It was like someone had turned off the switch to the world I was living in for a moment. All I could hear was static. All I could see were those black and white blurred lines. Trying to see in between them, to figure out the grey area and what was going on.
Trying to make sense of it only hurt.
Then as the images became clearer in my head, there was a sensation of heat in my body as I tried to fend off tears. They had been lying to me. This entire time.
Even now, they both knew, and acted like they had just met each other for the very first time. It made sense, though; the way they acted so cold and weird.
My hands squeezed the seat of my chair, palms down, to steady myself. There was a growing pressure in my cheeks as I sucked them in to bite down. I wanted to punch myself. I wanted to fight something.
But what could I do?
Then, as I lifted my head slowly up, seeing all their eyes on me like I was a spectacle to be pitied — which I was so fucking sick of at this point — I spat out a short tirade of laughter.
Meeting Varun's eyes, it was like he couldn't stand the sight of me looking so pathetic, because he had to look down at his plate, forking around his gnocchi. Claudia awkwardly scratched at her ear.
Finally acknowledging Romir, he was watching me carefully, eyes travelling every inch of my face as if to gauge my reaction.
"You're joking, right?" I asked. Somehow it was said with so much more control than I felt. I wanted it to be a joke. Deep down I was waiting for him to say that he mis-worded it or something.
In my heart, I knew they wouldn't be playing a prank on me. Not like this.
"No," relented Anjali. "It isn't a joke."
I took a deep, shaky breath in. "So you're the guy that got her pregnant? That lived with her in Bangalore? The ex that everyone, even the neighbour, was alluding to this fu—entire time?" The rage was building the more the words spilled out of my mouth. "You're Alia," I said to Anjali.
They were playing you. They were hiding everything from you, smiling and laughing in your face and fucking around with you behind your back.
Just like Varun.
That comparison, knowing how similar it was, made my body slump back into the chair.
"I changed my name so no one would ever find out that I had a different life."
My sister was carrying my now-husband's baby once upon a time before she'd gotten rid of it—Romir was the guy she betrayed. The one she lied to, the one she used before going behind his back and marrying Greg.
It was Romir.
"Please, take this outside," a man in a black suit said, approaching us. "This is a private restaurant."
I stood up abruptly. "Gladly."
I chucked the napkin on my plate and stalked out; I don't know how I managed to get up and walk out without falling to the ground but I had. I didn't look behind me and I didn't stop my pace even as I yanked open the door and stormed down the path to...God knew where.
Not until Romir caught up with his long legs. He swerved in front, stopping me. He was panting hard, chest heaving. His hair was in disarray from the wind continually pushing itself through it.
"Move," I deadpanned.
I was trying so so hard not to let him see the tears. I was sure he could see them but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of breaking down right there. No, I was stronger than that. He wasn't going to get one over me like Varun had.
"Let me explain, Arshia," he rushed, desperation dripping from his tone. No, not desperation. I scoffed. It was pity, as always.
"Let you explain? You were both fucking playing me. You married me to get back at her."
"That's not true."
"I don't want to speak to you ever again." He came forward and I stepped back. "Don't come near me," I warned him, my palms up beside my head. "Don't fucking come near me."
I was falling in love with a guy that wasn't mine.
Again.
He was never mine and never would be. Who does that remind you of? I let out a short breathy laugh that sounded hollow and pathetic even to my ears.
And this time, I couldn't stop the tears that dropped from my right eye. I slapped it away, my cheek aching at the force I'd used against my skin. I was mad at myself for letting him have so much control over me.
I even had sex with him. Oh my god, you're so pathetic.
All his words, his behaviour and change in them — they were all for Anjali. The girl in his wallet wasn't his ex-girlfriend. It was his sister, Reshma.
Anjali was the one he was still in love with. That was why he started becoming distant again when he saw her, because he realised that I wasn't her. That he was still in love with her. He was trying to figure out how he could let me down and decided to distance himself from me instead.
I guess I just wanted to believe that someone chose me for once. That it was me that they loved.
But of course, it was my sister.
If it wasn't Claudia, it was Anjali. And if it wasn't Anjali, it was someone else.
"I can't catch a fucking break," I mumbled through my quivering voice, tilting my head up to the sky to try and get rid of the tears that way. I sniffled, wiping at my cheeks.
God, stop crying. You look like an idiot. I didn't want to look him in the face. His hands were shaking by his side, clenching and unclenching. Was he thinking of excuses to feed me?
"Arshia—"
"Fuck you, Romir," I spat with all the venom I could muster. "Don't talk to me ever again." I rushed to my car and left Romir standing there; he could find his own fucking way home.
