My husband told me to go to the neighbor’s house to fix the air conditioner for the widow, half an hour later I sneaked over and saw my husband’s clothes hanging right in front of the door. The scene before my eyes made me collapse
My husband, Rajesh, is a man that everyone in the Pink City area of ​​Jaipur praises as gentle, kind and good at his job. He works as an electrician – specializing in repairing air conditioners, plumbing, electrical wiring, and welding copper pipes. People often say:

“With Rajesh around, the whole area never has to worry about breakdowns.”

I – Asha – have always been proud to have such a husband. He is quiet, takes care of the children, and seems to never know how to lie.

That day, it was only around 4 pm, Rajesh put the wrench on the table and turned to me:

“Go to Shalini’s house to fix the air conditioner, it will be done in about half an hour.”

Shalini is a widow, living right on the other side of the wall. Her husband died in an accident two years ago. I had seen her thin, quiet, living alone with her little daughter.

I didn’t doubt anything, just replied:

“Yes, you go. Remember to come back early to help me cook when you’re done.”

I continued picking vegetables, but it was getting dark, the wind was starting to bring the humidity of Jaipur summer. After a while, I looked up, accidentally glanced at Shalini’s yard — and stopped dead.

In front of me, a familiar ash-gray T-shirt — the one Rajesh wore when he left home — was hanging out in front of her yard.

Right next to it was a pair of beige khaki pants, I had washed them for him yesterday.

My heart was pounding, sweat was pouring down my spine.

“Why are my husband’s clothes… hanging out there?”

I put down the basket of vegetables, and walked quickly to Shalini’s house. The door was ajar.

I pushed gently — the door swung open.

“Rajesh…?”

The call caught in my throat.

The sight before me left me speechless…Rajesh lying naked on the sofa, his head resting on Shalini’s lap.
His hand still held the air conditioner remote.

Both of us were startled, our faces too shocked to hide.

On the floor were mango peels, two half-full glasses, and a towel draped over the chair.

The TV was playing soft music, the scent of perfume wafting in the air — the atmosphere of a date, not an air conditioner repair.

I didn’t scream, didn’t cry.

I just pulled out my phone — it had been recording since I saw the clothes hanging outside the door.

I pressed play.

Rajesh’s voice rang out, clear, each word piercing through the music:

“If you come over now, everyone will think you’re repairing the air conditioner. But maybe the air conditioner really is broken… how can it be cold when you’re this hot.”

Both of us stood there, frozen.

No one could say a word.

That night, I didn’t argue.

I printed out the photo and the audio file and posted it right in front of Shalini’s house — the place where the whole neighborhood used to sit and enjoy the cool evening air.

The next morning, Jaipur was filled with whispers:

“A good electrician? Turns out he can fix people’s hearts.”

“What about Shalini? A widow, how dare…”

At noon, Shalini quietly sold the house and left.

As for Rajesh…

When he returned, he found the house empty.

On the table were the signed divorce papers, along with a folded piece of paper:

“You said you were going to fix the air conditioner.
Now my heart is healed.
No need to fix it anymore.”

People said that no one saw Rajesh fixing air conditioners for anyone else.

His small shop closed forever.
And I — Asha — moved back to my mother’s house in Udaipur, opened a small fan repair shop, and learned the trade from the very person who had betrayed me.

Whenever someone asks me why I chose that career, I just smile:

“Because I know clearly — not everything that is broken needs to be fixed.
There are things that, when broken… are an opportunity for me to start over.