N I K S H A N T
The day had already been taxing. I had spent hours in my office, juggling paperwork and trying to piece together the threads of Aaravi's past. The more I delved into it, the more tangled it seemed to become. There were too many questions and not enough answers.
By the time I reached home, all I wanted was silence. Instead, I walked into what looked like a family gathering. Aaravi was seated awkwardly on the couch, her posture stiff. Yash and Rishabh were sprawled comfortably, chatting with my siblings, Aarav and Aahana, as though this was their home.
I cleared my throat, drawing their attention. "What are you two doing here?" I asked, looking directly at Yash and Rishabh.
Rishabh leaned back against the couch, his signature smirk plastered across his face. "We heard your wife is an exceptional cook. Thought we'd stop by for dinner."
Yash nodded enthusiastically. "And let me tell you, the rumors don't lie. Aaravi really knows her way around the kitchen."
My gaze shifted to Aaravi, who stood near the kitchen door. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes downcast. Something was offâshe looked pale, almost frightened.
"Really?" I said, my tone sharper than I intended. "And did it occur to you to ask before inviting yourselves over?"
Rishabh shrugged. "Why would we? You're family, Nik. And family shares food, right?"
I didn't respond, choosing instead to walk past them into the kitchen. Aaravi flinched slightly as I approached, but I ignored it.
"Is the food ready?" I asked curtly.
She nodded without looking up.
Her silence bothered me more than I cared to admit. I wanted to ask if something was wrong, but a part of me resisted. She had her secrets, and I had mine. For now, I would let her stew in whatever was eating her up inside.
The dinner was, admittedly, incredible. Aaravi had made a variety of dishesâeach one seasoned to perfection. Yash and Rishabh couldn't stop gushing over it.
"Seriously, Aaravi," Yash said, leaning forward as he took another bite. "Nik is a lucky man."
I glanced at Aaravi, who smiled faintly in response but still seemed distant. Her replies were short, her eyes darting nervously. I was the only one who noticed.
Rishabh clapped his hands together after the meal. "This was amazing! Aaravi, you're going to regret marrying Nik. You should've picked one of us instead."
It was a joke, of course. But when Rishabh stood up and hugged Aaravi in thanks, something inside me snapped.
The moment Yash and Rishabh hugged Aaravi, something within me tightenedâa pull I couldn't name. My jaw clenched, and I forced my face into a mask of indifference. I leaned back in my chair, pretending to scroll through my phone as if their praise and her small, awkward smiles didn't matter.
But they did.
I hated that they hugged her, that they made her laughâa sound so rare, it felt foreign in our home. I hated that I noticed.
"Bhai, you didn't tell us Aaravi cooks like a five-star chef," Rishabh teased, wiping his hands on a napkin. His easy grin made my blood simmer. "You've been keeping her talent hidden!"
Yash chimed in, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. "You're lucky, Nikshant. Marrying someone who cooks this well? Jackpot."
Aaravi's cheeks flushed under their attention, and she mumbled something about being happy they liked it. My gaze flicked to her, noticing how she avoided looking at me.
Lucky? Jackpot? They already know what our marriage is like, but then they said they
"I didn't marry her for her cooking," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. The room stilled for a fraction of a second before Yash laughed awkwardly and tried to diffuse the tension with another joke.
Aaravi's shoulders hunched slightly, and she busied herself with clearing the plates, her movements rushed.
I should have let it go. Instead, I followed her into the kitchen, ignoring the lively conversation still going on in the living room.
"What's wrong with you?" I asked as soon as we were alone, my voice low but firm.
She glanced at me, startled, her hands freezing mid-motion as she held a plate. "What do you mean?"
"You've been on edge all evening," I said, crossing my arms. "Is it because of them?" I gestured vaguely toward the living room.
Her brows knitted together, and she looked away. "No, no it's not for them."
"It doesn't look like nothing," I pressed, stepping closer.
Her grip on the plate tightened. "Its nothing, just leave it, Nikshant ji ."
Leave it? How could I leave it when everything about her was a puzzle that refused to fit together? She was my wife, yet I knew so little about her. And tonight, something was clearly wrong.
"Fine," I said finally, my tone cold. "Suit yourself."
As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of her faceâher lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes distant. It wasn't just fear or stress. It was something deeper, something I wasn't ready to confront.
I came back in the living room, Yash and Rishabh were now animatedly debating about cricket while Aarav and Aahana occasionally chimed in. Aaravi returned shortly after, her face carefully composed, as if nothing had happened.
I tried to focus on their conversation, but my mind kept drifting. Yash's arm casually slung over the back of the couch, too close to Aaravi for my liking. The way Rishabh leaned in when he spoke to her, as if they shared some inside joke.
It was infuriating.
I told myself it was irrational. I didn't care about her, not like that. But every time Yash or Rishabh's attention lingered on her, something primal surged within meâa possessiveness I didn't want to acknowledge.
Hours later, after everyone had left, the house fell into an uneasy silence. Aaravi retreated to our room without a word, and I followed, though at a slower pace.
When I entered, she was already lying on her side of the bed, her back to me. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast shadows on her figure, making her look even smaller, more fragile.
I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at her for a long moment.
"You didn't have to cook for them," I said finally.
She didn't respond, and I wasn't sure if she was ignoring me or just too tired to care.
"They're my friends, not yours. You don't owe them anything."
This time, she turned slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's fine, Nikshant ji. I wanted to."
"Did you?"
Her silence answered for her.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You don't have to pretend, Aaravi. Not for them, and definitely not for me."
