Faasla

It ought to be one of the most memorable nights of her life, and rightfully it was. But in an unfathomable way.

He slammed a hefty pile of paper over the wooden coffee table, with the words Terms & Conditions stretching across the A4 sheet of paper. Underlined and Bold. Underneath were uncountable bullet points, and microscopic letters that filled the whole paper.

Perplexed, her tired eyes looked up at him. His usual stern look was smeared across his face, as he stood tall before her, in a tuxedo with his sleeves rolled up. She looked a little further, at his assistant, who was almost always around him, hugging a bunch of files or an iPad; his assistant turned away, avoiding the eye contacts.

"One year. Maximum, two. Three Hundred Thousand a month", he utters and the look of sheer confusion on her face intensifies.

"It's a contract, Navya ma'am", eventually, his assistant steps in. A contract? 300K a month? What the hell is happening on the night they got married?

Her silence persists, and he let's out a loud sigh.

"I'll pay you three lakh rupees to be my wife, but I'm not making any commitments", he blurts out and she stared at him, blankly for a whole moment, while her Sabyasachi bridal lehenga weighed down on her.

"You work if you want. Stay home if you want. Go out in the middle of the night. Come back home whenever you want. It doesn't matter. I don't care who you're with, what you're doing and where you are. This marriage is nothing but a legal piece of paper. But whatever you do, the media shouldn't utter a word about us under the negative light. Everything I expect from you, I've written it down on the contract and every little thing here has a price".