Page 72 of Mrs. Rathore

“I’m out for urgent work. Will return as soon as I’m done.”

A wave of disappointment washed over me. He just... left. No explanation, no details. I didn’t have his number. I didn’t even know how to leave this place if I wanted to. Last night, I had dinner alone, and today I will be spending the whole day by myself again.

I crushed the note in my fist and threw it in the trash.

I caught my reflection in the mirror and winced. Crutches. Slouched posture. I could barely stand upright. I looked like someone to be pitied, what people call crippled. Lame. Disabled.

Was that how he saw me? As an embarrassment? That’s why he left me, isn’t it?

I remembered overhearing him last night. He had been speaking with his father on the verandah while I sat alone, trying to force down my dinner. His voice had been angry, frustrated. I didn’t catch everything, but I heard the word "divorce." He wanted out. His father didn’t agree, but Aryan’s disappointment had been plain.

This was supposed to be my revenge, and yes, I had succeeded in part. But in the end, he was the one breaking me over and over again.

Fine. Let him.

I needed a couple more months to heal. Once I was back on my feet, I would be the one to divorce him. And if his father objected, I’d handle that too.

Aryan never loved me. And he never would. He was right he never loved me, and he never would.

Pushing the thought away, I stepped into the hallway. I’d have to explore this beautiful palace on my own since clearly, no one else was going to accompany me.

As I passed through the archway, I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

The courtyard stretched before me in quiet splendor, as though time itself had paused to honor its grace. The palace was an elegant vision in white. Not the cold white of hospitals or linens, but something softer, warmer, like moonlight on bone china. Two stories of arched corridors curved like open arms, each screen intricately carved to filter the light into delicate patterns across the stone. At the heart of it all was a domed pavilion,jutting out like the prow of a silent ship, watching everything in stillness.

I stepped forward, slow and reverent. Pale grey flagstones led the way through manicured garden beds, their layout so deliberate that it felt less like a garden and more like a living painting. A pond shimmered at the center, its surface dotted with green lotus leaves drifting like fleeting thoughts. In the middle, a marble fountain rose, slender and elegant, whispering water into the quiet air.

As I walked, my fingers brushed the edge of a low hedge, and I wondered what it must have been like decades ago when someone else walked these same paths in silks and secrets. The stillness didn’t feel empty; it felt alive, as if the space remembered.

I glanced up. A single jharokha stirred in the breeze, its curtain fluttering. My heart fluttered with it for reasons I couldn't explain.

It was beautiful.

Eventually, I found the dining area. Sunlight filtered through colorful stained-glass windows, casting soft, shifting patterns on the polished floor. Ornate arches framed cozy seating areas filled with plush cushions. In the center, a glass table displayed a bowl of fresh fruit, a small bouquet of red roses and lilies, and crystal jars of sweets. The whole room whispered luxury and stillness, like a hidden palace waiting to share its secrets.

I noticed people watching me as my eyes drifted to my crutches, scanning my legs. Some looked at me with pity; others with suspicion, as if wondering how someone like me could afford tobe in such a place. After all, everyone else here seemed wealthy or important.

I ignored their stares and focused on my breakfast. It took courage to sit alone, but I wasn’t about to skip the delicious food just because others couldn’t mind their own business.

“How can someone like her afford this hotel?” I heard a woman whisper to her husband.

“She must have escorted some rich man for a night,” he replied.

I froze mid-bite.

"Who’d want to sleep with a cripple like her?” the woman added.

That was it as I stood up, my chair scraping sharply against the floor. Every pair of eyes turned. The woman flinched at the fire in my gaze.

“Excuse me?” I said loudly enough to hush the room.

Her husband suddenly found the menu very interesting. She looked around nervously, realizing too late that people were watching us. Good I wanted people to see exactly what kind of filth they carried in their heads.

“You know,” I continued, my voice calm but edged like broken glass, “for someone so curious about who’s sleeping with me, you sure talk about it a lot.”

The woman opened her mouth and then shut it.

I stepped closer.

---