I was vulnerable for the last time and I was stupid for letting myself get close to him. I gave myself up to him, my body, my dignity when I knew he didn't feel anything for me—I lowered my head and closed my eyes.
I was going to protect my heart from this happening ever again.
***
Anjali wouldn't stop calling. I ended up blocking her when ignoring her wasn't enough. Romir and I...well, let's just say it had been a week since it happened. The pillow barrier would have been back up if I was sleeping in the same room as him.
But even thinking of sleeping in the same room as him disgusted me. So I slept in the small guest room that no one ever went to and made it my very own.
Each night before bed, I could sense him lingering near the door to our room to see if I would go in like he wanted to see me cave in or something. Like he thought there was a chance that I would be vulnerable enough for him to explain everything.
I never gave him the satisfaction and always headed straight to the guest room and closed it shut without a second glance or hesitation. I did my own dishes, made my own food and tea and never ever gave him the light of day.
Shoving a fairly decent-made chapati into my mouth, I watched some murder mystery movie when I felt a presence nearby. Romir had come over. My chewing slowed.
The the moment he sat down, I turned the TV off and got up. I threw the remote on the couch and strode to my room; I was going to eat there if I needed to. I didn't need anyone's pity.
Certainly not Romir's.
All this time I'd waited for him to do that, wondered why he was giving me the cold shoulder and now that I'd found out the truth, now that he felt bad, he wanted to sit next to me?
I hated how he was like Varun, trying to make himself the bigger person by attempting excuses and useless explanations. After all, this was just a contract, a platonic marriage; I had nothing to do with his personal life so this was a good thing for him. He shouldn't have to explain.
In the morning there was a Post-It note on the fridge:
Figured communicating like this would be better.
And ever since then, that was what he did.
Sometimes it would be: Don't forget to take lunch with you or I made you tea or I bought dinner or something stupid like that.
Each time I chucked whatever he made down the sink or into the bin and scrunched up the Post-It notes into the most minuscule ball I could muster.
It was satisfactory for the moment, but not enough because Romir was never around in the mornings to see me do it. I mean, when he came back and made food for himself, I'd see him glimpse at the bin and stiffen.
That was enough to make me feel like a thousand volts had surged through my body.
This particular morning, I grabbed my satchel and placed it over my shoulder when I froze. There was a plate of food — like every morning — wrapped in cling wrap. Waffles, syrup and some fruit laid perfectly and if I had to admit, it looked delicious.
There was a Post-It note on it:
At least eat. Don't go hungry.
Ah, so he did know I was chucking it out.
Good.
Today, from my peripheral vision, I could see Romir in the front; he was leaning against the wall, putting on his shoes but his head was turned in my direction. Straightening my shoulders, I scrunched up the note, grabbed the plate and dumped it into the bin. It made a loud thud as it hit the bottom.
Dusting my hands off, I brushed past him without a blink, went down the steps and into my own car. It wasn't until I drove out of my house and into the street that I let out a long, deep breath.
I had been tense the entire time. And for the first time, I felt free.
That was a lie. Free wasn't the word I would use. In the parking lot of my job, I rested my forehead against the cool leather steering wheel and sobbed until my chest physically ached. My trembling hands dialled Jade's number.
"Jade," I wailed.
"Holy shit, what's wrong?!" came her panicked voice.
"Rom—romir was lying to me. He doesn't love me, Jade."
"I—what are you saying? What's going on?"
"Romir was the one dating my sister, Jade," I blubbered without context. "The one that she was planning a whole future with and the one she betrayed for a rich dude. She literally changed her whole name and had a different life to be with him. He only married me to get back at her."
"Okay, wait, let's slow down." Jade stuttered some incomprehensible squeaks and curses before she blew out a deep breath. "Did he tell you that?"
"Tell me what?"
"That he was doing this for revenge or whatever?"
"Jade, why would he tell me? Why would he want to seem like the bad guy here?! And it doesn't matter if he did or didn't, this isn't something you can just hide. I deserved to know."
"You did. That was a shitty move on his part," she agreed. "Fuck, this is messy. What are you going to do?"
I had been asking myself the same question for the past week.
"I'm going to get a divorce."
I knew that's what I wanted to do the moment it left my mouth. A huge weight lifted off of me.
She hummed in agreement. "No man that's making you cry is worth it. Are you going to tell him today?"
"When I get back from work."
"Okay, well, I'll come over on your lunch break. We'll talk more then, okay? You good 'till then?"
"Mhm." I swiped at my runny nose, my voice husky and scratchy. "I love you."
"I love you, too. Always." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Be strong, okay?"
Be strong. A word that I always figured I could be.
But for how long could someone pretend to be strong before they broke apart?