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Arjun

I left early today, partly because I had some work to catch up on, but mostly because I couldn’t sleep well last night. More importantly, I wanted to keep my distance from Ananya. Today is her first day at work. I should have stayed and wished her luck, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Keeping my distance from her feels like the only option right now.

I didn’t even ask her which company she’s joining. It doesn’t matter, or so I thought.

At work, I had a packed schedule. Among my tasks, I needed to meet and greet some of my employees. Everything was going as planned until Dev Anand introduced me to his new team member. That’s when I froze. Shock rippled through me as I came face-to-face with Ananya.

My wife. My arranged wife. Ananya.

I managed to mask my shock, keeping my demeanor as composed as ever. I had to—my employees were watching, and I couldn't afford to let them see even a hint of my personal turmoil. But inside, my thoughts raced. What is she doing here? How did I not know about this before? She seemed equally startled, though she quickly composed herself, probably out of sheer professionalism.

I’ve always been a low-key CEO. Neither the media nor my employees know that I’m married.

I don’t understand. The more I try to distance myself from her, the more the universe seems determined to pull her closer to me. Why is this happening?

The day passed in a haze, my focus split between managing the company and trying to process this unexpected turn of events. By the evening, I knew I had to address the situation. It couldn’t wait. She deserved clarity, and frankly, so did I.

I decided to talk to her at home. Discussing it in my office might raise unnecessary questions among my staff. Later that evening, I found her in the living room, quietly flipping through some documents. Today, we were set to move into my apartment. I had already asked Mom to pack our luggage, ensuring everything would be ready for us to leave in the evening. I decided I’d talk to her about this matter once we were settled at my place.

Clearing my throat to catch her attention, I began, “Ananya.”

She looked up, her expression calm yet curious.

“Are you ready to leave?” I asked.

She nodded, setting her papers aside. “Yes. Let’s go.”

“There’s also something we need to discuss once we’re at my apartment,” I added, my tone deliberate.

Her brow furrowed slightly. “Is this about work?”

“In a way,” I replied, leaving my answer intentionally vague.

“Alright then, let’s not keep everyone waiting. Mom, Dad, Rohan Bhai, and Bhabi must already be ready,” she said, her voice steady.

I nodded. “Yes, let’s head out.”

We said our goodbyes to Mom, Dad, Bhai, and Bhabi before heading to the car. As I drove, Ananya broke the silence.

“I never thought I’d see you in the office,” she said with a smile. “Well, I forgot to mention where I’d be working.” She glanced at me, her smile deepening. “I was surprised, but it was good to see you.”

That smile—it wasn’t just polite. It was warm, almost as if she needed to see me, wanted to. Oh gosh, she’s making this so hard for me.

I didn’t know how to respond, so I kept it simple. “I was shocked too.”

She laughed softly, a sound that wasn’t just noise. It was melody, playing in a way that made my chest tighten. I’m losing it.

After a 45-minute drive, we reached my apartment. As I began unloading the luggage, I grabbed both her bags and mine. But before I could carry everything, Ananya stopped me.

“Let me carry mine. I can do it,” she said.

Her tone wasn’t casual. It was heavy, weighted with something unspoken—like she was used to proving she didn’t need anyone’s help.

When she reached for the luggage, I stopped her.

“Ananya,” I said firmly, not softly.

She froze, her hand hovering.

“Don't. I'll carry them. ” I added, "You’re not carrying them. This is my job.”

She smiled gently. "That's totally fine. I've been taking care of others, so I can take care of my staff too."

Her words lingered in my mind. Does she mean she's so used to taking care of herself that she can't even let me carry her bags? Why does it always have to be her taking care of others? Is it because she's the elder daughter?

Had Bhai been living the same way too? The thought had never crossed my mind before, Ananya.

“No matter what, I won’t let you do this,”my voice leaving no room for argument.

Ananya opened her mouth, ready to protest, but closed it when I shot her a pointed look. Without another word, I carried everything inside.

Once we were inside the apartment, I decided it was time to bring up the topic I’d been avoiding.

"Look, I think it’s best if we keep our… relationship out of the office. No one there should know we’re married," I said abruptly, the words spilling out before I could second-guess myself.

She looked at me, surprised, her brows furrowing slightly. "Why? Why do we have to do that?" Her voice carried a mix of shock and confusion. "Wouldn’t it be better if they knew? It would clear up any potential misunderstandings."

