THE IMPERFECT PERFECTIONS

•∆17 ~ 𝐃𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

♡ ☆ .♡‧₊˚ ☆ .♡ ‧₊ ♡‧₊ ☆ .♡ ☆ .♡‧₊˚ ☆ .♡ ✩

Aditya's pov:

After a delightful day with my family, during which we nearly forgot to have lunch, we were now lounging in the living room.

My grandparents had gone to visit my uncle, and my parents were out for a dinner.

Despite the many years of marriage, my father never misses an opportunity to take my mother out on these romantic dates, usually when my grandparents are away.

With only the five of us at home, we decided to order in and gave our staff the evening off. Vivaan went home after lunch.

My wife was as always ready to watch her favourite movie for the thousandth time and cry and surely as the plot unfolded, she cried along with my siblings, while I attempted to convince her that it was merely a film.

"It's not just a movie," she insisted, her eyes welling up. "It's an emotion. You won't understand."

Now whenever I sense her emotions bubbling over, I was  be prepared with a tissue box and a comforting shoulder.

I couldn't bear to see her cry, but she didn't stop sobbing after every two minutes of the movie.

Meanwhile, my siblings were equally caught up in the emotional rollercoaster.

Three grown-up children, all shedding tears-I decided to let them console each other while I focused on the most important person in the room: my wife.

After the crying session, Veer suggested that we switch to a funny movie to lighten the mood.

It worked like magic.

My wife's laughter now echoed through the room, as if she hadn't shed buckets of tears just moments ago.

Dinner came and went, and now we lay side by side on our bed, gazing up at the ceiling. Her head rested on my bicep, and I absentmindedly traced circles on her neck. But then my fingers encountered an unexpected texture-a subtle bump beneath her skin.

I shifted my gaze to her, and she looked back at me, confusion etching her features.

"What?" she asked.

Instead of answering, I gently turned her onto her side, exposing her neck. There it was-the mark. The same one I'd noticed on our very first day together.

Almost two months had passed since then. Why didn't  it fade away? I  assumed it was from a hair straightener mishap.

"What is this mark?" I inquired, tracing the faint lines with my finger. Her eyes followed my touch.

"I had a tattoo," she began.

"I got it when I was in school." She continued

"Why?" I asked, my mind conjuring images of needles and ink. "Why get a tattoo at such a young age? It's painful, and removing it is even more so."

She smiled, perhaps recalling the stubbornness of youth. "My dad had the same tattoo," she confessed. " So I wanted one for myself too."

"And then?" I prodded gently, my fingers still brushing the invisible mark as if to remove the traces of pain she must have felt during that time.

"Boarding school,"she said, her gaze distant. "I always kept it hidden but I forgot it one day ."

"Someone saw it?," I guessed.

"Yes,"she confirmed. "A fellow boarder. They  then lodged a complaint with the principal."

"Tattoos are against the rules, so I had no choice but to have it removed," she concluded.