S*X IN SAREE |18+

—SOHINI—

After I asked Ritwik for a divorce, I didn't go to a friend's place or check into a hotel. I went straight to my parents' house—not to escape, but to make them see. To make them understand that sometimes, they're not right. That they destroyed their own daughter's life by making her live out their version of what was respectable, honorable—acceptable.

It was raining hard when I rang the bell. No umbrella. No bags. Just me and the storm. When Papa opened the door, his eyes scanned behind me, confused.

"Why are you here—alone?" His voice trembled slightly. As if he still hoped Ritwik was just a step behind me.

I said nothing.

I walked in—soaking wet, water dripping onto the marble floor. Maa looked up from the kitchen doorway, eyes widening in shock. It was the hour I should've been serving dinner to my in-laws, wearing a smile that never quite reached my eyes.

"Sohini?" she whispered, rushing to me, her hands trembling as they checked for bruises. Maybe, deep down, she already knew why I was there. She just didn't want to believe it.

"I left Ritwik," I said, voice flat. "I'm divorcing him."

Papa collapsed onto the sofa like someone had yanked the soul out of him. One hand on his chest, but no words. He just stared at me—like I was a stranger wearing his daughter's face.

"You hated Vedant for being divorced," I added bitterly. "Guess what? Now your daughter's divorced too."

"Why would you—?" Maa's voice broke. Her eyes had filled up already.

"Because I was suffocating," I snapped, barely holding it together. "I hated that house. I hated that man. I was nothing more than a maid to them. No dignity. No respect. Not even humanity."

"You should've given them a chance," Maa murmured.

"A chance?" I laughed hollowly. "I gave three years of my life. Three years of being invisible, unheard, unloved. Not all arranged marriages turn into fairy tales, Maa. Sometimes, they turn into cages."

I looked at Papa. He still hadn't spoken. Maybe he was ashamed of me. Or maybe—ashamed of himself.

"I'm pregnant," I said finally. My voice cracked. "And it's not Ritwik's child. If you want me to leave the house, I will."

They didn't say anything. Not that night. Not the next day. But silently, the house changed. There were more fruits on my plate. Warm milk before bed. And Chinu—my younger brother—was suddenly always available to go with me to the hospital.

They didn't forgive me with words. They weren't those kinds of people. But I noticed the gestures. The quiet ones. And for now, it was enough.

Then came the Sunday that changed everything again.

It was a bright blue morning, the kind that mocked your sadness. I had no work, no chores, just a check-up with Chinu at the hospital. When we came back, two men were waiting at the gate—Ritwik and his father.

My legs froze. My heart thudded violently. Not again. Not them.

"Don't be scared. I'm here," Chinu whispered, gently squeezing my hand. I nodded, grateful and terrified.

Ritwik saw me and immediately rushed forward, grabbing my wrist. I jerked back.

"Sohini, I'm not divorcing you," he said firmly. "I'm not letting you go."

Before I could respond, Papa stepped out of the house—standing tall, chest puffed, like the man I barely remembered from childhood. The one who used to be proud.

"You're not taking her anywhere," he said.

"She's my wife," Ritwik growled. "If she agrees to abort the child, I'll still take her back."

That was the moment. That was the final slap in the face. And I gave it back—literally. My hand connected with his cheek so hard, the sound echoed on the street.

His father stepped forward, enraged. "How dare you—"

Papa stepped in between, voice calm but cold. "Please leave. Or I'll forget we ever shared any relation."

"This is what I get for marrying your characterless daughter?" Ritwik's father hissed.

Papa grabbed his collar. "Say one more word about my daughter and I'll make sure you regret it. She's far too good for your mentally stunted, cold-blooded excuse of a son."

"You'll regret this in court!" Ritwik's father barked.

"We'll see you there," Papa said, unmoved.

That look Papa gave me—it held regret, pain, pride. And a silent promise: I'm here now.

And he was. In court, when they dragged my name through mud. When they called me names, accused me of cheating, of seducing another man while married. He was there—next to our lawyer—defending me.

After a month of hearings, arguments, and emotional exhaustion, it was done.

I was free.

I was Sohini Das again.

That evening, I sat in our little lawn with a book, trying to calm the chaos inside me. The breeze smelled like freedom. A car screeched outside. I looked up.

It was Vedant.

He stepped out of the car in a plain blue shirt, the kind that made him look boyish and heartbreakingly sincere.

"I called off the wedding," he said, just like that.

My heart leapt. I wanted to run to him, tell him everything. How much I loved him. How I never stopped. How he mattered more than he'd ever know.

But I didn't move.

Because sometimes—love just isn't enough.

I turned back one last time, my eyes finding the familiar silhouette of my father standing at the threshold of our home. He wasn't moving, just—staring. There was pain in his eyes, the kind of silent ache only a father could carry for his daughter. And in that moment, I felt the weight of every sacrifice he had ever made for me.

Then my gaze shifted to Vedant. The man who had once whispered his love for me like it was his last breath. The man I had broken once before. I couldn't do it again.

So I lied.

"I'm pregnant with Ritwik's child," I said, my voice hollow.

Because if I told him the truth—that it was his—he would never walk away. No matter how much pain I caused him, no matter how shattered I left him, he would stay. And I couldn't let him.

