Love, Affair, and Forgiveness: The Untold Story of Aarav, Meera, and Kavya

The home of Aarav and Meera Sharma in Bangalore’s Whitefield district looked perfect to the outside world. Married for nearly a decade, they were often praised as the “ideal couple.” Aarav, a successful architect, and Meera, a kind-hearted school counselor, had a stable life—house, car, and dreams carefully built together.

But behind the polished smiles and social media posts… was a quiet ache.

They had no children.

Every festival, every wedding, and every family dinner came with the same sharp questions:

“Still no baby?”
“When will you give us a little one to spoil?”
“Your genes shouldn’t go to waste!”

Meera learned to smile through it all. Over time, her smiles hardened into practiced lies:

“We’re still planning.”
“Maybe next year.”
“Not a priority right now.”

But the truth was brutal—three years of visiting fertility clinics, OB-GYNs, even temple priests and Ayurveda doctors. Desperate for hope, they tried everything. And finally, one sentence changed their lives:

“Mrs. Meera has entered early menopause. She will not ovulate naturally again.”

Aarav didn’t say anything when the doctor said those words. In the car, he only squeezed Meera’s hand tightly. She looked out the window and quietly cried. That night, they cooked dinner, watched a movie, and held each other in bed.

But the silence between them wasn’t peace—it was grief.

Two months passed. They went back to their routines. Meera smiled again, but Aarav carried a quiet sadness. He loved Meera deeply—but something inside him couldn’t accept a life without ever becoming a father.

That’s when Kavya Menon entered his life.

Aarav was assigned to lead a luxury eco-resort project in Kerala. At the site meeting, the project coordinator was introduced:

“Hi, I’m Kavya. Looking forward to working with you, sir.”
“Just Aarav,” he smiled.

Kavya was simple yet striking—long black hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that hinted she knew things others didn’t. Her presence was calming, her humor disarming. She brought chai to meetings. Aarav began to look forward to her stories during lunch breaks.

At first, it was innocent.

Then one evening, caught in a sudden monsoon downpour after a site visit, they took shelter under a bus stop. Soaked, shivering, laughing, something shifted.

“Do you have kids?” Aarav asked, trying to break the tension.
“I had one,” she said, avoiding eye contact. “A boy. He passed away last year—leukemia.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s okay. I’ve learned how to live with it,” she whispered.

Their eyes met.
One kiss.
Everything changed.

It was never planned. But after that night, they couldn’t stop. Aarav tried to pull away. But the connection, the longing—something he hadn’t felt in years—pulled him in.

He and Kavya spoke daily. Every site visit became an excuse. With her, he felt warmth and a strange peace. She, too, found comfort in him—a man who held her pain, not just her body.

At home, Meera noticed the change. Aarav grew quieter. Tired. Distant. She didn’t ask questions. But her heart knew.

One night, while Meera was asleep, Aarav left quietly to meet Kavya at a small hotel in Kochi. In between stolen kisses, she whispered:

“Do you really want to leave her… for me?”

Aarav didn’t answer. He only held her tighter.

Two months later, Kavya missed her period. She thought it was stress. But the pregnancy test confirmed everything.

She was carrying Aarav’s child.

When she told him, his world spun.

“I don’t know if I’m happy or terrified,” he said.
“You don’t need to take responsibility if you’re not ready,” Kavya offered.
“No. This is my child. I won’t walk away.”

Aarav felt both fear and hope. This might be his only chance to be a father. Even if it was born of betrayal.

Kavya kept the pregnancy quiet. Aarav sent money, vitamins, baby clothes—some ironically chosen by Meera, who thought they were for a friend’s baby shower. They never spoke about the future.

Then came Lucien, a baby boy born with bright eyes and soft skin. The moment Aarav held him, something inside him broke. He kissed the boy’s forehead—knowing full well he could never introduce him to the world as his own.

Meanwhile, Meera volunteered for an NGO outreach in Thrissur, Kerala—coincidentally, the same town where Kavya was healing post-delivery. They stopped at a health clinic. There, Meera saw a woman holding a baby. The woman looked familiar.

It was Kavya.

They didn’t speak. But Meera knew. A chill crawled up her spine.

Back in Bangalore, she waited until dinner was over. Then, with shaking hands, she looked at Aarav.

“Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Did you have an affair?”
“Do you have a child with her?”

Silence. Then tears.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen. But yes. I love you, Meera. That never changed. But… I love my son too.”

Her heart shattered. She didn’t scream. She didn’t slap him. She just… cried.

“I want to see him,” she whispered.

The next day, Aarav brought Kavya and baby Lucien to their home. Meera looked at the baby. Her hands trembled. Then, she reached out and touched his tiny cheek.

“He has your eyes,” she said. “But softer.”

She left the room. When she returned, she carried a handmade crochet elephant. One she had crafted during therapy—a toy meant for the child she would never have.

“This is for Lucien,” she said quietly.

Weeks passed. Meera didn’t leave Aarav. And Aarav didn’t ask her to forget.

Kavya visited once a month with Lucien. She never sat too long. Never lingered in the hallways. She loved Aarav, still—but loved herself more than to stay where she didn’t belong.

A year later, Lucien ran laughing in the Sharma garden, calling, “Ma Meera!” Meera smiled. She still flinched sometimes when she heard it. But not as much as before.

She learned to love the child—not because she forgot the betrayal, but because the child deserved to be loved.

Aarav never truly forgave himself. But he tried to make amends—not with apologies, but with action.

Meera? She didn’t forget. But she healed. On her own terms.

Not every love story ends in fairy tale happiness.
Some end in truth. In painful, necessary forgiveness.
In a family that was never meant to exist—
But somehow… still did.

WAKAS.
THE END