Page 44 of Mrs. Rathore

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My physiotherapist arrived on time and showed me a few basic exercises I could manage in my wheelchair. The simplest one involved slowly raising my legs before lowering them back down. It sounded easy but for me, it was a struggle. My right leg had been hit the hardest in the accident, and every attempt to lift it brought a sharp, lingering pain that only deepened the trauma. I often avoided even looking at my legs. But when I did, myheart would wrench. The stitched skin... sometimes it swelled so badly, it was unbearable to look at.

I knew I would heal but I also knew it wouldn't be easy. I had to harden my heart, bury the memories, and focus on the slow climb ahead. Sometimes, I told myself the accident wasn't Aryan's fault. That I shouldn't have taken that shortcut. That I shouldn't have been on the road in the middle of the night. It was easier to blame myself than to live in this house with bitterness.

But today... Aryan took my side and it melted something inside me. Maybe he did it just to impress his grandmother, but when he placed his palm gently over my trembling hand, I couldn't lie to myself. There was something there. It wasn't hatred. It wasn't rage. It was something softer. Something that didn't burn but comforted.

"How is she doing?" I heard Aryan's voice as he stepped into the living room.

"Her legs need time," the therapist replied. "But she'll get better soon."

Aryan sighed, his unreadable eyes settling on me. "You okay?"

I nodded silently.

"Father wants to see you before he leaves for duty," he added, then turned to the therapist. "Can I take her?"

"Of course, we're just finished," the therapist said, gathering his things. With a polite nod, he walked out, leaving us alone.

Aryan didn't say a word as he pushed my wheelchair down the hall toward his father's office. The air felt heavy as everyone was gathered there, and Grandma's quiet sobs filled the space.

"When will you be back, son?" she asked through her tears. "I wish you could stay one more week."

"You know I can't, Ma," Mr. Rathore said softly, embracing her. "We go when duty calls. I've already taken as much leave as I could. But Aryan is still here for another month. He'll take care of everyone."

"Vijay..." Her voice trembled as she hugged him tighter. "I'm proud of you and of my grandson."

My chest tightened as I watched them. The room felt heavy with emotion. I could feel the weight of their love, their pride, their unspoken fears. Is this what soldier families feel every time a loved one leaves? My heart ached as I thought about next month when Aryan would leave too. What would that do to them?

Moments later, Aryan grabbed his father's suitcase and loaded it into the trunk. Mr. Rathore then walked over to me. I reached out and about to touch his feet but he caressed my hair lovingly.

He smiled, the warmth in his eyes giving me comfort. "You'll get well soon. I know you will. And I'll keep your family safe."

"Thank you so much," I whispered, offering a small smile before stepping back.

Mr. Rathore climbed into the passenger seat beside Aryan. Within seconds, the car pulled away, taking a piece of peace with it.

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Chapter 16

ARYAN

It had been a week since I last saw Ira. I hadn’t returned her calls or answered her texts and after a while, they stopped coming. The silence gnawed at me. I tried reaching out, called her, and messaged her, but her phone was switched off. She had vanished, and the worry was beginning to make me feel sick.

Two days ago, I decided to check on her at her place. I knew how it would look if I showed up at my ex-girlfriend’s door after marrying someone else. It was a terrible idea. But I needed to know she was okay. But her mother just told me Ira didn’t want to meet me. Ira never handled silence well. And now I regretted ignoring her, each missed message like a ghost whispering in my ear. I should’ve answered her just once. But I couldn’t. The guilt was too heavy to handle.

My eyes drifted to the living room where Avni, my wife, was beginning to use crutches instead of her wheelchair. It was a big step in her progress. Each day, she seemed to grow a little stronger, and the bitterness she once held toward me was slowly fading. That was good news. If I managed to win her heart, it would be easier to get rid of her. Maybe, just maybe, I could still have a chance with Ira.

But I hadn’t truly let Ira go. She haunted my thoughts like an unfinished song. And more than anything, I kept thinking about how to free myself from this marriage. Lately, I've started to find answers.

I played the role of a perfect husband at least on paper. I covered her mother’s medical bills, got her brother into the best school, and took care of her for therapy every day. I monitored her medications, supported her recovery, and did everything I could to make her smile. There was a strange satisfaction in it. A quiet one.

At least she didn’t have to remember who took her dreams away.

I’d spoken to her doctor personally. He said there was still a chance she could dance again, though it might take a year or more. Ever since I saw that reel of her dancing, something had shifted. She belonged on stage. She was made for that.

“You can’t take your eyes off Bhabhi, can you?” Rhea chirped beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

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