Arranged Divorce

Of all the things Siddharth could do, he sat in the courtroom, staring at the shining bald head of his lawyer. Of all the things he could think about, he wondered how a human head could achieve that level of brightness.

Did his lawyer oil and polish his head for hours to get that glow and shimmer? He wanted to ask—but all such thoughts vanished the moment he saw his wife and daughter after a long painful month.

He rose instinctively, rushing toward them, ignoring his lawyer’s sharp warnings and his parents’ pleads.

He didn’t care.

All he wanted was to scoop up his daughter, kiss her chubby cheek, blow raspberries on her belly, and hear that shrill, joyful laugh followed by an eager, “Again! Again!” in her sweet infant voice.

A thirty-year-old, tough man teared up when his baby ran toward him, crying,

“Daddy!"

Who knew a man’s heart was made of muscle too?

Their sweet reunion was disrupted by her grandfather—his father-in-law.

The one and only, Rajasekhar.

The old man stepped in between father and child, blocking her from reaching Siddharth, tactically cutting off his view of his now-weeping daughter.

Siddharth’s gaze burned with fury, hatred, and loathing. He intended to march over and demonstrate his father-in-law, what a police beating is - especially when it’s delivered by a commissioner.

The only thing stopping him— Was her.

His Sanghavi!!

He could find her in any crowd—even blindfolded. And in that moment, he wished he was blindfolded, because he couldn’t stomach the sadness on his wife's face.

His heart physically ached seeing her like this. All he wanted was to pull her into his lap, kiss away the sorrow on her pretty round-face, tease her with lewd jokes until she cracked a smile.

But how could he comfort her when she wouldn't even look at him?

Her rejection stung like salt on an open wound.

He wanted to storm across the courtroom, grab her face in his hands, and force her to look at him—her husband.

But the only thing stopping him—was another face.

His little sister’s.

Monisha.

Though it all happened many months ago, her cold, pale, ash-colored face still haunted him. He hated that he remembered everything so vividly—her motionless body on the hospital bed. Her stillness terrified him more than her tantrums ever did.

If not for the complicated machinery hooked to her—emitting the occasional beep and krik—he would’ve sworn she was already gone. The only movement in that too-white room didn’t come from her, but from the monitor flickering with regular peaks and valleys, giving him the one thing he needed:

Reassurance.

His little sister was still holding on.

She wasn’t dead.

If not for that machine, no one—no one—could’ve convinced him that his sister's alive.

That memory alone was enough to steal all warmth from his eyes. His stare turned cold in an instant.

His love for his wife had hardened like a winter lake.

But beneath the ice, the water still flowed—steady and alive.

Beneath his cold stare, his love for her still burned—Hot and Heavy...

Much Much Alive!!

After casting one final look at his wife—and a murderous glare at his father-in-law and brother-in-law—he turned away.

Without a word, he strode back toward his lawyer and parents.

Every step, strong and intentional, echoed with the unmistakable swagger of a seasoned police officer!