Vows of Misfortune

47.

It was like someone had turned off the switch to the world I was living in for a moment. All I could hear was static. All I could see were those black and white blurred lines. Trying to see in between them, to figure out the grey area and what was going on.

Trying to make sense of it only hurt.

Then as the images became clearer in my head, there was a sensation of heat in my body as I tried to fend off tears. They had been lying to me. This entire time.

Even now, they both knew, and acted like they had just met each other for the very first time. It made sense, though; the way they acted so cold and weird.

My hands squeezed the seat of my chair, palms down, to steady myself. There was a growing pressure in my cheeks as I sucked them in to bite down. I wanted to punch myself. I wanted to fight something.

But what could I do?

Then, as I lifted my head slowly up, seeing all their eyes on me like I was a spectacle to be pitied — which I was so fucking sick of at this point — I spat out a short tirade of laughter.

Meeting Varun's eyes, it was like he couldn't stand the sight of me looking so pathetic, because he had to look down at his plate, forking around his gnocchi. Claudia awkwardly scratched at her ear.

Finally acknowledging Romir, he was watching me carefully, eyes travelling every inch of my face as if to gauge my reaction.

"You're joking, right?" I asked. Somehow it was said with so much more control than I felt. I wanted it to be a joke. Deep down I was waiting for him to say that he mis-worded it or something.

In my heart, I knew they wouldn't be playing a prank on me. Not like this.

"No," relented Anjali. "It isn't a joke."

I took a deep, shaky breath in. "So you're the guy that got her pregnant? That lived with her in Bangalore? The ex that everyone, even the neighbour, was alluding to this fu—entire time?" The rage was building the more the words spilled out of my mouth. "You're Alia," I said to Anjali.

They were playing you. They were hiding everything from you, smiling and laughing in your face and fucking around with you behind your back.

Just like Varun.

That comparison, knowing how similar it was, made my body slump back into the chair.

"I changed my name so no one would ever find out that I had a different life."

My sister was carrying my now-husband's baby once upon a time before she'd gotten rid of it—Romir was the guy she betrayed. The one she lied to, the one she used before going behind his back and marrying Greg.

It was Romir.

"Please, take this outside," a man in a black suit said, approaching us. "This is a private restaurant."

I stood up abruptly. "Gladly."

I chucked the napkin on my plate and stalked out; I don't know how I managed to get up and walk out without falling to the ground but I had. I didn't look behind me and I didn't stop my pace even as I yanked open the door and stormed down the path to...God knew where.

Not until Romir caught up with his long legs. He swerved in front, stopping me. He was panting hard, chest heaving. His hair was in disarray from the wind continually pushing itself through it.

"Move," I deadpanned.

I was trying so so hard not to let him see the tears. I was sure he could see them but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of breaking down right there. No, I was stronger than that. He wasn't going to get one over me like Varun had.