The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains of the Sharma Heritage Hotel, casting long shadows across the marble floors. Outside, the sea stood silent, as if holding its breath for what was about to unfold. The hotel, which had witnessed decades of celebrations and sorrows, was about to become the stage for revelations that would change lives forever.
In the dining hall, the soft clink of cutlery against china was the only sound breaking the uncomfortable silence that had settled over breakfast. The events of the past few days hung heavy in the air like smoke from a dying fire.
Ananya sat at the corner table, the same one she had chosen every morning for the past nine months of her marriage. Her coffee had gone cold, but she continued stirring it mechanically, watching the cream swirl in patterns that reminded her of the confusion in her heart. The morning light fell across her face, highlighting the exhaustion that no amount of concealer could hide.
Across from her, Kabir bit into his toast with the casual confidence of a man who believed his world was still intact. He scrolled through his phone with one hand, occasionally making approving sounds at whatever caught his attention. The newspaper lay folded beside his plate, the headlines about the murder investiga- tion a reminder of the chaos surrounding them all.
"The weather's clearing up," Kabir said without looking up from his phone. "Maybe we can take that drive to the lake you've been talking about."
Ananya's spoon stopped moving. She looked up at her husband - really looked at him. The same face she had fallen in love with in college, now showing the comfortable smugness of a man who took everything for granted. Including her.
"Kabir."
Something in her tone made him glance up. "Haan?"
She took a breath, feeling the weight of the words she had rehearsed in her mind for months. "I've filed for divorce."
The simple sentence fell between them like a stone dropped into still water. Kabir blinked, his phone freezing mid-scroll.
"Excuse me?"
His voice was confused, almost amused, as if she had just told him a joke he didn't understand.
Ananya set down her spoon with deliberate care. When she spoke again, her voice was steady, each word clear and final. "I said, I've filed for divorce. The papers were submitted yesterday."
For a moment, Kabir just stared at her. Then reality hit him like a slap. The glass of orange juice in his hand slipped from his fingers and shattered against the wall behind him, sending droplets of juice and glass fragments across the floor.
"You're doing this now? Now?" He stood up so fast that his chair scraped loudly against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the suddenly silent dining hall.
Other guests turned to look, their morning conversations stopping mid-sentence. Ananya felt the familiar flush of embarrassment she always experienced when Kabir made a scene, but this time, she didn't shrink back.
"When would be a good time, Kabir? When you're not busy ignoring me? When you're not treating me like I'm invisible?" Her voice remained calm, but there was steel underneath. "I should've done this years ago."
"Years ago?" Kabir's voice rose another octave. "Are you out of your mind? What about our lives? What about everything we've built together?"
"What life?" Ananya stood up now, facing him across the table. "You mean the life where you come home, eat dinner, watch TV, and go to sleep? The life where you haven't asked me how my day was in nine months? The life where I've become just another piece of furniture in your world?"
"That's not-" Kabir started, but she cut him off.
"It is true, and you know it. The only time you notice me is when your shirt isn't ironed properly or when there's no food on the table." Her voice cracked slightly, years of suppressed pain finally finding their way out. "I used to think love was enough. That if I just waited long enough, if I was patient enough, you'd see me again the way you used to."
Kabir's face had gone red with anger and embarrassment. The dining hall was
completely quiet now, everyone pretending not to listen while hanging on every word.
"We'll talk about this at home," he hissed.
"No, we won't." Ananya picked up her purse with hands that barely trembled. "There's nothing left to talk about. The papers are filed. My lawyer will contact yours."
She walked away, her footsteps echoing in the silence. As she passed the recep- tion desk, she could hear Kabir's voice behind her, raised and desperate, but she didn't turn around.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Inspector Deshmukh standing in the hallway, having witnessed the entire scene. He nodded at her with something that might have been respect and quietly followed Kabir, who had stormed out through the main doors, his face a mask of rage and disbelief.
Meanwhile, by the hotel's infinity pool, the morning sun cast dancing reflections on the water. The pool area was deserted except for two figures sitting on the white lounge chairs. The mountains stretched endlessly beyond them, but neither woman was looking at the view.
