Under Control.

1. 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘮

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Ps. Chapters in italics are memories. Normal chapter is present time.

"I will be home soon, kiss her good night for me." I watched him pace around my small dorm room. He smiled slightly with his hands in his pocket.

"I love you." He muttered softly on the phone. "I know, I know... ofcourse this is only temporary. Good night."

I know too. I know very well. I knew it was wrong, yet I kept going for it. The ring on his finger never stopped me. The little girl on the picture frame in his office never hindered my feelings either. I knew, he loved her. I was aware, long before this mess. He was wise, empathetic, smart and patient. As an international student new to all this, my strict Indian parents back in Durban, South Africa; their biggest worry was always my being involved with uncultured American frat boys as they would call them, one's who'd make me forget my morals and change my ways. Their worry was never an American married English professor.

"Just leave her." I muttered, the hurt in my voice evident. I could not take it anymore. I couldn't take the hurt, the secrets, the hiding, the up and downs. I was exhausted, I was tired. Somehow I always found myself back in his arms. Perhaps staying was always an easier option than trying to move on. I was smarter than this! I knew that. I knew it all but somehow I always found a way to ignore it. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance would always be better than the truth. Perhaps I was nearly 5000 miles away from home, lonely... homesick.

"Karishma, I will never leave my wife. I thought we had both made that clear!"

"Fine, stop seeing me!" I yelled, my South African Indian accent now more prominent with anger. I had always tried my best to filter it. To try and fit in the New York urbanity but my anger never failed to express the full capacity of where I was from. I took pride in it and sometimes not so much.

"We tried that for a month and here we're again. Do you have a better suggestion?"

No, I didn't so I settled for the bare minimum for months and months but for how much longer would I be able to succumb to this feeling of rejection and resentment. I stood second in line, always. Rachel stood first, she knew it.