me, voice icy:
– …she crossed all limits with her husband’s younger brother.
Sh0ck rooted me in place. Rajesh stared as if hearing the impossible. Arjun stepped forward:
– No! You misunderstand.
But Savitri drew an envelope from her sari, tossing it onto the table. Inside—photos of Arjun and me, from that rainy day, his hand clasping mine for too long.
The room gasped. My heart sank.
Rajesh stood:
– So this is why you fa:ked illness to call him over?
I tried:
– It’s not what you think…
But Savitri cut me off:
– I don’t care what you’ve done. This alone shamed the family.
Rajesh stormed out. I wanted to follow, but my feet felt glued to the marble.
Arjun faced his mother, his voice firm:
– If you try to separate us, you’ll fail.
The room froze. My mind reeled—“us”? Did he just confess?
Savitri’s lips curved in a cold smile:
– Fine. Then be ready, because from now on, this isn’t about love… but a life-and-d3ath fight for power and the Sharma family’s honor.
His eyes turned cold, and I knew…
