I frowned as the silence answered me back.
My grip tightened around the corner of the pillow—fingers nearly digging into it.
The room felt warm despite the fan humming at its highest speed.
Had I said something wrong?
I was lost in the haze of space.
Too conscious about the space we shared.
First time my military reflexes were failing me.
The aroma of Maggie wrapped around me like intoxication—though it was a simple one.
But it felt different today.
Maybe it was not Maggie, it was her.
Or maybe it was hunger from all day.
I didn't even know myself.
I shifted my eyes to her. Only to realise she was already in a deep slumber, with the final chime of bangle—which was enough caffeine for me to stay awake.
A chuckle escaped from my lips. Deep, warm reverberating in the silence as I settled onto the couch.
The leather felt stiff.
It felt comforting against my stiff muscles.
Or maybe the scent of polished leather and wood seemed more inviting than the scent of roses sprinkled on the mattress.
I stiffened. Every time I tried to look at her.
One eye contact and everything blurred around me.
Or maybe it was the unease of the situation.
My fingers worked unconsciously to adjust the sheets on the couch—even though it was already smooth.
It was my first time sharing a room with a female. with her.
Ironic.
People make it sound simple.
Yet I was practically red with embarrassment.
The freshly washed scent of the bedsheet filled my senses. Sleep had no signs even though tiredness was etched into every nerve.
Every corner of my room carried her essence.
It didn't feel like my room.
It felt like ours.
A small smile made its way to my lips.
Funny.
Everyone pretends it's simple.
But her face showed the similar signs of discomfort that mirrored my own a couple of minutes ago.
We both knew that this was new for us.
Yet, now at this moment she slept peacefully—unaware that I was wide awake.
And that was enough for me.
I wanted her to feel safe enough to not feel like a guest here.
The walls carried her presence.
Even before she graced our house with her steps.
Yet her eyes skimmed the surroundings like it was—a new world.
I turned to the other side, as I adjusted the cushion. The sofa was uncomfortable.
My eyes shifted to her. She lay there still as though even in sleep—she knew this wasn't where she belonged.
Or maybe she was aware of my presence.
But this was the least I could do for her.
To make sure about her comfort.
She tossed and turned around in discomfort.
Every five minutes later.
The clink of chooda was enough to heighten my senses.
My gaze darted to her.
The way she unconsciously scratched her neck.
My eyes flicked to the table.
The ointment rested there with no signs of being unscrewed.
She was too tired to apply that.
My eyes furrowed almost in concern.
My fingers twitched—on instinct, as I resisted the urge to get up and do something.
Shaadi.
Maybe it's a festival for others.
But for the bride it's just a fake smile—with zero food and lots of pain.
All sets of rules for her?
Funny.
How she doesn't even get to enjoy her own day.
I sighed as I realised.
She cared less about it.
Maybe we both despised the thought of marriage.
Yet we were here sharing the same room.
After all the rituals.
Aise hi nibhaate honge shayad?
I didn't even realize—when the faint shadows of dawn quietly slipped through the windows.
The headache developed with the continuous spin of the fan.
One. Two. Three. Easy. Predictable.
I was used to it.
I looked at her once. She looked comfortable enough—that her face carried a somber expression.
It felt like she was sleeping after years.
I couldn't help but feel a sense of relief through the hazy vision. I realized she was finally at ease
And with the arrival of morning.
We both drifted into sleep with the awkwardness, newness and sense of ease.
🌷
I stood in the washroom as I observed the confined space.
It was simple, lined with white tiles. A mirror on the front wall with a counter installed with a washbasin.
That reflected my anxious eyes—shining with tears, that refused to escape.
My fingers tightened around the heavy red saree in my hand until the knuckles almost turned white with the sheer weight of it.
A common washroom.
I was never used to this.
But, that was not a problem.
The saree was.
How I was supposed to drape it around myself.
In this confined space.
I looked helplessly at the door. The knock cut through the anxiety.
“Bhabhi jaldi late ho raha. Bahut saara kaam hai.”
His sister— Saumya informed from the other side of the door.
