The Wrong Woman

57. Dhruv

I rested my head against the bookshelf, under the nook where no one could disturb me. Not that anyone would. There was no one in the house but me that night. I didn't know how to feel or what to do.

The feelings that had resurged in me after spending time with Rani again, they twitched and beat against my ribs. The only explanation I could really think of her behaviour was either she had gotten her memories back and wanted nothing to do with me or...or this was some sort of cruel joke.

I hit my forehead against the wooden board, letting the pain bring me back to reality. What I needed to do was stop wallowing in self-pity and think about what I was going to do from here. The honest truth was, though, I had no fucking clue. What was I supposed to do? Force my feelings on her when it was clear that she wanted to put distance between us?

Maybe I was the idiot for thinking spending time together again meant that she wanted to try this and give this one last chance. Funnily enough, the book I absentmindedly grabbed from the shelf happened to be The Climb. Great. A text message notification piped up, breaking me from my thoughts.

Unknown: Hey dhruv. Its Frankie. I know you dont want to speak to me but hear me out...is there any way you can help me fix things between anish and Sandra?

She wanted to fix things?

Me: Why do you want to do that?

Frankie: You'd rather I dont?

Me: By all means, go ahead. It just doesnt make sense.

Frankie: Anish blocked me on everything. He pretends like he doesnt know me. I found a friend in you and you pretend you dont know me too. I want things to go back to how it used to be. And this is the only way I know how.

Me: You cant fix things that don't want to be fixed.

I pressed send, and then scoffed. Those words couldn't be any truer in that moment. It shed some light on my own situation.

A hypocrite. That was what I was.

***

The front door bell rang after the brief conversation with Frankie. She was determined to get them back together, kind of reminding me of myself and the fact that I didn't want to let this marriage go. To admit that this had been a failure.

The door bell rang again; Rani had just arrived from visiting Preethi. I sighed. It was slowly going back to how it used to be. I didn't know if this time, after everything, I could sit here and take it without an explanation.

"Come in," I called without turning toward it, "door's open." A moment later, the bell rang again. I put the book down and craned my body to the side. The door was shut. Raising my brows, I headed over to it. My guess was that she didn't hear me. Opening the door, it wasn't Rani on the other side.

It was a man wrapped in a black cloak of some sort, half his face hidden. His amber coals burnt brightly under the white, porch light. "Can I help you?" We barely got random visitors at our house. I looked behind him. There was no one there.

"Where's Mouna?" His voice was croaky and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in days.

The woman that Veer was most probably dating? That was the only Mouna I knew of, and even then I didn't exactly know her.

The man grinned, the gesture automatically shifting the cloak covering a part of his face. It revealed a coy smile, displaying rows of yellow teeth, a gold teeth catching the light. "The woman who is living with you."

A sharp jolt shot through me at those words but honestly, I had no clue why. I closed the door a little, wanting this conversation to be done with. "I don't live with a woman named Mouna, sorry," I said, about to close the door.

"Rani."

I stopped. "Pardon?" How did he know her? Then he pointed a long, frail finger toward the gate without turning around. And there she was, trudging along the driveway toward us. She was swaying her arms by her side, shoulders caved in and head down; she hadn't seen the man nor me.

"That's Mouna," the man declared.

I chuckled, relaxing. So that was the problem. For a second I thought I was going crazy. "Sorry, I think you have the wrong house. That's Rani, my wife." Even as those words left my lips, there was...an eeriness in the way both of them were acting. The man stared at her, and Rani had frozen in place on the bottom step. She was gaping at the man, hands shaking.

Something was off.

"Can I speak to you?" The whisper was soft and dripping with urgency. But it wasn't said to me.

No, it was said to the old man.