Dons of Punjab: Fluke of Reality✔️

Chapter 31

Amandeep Singh Aulakh

The house was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that felt heavy, pressing down on me like a weight. I sat on the couch, watching Prabh from the corner of my eye as she sat stiffly, her arms crossed, her face turned away. She had barely spoken to me all evening.

It had been like this since the wedding. Three days of cold silence, of short, clipped responses, of a distance between us that I didn't know how to cross. I had imagined that marriage would be different—that even if we weren't deeply in love right away, we would at least be comfortable with each other. But Prabh didn't just seem indifferent to me; she seemed to hate me.

I cleared my throat, breaking the silence. "So... how are you?" I asked hesitantly. It felt ridiculous to ask my own wife such a basic question, but I didn't know what else to say.

She didn't look at me. "Fine," she replied, her voice cold and emotionless.

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Are you tired? You should get some rest."

No answer. She simply continued to stare at the wall, her expression unreadable.

I tried again. "Do you need anything? Water? A blanket?"

She exhaled sharply, finally turning to face me. "Stop pretending like you care." Her voice was sharp, cutting through the air between us like a knife.

Her words stung, but I forced myself to stay calm. "I do care," I said softly. "I know this marriage wasn't what you wanted, but—"

"You know nothing," she snapped, standing up abruptly. Her eyes flashed with anger. "You have no idea what I wanted. You don't know how much I despise this—how much I despise you."

I flinched. Even though I had felt her resentment from the start, hearing it out loud was different. It hurt more than I expected. "Prabh—"

"Don't." She held up a hand, stopping me. "Don't try to act like some devoted husband. We both know this marriage wasn't my choice."

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "I know you're angry—"

She let out a bitter laugh. "Angry? That's an understatement." Her voice shook with emotion. "I didn't want this. I didn't want you. And now I'm stuck in a house with you, pretending like we're supposed to be happy. It makes me sick."

For a moment, I was at a loss for words. I had known she didn't love me, but hearing her say it so bluntly felt like a punch to the gut. I took a shaky breath. "I never wanted to force you into anything. I just... I want to make this work."

She scoffed, shaking her head. "You can't. Nothing you do will change the way I feel."

Silence settled between us again, but this time it was even heavier. I watched as she turned away from me, her shoulders tense, her hands clenched into fists. I wanted to say something, anything, to break through to her. But what could I say that she would actually believe?

After a moment, she let out a deep sigh and walked over to the couch, sitting down again. The anger in her face had faded slightly, replaced by exhaustion.

A few minutes passed in silence before she yawned, stretching her arms above her head. I watched as she blinked sleepily, her head drooping slightly to the side. She was fighting it, but I could tell she wouldn't last much longer.

Before I could say anything, she curled up on the couch, her breathing growing steady. Asleep.

I hesitated. She looked so different like this—without the anger, without the hatred in her eyes. Just peaceful, vulnerable.

I knew she would be furious if she woke up and found me carrying her, but I couldn't just leave her there. She would wake up sore and uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath, I carefully leaned down and slipped my arms beneath her, lifting her as gently as possible. She was light, her body warm against mine.

She stirred slightly but didn't wake. I held my breath, waiting to see if she would lash out, but she remained still, her head resting lightly against my chest. For a brief second, I allowed myself to pretend that things were different—that she didn't hate me, that she trusted me.

But I knew better.

Reaching the bedroom, I carefully laid her down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her. She murmured something in her sleep, shifting slightly before settling again. I stood there for a moment, just watching her.

Then, with a heavy heart, I turned away and walked back to the couch, grabbing a pillow and a blanket for myself. I knew my place. She had made it clear.

Lying down, I stared at the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of her breathing.

I didn't know how long this would last—how long she would keep hating me. But I did know one thing.

I wasn't giving up.