7.30 pm

I wake up once again, feeling disoriented. The orange hue has been replaced by tube lights. I try to sit up but my head feeling dizzy. It's a result of excessive manual labor coupled with no food and no caffeine. The lights are hurting my eyes. The last I remember, it was still daytime and the lights were turned off. Who turned them on? As I try to piece my thoughts together, Rohit emerges from the kitchen holding a mug filled with piping hot black coffee.

I gratefully take the mug from his hands. I take a sip of the coffee and place the mug on the coffee table in front of me. The divorce papers are still there. I stare at them a tad longer than I should, and then look up at Rohit.

"So?" I ask.

"So?" he responds.

I pick up the mug and gulp some more coffee. The heat burns my tongue. But as the hot liquid travels down my throat, it gives me the much-needed strength to continue this conversation.

"So what's next?" I ask.

"You need to tell me," he replies.

I hear the pressure cooker whistle from the kitchen and Rohit dashes towards the sound, I guess to turn it off. I pick up my coffee mug and use its heat to warm my hands. Although it's April, there is still a nip in the air. I take another sip. Rohit is back just as I am placing the mug back onto the coffee table.

I look at him. He's looking drop-dead gorgeous in a promo t-shirt, black track pants, and a tea towel hanging loosely on his shoulder. He comes and sits right next to me on the couch. I scooch to give him a little more space. I pick up my coffee mug and take another sip. Before I have the chance to put it back down, he takes it from my hand and sips it.

"So?" he asks.

"So," I answer.

"So?" his eyes point towards the divorce papers lying on the coffee table.

I clear my throat. It's time for a showdown.

After the miscarriage, the doctors had advised me one week of bed rest, but I was back at work in three days. No one in the production house knew that I was pregnant so none were any wiser. I was always a moody and edgy artist. The whispers on the production set had already named me Dracula and it seemed I didn't do enough justice to that moniker. So I set out to correct that by being moodier, more irritated, angrier, and more frustrated. If things went well, I merely nodded. If they didn't I threw a fit. My attitude, obnoxious to begin with, only kept getting worse as the days progressed. Earlier on, my Mom kept me grounded and gave me a reality check every now and then. And while I accepted that from her without much argument, I had begun to resent Rohit for the exact same thing.

With Mom not around anymore, I felt like a boat without an anchor. I floated wherever the waves took me. Whether the sea was calm or stormy, I did what I believed I needed to do to stay afloat. I was never comfortable with showcasing my vulnerable side. So I hid that behind a facade of anger. Everyone on and off the sets knew the spiel that had been woven around my life to catapult me into stardom. Nobody realized that only parts of it were true. They went on to classify me as arrogant. My staff slowly began deserting me, then my PR team, my make-up artist, my hairstylist, even my manager. Finally, the last blow came when the Production team told me precisely two weeks after my miscarriage that the channel was ending the show, that we were going to wrap up the shoot in the next four weeks and our last air date would be two months from now. 

I remember that night very clearly. I came home to dinner and lashed out at the housekeeper for not having rotis on the table.

"But Memsaab...." She was on the verge of tears.

"It's okay, Kanta" Rohit placated her. "Go home and spend some time with your daughter. I'll take care of everything else here."

She looked gratefully at Rohit before untucking her sari from her hip, picking up her bag, and leaving.

Rohit and I continued to eat in silence. Once dinner was over, I walked into the kitchen to find something sweet. I was craving a sugar rush. When I couldn't find anything, my mood soured further.

"I need to find a replacement for Kanta," I muttered to no one in particular. "She is getting very lazy and extremely lousy at her job." It wasn't meant for anyone's ears, but Rohit heard it.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked. "Ever since you've come home, you've been angry and irritated. You're lashing out at everyone for no reason. Poor Kanta, you told her in the morning that you didn't want rotis for dinner and now you told her off for listening to you."

"No, I didn't." I was adamant.

"Yes, you did Sonakshi. I heard you."

The fact that he'd called me Sonakshi instead of Sona irritated me further.

