Tujhko Jo Paaya.

Chapter11: What the Universe wants?

The moment Ahan walked out, leaving that stormy silence in his wake, I felt something snap within me. I couldn't ignore it anymore-whatever was eating at him had now started to eat at me. Without thinking, I found myself in his study, searching for anything that might hold a clue.

I knew Ahan was never one to share his feelings with anyone; he had always poured out his heart only in letters, letters that were meant solely for her. As much as it stung, I couldn't deny that she was his escape, the one he turned to, even in death. So, I held onto the thin hope that maybe-just maybe-he'd left something behind, a word, a line, a sign that would help me understand the strange anger in his eyes.

But there was nothing on his desk, no scrap of paper on the shelf, no hint of a message for anyone. Defeated, I was about to leave, heart heavier than before, when suddenly-a crisp white sheet slipped from one of the books on the shelf, drifting down like it had a mind of its own, landing quietly at my feet.

It felt surreal, as if the very air around me had decided to intervene. I stood there, pulse racing, realizing that maybe, just maybe, the universe wanted me to see this. To finally see the part of Ahan he kept hidden, the truth I could no longer turn away from.

My heart hammered as I bent down to pick up the paper, its edges slightly frayed, as if touched and folded a thousand times. My fingers trembled, my breaths shallow, as I brought the sheet up to my face. The familiar slant of his handwriting stared back at me, clear and hauntingly intimate.

"I saw it again in front of my eyes, and I can't help but recall the past. You only tell me-after what happened, isn't my anger justified?"

A chill swept over me as I read it, his words laced with something darker than I'd ever sensed before-a question he hadn't asked aloud, a plea he'd kept from the world. And suddenly, it was as if he were standing right there with me, waiting for an answer, waiting for someone, maybe her, to tell him he wasn't wrong to feel this way.

But what had he seen?
What shadow of the past had crossed his path, tearing open wounds he'd barely managed to conceal?

The silence around me grew heavy, each word on the paper an echo that wouldn't fade. I clutched the note as if it might reveal more if I held on tightly enough. An unanswered question, yes, but also a revelation-a window into the storms he'd kept so fiercely guarded. And I was left standing there, with the weight of a mystery I could barely begin to unravel.

Days had passed since that strange night, and though Ahan's reason for his silence and anger remained unanswered, things had shifted slightly. He wasn't as withdrawn as he'd been the week after the incident. There were small exchanges, polite conversations, yet I could sense a distance between us that hadn't been there before.

Today was our one-month anniversary, and I woke up feeling hopeful. I chirped around the house all morning, humming softly, thinking maybe this was the day he'd let go of whatever was keeping him so distant. I dressed carefully, choosing a soft pastel saree that Ahan once said brought out a warmth in my eyes. I let my hair fall around my shoulders, a silent wish that he'd notice.

When the clock struck noon, I heard the door open, and there he was-Ahan, back from work early. My heart skipped. Maybe he remembered, I thought. Maybe he planned something for us, an unexpected invitation from Ahan. He approached me, a softness in his tone that made my heart skip. "Samira," he said, looking at me almost thoughtfully, "get dressed. We're going out for lunch."

His words took me by surprise, and for a moment, hope fluttered in my chest. Today was our one-month anniversary, and although things between us had been tense and strained, maybe he wanted to celebrate. I looked up, unable to hide the small smile creeping onto my face. "Lunch? Is there...is there something special planned?"

He avoided my eyes, giving only a slight nod. "Just dress well..wear whatever you are comfortable with."

I felt a rush of excitement as I picked out my favorite pastel saree, carefully pinning it and letting my hair fall in soft waves, doing a little bit of makeup, eyeshadow of pastel shade, light pearl jewellary which are my favorite and in no time i was ready. This was the first time he'd asked me to join him like this, and part of me wanted to believe that this meant something more.

When we arrived at the restaurant, though, I was met with the stark reality of the situation. There, at the table, sat two couples dressed in polished attire the kind of look that screams business meets leisure. The realization hit me hard, like ice water on a flame. This wasn't for us. It was just...business., their expressions professional. A business lunch.

He introduced me with polite formality, and I forced myself to smile, to play along as though my heart wasn't slowly sinking. The foreign couples were warm and charming, complimenting me on my attire, even mentioning how they admired Indian traditions. I answered them with the best grace I could manage, all while feeling like an outsider at my own anniversary lunch. They spoke with Ahan about the partnership, their words circling around business expansions and proposals. Occasionally, they'd turn to me, admiring how I'd managed to handle the cultural significance of our marriage.

"Oh, you must be so happy to be married to such a man," one of the women remarked, glancing between us with an almost wistful smile.

I looked over at Ahan, who gave nothing away, his expression steady. I mustered a polite smile, nodding, as I tried not to let the sting show. It felt ironic, hearing people talk about my happiness when all I felt was an aching emptiness that grew with each passing moment. They asked about our life, about our "love story," and I gave vague answers, skirting around the fact that we were still two strangers trying to navigate a life we hadn't chosen.

When the lunch ended, I stood up, feeling emotionally drained, but I forced a smile and politely thanked them. Ahan turned to leave, When we finally left, I tried to keep up appearances. I didn't want him to know how disappointed I felt, yet he noticed. "Why do you look so down, Samira?" he asked as we walked to the car, his tone gentler than I'd heard in days.

I looked down, my fingers fidgeting with the edges of my saree. "Ahan...today's our anniversary. I thought maybe...maybe we were..-."

A shadow crossed his face, and he looked away, as if the words made him uncomfortable. "Samira, this anniversary doesn't hold any such meaning, our marriage was a compromise so why pretend then between ourselves.."

The bluntness of his words hit me like a punch to the chest. I could feel my heart breaking, each syllable driving home a pain I'd tried so hard to ignore. I struggled to keep my voice steady, forcing a small, trembling smile. "Why would you say that?"

He sighed, looking weary as if he'd been carrying a heavy weight he couldn't bear to share. "Because this marriage...this isn't something I chose willingly, even you didnt chose it did you?...we both know the reality, i cant move on from-" He trailed off, unable to finish, but the unsaid words hung heavy between us.

I swallowed hard, my voice a whisper. "Her."

He didn't reply, but his silence was enough. The weight of her memory stood between us like a shadow, her name filling the space he'd never allow me to cross. I had known, of course. But hearing it now, on a day that I had hoped would bring us closer, felt like a cruel reminder that I was merely a placeholder in his life.

The drive home was excruciatingly silent. I could feel my heart shattering, each breath a painful reminder that I was living in someone else's story. As we pulled up to the house, I wanted to slip away quietly, to hide my pain where he couldn't see. But he stopped me, his hand lightly gripping my shoulder.

"Samira," he began, his voice low, almost regretful, "I don't want to hurt you."

The kindness in his tone felt like a betrayal. "I know Ahan, i was expectingva little too much," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Every time you have remind me of the marriage we are in, im sorry for that, I know I'm just...someone you had to be with and not someone youbwant to be with. ."

He looked down, a trace of guilt flashing in his eyes, but he said nothing to ease my pain. Instead, he just let his hand fall on the staring wheel, his silence louder than any words he could have spoken.