Maithili’s voice trembled, not from fear, but from the confusion wrapping tightly around her chest. Her eyes narrowing as she searched Abhiram’s face for some kind of clarity —anything that would make sense of the contradiction she had just heard.
“I don’t get you, Mr. Sinha,” she said slowly. “You just said your wife...i mean your ex-wife is alive… but everyone says Myra’s mother is no more. Now you’re telling me otherwise? I’m… confused.”

Abhiram didn’t answer immediately. His gaze locked onto hers—steady, unreadable, and far too calm for the storm his words had just stirred. The gentle rustle of the garden trees, the hum of the distant city traffic—everything around them seemed to pause, as if the world itself leaned in to listen.

Then, finally, he spoke.

His voice was quiet. Measured. Too controlled.

“I never thought I would reveal something like this… at least not so soon. Not to anyone. Let alone you.”

Maithili’s breath caught.

Abhiram continued, his tone still guarded, but his eyes held something different now—something almost vulnerable.

“But after spending this evening with you, my instincts tell me I can trust you. And if we’re going to even consider… whatever this is”—he motioned gently between them “then it’s only fair that you know the truth. The full truth.”

He paused, almost as if steadying himself.

He looked away for a moment, exhaling, then met her eyes again. “So let me tell you this. And know that you’re the first person I’m telling… outside of my family.”
That landed heavier than Maithili expected.

Her heart thudded once, hard.

And then he said her name.

“Maithili.”

It was the first time he had spoken it.

Not Miss Kulkarni. Not a formality. Just… her name.

Simple. Soft. Intimate in a way she hadn’t expected.

She looked at him, surprised. Not just at the name, but at the shift in him.

“After hearing this,” he said slowly, “if you still want to think about us… about moving forward… then I have no issues proceeding.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t look away.

He was laying something raw on the table.

Abhiram turned his face slightly toward the garden path, eyes fixed on the flickering lanterns that cast soft golden halos on the cobblestone. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just breathed. Like he was peeling back a sealed part of himself, layer by layer.

Then finally, he began.

“I got married four years ago… in what was supposed to be the union of two powerful families,” he said, voice low, almost flat. “Her name was Alisha Roy. Daughter of Shashank Roy—you might know the name.”

Maithili’s eyes widened slightly. Of course, she did. Industrialist.

“It was an intimate wedding,” he continued. “Classy, elegant… everything it was supposed to be. My parents were happy. Her family looked proud. I was…”

He paused.

“I was excited. Nervous, yes. But mostly excited. Like anyone stepping into marriage with hope.”

Maithili stayed quiet, her expression unreadable. Listening.

“But something felt off. Right from the start. Alisha… was distant. Not shy—distant. Like she was watching her life happen from somewhere else. With me, she was polite… mechanical. No warmth. No connection.”

Abhiram shook his head faintly, lips curling into something between a smile and a grimace.

“I thought maybe she needed time. Space. Maybe she was overwhelmed. So, I gave her that. Weeks passed. Then months. Still the same coldness. Same emotional wall.”

He exhaled deeply, jaw tightening.

“And then, one day, I found out the truth. She never wanted the marriage in the first place. She was in love with someone else her parents didn’t approve of. I was… the compromise. The convenient name, the respectable match.”

Maithili’s breath hitched, just slightly.

“She told me herself. Calmly. One evening, over dinner. No drama. No emotion. Just... honesty.”

His voice dropped further, quiet and stripped down.

“She asked for a divorce. Said she wanted to live her life with the person she actually loved. And I…” —he looked directly at Maithili— “I gave it to her.”

Maithili blinked, absorbing each word.

“There was no bitterness between us. No fights. No scandals. Just… a quiet ending to something that had never truly begun. I realized that day, I wasn’t the man she wanted to build a life with. And that’s okay. It hurt at first, but I understood.”

He paused.

“What did scare me… was how easy it became to not feel anything afterward. I stopped trusting the idea of marriage. Of… connection. That kind of thing makes you guarded, Maithili.”

Her name again, softly spoken.

He glanced at her then, eyes no longer unreadable—but open. Cautious, but open.

“That’s why I never tried again. Never even considered it. Until now.”

Maithili held his gaze, her heart heavier than before. Not with pity—but with respect. She didn’t expect this when she’d agreed to the meeting. Certainly not a man with wounds he didn’t hide behind arrogance or pride.

She took a slow breath, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her dupatta.

“Thank you,” she said softly, “for trusting me with that.”

Abhiram gave her a small nod, his expression unreadable again—but less guarded than before.

She hesitated, then added, “But I still have one more question.”

He turned to look at her fully now, waiting.

“It’s about Myra.”

Something in his eyes flickered, like a small gust against a fragile flame. He didn’t speak, but Maithili continued.

“I know you said she’s your world. And anyone can see how much she means to you… But if your marriage with Alisha was short-lived, and without any emotional depth—then…”

She paused, her voice dipping lower.

“Who are Myra’s parents?”

Abhiram didn’t react immediately. He simply looked at her.

And that silence?

It was different.

It wasn’t hesitation.

It was calculation.

A silent question hanging in the air: Do I tell her this, too?

Then, finally… he spoke.

His voice was steady. But not without weight.

“She’s mine,” he said first, as if anchoring the truth. “In every way that matters, she’s, my daughter. I’ve raised her, held her through fevers, nightmares, first words, scraped knees, school interviews. She knows no other father.”

Maithili nodded slowly. “I believe that. But…”

Abhiram looked away, his eyes trailing the quiet shadows stretching along the garden path.

“I’ll tell you, Maithili. All of it.” His voice dropped a little lower. “But not here. Not tonight. Some truths… they deserve their own time.”