But even then, even as I stabbed his heart with those words, he looked at me like he still wanted to fight for us. How much did he love me? How could someone love this deeply?

Before my resolve broke, before the tears betrayed my lie, I turned around and walked away—cruel, cold, heartless on the outside. But inside—I was bleeding.

Through the narrow cracks of the gate, I watched him leave. My tears spilled freely now. I rubbed my belly, as if to comfort the tiny life within me.

"Please forgive me, baby," I whispered.

"Why didn't you leave with him?"

I turned around abruptly—it was Chinu. He had come up behind me, quiet and observant as always. I quickly wiped my tears and forced a smile.

"What do you mean?" I asked, pretending not to understand.

"You love him," he said simply. "Then why are you pushing him away?"

I was quiet for a moment. Then I gave him a sad, broken smile.

"Do you remember when you were seven and I was ten? I had typhoid. I was burning with fever and Mama stayed up all night beside me. She didn't sleep, didn't eat—just sat there, wiping my forehead, whispering prayers."

Chinu nodded slowly, listening.

"Whenever I had a cold, or scraped my knee, or cried because someone was mean to me—Mama would hurt more than me. And still, every summer, she stands in front of the stove, cooking us meals, never complaining. She fasts for us during exams. She fights with neighbors if they even raise their voice at me."

"Mama really loves you," he said softly.

"And Papa—" I laughed bitterly, my voice shaking. "He wore torn shoes to work but made sure mine were always new. Every Diwali, he bought us beautiful dresses and didn't buy a single thing for himself. He wakes up before dawn and works till night. He sent us to an expensive school when he barely had enough to eat. And when I got married off—I saw him cry. In secret. Like a little boy losing his favorite toy."

I paused. The tears wouldn't stop.

"He loves me. But sometimes—he loves too much. So much, it hurts."

Chinu stayed quiet, letting me speak.

"You think it's a parent's duty to love their child," I said, looking at him, "but isn't it also the child's duty to love them back? To respect what they've done?"

I closed my eyes, the pain too much to hold in.

I hate them sometimes—for the choices they forced on me.

But I also love them—because they're my parents. For twenty years, before Vedant ever came into my life, they were the only ones I had.

"How long are you going to keep suffering like this?" Chinu asked, gently brushing the tears from my cheeks.

"I—I don't know," I choked.

He didn't say anything. Just took my hand and pressed something into it. An ATM card.

"What's this?" I asked, confused.

"It's Papa's savings," he said with a quiet smile. "He gave it to me for you. To help you start a new life—far away from all of this. Sohini, you've done enough. It's your time now."

He pulled me into a hug. His arms felt warm and final.

"It's my turn to stay and take care of Maa and Papa. Go, leave. Go before it's too late."

I stared at him, speechless.

Then I nodded.

"Take care of them—or me."

And I ran.

I didn't stop. I hailed the first auto I could find and told him to drive to the airport as fast as he could. My hands were trembling. I kept praying under my breath.

Please don't let him leave. Please, God—just one last chance.

But by the time I reached the terminal, the flight to the US had already departed.

I stood there frozen. Then whispered, broken, "He's gone."

He was really gone. I didn't even get to tell him the truth—that the child was his. That I still loved him. That I never stopped.

The ache in my chest split open. I stood there like a lost little girl, sobbing into my hands. People stared, probably judging me, wondering why I was such a mess. But I didn't care.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Until—

"Sohini?"

I turned around.

Vedant.

It was him. He was really there. Standing in front of me. Vedant Khanna. The man I loved. The father of my child.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, confused.

I didn't answer. I just ran. Into his arms. And he held me like he never wanted to let go.

I broke down completely in his embrace, burying every pain, every silent scream into his chest.

"V—Vedant—I-I love you," I sobbed.

"Shhh, I know," he whispered, rubbing my back, his fingers tangling gently in my hair.

"I never stopped loving you. I thought I lost you. I thought I'd never get to tell you—you're going to be a father."

He stiffened.

"What?"

"It's yours," I said through tears. "You're the only man I've ever—been with. You're the daddy."

A stunned silence.

Then, to my surprise, he laughed—dry and breathless. Ran a hand through his hair, half in shock.

"I hate you, Sohini," he said, his eyes dark.

My heart dropped. I stared at him—was he serious? Did he mean it?

"You should hate me," I whispered, trying to hold myself together. "I deserve it."

But then—he stepped closer. He cupped my face with one hand, the other slid around my waist.

"How dare you lie to me like that, Miss Sohini," he murmured, his voice low and intense. "If I hadn't stopped to help Shaya, I would've been on that plane. Gone. Forever."

"Who's Shaya?" I asked, confused.

He tilted his head, and a smile broke through.

"An angel," he said cryptically.

And before I could ask more, he kissed me.

He kissed me like a man who had waited lifetimes. I kissed him back, melting into him, forgetting everything—The pain, the lies, the airport, the people.

When we pulled apart, his lips touched my forehead, soft and reverent.

"I love you, Mrs. Sohini Das Khanna," he whispered. "I'm going to wife you up. And I swear—I'm never letting you go again."

I smiled through tears, heart pounding in my chest.

"I won't leave this time."

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I know the last few chapters felt like an emotional rollercoaster—and honestly, you had every right to throw imaginary bricks at me. But I promise, the storm has passed—for now.