YOU NEVER WALK ALONE

29-London

SARAKSHI'S POV-

"Sarakshi, wake up" I felt someone gently nuzzling my arm, trying to wake me from sleep. The voice was familiar, soothing, like a melody I had heard countless times before.

"No, let me sleep" I mumbled tiredly, turning over to the other side, burying my face deeper into the pillow.

"Sarakshi, come on, we're getting late" the familiar-sounding male voice persisted, a hint of urgency in his tone. This time, I didn't bother replying, stubbornly clinging to sleep, hoping he would give up.

"Please, wake up" he coaxed, his voice soft but insistent as he pulled me gently towards him, forcing me into a sitting position. Groggily, I opened my eyes, blinking against the morning light, and found myself staring into a pair of dark black eyes, so intense and mesmerizing that I felt myself getting lost in them. He was smiling, a tender, affectionate smile that seemed to light up his entire face. It was the most adorable thing I'd ever seen.

"Good morning, Sarakshi" he said, ruffling my hair affectionately. His touch was warm and comforting, and it jolted me out of my sleepy haze.

"Good morning, Mr. Singh" I replied, my voice barely above a whisper, still half-convinced I was dreaming. This felt surreal—him waking me up, wishing me good morning, looking at me like that. What was happening?

"We'll be late for our flight. Get up and get ready" he said, his hands cupping my cheeks, his gaze locking with mine, filled with a warmth I wasn't used to seeing.

"Yes, Mr. Singh" I replied automatically, but the shock must have been evident on my face.

"What's wrong? Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, his voice calm, almost gentle as if he knew what I was thinking.

"What's happened to you? Why are you behaving like this?" I asked, my hands trembling as they held onto his, searching his eyes for some kind of explanation.

"Like what, Sarakshi? I'm just behaving the way a good husband should with his wife," he replied, pulling me into a hug. My eyes widened in disbelief. His embrace was warm and firm, so unlike the distant man I knew.

"Mr. Singh, are you... drunk?" I asked hesitantly when he pulled back slightly, his hands once again cupping my cheeks.

"It's four in the morning, Sarakshi. Why would I be drunk at this hour? I know my behavior is different from what you're used to, and it's shocking to you, but I've realized something. You are my wife, and I've been wrong this whole time," he said, a sweet, sincere smile spreading across his face. I felt a numbness spreading through me. This couldn't be real. Am I dreaming?

"Do you think you are dreaming?" he asked, his voice soft yet steady, and I nodded slowly, still unsure of what was real.

"You're not dreaming, Sarakshi. Now, come on, get up and get ready" he said, his smile deepening, and I found myself getting lost in it as if it was the only thing anchoring me in this surreal moment.

He gently pulled me up onto my feet, his hands lingering on my arms as I continued to gaze at him, trying to make sense of everything.

He gestured toward the bathroom, silently urging me to go get ready.

In a daze, I turned and started walking toward the washroom, but I barely made it a few steps before I felt my ankle twist beneath me. Time seemed to slow down, and I could feel every second of it—the sharp pain in my ankle, the way my balance wavered, and the horrible anticipation of the fall. I hoped, prayed, that he would catch me, that his arms would wrap around me before I hit the ground.