But the evening didn't go as planned. Because Kavya was there.
Kavya Iyer. Meera's best friend since college. A psychologist based in Bangalore who'd come to Goa for the weekend. Kavya, who knew about the affair — Meera had told her everything. And Kavya, who had her own reasons for being at the party that night. Reasons I didn't know about until it was too late.
The party was on the terrace of Villa Saudade. The cliff edge, the ocean, fairy lights, Portuguese wine. It was beautiful. Meera was beautiful — she wore the white dress, the one she'd bought in Fontainhas, and she moved through the crowd with the social grace of a woman who'd spent years at media events and could charm anyone into conversation.
Kabir arrived at 9 PM. I watched them carefully — they were professional, maintaining distance, giving nothing away. But I saw it. The glance when she passed him near the bar. The way his fingers brushed the back of her hand when nobody was looking. The invisible language of lovers who think they're invisible.
I waited. I had my moment planned — 10:30, after the main course, before the dessert. Enough wine to lower inhibitions but not enough to blur the memory. Maximum impact, minimum ambiguity.
At 10:15, Kavya approached me. She pulled me aside, to the edge of the terrace, near the cliff rail. She was pale — visibly shaken, which was unusual for Kavya, who was generally the most composed person in any room.
"Rohit," she said. "I need to tell you something. Before you do whatever you're planning to do."
"What do you mean?"
"I know about the PI. I know about Kabir's cottage. And I know you're planning to blow it up tonight." She held my gaze. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Because there's something you don't know. Something Meera hasn't told you, hasn't told Kabir, hasn't told anyone except me."
"What?"
Kavya told me. And what she told me changed everything — the plan, the evening, the marriage, and the trajectory of the next three hours that ended with my wife at the base of a cliff.
I'm not ready to tell you what Kavya said. Not yet. Because that's Kavya's part of the story, and I've learned — too late, but I've learned — that other people's truths are not mine to tell.
What I will tell you is what happened after.
After Kavya told me, I abandoned the plan. I walked back to the party in a daze. I found Meera on the terrace, standing near the cliff edge, looking at the ocean, and I did something I hadn't done in months. I put my arms around her. From behind. The way I used to. And I held her.
She tensed — surprise, maybe suspicion. Then she softened. Leaned back into me. "Hi," she said.
"Hi."
"You okay?"
"No. But I want to be."
She turned in my arms. Looked at me. Those dark eyes — journalist's eyes, always reading, always assessing. "Rohit, what's going on?"
"We need to talk. Not now. After the party. Just us."
"Okay."
The party ended at midnight. People left. Kabir left. Kavya stayed — she was sleeping in the guest room. By 12:30, it was just the three of us in the villa.
