OH OVERWHELMING LOVE!

✨CHAPTER 35✨

"A hand to hold, and a reason to believe............................."

That day, Vatsal came back much later than he expected. The lights outside the building were dimmed, the streets almost deserted as he parked his bike and slowly made his way to his floor. His shoulders were heavy with exhaustion, the day’s endless meetings and tasks pulling at his energy. All he wanted was to crash into bed and forget the world for a few hours.

He quietly turned the key in the lock, not wanting to disturb Shubhita if she had already gone to sleep. But as soon as he pushed the door open, there she was—standing in front of him in a faded t-shirt, her hair messy, eyes half-closed, blinking at him with a sleepy confusion.

“You’re late,” she mumbled, her voice thick with drowsiness. She stifled a yawn, rubbing her eyes. “Very late.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Vatsal replied softly, feeling an unexpected twinge of guilt for keeping her awake. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him gently.

Without another word, she shuffled toward the kitchen. He watched her for a moment, surprised that she wasn’t just heading straight back to bed.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Vatsal asked, his brow furrowed.

Shubhita turned her head slightly, casting him a sleepy glance over her shoulder. “Getting your dinner ready.”

Vatsal blinked. “You didn’t have to. You should sleep, I’ll manage.”

She shook her head lightly, as if his words were of no consequence. “It’s okay, I already kept everything ready.” Her voice was soft but steady, carrying a determination that he had come to recognize in her, even in her half-asleep state.

A few minutes later, she set the table, placing a plate of warm food in front of him—a simple meal of dal, rice, and a couple of raw vegetables as salad. The smell was comforting, familiar.

As he sat down, Vatsal glanced up at her. Despite her sleepy demeanour, there was a subtle grace in the way she moved, even as she absentmindedly adjusted the salt shaker on the table or straightened the napkin. She sat across from him, her head resting on her palm, watching him silently as he took the first bite.

For a few moments, the only sound in the apartment was the quiet clinking of his spoon against the plate. Vatsal didn’t say anything, but something in him shifted. Out of all the things Shubhita had done for him—cleaning up after him, organizing his things, even the small thoughtful gestures—this one act stood out the most.

No one had ever done this for him.

Not even his mother.

Growing up, his mother had always been too busy with her own work, her own life. If he came home late, the casserole stored food would be there, lukewarm at best, waiting for him. Sometimes he’d eat it, sometimes he wouldn’t bother. But now, sitting at this table, with freshly made food set out for him, Vatsal felt a strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through him.

If Shubhita hadn’t been married to him, if she wasn’t here, this apartment would have been as silent as it was before she moved in. No food waiting for him. No one waiting for him. The thought hit him harder than he expected.

He continued eating in silence, his gaze occasionally drifting toward her. She seemed almost ready to fall asleep at the table, her eyes drooping, her hand propped under her chin. But she stayed there, awake, just to make sure he had his dinner.

“You really didn’t have to wait for me, you know,” Vatsal said, his voice low, almost hesitant.

Shubhita blinked slowly, her eyes meeting his across the table. There was something unreadable in her expression, a mix of tiredness and something else he couldn’t quite place.