I sighed, having anticipated her reaction. "Exactly why I don’t want them to know," I replied. "You were hired before we even met. If people find out, they might think you got the job because of me. It could undermine your credibility, and I don’t want that for you."

She seemed to mull it over, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something else—hurt, perhaps. "Is that the only reason?" she asked quietly.

I hesitated, my hands instinctively tightening at my sides. Of course, it wasn’t the only reason. The truth was far more complicated—and painfully personal. I couldn’t admit that I was already beginning to care for her in ways I wasn’t ready for. That every time I saw her, it became harder to maintain the distance I so desperately needed.

But instead of telling her any of this, I nodded. "Yes. That’s the reason. It’s better for both of us if we keep things professional at work."

Her expression softened, and she let out a small sigh. "Alright. That makes sense, I guess," she said, her tone tinged with faint disappointment. Then, to my surprise, she smiled—a cheerful, almost teasing smile. "Okay, no problem. But… what should I say if someone asks if I’m married?"

Her question caught me off guard. For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. "Just… be vague," I said finally. "You can say it’s personal or deflect the question. Most people won’t press further."

"And what about my engagement ring?" she asked, holding up her hand.

I blinked, caught off guard again. She was still wearing her ring. Her gaze flicked to my hand—bare—and I realized it was probably the first time she’d noticed I wasn’t wearing mine. Her eyes met mine, questioning.

"Uh… I’m sorry," I stammered. "I’m not used to wearing rings. I’ve never liked accessories on my hands."

She smiled faintly, though the hurt in her eyes was unmistakable. "Neither do I," she admitted, her voice soft. "But I’m wearing this because I want to—even though it’s uncomfortable." She paused, her expression still gentle but tinged with pain. "It’s fine if you don’t want to wear yours. It’s your choice. I won’t force you."

Her words stung, and guilt settled in my chest. "You don’t have to wear yours either if you don’t want to," I offered, though the words felt hollow.

"I’m wearing it because I want to," she said firmly, her hurt lingering but her resolve intact. "And about our marriage—I won’t say anything unless someone asks me directly."

"That works," I said quickly, unsure what else to say.

"Alright," she agreed, her smile lingering but faint. "I’ll keep it vague. Don’t worry. But if someone does ask me outright, I’ll be honest and say I’m married."

"Yes, sure," I replied, feeling a lump form in my throat. Her unwavering consideration for my feelings left me at a loss for words.

Her easy acceptance eased some of the tension in my chest, but it also left me feeling strangely unsettled. She had every right to question my decision further, to push back, yet she didn’t. It was as if she trusted me to have her best interests at heart—a trust I wasn’t sure I deserved.

As she turned back to her documents, I found myself lingering a moment longer than necessary. Then I walked away, determined to hold onto the distance I had vowed to maintain. Because the more I let her in, the harder it would be to keep her out.

Ananya

It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t hurt when Arjun asked me to keep our marriage a secret. His reason was valid, and I knew it was the right thing to do, but it still stung. What hurt more—what left me feeling disappointed—was noticing that Arjun wasn’t wearing our engagement ring.

Why should I be upset, though? I have no right to feel this way over something so small. It’s silly. I shouldn’t dwell on it. Anu, just forget about it. It’s nothing.

I shook off the thought and looked around Arjun’s apartment—our apartment now. It was spacious and well-kept, with two bedrooms, each with attached bathrooms, a dining area, a kitchen, and a cozy living room. It was a nice place, no doubt about it.

While Arjun was in the shower, I busied myself preparing dinner. The sound of water stopped, and moments later, I heard him walking into the dining area.

"Let’s eat. You must be hungry," I said, setting the food on the table.

"Yes," he replied simply, immediately digging in. His appetite made it obvious he hadn’t eaten much all day.

I smiled at the sight, finding his unspoken appreciation endearing. "Me too," I said, taking a seat and starting to eat alongside him.

After dinner, I began gathering the plates, but Arjun stopped me.

"Let me clean them. You go freshen up. You’re tired too," he said.

He wasn’t wrong—I was utterly exhausted. His offer brought an instant wave of relief and gratitude. "Thank you so much," I said softly, my smile brightening. Judging by the way his lips curved into a grin, he must have noticed.

I love his smile.

Love?

I pushed the thought away and headed to the bathroom for a refreshing shower. The warm water helped wash away the day’s tension, leaving me feeling lighter.

