Chronicles Of My Darling Husband | ✓

115. Aavartan (Part 5)

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Jagdish's voice rose, louder than ever before, startling her. "Nishita!"

A furious glare locked onto him. Betrayal boiled in Nishita's gut. "How could you?" she demanded, voice tight. "How dare you shout at me like that!?"

Tears welled, not from fear, but from a potent cocktail of anger and disbelief. The insult cut deep.

Through gritted teeth, she roared back, her voice trembling with outrage. "Jagdish, is this how a husband treats his wife?" The words tumbled out, a torrent of hurt. "Just last week, you swore you loved me. Is this what love looks like?"

Jagdish's face contorted into a mask of rage, his eyes burning with an inferno Nishita had never witnessed before. A primal flicker of fear ignited somewhere deep within her—this was a Jagdish she didn't recognize. With a snarl, he ripped the pillows off the bed and flung them onto the floor in a display of impotent fury, completely disregarding the storm brewing in Nishita's own eyes.

Undeterred by his outburst, Nishita uncrossed her arms and rose from the bed. Ignoring the tremor in her legs, she marched towards him, her voice hardening with resolve. "Jagdish," she said, each syllable sharp as a shard of ice, "answer me!"

"I don't need to answer any fucking thing to you!" Jagdish snapped. "You better fucking sleep or I will throw you out of this room!"

My son is the epitome of patience.

Yashoda's voice rang in her mind like a broken record.

"Bullshit!" she cursed loudly.

Exhaustion gnawed at her, the weight of the never-ending family drama a heavy cloak on her shoulders. "Honestly, do whatever fuck you want," she sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Going to sleep on the floor anyway."

Jagdish's voice, laced with a dangerous edge, cut through the air. "Nishita, don't push your luck," he drawled. "Sleep on the bed."

Nishita met his threat with a curt reply, her voice devoid of emotion. "Strangers don't get to dictate where I sleep," she said, rolling onto the floor and pulling a pillow close.

Tension stretched between them, thick and suffocating. A heavy silence descended, broken only by the shallow rasp of their breaths. Finally, she heard a defeated sigh from the opposite side of the bed. "Nishita," he started, voice rough, "please, just sleep on the bed."

Nishita snorted, her voice laced with defiance. "This is pure luxury compared to some of the floors I've slept on. Marble beats mud any day," she shot back, her gaze fixed stubbornly on a distant point on the ceiling.

Another stretch of silence followed, thick with stubbornness. Then, a soft rustle disturbed the quiet. Nishita peeked over the edge of the mattress, her breath catching in her throat. Jagdish was already sprawled out on the opposite side of the bed, back turned towards her.

Dafuq?

She wanted to pull her hair out in frustration. There was no way she was spending another night in the same room as that jerk. She stormed out, the urge to scream clawing at her throat.

I am not sleeping with that asshole!

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It had been almost a week, and Diwali arrived like an ominous whisper. The house was filled with the hustle and bustle of preparations—decorations being hung, sweets being made, and lights being strung up. Yet, amidst the festive chaos, Nishita had been avoiding Jagdish entirely. It was his fault for shouting at her, and she believed he needed to come and ask for forgiveness.

Each night, after the last embers of activity died down and the household succumbed to sleep, Nishita would execute a silent escape. With the stealth of a shadow, she'd slip into the cool sanctuary of the guest room, ensuring her movements remained unseen. The pre-dawn hours found her tiptoeing back to their bedroom, meticulously maintaining the illusion of normalcy.

Diwali morning arrived, and Nishita stirred awake with the first sliver of light. Drawn by an unknown force, she started towards their bedroom. But a sound, a muffled murmur, snaked up from the floor below. Curiosity, a persistent itch, took hold. Stifling the urge to call out, Nishita crept down the stairs, her steps hushed on the carpeted floor.

Reaching the edge of the last step, she peeked cautiously into the backyard garden. Her initial thought was that Krishna must be engrossed in conversation, his animated gestures a telltale sign. A smile, tinged with amusement, tugged at her lips. Leaning in a touch closer to get a better view, a peculiar sight met her eyes.

What!?

To her astonishment, she realized that Krishna wasn't talking to anyone at all. Instead, he was holding a crisp ten rupee note in his hand, gazing at it as if it were the most precious gem in the world. She watched, amused by the action, as he kissed the note tenderly and then carefully placed it in his breast pocket.

Henh?

Confusion morphed into a mischievous grin. This secretive love life of his—well, this morning was definitely going to be juicy.

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A/N

At least Nishita can have some fun moments in life. With Jagdish being an asshole and sulking all day, Krishna and Subhadra are like a fresh breeze in her life. So much so for the marital bliss nonsense...

I think 'Aksar Iss Duniya Mein' really suits this chapter. Krishna is longing for someone (Whoa, this song actually fits Krishna's storyline more than anything!), Nishita is angry at Jagdish, and Jagdish is clearly upset about something that didn't turn out well.

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