Moving back to Chicago Ditiya rented a 300 square feet studio apartment on the top floor of a large building on west Division Street near north side and never met Dhruv even staying in the same city.

The unit was essentially one, high-ceiling room. With a small but functional open kitchen, a tiny toilet and shower-only bathroom in the back cover, a decent clothes closet. The room had a sofa set which was a sofa cum bed to sleep on. She also had an old upholstered reading chair next to an end table, where she kept her magazines. The only really nice pieces of furniture, aside from a relatively new television set were an oak wood dining table. More often than not this doubled as her work desk.

The best thing about the apartment and the reason for the not so low rent was the windows two oversized. The built-in bookshelves on the opposite wall were filled to bursting with her CDS and law books and a wide selection of hardbacks, mostly fictional. Bright multicolored eight-by-ten rug covered most of the hardwood. She kept the place neatly organized and very clean.

She got a job working behind the counter at the local convince store and she signed up for a ten-session jazz dance class at the music school nearby.

He makes friends with a co-worker of his, a girl named Rida who has brown hair due to excessive use of mehndi, covers her hair when at prayer and at certain religious or cultural events. But she does not make it a habit. She invited Ditiya out with her and her family, and Ditiya was once again thankful for her profound ability to adapt when they accept her in without hesitance

Those days Ditiya felt light and free and happy, enough to realize that she had never been, at least not like that. She avoids having a romantic relationship with anyone, but that was not to say she had the same self-control when it came to sex.

Ditiya met a guy at an in her dance class who had long hair and wore cut-offs, and she promised herself it will only be a one-night thing. Though she should have known that she would run into him again, which she did, once in a week? Ditiya slept with him often. However, she never allowed the name to stick in her mind, as if that would stop her from latching on, stop her from turning it into something that it was not meant to be.

............................

Ending of November, a week after Dhruv had received an email from Ditiya saying she left U.K, he was in a business meeting when he got a phone call from Shreya, and then another, and then a text, and another, until his phone was a vibrating cacophony inside his pocket.

Six or seven months ago he might have ignored it, but now that he was left in constant fear that this might be the day Shreya took too many sleeping pills, Dhruv could not take that chance.

Dhruv ran out of his office, down the hallway, and frantically presented his identity card to the scanning mechanism. Door obediently slid open. He barely read through the first of two texts, before another call came. The only thing Dhruv could make out amongst the misspelled, jumbled words was 'fuck you' and 'your Ditiya.'

He fought the urge to power off his phone and return to his office, pretending none of that has happened. Instead, he answered, saying, "Shreya babe. What's going on? What happened?"

"You left your fucking laptop at home and I read your fucking emails," she yelled so loud that Dhruv had to pull the phone from his ear. "They were marked as important like some treasured. Fuck you, Dhruv. All those times I asked you about her, only for you to deny it like I was some fucking jealous psycho!"

"Shreya..." Dhruv tried feebly, "they're just email."

"If you two really weren't talking, why would she send you so many stupid fucking emails about which place she was visiting and why the hell would you reply them? There are some from three fucking years ago and you never bothered to tell me? And you marked them as important? You fucking shady bastard, what the hell else aren't you telling me? Fucking her too, I'm sure? That's the reason she is back in Chicago. Bastard!"

"Shreya... I am not cheating." Dhruv was already driving fast, exceeding the speed limit of 45 mph.

"How the fuck am I supposed to believe anything you tell me? 'Do you go to her house often or do you too meet at hotels? What the hell, Dhruv?" Shreya sounded like she was about to say something more, and then suddenly she choked up and started crying.

After turning to a left he saw traffic lights ahead of him. They were on red, but Dhruv knew he couldn't afford to stop. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and ran the red light. He had no idea what else to say besides, "I'm sorry, Shreya. I'm on my way. I'll be home soon. Please, just don't..." He trailed off, swallowing hard; the nervous lump in his throat making it hard for him to speak. He didn't think she was listening anyway, not while wailing 'fuck you' and 'how could you?' over and over and over again.

His hands were glued to the steering wheel, as he balanced the phone between his ear and shoulder. Shreya was crying but intent on continuing. He was making out only about half her words through her sobs but wasn't asking her to repeat since he heard it all, they were just swearing Ditiya and him. Every time Dhruv tried to hang up and dial 9-1-1, Shreya would cry louder and swear at him more. Still, the only thing Dhruv could have thought of to say was, "I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry. I love you."

He made it home in record time, Shreya hung up the phone just as he got out of the car. Alarm bells started to sound inside his head when he saw that the front door was wide open like a gaping mouth held in a scream. He called out to Shreya, there was no answer.

A ceramic vase lay shattered just inside the door.

He glanced into the living room and dining room. Drawers were pulled out, their contents strewn. The center table was overturned; china smashed and chairs lay on their sides. It was shocking to see the things Shreya loved treated so thoughtlessly.

His breath came in shallow gulps as he moved as quietly as he could. The house was bisected by the staircase with their bedroom and guest room to the left, not visible from the hall.

