𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 : 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓡𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓼

𝟓. 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 - 𝟏

┌──❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚─┐
CHAPTER 5
└───❀*̥˚───❀*̥˚┘

The moonlight filtered through the curtains as Avantika stepped into her room, her feet moving silently across the polished floor. She traced the delicate lines of her mehendi with her gaze, momentarily lost in thoughts she'd rather not voice. The intricate designs symbolized traditions she never really cared for...until tonight.

Maybe because of Samrat...

A sharp pain suddenly jolted her out of her reverie as her toe collided with the coffee table. She gasped, stumbling forward, ready to hit the cold marble when strong arms caught her before falling, pulling her towards a familiar warmth. Her breath hitched as she looked up into the dark, smoldering grey eyes of her husband. The closeness was overwhelming; the tension between them always crackled like electricity in the air, ready to ignite at any moment.

Their eyes locked, and for a heartbeat, time stood still. Samrat's hold on her was firm yet gentle, like he was unsure whether to pull her closer or push her away. His brows furrowed slightly as something flickered in his gaze-concern? Avantika tried but couldn't read his eyes. But one thing she knew for sure because she wasn't naive enough to believe there was warmth behind those eyes that always carried a storm.

But then, she felt the wet stickiness against her palm. She broke eye contact, her gaze dropping to where her hand rested on his chest. Her mehendi, the one she had carefully drawn, was smeared across his Blue kurta in uneven, messy patches. His gaze followed hers, and he, too, noticed the ruined design. A sigh left her lips, part frustration, part resignation.

He released her, letting her stand on her own two feet. Her eyes lingered on the smudged design, the carefully crafted lines now nothing more than a chaotic mess.

"Great," Avantika muttered under her breath, trying to sound nonchalant as she looked at her hand. She wasn't one to indulge in these traditions and show of rituals, but this time, she had allowed herself to be a little 'unusual Avantika' for few moments. She had let herself care, just this once. And now, even that had turned to ruins.

Samrat watched her, his face unreadable. He saw the faint flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she masked it with her usual emotionless mask. Avantika was a master at hiding her emotions, but tonight, for some reason, the mask slipped for just a second. And in that second, something inside him twisted uncomfortably.

It wasn't like he cared, or at least, that's what he kept telling himself. Their marriage was anything but conventional. They coexisted, never truly crossing the line between strangers and something more. Yet, that brief flash of sadness in her eyes made him feel...something he wasn't ready to name.

"Sit," he said gruffly, his voice laced with irritation, though it was more directed at himself than her. Before she could argue or ask what he was up to, he guided her to the couch and gently pushed her down onto the cushion. Confusion laced her features as she watched him leave the room.

"What's gotten into him now?" she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes. She had half a mind to leave, but curiosity kept her rooted to the spot. Moments later, Samrat reappeared, holding something in his hand. Her brows furrowed as she saw the familiar green cone, the mehendi cone.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice skeptical.

Ignoring her question, he knelt in front of her and took her hand in his. She stiffened at the unexpected touch. His fingers were surprisingly gentle as they held her wrist. He began applying the mehendi, trying to correct what he could of the ruined design. His movements were awkward, unsure, but there was an unspoken determination in the way he worked.