When I returned to the bedroom, I saw Arjun moving his luggage. Confused, I asked, "Where are you going?"

"Um, to the other bedroom," he said hesitantly. "Now that we’re not at my parents’ house, you don’t have to share a room with me anymore."

"You don’t have to," I blurted out before I could stop myself. "Your bed is big enough. We can stay here easily."

The truth was, I didn’t want to sleep alone. It had been years since I’d slept without nightmares.

"I don’t want to make you uncomfortable," he said cautiously.

"I’m not uncomfortable," I replied quickly. Being near him made me feel safe—safe enough that even my nightmares had stopped haunting me since we’d started sharing a space. "And most importantly, I want to be with you."

The words slipped out before I could think, leaving Arjun visibly startled. His wide-eyed reaction made me chuckle softly.

"So, will you stay with me?" I asked with a smile.

He nodded, still surprised.

"Great," I said, grinning to myself. Oh my God, he’s so cute.

"You know what? You’re cute," I blurted out, watching his reaction closely.

His head snapped toward me, his brows shooting up in disbelief. "First of all, I am not cute, Ananya," he declared, his voice laced with mock indignation.

That only made me laugh harder. His expression was priceless—a mix of outrage and confusion, like a child protesting against being called a baby.

"I’ve heard complaints before," he continued, clearly offended, "but no one, ever, has dared to call me cute. How could you?"

I could barely speak through my laughter. "Arjun, you’re cute. Believe me," I managed to say, clutching my stomach.

His lips twitched before they curved into a reluctant grin. "Stop calling me cute, Firefly," he said softly.

The air shifted. For a moment, we both froze. His eyes widened slightly, and I could tell he’d just realized what he’d called me.

Oh, I wasn’t going to let this slide. Not a chance.

"So," I began, smirking, "you’re already giving me nicknames, huh?" I leaned in, my voice teasing. "I like it. Firefly suits me, don’t you think?"

I didn’t miss the faint pink creeping up his cheeks.

"Ananya, you’re teasing me," he accused, narrowing his eyes.

"Maybe," I replied, tilting my head playfully. "Who knows..."

Before I could finish, he moved—quick and sudden. One moment I was standing there, and the next, I was pulled into him. My laughter died in my throat as my breath hitched.

"Keep teasing me, Firefly," he murmured, his voice low and dangerously smooth. "And you’ll see what happens next."

The heat rushed from my neck to my cheeks, and his grin widened knowingly.

For a moment, I froze, unable to move. His words hung in the air, daring me to respond.

“What will happen?” I wanted to ask, but the words refused to leave my mouth. My heart pounded in my chest, but not from excitement. It was fear—fear born from a past I could never escape, a past that made me dread the very idea of a man’s touch.

I tried to steady my breathing, but the memories clawed at the edges of my mind. Vicky’s face, his hands, the way he made me feel powerless—it all threatened to resurface. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the images away.

But Arjun’s presence wasn’t like his.

Arjun was close, too close, yet I didn’t feel the same suffocating terror. His warmth was different—comforting, not threatening. Even so, the fear lingered, whispering that I couldn’t trust myself, that I couldn’t trust anyone.

I took a step back, creating space between us. I had to. The weight of my past pressed heavily on my chest, making it hard to breathe. “You’re impossible,” I said lightly, forcing a smile to cover the unease bubbling beneath my skin.

He smirked, stepping back as well, giving me room. “And you’re fearless,” he said, his tone soft, almost admiring.

Fearless? If only he knew the truth. If only he knew how much effort it took just to stand there, to not crumble under the weight of my memories. But I couldn’t tell him. Not now. I'm still not ready.

“Let's go to bed,” I said quietly, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he turned and walked into the bathroom. I waited until I heard his door close before I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

My hands trembled as I pressed them against the table, trying to steady myself. The ache in my chest refused to fade. What was wrong with me? Why did I feel so torn?

I wanted to trust him, to let myself feel something other than fear. But the scars from my past weren’t just on my skin—they were etched into my soul. That man. I don't  even want to say his name. His betrayal, his hands trapping me, his twisted smile—it all haunted me, even now.

And yet, with Arjun, it felt… different. I didn’t recoil when he was close. His presence didn’t suffocate me. Instead, it felt safe, like he was a shelter from the storm in my mind.

But what if that wasn’t enough? What if my past never let me move forward? What if I could never be the wife he deserved?

