One quiet Saturday morning, the warmth of sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains as Maithili sipped her second cup of coffee, curled on the couch with Myra drawing nearby. The stillness was comforting, but the absence in it—Abhiram’s voice, his presence—hung heavily around her.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced down. Richa Di.

“Hey, Maithili! Good morning!” came the cheerful voice as soon as she answered.

“Good morning, Di,” Maithili replied, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Richa’s laughter chimed through the receiver. “So? How’s your first weekend without your husband going? Missing him already?”

Maithili exhaled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “More than I thought I would. I never imagined distance could feel this... heavy.”

There was a pause, then Richa chuckled gently. “That’s love, my dear. And you’ve got it bad.”

Maithili laughed lightly. “Guilty as charged.”

“So,” Richa continued brightly, “what’s your plan for today?”

“Nothing yet,” Maithili admitted, glancing at Myra, who was now humming to herself while colouring. “No real plans. Just taking it slow.”

“Perfect!” Richa said quickly. “Kairav’s been behind me all week to take him to the gaming zone. It’s usually either Vikranth or Kaushik who handles it, but Vikranth’s off to Singapore with Abhi, and Kaushik’s buried under some work deadline. So it’s officially my turn to be the fun parent.”

She paused, then added warmly, “Why don’t you bring Myra too? Let the kids run wild together, and we can steal a quiet coffee.”

Maithili’s face lit up, the weight in her chest easing a little. “That sounds lovely. She’d be thrilled. Just send me the time and place—we’ll be there.”

“Done,” Richa said. “Get ready for some chaos.”

They laughed, and with that, ended the call.

Maithili looked over at Myra, who had just finished her drawing of a cat with wings.

“Want to go on a little adventure today, baby?” she asked.

Myra’s eyes lit up immediately. “Yes! Where?”

“You’ll see,” Maithili smiled. “But it’ll involve games, your favourite snacks, and Kairav.”

Myra squealed in delight and raced off to get her shoes, already brimming with excitement.

And just like that, the day had a plan—and Maithili, a little less silence to carry.

Later Maithili shared the plan with Amrutha and Rajesh. Rajesh glanced up from his newspaper, nodding with quiet approval. “That’s a great idea. You need a break too—you’ve been going back and forth between home and the office nonstop since the wedding. Go out. Have some fun.”

Amrutha smiled gently, echoing the sentiment. “It’ll be good for Myra too. She’s been missing Abhi a lot.”

From across the table, Myra’s eyes lit up. “Mama, you’ll take photos and videos, right? We can send them to Papa!”

Maithili laughed, brushing her daughter’s hair back from her forehead. “Of course, baby. We’ll take lots of pictures. He’ll be so happy to see them.”

Myra beamed, already imagining the day ahead.

Later Maithili decided to drive herself and gave the driver the day off. Myra sat in the back, chattering non-stop about the games she wanted to try.

At the mall, Richa and Kairav were already waiting. After quick hugs, they all headed into the vibrant gaming zone, alive with blinking lights and the laughter of children.

The kids took off instantly, vanishing between arcade machines. Maithili and Richa settled on a bench nearby, sipping coffee and watching them.

“So, when’s Abhiram back?” Richa asked.

Maithili checked her phone instinctively. “Day after tomorrow.”

Richa smirked. “Two more nights of missing him?”

Maithili smiled. “Feels longer than the week itself.”

“Love does that,” Richa sighed. “Turns hours into days.”

Maithili laughed. “I never thought I’d be like this.”

Their conversation wandered—from Abhiram’s late-night messages to work stress and old memories. The kids returned flushed and breathless, begging for water, only to dash off again moments later.

Maithili shook her head, amused. “How do they have so much energy?”

“If I had even a quarter,” Richa said, “I’d rule the world.”

They laughed, after hours of play, it was nearly lunchtime. Kairav and Myra, flushed and breathless, suddenly shouted in unison,
“Pizza!”

Maithili and Richa burst into laughter.

“There’s a good Pizza spot near by Richa said. “Let’s treat ourselves.”

