The chancellor's voice filled the air, monotonous yet authoritative, as he discussed new policies for the university. I tried to focus, I really did, but my phone in my pocket wouldn't stop vibrating. It buzzed once, twice, and then several times in rapid succession.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, pretending to adjust my position, and slipped my phone out of my pocket discreetly. The screen lit up with Krutiâ 15 unread messages, 5 voicemails.
I frowned. What now?
I clicked on the notifications, and her messages popped up.
I sighed and rubbed my temple, already feeling a headache forming. The meeting was in full swing, and I couldn't exactly reply now.
And then came the voice mails.
"Devansh! Where are you? It's been ages! If you don't come soon, I'm divorcing you. And don't think I'm joking!"
The second one wasn't much better. "I hate waiting! You could at least text me back. Are you hiding from me?"
By the third, her tone softened slightly, though there was still irritation underneath. "Are you even alive? I'm telling your whole family that you're with your other WIFE!"
I glanced at the chancellor, still droning on about financial policies, and decided enough was enough. I turned my phone to silent and stuffed it back into my pocket.
The meeting finally ended, and I hurried out, relieved to escape the monotony. As I walked to the parking lot, I mentally prepared myself for the storm that was Kruti.
Sure enough, she was already waiting by the car, arms crossed and lips pressed into a pout.
"You're late," she snapped the moment I approached.
"Good evening to you too," I replied dryly, unlocking the car.
"Don't good-evening me!" she said, climbing into the passenger seat. "I've been waiting forever. Do you even realize how many messages I sent you?"
"I noticed," I said, keeping my voice calm.
"And you didn't reply to a single one?" she accused, glaring at me.
"I was in a meeting."
"With your phone on silent, apparently," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to sit there waiting like some abandoned wife?"
I sighed, starting the car. "Kruti, you're being dramatic."
"No, I'm being reasonable. You're the dramatic one for ignoring me!"
"I wasn't ignoring you," I said firmly. "I had work."
"And I had needs," she countered. "Like eating. I was starving!"
"You could've eaten without me," I pointed out.
She gasped, placing a hand over her chest like I'd just insulted her. "Do you even hear yourself? Eat without you? Am I some stranger now?"
I glanced at her, trying to hide the amusement creeping onto my face. "You're impossible."
"And you're infuriating!" she shot back.
"I was busy," I replied, my tone a little sharper than I intended.
"I don't care! You're always busy with work. But when it comes to me, I'm just an afterthought, right?" Her voice was high-pitched now, and I could see her angry, her frustration building.
I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to keep my cool. I didn't want to fight with her, but she was making it impossible to avoid. "That's not fair, Kruti. You know how important my work is."
"Yeah, and I get it," she said, crossing her arms tighter. "You're always busy, and I'm always the one left behind. But I don't think you even notice, do you?"
Her words cut deeper than I wanted to admit. Was she right? Had I been neglecting her all this time? Had I been so focused on my work that I didn't even notice how she felt?
We drove in silence for a while, her annoyance palpable in the air. She huffed every now and then, shifting in her seat and muttering under her breath about inconsiderate husbands.
When I turned onto a different street, she frowned.
"Where are we going?" she asked suspiciously.
"You'll see," I said cryptically.
Her frown deepened, but she didn't press further.
Ten minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of her favorite restaurant.
Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked genuinely surprised. But then she quickly masked it with indifference.
"What are we doing here?" she asked, trying to sound unimpressed.
"Dinner," I replied simply, getting out of the car.
She hesitated before following me inside. Once we were seated and the food arrived, her mood shifted visibly. Her earlier irritation seemed to melt away as she dug into her favorite dish, her expression softening with each bite.
I watched her quietly, a small smile tugging at my lips. She caught me staring and raised an eyebrow.
"What?" she asked, her tone defensive.
"Nothing," I said, shaking my head.
She narrowed her eyes but didn't push further. Instead, she focused on her food, her earlier frustration replaced with contentment.
Halfway through the meal, I decided to test the waters.
"So... Do you still want a divorce?" I asked casually.
She looked up, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about?"
"You were pretty adamant about it earlier," I reminded her.
She blinked, then shrugged nonchalantly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
I raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because I'm pretty sure you said you'd file the papers."
She waved a hand dismissively. "You must've misheard."
I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Unbelievable."
"You're the unbelievable one," she shot back, smirking. "Ignoring your poor wife like that."
I couldn't help but chuckle, shaking my head. "You're impossible."
"And you're lucky I am," she quipped, grinning at me.
As we drove home, the tension from earlier was gone, replaced by a comfortable silence. She seemed satisfied, leaning back in her seat with a faint smile.
I glanced at her briefly, feeling a strange mix of exasperation and fondness. She might drive me insane, but moments like these reminded me why I put up with her antics.
She was impossible, infuriating, and utterly ridiculous.
And yet, I wouldn't have it any other way.
But I learned one thing that day: Don't trust your wife when she's hungry.