The word wife still feels new every time I hear it. Arjun smiles warmly. “Nice to meet you.”
I return the greeting, trying not to look overwhelmed by the number of people in the room. Aditya keeps his hand loosely wrapped around mine the entire time.
He doesn’t let go once. And somehow that small thing makes it easier to breathe. We move through the room slowly.
Every few minutes someone stops to speak to him.
Editors. Authors. Colleagues. He introduces me to each of them the same way. “My wife, Divya.” No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just quiet certainty. After the fifth introduction I realize something else.
People respect him. Not in the loud, flashy way some powerful men demand attention. But in a steadier way. People listen when he speaks. They laugh when he makes small comments. Several people ask his opinion about manuscripts or upcoming releases. And every time he answers thoughtfully. I find myself watching him more than I expected. He stands slightly angled toward me the entire evening. Like he’s making sure I never feel left outof the conversation. At one point an older woman says warmly, “you finally brought someone to one of these events.”
Aditya shrugs lightly. “Divya improves my reputation.”
I nudge his arm. “That is not what you told me in the car.”
The woman laughs. “I like her already.”
Later someone asks me about the attar shop downstairs. I explain a little about how my father started it and how the blends are made. Aditya listens quietly beside me. And when the conversation moves on he leans closer and whispers near my ear. “You explained that beautifully.”
My chest warms in a way I don’t quite understand. For a moment I forget we’re surrounded by people. Eventually I excuse myself to find the washroom. The hallway upstairs is quieter than the main hall. The sound of the event fades into a distant murmur behind the closed doors. Inside the washroom the lighting is softer. I rinse my hands slowly, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My cheeks are still slightly pink.
Probably from nerves. Or maybe from the way Aditya has been looking at me all evening. I dry my hands and step toward the door. That’s when I hear voices. Two women are standing near the sinks further inside the room.
I recognize one of them immediately. Rhea. She smiled a lot when we talk at the office. She had seemed kind. Her voice now sounds slightly different. Lower. More casual. “I’m telling you,” she says, adjusting her lipstick in the mirror. “Aditya married her because she needed money.”
I stop walking. The other woman frowns. “You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
“How do you know?”
Rhea shrugs. “Everyone heard about it eventually.”
The other woman studies her reflection thoughtfully. “Well… men like him don’t marry girls like that unless there’s a reason.”
The words land somewhere deep inside my chest. For a moment I think I misheard them. But the silence that follows tells me I didn’t.
Something tightens in my throat. I step forward before I can talk myself out of it. “Excuse me.”
Both women turn. Rhea’s expression freezes for half a second when she sees me. Then she smiles politely. “Divya.”
I walk closer.
“Did you just say Aditya married me because I needed money?” The other woman suddenly looks very interested in the tiles on the floor.
Rhea sighs softly. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“That’s not an answer.”
She crosses her arms. “I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
“It sounded like one.”
Rhea studies my face calmly. “You’re lucky, you know.” I stare at her.
“What does that mean?”
She tilts her head slightly. “Men like him don’t marry girls like you unless there’s a reason.”
