Chapter 16: The Edge of the Blade
The evening air clung to Naina's skin as she pulled into the parking lot, Myra's small hand wrapped around her index finger. Her daughter chattered about a drawing she had made, a sun with glasses and a smiling cloud, and Naina nodded at the right beats while her mind circled elsewhere.
Aarav and Priya. His arm around her. The journal's confession replaying in her head like a loop she could not pause.
She unlocked the flat and let Myra run ahead to her toys. The familiar clutter of camera gear and tripods greeted her, the tripod still angled where Aarav had left it that morning. She started dinner without thinking, dicing onions and tomatoes on autopilot while her thoughts drifted back to the entry she had read.
The hug was innocent. That part she believed. Priya was broken, vulnerable, and Aarav was kind. Her husband had always been kind.
But the jealousy had teeth.
She scraped the onions into the pan and watched them sizzle. The experiment existed for this, she reminded herself. They had both agreed. No accusations, no jealousy games. If Aarav felt something for Priya, that was the test working. And if she felt something for Nirav, the same logic applied.
She subdued the thought with practiced discipline, the way she subdued so many others these days.
Aarav walked in at his usual time, keys chiming against the bowl by the door. He smiled at her, asked about her day, ruffled Myra's hair. The domestic choreography moved smoothly, dinner on the table, plates set, the clink of cutlery filling the pauses.
Naina caught the scent before she could stop herself. The same floral, vanilla perfume from last night. It clung to his collar, faint but unmistakable, and her jaw tightened for half a second before she forced it loose.
The experiment is for this reason. I trust him.
She served the dal he liked, watched him take the first bite and nod with approval. Myra told him about the sun with glasses, and he laughed, the sound genuine enough to soften something in Naina's chest.
"How was work?" she asked.
"Busy. Deployment got messy. You know how it is."
The words were generic. She let them pass without pushing. The perfume remained on her mind, but she had made her peace with it for now. The experiment allowed this. That was the entire point.
They were clearing the dishes when her phone chimed on the dining table. A bright, insistent buzz that cut through the quiet domestic rhythm.
Naina wiped her hands on the towel and picked it up. The offshore WhatsApp group, her team's group. A message from Shyam sat unread, with a second one following while she looked.
"Hey everyone, checking if we are all good for the annual trip this year. Need suggestions for locations."
The group began to stir. A few colleagues responded with emojis and vague enthusiasm. Naina scrolled, thinking.
She typed a reply, her fingers moving with the fluency of someone who had done this a thousand times. "If you want something close, Coorg is always good. Or Gokarna if you prefer beach vibes. Kabini for wildlife, depends on the season."
She paused over her keyboard, then looked at Aarav. "My team is planning the annual trip. Shyam asked for suggestions. Would you mind if I went?"
Aarav's chopsticks paused over his plate. "Is that the one with the team from your department?"
"Yes. Just my team. Nine people."
"Will Nirav be there?"
The question came out sharper than he probably intended, and Naina caught the crack in his composure before he smoothed it. She felt a flicker of something, satisfaction maybe, that his jealousy mirrored her own.
"He's not in my team, Aarav. He works miles away from my cubicle. He won't be on this trip."
Aarav nodded slowly, and she watched the tension leave his shoulders. The relief was visible, and she knew he was thinking of Priya too, that his willingness to drop the matter came with its own guilt.
"I don't mind," he said. "You should go. Get some time with your team."
Naina turned back to her phone and typed the confirmation into the group. "I'm in. Let's decide the location this week."
Someone suggested Coorg. Another suggested Hampi. The thread began to fill with opinions and links to resorts, and Naina found herself relaxing into the familiar rhythm of planning travel, the part of her that lived behind the name "TheSlowCompass" waking up with genuine interest.
"Coorg is good in November," she typed. "The coffee estates are gorgeous that time of year."
Aarav watched her from across the table, a hint of a smile on his face. "You're in vlogger mode."
"Old habits."
He reached for Myra's plate, stacking it on his own, and Naina caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. The perfume was still there, faint in the air around him, but for the first time that evening, the jealousy felt manageable.
She had her own plans taking shape now. Her own trip to look forward to.
The group chat hummed with activity as Naina scrolled through the responses. Coorg, Hampi, Gokarna—each suggestion came with a link, a photo, a promise of escape. She thumbed through them, her mind already weighing distances and seasons, the vlogger's instinct kicking in.
Then she typed: What about Tarkarli?
A pause followed. Three dots appeared, disappeared, reappeared.
Tarkarli? Never heard of it.
She smiled, fingers finding the rhythm of explanation. It's like Goa but quieter. White sand beaches, clear water, not overrun with tourists. Sindhudurg fort is nearby. You can do water sports if you want, or just sit on the beach and do nothing.
Another pause. Then a colleague replied: Isn't that near Malvan?
Yes. Same stretch. Tarkarli's the beach town, Malvan's for the fort and the food.
Shyam's name appeared in the chat. Sounds interesting. How do we get there?
Naina leaned back, her mind tracing the route she'd mapped a dozen times for her own channel. Train to Kudal. Then rent a van or car—about five hours from there. Or fly to Goa and drive up, but the train route is more scenic.
