“No, Shivani.” I gently place a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll do it. You sit.”
She lets out a soft sigh and stays seated. I take out the food, warm it, and make a fresh roti for myself. When I return, she’s already buried back in her book.
“What are you reading, my beautiful wife?” I ask teasingly.
She jumps, startled, and slams the book shut like she’s been caught red-handed. Her cheeks flush.
“Nothing! Just… a book.” She coughs and laughs awkwardly.
Now I really want to read the one I stole from her the other day. What’s in those pages?
“Okay…” I say, raising a brow but letting her off the hook.
“Have you eaten?” I ask her as I prepare the plate. She nods positively, and I hum at her.
“How was your day, Mr. Malhotra?” she queries softly, resting her cheek on her palm.
She looks exhausted.
“It was fine. The usual. Just the world against me,” I say dryly.
She chuckles. “I’m part of this world… I’m not against you. I never will be.”
Her words hit me square in the chest.
“You might be my whole world, Shivani,” I murmur, barely realizing I’ve said it aloud. She doesn’t react—too sleepy, maybe. But I meant it.
“How was your day?” I ask, trying to ground myself.
“It was nice. Productive.”
“What did you do?”
She starts talking about her day, her voice low and sleepy. Her words come slow, soft, almost like a lullaby. I listen. Every word feels like a secret she’s choosing to share.
Once I’m done eating, I clean up quickly and return only to see that she’s half-asleep again.
I don’t want to wake her, but I can’t let her sleep here. If she were okay with touch, I’d carry her. But I know her boundaries—and I respect them.
So I gently wake her again. This time she gets up slowly and begins walking, or more like stumbling.
I take her hand, lacing my fingers through hers, and we walk together. Her steps are slow, her eyes barely open.
She’s done something to me. I don’t know what, exactly. But I do know one thing— I don’t want it to stop.
23
SHIVANI
The heated tension of the argument surrounds us as we keep staring at each other. Rudraksh and I are arguing at the moment. According to him, I shouldn’t wait for him every night.
“You need to sleep well, darling. You wake up early,” he says, his voice full of smugness as if he is right.
“Well, you do too,” I reply in a small voice. Mr. Smartpants should know that we both wake up at the same time, and it doesn't matter.
He runs a hand through his hair. I know he cares for me, and I love that—but I can’t help it. I have to see him come back home and watch him eat his food. It’s so sad to eat alone. I realized that after moving here. It’s amazing to have people around when you eat—everyone talks about their day or something random.I like that. I had never had that before marriage. I always ate alone before marriage—never really wanted to eat with anyone. I always felt people would think I do not deserve to eat, considering I am already so fat. But with this family, nowmyfamily too, I like it. I still feel uncomfortable most of the time, but it doesn't feel like all eyes are on me or that they are judging me, so I just eat in peace. Eating with them made me realize it’s unfortunate to eat alone.
He looks frustrated. Slowly, I near him and pat his bicep—definitely not just to feel it. “Rudraksh, I like doing it. But if you want, I won’t,” I say softly, finally giving in.