Tanya sat forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She had been gathering courage for this moment for twenty years, and now it felt like her heart might burst from her chest. Beside her, Riya flipped through a magazine, occasionally commenting on the fashion spreads.
"These designers have completely lost touch with reality," Riya said, pointing to a photograph of a model in an elaborate gown. "Who wears something like this to a party?"
"Riya." Tanya's voice was softer than usual.
"I mean, look at this price. Fifty thousand rupees for a dress you'll wear once. It's madness."
"Riya, please."
Something in Tanya's tone made Riya look up. Her friend's face was pale, her usually confident demeanor replaced by nervous energy.
"What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Tanya let out a shaky laugh. "Maybe I have. The ghost of the person I should have
been brave enough to be years ago." "What are you talking about?"
Tanya stood up and walked to the edge of the pool, staring into the clear water. When she spoke, her voice carried across the still air like a confession whispered in a temple.
"I need to tell you something. I should've said it years ago, when we were still young enough to think the world would wait for us."
Riya set down her magazine, concern creeping into her features. "Tanya, you're scaring me."
Tanya turned around, and Riya was shocked to see tears in her eyes. In all their years of friendship, through heartbreaks and failures, family dramas and career disappointments, she had never seen Tanya cry.
"I've loved you since we were seventeen."
The words hung in the morning air like a bird suspended in flight. Riya's mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
"I know," Tanya continued, her voice stronger now that the truth was finally free. "I know what you're going to say. You're straight. You've always been clear about that. You've had boyfriends, relationships, plans for marriage, and children. And I never said anything because I was a coward."
"Tanya..."
"Let me finish. Please." Tanya wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Do you remember that night in college when you broke up with Rohit? You came to my room crying, and we sat on my bed talking until sunrise. You fell asleep with your head on my shoulder, and I stayed awake the whole night just... just feeling what it was like to have you close to me."
Riya's eyes were wide now, memory and understanding dawning on her face. "Or when we went to Goa for that graduation trip? You got food poisoning, and I
took care of you for three days. You kept apologizing for ruining my vacation, but
those were the happiest three days of my life because it was just us, and for once I could pretend..."
"Pretend what?"
"Pretend that taking care of you, being the first person you reached for when you were scared or sick or sad - pretend that it meant what I wanted it to mean."
Tanya sat back down, suddenly looking exhausted. "I've watched you date other people for six years. I've listened to you talk about wanting to find 'the one' while sitting right next to you. I've given you advice about men who didn't deserve you and celebrated relationships that broke my heart just by existing."
Riya reached out tentatively, her hand hovering in the air between them. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"Because I was terrified." Tanya's smile was sad and beautiful. "Terrified of losing you completely. At least as your friend, I got to be part of your life. I got your phone calls when you were happy and your tears when you were sad. I got to matters to you, even if it wasn't the way I wanted."
"You did matter to me," Riya said softly. "You still do."
"I know. And I'm not telling you this because I expect anything to change. I'm not asking you to suddenly discover feelings you don't have." Tanya looked around at the sea. "I'm telling you because this place, these last few days, they've reminded me how quickly everything can disappear. How easily the people we love can be taken away from us."
She turned back to Riya, her eyes clear now. "I couldn't let another day pass without you knowing that you were loved. Completely, unconditionally, for seven years. Even if you never felt the same way, you were loved."
Riya was quiet for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything."
"But I want to." Riya reached out and took Tanya's hand. "You matter to me in ways I don't think I've ever properly understood. You've been the most constant person in my life. The most loyal. The most..."
"The most in love with you?"
Riya squeezed her hand. "The most important."
They sat in silence, hands linked, watching the sun climb higher over the moun- tains. Finally, Riya spoke again.
"What happens now?"
"Now you know. And I stop carrying this secret around like a stone in my chest." Tanya smiled, and for the first time in years, it reached her eyes. "And we figure out what our friendship looks like when it's built on complete honesty instead of me pretending to be someone I'm not."
"I'm still me," Riya said quietly. "I'm still straight. I still don't..."
