The First Night — And Every Night After
I remember our wedding night clearly.
It was during the rainy season, a soft drizzle in the air. After the guests had left and the rituals were done, his mother placed her hairpin in my hand and said gently:
“It’s the daughter-in-law who keeps the household fire burning.”
But that night, when I stepped into our room, I saw fresh sheets and a book — my favorite — set neatly on the nightstand. He smiled gently and whispered:
“You’re tired. Rest tonight.”
Then he turned over and pulled the quilt over himself.
I thought maybe it was just the first night. That he was being thoughtful.
But it happened again the next night. And the one after. And the one after that.
Each time I moved a little closer, hoping he would meet me halfway, he shifted away. Not harshly. Not cruelly. Just… as if he knew exactly where the invisible line between us lay — and refused to cross it.
Trying Everything — Except the Truth
By year ten, I had typed out a divorce petition, saved quietly on my laptop as der_late.docx. I edited it often, sometimes deleting it entirely, other times preparing to print.
By year thirteen, I finally handed it to him.
He read it carefully, then looked at me and said, “Give me some time.”
“Time until when?” I asked.
He stared out the window.
“After this season.”
I didn’t know which season he meant — monsoon, winter, or the season when I’d finally stop waiting.
We tried therapy. I tried honesty. I tried shouting. The counselor asked if he struggled with desire. He nodded. With orientation? Another nod. With trauma?
Silence.
The Day I Came Home Early
It was a rainy day, typical for Delhi. I got home early and unlocked the door quietly, soaked from the sudden downpour. I didn’t mean to listen in, but his voice echoed from the study.
“Hello? Aarav?”
Aarav — his best friend, and my classmate from school. He often came over on Saturdays. They drank beer and talked late into the night. I never once felt jealous.
Until that moment.
I stood still, listening.
“She’s filed for divorce again,” my husband said.
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