SUMIT'S JOURNEY AND THE TANGLED WEBS OF OBSESSION

The cold December air of Kathmandu carried a quiet, biting chill through the windows, but inside the broadcasting studio of City FM, the atmosphere was dense with the warm, amber glow of studio lights and the low hum of mixing consoles. It was precisely 8:00 PM on December 25, 2016. Across the city, thousands of listeners, tucked into their blankets or sitting in parked cars caught in evening traffic jams, had their dials tuned to the frequency where voices carried confessions into the dark. On air tonight was a man whose name was synonymous with modern romantic fiction, a literary figure whose journey from a heartbroken writer to a globally sought-after storyteller had captured the imaginations of youth across the nation.

Sumit Ojha sat before the studio microphone, adjusting his collar. He looked at the digital clock on the panel, watching the digits tick. He had spent years crafting worlds out of words, building characters that resonated with the turbulent hearts of urban youth, yet tonight, his own life was the open book up for review. His previous works, In Search of Answer and Mistakes of My Life, had topped the bestseller lists, capturing the public’s attention with their raw, unfiltered portrayals of heartbreak and youth culture. In Search of Answer, published in 2014, had become a defining generational text. Yet, despite his commercial success, his personal life had been a chaotic labyrinth of broken promises, fleeting passions, and destructive obsessions.

The station manager gave him the cue, pointing a finger toward the live indicator. Sumit cleared his throat, leaning into the condenser microphone, his voice carrying that familiar, comforting resonance that his readers had grown to love and trust over the years.

“Hello and Namaste to all of my listeners and readers,” Sumit began, his tone steady yet carrying a subtle weight of vulnerability. “It’s me, your writer, Sumit Ojha. Welcome to you all in the programme named Celebrities Story. You are tuned into City FM. You will be hearing me till 10 PM. As most of the readers ask me whether I have planned to write my own love story or not, I have thought about it, and finally, it’s in the publication house. So, I am telling you my love story tonight. I hope you will like it, and I hope you will buy my book when it releases after two months.”

The microphone picked up the soft rustle of his papers as he prepared to take his listeners back through the labyrinth of his memories, back to the bitter endings and the obsessive beginnings that had shaped his writing and his soul.

The roots of his story traced back to a relationship that had long since exhausted its oxygen. For six years, Sumit had been entangled with Simi. Their connection had never been built on the quiet, steady foundation of mutual understanding; instead, it was a volatile theater of emotional attrition. They had argued over trivialities, weaponized their flaws against each other, and stretched the boundaries of affection until the fabric of the relationship snapped entirely.

“We cannot stay any longer in this relationship,” Simi had declared one evening, her voice sharp with exhaustion. “I am fed up with you. I am not happy with this relationship. I am bored with you. You don’t interest me anymore. I don’t know how this relationship lasted for six years.”

Sumit, stung by the suddenness and finality of her words, had fired back with equal venom. “Even I am frustrated with this relationship. I don’t find you interesting. Instead of me, you are irritating. Every time you are commanding and demanding. I don’t understand your characteristics. During those six years, I tolerated you. Now, even I want to end this relationship. I cannot handle you and your characteristics.”

They had broken up. It was a familiar ritual, a script they had enacted more than a dozen times over the course of their years together. But this time, the exhaustion felt permanent. The emotional bankruptcy left Sumit stranded in a creative desert. He sat at his desk, staring at the blank monitor of his computer, trying to summon the inspiration that had once flowed so effortlessly for his novels. The words would not come. Whenever he placed his fingers on the keyboard, a profound emptiness settled into his chest. To numb the void, he turned to chain-smoking, watching the grey wisps of nicotine curl toward the ceiling and vanish into the shadows of his room.

Desperate for a distraction from his creative paralysis, he logged into Facebook, his eyes scanning the list of active users. Among them, a name caught his attention: Soniya. She was the friend of an ex-friend, someone he had crossed paths with briefly in the past. Acting on a sudden, uncalculated impulse, he opened the chat window and sent a simple greeting.