"So now you eavesdrop on my conversations with the help? Dr. Sippy, don't you have anything better to do in your life?"

Rohit sighed and closed his eyes in frustration. The constant stress, bickering, and unnecessary drama was draining him, both physically and emotionally.

"You know what, you're right. I have better things to do with my life. I'm off to the hospital."

And he went to the bedroom to change into something more presentable. I should have left the conversation at that. But I didn't. I instead followed him into the bedroom to give him more pieces of my already convoluted mind.

"Oh, so now Dr. Rohit Sippy is running away. From me. The woman he married. Why don't you tell me you're done with me?"

Rohit was halfway through buttoning his shirt when he looked up at me flabbergasted. I could see he didn't understand where any of this came from. But I didn't care. I was hurt and angry. If I was unhappy, I was going to ensure he was too. So I continued my tirade, accusing him of things he'd never done, things he'd never said and thought's he'd never meant.

"You know what," I'd continued, even though he hadn't responded to my earlier comment, "you're right. You should leave. That will give me the much-needed peace of mind."

He looked hurt. I felt a sadistic sense of satisfaction.

"Will me staying away from you give you peace of mind?"

I stood squarely in front of him, my eyes meeting his, and said: "Yes."

He averted his eyes, momentarily considering, and said: "In that case, I'll move out."

I should've been happy, that he was giving in without any arguments. But I wasn't. I was angry instead. Is that all I meant to him? That he didn't want to fight me, to beg me for another chance, to apologize?

"Might at well. Might as well end this charade," I spat.

"What charade?"

"This charade of being in love and happily married."

He looked crestfallen but didn't say anything. His silence prodded me to speak further.

"Anyway, ever since you've come into my life, nothing good has come of it. I lost my mother, I lost my child and now I've lost my career."

"What?" He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Yes, you should be happy. That's what you want right? You want me to be miserable. Congratulations, you've won Dr. Sippy."

Someone should have stopped me then. Someone should have snapped a filter in front of my mouth. But there wasn't anyone around and so I went onto say the most unforgivable thing I ever could.

"This marriage is a sham, just like every other marriage in that sham joint family of yours. All you guys do is pretend everything is hunky-dory when things within are literally falling apart."

He was hurt. I'd unnecessarily dragged his family into this. He was bound to retort.

"At least they're good at pretending. You're an actress, and you can't even pretend properly."

That was it. I could say whatever I wanted, but he was not allowed to take a jab at me.

"You're right. I haven't been very good till now, but I'll make up for it." And then I picked up a heavy flower vase from our bedside table and threw it at him. It narrowly missed him before landing on the floor and crashing. Rohit eyed the pieces of the vase, crouched to pick up one. He smiled a sad wistful smile.

"This is all that's left of this marriage," he said.

"Then let's even it out. Let's clean up the mess. I'll clean up the one I created, and you clean up the one you created."

He looked at me quizzically.

"I'll sweep the vase up and you," I pointed at him to emphasize, "will give me a divorce."

"You want a divorce?"

"You just said I'm not good at pretending. Clearly, I'm a misfit for this family of yours that loves fake people."

Every time I mentioned his family, he looked more pained. That gave me more sadistic satisfaction so I continued to hit where it hurt.

"What do you know about my family?"

"Enough to know I don't want to have anything to do with them, or you."

He kept quiet. So should've I.

"Rohit Sippy, you're the worst thing that ever happened to me. I rue the day I met you. Our wedding was the worst day of my life. I want to be happy but I know I cannot as long as I'm with you. I want a divorce. If you won't give me one, I'll fight you for it."

He closed his eyes. When he opened them, I could sense his resolve.

"That won't be necessary Sonakshi. I'm off to the hospital now. I will be back tomorrow morning to pack up and leave. I'll file for our divorce as soon as I can. You won't have to suffer because of me or my family anymore."

Before I could say something, he'd buttoned the rest of his shirt and walked out of the apartment and my life. I'd just sealed my death wish with a kiss.