Previous Part: My Life Journey – Part 2 (Making A New Friend)
Hello, I’m Rhea, and I want to share the true story of my life—my journey through pain, pleasure, and struggle. Read to understand the reality behind who I am today and the transformation I’ve gone through.
You know how I changed from a timid lady to a free woman with the continuous support of Akash.
Let’s begin. My arguments with Arjun, my so-called hubby, became more frequent. Our intimacy, already sparse, disappeared entirely. One evening, during a particularly heated fight, he accused me of being ungrateful and selfish.
“Do you even care about this marriage anymore?” he asked angrily.
I looked at him, my heart heavy but resolute. “I do, Arjun. But I care about myself, too. And I can’t keep living like this.” Days continue with arguments and fights. The turning point came on a cold winter evening. I had just returned from work when I found Akash waiting outside my apartment building.
“I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice steady but his eyes nervous. He confessed that he had developed feelings for me and admired my strength and resilience. My heart raced, torn between gratitude and fear.
“I care about you too,” I admitted. “But I’m still married, Akash. My life is complicated.” He nodded, understanding. “I’m not asking you to make a decision now, Rhea. I just want you to know that you’re not alone.”
That night, I sat alone, staring at the city lights through the window. My mind replayed every moment of the past year. The suffocating marriage, the glimpses of freedom, the joy of rediscovering myself.
I realised that staying in this marriage would mean sacrificing my happiness and identity. It wasn’t just about Akash. It was about reclaiming my life.
The next morning, I sat down with Arjun and told him the truth. “I want a divorce,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest.
He was shocked, angry, and hurt, but I didn’t back down. For the first time, I chose myself. He even slapped me that day. He went to work and came home late at night drunk. I was sleeping when I found him pulling my sari above my waist.
A fear came over me, and I became angry. I tried to resist and pushed his hand. The room was quiet except for the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. I had fallen asleep. My sari was loosely draped over me, the dim light from the hallway casting soft shadows across the room.
I heard the door creak open. The faint scent of alcohol followed him as he stepped inside. I felt the bed shift under his weight as he approached me, his presence filling the room with an undeniable tension.
I woke with a start when I felt the cool touch of his fingers against my skin. My sari brushed aside as he slid it up my thigh. Confusion gave way to anger as I blinked and saw him hovering over me. His eyes were red from drink, his body naked and imposing in the dim light.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance. He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze burned into mine, which made my heart race. I pushed at his hand, trying to pull my sari back down. But he was stronger—much stronger.
His grip tightened, and he leaned in closer, his chest brushing against my boobs as he pinned me beneath him. “Don’t,” I whispered, my voice wavering as I squirmed. But he didn’t stop. One of his arms pressed firmly against my neck, holding me in place.
His other hand tugged at the fabric of my sari, pushing it higher and higher until it bunched around my waist. “Stop fighting,” he murmured. My body froze, caught between fear. His strength was overwhelming. As much as I tried to resist, his movements showed raw, unyielding dominance.
It left me powerless beneath him. Without warning, he pushed his stiff cock inside my pussy and started giving me a dry hump. It was raw and painful. I cried, but he was deaf. He started pushing hard and fast, and my body got tense. My skin was getting cold.
My heart was beating fast. I tried to push him, and he slapped me and said to stay calm, or I have to suffer more. He then stood, his hand traced up my thigh and slid my sari to the edge. He found its way to my thigh, lifting it slightly and putting my leg over his shoulder.
He pressed his dick against my pussy. He was ramming hard, and my body was like a fish out of water, moving in pain. I tried to move and turn toward one side. His cock slipped out of my pussy, making him angry. He starts slapping my ass. He holds both my legs to the side.
He moves my knee to my chest, exposing my pussy and ass to him. My pussy felt stretched, and he started fucking again. I was becoming weak. After 2 minutes of hard fuck, he was tired, and he fell on the bed. Then, with a sudden motion, he guided me to lie on my side, keeping my back to his chest.
His hand slid along the curve of my hip, pulling me closer as he positioned his cock behind me and entered my pussy again. I wanted this all to end, but he was a demon tonight. I knew he was not going to leave me till he was released, so I stopped struggling and slept like a dead human.
He was using my body like a mad dog, with force and power. After some time, his hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding my movements as he again stood before me, my body trembling. He turned me around, my back facing the ceiling, and he stepped between my legs.
His hands gripping my thighs and pulling me close. He widened my leg. He penetrated my pussy with a new intensity. His hands gripped my hips as he set a rhythm that left me gasping. His dominance was undeniable, every motion powerful and controlled, his strength leaving no room for my resistance.
I begged him to stop, please stop! But he was not in the mood to hear and slapped me whenever I cried or spoke. I feel like to die than to live this life. After a moment, he pulled back, his breath ragged. With a swift motion, he turned me onto my stomach, pulling me up onto my knees.