“Hi.”

There was no immediate response. Minutes bled into hours, and still, the chat remained silent. Impatience, a foreign emotion to a man usually composed and patient with his craft, clawed at his mind. Why wasn’t she answering? The question festered. That night dissolved into a blur of insomnia as he repeatedly refreshed the browser, watching her status icon flicker. This obsessive checking continued for a grueling week, turning a casual impulse into a fixation that consumed his waking hours.

The breakthrough came on a Saturday night at precisely 9:30 PM. Fatigued by the week, Sumit had checked his phone one last time before bed, and there she was—green light glowing, active. His pulse quickened.

“Hi,” he typed rapidly.

“Hi,” came the immediate reply.

Encouraged by the speed of her response, he pressed on. “Hi. How are you doing?”

“Good. How about you?”

“Going on. I must say sorry to you.”

“Why?”

“I am sending you a message at this time.”

“Then, stop sending me a message.”

“Why are you saying like that?”

“Why are you saying like that?”

“Cannot I send a message to my friend?”

“You started first.”

With those final words, her status changed to offline. Stung by her abrupt dismissal, a wave of guilt washed over him. He scrambled to type a reconciliation message, pouring his vulnerability onto the screen. “Sorry, Soniya. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t get any friends to talk to me, so I started chatting with you. I want to be a good friend of yours. Nothing else. I am sorry. Please, forgive me.”

With the message sent, a strange sense of relief overtook him, and he drifted off to sleep. The next morning, instead of facing his unfinished manuscript, his first instinct led him back to the glowing screen of his laptop. He opened the message thread with bated breath.

“I am not hurt or angry,” Soniya’s reply read. “It’s just that you were behaving like a childish person. Nothing like that.”

Her willingness to engage breathed new life into his stagnant routine. Over the following weeks, their digital conversations spilled over into the physical world. They began meeting at local spots, sharing casual coffees and long conversations. With every passing day, Sumit felt a shift within himself. The heavy cloud of his breakup with Simi began to dissipate, replaced by the electric, intoxicating rush of a new infatuation. He forgot about his writing, his deadlines, and his career. He was completely, utterly lost in Soniya.

The illusion of a budding romance shattered on an afternoon at the Universal Café. Sumit had arrived with a heart full of unspoken declarations, ready to cross the boundary from friendship into something deeper.

“Hey, Soniya,” he began, leaning forward across the table, his eyes fixed on hers. “I want to say something.”

Soniya took a bite of her momo, chewing slowly before looking up with an unsettling calmness. “Say it, but don’t say that you love me.”

The words struck him like a physical blow. He froze, his mind racing to process the boundary she had just erected. “Why did you say that?”

“It’s because I am not single,” she replied casually, finishing her last piece.

“Who is that lucky person?” he asked, a bitter taste rising in his throat.

“You will know soon.”

Sumit pushed his plate away, his appetite entirely vanished. He felt a searing pain in his chest, a restless anxiety that made the café walls feel as though they were closing in. Yet, despite her warning, the compulsion to confess his feelings overpowered his sense of self-preservation. He needed to release the pressure building inside him, regardless of the consequences.

“Where are you lost? Which world are you in?” Soniya asked, noticing his distant expression.

“Actually, to be honest, I started liking you, but I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Soniya’s eyes widened in genuine shock. “What?”

The ambient noise of the café seemed to recede, leaving them in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. They stared at each other, the air thick with unsaid words. Soniya searched for a way to bridge the gap, while Sumit sat paralyzed, waiting for a miracle that wouldn’t come.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Look, I consider you as a good friend. I didn’t see you in that way. Before I met you, I was already in a relationship. I cannot accept your love. Sorry.”

Unable to bear the rejection, Sumit stood up abruptly and walked out of the café without a word, leaving Soniya sitting alone at the table, her gaze following his retreating figure.

What followed was a descent into psychological turmoil. Sumit tried every conceivable tactic to sway her, to make her see that his affection was deeper, more genuine than whatever she shared with her current partner. Every interaction was met with polite resistance or cold irritation. When he foolishly asked probing questions about her boyfriend, hoping to mimic the traits that won her affection, she grew furious and distanced herself entirely, ignoring his calls and refusing to meet him.

