Sheetal's voice cracked as she rose to her feet. Whatever calm had remained on her face was gone, replaced by dread.
"Virat... calm down. This isn't what you think."
"Not what I think?" His laugh was bitter. "It's midnight. You're in a nightclub, holding hands with a man young enough to be your brother, and I'm the one imagining things?"
"Virat, just listen—"
"No. You listen."
The words came faster now, fueled by months of resentment.
The words came fast and ugly — how ungrateful she was, how little time she'd actually given him in six months of marriage, always an all-nighter, always exhausted, always too busy for him.
Did she think he was a fool? Did she think he wouldn't notice her holding hands with a man so much younger than her?
