"Then I will transfer it back."
"You can try. I will just transfer it to you again."
She looked up at me, and I could see the war happening behind her eyes. Anger and love and fear all mixed together.
Then, to my shock, she tore the papers in half.
"I do not want your property, Armaan. I never wanted any of this. I just wanted you to be honest with me. To choose me because you wanted to, not because you had to."
The torn papers fluttered to the bed between us. I stared at them, then at her, my heart pounding.
"Viya—"
Her phone rang, cutting off whatever I was about to say. She reached for it on the nightstand, and I saw the name flash on the screen. Mahesh Sharma. Her lawyer.
She answered, putting it on speaker.
"Hello, Mr. Sharma."
"Mrs. Khanna, good morning. I am calling to remind you that we have court tomorrow. The six-month reconciliation period ends, and Judge Desai will want to hear your decision."
My entire body went cold. Tomorrow. The court date was tomorrow. In all the effort of the past six months, in all my focus on winning her back, I had somehow managed to forget the deadline that had been looming over us.
Tomorrow, Viya would have to tell the judge whether she wanted to continue our marriage or proceed with the divorce.
Tomorrow, my entire future would be decided.
"I remember, Mr. Sharma," Viya said, her voice steady even though her hands were shaking. "We will be there."
"Have you made your decision? What you plan to tell the judge?"
There was a long pause. I held my breath, waiting for her answer.
"Not yet," she said finally. "I will let you know tomorrow."
"Very well. I will see you at the courthouse at ten o'clock. Have a good day, Mrs. Khanna."
She ended the call and set the phone down. The silence in the room was deafening.
I wanted to ask. Wanted to demand to know what she was thinking, what she was feeling, what she planned to say to the judge tomorrow.
But I forced myself to stay quiet. This had to be her choice. Freely made. Without pressure or manipulation.
She looked at the torn papers on the bed, then at me, then back at the papers.
"I need to think," she said quietly. "About tomorrow. About what I am going to say."
"Okay."
"And I need to do it alone. I am going to go for a walk in the garden."
She got up carefully, her hand supporting her belly, and walked toward the door. Before she left, she paused and looked back at me.
"Thank you. For the papers. For everything you have done these past six months. Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know that I see it. I see how hard you have been trying."
Then she was gone, leaving me alone in our bedroom with torn transfer deeds and the suffocating knowledge that tomorrow, I might lose everything that truly mattered.
I did not know what she would decide. Did not know if six months of effort was enough. Did not know if she could forgive me, could trust me again, could choose to stay.