She had explained every ritual patiently — to Ansh, who curiously asked a hundred questions, and to Shivansh, who listened quietly, watching her more than he listened to her words. For the first time in weeks, Dhriti’s voice had carried warmth, her smile had reached her eyes. It almost felt like healing.
But that fragile moment shattered the instant her gaze fell on her.
Shanaya.
Dressed in a pale blue saree, adorned with a mangalsutra around her neck, she stood near the temple gate. Not alone.
With a man.
Tall, well-built, wearing a vermillion tilak — his hand was protectively wrapped around Shanaya’s waist. They looked married.
Something in Dhriti snapped. Anger surged through her veins like wildfire. Betrayal. Rage. Confusion.
“What the hell is this?” she whispered, stepping forward instinctively.
“Dhriti?” Shivansh’s deep voice called out behind her, but she didn’t respond. Her feet moved faster than her thoughts. Shivansh followed, sensing something was terribly wrong.
Without hesitation, Dhriti came to a halt in front of Shanaya — and slapped her.
The sharp crack of the impact echoed across the temple, silencing the fading murmurs. Devotees turned, stunned.
“Dhriti!” Shanaya gasped, stumbling back in shock.
“What the hell?!” the man with her stepped forward, fury darkening his features. He raised his hand to strike — but before he could even come close, Shivansh stepped between them like a wall of steel.
“Don’t you dare raise your hand on her,” Shivansh growled, his voice dangerous and low, his grip like iron around the man’s wrist.
The man jerked back, glaring. “Then ask your wife why she slapped my wife! What sort of drama is this?”
Dhriti let out a hollow, bitter laugh.
“Your wife?” she scoffed, tears threatening to spill. “Your wife is my husband’s mistress! The reason my marriage is ruined!”
Gasps filled the air. A few onlookers stepped closer.
“You’re lying,” the man said, clearly stunned. “Shanaya is not like that.”
“I thought the same about Hitesh,” Dhriti spat. “But he is a bloody cheater. And she — she played the perfect other woman, sneaking behind my back.”
Shivansh looked at her, his chest tightening. He had seen pain. Lived through it. But seeing Dhriti unravel like this... it hurt.
“Okay!” Shanaya finally snapped, stepping forward. Her voice trembled with frustration. “Enough, Dhriti. If you don’t know the truth, then stop throwing accusations in public like this.”
“Truth? You want to talk about truth?” Dhriti’s voice rose. “I know everything. The texts. The calls. The meetings. You think I’m blind? I can prove to everyone here what you did!”
More people were listening now. Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
And then — something in Shanaya cracked.
“You want the truth? Fine. You deserve to know. I’m not your husband’s mistress. I’m his doctor.”
Silence.
“What?” Dhriti’s voice faltered.
Shanaya’s eyes shimmered with pain. “Hitesh is in Stage 4 cancer. He has months left, Dhriti. Not years. Months. He found out on the day of your wedding. He didn’t want to trap you in grief. That’s why he pulled away. That’s why he asked me for help — to monitor him, guide him, but keep it from you. Because he thought that was love.”
Dhriti stood frozen, her world beginning to tilt on its axis. The vibrant temple, the crowd, the prayers — all blurred into nothingness.
“He loves you, Dhriti. So much that he decided to let you go quietly… so you wouldn’t have to watch him die.”
Shanaya’s voice kept speaking, but Dhriti no longer heard anything. Her heart pounded louder than the world around her.
Stage 4 cancer… Not much time left…
Her puja thali fell from her hands, scattering vermillion and flowers over the marble steps.
Her legs buckled. Everything went dark.
But before she could hit the ground, Shivansh caught her — swift, steady, strong.
“Dhriti!” he called, cradling her in his arms, panic flashing in his eyes.
Write a comment ...