Delhi City

A 22-year-old girl was home alone, sitting on her bed, repeatedly trying to call her husband, but he wasn't answering.

Frustrated, she set the phone aside and began to think.

The girl's name was Pari. Her hazel-green eyes had smudged kajal on the edges, making it evident she had been crying. After a while, she decided to try calling her husband again. This time, he answered.

Irritated, he snapped, "Yes, what is it? Why are you calling me?"

Pari took a deep breath and, in her sweet, melodious voice, replied, "What's wrong, Rajat? Can I not even call you anymore?"

Rajat rudely replied, "No, you can't. You know how busy I am. Now hang up. I'm with a customer."

And he ended the call. Pari stared at her phone.

She whispered in a disappointed tone, "Why do you behave so rudely with me? You're my husband, Rajat."

At 18, Pari had been married off to Rajat. The marriage was against her wishes, but she didn't want to disappoint her parents, so she agreed. However, Rajat had never accepted her as his wife. Pari made every effort to win his heart, but Rajat only saw her as a burden.

He was always distant from her. Rajat ran a small coffee house, and in this expensive world, even their basic expenses were hard to meet. But Pari didn't mind. She wanted to live like an ordinary husband and wife, supporting Rajat through every joy and sorrow.

Taking a deep breath, Pari dialed her best friend, Deepa. After a few rings, Deepa picked up, laughing, "What's wrong, my dear? Has your husband not come home again?"

Pari chuckled slightly and replied, "Yes, he hasn't. Can we meet now? I need to talk to you."

Deepa bit her lip and said, "Emm, I'm sorry, yaar. I can't. I'm feeling a little unwell."

Concerned, Pari asked, "What happened? Are you okay?"

Deepa responded, "Yes, don't worry. I'm fine. Let's meet some other day, okay?"

Pari replied, "Alright, take care. We'll meet some other day."

After a brief chat, Deepa hung up. Pari sighed deeply. Deepa was her childhood friend; they had grown up together as neighbors, like sisters.

Pari stood up and looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. As her name suggested, she was as beautiful as a fairy, with hazel-green eyes lined with dark kajal, thick long hair, sharp facial features, fluffy pink lips, a 5'3" height, and a graceful neck. It seemed as though God had crafted her with great care.

Wiping away her tears, she grabbed her bag, locked the house, and left. She was so frustrated with her life that she didn't even notice a car approaching her. When the headlights blinded her, she closed her eyes and stood still. The car whizzed past her, and she realized how far she had walked aimlessly.

She found herself outside her husband Rajat's café. Thinking she might as well see him since she was already there, she felt a surge of happiness at the thought of meeting him.

She hurried to the café entrance, but as she opened the door, the sight before her left her stunned.

Her husband, Rajat, was in another woman's arms. Her mouth fell open in disbelief. She couldn't believe what she was seeing.