I pressed my palms against my eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. I needed to be stronger. For him, for myself. But how could I face a future with Arjun when my past still held me captive?

As I climbed into bed that night, I stared at the ceiling, wondering if I’d ever find the courage to tell him the truth—or if I’d always be a prisoner to my memories.

Arjun

When I stepped out of the bathroom, drying my hair with a towel, the sight before me made me pause. Ananya was lying on the bed, her back turned to me, her body curled slightly, as if she were trying to shield herself from something unseen. The soft rise and fall of her breathing told me she wasn’t asleep yet, and for a moment, I hesitated, unsure whether to speak or leave her be.

Something was off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was an uneasiness in the air, subtle but unmistakable. She had been quiet earlier, quieter than usual, even for her. It wasn’t just the kind of tired silence from a long day. It was something deeper, something heavier.

I tossed the towel aside and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb her. My thoughts were restless, bouncing between her and myself.

How did I let that nickname slip out? Firefly. What was I thinking? I’d never been the type to use terms of endearment, let alone something so… intimate. The word had come out of nowhere, unbidden, as if it had been waiting for the right moment.

I rubbed the back of my neck, annoyed with myself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this, like she was burrowing under my skin without even trying. She never sought my attention, yet she effortlessly commands it, as if the very air shifts to draw my focus toward her. It was maddening.

She shifted slightly, and my eyes were drawn to her again.

I hadn’t wanted to marry her. She knew that. I’d made it clear. This was supposed to be a transaction, a compromise to satisfy our families, nothing more. And yet… here we were.

There was something about her. Something that made it impossible to look away. Maybe it was her strength—the quiet kind that didn’t announce itself but made itself known in the way she carried herself. Maybe it was the way she handled things without asking for help, a trait that reminded me too much of Rohan.

But she wasn’t Rohan. She wasn’t like him at all.

Rohan had chosen to follow his dreams, leaving me to shoulder the responsibilities of the family business. I didn’t resent him for it—not exactly—but it had left a bitter taste in my mouth. I’d spent years resenting elder children, people who thought they could do whatever they wanted and leave the rest of us to pick up the pieces.

And yet Ananya… she didn’t seem like that. She was different. She wasn’t reckless or selfish. If anything, she seemed to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders, the same way I did.

Was that why I couldn’t ignore her?

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. I wasn’t ready for this. Not for her, not for whatever it was I was starting to feel. But the more I tried to keep my distance, the more the universe seemed to pull us together.

She shifted again, and this time, her voice broke the silence. “Arjun?”

Her tone was soft, hesitant.

“Yes?” I replied, leaning slightly closer.

“You should get some rest,” she said without turning around. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

Her words were practical, but there was something beneath them—something vulnerable, almost pleading.

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Alright. Goodnight, Ananya.”

“Goodnight,” she murmured.

I lay down on my side of the bed, careful to keep a respectable distance between us. But sleep didn’t come easily. My mind kept drifting back to her, to the way she seemed so strong and yet so fragile at the same time.

She never asked for my attention, but she always took it.

And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t seem to stop giving it to her.

It’s been an hour since we came to bed, but I’m still wide awake. Ananya, on the other hand, is already sleeping peacefully, her breathing soft and even. I wish I could hold her in my arms, feel her warmth against me. Just then, she shifted in her sleep, unconsciously moving closer to my side.

God, she looks so beautiful when she’s asleep. Innocent, serene, and completely unguarded. As she snuggled closer, something stirred in me, a primal desire I’d never experienced before. My breath hitched, and I felt my pants tighten uncomfortably. Fuck. It became painfully hard.

I got out of bed, trying to calm myself down. The cold shower was supposed to help, but my mind refused to cooperate. What’s wrong with me? I’ve never felt like this before. And now, I’m losing control just by watching her sleep? Pull yourself together, Arjun.

When I returned to bed, she was still in the same position, her face soft and calm. I carefully slipped back under the covers, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer without waking her. Her body instinctively nestled against mine, her head finding my chest, as if seeking warmth.

She’s adorable. So delicate, yet so strong in ways I’m only beginning to understand. My gaze fell on her hand—the ring still on her finger. When she noticed mine was missing earlier, I saw the hurt flash in her eyes, no matter how quickly she tried to hide it.

And yet, she didn’t lash out, didn’t make a scene, even though she had every right to. Her silent acceptance stung in ways I didn’t expect. Why does she choose to be so understanding, even when it’s clear that it’s breaking her heart?

