My brows furrowed as I stepped inside the room.

Something felt different as my eyes landed on him. He sat there back pressed to the headrest, staring at the far end of the wall-unblinking.

I shrugged at first walking towards the mirror.

I could feel the blink of his eyes through the reflection of the mirror.

My hands tightened around the fabric.

The carelessly draped pleats.

Water dripped from my freshly washed hair.

The scent felt refreshing, soothing.

But everything about it felt wrong.

My eyes met his dark brown ones.

But not for a second his gaze flicked to me.

It was still stuck on that chapped wall.

I shifted slightly.

His presence was making me conscious about my own reflection.

I fumbled with the pleats-trying to carefully adjust them.

I pushed my hair aside in frustration.

Maybe it was not the fabric.

It was the gaze.

The way the black coffee stirs the bitter taste at first and gradually it settles like a balm to the buds.

Exactly.

But still it's wrong in all possible ways.

I looked at him again.

He was still sitting there in God knows what thoughts.

My hands tightened around the safety pin.

Exhaling a breath. I finally asserted.

"Ready nahi hona hai aapko?"

He nodded his head.

Still not making a single move.

I shook my head, securing the pleats with the safety pin.

I walked to the wardrobe and opened his side.

I pressed my lips into the thin lines as I skimmed the clothes.

All whites.

And hardly any color.

Typical him.

My chooda clinked with the weight of his gaze.

I was able to feel his warmth beside me.

Yet he didn't say anything.

My fingers trembled with the effort to select a shirt for him.

Calm down.

It's just a shirt.

"Aapko pehli rasoi ke shagun mein kya chahiye?"

My hands stopped mid-way.

I was able to feel the hope in his voice.

Hope-isn't it a beautiful thing?

First traps a lifeless soul for living.

Then with time it fades away,

Leaving the soul full of life,

that once witnessed the fields of blooming daffodils, with the withered flowers and dead aspirations.

I shut the wardrobe with the thud.

I inhaled sharply, shoving the clothes in his hand.

"Itne din lag gaye, ye puchne mein?"

His eyes flicked to the clothes in his hand.

His fingers worked to smoothen the crease.

I walked back to the dressing table.

"Samajh nahi aya tha kaise puche?"

He walked towards the table until he stood beside me.

He glanced at our reflection.

What a perfect couple right?

Isn't it?

"Ab puch rahe hain ab bata dijiye."

My hands stopped on the pallu.

The fan humming beneath the ceiling felt too loud.

I glanced at him briefly as I picked up the sindoor.

"Kya farak padta hai, waise bhi shagun hai apni pasand se de-dijiye."

I gulped down the saliva as I stared at the red powder in my hand.

"Humesha se aisa hi toh hota hai na?"

I couldn't help but question him.

My hands worked to put the vermillion on my hair parting.

I was able to feel his gaze on me through the reflection in the mirror.

His eyes mirrored mine.

Something about it was different today.

"Farak padta hai, jab wo aapke baarein mein hai."

I kept the sindoor daan with the thump.

I let my gaze linger on it for a second, until I noticed-the way my face transformed just with the hint of red in my hair.

And we both knew at that moment it was not about Shagun.

I paused.

He tilted his gaze to look at me.

I swallowed.

My hands worked to comb my hair.

The silence of the room felt too heavy and suddenly I had no words.

At that moment I realised.

No one really asked for my choice.

My stomach twisted with the realization.

Throughout my life, I was told to fulfill my responsibilities.

Be a good daughter, a good elder sister, an example to my siblings and now a good wife.

My head circled with the voices of my parents in my head.

Humari Shriya toh sabse achi hai,

Kabhi kuch nahi manga-chupchaap shaanti se apna kaam karna.

A bitter chuckle rose through me.

I bit my lips resisting it.

I was always expected to behave a certain way, perform all the duties, learn all the chores-that I never found interesting.

All shaped in the form of love and care.

Only to later realise it was control shaped as affection.

Ironic.

Everything was named as a life-skill for me.

But not for my brother. I remember.

My thoughts snapped back as I heard his voice.

A lopeside grin spread on his face.

"What happened? not able to decide?"

I almost resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

I was not finding this interesting today.

He ran a hand over his hair.

His voice carried that teasing edge.

"Exactly Mrs. Singh.

It's not easy to decide when it comes to you."

He clicked his tongue.

"Not everything can match that level of grace that you carry."

He paused, his gaze lingered on my vermillion.

The way his expression softened for a second like it was everything for him.

His eyes carried that reverence, that made me feel respected.

"It's better that you decide yourself.

Who am I to decide that for you Shriya ji isn't it?"

His soft voice reached me.

Though he was standing beside me within a breathable distance.

Still I was able to feel the warmth that radiated through him. I couldn't help but focus on the chooda. The fading heena in my hands.

And a flush crept on to my face despite myself.

"I will tell you later."

I smiled as I replied to him.

He nodded, still looking at me.

God, why does his gaze always make me feel different kinds of emotions that I never experienced before.

Admired? Right?

I don't know.

Whatever it was, but with him it felt right.

He smiled back as he whispered.

"I will be waiting for that."

With that he walked away. The door closed behind me leaving me with this unknown feeling in my chest.

I couldn't help but admire myself as I put on the bindi on my forehead, giggling to myself.

🌷

Anjaan hi sahi, par koshish zaroor rahegi.

Shayad aise hi dheere dheere.

Hope.

Ever since my mother said that to me.

Log jeete hi ummed par hai.

I smiled as my gaze fell on the mirror.

Maybe hope was not about the time.

It was about the person.

Maybe it was about living for others.

But still living through the fullest in that moment.

Yet having the most unpredictable life possible.

Sometimes we often forget to sit with the small moments of life, and just focus on the bigger picture.

Only to realise it later,

it was all about cherishing the small things.

Shriya ji was that to me.

With her every moment felt alive, full of hope.

The steam curled into the air, along with the faint stains of water on the mirror.

Maybe this is how,

This strange place would be a little familiar to her.

I don't know-but this was the least I was able to do.

The cold water hit my skin.

The shower felt soothing to my nerves after seeing her smiling face.

Every time I would close my eyes I would be mesmerized by her smile.

It felt like walking into fields of sunflowers. The way her face would lighten up with a smile that was similar to sunflower blooming in sunlight.

The water droplets felt soothing along with her scent.

Yes I used her scent by mistake.

But it feels good now.

Because now I carried her essence on me.

I chucked, as I remembered.

How she always kept her things messy.

Maybe this is how it works.

Aise hi saath nibhaate hain shayad.

One step at a time.

To be continued.

Unedited.

A short chapter because next one is going to be long.