Page 123 of Mrs. Rathore

I walked past him and back inside. The silence felt even heavier now.

He followed and closed the door behind us with a soft click.

"Thank you for respecting my feelings," he said at last, his voice quietly sarcastic.

I spun around to face him, anger bubbling back up. "You don't get to feel jealous, Aryan."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, his lips parting to object, but I didn't let him speak.

"Because as far as I remember," I continued, my voice sharp and trembling, "I was the one left alone in that hotel room while you spent the night with Ira."

His eyes narrowed, stung by the accusation. "I didn't spend the night with her. She was unwell. I took her home from the hospital. That was all."

"But you didn't tell me that," I snapped. "You left without a word. No message, no call. You didn't think I deserved that much, did you?"

Aryan took a step forward, his fists clenched at his sides. "That man was talking about marrying you while you're still married to me. Don't compare what I did to that."

"And what exactly are we, Aryan?" I asked, my voice broke. "You haven't touched me since that kiss. You barely speak to me. We sleep in the same house, but we might as well be miles apart. When exactly did you remember that I was your wife... when Prashant showed up?"

His eyes flinched for a moment. That was all I needed to know.

"I'm tired of being invisible," I whispered. "I'm tired of waiting around for a husband who only remembers me when he's angry."

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration radiating from him. "I'm not good at this, Avni. I'm not good at birthdays and flowers and... words."

"I never asked for any of that," I said bitterly. "All I ever wanted was a little effort and a little warmth. A reason to believe this marriage wasn't just some duty you're dragging around like a dead weight."

He opened his mouth to say something but he stopped, shaking his head. "Forget it," he muttered, turning away.

He disappeared into the room without another word, and I quietly went back to cooking. The silence in the house felt heavier than ever, almost like a weight pressing on my chest with every breath. The pain in my chest throbbed stubbornly.

I wasn't angry just because of today. I was angry because for two whole weeks, Aryan had acted like I didn't exist, like I wasn't even worth a glance. We had kissed, once, passionately. But since then, he had been distant. I had convinced myself that the kiss had been a drunken mistake on his part, caused by alcohol and regretted the next morning. Because he could never truly want me.

I stirred the pot absentmindedly, blinking back the tears threatening to escape my eyes.

After a while, I heard the soft click of the bedroom door opening. I didn't turn immediately, but I could feel him there, his presence behind me, quiet but strong. When I finally looked over my shoulder, I saw Aryan walking into the hall, now dressed in a thin, sand-colored shirt that fit his tall body well, and dark pants. He was buttoning the cuffs of his sleeves, his face unreadable.

His jaw tightened when he noticed me watching.

"I'm eating out tonight," he said bluntly. "You don't need to wait for me."

My hands became still, and for a moment, I just stood there, his words hurting me more than I expected. He didn't say where he was going. He didn't ask if I had eaten. He just wanted to leave.

I nodded silently, forcing my eyes away from him. Within seconds, he was gone. No glance backward or anything.

The moment the door closed behind him, a sob escaped me. I angrily wiped it away, ashamed of letting it fall. I wasn't supposed to care. I shouldn't care.

But I did.

I turned back to the dining table, where dinner sat waiting, his favorite dish. He had mentioned just yesterday that he would be home for dinner. I had taken it seriously, spent extra time preparing everything exactly how he liked it. For what? So he could walk out?

Jimmy. He was the only one I could feed now. But even he was full tonight from the chocolates Aryan had given me earlier. I stared at the untouched food, bitterness tightening in my throat.

"I won't eat," I mumbled to myself. "Not tonight."

Because my stomach was empty, but my heart was swollen with pain. With the sharp sting of being overlooked, again and again.

Midnight.

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