Her selflessness is maddening, and it’s humbling. She absorbs the pain quietly, putting others’ feelings before her own. It’s baffling, really. Why am I noticing every little thing about her? Why does it feel like she’s carving her place into the deepest corners of my heart, even when I thought I had locked it away?

Lying here with her in my arms, I feel a strange mix of emotions. She’s no longer just my wife on paper. She’s something more, something I’m not ready to name yet.

But I know one thing—I don’t want to let her go.

                        ♡♡                               

We were both ready to leave for the company.

"Let's go," I said to Ananya.

"Where?" she asked, tilting her head in feigned confusion.

"To the company. We're going together. Aren't you running late?" I replied, raising an eyebrow.

"No… we can't go together," she said firmly, her gaze avoiding mine.

I frowned in confusion. "Why not?"

"What if someone sees us together? We can’t risk it," she explained, her voice soft but resolute.

Her words made me pause. I was the one who had suggested keeping our marriage a secret, and here she was, doing her best to honor my request. Yet, the thought of her going alone gnawed at me. Before I could protest, she had already grabbed her bag and was heading out the door.

"Goodbye," she called out cheerfully, her smile lighting up her face before she disappeared.

Adorable and cheerful, as always. But her words left me feeling… incomplete. I hated not being the one to drop her off.

Before I could follow, a thought struck me. Something important. I turned back and went to our room. Opening the drawer, I pulled out my engagement ring.

I hadn’t worn it before—it just wasn’t my thing. But now… for her, I wanted to. I slid it onto my finger, glancing at how it looked. Would she notice? Would she be happy? I hoped so.

By the time I reached the office, Ananya was already there, chatting and laughing with her colleagues. Her laughter was like music, her smile radiant.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

I wanted to stand there forever, just watching her. But reality hit me. Shaking off the thoughts, I headed to my office. I was the CEO, after all. I had more work  work to do except admiring my wife.

The thought lingered.

My wife.

Just like that, days turned into weeks. Every time I tried to drop her off at the company, she would decline or leave home before I even woke up, leaving behind a "Good luck" or "Goodbye" note. The same routine followed in the evenings. Either she left work early or stayed late, claiming she had tasks to finish and insisting I go home first. But, of course, I never did.

I couldn't leave her alone at night. I always waited until her work was done, staying out of sight so she wouldn’t notice. Then I’d follow her quietly on our way back home. I surprised myself with how much I cared for her.

And why shouldn't I? She never gives herself the care or priority she deserves.

Take today’s incident, for example. I was in my office, silently watching her in the coffee section when someone bumped into her, spilling hot coffee all over her hand. My heart leapt into my throat.

The girl who spilled the coffee had only a few drops on her own hand but immediately burst into tears. Meanwhile, Ananya—my Ananya—kept brushing off everyone's concern with a smile, saying, "I'm fine." Not a single tear escaped her eyes.

But I felt it—a sharp, inexplicable pain in my chest. Why couldn’t she just show she was hurt? Why did she always mask her pain?

She excused herself and hurried towards the ladies’ washroom. Without wasting a moment, I followed hter and intercepted her before she could go in. Carefully, and without drawing attention, I pulled her into my office and led her to the attached bathroom.

“Arjun?” she said, startled and a little indignant.

“Not a single word, Ananya,” I snapped, cutting off her protest.

I turned on the cold water and gently held her reddened hand under it. My chest tightened at the sight—her skin was inflamed from the burn.

“Arjun, I’m fine. It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she murmured, her voice as steady as her forced smile.

Her words grated against me. How could she act like this wasn’t a big deal? How could she smile through her pain? I hated it—the way she brushed aside her suffering, the way she denied herself the right to show vulnerability.

“Shut up, Ananya,” I said, my voice low and firm. “You’re hurt, and I can see it.”

I caught her reflection in the mirror. She swallowed hard, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the pain she was trying so desperately to hide. She was holding herself back, forcing herself to be strong, even when it wasn’t necessary.

And in that moment, my heart ached—not just for her burn, but for the walls she had built around her pain.

As I gently dabbed her hand dry with a soft towel, her silence hung heavy in the air. She was looking anywhere but at me, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"Why do you do this to yourself, Ananya?" I asked, my voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

Her eyes darted up to meet mine, wide with confusion. "Do what?"

"Hide your pain. Act like you're invincible when you're clearly not." My fingers lingered on hers as I applied the burn ointment, careful not to hurt her any more than she already was.