"I know. And I'm still me. I'm still your friend who will listen to you talk about dating disasters and celebrate your successes, and help you move apartments. I just won't be pretending anymore that it doesn't hurt when you ask me to help you get ready for dates with other people."
Riya laughed, a sound caught between tears and relief. "God, I'm such an idiot. All those times I complained to you about feeling lonely, about not finding the right person, and you were..."
"Right there. I know. But you weren't an idiot. You were being honest about what you wanted. I was the one living a lie."
"What you want matters too, Tanya."
"It does. And now you know what that is."
They sat together as the morning grew warmer, two decades of unspoken truth finally settling between them like dust after a storm.
The afternoon sun cast harsh shadows across the hotel courtyard when Inspector Deshmukh's team arrived. Kunal was sitting by the fountain, reading a book-the same thriller his mother had pressed into his hands years ago, pages now worn soft from her touch. He looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps, and the sight of uniforms sent ice through his veins.
"Kunal Malhotra?" Deshmukh's voice was professional, but there was something almost apologetic in his tone.
Kunal's hands trembled as he closed the book. "Yes. What's-what's going on?" "You're under arrest for the murder of Samar Khurana."
The words hit him like a physical blow. The book slipped from his fingers, hitting the ground with a dull thud. "What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney."
Kunal stood on unsteady legs, his voice cracking as it rose. "This has to be a mistake. I didn't-God, I didn't kill him." His breath came in short, panicked gasps. "I couldn't kill anyone."
"We have DNA under the victim's fingernails. A bruise on your knuckles. No alibi for the time of death."
"Because I was in my room, alone!" Kunal's voice broke completely now, tears threatening. "Crying over my dead mother's photograph if you must know! I argued with him, yes-but I didn't kill him. I'm not a killer!"
His voice dropped to a whisper, raw with desperation. "My mother... she always said violence was the refuge of weak minds. I promised her I'd never-" He couldn't finish.
Deshmukh signaled the officers to cuff him, but even he looked uncomfortable. "Save it for the station, Mr. Malhotra."
Kunal didn't resist, but as the handcuffs clicked shut, a sob escaped his throat-bro- ken, defeated. The sound of it made one of the younger officers turn away.
The interrogation room felt like a tomb. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in sickly yellow. Kunal sat hunched over the metal table, his shoulders shaking with silent tears he was trying desperately to contain.
Deshmukh set a cup of tea in front of him with unusual gentleness.
"You were angry at Samar. Consumed with rage, by all accounts. You admitted to arguing with him."
"Angry?" Kunal let out a bitter, broken laugh. "Inspector, anger doesn't even begin to cover what I felt. Rage, yes. Hatred, maybe. But not enough to kill." His voice cracked. "Do you know what it's like to watch your mother waste away, calling out for a man who abandoned her? To hold her hand as she died, still hoping he'd come?"
Deshmukh set down his pen and leaned back, studying Kunal's face. "There's something else, Mr malhotra. Something that troubles me more than the physical evidence."
Kunal looked up, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "What, sir?"
"You didn't tell us the complete truth. During our first conversation, you said you fought with your father about your photography career versus his expectations of engineering." Deshmukh's voice grew firmer. "But that wasn't the whole story,
was it? You left out the most important part."
The color drained from Kunal's face. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks, but these were different-tears of shame rather than grief.
"You didn't tell us you confronted him about your mother. About how he aban- doned her. Why hide that, Kunal?"
Kunal's voice came out in a broken whisper. "Because, sir... because I was ashamed." He looked down at his hands, unable to meet Deshmukh's eyes. "Be- cause the truth made me sound like someone who'd been planning revenge for years. Someone consumed by hatred."
"So you thought talking only about career disputes would sound better?"
"I thought-" Kunal's voice cracked, "I thought if I could make it sound like a normal father-son argument about future and career, then maybe you wouldn't see how deep my anger went. Maybe you wouldn't see how much I needed him to acknowledge what he'd done to Ma."
Deshmukh leaned forward. "But the real anger was there. About your mother. About her suffering."
