Unexpected Connection

Boiling Point.

Shah Rukh had always been good at reading Gauri,  too good. The way she moved now, deliberate, polite, her voice just a shade cooler than usual, told him everything he needed to know. She was suspicious.

He watched her move through their home that evening, organised, efficient, and miles away. Every “good night” felt like a question she wasn’t ready to ask.

He’d seen this coming. That morning, he’d already acted, he'd already called in his trusted head of cybersecurity.

“Scrub everything,” he’d ordered curtly. “Texts, call logs, anything that intimately ties me to Kajol Mukherjee. If anyone comes sniffing around, I was never there.”

He gave it a second thought, it would look suspicious if everything was squeaky clean, they still worked together. “Rohan, on second thought, not everything,” he warned his IT specialist. “If you erase too much, it looks like we’re hiding something. Leave enough to seem clean.”

The man didn’t ask questions. Within hours, Shah Rukh’s digital footprints were squeaky clean. But erasing data couldn’t erase the gnawing guilt in his chest.

Shah Rukh spent the rest of the day in a haze of calculation. His wife was sharp; if she’d begun making calls, a private investigator wouldn’t be far behind. He had promised to protect Kajol, her name, her career, her sanity. And now, with Gauri circling closer, that promise felt like a fuse burning toward disaster.

He had promised Kajol she would never pay for his recklessness, and he meant it. If anyone’s name was going to burn, it would be his.

Still, he couldn’t silence the dread.
He’d wanted to tell Gauri, not everything, but something  before her imagination turned poisonous. A version of the truth that might save them all.

He had just reached for his phone when a new message pinged.

No name. Just an encrypted number he recognised from his network of contacts, the ones who sent information no one else should have.

He opened it. Three photos.

Kajol.
Walking out of a restaurant.
With Arjun Rampal.

In one, Arjun’s arm was around her waist. In another, Kajol was laughing up at him, her head tipped back.

And the third… Arjun bending close, his lips brushing her cheek.

Something hot and dark surged through Shah Rukh’s chest, sharp enough to steal his breath.

‘She’s with him?’

His jaw clenched. Logic tried to speak, she owes you nothing, she deserves peace but logic drowned under the rush of anger, possession, and a jealousy he couldn’t justify.

He set the phone down with deliberate calm, but his hand trembled as he poured the whisky. The amber liquid rippled like the pulse at his throat.

_ _ _ _

That night after dinner, Kajol drove home in a quiet that felt almost guilty. Arjun’s laughter still lingered somewhere in the corners of her mind, easy, warm, uncomplicated. He had made her feel seen in a way that wasn’t heavy, a way that didn’t demand blood from the heart.

And then, her phone buzzed.

Arjun: “Did you get home safe?”
A pause.
Arjun: “I can’t stop thinking about tonight. About you. I’ll try to sleep now… but you’re not making it easy. Goodnight, Kajol.”

She stared at the screen for longer than she should have, smiling faintly before setting the phone aside. “Goodnight, Arjun,” she whispered into the dark, almost wishing she meant it. But she didn’t.
Because in the quiet of her room, it was Shah Rukh’s face she saw. His touch she remembered. His voice she still felt breathing against her skin.