The Wrong Woman

43. Mouna

The fiasco that had occurred between Anish and Sandra had been short to deal with physically, but it would be a long, emotional journey, something that I could never understand unless it happened to me.

I prayed it never would. I could never be as strong as Sandra was. I wanted to know how she was, I wanted to know what she was doing or thinking and how she was dealing with this new change in her life but I knew that I would only be disturbing her.

She wanted space, she had said, and space is what we were going to give them until they reached out to us. I didn't like it, but it would be the way it had to be. Dhruv handled it very well, saying to me, "They'll find a way."

It wasn't very motivational, but the way he was very casual about it as if it was a very normal thing for them to go through and an issue that he was confident about them dealing with, made me believe them.

And I would be lying if I said that it did wonders knowing that Dhruv was not like Anish. The man sitting beside me was as sincere as they came and that was a very rare thing to find.

"What are you in the mood for?" I asked him, searching through the different streaming sites.

"That chicken biryani of yours. I'm salivating just at the thought."

I shoved his leg with my hand. "I was talking about what movie you want to watch!"

"You're asking me? Just put on Kill Bill like you always do."

My smile faded, along with the joy that I'd secretly felt for having someone like Dhruv beside me and not Anish. There was that feeling of my stomach twisting again...that feeling I had gotten the other day and departed without a second thought. Except this time, it hit very hard. I did not like that movie at all.

Rani did.

"What about Devdas?" I suggested, ignoring my thoughts and his words. "I love the original!"

He looked at me. "Did your taste really change when you took that hit to your head?" I only smiled. "No complaints here, though, since Devdas is a superior classic. You might want to record this rare event of us agreeing once again."

That's because I'm not Rani, I thought, sulking.

"You know," he began, gazing into the distance. "Usually you're so closed off but seeing you like that when Sandra was upset..."

"Seeing me like what?"

"Don't think I didn't see you trying to wipe away some tears of your own." I flushed. He continued, "And this issue with Anish and Sandra made me realise something."

My scalp tingled. "What?" I whispered.

"I thought I knew you more than you knew me but every time you open your mouth or you do something, you shock me. Despite that, despite all the crap that's happened between us, I still feel like I know you. Is that weird?"

"No," I choked out, my vocal cords feeling as if they were corded together. "Not at all." I didn't want to continue with this conversation that would only highlight the fact that I was another woman. Thankfully, he put his book down and got up.

"Anyway, since you're not cooking, I'll go make some ravioli real quick."

The giddiness I had initially felt at having yet another thing in common with Dhruv, shattered at those words. Why was I feeling so giddy? Why did I feel upset that he thought I liked ravioli or lasagna? For some unknown reason, a lump settled within my chest that seemed to constrict my breathing and I shifted my body away.

Because of everything that had happened, there was never a moment where I could truly understand the reality of my reality. Or maybe I did know and I didn't care...until now.

And that reality was that everything—every smile, every word, every favourite meal—was all for Rani, not for me. Not for Mouna. He thought he was spending time with his wife, and rightfully so. I was the wrong woman. Like Frankie with Anish, I was the one in the equation that did not mix.

That was not supposed to mix.

I had no right to be here and had no right to feel like I wanted to drown.

I was pathetic for starting to fall for him.