Page 144 of Lawfully Yours

Despite the tears streaking her face, a fragile smile tugged at her lips now. That was Kushal. His brand of romance…his way of flirting was always unpredictable.

She shifted back, pushing herself down onto the bed, the laptop propped beside her as the videos rolled on. Frame after frame, their marriage unfolded again before her eyes—their smiles, their closeness, the sacred vows spoken before fire and gods. Promises made with such conviction, promises that tomorrow in court would be shattered with the cold finality of a divorce decree.

At some point, exhaustion won. Her lids grew heavy, her body limp against the sheets. She slipped into sleep, but the laptop kept playing on. Through the night, even in her dreams, the priest’s chants, the mantras, and the haunting notes of the shehnai wove through her subconscious mind, binding her to a love she was about to lose.

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Next Morning

When the morning light slipped through the curtains, Arundhati stirred. A dull heaviness pressed at her temples, the remnant of a night spent in tear-stained, dreamless slumber. The laptop beside her still glowed faintly, but the video was paused mid-frame—she and Kushal, side by side, circling the sacred fire, their faces lit with that flickering orange light. Her cheeks felt tight with dried tears, her throat raw, but it was her chest that bore the heaviest ache.

This wasthemorning. The day everything would end.

She sat up slowly, her eyes catching the mangalsutra in the video. A hand pressed over her mouth as if to stop the sob from escaping, but it didn’t work. It slipped past anyway, harsh andbroken. She slammed the laptop shut, the screen going black, and with it the last illusion that maybe, just maybe, things could rewind.

She forced herself into the bathroom. Under the hot spray of the shower, she pressed her palms to the tiles, letting the water run down her face as though it could wash away the tears, the ache, the dread of the day ahead.It didn’t.

When she stepped out, she moved on autopilot. She dressed carefully, the black pantsuit hugging her form, the white blouse crisp against her skin. Despite looking all sharp and elegant like always, her eyes betrayed her. Anyone who would look at her would guess she had been crying a lot recently.

She checked her phone on the dresser. No missed calls. No unread messages. Except one from Akash reminding her that the court trial was at 10:30 sharp. As if she could ever forget this day.

She slipped the phone into her bag, grabbed her keys, and walked out. By the time she slid behind the wheel of her car, the city was already awake and indifferent to her turmoil. Every red light felt too long, every green too short.

When she finally pulled into the courthouse parking lot, she switched off the ignition, and sat still for a moment, palms resting on the wheel to gather the strength she wasn’t sure she had.

The sound of a car parking broke her trance.

Her head turned sharply. A few spaces away, a familiar black sedan gleamed in the morning sun. The driver’s door opened, and then he stepped out.

Kushal.

Even in the plainness of his black suit, he looked devastatingly composed. But when his eyes lifted across the rows of cars and met hers, she saw through it. Even from thatdistance, she could read his face. He hadn’t slept last night either.

She swallowed hard, her hand tightening on the handle before she finally pushed her door open. The sound echoed in the lot as both of them got down, almost at the same time. Two sides of the same war, stepping onto the same battlefield.

There were lawyers in their black coats rushing past, clients hurrying nervously, clerks balancing files and papers, voices rising and falling in fragments of conversations. No one had the time to notice the two of them. Yet, for Arundhati, the world seemed to narrow to just him.

Their eyes locked fully now, no barriers, no pretence. Just two people who had once been everything to each other, and today they would stand before a judge to declare they were nothing.

As they walked forward, weaving through the blur of busy footsteps and hurried strangers, their gazes refused to break. Each step toward him pulled her deeper into the memories she had tried to bury. The night before had been a cruel reminder. The wedding videos played on loop in her head even now, the visuals of his face lit with quiet excitement as she had walked toward him in the mandap, the way his eyes had followed her with that promise of forever.

And now, those same eyes carried nothing but hollow pain.

When they finally drew close, close enough that she could feel the tension in the air shift, it was Kushal who broke first. His gaze dropped abruptly, his pace quickening as he veered to a narrow side path leading to the stairs. Without a word, he took them two at a time, as though the act of moving faster could shield him from her.

Arundhati followed anyway, trailing after him into the building where their marriage was about to be dissolved.

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The Courtroom – Divorce Trial

When Arundhati entered the courtroom, her uncle was already seated at the back. The moment their eyes met, Raj Verma rose, walked up to her, and placed a trembling hand on her head. He didn’t speak. Perhaps he couldn’t. But the sigh that left him told her everything. She gave him the faintest nod, then moved forward.

Her eyes found Kushal instantly.

He sat at the respondent’s bench, spine straight, shoulders squared, his black suit fitting him with a precision that looked like armour. He didn’t look up. Not when she entered. Not when she sat down beside him. He kept his gaze fixed on the table in front of him, as though it were easier to face cold mahogany than the woman who had once been his entire world.

The judge entered, and everyone rose. Her legs felt weak beneath her, her pulse drumming so loudly in her ears she thought the whole courtroom could hear it. When they were asked to sit again, she sank down.