Exiting the Oberoi Hotel, neon lights faintly illuminated my weary face. Bombay buzzed relentlessly—noisy, disorderly—but inside me, only silence prevailed.
Mr. Verma, my employer, had just left, leaving behind a crumpled office dress in my hands and an overwhelming emptiness within my chest.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated inside my handbag. I pulled it out to discover a bank notification: ₹500,000 deposited—a sum so vast it made my heart race. Yet, happiness eluded me.
My name is Priya, 28 years old, an ordinary office worker residing in Thane on Bombay’s outskirts. However, normalcy in my life had long since vanished.
My husband, Ravi, once a brilliant young engineer, has been paralyzed from the neck down following a car accident two years ago. Since then, I have served as his nurse, caretaker, and sole provider. Day after day, I feed, bathe, and care for him—as emotionlessly as a machine.
But that night, I transcended the role of a devoted wife. I committed an act I never imagined myself capable of.
Earlier that morning, Mr. Verma summoned me to his office.
A powerful man in his fifties, wealthy and authoritative, his gaze always sent chills down my spine.
“Priya, do you want to save your husband?”
Nodding, my heart pounded uncontrollably.
He slid a contract across his desk. At the top, bolded: a sum of 500,000 rupees. In return, a night spent with him in a hotel.
I froze. Ravi needed surgery—without it, doctors warned he wouldn’t survive the year. We were utterly bankrupt, with our families exhausted of all resources.
My trembling hand barely managed to sign the agreement.
Inside the hotel, I felt numb—devoid of thought and feeling—I merely endured.
Surprisingly, Mr. Verma behaved kindly, though each of his touches felt like a blade slicing through my dignity.
When it ended, he handed me an envelope and said, “You did well. Your husband will thank you.”
Without reply, I bowed and left silently.
Back in our modest Thane room, the aroma of cooking rice porridge filled the air. Ravi lay motionless, eyes fixed on the ceiling. I sat beside him, slowly spooning the porridge and feeding him.
“I worked overtime today. I’m tired.”
I lied.
He nodded weakly, saying nothing.
Looking at him—the man I once loved passionately—now merely a shadow on a mattress, tears streamed down my face, dripping into the bowl.
Again, my phone vibrated. Another deposit: ₹1,000,000.
I was stunned.
Was this Mr. Verma?
Checking the message read: “You deserve more. Don’t tell anyone.” My pulse quickened. Was this a trap, or cruel sympathy? I could not tell.
The next morning, I arrived at work, nerves frayed. Mr. Verma was gone; his secretary informed me he had flown to Delhi early.
Relieved but uneasy, I returned home when my phone buzzed again, a message from an unknown number:
“Priya, thank you for saving me last night. I am Ravi, but not your Ravi.”
Cold dread washed over me. I tried calling back, but the call was disconnected.
Hurrying home, Ravi remained motionless in bed.
“Do you know something?” I whispered.
He looked at me, then smiled faintly.
“Priya, I realize how much you sacrificed. But are you certain the man you were with last night was really your boss?”
My mind spun.
Reviewing the contract again, I noticed the signature was not Mr. Verma’s but another:
Ravi Narayan.
The same name as my husband. And the bank deposit? Also from Ravi Narayan.
That night, sleep eluded me completely, as I sat beside Ravi, piecing together fragments of this twisted reality.
Had someone intervened? Was I under surveillance all along?
At 3 a.m., another message arrived:
“Don’t look for me. Use this money to save your husband. He no longer deserves your pain.”
I read the message repeatedly.
Who was “he”? Who was the “real Ravi”?
Was the man beside me just a helpless patient?
- The ₹1.5 million now in my account confirmed one truth: this story had barely begun.
- Questions about identity, sacrifice, and love lingered unanswered.
- A hidden narrative slowly emerged beyond my comprehension.
In conclusion, this extraordinary experience forced me to confront the shadows clouding my life. It revealed unsettling mysteries about trust, identity, and the true cost of survival. Though uncertainty remains, the journey to uncover the complete truth is far from over.