The Unwanted Bride

22 - Samar Rathod

Typed: 19/12/2023
Chapter 22: Samar Rathod

Author's POV:

Philosophers—who are also people, normal people like her—say that humans need and crave money and love. So what does one do when they have both? Work hard to keep it, she thought, seeping her coffee, scrolling through yet another pile of photos Yug had sent her a couple of minutes ago.

"Do you need help?" Her favourite barista, Pihu asks.

Khushi had been scrolling through zones of photos of different types of wood. She had less than an hour to reply with a selection for her husband. "They all look at same to me," she mumbles, handing her phone to Pihu.

Pihu scrolls past twenty photos, matching Khushi's exhausted expressions. "Who knew artists were this—" she eyed Khushi, making sure she didn't look offended, "—particular." She hands Khushi's phone back to her, thanking God her husband wasn't an artist. "They do look the same. I say, pick a random one. It's not like he'd find out."

She clicked her tongue, dismissing the idea, "but he would know. He'd ask me millions of questions about the particular wood I selected." Her husband had told her last night that the "market" has dropped a few new designs on wooden tables. He'd gently asked her, checking her mood, "I should get a new wooden desk at work, nah?" It was his choice but he wanted his wife's opinion. Khushi didn't think too much and agreed. "I didn't think he'd be so passionate about a desk."

Pihu laughed, "he's unique."

"That he is," came her proud reply. She was about to bid goodbye to Pihu when Yug's phone call interrupted her. "I'll see you tomorrow," she gestured at her phone, letting Pihu know who was calling.

"I say pick any wood, not like he'd know." An eye roll received from her friend, Khushi walks out of the café.

"Yes, Sir," she answers, giggling.

"Khushi, help me. What one did you like, personal—" she can hear the excitement in his voice and the sound of papers shuffling around in his desk at work.

"They all look the same," the shuffling stops. "But," she adds enthusiastically. Carefully looking from left to right, Khushi starts crossing the road. "I think the sixth and seventh is best. The design and texture of the wood is nice. I like whit—" her eyes were on her office when she saw a familiar figure.

"Yaar, sachi, mujhe bhi woh hi pasand aya tha," there's so much exhilaration in his voice, satisfied that their choices matched, again. (Dude, same. I like that one too).

But Khushi isn't listening. She watches as the familiar back approaches her office. The same back she'd seen and feared ten years ago. It's slightly broader as if purposely hitting the gym to tone it and look buffer. The back was covered with a plain white shirt, the hair was a bit longer, maybe shoulder length because it was tied in a bun. A man bun as one would call it. The person's left hand had paperwork and the right hand slid into their pants pocket, as if taking out their phone or card.

She forgets to breathe. Her lips part to speak, to sign or even exhale for strength but nothing happens. She stands on the footpath, at a decent distance from her work's entrance watching the person slightly turn, letting their side profile come into view.

Samar.

Khushi quickly turns around. Her back facing him—if he was even looking in her direction—and froze.

"Khushi, are you listening?" Yug's in his office, his phone resting between his ear and shoulder as he rolls his sleeves up. "I'll confirm the seventh one, okay? It should be delivered by Monday morning. We should go shopping today and get some office supplies for me, are you free later?" His wife can barely function. "And how's that case coming along? Is the husband getting alimony? That reminds me," he pauses, trying to remember someone's name. "My friend's brother is looking for a divorce lawyer, I'm thinking of referring him to you? Surely you could fit him in your schedule."