His hands trailed down my waist, and he adjusted his position. I felt his weight behind me. His chest pressed against my back as he leaned down and gave a very powerful and hard push, making me scream. Tears started rolling from my eyes, and he kept fucking like that.
His grip tightened as his movements quickened. I could feel his control slipping as he lost himself in the moment. Finally, with one last deep motion, he groaned loudly, his body tensing as he reached his peak. His arm tightened around me, pulling my pussy close.
He released inside me. Then left me there and slept beside me. That night he fucked me mercilessly. The next morning, I was unable to walk properly. It was more harsh than my honeymoon night. After months of endless fights with Arjun, I left him and returned to India, hoping to find solace in my homeland.
But life there was even harsher. I quickly realized how suffocating the societal pressures and judgmental gazes were, especially for a woman separated from her husband. One evening, overwhelmed by the loneliness of my marriage, I confided in a professor friend.
Over coffee, I spoke of Arjun’s coldness, his cruelty, and my cravings, physical needs that go unfulfilled, and loneliness.
She listened, then asked, “Have you considered divorce?”
“I feel trapped. I spoke to him, but he refused,” I sighed.
She scoffed. “Typical. Men like him don’t want to give up control, even when they no longer value what they have. If divorce isn’t an option, why not an extramarital affair?”
I stiffened. “I respect my husband.”
She smirked. “Even when he doesn’t respect your happiness? You’re young, Rhea. You have needs. Why suffer in silence when you can find someone to give you what you’re missing?”
I fell silent. She leaned in. “Listen, you’re not the only woman who feels this way. My husband is always travelling for work—weeks, sometimes months at a time. He’s a good man, but he’s absent. And I have needs, too, just like you. I have an affair with one of my students.”
I gaped at her. “What?”
She chuckled at my shock. “I know what you’re thinking. But it’s not about love, Rhea. It’s about fulfilling what’s missing. When my husband is gone, I don’t sit around and mourn his absence. I care for myself, my body, my desires and my needs. Who knows, he does not do anything outside. And it’s more fun tasting extra flavour in life.”
A part of me felt scandalized, but another part—a deeper, hidden part—felt understood, “There was someone—Aakash. But he proposed, so I stopped meeting him.”
She laughed. “Men propose married, unsatisfied ladies for sex, not marriage. He knew you were married. Stop overthinking.”
Then, as if reading my unspoken longing, she pulled out her phone. “If not, Aakash, meet my friend.” It was a picture of a tall, well-built black man with piercing dark eyes and a confident smirk on her mobile screen.
“He’s charming, confident. Just companionship, no strings attached. I can give you his number if you want.”
Something inside me wavered, and I took his number. We met over dinner. He was intelligent and charming. He knew how to make a woman feel desired. We saw each other a few times, and for a moment, I thought this was what I needed—something uncomplicated, a distraction.
At first, I enjoyed his company. He was attentive, complimented me, and made me feel desired. But slowly, things began to shift. He started making subtle remarks—little jabs that made me question myself. “You think too much,” he’d say, dismissing my concerns whenever I hesitated.
“You should be grateful,” he’d add as if he was doing me a favour by spending time with me. Slowly, I began to feel like he was taking control—not just of our conversations, but of me. He had a way of making me feel small, as though I was lucky to have his attention, lucky to be chosen.
One evening, as we sat across from each other in a dimly lit bar, I realized something. I didn’t feel liberated with him. I felt trapped differently. I was losing myself. And so, I walked away. I stopped answering his calls and stopped responding to his texts. He didn’t chase me.
And life continued. I returned to my routine, carrying the weight of everything I had experienced. The guilt, the longing, the realization that I was still searching for something. Though I had felt caged in Canada, at least I had managed to work and study.
In India, I was trapped in every possible way. Two months passed in India, and I lost contact with Akash. I didn’t know if I regretted it or was relieved. I had other worries—finding myself and trying to figure out what life had to offer.
Then, to my surprise, Arjun reached out.
His tone had softened, and he proposed a compromise. I could return to Canada if I agreed to work and study. Maybe he missed me, or perhaps he realized the emptiness of his life. Reluctantly, I agreed, but only on my terms. I booked my flight back. When I reached the airport, there was a delay in the flight.
I was supposed to reach Canada in the morning. However, due to the delay, I informed Arjun that I’d land in the evening. He promised to pick me up at 9 p.m. But life, as unpredictable as ever, had other plans.
After hours of waiting, it was finally cancelled. Passengers were reassigned to other flights, and luckily, I boarded one later that night. It wasn’t the smooth return I’d envisioned, but I was finally en route to Canada. The plane hummed softly as it soared into the vast night sky.
