Threads of Tradition: Tales Of Indian Arranged Marriages

3.

The first few days of married life passed in a blur of rituals and societal obligations. Each morning, Ahaan and Kaira woke up to the sound of their new routine—preparing for family breakfasts, making appearances together in front of relatives, and then retreating into their own worlds once the formalities were over. They lived under the same roof, but the silence between them was louder than any conversation they could have had.

Ahaan, dressed in a crisp suit, hurried out of the house each morning for his architecture firm. He would leave before Kaira had finished her tea, often with a quiet nod of acknowledgement but no words. His focus on work was almost obsessive, a shield to avoid facing the emotional complexities of his new marriage. Ahaan’s work had always been his refuge, a place where he could bury his emotions under blueprints and construction plans, and now more than ever, it became his escape from the tension at home.

Kaira, on the other hand, found herself pouring all her energy into her social work. She visited the NGO she had worked with for years, finding comfort in the smiles of the children she helped. Their innocence was a balm to her wounded heart, a stark contrast to the coldness she felt at home. Every evening, she would return to the Malhotra house, where the expectations of being the perfect daughter-in-law weighed on her heavily. She played the part well—helping in the kitchen and making polite conversation with Ahaan’s parents, but the emptiness followed her everywhere.

Their interactions were minimal, reduced to polite exchanges about household matters. "Dinner's ready," Kaira would say as she set the table, and Ahaan would respond with a brief "Thank you" before they ate in near silence. Occasionally, Ahaan’s parents would join them, filling the void with small talk, unaware of the growing distance between their son and his wife.

In their bedroom, the silence was even more suffocating. Each night, Ahaan and Kaira would retreat to their own corners—Ahaan with his laptop, reviewing architectural designs, and Kaira with her phone, scrolling through social media or reading a book. The physical space between them felt like an invisible wall that neither knew how to break down.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the NGO, Kaira returned home feeling drained. The sight of Ahaan working late in the study, his brows furrowed in concentration, made her hesitate. She wanted to say something, anything, to bridge the gap between them. But every time she thought of starting a conversation, the fear of rejection held her back. She didn’t know how to reach him, and perhaps, deep down, she was afraid of what would happen if she tried.

"Long day?" she asked softly, standing in the doorway of the study. Her voice sounded tentative, unsure of how he would respond.

Ahaan looked up, his expression neutral. "Yeah, a bit. You?"

Kaira nodded, fiddling with the edge of her dupatta. "Same."

An awkward silence settled between them once more. Kaira considered asking about his work, but Ahaan had never been the type to open up easily, and she wasn’t sure if he wanted her to ask. After a moment, she gave him a faint smile and left the room, returning to the solitude of their bedroom.

The days turned into weeks, and the pattern remained the same—life together, yet apart. Both Ahaan and Kaira were immersed in their careers, finding solace in the familiar routine of work. But underneath the surface, tension was building. The emotional walls they had built around themselves were becoming harder to ignore, even if neither of them was ready to admit it.

Their families, still oblivious to the true nature of their relationship, continued to shower them with praise for being such a "perfect match." Ahaan’s mother, Suman, often made comments about how well they were adjusting to married life, completely unaware of the cold distance between them. Kaira’s own parents, when they visited, were equally pleased, taking comfort in the fact that their daughter had found a stable, respectable husband. The expectations of family and society loomed over them like a shadow, adding to the pressure they both silently endured.

One evening, after yet another quiet dinner, Kaira sat on the balcony, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. She had thought that with time, things would change between them—that they might grow closer, or at least find some common ground. But the more days passed, the more it felt like they were drifting further apart.

Ahaan joined her a few minutes later, standing by the railing, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. They simply stood side by side, the cool breeze brushing against them, but still worlds apart.

Finally, Kaira broke the silence. "Do you think… it’ll always be like this?" Her voice was soft, almost drowned out by the hum of the city below.

Ahaan glanced at her, surprised by the question. "Like what?"

"Us," Kaira said, her eyes still fixed on the skyline. "Living together, but… not really living."

Ahaan didn’t respond immediately. He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time in days. He could see the weariness in her eyes, the quiet sadness she had been carrying since the wedding. For a brief moment, guilt stirred within him, but it was quickly buried under the layers of emotional detachment he had built over the years.

"I don’t know," he finally admitted, his voice low. "I guess we’re still figuring things out."

Kaira nodded, though his words didn’t offer her much comfort. "I hope… we figure it out soon," she said quietly before turning to go inside, leaving Ahaan alone with his thoughts.

As the door closed behind her, Ahaan remained on the balcony, staring out at the city. For the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to think about the distance between them, the unspoken words and unresolved emotions that seemed to hang in the air. He wasn’t sure what the future held for them, but deep down, he knew that something had to change. Neither of them could continue living like this—together, yet apart.