Unfinished (Some love stories don’t end. They just wait to be written right) - Chapter 11

 

Chapter 11: A Marriage Not Quite Over

The following days unfolded like slow spring after a long winter. Nothing drastic changed, but the air between Aditi and Aditya softened — from thick frost to something gentler. Warmer.

They still kept things professional at work. They didn’t linger. They didn’t joke. They didn’t stare too long. But there was a strange stillness whenever they stood near each other now — the kind that carried questions unspoken, and answers just waiting to surface.

And Aditi hated to admit it…

But she found herself checking her phone. Hoping it was him.

Sometimes, it was.

Lunch today? Just as a colleague.
The vendor wants feedback — your opinion would help.
Don’t forget to eat.

He never asked for more.

But every message carried something unsaid.

Something healing.

---

A Week Later – The Legal Knock

It was an ordinary Thursday when Aditi received a call from her family lawyer. She had been at her desk, reviewing the third quarter reports, when her phone buzzed.

She answered casually.
“Hello?”

But the voice on the other side was formal.
“Ms. Aditi Khanna?”

She stiffened.

The name still hit like a stone sometimes.

“Yes?” she replied.

“I was just going over some pending case files from your family’s side. There was a divorce file from two years ago—between you and Mr. Aditya Khanna. I assumed it had been resolved, but...”

He paused.

She frowned. “But what?”

“There’s no closure stamp. No court hearing record. No submission entry from Mr. Khanna’s side. The papers were signed by you, yes — but never filed.”

She went still. The pen in her hand dropped.

“What are you saying?” she whispered.

“I’m saying, legally — you and Mr. Khanna are still married.”

---

Later That Day – Confrontation

Aditi stormed into the Khanna Group headquarters like fire wrapped in silk.

Her eyes scanned the floor until she found his cabin door — slightly open.

She didn’t knock.

She walked in.

Aditya looked up from a call, surprised. “Aditi?”

“Cancel it,” she said flatly.

He blinked once — then obeyed.

He ended the call, placed his phone down, and stood. “What happened?”

Her fingers trembled around the edge of the file in her hand. “The divorce. You never submitted it.”

Silence.

“You made me sign,” she said, voice rising. “You left me. You destroyed everything… and you never even filed it?”

Aditya took a slow breath. “No. I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because the moment I saw your signature,” he said softly, “I realized I couldn’t let it be real.”

She stepped back, shaking her head. “You don’t get to play mind games with me. You don’t get to vanish, leave a wound, and come back two years later and say oops, never filed it.”

“I wasn’t playing,” he said.

“Then what were you doing, Aditya?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Punishing me? Holding on to some twisted hope?”

“No,” he replied. “I was holding on to us.”

She stared at him, breathless.

He stepped forward slowly.

“I knew you'd never come looking for me. You had every reason not to. I watched you grow stronger. Sharper. Independent. And I thought... maybe I had no place anymore.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Then why keep the bond?”

“Because it was the only thing that reminded me I once had something real.”

Aditi swallowed hard.

Tears welled up behind her eyes — not because she was sad, but because the weight of two years had just shifted… all at once.

“I hate you for leaving,” she whispered.

“I hated myself too,” he said.

Silence stretched long between them.

And then — she placed the file on his desk.

Not with anger. But finality.

“I deserve to choose now. Not because you let me. But because I want to.”

She walked toward the door.

Then paused.

Turned.

“If I’m still your wife… win me like a husband. Not like a client.”

And with that, she left.

---

That Night

Aditya stood alone in his office, long after the lights had dimmed.

On the desk, the old divorce paper lay untouched. The corner curled. Yellowing with time.

And beside it, a post it note she had written during their early days of marriage — still stuck to the corner of his laptop:

Don't forget your keys. And if you're late again, dinner's mine.

He smiled through the ache.

Because this time, she hadn’t said goodbye.

She had drawn a line — not an ending.

And he knew, deep in his chest, that for the first time in a long time…

There was a way back.