I gazed out the window, mesmerized by the endless stretch of stars. The darkness outside mirrored my own life—beautiful yet overwhelmingly lonely.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A deep voice interrupted my thoughts. Startled, I turned to see the man beside me.
He was tall—easily over six feet—with blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and lips tinged with a soft pink hue. He wore a fitted white T-shirt over broad shoulders and blue jeans. His restless gaze roamed over me—taking in my long black hair, black eyes, the mole on my cheek.
The visible cleavage from my blouse and the faint mark on my forehead.
“I’m Eric,” he introduced himself. “And you?”
“Rhea,” I answered.
I turned to the darkness outside, searching for a star among the puffy white clouds drifting somewhere beyond reach.
“What are you looking for in the dark?” Eric finally asked.
I hesitated. “Are you talking to me?”
He chuckled. “Yes.”
I smiled faintly. “I’m searching in the dark for darkness.”
He raised a brow. “Can you see anything in the dark?”
“Yes. You can see the dark itself.”
“Strange,” he murmured.
I exhaled softly. “Darkness has its beauty. It’s different.”
Eric sipped his champagne slowly, watching me. “I’ve never looked at it that way.”
He finished his drink, ate his dinner, and then said, “I think you might be the only person on this flight who isn’t eating or drinking—just staring into the night.”
I didn’t turn. “Are you going to Canada as a tourist?” he asked. I remained silent. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
I turned slightly. “Did you say something?”
He smirked. “Are you travelling to Canada as a tourist?”
“No.”
“Then?”
“To live.”
He studied me. “What do you do there? Study?”
“No.”
“Work?”
“No.”
Eric’s blue eyes filled with curiosity. “Will you be living alone?”
I didn’t answer.
“Do you have relatives there?”
I shook my head.
“Then… who is there?”
“No one.”
“So, you’ll be living there alone?”
Eric ordered a bottle of red wine, his interest in me unwavering. “You, the Indian beauty,” he murmured. I wasn’t surprised. It was normal for strangers to strike up conversations on long flights. People got bored, and casual curiosity was inevitable. I didn’t pay much heed to Eric’s intrigue.
“This was my first time in India,” he shared. “Delhi, Agra, then Calcutta and Chandannagar. Now, I’m heading home.” He leaned closer. “Tell me something—why are Indian women so beautiful?”
I was caught off guard. “I’m not beautiful.”
Eric smiled. “I didn’t know Indian women were such lovely liars too.”
I frowned. “Why would I be beautiful? I’m not white.”
“Do you think white women are the standard for beauty?”
I hesitated. “Aren’t they?”
He scoffed. “They’re anaemic. Look at how they walk—stiff and awkward. How harshly they speak. Chests thrust forward. Necks craned. They remind me of camels. One can sleep with them but not make love to them.”
I raised a brow. “And where do you plan to find someone different? You don’t live in India.”
He shrugged. “There’s no shortage of Indian women in Canada.”
“They’re all married.”
He smirked. “Are you?”
I hesitated before answering. “Yes. I am.”
His forehead creased. “But you said you have no one there.”
“I haven’t lived with my husband for months,” I admitted. “I went back to my home country after a fight. But he called me a few weeks ago, and we agreed that I could work and study.”
“Sounds complicated,” Eric mused.
He then told me about his marriage. He had a daughter.
“How old are you?” he asked. “You can’t be over twenty.”
I smiled. “I’m twenty-seven.”
He looked genuinely surprised. “Really? You don’t look a day over nineteen.”
“And you?” I asked.
“Twenty-five.”
I tilted my head, studying him. “Really?”
He laughed. “Why? Do I look older? How old?”
“Thirty, maybe thirty-five.”
Eric burst into laughter. “You make me feel ancient.”
How could I think otherwise? He had seven wrinkles on his forehead and four around each eye. And yet, somehow, I found myself drawn to him. The cabin lights had been dimmed, signalling the passengers to recline their seats and drift asleep.
The hum of the aircraft and the rhythmic breathing of slumbering travellers filled the space around us. Eric, however, showed no signs of exhaustion. He sipped his red wine, one bottle after another, speaking in hushed tones to not disturb anyone.
And to whisper, he had to lean toward me. I had to lean toward him. His breath was warm against my skin when he suddenly asked, “Where do you live?”
Then, with a teasing smirk, he added, “Are you a lesbian?”
I turned to the window, watching as the first hues of dawn began to creep over the horizon. “Or are you bisexual?” he pressed. Even Eric could sense I was like a reckless refugee—adrift, lost.
The hesitation in his voice mirrored the uncertainty within me.
“Did you ever fall in love with anyone in Canada?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“No Canadian lover?”
“No.”
He studied me with quiet intrigue. “Do you always talk so little? You’re still a mystery to me,” he murmured. “And mysteries are meant to be unravelled.”