"Yes!" Kunal broke down completely now. "I hated him for leaving her! For letting her suffer in silence, waiting for him until her last breath! I told him exact- ly that-that Ma died, still taking his name, still hoping he'd come back to take care of us. And do you know what he said?"
Kunal's voice turned bitter through his tears. "He said she was 'over-dramatic.' She was always creating drama. That all women are like this only. That's when I-" He touched his bruised knuckles. "That's when I couldn't control myself anymore."
"So you hit him."
"He raised his hand first when I called him a traitor. I just blocked it and hit back once. Just once. Then I walked away because I could hear Ma's voice telling me not to let anger destroy everything. Don't become someone your mother wouldn't recognize."
Deshmukh studied him for a long moment. "By not telling the complete truth, you made yourself look guilty, understand?"
"I know, sir," Kunal whispered. "But the complete truth also made me look guilty. A son confronting his father about abandoning his dying wife? That's a motive
everyone would understand. Too well." His voice broke completely. "I never thought someone would actually murder him on that cruise. I never thought I'd be sitting here in custody, mourning a man I hated but still somehow hoped would finally say 'Forgive me, son.'"
The silence stretched between them, heavy with truth and years of unspoken pain. "Why would someone want us to think you did it?"
Kunal looked up, and for the first time, there was something other than grief in his eyes-a flicker of desperate hope. "Because maybe someone else loved someone Samar destroyed. Maybe someone else lost everything to his carelessness and didn't have my mother's voice in their head telling them to choose love over vengeance."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with possibility and pain. The news of the arrest had spread through the hotel like wildfire.
Outside their Goa hotel, the monsoon had arrived with full force. Rain lashed against the windows. Thunder rolled across the coastline. While sensible people stayed indoors, two figures dashed across the hotel courtyard as if running from their own demons.
The storm outside had been brewing for hours, but the one inside Meera had just begun.
She was standing near the hotel bar, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee, when her phone buzzed. Without much thought, she checked it, expecting a work message or something from her assistant.
Family Court Notification:
Your divorce hearing is scheduled for Monday, 10:00 a.m. at the Mumbai Family Court.
She froze. The cup trembled in her hand. For a moment, the sounds around her faded-the chatter of guests, the clinking of cutlery, the soft music overhead. All she could hear was the storm in her chest.
It was real now.
No more postponements. No more papers sitting unsigned on the kitchen counter. A date. An end.
Her breath caught. She turned sharply, nearly bumping into Aryan, who had just
stepped into the lobby from a conference room. His smile faded instantly when he saw her face.
"Meera? What happened?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she turned and walked away-out the front doors, into the courtyard where the rain had begun to fall in thick sheets. Thunder cracked overhead. The sky had opened up like it was mourning something, too.
"Meera!" Aryan called, running after her. "Meera, stop!"
She spun around in the middle of the courtyard, drenched already. Her phone was clutched tightly in one fist.
"We got the date," she shouted over the rain. He faltered. "What?"
"The divorce. It's scheduled. Next Monday. Ten a.m." Her voice cracked. "They even sent me a calendar reminder like it's just another damn meeting."
Aryan ran a hand through his soaked hair, speechless.
"You said we could give this another chance!" she shouted over the thunder, her voice hoarse with months of suppressed pain. "But seeing that man break down over his mother today made me realize-we're lying to ourselves!"
Aryan stood frozen, rainwater streaming down his face. "We are trying, Meera."
"Are we really trying?" The words came out as a sob. "It feels like we're just going through the motions. Like you're here out of duty, not love. Like we're both too scared to admit that this is over."
The murder, the family tragedy they'd witnessed on the cruise, had cracked something open in both of them-forced them to face what they'd been avoiding since they'd boarded that ship together.
"That's not true-"
"Then why does it feel like we're strangers?" Her voice shattered. "Why do I feel more alone when you're next to me than when you were gone? Watching his pain, his love for his mother-it made me realize how much we've hidden from each other."
Aryan stepped closer, his own voice breaking. "Because I'm scared, Meera.
