Love Unrushed! | ✓ [Under Editing]

29 | Embracing Happiness

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Aditya's Pov

Half-asleep, I rubbed my bleary eyes as soon as the golden-orangish hue seeped into our room. It was amusing yet so satisfying to witness these tanned streaks of sunlight struggling to enter the room in full and weave into these beautiful undulating pleats of dark and light, golden and white, as if it's nothing but some natural graffiti playing its own little ministrations on the room walls.

Yawning, and simultaneously stretching my arms, I glanced rightways, and It wouldn't be an understatement that I was shocked to the core the moment my wife came into the line of my vision.

No! It wasn't a cuddly-wuddly, gushy-mushy romantic morning for us. So stop thinking suggestively, Please!

Also No! She wasn't cocooned in my arms protectively, and romantically embracing me by wounding her arms around my stomach.

Oh Please No! For God's Sake, she wasn't tucked up under my chin, with her mouth pressed seductively at the side of my neck.

And No! Her rhythmic breathing wasn't fanning my neck into soft and slow blows.

And yeah, No! No tingling sensations were there in my stomach, nor any goosebumps on my skin, making me shiver. At least not now!

Also, No! My one arm wasn't tucked under her head, supporting it, and the other caressing her waist into gentle, sensuous strokes.

Just No!! Please!

Instead, I saw a sleeping mummy beside me, all covered with a white quilt from all sides. That white sheet of fabric was articulately tucked under her head, her legs, her back, her arms, and every possible body part that could be used to tuck the sheet beneath her.

How the hell is she even breathing?

She shifted a little, still in sleep, and took a turn towards my side, still covered in the quilt which she drowsily yet bossily demanded from me late at night. Yeah! she woke me up again an hour or two later after she took hold of that cuddle pillow of hers.

My wife can't tolerate AC for long hours. Pretty sensitive to the cold she is!

Taking off the quilt from her face, with her eyes still closed, she groggily took hold of the corners of the white sheet, which she had carefully set under the quilt for extra protection from cold, and rolling it once, she stretched the sheet in her hand and covered her eyes in a manner so that the sheet could only cover her eyes and nothing else.

What the hell!

Five minutes passed by, and I kept looking at her unblinkingly for her next bufoonish antic, simultaneously trying to comprehend this antique piece, better known as my wife.

Finally, she took off the sheet from her face after a minute or two, but wrapped it up to her neck, as if the room's temperature is as cold as the waters of Antarctica.

Straightening on her back, she hugged her pillow tightly, placing it on her stomach, and opened her eyes slowly, and glanced at the ceiling, still in a daze.

Bewildered with the view, she shook her head softly, and shut her eyes again, and turned towards my side.

A few seconds later, she opened her eyes again and stared at me, a frownsome expression marred on her face, lips pouted in confusion, her eyes half-closed, full of sleep, and her otherwise straight hair as messy as it could be.