The Second Bloom • 18+

5. On the same bed (Varun's POV)

The room felt smaller tonight, as if the walls themselves were closing in around us.

I could feel Malini’s presence beside me—her breathing steady, her body just inches away—but the gap between us felt far wider than the few inches separating our hands.

I wouldn't have agreed to sleep on the bed if it wasn't really too cold outside and she wouldn't have asked me herself to sleep on the bed.

Thank God she asked.

But now I'm busy thinking why did she even ask me?

It's too... cozy.

She must be feeling so uncomfortable with me sleeping in the same blanket, same small bed, side by side, our toes brushing, elbows brushing, and breathe mingling.

In all the other room, bed are spacious, but in my room it isn't, because my wedding wasn't planned. No one had an idea that I would be getting married this soon.

We belong from a middle class family. I guess even, lower middle class, after Bhaiya passed away. There's only one source of income — through me. And I cannot use that to buy a new spacious bed for us. Also, my family will doubt, because this bed is enough for two people— husband and wife to sleep comfortably.

She turned around finally, only to face towards me.

My heart was bearing unevenly.

This is my first time. First time sleeping with a woman. With my wife. In twenty-eight years of my life.

It's not like everyone of my age maintained sanctity for this long. It wasn't that I hadn’t had the opportunity—I had seen how some of the village boys behaved, sneaking around, boasting about their nights spent in the fields with women whose names they didn’t care to remember. But I had always been different.

Even— I know it feels awkward to think about it but Bhaiya used to tease me about it, saying I was too pure for my own good. He was never shy about his own experiences, even before his wedding. He wasn’t one for the village traditions, especially the idea that a man should come to his wife untouched. He gave up his sanctity before his wedding itself.

But I was never like that. The idea of being with someone before marriage felt… wrong to me, though I could never explain why. I had always kept my distance. I wanted to be clean, to give that part of me to someone who was meant to be mine.

The thought made my stomach twist.

This wasn’t how I had imagined my married life with my wife. I had always thought there would be excitement, a rush of emotions, something thrilling about sharing a bed with your wife, living life with her. But instead, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of awkwardness. The air between us was cold, not just because of the winter chill but because of the invisible barrier between us.

I didn’t dare turn to look at her. I kept my eyes fixed on the dark ceiling above, trying to ignore the uncomfortable tightness in my chest. I could feel the heat radiating from her body, and it made my skin prickle.

My mind kept wandering, back to the stories I had heard in the village, the crude jokes the men made about nights after wedding and the expectations that came with them. But those were just words—this was real.

And I had no idea what to do.

How was I supposed to touch her?

How was I supposed to be the husband she deserved even though I was trying hard to be the one?

I felt trapped in a role I hadn’t asked for, with expectations I didn’t know how to meet.

I shifted slightly on the bed, my heart racing, trying to steady my breath. I wanted to reach out to her, to do something—anything—to bridge the distance between us. But the fear of doing the wrong thing kept me frozen in place.