His Burden, His Blessing

The Jerk

This was the fifth time I thought about what Ishaani had said last night, and it was seriously messing with my focus at work.

Ishaani was just a normal girl. She wasn't conventionally pretty, she was a little dark and a little chubby. Every man has his dream wife, and Ishaani wasn't mine. I could never willingly kiss those dark lips of hers; I just couldn't bring myself to.

I had been born and brought up in America but moved to India at sixteen to live with my grandparents. My parents pressured me constantly to excel in every single thing, and though I had outshone in school and college, I felt like I would go crazy if I stayed in that environment for even two more years.

I continued high school and pursued Medicine in India, always keeping a distance from my parents. Over the years, I had gotten used to having the best of everything: the outfits, the lifestyle, the work, everything. But when the most important aspect of my life, my soulmate, my wife, did not meet that standard, it was a huge letdown, a disappointment.

It was true. She didn't turn me on. On bad days at work, sex was a way to release frustration, and Ishaani's body simply didn't excite me. I preferred the lights off, pretending nothing mattered.

Every morning she would apply heavy makeup, which annoyed me even more. Why did she want to look good for others? Every morning, as I left for work, she would peck my lips and forehead, her dark lipstick smudging slightly. It irritated me, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her off.

This morning felt different. She wasn't in the kitchen when I arrived. There was a note explaining that she had to get to the office early, so she could take the afternoon off to prepare for the party.

The day started off oddly. She wasn't there to see me off, to hand me my lunch, or kiss me goodbye. In two years, she had never missed it, not even when she was sick. It felt strange, and I didn't know why.

Even worse, there was no note in the lunch bag. I searched frantically, but there was nothing. All my colleagues were staring at me, and I had to compose myself. I told myself she must have been nervous about tonight's party and forgotten.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about her. Plain, ordinary Ishaani: the girl who wore kurtis to work, shy, boring, predictable. There was nothing about her that excited me.

I might seem like a jerk, but I just wanted my ideal wife.

Her words from last night kept echoing in my head:

"Zeyansh! All these months, I took pride in the fact that my husband was someone who didn't put looks before heart. And now I know that it's a lie. No matter what I do, you are not going to accept me. I understand and it's fine. I would rather you respect me and this marriage. I'll always be a wife to you. I'll always care about you and... and I'll always love you. Though you will probably not care for me or treat me like a queen, that's fine. You're a good man and that's more than enough."

Of course, looks matter!

How you look does matter. If my wife didn't look compatible with me, it would be awkward socially. I had imagined marrying someone beautiful, someone social, someone in the same profession as me. Instead, I ended up with her.

Was it wrong of me to want what I had dreamed of?

I had asked her to come alone because I was completely booked. I only had time to change into a suit and rush to the hotel.

I waited for her at the entrance, glancing around impatiently.

And then I saw her.

In a plain red saree, her sindoor marking the partition of her forehead, her mangalsutra dangling from her neck.

She didn't look extravagant or breathtaking, but she looked... pretty.

"Sorry, I'm late," she said, huffing slightly. She paused to catch her breath and tidy herself up.

We entered the hotel together. I found a couple of my friends and introduced them to my wife. This was the first time I had taken her out somewhere as my wife.

"Hi, Mrs. Ishaani. I'm a huge fan of your cooking. I wish my wife would cook for me sometimes, but she's always busy with the kids," said Varun with a teasing smile aimed at his wife.

I stared at Ishaani. That's what I had wanted in life: to be recognized, to have admiration. But apparently, only some men got that privilege.

"Thank you," she said politely, her soft voice almost a whisper.

I wanted to go home. The party was boring, the food was mediocre. Honestly, I was craving Ishaani's paneer butter masala with garlic naan instead.

Finally, the dean stepped forward. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Today, we have a new doctor joining our hospital. Let's give her a warm welcome."

Applause filled the room as she walked in: stunning, wearing a pink coat, lace top, and white pants. Gorgeous, poised, confident.

Her presence hit me like a lightning strike. Even her voice, the way she carried herself, the way she laughed: it drew me in.

I reminded myself that I was married and it was wrong to notice her like this, but I couldn't help it. I was the moth, and she was the flame.

"Zeyansh? Is everything okay?" Ishaani's voice pulled me back. She had been standing next to me the whole time.

Shit.

I looked at her, at the guilt and hurt in her eyes. She was so tender, so real. I felt like a terrible man.

"Um, I... have to go to the bathroom," she muttered and walked away before I could say more.

Why was I always such a jerk to her?