He was trapped in his own mind, a prisoner of an unrequited obsession. Every waking moment was haunted by her image. He was frantic, despondent, and entirely hopeless. Two weeks bled past in this agonizing state until his phone rang—a call from Soniya that sent a jolt of electricity through his nervous system. With trembling fingers, he accepted the call.

“Hello,” Soniya’s voice came through the speaker.

“Hello. How are you?” he managed to respond, his heart hammering against his ribs.

“Good. I wanted to invite you to my marriage ceremony which will be held next week. I hope you will come.”

The words hit him like a physical avalanche. He was dumbstruck, his tongue paralyzed by grief.

“Hello, hello,” she called out through the receiver. “Are you there?”

He was so deeply lost in the shock of her announcement that he didn’t even realize when the connection terminated and the call disconnected. The reality of her upcoming wedding felt like an insult hurled by fate itself. For a full week, he retreated from reality, nursing his wounds in isolation. When he finally called her back two days prior to the event, his voice was hollow. He informed her that he wouldn't be able to attend because he was flying to Thailand. She accepted his excuse with casual indifference, offering no pleas for him to change his mind—a reaction that cut him deeper than any argument could have.

On the morning of July 8, 2018, Sumit stood inside the departure terminal of Tribhuwan International Airport, his ticket clutched in his hand. While Soniya prepared for her wedding rites miles away, his mind remained tethered to her. The thought of her marrying another man was an intolerable agony, driving him to flee the country in a desperate bid for geographical escape.

Two days after arriving in Thailand, seeking refuge from his own thoughts, he found himself sitting on a sun-drenched beach. The tropical heat was oppressive, but he remained insulated within the pages of The Book Thief, using literature as a shield against the world.

“Hi,” a voice broke through his concentration.

He didn’t look up, assuming it was a passing tourist or a vendor.

“Hi,” the voice repeated, closer this time.

Annoyed, Sumit placed his bookmark between the pages and turned his head. Standing before him was a striking woman with an open, captivating smile.

“Hey,” she said, waving a hand gently.

“Hi,” Sumit replied, his defensive posture melting slightly under her gaze.

“I have seen you somewhere. Your face looks familiar.”

“You might have seen me. After all, the world is too small,” he replied evasively, unwilling to unpack his identity as a writer in a foreign land.

“Are you a writer?” she pressed, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Which books have you written so far?”

“In Search of Answer and Mistakes of My Life.”

Her expression shifted instantly into a mix of awe and excitement. “Oh, my God! I have read your novel In Search of Answer. I loved the novel. I became your fan. The novel touched my heart. It made me think whether it is based on true events or not?”

“Thank you for your compliment. Yes, somehow it is based on true events. It’s based on my observations.”

That chance encounter blossomed into hours of effortless conversation. Her name was Kusum Pandey, an expatriate who had lived in Thailand for five years, running a successful clothing business. What began as a casual beachside chat quickly evolved into frequent meetings, dinners, and shared moments that slowly began to crowd Soniya’s ghost out of the corners of his mind. At least, that was what Sumit told himself.

The progression with Kusum felt natural, yet it was built on a foundation of profound deceit. Weeks later, they found themselves lying together in the quiet intimacy of a bedroom, the ambient sounds of the city muffled by closed curtains.

Kusum turned on her side, resting her head on her hand as she looked down at him. “Have you ever loved anyone in your life?” she asked, her voice soft with genuine curiosity.

Sumit went rigid. A wall of silence rose within him. To escape Soniya, he had fled to Thailand; to bury Soniya, he was now utilizing Kusum as an emotional anesthetic. He was acutely aware of his own hypocrisy, yet the truth was too ugly to articulate. What could he say? That he was using her warmth to freeze out another woman’s memory?

He rolled over to face her, wearing a mask of practiced innocence. “No. I had never loved anyone.”

