The next morning, the aroma of fresh coffee lingered through the house. The dining table was already laid when the front door opened unexpectedly. Abhiram stepped in, smiling Surprise!” he said cheerfully.

Maithili looked up from her seat just in time to see Myra squeal, half a bite of toast still in her mouth, before launching herself from her chair.

“Papa!”

He caught her effortlessly, spinning her in the air before pulling her into a tight embrace. “Missed you, princess,” he murmured, planting a kiss on her cheek.

He walked over and bent to touch his parents’ feet. Rajesh and Amrutha blessed him, surprised but happy.

“You said you’d be back tomorrow,” Rajesh said.

“Wrapped up work early. Took the first flight back. Left the rest to Vikrant,” Abhiram said, ruffling Myra’s hair. “Wanted to surprise everyone—and see this one before school.”

As he turned to Maithili, arms half-raised for a hug, his smile still lingering—she gently stepped back.

Avoiding his touch.

He turned to Maithili, arms slightly outstretched, the same warm smile still on his face.

But Maithili took a subtle step back.

His smile faltered, eyes narrowing just slightly with confusion—but he said nothing. Not yet.

From across the room, Amrutha noticed the shift—the hesitation in Maithili, the tension that hadn’t been there before.

“Abhi,” she said, stepping in gently, “go freshen up. I’ll ask the cook to make your favorite parathas. Hot and buttery—just the way you like.”

His grin returned. “God, yes. I’ve missed proper food. Singapore was all meetings and boxed meals.”

As he headed upstairs, he glanced over his shoulder at Maithili and gave her a soft, familiar smile casually signalling Maithili to follow.

Amrutha gently touched Maithili’s arm. “Go, beta. See if he needs anything. I’ll take care of breakfast.”

Maithili nodded, expression unreadable, and followed him up.

As soon as she stepped into their room, Abhiram closed the door behind her.

“Oh God,” he whispered into her hair, voice low and aching. “I missed this. Being in your arms... it feels like home.”

But Maithili stood motionless in his arms.

Silent.

He slowly turned her around. “Hey... what’s wrong? You’re so quiet. Did something happen while I was gone?”

Maithili looked into his eyes—calm, unreadable.

“I saw you yesterday.”

Abhiram’s face stilled.

“At the pizza corner. With Alisha.”

His expression cracked open. The lie he’d carried collapsed into the stillness between them.

“I don’t have a problem with you meeting her Abhi,” Maithili said before he could respond. Her voice was calm—too calm.

“I know she’s your ex-wife. I know you have a history with her. You share a past—I get that. And I understand if she wanted to see you, or if you felt the need to meet her.”

She took a breath, her gaze steady.

“But what I don’t understand is why you had to meet her in secret. Why couldn’t you just tell me, Abhi?”

He looked at her, guilt flickering behind his eyes.

“You don’t owe the world an explanation. Not your parents, not your friends. But you do owe me honesty. Just like I owe it to you. That’s what this marriage is supposed to be.” Her voice caught for a moment, then steadied.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have the chance. You landed in Mumbai yesterday. The entire day passed, and you didn’t think to call? To message? Not once? Didn’t I cross your mind, even for a second?”

Abhiram stayed silent, jaw tight.

“You had all day, Abhi. You could’ve told me at any point. Even a text. Just a quick message saying, ‘Hey, I’m here, I had to meet Alisha, I’ll explain when I get home.’ That’s it. I wouldn’t have been upset. We could’ve talked once you were back.”

She looked at him, the hurt settling deep.

“But instead... you chose to hide it. You acted like you just landed this morning. If I hadn’t seen you yesterday, you would’ve kept pretending, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” Abhiram said quickly, “I would’ve told you. I was just waiting for the right time.”

“And that ‘right time’ was yesterday, Abhi. Yesterday—when you decided to fly back to India and meet Alisha first. When you didn’t come home. When you stayed away all night. That was when you should have told me.”

Her voice cracked now, despite her best efforts.

He flinched slightly at her words.

Her voice was quieter now, but every word landed heavy.

“You had so many chances to be honest. And you chose not to be.”

“Why, Abhi?” she asked softly. “Why did you hide this from me?”

His silence was deafening.

And it was breaking her.

Maithili's voice trembled now, no longer calm, no longer composed.

“Answer me, Abhi,” she said, louder this time, her voice rising just enough to pierce through the stillness. “Say something.”

But he didn’t.

His eyes dropped to the floor, his hands limp at his sides.

She stared at him—waiting, hoping he would look at her, say something that would make even a little sense of the storm inside her.

“Don’t just stand there like this,” she whispered. “Your silence is worse than anything you could say.”

Still nothing.

She stepped forward, not shouting, but firm, pained.

“You think I don’t deserve the truth? You think I’m overreacting? You want me to stay quiet and just trust you while you keep me in the dark?”

Her voice cracked. “Because I can’t do that, Abhi. I won’t.”

He finally looked up, eyes filled with conflict, regret—but still, no words.

Maithili shook her head slowly. “You think staying quiet protects me? It doesn’t. It just makes me feel like a fool. Like I’m the only one holding on while you’re already slipping away.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, like she was trying to keep something inside from spilling out.

