Page 107 of Mrs. Rathore

And I knew what was coming. She wanted a divorce. She was done with me. With her mother gone, she probably felt lost. She went back to her childhood home as if trying to find the person she was before we were forced together. Her legs had healed and she was dancing again. The thought should have made me feel relieved.

But I didn’t feel relieved. I didn’t feel free. I didn’t feel anything. Just this... empty feeling that won't go away.

I should be glad she was moving on. I should be happy she was out of my life. But all I could do was clutch that one stolen ghungroo in my palm, tight enough to hurt, and wonder what the hell she had done to me.

______

The cold seeped into my bones, a familiar companion after a whole long winter in Kashmir. The small office in Baramulla was dim, the weak winter sun struggling to pierce the dusty glass of the window panes. Outside, snowflakes tapped a quiet rhythm against the glass, like a nervous heartbeat.

I stood stiffly, my uniform crisp, a stark contrast to the weariness that gnawed at me. Eight years in the olive green. Eight years of discipline, of pushing past exhaustion, but even that couldn't shield me from the deep ache in my soul. Kashmir had shown me too much. Far too much. Faces I remembered, now lost to the sudden crack of a bullet. Children with eyes that held the wisdom of decades, not years. Comrades, their lives ending too soon, buried under the solemn folds of our flag.

Across the table, Colonel Singh’s hand slid a brown envelope toward me.

“Captain Rathore. Transfer orders.” His voice was calm, and steady.

I took the envelope, my fingers already knowing, guessing, what it held. Our battalion, 21 Rajput, was rotating out. As one of the senior captains, a new posting was inevitable. My thumb paused at the flap, a silent plea forming in my mind.

“Before I open this, sir,” I began quietly, my voice betraying none of the hope flickering within me, “I’d like to request a temporary posting. Rajasthan Sector. I just want to spend a few months with my family.” I hesitated, the words feeling too raw, and too personal. I didn’t even know why I was asking for a temporary posting in my home state. What made me do that?

Colonel Singh studied me for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve served the whole year here. That’s not a small thing.”

I said nothing. Sympathy was not what I sought. Just a window back home.

“You want to be closer to your family. Understood.” The colonel nodded, a slight inclination of his head that sent a wave of relief through me. Then, he reached for the phone. “I’ll put in a word to MS Branch. Temporary attachment to the Rajasthan Area HQ, Jaipur. Six months max. After that, you’ll be due for your next operational posting, likely a command.”

I exhaled, a barely-there gesture, a silent release of tension I hadn't realized I was holding. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. You’ve earned it. Just remember, this isn’t leave, it's a posting. You’ll be attached to the 6th Battalion, Rajput Regiment, stationed near Barmer. It’s quiet there…desert patrols, local drills. Might even get a weekend off.”

A rare ghost of a smile touched my lips, a feeling so foreign it almost felt like a dream. “Even a Sunday chai with my mother would be worth the transfer.”

God, sitting down for Sunday chai with my mother was the last thing on my mind. The scorching heat of Barmer was unbearable, the kind that clung to your skin and left your clothes soaked before noon. This place had nothing remotely comforting, just cracked earth, dusty winds, and the kind of silence that made your thoughts louder. It was no surprise that my mother would refuse to come here. She would never leave the comfort of her sprawling mansion - the marble floors, air-conditioned drawing rooms, or her pampered lifestyle for a godforsaken desert outpost like this.

But it wasn’t her I was expecting.

No. I had someone else in my mind.

I wanted Avni here. I had imagined her in my government-issued quarters, the plain walls softened by her presence, her laughter echoing in the small kitchen, her delicate anklets making music against the floor. I didn’t just want her as a guest, I wanted her as my wife. For six months. Six whole months under the same roof, in the same bed, breathing the same air.

And I had done my part.

I had fulfilled the duties expected of a husband, the duties that came with the weight of unspoken promises and bitter compromises. I had tried. God knows I tried. I had touched her not out of lust, but out of obligation... maybe even desperation. Hoping that some kind of connection might spark, that we might find something real in the mess we’d been thrown into.

Now, it was her turn.

It was Avni’s turn to step up. To please her husband. To show she understood what being married to a man like me truly meant not just in name, not just in tradition, but in presence, in intimacy, in shared time.

And once she did...

Once I had those six months with her... once she had paid the price of being my wife...

I’d set her free.

I would let her go without a fight. No shackles, no courtrooms, no questions. Just freedom. And maybe that would finally free me too.

_____

Chapter 43