Kusum’s eyes widened in amazement. “What? Are you single?”

“Yes, very much single. And how about you?”

“No, I had never loved anyone,” she echoed playfully, repeating his words back to him.

“Are you teasing me?”

“No, I am not teasing you. It’s the truth that I had never loved anyone.”

“Are you single?” he asked, leaning in closer.

She nodded with a radiant smile, and they kissed. But even as their lips met, Sumit’s internal landscape remained barren of true affection.

A week later, sitting across from each other at a quiet restaurant during the golden hour, Kusum delivered a sentence that changed the trajectory of their arrangement. After taking a sip of her coffee, she looked straight into his eyes. “I want to say something.”

“Say it.”

“I Love You.”

Sumit set his coffee cup down with a deliberate click, panic flaring in his chest. He was trapped in the exact same emotional corner he had occupied with Soniya, only this time, the roles were reversed. He felt no romantic passion for Kusum; she was a comfort, a distraction, a tool for his recovery. Yet, cowardice dictated his response. He could neither bring himself to shatter her heart with the brutal truth nor accept her proposal with a clear conscience.

“I will come back in a few minutes,” he stammered, standing up abruptly.

He hurried to the restaurant restroom, locking himself inside a stall. Staring at his reflection in the mirror, he was consumed by a suffocating wave of anxiety. What was he doing? He was manipulating an innocent life to mend his own broken ego. Twenty minutes ticked away as he debated the ethics of his existence. Finally, paralyzed by the fear of confrontation and desperate to maintain the status quo, he rationalized a lie. He washed his hands, forced a calm expression, and walked back out to the table.

Kusum looked up, her expression softening. “Sorry for being late.”

“That’s fine,” she smiled.

“Kusum, I love you too.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but the immediate joy that lit up Kusum’s face—the way she reached across the table and pulled him into a tight, grateful hug—cemented the deception. From that evening onward, they were inseparable, sliding effortlessly into the rhythms of a committed couple, while Sumit lived a double life of internal detachment.

The inevitable escalation came when Kusum broached the topic of permanence.

“Let’s get married, Sumit,” she said one evening, her voice full of bright anticipation.

Sumit felt as though the floor had dropped out from beneath him. Marriage was a line he had never intended to cross with her; he had envisioned himself playing out this foreign interlude before eventually returning to Nepal to resume his hunt for Soniya.

“Hey, what has happened? Where are you lost? It seems you don’t want to get married?” Kusum asked, her tone shifting from playful to concerned.

“No, no. It’s not like that. I want to get married to you. It’s just that you said it so early.”

The lie slipped out effortlessly, a reflex of self-preservation that he instantly regretted. He wanted to confess, to lay bare his cowardice and explain that he was incapable of giving her what she deserved, but the words withered in his throat.

Kusum, oblivious to the internal turmoil raging behind his eyes, beamed with happiness, pulling him into an embrace. “I will talk with my family and fix the date.”

He nodded along, playing the part of the devoted fiancé while screaming internally at his own inability to halt the train he had set in motion.

While the wedding preparations moved forward in Thailand, Sumit’s mind remained anchored thousands of miles away in Kathmandu. Two months had passed since Soniya’s wedding announcement, yet a strange anomaly nagged at his compulsive digital habits: he had not seen a single wedding photograph uploaded to her social media profiles. Soniya was meticulous about documenting her life’s milestones; the absence of her nuptial celebrations felt unnatural. Was it possible the wedding hadn't happened? Had she changed her mind?

The questions tormented him, pulling his attention away from Kusum entirely. One afternoon, right in the middle of a phone call where Kusum was excitedly finalizing the logistical details of their upcoming union, Sumit’s mind was miles away, wandering through the digital corridors of Soniya’s online presence.

“Hi,” he muttered absently.

“Hi. How are you doing? Miss me?” Kusum’s voice chirped through the phone.

“Good. I am missing you. Do you miss me?” he replied, his voice flat with distraction.

“Actually, yes.”