She hesitated, as if weighing her words, then looked away. "Some things are easier to endure in silence, Arjun. If I don't make a fuss, people won’t notice, and it'll go away faster."

Her answer hit me like a punch to the gut. What had she been through to make her think this way?

I wanted to ask her, but I knew now wasn’t the time. She wasn’t ready to share, and forcing her would only push her further into her shell.

Instead, I focused on wrapping her hand in a clean bandage. As I finished, I let out a sigh and leaned back against the counter, watching her carefully. "Ananya, you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever it is, you can lean on me. I’ll be here."

For a moment, her mask seemed to waver, the vulnerability beneath it threatening to break through. But just as quickly, she composed herself and gave me that same practiced smile.

"Thank you, Arjun," she said softly. "But I can handle it. I always have. It's nothing new to me."

Her words struck a chord, but before I could respond, her phone buzzed on the counter. She glanced at the screen, her expression shifting when she saw the caller ID.

"My colleagues must be looking for me," she said, her tone lighter, almost dismissive. "I should go now."

I followed her gaze to the screen: Ishita. Probably someone from her team.

She stood abruptly, brushing her hands over her outfit as if to erase the evidence of what had just happened. As she moved toward the door, she paused, turning back to look at me.

"Thank you, Arjun," she said again, her voice quieter this time.

Her smile was different now—not the polite, detached one she usually wore. This one was softer, tinged with surprise and a fragile kind of happiness. It was the smile of someone who wasn’t used to being cared for, who was still learning how it felt to have someone by her side.

I didn’t say anything, just watched her walk away. The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the room, leaving me with an unsettling mix of emotions.

She thought she could handle everything on her own. She believed she had to.

But I wasn’t going to let her keep carrying the weight of the world alone—not anymore.

But do I even have the right to feel this way? After what I told her on our wedding night—when I made it so painfully clear why I agreed to this marriage?

Fuck.

I don’t care anymore. None of it matters. All I care about is her.

For the first time in my life, I want to care about someone. I want to be there for her. I want to protect her—not just from the world, but from every little thing that might cause her pain. I want to be her shield, the one she can lean on, the one she knows will always stand by her.

For the first time, I feel this fierce, overwhelming need to do every fucking thing I can to make someone happy—just to see a true, unguarded smile light up their face.

And it’s all for her.

For Ananya.

If it’s not Ananya, it won’t ever be anyone else. She’s the only one who matters.

And I’ll do everything—anything—to be hers. That’s all I know.

After finishing my work, I sent a message to Ananya: 'We’re going home together.'

I wasn’t going to let her go alone tonight, especially not after everything that had happened. And I certainly wasn’t going to follow her silently like I usually did—not when she was hurt today.

Her reply came almost immediately: 'It’s not necessary.'

But I wasn’t having it. I quickly typed back, making it clear there was no room for argument. 'I’ll be waiting in the parking lot. Be there.'

She took a moment before responding, and when she did, she simply wrote: 'Okay.'

Thank God.

Relieved, I grabbed my things and headed to the car, parking it in a quiet corner of the lot. Now all I had to do was wait for her.

waited in the car, my fingers drumming against the steering wheel as I kept an eye on the building’s entrance. The minutes ticked by, and just when I started wondering if she had changed her mind, I saw her emerge.

She looked tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, but as she approached, she straightened up, forcing herself to appear composed. Typical Ananya.

I stepped out of the car and walked around to open the passenger door for her. “Get in,” I said, keeping my tone firm but gentle.

She hesitated for a second looked around to make sure that no one is watching, then slid into the seat without a word. Once I was back behind the wheel, I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Her bandaged hand rested in her lap, her fingers lightly gripping her bag.

“Is it hurting?” I asked, glancing at her bandaged hand.

“No, it’s fine now,” she replied with a small smile. Then, as if to shift the focus away from herself, she asked, “So, how was your work today?”

“As usual,” I said with a shrug. “What about you? There’s a new project you’re working on, right?”

“Yes,” she replied with a sigh. “The next few days are going to be very stressful.”

She looked so adorable, even while complaining, that I couldn’t help but smile to myself.

When we finally reached home, I turned to her as we stepped inside. “Go freshen up. I’ll take care of dinner tonight,” I said firmly.

She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. “You’re not cooking with an injured hand, Ananya. No arguments.”

