𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 [ON HOLD]

𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔫

Shivaay turned around, arching an eyebrow at his wife who hummed noisily as she took out bowls of the food he had made the night before and placed one inside the microwave oven.

His eyes narrowed, "What are you doing?" His lips curved downwards in a disapproving frown.

"Heating up the food," she gave him a saccharine smile. "I'm hungry." She shrugged in nonchalance, before whistling a tune, as she grabbed a plate and a spoon, placing it on the table. The spoon clattered loudly ageing the ceramic, and he closed his eyes in irritation.

"Will you cease that?" He snapped.

"Eating?" She blinked, pouting. "Billuji," she felt relief spread all over her body, as she noticed the ghost of a smile at the edges of his lips, before it morphed into a scowl. "Firstly, you scold me and ignore me for having skipped meals. And now, you're angry at me for eating?"

"I'm not angry at you for eating," he rolled his eyes. "I just don't find it particularly pleasing having to listen to my wife bang her spoon against her plate like she's playing drums in some sort of band," he remarked drily.

"Shivaay," Annika gasped, faking a look of hurt on her face. "Are you telling me my drumming skills aren't up to par?"

"When did I say that?" He arched an eyebrow. "I merely stated that I'm not in the mood to listen to," he gestured vaguely with his hand, "music, right now." He rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. "If you can even call it that."

Annika's eyes narrowed, "I'll have you know, that my drumming skills are absolutely magnificent. Woh French mein aap kya bolte hain? Mag-magan——"

"Magnifique," Shivaay arched an eyebrow. "Not entirely sure that that word can be used to describe your drumming skills, accurately, love."

"Just because you don't know how to play the drums like a pro, like yours truly," she raised her chin haughtily, as he rolled his eyes, gazing into the night sky, struggling to not smile. "Doesn't mean you get to diss my drumming skills."

"I wouldn't dare," he bowed his head.

"Good," she flipped her hairs to the side, and turned back to arranging the dishes on the table, noisily.

Shivaay glanced down at the drink in his hand before walking towards his wife. Placing the glass on the table, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder, startling her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly.

Annika relaxed in his embrace, turning around to face him with a soft smile. She wrapped her arms around the back of his neck, grinning cheekily. "It's quite alright. I've accepted the fact that I'm married to a man who reacts quicker than he uses his brain to be less of an angry baagadh billa."

Shivaay shook his head with a fond smile. He placed a kiss on her forehead, before gazing into her hazel brown irises—— the most beautiful shade of brown he'd ever seen.

"It's just," he sighed, "That house—— its my home." He whispered softly. Exhaling softly, he unwrapped his arms from around her waist and sat down on a wooden chair. She sat on the one, beside him. "To hear it's been torn apart," he shook his head.

She kept a hand on his thigh, and squeezed tightly. "I wish I could fix it."

"It's not your responsibility," he placed a hand on her chin, and swiped his thumb up and down her cheek. "My family was broken long ago, Annika." He sighed, "It was only a matter of time before the house which the people had made into a home, would end up crumbling too."