A heavy silence stretched across the line. Kusum noticed his absence, the jarring disconnect between his words and his tone. Breaking the silence, she offered the update that sealed his fate. “There is good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Our marriage date is fixed.”

“When?” he asked, his voice spiking with genuine alarm.

“Next week.”

“Next week?” He was utterly stunned, the reality crashing down with terrifying speed.

“Why are you so stunned?”

“Just…” he trailed off, unable to find an excuse that wouldn't expose his profound disinterest.

September 8, 2018. The date arrived with the weight of an execution. The wedding was scheduled for 5:30 PM. Kusum was radiant, surrounded by family and friends who celebrated her joy, entirely unaware that the man standing beside her at the altar of her heart was a ghost haunting another woman’s memory.

At 3:30 PM, two hours before the ceremony, Sumit snapped. He could not go through with it. The realization that he was about to legally bind his life to a woman he did not love—while his mind remained obsessed with a phantom—pushed him to a desperate, cowardly resolution.

He slipped away from the venue, making his way to Kusum’s private residence. Knowing her habits well, he knew she preferred leaving her bedroom window unlatched for fresh air. Navigating the alleyways with his face hidden beneath a cap, he scaled the ledge and slipped quietly through the open window into her empty room.

On the corner of her writing desk, he placed a sealed white envelope containing his confession. Without looking back, he climbed back out through the window, vanished into the afternoon crowd, and rushed back to his quarters. He had already packed his bags days prior and secured a one-way flight back to Kathmandu departing at 6:00 PM.

He arrived at the airport at 4:00 PM, his eyes glued to his watch, every second ticking like a bomb timer. As the clock struck 5:30 PM—the exact hour he was supposed to be exchanging vows with Kusum—he was pacing the terminal, his mind a chaotic mess of adrenaline and guilt. He wondered if she had found the letter yet.

The letter read:

Dear Kusum,

I am really sorry. I have betrayed you. I have never loved you. I was never interested in you. Every time I cheated you. I gave punishment to you and myself.

Actually, I loved someone, but she doesn’t love me back. She got married, so I came to Thailand to forget her. When I came to Thailand, I thought I could forget her. I met you here in Thailand. We had a relationship, but more than me, you were serious. Although I had a relationship with you, my heart and mind were occupied with her. Whenever I kissed you, I thought I was kissing her. Whenever I was in a physical relationship with you, I thought I was with her.

When you proposed to me, I was freaking out. Although I wanted to say no, I couldn’t. I wanted to say no when the date was fixed for the marriage. Sorry, Kusum. I was not interested in you. I used you to forget my past. I was selfish. I played with you and your emotions. You loved me from the bottom of your heart, but I didn’t.

I am sorry. I will not ask for forgiveness. But I hope for your happiness.

Regards,

Sumit Ojha

At precisely 6:00 PM, the aircraft lifted off the tarmac, carrying Sumit away from the wreckage he had left behind. He felt no immediate remorse, only a hollow numbness. He convinced himself that distance would absolve him, that returning to Nepal would allow him to pick up the broken threads of his obsession with Soniya.

Upon returning to Kathmandu, Sumit spent two days in total seclusion. He drew the curtains, turned off his phone, and slept around the clock, refusing to engage with the world.

When he finally emerged on Tuesday, September 11, 2018, it was 8:30 AM. He made a cup of strong black coffee, brought it back to his bed, and opened his laptop. Logging into Facebook, his eyes immediately gravitated toward Soniya’s profile. The old fire reignited within him; the escape to Thailand had achieved nothing. He was back where he started, consumed by the same relentless desire.

He began mapping out a strategy. He compiled a mental list of the places she used to frequent, tracking down mutual acquaintances and scouring social circles for any scrap of information regarding her whereabouts. That afternoon, he hit the streets of Kathmandu, visiting cafes, bookstores, and neighborhoods where she had once been seen. He asked questions, showed her photograph to strangers, and left messages across every digital platform he could access.

Nothing. Her phone number was permanently switched off after two days of silence. Her Facebook account had been deactivated. The silence was absolute.

