The silence in the room was thick, like the stillness before a thunderstorm. Suresh sat at the edge of the bed, his fingers entwined tightly, as if holding onto the truth he had kept buried for too long.
His wife, Meera, stood across the room, her face a mask of confusion.
"I have to tell you something," Suresh began, his voice low, hoarse.
"Before we got married… there was someone."
Meera raised her eyebrows slightly, not fully understanding.
"Not a woman," he clarified. "A man. His name was Romy."
The name dropped like a stone into still water. Ripples of disbelief danced across Meera's face.
"Romy Roy. Yes… that Roy. The son of Mr. Roy, India's biggest real-estate tycoon. We met at Harvard. He wasn't just smart, he was brilliant. Confident. Charming. Everyone was drawn to him, professors included."
Suresh smiled faintly, a nostalgic shadow flickering in his eyes. "But I was different. I admired him from afar. I watched him debate, win scholarships, lead student movements. I was just the quiet kid in the second row."
"But then…" His voice trailed off, darkening. "One night, everything changed."
His hands trembled slightly as he recalled, "Some jealous boys didn't like how perfect Romy was. They followed him one night, beat him badly, left him half-dead in the alley behind the dorms."
Meera gasped quietly, her hand covering her mouth.
"I found him. Took him to the hospital. I stayed by his side for days, skipping classes, even missing exams. I didn't care. I just wanted to make sure he'd be okay. That's how we became friends."
He paused, emotions swirling in his chest.
"Then… there was this party. Romy drank more than he could handle. I helped him home, and… and I made a mistake. I crossed a line. I kissed him."
Meera's eyes widened, stunned.
"I thought he felt the same. That maybe, deep down, he knew. But he didn't. Not then. He was furious. Pushed me away. Wouldn't talk to me for days. I hated myself for it."
"But then…" He smiled softly, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. "He came to me one night. No words. Just… silence. And in that silence, he kissed me back. We became more than friends. Secretly. Quietly. Carefully. Romy was my first love, Meera."
Meera looked away, blinking rapidly, trying to digest the storm of emotions.
Suresh added gently, "But we couldn't be open. Not with his family, not in India, not even with friends. And slowly, distance came. Fear replaced passion. After graduation, he returned to India. I stayed in New York. We lost touch."
He looked up at his wife, now sitting down, pale and speechless.
"I didn't marry you to lie to you. I married you because I loved the peace you brought me. But a part of me, that part, never really healed."
Meera's lips trembled. Her voice cracked when she finally spoke, "Do you… still love him?"
Suresh paused. Thought. Then shook his head slowly.
"No. I don't love him. But I remember him. I remember what it meant to be seen for the first time."
A tense silence lingered between them.
Other side ----
Switzerland welcomed them with its crisp mountain air and snow-dusted charm. As Romy and Monty stepped into the grand marble-floored lobby of the luxurious alpine hotel, the staff at the reception desk froze for a second, eyes widening in recognition.
One of the attendants leaned over and whispered, almost in disbelief, "Sir… this is your wife?"
Romy didn't even flinch. With a calm, slightly amused smile, he cut the man off mid-sentence.
"No, no. He's not my wife. He's my wife's twin brother."
Monty shifted awkwardly beside him, unsure how to react, caught between embarrassment and nostalgia.
The receptionist nodded hesitantly, though confusion still danced in his eyes. Romy quickly changed the subject. "Book one room," he said smoothly.
Monty's head snapped toward him. "Wait, what? No, book two rooms."
But Romy shrugged nonchalantly, still keeping that charming tone, "We're both men, Monty. Why waste money? Besides, I don't snore."
Monty frowned but didn't protest further. They were here for investigation, not a holiday. And yet, as they stepped into the elegant suite with its warm golden lighting and view of the snow-covered peaks, something inside Monty stirred.
The scent of Swiss pine in the air, the quiet warmth of the room, the silence between them, it all pulled him back.
Back to the honeymoon.
Back to the nights wrapped in silk sheets, whispering secrets under the covers.
Back to when he was dressed as Preety.
Back when Romy had kissed him not just with lips, but with trust.
Monty sat on the bed quietly, his gaze fixed on the fireplace crackling in the corner. Romy was unpacking, tossing his coat over the chair, pretending to ignore the charged silence between them.
But Monty's heart had already betrayed him.
That same warmth from the past, he could feel it creeping in again.
He wasn't Preety now. He was Monty. Just Monty.