Scared that I'll lose you again. Because every time I look at you, I remember that hospital room, holding your hand, and knowing I couldn't save our-"
"Don't," she whispered, but the word hung between them like lightning.
"Then why?" she demanded, her fists clenched. "Why say we should try again if you can't even look at me without seeing our dead baby?"
The words hung in the air like lightning, illuminating everything ugly and true.
"Because despite everything-" Aryan's voice cracked like the thunder above them, "-despite the empty nursery we can't bear to go into, despite the silence that lives in our house like a third person-I still love you so much it physically hurts."
Her knees nearly buckled. "You weren't there," she whispered, the words cutting through the storm. "When I was bleeding out our dreams in that hospital bed, when I was screaming for you-you just stood there. Like you were already plan- ning your escape."
"I was drowning!" he shouted back, rain and tears indistinguishable on his face. "I watched you almost die, and all I could think was that it was my fault. That if I hadn't pushed for the baby, if I hadn't been so happy about something so fragile-"
"So you punished me for surviving?"
"I punished myself! By not touching you, not talking to you, by sleeping on the edge of the bed like I didn't deserve to share your space!" His voice broke com- pletely. "Because how do you comfort someone when you're the reason they're broken?"
"You weren't the reason!" Meera screamed, stepping closer. "These things happen! But losing our baby didn't have to mean losing each other!"
"But we did lose each other," Aryan whispered, his shoulders shaking. "We lost each other in that hospital room, and I've been trying to find my way back to you ever since."
The rain seemed to pause, as if the world was holding its breath.
"I buried myself in work," Meera admitted, her voice small and broken, "because if I stopped moving, if I sat still for even a moment, I'd remember the sound of the heartbeat that stopped. I'd remember how your face looked when the doctor said the words."
"We both heard those words," Aryan said softly. "But we grieved them alone."
"Because I didn't know how!" she cried, her hands clutching at his soaked shirt. "Because my mother never taught me how to mourn something I'd only had for six months but had already planned a lifetime around!"
"You named her," Aryan whispered, and the words broke something open between them. "Late at night, when you thought I was sleeping, you'd whisper 'aarti.' Like a prayer."
Meera collapsed against him then, sobbing. "I still do. I still whisper to her." "So do I," he admitted, his arms finally, finally closing around her. "In the car, at
work, when I see children in parks. I tell her about her mama. How brave you are.
How much she would have loved you."
They held each other in the rain, three years of grief pouring out of them like the storm.
"I'm so scared," Meera sobbed against his chest. "Scared that if we try again, if we let ourselves want another baby, we'll just break all over again."
"Then we'll break together," Aryan whispered into her hair. "And we'll put each other back together. Every day. Every time."
"Promise me," she looked up at him, her eyes desperate. "Promise me that if the worst happens again, you won't disappear. Promise me you'll stay and grieve with me instead of away from me."
"I promise," he said, framing her face with trembling hands. "I promise I'll cry with you. I'll rage with you. I'll hope with you. But I won't leave you alone in the dark again."
"And I promise I won't hide at work," she whispered back. "I'll let you see me break. I'll let you help me heal."
then he kissed her, it tasted like rain and salt and three years of love that had been buried but never dead. It was desperate and soft and full of the kind of promises that can only be made in storms.
When they finally broke apart, Meera pressed her forehead to his, both of them breathing hard.
"This time," she whispered, "we carry it together. The grief, the love, the hope, the fear-all of it."
"Together," he agreed, and in that word was every tomorrow they were choosing to build, one day at a time.
They stood there as the storm began to clear, holding each other like they were the only solid things in a world made of rain and wind and second chances.
........
Chapter 8 is out—and let's just say… the masks are slipping. 🎭We've got silent stares, tense goodbyes, and secrets bubbling just under the surface.Aryan and Meera? A little too calm.Ananya and Kabir? Definitely not okay.And Riya? Still hurting, still watching.
So, tell me—😶 Who's hiding the most?🌊 Who did you feel for in this chapter?🕵️♀️ And do you think Deshmukh suspects more than he's saying?
Drop your thoughts below—things are about to turn sharp.Chapter 9 is coming with answers... and maybe one final lie.