Chronicles Of My Darling Husband | ✓

96. Svara (Part 1)

Follow me on Instagram for story-related updates, some creative content and to rant your heart out - handle is- suganthii.writes

--

The scent of roses lingered in the air as Nishita woke with a smile. But something was missing, a warmth that had enveloped her in the night was now gone.

The night.

A blush crept up her cheeks as she recalled her impulsive kiss and Jagdish's surprised reaction. She had no idea what had come over her while he went on and on about his love for her. He was definitely his mother's son, inheriting Mrs. Singh's wit and eloquence.

Soft sunlight streamed through Jagdish's bedroom—their bedroom. Blinking to adjust to the light, she noticed the empty space beside her and felt disappointed. Jagdish had woken up first, leaving her alone to sleep. Yes, it was considerate of him not to wake her, but she shyly wished she had woken up in his arms, feeling the comfort of his embrace.

What's wrong with you? What are you expecting? Since when did you start wanting such things?

Shut up! He's my man, and I can expect everything from him.

Sighing, she touched the empty bed, her hand gliding over the sheets, feeling Jagdish's imprint in the scattered crushed petals.  Picking one up, she blushed again before foolishly tossing it aside. She rose, to freshen up, mainly to get rid of that annoying lehenga.

She noticed his sherwani hanging neatly on a wall hanger, along with her dupatta.

Hmm... Surely, he is a clean and order freak.

Stretching to ease tension, she searched for her suitcase, eager to change and wash away the hair and makeup products. She finally found her suitcase, likely placed there by Jagdish, in a corner next to the wardrobe. Opening it, she looked for something comfortable to wear. Considering that his relatives were likely still around and wearing skirts or shorts would be inappropriate- blasphemous, actually- she picked out a plain salwar kameez and went to take a bath.

Emerging, she debated whether to venture out. It was early in the morning and the house seemed quiet. Perhaps everyone was still sleeping, except for her husband, the goodest boy in the world, who probably woke up at Brahma-muhurat. Feeling a touch of boredom, she grabbed her phone and cautiously opened the door of the bedroom, embarking downstairs to explore.

As expected, most of the family remained asleep in the living area. Mattresses filled the space, a makeshift slumber party. The twins were nestled together on a repurposed sofa. Nishita, surprisingly, felt energized despite the minimal sleep. Jagdish's embrace must have been magical, draining her fatigue.

She started to stroll around the house. This was the first time she was exploring Jagdish's home. This was uncharted territory, a far cry from her previous visit where she'd been stationed in the living room, a mere observer of his domestic museum. But today, fueled by a strange mix of post-rose sleep and newfound wifely curiosity, she ventured deeper. And guess what? There was no change in her impression now; every place still looked perfect. Jagdish's tidiness remained consistent.

Every corner was like a display case, the kitchen a symphony of perfectly placed spatulas, the backyard a manicured bonsai garden competing for the title of 'Most Orderly Flowerbed.' It was like wandering through an indian-classical fever dream, where every detail was a heartwarming close-up and the color palette screamed 'minimalism and practicality.'

Only one room remained. Finally, she came to the last room and opened the door.

Inside, only a few items held court: a central mattress, a Sitar, and a beautiful frame of Saraswati Maa adorning the wall. A small radio-like box completed the sparse ensemble. It was an enigmatic space, devoid of decoration or personal touches.

Was it a meditation room? A music practice space? Jagdish rarely spoke of his hobbies, and Mrs. Singh hadn't mentioned a sitar player either. Perhaps it was his simple hobby, just like her shitty photography skills, inspired by her father, who was a great photographer. The sitar's age suggested long-term use. Maybe Mrs. Singh played it during her visits, explaining Jagdish's love for hidustani music, a constant in his car.

Mother and son, united by a love for the classics.

Leaving the room undisturbed, Nishita returned to the hall, finding Devika, Mohini, and Nayan still fast asleep. Others were scattered about, with the few elders likely occupying the remaining rooms that were locked from the inside during her exploration. Nudging Devika's shoulder, she whispered, "Viki, wake up."

Yawning loudly, Devika opened her eyes. "Why the fuck are you awake so early?" she cursed. "Go and have some lazy morning sex with your husband."

Flustered, Nishita swatted her playfully. "Hush! Wake up. Looks like Jagdish did a disappearing act – vanished into thin air before I even opened my eyes!"

"What kind of a man have you married?" Devika mumbled, rubbing her eyes. "Who the fuck wakes before their parents?"

--

A/N

I think Devika and Satya are the same person, the ones who don't have much of a filter when they are sleepy. XD

"Piya Basanti" is one of those songs I heard as a kid but forgot over the years. Then, suddenly, during my college days, I heard it again and thought, "Wait, I know this song! Oh gosh, I love it!"

Vote share COOMMEENTT!