For nearly a week, he locked himself in his room again, abandoning his work, his writing, and his sanity. To dull the ache, he began drinking heavily, drowning his failures in cheap liquor as he cursed the universe for slipping her through his fingers once more.

It was during this drunken haze that a notification pinged on his phone. It was a message from Kusum. Though his instinct was to ignore it, morbid curiosity compelled him to open the chat window.

“You have really betrayed me,” Kusum’s message read. “For this, I will not forgive you. I have loved you so much. I wished you could have told me before our marriage. I could have understood you because I also knew the meaning of love and would have let you free, but you didn’t let me know. If you didn’t want to marry me, then why did you say yes and play with me? Why did you pretend that you loved me? Why?

After you left me, my prestige was damaged. You spoiled my reputation. I couldn’t show my face in front of my friends and family. When you left me, I tried to commit suicide, but couldn’t. I don’t know what stopped me from committing suicide.

To be honest, I cannot hate you because I had loved you so much. I still love you. Neither I can forgive nor forget what you had done. But I want you to be happy with your love.”

Sumit stared at the screen, the weight of her words washing over him. He knew he had committed an unforgivable act. He knew he had shattered a life out of sheer selfishness. Yet, remarkably, he felt no profound pang of guilt. His heart was so entirely monopolized by his obsession with Soniya that Kusum’s pain felt distant, like a tragedy happening to a stranger in a book he had long since finished reading. In his distorted worldview, cruelty in the pursuit of love was an acceptable currency.

Days later, sitting in his room amidst a downpour of heavy monsoon rain, watching the grey sheets of water hammer against his windowpane, an epiphany struck him with the force of lightning. He sat upright, spilling a few drops of his coffee.

Universal College. Putalisadak.

Why hadn't he thought of it before? Soniya had studied journalism there. Why hadn't he checked her academic records or college networks during his initial frantic searches? The realization filled him with a mixture of self-loathing and renewed determination.

The following morning at 11:30 AM, Sumit walked through the gates of Universal College in Putalisadak. He made his way directly to the administrative block on the first floor, approaching the reception desk with a practiced, urgent expression.

“Excuse me, I am Sumit Ojha. I need your help,” he said, leaning against the counter.

The receptionist looked up, sizing him up. “Sure. How can I help you?”

“Actually, I need Soniya’s contact number. She was from the 10th batch of Journalism. I am trying to reach her, but couldn't. It’s an emergency.”

The receptionist shook her head firmly. “Sorry, sir. We do not provide any information related to our students to outsiders.”

Sumit pivoted immediately, deploying the charm and authority of a recognized author. He spun a narrative about researching a character for his upcoming novel, playing on her familiarity with his name. His persistence paid off; slowly, the receptionist relented, jotting down a phone number and a home address on a slip of paper. It was a number he had never seen before.

As he turned to leave, a strange impulse compelled him to ask one final question. “By the way, were you invited to her marriage ceremony?”

The receptionist paused, looking at him with a strange expression. “Yes, I was. But don’t you know that now they are separated?”

Sumit froze, his breath catching in his throat. “What?”

“They divorced,” she added casually, returning to her paperwork.

Armed with the new phone number and the revelation of her divorce, Sumit felt a surge of manic hope. He spent the next few days conducting quiet surveillance, staking out her usual haunts until he spotted her sitting alone at a corner table in a quiet café in Baneshwor. She looked different—haggard, thinner, her eyes carrying the heavy shadow of prolonged grief and stress. The divorce had clearly taken a severe toll on her spirit.

Waiting until she was alone, Sumit stood up from his seat, walked across the wooden floor, and stopped beside her table.

“Hi. Can I sit at this table?”

Soniya looked up, her eyes widening in a mixture of shock and disbelief. She didn't protest, merely offering a silent nod. Sumit pulled out the chair and sat down, studying her features. The silence between them was suffocating, thick with the unburied history of their past encounters.

“How are you doing?” he broke the silence softly.

“Good,” she murmured, her voice devoid of inflection. She offered nothing more, her gaze drifting back to her empty coffee cup.

