"Can you shut up for a second?" Swapnil muttered.
But Meera wasn't done. She turned toward him, her eyes blazing now. "No. You don't speak." She said pointing her finger towards Swapnil.
Swapnil raised an eyebrow at her. " I am your boss."
" No. Right now, you are the husband who has been accused of cheating on his wife." She then turned to Samir, her voice steady and sharp. "What does you mean he is getting married again and again and again - again ?" Meera asked, turning sharply toward Samir.
"You mean…" her voice trailed off, her eyes widening, "…he's been married before?" She staggered back a step, the realization settling like a weight in her chest. "Oh. My. God. That means I'm his second or third wife!"
Her words came in a rapid storm of disbelief. "I thought he was a good man. A decent one. But no! He cheated - cheated on me!" She whipped her gaze toward Swapnil; betrayal etched into every word. "Not just me… you cheated on your other wifes too? And then you had the audacity to kiss me?"
Her voice rose with every accusation. "How dare you touch me?"
Swapnil didn't flinch. His eyes remained locked on Samir, unmoved by Meera's outburst.
"I'm not going to respond to a single one of her accusations," he said through clenched teeth. "So, for your sake, Samir, I suggest you explain it to her. Or I'll forget we were ever friends."
Samir exhaled sharply and offered a strained smile. "Meera, that's not what I meant at all."
She folded her arms. "The way you said it - 'he got married again and again and again' - that clearly meant he's been married before."
"No," Samir tried again, gentler this time. "What I meant was… he married you again. You two already had a marriage - technically."
"And what was about the extra again," Meera snapped. "We've only been married two time if I count the Andaman one."
"Come on, Meera. Think about it - the registration, the paperwork… that counts as marriage."
"That was just a certificate. Not a real wedding but still I am counting it," she argued.
Despite Samir's every effort to explain, her stubbornness remained intact. And Swapnil had enough.
"Samir," he said, calm but firm, "Step out for a while. I'll call you later when I'm ready."
Samir glanced at both of them before silently nodding and walking out of the room.
Swapnil gestured toward a chair. "Sit down."
She obeyed, her shoulders still tight with tension. He leaned back against the edge of his desk, watching her.
"We'll talk about me later. First, tell me something - why do you feel so insecure?"
Meera's gaze dropped to her lap. "I'm not insecure," she murmured.
"Oh really?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Then what was all that? Jealousy? Love?"
His voice was calm, not mocking - just direct.
"Look, Meera. You and I both know this isn't love. Whatever this is between us… maybe it's sympathy, maybe just convenience. I don't know what to call it. But I've been watching you long enough to know - you're hiding something."
"You don't like it when I look at someone else. But you don't want me either. You don't want me close, but you also can't stand me being close to anyone else. You don't want to claim me, but you can't let go. I know this marriage is just a name on paper - but even so, don't I deserve to know what's going on in your head?"
He paused, then softened his voice further. "Only if you feel comfortable telling me."
Meera lifted her gaze and met his eyes. His words weren't wrong. In fact… they were eerily accurate.
She didn't love him - no. At least, not in any way she understood. What she did feel was… rage. Frustration. And something else - something she refused to name.
But yes, she hated it when other women looked at him.
There was that wedding… yes. She remembered now. One woman had stared at Swapnil for far too long. No - two. Two women. Grown, confident women.
And it had bothered her more than she cared to admit. But what if Swapnil was just trying to know her secrete with the goodie goodie talk?
She turned back to him, slowly, her voice more grounded than before.
"For me… marriage isn't a joke," she said quietly. "I don't know about you, but for me - it matters."
Swapnil straightened slightly, sensing the shift in her tone. She won't open her mouth easily... He thought.
"I never knew my mother," she continued. "But after I was born, when she found out she was dying, she wrote a diary. Just for me. My father gave it to me on my nineteenth birthday."
He watched her intently as she spoke, not interrupting.
"She wrote a lot about life - and relationships. One of the things she said about marriage was this: 'Sometimes the relationships that matter the most aren't the ones we choose - but the ones we are given.' She believed that every bond - be it friendship, love, or marriage - teaches us something valuable. And all we have to do is figure out whether that bond is meant to walk the path with us… or simply prepare us for the journey ahead."
Meera took a deep breath before meeting his eyes again.
"So no, I don't know what this relationship between us is. Maybe it's a lesson. Maybe it's something more. But as long as we are in it… I want honesty. That's the only thing I'm asking for."
"And I promise to offer the same in return."
There was a silence. A gentle kind. One that acknowledged truths.
Swapnil stood straighter and nodded once. "Alright. I promise - I'll be honest with you. And as far as this 'shared path' goes… for now, I think your path is leading you toward your dreams. Your career. I know you won't need my help in that, but still… I'll be there. If you ever do."
His voice was steady, his words real.
Meera stared at him, speechless.
"Are you going to say something?" he asked, bringing her back from her thoughts.
She blinked. Then smirked, arms crossed once again. "So… your first wife, huh?"
Swapnil just gave her a long, tired look.
"Alright, alright. Got it!" she laughed. "If there is something, we'll talk about it later."