Reluctantly, she nodded and headed to her room.

A little while later, she returned, dressed in comfortable clothes, her hair loosely tied back. She looked relaxed, yet there was a hint of exhaustion in her eyes.

“Sit down,” I said, gesturing to the sofa. “Dinner will be ready soon.”

She gave me a soft smile, one that made something in my chest tighten. “Thank you, Arjun.”

And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

The next few days passed in a blur. Ananya was consumed with her new project, often working late into the night. She hardly spoke to me the way she used to, and it felt strange. I had grown used to her chatter, the way she’d talk about her day, her colleagues, and every little thing that crossed her mind.

Now, it was different.

At the office, things were no better. I found myself watching her more than I should, especially when she was with her team. Dev, her teammate, caught my attention. He was always near her—too near. They worked closely, laughed with the group, and seemed to share a comfortable camaraderie that made something twist uncomfortably in my chest.

And yet, she hadn’t noticed. Not the way I’d started wearing my wedding ring.

I tried everything. At meetings, I rested my hand deliberately on her desk, the ring catching the light. When I passed by her team, I made it a point to gesture while talking to someone, hoping her eyes would land on it. Nothing.

The frustration followed me home. That evening, as she sat on the sofa working on her laptop, I leaned against the kitchen counter, my hand dangling conspicuously in her line of sight.

She looked up briefly, her brow furrowed. “Do you need something, Arjun?”

I cleared my throat. “No. Just... standing here.”

Her gaze shifted back to her screen, and I nearly groaned.

Finally, I decided to try one last time. As she typed away, I casually walked over to her, placing a cup of tea on the table beside her. I made sure to hold it at an angle where the ring was impossible to miss.

This time, she noticed. Her eyes widened, her fingers pausing on the keyboard.

“Oh,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with surprise. “You’re wearing the wedding ring.”

Her expression shifted into something I hadn’t seen before—pure, unfiltered happiness. “I didn’t expect that,” she added, her voice almost blissful.

I couldn’t help but smile, though her words tugged at me. “Why didn’t you expect it? You should have expected it. It’s your right to expect that, Ananya.”

Her smile faltered, and for a moment, she looked away. “I don’t expect things from anyone, Arjun. Expectations only lead to disappointment. It’s easier not to expect anything.”

Her words hit me harder than I’d anticipated. They carried the weight of her past, the pain she tried so hard to bury beneath her strength.

I crouched down in front of her, gently taking her uninjured hand in mine. “Ananya,” I said softly, “you can expect things from me. I’m your husband. And I want you to know that I’ll do everything I can to meet those expectations.”

She looked at me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just held my gaze. Then, she gave me a small nod, her fingers tightening slightly around mine.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

And in that moment, I knew I’d do anything to ensure she never regretted expecting something from me again.

That night, as we prepared to go to bed, something felt different. Usually, I’d let her drift off first, waiting until I was sure she was asleep before pulling her into my arms. It had become my quiet ritual—my way of feeling close to her without breaking the fragile boundaries she kept between us.

But tonight, we climbed into bed at the same time. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light on her features as she settled under the covers.

I lay on my side, facing her, unable to take my eyes off her. She turned slightly, her back to me, her breathing even but not quite the deep rhythm of sleep.

I tried to resist the urge, but the pull was too strong. Slowly, cautiously, I inched closer, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her gently into my chest.

Her body stiffened slightly at the contact. “Arjun?” she murmured, her voice soft and questioning.

“Please, Ananya,” I whispered, my voice low and almost pleading. “Let me hold you.”

She didn’t respond right away, but she didn’t pull away either. Instead, she relaxed, her body melting into mine as if she belonged there.

“Why?” she asked after a moment, her voice barely audible.

“Because I need this,” I admitted. “I need you close to me. Just let me... stay like this.”

Her breathing hitched, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away, might put up the walls. But instead, she nodded ever so slightly, her head dipping forward.

“Okay,” she whispered.

I tightened my hold, my hand resting lightly on her waist as her warmth seeped into me. The scent of her shampoo filled the air, calming me in a way I couldn’t explain.

Within moments, I felt her breathing slow, the tension leaving her body completely. She had fallen asleep, trusting me to hold her.

For the first time, I didn’t need to wait. I let my eyes close, the steady rhythm of her breath lulling me into a peace I hadn’t felt in years.

And as sleep claimed me, I thought of nothing else but her—the woman who had unknowingly becoming my everything.

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