“Perfect,” Maithili smiled. “And Di, send your car back. I’ll drop you both—let’s go together.”

Richa agreed, making the call. Soon, the kids were strapped in the backseat, buzzing with talk about toppings and milkshakes. Richa rode up front, and Maithili drove, the ease of the day still reflected in her soft smile.

At the cozy pizza corner, the kids eagerly built their custom pizzas extra cheese, corn, olives, and demands for chocolate milkshakes.

Maithili and Richa laughed as they placed the order.

“Mama, picture! Let’s send to Papa!” Myra chirped mid-bite, cheeks full of cheese.

Smiling, Maithili pulled out her phone and snapped photos—Myra grinning, Kairav with sauce on his face. Richa lifted her phone for a selfie, and Maithili leaned in—

Then froze.

Over Richa’s shoulder, reflected faintly in the screen, was a man seated a few tables back.

A face.
A presence.
Familiar—too familiar.

Her breath hitched. Her heart lurched.

And there he was.
Him.

The colour drained from her face.

“Mamma! Picture, Mama!” the little voice tugged at her. Maithili forced a weak smile and clicked one final shot. Then, almost robotically, she stood.

“It was Abhiram. Sitting in a quiet corner, tucked away from the crowd. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp locked in conversation with the woman across from him.

A woman Maithili couldn’t yet see clearly.

Before she could take a step forward, Richa caught sight of the woman and stopped cold.

Richa’s voice dropped to a whisper, full of confusion.
“What’s Abhi doing here… with Alisha?”

Maithili’s breath hitched. Her ears rang.

Alisha.

The name alone made the ground beneath her shift. She blinked, trying to see the woman more clearly. Hair tied back. Confident body language. The once-familiar silhouette now fully visible as she turned to laugh at something Abhiram said.

Maithili's heart twisted.

Richa took a step forward, anger flaring in her eyes. “I’m going to ask him what the hell is going on—”

Maithili reached out and caught her wrist.
“Wait, Di. Please.”

Richa turned, surprised. “Why are you stopping me? Did he tell you he was coming to Mumbai today?”

Maithili slowly shook her head. “No… he didn’t.”

“Then let’s go talk—”

Maithili held firm. “No, Di. Please don’t. It won’t look right—not here, not like this.”

Richa’s voice lowered. “But he’s with her, Maithili. His ex-wife. After everything she did…”

Maithili’s eyes remained on Abhiram, her voice quiet and composed—though her heart thundered.
“They got divorced. That doesn’t mean they’ll never cross paths. Maybe it’s unexpected. Maybe it’s something else. Either way… he’ll come home. I’ll talk to him. Privately.”

Richa hesitated, her protective instincts at war with Maithili’s calm restraint.
Are you saying that they have encountered each other, but did not meet intentionally?

Maithili didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted. “I just… didn’t expect this.”

Her eyes flicked back to Abhiram.

He hadn’t noticed them yet.

Behind them, the kids were still laughing, sipping their milkshakes, unaware.

Maithili and Richa stood still, half-hidden by the tall potted plant near. The air around them had shifted—no longer filled with the laughter of children or the comfort of old friends. It felt too still now. Tight. Watching. Waiting.

Across the room, the woman—Alisha—stood up.

A moment later, he did too.

Maithili's eyes stayed fixed, her nails digging slightly into her palm.

And then, it happened.

A casual movement but loaded. He leaned forward. Gently. Not too familiar. Not too distant. His arms wrapped around Alisha in a brief, almost polite hug.

Maithili’s breath hitched.

But then he did something more.

He kissed the top of her head.

A soft, careful kiss. The kind you didn’t give a stranger. Or even just a colleague. The kind that held history. That held memory.

Maithili stepped back—just one step.

Her heart had gone strangely silent. Not racing. Not aching. Just... stunned into stillness.

Without a word, she turned and walked back to their table.

Richa hesitated for a moment, torn between chasing answers and staying beside the woman whose world might have just tilted again. She glanced once more at the pair—now exiting the cafe through a side door—before quietly following Maithili back.

Maithili sat down slowly, her eyes distant, her hands resting motionlessly on the edge of the table. Myra and Kairav were still giggling, sipping their milkshakes, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.