She shifted again, but this time to face me. Her eyes, tired and guarded, met mine. "I'm not pretending," she said, though the words lacked conviction.
I wanted to believe her, but something told me there was more to this than she was letting on.
The night, sleep evaded me. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the evening in my mind. Yash and Rishabh's easy camaraderie with Aaravi, her fleeting smiles that seemed more like a defense mechanism than genuine happiness, the way she avoided me even when I tried to confront her.
And then there was the jealousy.
It wasn't just about the hugs or the attention my friends gave her. It was the realization that, despite everything, I cared. I cared about her well-being, her fears, her secrets.
I hated it.
But more than that, I hated the unanswered questions swirling in my mind.
Why was she scared? What was she hiding?
And why did I feel like her pain was somehow tied to me?
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The next morning, light filtered through the curtains as I adjusted my tie, ensuring every crease in my suit was perfect. Work was the one place where life made sense, where every problem had a solution if approached logically. Home, on the other hand, was chaosâa blend of unspoken emotions and unanswered questions. Aaravi, with her carefully constructed calmness, had become the center of that storm.
Descending the stairs, I was met with a scene that only deepened my unease. My mother and grandmother were seated on the living room couch, their expressions neutral but their eyes flickering with quiet judgment. Aaravi sat with them, her posture too straight, her hands resting delicately in her lap as though even a slight movement might give something away.
Aarav and Aahana were on the floor, whispering and sneaking glances at Aaravi as if they, too, sensed the weight in the air.
"Good morning," I said, my voice slicing through the stillness.
Aaravi turned her head slightly and nodded. "Good morning, Nikshant ji."
Her voice was even, politeâa stark contrast to the storm brewing behind her eyes. My mother glanced at me briefly before resuming her conversation with my grandmother, their voices low but deliberate. Aaravi's presence among them was tolerated, not embraced, and the tension was palpable.
I ate breakfast in silence, the clinking of cutlery the only sound between us. Aaravi's attention remained fixed on her plate, her movements deliberate and precise, as if even her eating habits were under scrutiny.
We had breakfast, and I left home for the office.
The day passed in a blur of meetings and deadlines, but no amount of work could drown out the memories of the morning. Aaravi's guarded expression, her carefully chosen wordsâthey stayed with me like a stubborn shadow.
By the time I returned home in the evening, exhaustion had settled deep in my bones. As I walked into the living room, I found Aaravi sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by old photo albums. Her fingers traced the edges of a black-and-white picture, her face unreadable.
I cleared my throat, and she startled, clutching the album closer.
"You're home early," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I wanted to check on you," I replied, stepping closer. "What are you looking at?"
She hesitated before holding up the photo. It was a picture of my parents on their wedding day. My father's arm rested protectively around my mother, their smiles so genuine it almost hurt to look at.
"They look happy," Aaravi said softly.
"They were," I replied, sitting beside her. "They had their ups and downs, but they always stood by each other."
Her gaze lingered on the photo, her eyes distant. "Your mother told me about your father. She said he was a kind man."
"He was," I said, my throat tightening. "The kindest."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of things unsaid. I studied Aaravi's profile, noting the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers gripped the edges of the photo.
"Aaravi," I began carefully, "is there something you want to tell me?"
She stiffened, her hands freezing mid-motion. "What do you mean?"
"You've been... different," I said. "Quiet. Distant. It's like you're carrying something, and I don't know how to help."
Her eyes darted to mine, wide and unguarded for a split second before the mask returned. "I'm fine," she said quickly. "Really."
I reached out, covering her hand with mine. "Aaravi, you don't have to face it alone. I'm here."
For a moment, I thought she might open up. Her lips parted, her eyes searching mine as if weighing my sincerity. But then she pulled away, her expression hardening.
"I don't need your help, Nikshant ji," she said, her voice clipped. "I can handle it myself."
Frustration bubbled within me, but I kept my tone steady. "Why won't you let me in?"
"Because it's none of your business!" she snapped, standing abruptly. "You don't know me, Nikshant ji. You don't know what I've been through, what I'm dealing with. So stop pretending like you care!"
Her words hit me like a physical blow. I stood, my jaw tightening as I tried to process her sudden outburst. "You're right," I said, my voice cold. "I don't know you. And frankly, I don't want to."
She flinched as though I'd slapped her, but she quickly recovered, her shoulders squaring. "Good," she said bitterly. "Then stop acting like you do!"
She turned her back to me, her voice trembling but defiant. "I didn't ask for this marriage. I told you I didn't want it, but you married me anyway. And now you're punishing me for something I don't even understand. Do you think I don't notice the way you look at me? The way you talk to me like I'm some burden you were forced to carry?"
Her words cut deep, but she wasn't finished. "You know what, Nikshant ji? I've been trying. I've been giving everything I have to this marriage. I've tried to make this house feel like home, to make your family accept me. But youâ" her voice cracked, and she turned to face me, tears brimming in her eyesâ"you've done nothing but push me away. If you hate me so much, why did you marry me?"
Her pain was raw, unfiltered, and it tore through me. "Aaraviâ"
"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "Don't pretend you care now. You don't want me here, and honestly, I don't want to be here either. But I'm trying because I have no choice. So stop pretending, stop punishing me, and just leave me alone."
She brushed past me, disappearing up the stairs before I could say another word.
I stood there, her words replaying in my mind like a broken record. She was rightâI hated her. Or at least, I thought I did. But for the first time, I questioned whether my hatred was really for her... or for the circumstances that had forced us into this mess.
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