The chat buzzed with emojis and questions. Someone asked about hotels. Another asked about the best season. Naina answered each one with the ease of someone who had internalized this information years ago, her fingers moving while her thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Aarav had taken Myra to the bathroom for her bedtime routine. The sound of splashing water and his daughter's laughter drifted down the hall. Naina let herself listen for a moment, the domestic music grounding her.
The phone chimed again. She glanced at the screen, expecting another question about Tarkarli. Instead, Nirav's name glowed in the notification bar.
Hey. I heard your team is planning a trip. Tarkarli sounds amazing. I've always wanted to go.
She stared at the message. The timing felt deliberate, though she couldn't prove it. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Naina: It's a team thing. Just my department.
Nirav: I know. I'm not inviting myself. Just saying it sounds nice. You have good taste in destinations.
She smiled despite herself. The man had a way of making even a compliment feel like a touch.
Naina: I've been a few times. It's special.
Nirav: Special enough to go back?
The question hung in the air, layered with meaning she chose not to unpack. She typed a neutral reply.
Naina: Maybe someday.
She set the phone face-down on the table and stood, walking toward the kitchen to finish the dishes. The running water filled the silence, and she let herself sink into the simple rhythm of scrubbing and rinsing.
Fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty. Myra's eyelids grew heavy, her head drooping against Aarav's shoulder. Aarav lifted her gently and carried her to bed, and Naina heard the soft murmur of goodnight kisses through the wall.
When he returned, he stood in the living room doorway, his hands in his pockets.
"She's out."
"Good."
A pause stretched between them. The flat felt smaller tonight, the walls closer.
"I'm going to shower," he said.
She nodded. She picked up her phone. The group chat had continued without her, settling on Tarkarli as the destination. Shyam had shared a link to a resort near the beach, and someone else had suggested dates. Mid-November, a Friday to Monday. Three nights.
She typed: Looks good. I'll book the train tickets tomorrow.
A flurry of thumbs-up emojis followed. She set the phone down and walked to the bedroom, where Aarav was already in the bathroom, the shower running.
The leather-bound journal sat on his nightstand.
She looked at it. Then at the bathroom door. Then back at the journal.
The shower stopped. Aarav emerged in a towel, his hair dripping, his chest still damp. He dried himself without looking at her, pulled on boxers, and slid into bed.
A flurry of thumbs-up emojis followed. She set the phone down and walked to the bedroom, where Aarav was already in the bathroom, the shower running.
The leather-bound journal sat on his nightstand.
She looked at it. Then at the bathroom door. Then back at the journal.
The shower stopped. Aarav emerged in a towel, his hair dripping, his chest still damp. He dried himself without looking at her, pulled on boxers, and slid into bed.
The space between them on the mattress felt wider than it should.
"Goodnight," he said.
"Goodnight."
She lay in the dark, listening to his breathing slow. It took a long time for her own to follow.
Aarav's breathing had evened out beside her, but the perfume lingered in her memory more than in the air now. Floral, vanilla. She turned the word over. Priya's perfume. The hug in the parking lot had been a line crossed, he had written that himself, and yet the journal entry had been honest. Honest counted for something. It had to.
Her phone glowed on the nightstand. She reached for it before she could stop herself, a habit she despised and obeyed anyway.
Nirav: Did you book the tickets yet?
She frowned. The message had arrived twenty minutes ago, while Aarav was still in the shower. She typed a reply, deleted it, typed again.
Naina: Tomorrow. Why are you awake?
Nirav: Same reason as you, I think.
She stared at the screen. The room stayed dark and quiet, Aarav's shoulder rising and falling an arm's length away. Her thumb hovered.
Naina: And what reason is that?
Nirav: Wanting something you can't have yet.
She locked the phone and put it face-down on the nightstand, harder than necessary. The plastic clicked against the wood. Beside her, Aarav stirred but did not wake.
Yet. The word sat in her chest like a stone dropped in still water. She had pulled her wrist away from him at the office, a calculated move, and he had smiled as if he understood the game perfectly. He did understand it. That was the problem.
She got up quietly and walked to the kitchen for water. The city hummed beyond the window, a few yellow lights still burning in the towers across the lane. She drank standing up, the glass cold against her palm, and let herself think about Tarkarli.
Three nights. Nine people. Shyam's insistence on the resort link, his habit of standing too close, his comments that were personal without ever quite breaking a rule. Nirav, hundreds of kilometers away, texting her at midnight as if he could smell the trip through the phone. And Aarav here, asleep, smelling of another woman's perfume, forgiven in advance by rules they had written together.
The glass was empty. She set it in the sink.
The experiment is for this, she told herself again, and this time the sentence felt thinner, a coin worn smooth from handling. They had built a machine to test whether the marriage would hold under pressure, and now the machine was running on both sides of the bed at once, and neither of them had asked whether that was still what they wanted.
She returned to the bedroom. Aarav's journal sat on his nightstand, closed, its leather spine catching the streetlight through the curtains. She stood over it for a long moment.
Then she opened her message window with Nirav instead and typed four words.
Naina: Goodnight Nirav. Gonna sleep. Bye
She sent it, put the phone on the far side of the nightstand, and lay down facing the wall. It was a small thing, a single sentence. But it was her move, made deliberately, on a board only she and Nirav could see, and she fell asleep before she could decide whether it was retreat or advance.