It had been one of those days. You know, the kind where everything feels like it's weighing down on you, and you can't shake off the tension. The day had dragged onâ lectures, assignments, deadlines.
I was barely sitting down in my office, trying to catch my breath, when Krutika appeared. She always did this, barging into my space unannounced. But today, it felt different. There was something about her that made me uneasy.
"Devansh," she called out brightly, and I didn't even look up. She was being too cheerful. "I have something to ask you."
Without lifting my gaze from the papers, I muttered, "Can it wait, Krutika? I'm really busy."
She didn't back off. Instead, she walked right up to me, standing directly in my line of sight. "I don't think it can wait."
Sighing, I looked up at her. "What is it now? Another question about the assignment?"
"No, it's not about the assignment," she said, with a hint of mischief in her tone. "It's about the weekend. Are you free?"
Weekend? I froze. Free? Weekends were my timeâtime to grade, to work on research, to be alone. I didn't have time for... whatever this was.
"I'm not sure, Krutika. I haven't really planned for it," I replied, leaning back in my chair, trying to distance myself both physically and emotionally.
"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you never relax," she teased, her voice light but persistent.
I narrowed my eyes, irritation creeping up inside me. "I don't need your help with scheduling my time."
Krutika crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe you should consider it. You could use a break from all of this." She waved a hand around the office, gesturing to the chaos of papers and books.
I wasn't in the mood for this, not today. "Stop treating me like I'm a project, Krutika. I don't need your advice, and I don't need you to fix me."
For a moment, her expression faltered. But she quickly masked it, offering a light laugh. "I'm not trying to fix you, Devansh. I just thought you might want to do something fun for once."
"Fun?" I scoffed. "I don't have time for fun."
The air between us became thick with tension. She stared at me, searching for the right words. Then, with a sigh, she spoke softly, "Fine. I'll leave you to your work, then."
I exhaled in relief, but something about her wordsâher toneâ lingered. "Thank you," I muttered, not even looking up.
But as she turned to leave, my frustration got the better of me. "And by the way, Krutika," I called after her, my voice sharper than intended. "It's not some fairytale. Don't expect more than that."
She froze at the door, her back to me. Her posture stiffened, and for a moment, there was a thick silence before she turned slowly, facing me.
"I never said it was a fairytale," she replied, her voice controlled, though I could hear the edge of hurt in her words.
"But it seems like you want to pretend we're strangers. That's fine. Just don't pretend that I don't care."
Her words hit me harder than I expected, like a punch to the gut. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me, but I quickly pushed it away.
Instead, I turned my attention back to the papers, pretending to focus on them. I didn't hear her leave, nor did I look up. The silence between us was deafening.
Hours passed. I was still at my desk, working my way through the never-ending mountain of paperwork when I glanced at the clock. It was well past five.
Krutika should have been long gone. But something felt off. I hadn't seen her leave college, and that wasn't like her. Where was she?
I stood up, making my way to the window. I glanced out, hoping to spot her. There was no sign of her anywhere.
I frowned. Why did I care? She wasn't my problem. We weren't supposed to be close.
We were married, yes, but it was all just a formality, wasn't it? And yet, here I was, standing at the window, scanning the campus for a glimpse of her.
I couldn't help it. I wanted to see her.
I turned away from the window and ran a hand through my hair. Frustration bubbled up inside me. What was wrong with me? Why was I even thinking about her?
Later that evening, when I returned home, I was greeted by the comforting scent of something cooking. The kitchen lights were on, and the faint sound of clanging pots and pans filled the air. I stopped in my tracks.
I walked into the kitchen and found her standing there, focused on whatever she was preparing. She didn't notice me at first.
"Kruti?" I called out, my voice rougher than I intended.
She jumped, startled, before quickly wiping her hands on a towel and turning around. "Oh! you're home early!" she said, her voice an odd mixture of surprise and nervousness.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. It was too blunt.
She seemed taken aback, but her smile returned. "I... I wanted to make dinner," she said softly, almost shyly.
Dinner? She was cooking? That was... unexpected.
"Dinner?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're cooking?"
Her smile faltered, but she nodded. "Yes. I thought it would be nice. You've been upset all day, and I figured... I could do something for you."
I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe, unsure how to react. "Just because we're married doesn't mean you have to cook or do anything else for me."
Her face dropped slightly, and I could see the hurt in her eyes, but she didn't back down. "I just thought you might like something familiar. Something comforting."
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to fight back the emotions building up. "I don't need anything from you."
The silence stretched between us. She didn't say anything for a while, and neither did I. Finally, she turned back to the stove, stirring the contents of the pot.
"Fine," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You don't need anything from me. But I'm still going to make it."
The finality in her voice made my chest tighten. She wasn't going to give up, was she? She wasn't going to walk away, even after everything I'd said.
Later, when I sat down to eat the meal she had prepared, I couldn't help but notice how different it looked.
It wasn't like anything I had ever had before. I couldn't place it, but there was something new about it. Something... unfamiliar.
Krutika stood nearby, watching me. She was nervous, and I could see it in the way she was holding her hands, clasped together tightly in front of her.
"Well?" she asked, her voice tentative. "Do you like it?"
I took a bite, chewing slowly. It wasn't terrible. It wasn't great either. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but I couldn't hide the frustration I felt.
"It's... different," I said bluntly, trying to mask my true thoughts.
She laughed nervously. "I know. I'm not the best cook, but I tried. Do you like it?"
I could see the slight disappointment in her eyes as I chewed. "It's fine," I said, my voice flat.
She smiled, but I could tell it wasn't the smile of someone who was genuinely happy. It was the smile of someone trying to hide their disappointment, their feelings.
I kept eating, not because I enjoyed the food, but because I didn't want to cause more tension. I knew she was trying.
She was trying so hard, and here I was, shutting her out. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.
That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about Krutika. About how hard she was trying.
How, even though I pushed her away, she was still there, still trying to reach me. And for the first time, I realized something. Maybe it wasn't just about marriage.
Maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind, I was starting to care.
And I hated it.