His Burden, His Blessing

Role Play

"Fuck!" Zeyansh groaned as he came inside me, then rolled off to his side of the bed.

And, just like always, I was nowhere near mine.

No surprise there.

Sex with Zeyansh had become more of a routine chore than a way for two people in love to connect. He never engaged in foreplay, never whispered sweet words, never wanted to cuddle after. Sometimes I wondered if he even saw me while we made love, or if I was just another body beneath him.

Instead of feeling like his wife, I often felt like someone hired to please him.
I had thought of divorce many times, but guilt would always pull me back. The idea of ending my marriage over unsatisfying sex felt selfish, shameful even.

"Well," I began softly, still catching my breath. "I wanted to talk to you about something. I think we can spice up our sex life by... Are you listening? Are you asleep?"

When I turned toward him, he was already fast asleep.

He looked emotionless, yet calm. I moved closer, brushed a strand of hair off his forehead, and pulled the blanket over him. I kissed his forehead and his lips; the only time I ever got to admire my husband was when he wasn't awake to notice.

He wasn't a bad man. He worked hard, respected my family, provided for us, and never insulted me. Emotionally distant, yes, but never cruel.

Still, sometimes I wondered if he found me unattractive. My olive skin, my stretch marks, my soft stomach; did any of it repulse him? He'd never said anything cruel, but silence has a way of cutting deeper than words.

Even so, I took pride in being the best wife I could be. I loved packing his lunches, making him breakfast, cleaning up after him, and cooking dinner. I didn't see it as oppressive; I saw it as love in action.

So what if the sex was bad? I loved him anyway.

With that thought, I drifted into sleep.

The next morning, I followed my routine: bathed, got dressed, and headed down to the kitchen. I made his favorite aloo paratha with dahi for breakfast. Then I packed his lunch and slipped a handwritten note into the bag.

Don't stress too much. God's looking after us. Everything will end well.

In the early days of our marriage, he'd asked me not to do these "wifely duties." But my stubborn self had argued and won.

"Hmm, smells good," came his deep voice from behind me.

He was dressed in a crisp blue shirt tucked neatly into his pants, coat over one arm, stethoscope hanging from the other. My heart fluttered. Even after everything, he still had that effect on me.

"Yup! Your favorite aloo paratha," I said cheerfully. "Lunch is a surprise though; you'll have to find out yourself."

He smiled faintly, shaking his head; a small gesture, but enough to brighten my entire day.

Today was going to be a good day, I told myself.

That evening, my back ached and cramps twisted in my stomach. Still, I decided to cook something simple, mac and cheese. By the time it came out of the oven, Zeyansh was home.

"Hey," I greeted, taking his coat and stethoscope from him. "Go take a bath. Dinner's ready."

He just hummed, walking away as he unbuttoned his shirt. I smiled; he always dropped it somewhere random, never the laundry bin. It was one of those small things that made him feel human.

"So, how was your day?" I asked once we sat down to eat.

"Good," he replied, as always.

Then, unexpectedly, "Also, there's a new doctor from London. The dean's hosting a party at a hotel tomorrow. Spouses are invited."

My heart lifted. He wanted me to come.
I tried to contain my excitement but couldn't help the grin spreading across my face.

He looked up briefly and shook his head with a smile. The second one today. Our relationship was progressing.

"Okay," I said. "Just tell me the time and place. I didn't know they hosted parties for new doctors."

"Apparently she's some big shot," he said flatly. "Lots of experience, major operations."

I nodded, still smiling. Maybe if I kept trying, if I stayed patient, things would change.

"So," I began hesitantly, "I was thinking maybe we should... spice things up a little."

He looked up. "We need spicing up?"

"I just think it'd be fun if we tried something new, like roleplay," I said, forcing a small laugh.

He went quiet. The kind of silence that stretched, heavy and sharp. My stomach churned.

Finally, he said, "You don't turn me on enough for us to roleplay."

It took me a second to process the words.

"What?" I whispered. "What the fuck does that even mean? Is that a joke?"

He looked at me, completely blank. "Do I look like someone who jokes?"

And just like that, he got up and walked away.

Leaving me with a heart that had never felt heavier.

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