“Just tell me the truth,” she said, barely above a whisper now. “Whatever it is. Because silence... it’s killing me.”

Abhiram looked away, silent.
“I saw you hug her. Kiss her on the forehead,” Maithili said, her voice low but clear. “What was that, Abhi?”

Still, no answer.

Her voice rose, sharper now. “Where were you last night? Were you with her?”

Abhiram looked up, guilt carved deep into his face.

Maithili’s next words trembled out, even though she tried to hold them steady. “Did you sleep with her?”

He stayed frozen.

“I’m asking you,” she pushed, louder now, her voice cracking, “did you look at her and think... maybe your first wife was the better choice after all?”

“Shut up, Maithili!” he snapped sharp, raw, more at war with himself than with her.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

Silence stretched between them like a wound—two people standing just feet apart but separated by miles of unspoken truths.

He exhaled hard, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yes... I was with her. All yesterday. Even last night.”

Maithili’s heart dropped, but her face stayed still. “But not the way you're thinking,” he added quickly, desperately.

“Oh?” she said, her voice clipped and tight. “Then say it. Explain. Because from where I stood—it didn’t look innocent.”

He took a hesitant step toward her but stopped when she shifted back, the message clear.

“She’s going through something,” he said finally. “She didn’t have anyone else to talk to. She asked me to come. To help her.”

Maithili’s stare didn’t waver. “Then why didn’t you come home after that?”

He didn’t answer.

“You hugged her,” she continued. “You kissed her. That’s not ‘just talking’, Abhi.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice soft but rushed. “It wasn’t romantic. It was comfort. A gesture. I... I hugged her, yes. I kissed her on the forehead, yes. But not as her ex-husband. As a friend. As someone who once cared about her and didn’t want her to fall apart.”

Maithili blinked. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched him.

He had no defence left. No more rehearsed lines.

And then, after a long moment, she spoke again—quiet, almost too quiet.

“Fine. Let’s say I believe that. Let’s say the kiss meant nothing. Let’s say you were just being there for her.”

Her tone sharpened with each word.

“Then why not just tell me? A message. A call. Anything. You could’ve said, ‘Maithili, I’m in Mumbai. I had to meet Alisha. I’ll explain when I get home.’ That’s all.”

Her eyes filled, but she held her voice steady.

“You didn’t even give me that. You had so many chances to be honest. You had all day, Abhi. And still, you chose to keep me in the dark.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

She took a slow breath, fighting the shaking in her chest.

“If she’s in trouble,” she said gently, “maybe I could’ve helped too. Maybe we could’ve helped. But you didn’t even trust me with that.”

He looked at her, pain flickering in his eyes. And then finally—quiet, but firm—he said it.

“I can’t tell you.”

Maithili blinked. “What?”

“I promised her,” he said again. “I told her I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

She took a step back, as if those words physically hit her.

“You promised her?”

“She needed—” he began, but she cut him off.

“What about the promises you made to me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “The ones where you said no lies, no secrets? That our marriage would be built on trust?”

He didn’t respond. His silence was louder than anything he could say.

“I stood there yesterday,” she said bitterly, “and told Richa di not to confront you. I told her I trusted you. I defended you.”

“Maithili—”

“No,” she snapped, her voice sharp now. “Don’t ‘Maithili’ me. Because right now, I don’t even know who I married.”

He looked at her—something collapsing inside him—but still, nothing came out.

She turned away, hand trembling as it touched the doorknob. Her back to him.

And when she finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Don’t ask me to understand, Abhi... not when you won’t even let me in.”

The door closed behind her with a soft thud, but in her mind, it sounded like the end of something she couldn’t name.

She walked down the stairs slowly, every step heavy.

Myra was at the dining table with Rajesh, giggling at something he said. Amrutha stood in the kitchen doorway, watching her.

Maithili smiled faintly, just enough to mask the sting in her eyes. “He’s freshening up,” she said simply.

She took her seat at the table beside Myra and helped her with her milk. Her fingers were steady, her voice calm when she spoke to her daughter—but inside, her heart had cracked, the pieces still shifting.

She didn’t cry.

Not in front of her child. Not in this house.

But every now and then, her eyes drifted toward the staircase.

And every time she looked away, she told herself:
Don’t go back up. Not until he decides if he’s truly come home.

Upstairs, Abhiram leaned against the closed door, the quiet pressing against his skin like heat.

He ran a hand over his face. He hadn’t meant to lie. Now, standing here, he realized he should’ve told Maithili.

Not because he was guilty — but because he loved her. Because she deserved that honesty.

Because her silence downstairs wasn’t cold — it was hurt.

And hurt like that didn’t just fade. It settled deep. It questioned everything.

He wanted to explain. He needed to.

But the words were knotted up in promises he had made. Promises that now stood like walls between him and the woman who had given him a second chance at love.

He glanced at the door.

She had walked out quietly. But her silence had screamed one thing.

“You let me stand-alone while you protected someone who once left you.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

And for the first time in years, Abhiram felt like he had lost something without even knowing exactly when.