His Bride

4 | Quality Time

Arushi's Pov

The drive back from Aadhya's school was tranquil, the quiet hum of the road blending with the warm, fading light of the setting sun. Rajasthan looked breathtaking at this hour, with its sandy stretches of desert bathed in a golden glow and the wide-open skies tinged with shades of pink and orange. The air felt softer here than in London, where everything moved at a relentless pace, and the hustle and bustle of the city never seemed to rest. Here, time felt slower, as if each moment had space to breathe. It was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. With Aadhya beside me, looking out the window at her new surroundings, this place was beginning to feel like the fresh start I'd hoped it would be.

As we turned onto the road leading to our neighborhood, the sight of our modest yet charming home brought a sense of relief. It was tucked away from the busier streets, in a quiet community where the neighbors greeted each other and children played outside. The house itself was small, just big enough for the two of us, with a hint of modernity mixed into its traditional Rajasthani architecture. The faint scent of fresh paint and new wood still lingered, a reminder of the recent move, as though the walls were just as eager to settle in and make memories as we were.

"Aadhi, go change into something comfortable," I said, offering her a warm smile as I parked the car. "Mama will make something special for you."

She gave me a nod, her face lighting up as she hopped out of the car. Her spirit had remained bright, unburdened by the drastic change in our lives. I watched as she bounded up the steps and disappeared inside, her little feet pattering down the hallway toward her room. It struck me just how resilient she was, adapting to the new school, new people, and new environment with a maturity beyond her years. I had worried, of course, that the transition might be too much for her, but Aadhya had embraced it all with open arms. I could only hope she didn't feel the weight of the reasons why we'd left London.

Leaving her to settle in, I made my way to the kitchen, enjoying the simplicity of our new home. The kitchen was small but cozy, with a single window that looked out onto the yard, where a lone Neem tree stood tall, casting dappled shadows across the ground. I'd already stocked the kitchen with the spices and ingredients we'd need, familiar flavors I knew would make Aadhya feel at home. There was something soothing about cooking, a sense of normalcy it brought. Rolling out dough for parathas, I let myself sink into the rhythm of it, taking in the comforting scents of cumin and coriander.

My thoughts drifted back to the events of the day, to the impromptu dance performance at the university. Dancing had always been an escape for me, a place where I could lose myself and silence my thoughts. The performance today had been unexpected, but it had reminded me of a part of myself I'd almost forgotten. It felt exhilarating to move to the beat again, to let go of everything else and simply be in the moment. But then, a different thought surfaced—the piercing gaze of that man. The heir. His presence, the way his eyes had locked onto mine in a crowd full of people, had lingered in my mind long after the performance. Those stormy grey eyes had seen something in me, something I couldn't quite name, and the memory left a strange feeling in my chest.

But this was a distraction, I reminded myself firmly. My life here wasn't about curious gazes or fleeting glances. It was about stability, about building a safe world for Aadhya. This fresh start was for her—to give her a life free from the shadows of our past.

The sizzle of the parathas brought me back to the present. As I flipped them on the pan, the warm, inviting smell filled the kitchen. Just then, I heard soft footsteps approaching, and I turned to see Aadhya standing in the doorway. She had changed into a comfortable dress, her face freshly washed, her hair neatly pulled back. She looked at the parathas with wide, eager eyes, her expression lighting up with excitement.

"Hungry?" I asked, laughing as her small head bobbed up and down, her enthusiasm contagious.

I served her a plate, watching as she took her first bite, her eyes closing in bliss. A warm smile spread across my face. This—these quiet moments, these simple joys—this was the life I had dreamed of for us. A life of love, laughter, and safety, free from the noise and chaos of our past. For now, we could live in this small world we were creating, just the two of us, and find our peace.

After we finished eating, we moved to the living room, where I pulled out a small notebook. Aadhya snuggled up beside me, her little head resting on my shoulder as we went over her schoolwork. Her excitement about her new school was infectious, and I listened as she told me about her day, her classmates, and the teachers she was growing to like. Her voice was filled with hope, with wonder, as she spoke about her small triumphs and new discoveries. And as she talked, I realized just how much she was blossoming here, in this new world we were carving out together.

Later, when Aadhya had drifted off to sleep, I sat by her bedside for a moment, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. She looked so peaceful, her little face framed by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. I brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead, my heart swelling with a fierce protectiveness. She was my everything, my reason for leaving behind the life we'd known, my anchor in this journey.

As I closed the door softly, a quiet contentment settled over me. This house, though still bare and unadorned, felt like a haven. It was waiting, patiently, for us to make it ours, to fill it with laughter and memories, to build a new story that was just ours.

I knew it wouldn't be easy. The shadows of our past might still follow us, and there would be challenges ahead. But here, in this quiet, unfamiliar corner of Rajasthan, I felt the stirrings of hope—a fragile, delicate thing that I held close to my heart.

And as I stood there in the quiet of the night, I knew that this was where we belonged.