Something in her chest shifted—not quite relief, but not disappointment either. Just… patience. An instinct she couldn’t explain told her to wait.

 “I’m here. Whenever you want to share about Myra, Abhiram.” She said gently,

The moment his name left her lips for the first time, something cracked open between them. A subtle shift. A thread of familiarity.

Abhiram glanced at her and smiled—small, barely there, but real. “Thank you,” he said. “For understanding.”

He glanced at his watch, eyebrows lifting. “It’s past ten. You must be getting late.”

Maithili nodded. “I should head back.”

“I’ll drop you,” he offered automatically.

She smiled, lifting her bag. “I came in my own car. I can drive.”

He nodded, but said, “Let me walk you to the parking, then.”

They walked in silence—no tension, no need for words. Just that quiet hum of something new being born.

As they stepped out into the valet area, a familiar voice chirped in.

“Well, well! How was dinner tonight?” Richa asked, her grin too wide to hide.

Maithili smiled, genuinely. “It was… good. I loved everything. Especially the starters.”

Richa clapped her hands together, clearly pleased. “I’m glad! Come here,” she said, tugging Maithili gently a few steps away, lowering her voice to a whisper. “So? What do you think of our Abhi?”

Maithili glanced sideways at him—Abhiram stood near the cars, hands tucked in his pockets, staring ahead but clearly listening.

She smiled. “He’s… great.”

Richa lit up like a lamp. “That he is. I don’t know what he told you, or what you’ve heard, but just know this—he’s a gem. A little intense, a little closed-off, but not cold. There’s a good man behind that serious face. A really good man. And tonight... I saw a glimpse of that man come out around you.”

Maithili didn’t say anything. She just smiled. And Richa knew that was enough.

The valet pulled up with her car. She hugged Richa tightly. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

Then she turned to Abhiram. “Bye.”

He gave her a nod, the kind that held more than words.

She slid into the driver’s seat, reaching for the ignition when—

“Maithili,” he called out.

She looked up.

He hesitated, and then: “Message me when you reach home.”

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t even a request. It was… concern.

She blinked—surprised—but smiled. “Okay.”

And then, she drove off into the quiet night, headlights disappearing into the darkness.

Abhiram stood there, hands still in his pockets, watching her go.

As soon as Maithili’s car disappeared down the driveway, Richa turned toward Abhiram with a knowing smirk, one brow raised high like a silent question she wasn’t planning to leave unanswered.

Abhiram caught the expression immediately and exhaled, his arms folding across his chest. “What’s with that look, Richa?”

“Me?” she asked, all faux innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Not yet,” he muttered. “But you’re clearly dying to.”

She chuckled. “Okay, fine. Spill it.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” Abhiram said, already moving toward the valet counter. “I need to go home. Check on Myra.”

Richa rolled her eyes. “Don’t bother. I already spoke to Aunty—she said Myra’s been asleep for hours.”

Abhiram paused. “Mom called you?”

“She didn’t want to disturb you,” Richa said, hands on her hips. “Frankly, none of us expected you to even last through dinner. You barely say two sentences to most people. But you… sat through dinner and then sat in the garden talking after dinner? That’s practically a record-breaking event. Naturally, the whole family’s curious.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose just as two more familiar figures showed up from behind a corner.

“Well, well,” said Vikranth. “Look who’s still here.”

“What are you two doing here?” Abhiram asked, raising a brow.

Kaushik smirked. “We’ve been here a while. We waited till she left. Now we want details.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Bhai,” Abhiram muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh shut up,” Kaushik said, plopping into a chair at one of the nearby tables. “If there was nothing, you’d have been home before dessert.”

Richa joined them, practically glowing. “Enough of the drama. I loved Maithili. She’s cute, confident, and clearly knows how to handle Mr. Brooding here. Now stop stalling. Spill.”

Reluctantly, Abhiram sat down across from them. Three pairs of eyes, lit with curiosity and just enough mischief, watched him expectantly.

He sighed, finally letting down the wall. “She’s nice. Like Richa said kind, grounded. A very understanding person.”

“So…” Vikranth said, leaning forward, “you’re meeting her again?”

Abhiram shrugged. “We haven’t talked about it yet. But… if she’s open to it, I wouldn’t mind seeing her again.”

The reaction was immediate. All three of them broke into dramatic hoots and laughter, teasing him like teenagers at a high-school reunion. Abhiram shook his head, chuckling despite himself.

Then he said it. Quietly. “I told her about Alisha.”

The laughter stopped.

Richa leaned in slightly. “You told her? Tonight? Why Abhi?”

Abhiram nodded. “I don’t know why. I just… I felt I had to. If this—whatever it is—goes forward, I want to start on truth. I don’t want to wear a mask. Alisha made that mistake. She kept her truth hidden until it was too late.”

He paused; voice steady but firm.

“If she had told me before the wedding that she was in love with someone else... maybe I could’ve stopped it. Maybe families wouldn’t have had to carry the aftermath.”

“And Myra?” Vikrant asked. “Did she ask about her then? About Myra’s parents?”

Abhiram’s eyes softened. “Yes. I told her I’d share everything… just not tonight. She said she’d wait. That she’s here whenever I’m ready to talk.”

Richa’s expression softened. “That’s rare, Abhi. You know that, right?”

He didn’t answer immediately. His fingers tapped lightly on the edge of the table; his eyes distant.

“So,” Vikrant said carefully, “she’s okay with your past and Myra?”

Abhiram exhaled through his nose and looked down at the table. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Maybe. She didn’t run. That’s something.”

He didn’t want to name the fragile thing rising in his chest—not hope, not yet. It was too soon. Too delicate.

But even he couldn’t deny it:

Tonight felt different.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough—for now.