“And... how is your husband?”

Soniya snapped her head around, fixing him with a cold, piercing glare before returning to her silence. The atmosphere froze.

At that moment, a waiter arrived to take their orders, diffusing the immediate tension. Once the waiter retreated, Sumit leaned forward, his voice dropping to a sympathetic register. “Sorry if I asked the wrong question. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“That’s fine,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “We have parted.”

“If you don’t mind... could you tell me why you guys parted?”

Soniya’s eyes welled up with tears, glistening under the warm pendant lights of the café. She stared down at her hands, struggling to compose herself. Sumit softened his tone further, playing the role of the gentle confidant. “It is okay. If you don’t want to say, that’s fine. I don’t mind.”

With a shaky breath, she began to speak, her voice cracking. “He had an extra-marital affair. He had a girlfriend before getting married, but he didn’t say anything. He seemed so happy to get married to me. After we got married, we were happy, but slowly, he changed, and I found out about his affair. I loved him so much, but he betrayed me and left me. So, I divorced him. He could have told me about his affair... I could have understood him.”

As a single tear spilled over her lower eyelid and traced a path down her cheek, Sumit felt a surge of triumph masked as empathy. The obstacle was gone. The marriage had been a sham, and she was vulnerable, broken, and alone. When the waiter returned with their coffee, Soniya pulled a tissue from the dispenser, wiped her face, and lapsed back into a heavy silence. Sumit sat across from her, watching her every move, quietly plotting his next advance.

In the weeks that followed, Sumit embedded himself back into her daily routine. He was there for every coffee, every quiet walk, and every hollow conversation. Yet, even as they spent hours together, he could feel the ghost of her ex-husband lingering between them. She was emotionally tethered to the past, mourning a betrayal while Sumit hovered like a vulture waiting for the carcass to clear.

One evening, sitting at an open-air restaurant in Sukedhara, Sumit decided the time had come to force the issue.

“So, why did you call me out here?” Soniya asked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Actually, I want to say something.”

“Say whatever you want to say.”

Sumit took a deep breath, locking his eyes onto hers. “I want to marry you.”

Soniya froze. Her cup hovered an inch above the table. She stared at him, her expression hardening into disbelief. After a long, tense minute, she spoke, her voice sharp with irritation. “What did you just say?”

“I want to marry you.”

“What is wrong with you? Why are you saying like that? What made you say like that?”

“Because I love you,” Sumit blurted out, panic bleeding into his tone. “And I thought you liked me too.”

Soniya studied him intensely, searching his face for any sign of a joke or a game. Sumit squirmed under her scrutiny, stammering out an apology. “Sorry, if I hurt you, but it’s the truth. I loved you, and I wanted to marry you.”

Suddenly, the tension dissolved from Soniya’s face, replaced by a bright, enigmatic smile. She let out a soft laugh. “I was just testing you. You looked so red. I too want to marry you.”

The words hit Sumit like a jolt of pure euphoria. All the months of waiting, the rejections, the heartbreak, the detours to Thailand—it had all led to this exact moment. He reached across the table, grabbing her hands, and they pulled each other into a tight, triumphant embrace. He had won. He had secured his prize.

December 15, 2018. The day of redemption.

Sumit woke up early, his heart racing with excitement as he dressed in his wedding attire. The ceremony was set for a local temple at 9:00 AM, requiring him to arrive by 8:30 AM to complete the pre-wedding rituals. He rushed out of his house accompanied by his family, his mind painting vivid pictures of the life they would build together.

They arrived at the temple gates at 9:00 AM sharp.

The courtyard was quiet. There was no sign of Soniya, nor any member of her family. At first, Sumit brushed off the delay, assuming traffic had slowed them down. But as the minutes ticked past into hours, a cold dread began to pool in his stomach. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number.

The mobile is switched off.

He tried again. Same result. He didn’t have the contact numbers of any of her relatives or friends. Panic set in, sharp and suffocating. His family stood around awkwardly in their festive clothes as curious onlookers whispered among themselves. They waited at the temple until 6:00 PM as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, mocking shadows across the stone steps. Soniya never arrived.