My throat bobbed with the effort to conceal the tremor in my voice as I replied almost in haste.
“Do minute bas.”
My hands worked—panicked almost in reflex.
The floor was wet with water—the fabric darkening with the contact of it.
But I cared less.
It was already too late.
After a few attempts I managed to drape it carelessly.
I ran a hand through my face as the fresh scent of body wash enveloped me. Something familiar.
I tightened my hand on the door and twisted the knob—still clutching the half done pleats.
I peeked outside.
My eyes scanned the corridor.
I released a breath. In the next second I almost ran towards my room.
The door clicked shut—echoing through the corridor, with the weight of a stunt. I had pulled a moment ago.
I leaned against the doorframe.
As I closed my eyes—my shoulders dropped as I murmured to myself.
“Bach gaye.”
But my eyes snapped open as I heard a familiar voice—and my soul practically left my body.
“Aap ro rahi thi kya?”
🌷
I know she had draped the saree carelessly.
The way her fingers held it—told enough that her life depended on it.
Yet I didn't say anything.
Not wanting to make her feel more uncomfortable than she already was.
She was trying to adjust.
In that six yards of silk for the whole day.
The last thing was to embarrass her about that.
The moment she entered the room. The violent thud of the door was enough to tell me something was wrong.
My eyes immediately averted to her reflection in the mirror.
At the next second. I immediately averted it.
Because I didn't know—how to face her.
When she stood there in the six yards of enchantment.
That too draped in a haste.
Yet, my eyes betrayed me. It again travelled to the mirror.
My brows furrowed. As I noticed her puffy eyes.
Maybe I was overthinking.
Maybe it was the effect of oversleeping.
I hoped.
But it was too late.
The words tumbled out.
Despite the efforts to conceal it.
She looked at me with wide eyes as if she had seen someone. She wasn't expecting.
I tried to adjust the sleeve of my shirt.
As I hummed a random song under my breath. The heat crept on to my neck with the effort to mask the embarrassment.
My eyes landed on her. She was nearly frozen. Her face was pale.
The room felt cold. The space felt quiet.
I cleared my throat.
How more embarrassing can it be?
But before I could walk out. Her voice stopped me in my tracks.
“Wo…bas zyada sogayi thi.”
I barely nodded as I stepped aside. She walked past me. The sudden wave of warmth and her scent was enough to make my breath hitch.
I stiffened.
I was trained to mask my emotions. Yet my composure shattered again.
Every time when she was around.
The clink of chooda interrupted my thoughts.
Before it could spiral my mind more.
I walked out with a sigh.
🌷
I huffed as the door clicked shut behind me.
The tears threatened to escape.
Yet, I had no time to mourn my married life.
I was already late.
The saree felt heavy as I walked to the dressing area.
Everything was neatly arranged. My comb, my skincare—even the hair accessories.
Last time I remembered. I had left them scattered.
Too busy to crib over my late morning.
Yet despite sleeping for almost an afternoon.
I felt the soreness—the stiff arms.
My fingers worked to adjust the pleats.
Arranging each one meticulously, with discipline.
Every morning.
I used to get ready not for rituals—but for school.
Teaching.
A slow smile curled onto my lips.
I had something of my own.
I blinked as the tube of ointment fell from the edge of the dressing table.
The smile dimmed as I looked at my reflection.
Not the teacher. Not Shriya Shukla. But Mrs. Shriya Anish Singh greeted me.
A bitter chuckle twisted inside.
So now I had no identity of my own.
All my hard work turned into a married life.
Everything was a lie, padh likh kar apne pairo par khadi ho jaao.
Sighing, I picked up the ointment.
The tube felt cold in my palm.
My lips twisted in confusion.
Last night it was on the table.
Now, it was here.
I shook my head as I applied it, on
my rashes.
The burn anchored me—it soothed the sting.
Slowly a smile bloomed on my face despite the earlier discomfort.
As I looked at the arranged table again.
Maybe it's not that tough.
Because this is what it is.
Now I have to accept it.
But with him it felt a little easy.
To be continued...
Unedited
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