I finally met his gaze—those striking blue eyes, more intense than I had realized before. He was undeniably handsome, far beyond any man I had ever fantasized about. His blond hair fell carelessly onto his forehead.
For a fleeting moment, I had the urge to push it back, to feel the smoothness of his skin under my fingertips. Instead, I turned away, back to the window. Our conversation became more personal as the hours stretched into the early morning. He spoke about his dreams, travels, and frustrations with life.
And, without realizing it, I began sharing things I hadn’t even told Akash—stories of my childhood, aspirations and struggles in Canada. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Eric said, his gaze steady on mine.
I smiled faintly. “I don’t feel strong. Most days, I feel like I’m barely holding on.”
“Strength isn’t about never falling,” he said. “It’s about getting up every time you do.”
His words struck a chord and a lump formed in my throat. I turned back to the window, unable to meet his eyes. The sky had begun to lighten, the faint glow of dawn spreading across the horizon. I was so lost in the colours of the morning.
I didn’t notice when Eric reached for my hand. There was something unusual about the sky that day—a strange light I had never seen before.
“Amazing,” I murmured. “How can colours be so beautiful?”
I wanted to touch them, to gather them in my hands and paint them across myself. Eric leaned in, close to the window—close to me. I didn’t realize he had taken my hand until I felt his fingers stroking mine. He wasn’t looking at the sky. He was looking at me.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered.
I nodded. “I’ve never seen a light like this before.”
“Neither have I.” He paused. “Where did you find such a light?”
I turned to him, startled. His eyes remained on me, not the sky.
“You haven’t been looking at the horizon?” I asked.
“I have,” he said, his voice low. “But the real light is in your eyes.”
A warmth spread through me—slow, unexpected, dangerous. His fingers brushed mine again, tentative but deliberate.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice barely audible.
“You didn’t resist,” he murmured. I turned away, flustered, but he gently took my chin between his fingers and guided my gaze back to his.
“Did you?” he asked.
I lowered my eyes, my breath uneven. Eric smiled, tilting his head slightly. “Sometimes, actions speak louder than words.” I didn’t know how to respond. My heart pounded for a moment. I let myself feel the warmth of his touch. But then, reality crashed in.
I pulled my hand away. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, my cheeks burning.
“Don’t be,” he replied, his voice calm. “You’re allowed to feel, Rhea. Don’t apologize for being human.” I looked at him, torn between gratitude and apprehension. His blue eyes held no judgment, only understanding.
But I knew the truth. Soon, the flight would land. Soon, Eric’s curiosity would fade. He would say goodbye, walk away, and disappear into the faceless crowd. I would be left standing between two worlds, neither here nor there.
Trying to lighten the mood, I turned back to the window. “How would you describe the sky right now?” I asked, my voice still unsteady.
Eric leaned back, considering my question. Then, after a pause, he said, “The sky is like you.”
I frowned. “Like me?”
“Beautiful,” he said simply. “But hiding so much depth beneath its surface. It’s easy to get lost in it. And once you do, you never want to leave.”
His words rendered me speechless. For the first time in a long while, I felt seen—not as a wife, a woman trying to fit into someone else’s mould. But as a person.
The flight landed soon after, the dawn fully breaking over the horizon. As we disembarked, Eric gave me a knowing smile. “Good luck, Rhea,” he said. “You deserve to find your stars.”
And just like that, he was gone—swallowed by the crowd. Leaving me with nothing but a whirlwind of emotions and a heart full of unanswered questions.
It was around 9 a.m. The airport buzzed with activity as people hurried to their destinations.
But I stood alone, waiting for Arjun, who was nowhere near. I called him and explained the last-minute change. He told me I needed to wait at least 5 hours. I found myself stranded.
As I scanned the area, I saw a familiar car pulling up. Eric stepped out, dressed casually in a navy sweater and jeans, looking effortlessly charming. He waved and walked toward me with an easy smile.
“Rhea!” he called out, stopping a few feet away. “I thought it was you. Everything okay?”
I hesitated, unsure how to explain my situation. “Uh, yes, just waiting for my husband. He’ll be here later.”
“How much later?” he asked, tilting his head.
“I called him,” I replied, “and he said it would take at least five hours for him to get here.”
Eric raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “That’s a long time to be standing here, especially after a flight.”
I shrugged, not sure what else to do. “I don’t have a choice.”
He paused as if weighing his words. “Look, I live about fifteen minutes from here. Why don’t you come over for a bit? You can get freshened up and have some tea and breakfast. I’ll drop you back later.”
What should I do? Should I go with him, or should I control my emotions and wait for the reunion with my husband? What will I do at the airport for 5 hours, and what will happen if I go?
If anyone wants to share their story or seek advice, please contact me at [email protected].
Next Part: My Life Journey – Part 4 (New Beginning)