Humiliated, exhausted, and broken, Sumit and his family packed back into their cars and returned home in silence. The public embarrassment was absolute. As he sat alone in his dark bedroom that night, the realization of what he had done crashed down upon him with terrifying clarity.

He thought of Kusum. He remembered the letter he had left on her desk in Thailand, the devastation he had caused, the public shame she had endured, and the suicide attempt she had survived. In a single, agonizing moment of karmic symmetry, he understood the exact texture of her heartbreak. He felt the crushing weight of betrayal, the humiliation of being abandoned at the altar of one's own hopes.

The next day, driven by frantic desperation, he went to Soniya’s home. The iron gates were padlocked. The house was dark and deserted. Neighbors confirmed that the family had packed their belongings and left abruptly the previous night.

Sumit was undone. He locked himself in his room, refusing food, light, and human contact for days. He was trapped in an inescapable loop of confusion. Why? Why would she agree to marry him only to vanish on the wedding morning? There had to be a reason, a hidden logic behind her cruelty. He tried to mobilize his old search tactics, but this time, the well was entirely dry. Luck had abandoned him. He was completely, irrevocably beaten.

Back in the radio studio of City FM, the digital clock on the console blinked 9:55 PM. The five-minute warning light flashed amber.

Sumit leaned closer to the microphone, his voice carrying the weathered exhaustion of a man who had lived through his own destruction.

“After Soniya left me,” Sumit spoke into the mic, his voice trembling slightly, “I realized the true meaning of love and the devastating difference between genuine affection and obsessed possession. My love was obsessed. When she left, it took a very long time for me to realize the immense mistakes I had made—especially the cruelty I inflicted upon Kusum, and the desperate apologies I never truly delivered in person. Honestly, for the longest time, I wanted to know why Soniya did what she did. I still want to know the reason. If Soniya happens to be listening to this broadcast tonight, please... contact me and let me know why. I don't ask for anything more than the truth. And thank you, listeners, for listening to my story. Lots of love.”

The red live light blinked off. The engineer gave him a thumbs-up. The broadcast was over.

Across the city, in a quiet apartment lit only by the pale glow of a streetlamp, Soniya sat on her sofa, her fingers wrapped around a mug of tea as she listened to the final fading seconds of the program on her radio. Her expression was entirely neutral, untouched by pity or regret.

She had never intended to marry him. She had never loved him. From the very beginning, his advances had been nothing more than an unwelcome intrusion of an unstable, obsessive mind. But more than that, Soniya harbored a deep, unyielding loyalty: Kusum was her best friend since childhood.

Every single detail of what had transpired in Thailand—the betrayal, the abandonment, the suicide attempt, and the despair—had been poured out to Soniya over international phone calls. Soniya had taken Kusum’s pain upon herself as a personal crusade. The entire sequence of events in Kathmandu—her feigned interest, her staged test at the restaurant, the fabricated story of her ex-husband’s extra-marital affair, and her ultimate agreement to marry him—had been an elaborately orchestrated trap designed by Soniya to deliver poetic, devastating justice.

She had never been following him while he chased her; rather, she had manipulated every breadcrumb, utilizing her college connections and playing upon his predictable psychological blind spots to lead him willingly into the slaughterhouse of his own making.

He would never know the true rationale behind her disappearance. He would spend the remainder of his days wandering through the foggy labyrinth of his own intellect, forever tormented by unanswered questions. And she wouldn't be around to witness the wreckage; even now, her bags were packed on the hallway floor. She was boarding a flight to Thailand the very next morning, leaving Sumit behind in the cold, echoing silence of his own creation.

The ancient law of the universe remained unbroken: whatever cruelty a person inflicts upon another eventually finds its way back to their own doorstep. For Sumit Ojha, the writer who spent his life analyzing the hearts of others, the final chapter was written not with ink, but with the bitter, inescapable realization that he had reaped precisely what he had sown.