“Say something,” Richa said softly, sitting beside her.

But Maithili didn’t. She just stared straight ahead, lips slightly parted, her thoughts spiralling.

He hadn’t told her he was in the city.
He hadn’t said a word.
And Alisha. Of all people.

Richa reached for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Are you okay?”

But in Maithili’s mind, all she could see was the image of that kiss.

Not on her.
Not for her.
And not explained.

And somewhere deep inside her, something had begun to crack.

The drive home felt longer than usual.

The chatter in the backseat—Myra recounting her favourite games, Kairav still giggling—bounced off the silence in the front. Richa occasionally added a soft comment, but Maithili barely registered it.

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary.
Her smile, when it appeared, was automatic. Hollow. Her mind kept looping back to that one moment—the hug, the kiss, the name.

When they dropped Richa and Kairav off, Richa lingered for a moment beside the window.
“Call me,” she said gently, her tone carefully neutral. “Anytime. Tonight... or tomorrow. I’m here.”

Maithili nodded, offering a small smile of gratitude.
“I will.”

As the car pulled back onto the road, Myra’s voice chimed from the backseat, bright and innocent.

“Papa will love our pictures, na?”

Maithili’s throat tightened.

She managed a soft “Yes, baby,” but didn’t open the gallery. Didn’t send anything.

By the time they reached home, the sky had turned the colour of smoke and dusk. A low breeze swept the driveway as they stepped out of the car.

Inside, the house was still. Amrutha met them at the door, asking about their day, her eyes warm. Rajesh peeked from the living room with a smile.

Maithili responded with the right words, all in place. She even laughed lightly when Myra recounted how Kairav had nearly tripped over a VR headset. Everything looked normal.

But inside, nothing was.

Later that evening, after Myra had been tucked into bed and the house began to quiet down, Maithili found herself standing alone on the balcony.

She hadn’t messaged him all day. He hadn’t either.

Her phone rested on the table beside her, screen black, still.

And in her chest, something pulsed—not quite anger, not quite pain.
Just the suffocating presence of something unspoken.

The clock struck 11:00.

Still no call. No message. No sign of him.

Maithili sat on the edge of the bed, one leg curled beneath her, the other gently swinging. The lights were dimmed, casting soft, tired shadows across the room. Her phone lay

Her daughter lay sprawled across her little bed. Her face was serene, unaware of her mother’s unrest. Maithili leaned down and gently adjusted her blanket.

“He should’ve come just for this,” she whispered.

She kissed Myra’s forehead and stood there for a long moment. She walked out to the balcony, barefoot, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The night air was cool, but her skin burned with the heat of unspoken questions.

The silence pressed in again, almost alive now.
Her mind wouldn’t stop racing.
Was it just a coincidence?
Why didn’t he say anything?

She looked at the moon, partially concealed by clouds, and recalled a previous evening before his departure for Singapore. On that night, he had stood behind her on the balcony, placed his arms around her, and stated: "No matter where I go, this is where I return. You and Myra—that’s my home."

She closed her eyes, gripping the railing tighter.

Had something changed?
Or had something always been hidden?

Her thoughts flickered back to the way he'd smiled in that café...
The way his hand had rested on the woman’s hand...
The kiss on her head.

Alisha.

A name from his past.

A past he said was over.

She sat down in the wicker chair outside, drawing her knees to her chest.

Her phone buzzed once.

Her heart jumped—only to sink.

A promotional SMS.

The tears came without warning.
Quiet, without drama.
One slipped down her cheek, then another, warm trails down cool skin.

She didn’t cry loudly. She never did.
But her silence tonight felt heavier than any scream.

Eventually, she got up, walked back inside, and crawled into bed.

She left a small night lamp on—just in case he came back.

Just in case.

But deep down, Maithili already knew:
Tonight, she would sleep alone.

If he returns home tomorrow, she will need to face him directly and ask her question.

And what does she still mean to you?

But tonight, Maithili sat in silence. Letting the wind press cold against her skin.

And the truth whatever it was waited just a few hours away.