He checked in both the rooms and found the same disarray but no person. Prickles of anxiety and fear made him shiver, but he kept walking. When he stepped into the kitchen. He was momentarily blinded by the afternoon sunlight. He frantically worked to get his eyes to focus and scanned the kitchen, which ran the width of the house, where his wife was sitting at the kitchen table. Dhruv's laptop was opened in front of her along with a bottle of medicine sitting next to it."Are you fucking crazy? What the hell are you doing?"

Dhruv was not aware he was yelling until after. "What the fuck were you planning on doing? Why is the house looking like a tornado?" he demanded. Shreya only stared at him, expression entirely blank, and eyes rimmed red. In that brief moment, he understood he never hated anything more than this.

And then he saw it, the white glowing screen of his Gmail account, the page was empty without any single message from anyone. He was angry. No, he was worse than angry, he was furious. No, he was something worse than furious, but at the moment all he could say was "Are you fucking kidding me? This is what this all was? You have deleted my email?"

Then Shreya finally spoke, she said in a quiet, shaky voice, "Fuck you, Dhruv."

Dhruv was so furious he was practically foaming at the mouth, so he spits, he punched a nearby cabinet, sending banging echoes down the room, loud enough that Shreya visibly jumped. She looked him directly in the eye before pushing past him to go to her bedroom, she heard it behind. "No, fuck you, Shreya."

Everything was an absolute disaster, Dhruv stared at it and wanted to scream, but nothing came out. Grabbing a garbage bag from the utility closet, he headed to every room and, started picking up the bits of broken china that littered on the floor. He put the chairs and the table back on its legs. As quickly as he could, he put the stuff back in the drawers. Last, he mopped the floor with soap and water.

Shreya was wailing again, coming up behind Dhruv and saying, "I took the rest of the sleeping pills, you know. It's only a matter of time, and then you won't have to deal with me anymore."

Dhruv ignored her, and crossed the bedroom, kicking clothes, and shoes, and an alarm clock out of the way. He grabbed the pill bottle off the nightstand and shook it. Sure enough, it was empty. He set it back on the desk and began to clean the mess while attempting to tune out Shreya.

"You don't even give a shit? You hate me that much? Was it your and Ditiya's plan me and showing it suicide? Do you know how many pills were in there? Dhruv! Dhruv! You fucking bastard! What the hell you came here you should fucking go and celebrates with Ditiya? Don't even fucking care if I die?"

Dhruv folded a kurta, tucking it into the drawer.

"Fuck you! I fucking hate you! This is my entire fault! You ruined me! I shouldn't have married you! you don't even give a shit! All you fucking care about is Ditiya! That's all you've ever cared about! And you were just using me! I am just for show wife, I left everything for you." She began to throw things again, this time grabbing clothes straight from the closet, and aiming them at Dhruv. Dhruv had been witness to quite a few breakdowns, but never this bad. And he was tired. So tired, and he was losing patience. Shreya had been "diagnosed bipolar" three months earlier and had been in individual therapy because she had been taking sleeping pills for six months before.

"Oh my god, you don't even care that I'm dying." Shreya reached across the lamp and grabbed Dhruv by his neck collar and sank down onto the ground, a pile of sobs.

Dhruv stared at her for a moment, heart melting back. The anger dissipates and then evaporates, and he was left looking at Shreya. His witnessed wife, his life partner. Sad, broken Shreya and his heart broke.

He dropped down on to his knees beside her and snatched her into his arms. He put his hands on her shoulders, fingers brushing her ears, and Shreya closed eyes, "Babe, I'm sorry. You're not going to die."

"I took sleeping -"

"Do you really think I'd leave those lying around in the house? I replaced them with some anti-acids pills and sugar pills. Mostly, sugar pills. You won't die. The most, you might get a little sick."

Shreya blinked her eyes open, and stared back at Dhruv, irises the darkest he has ever seen them. "What?"

"Baby, come on. I love you more than you think, you are my wife. Don't think ever for a second that I don't care."

Shreya began to cry again, but this time it was no more than a whimper, hot tears flowing down her cheeks.

Dhruv wrapped his arms all the way around her, holding her close, and kissing her hair.

Five minutes pass until Shreya was talking again, through cries, "I'm sorry, Dhruv. I'm so sorry. If you want you can divorce me you know? There is something not right with me anymore."

Dhruv said, and said, "I don't know, Shreya. But I think we should see Dr. Mehta again."

"Okay. I'm sorry. Please don't leave me. I didn't mean anything I said. I'm sorry."

"I know, I know. It's okay."

Her crying fell into a soft whimper and then nothing at all. She was half asleep, when she whispered, once more, "I'm sorry. Don't leave now. I need you."

"Come on," Dhruv said, "let's get you to bed."

Shreya nodded limply in her arms, allowing Dhruv to maneuver her onto the bed. He tucked her in, a duvet to her chin, and kisses her warm forehead like a mother.

"I'm sorry," Shreya said once more, eyes shut, eyebrows furrowed. "I'm so sorry."