Silent Hearts

41 | Forty-One

I had nothing to give, yet you accepted all of me, my anguish and my faith.

***

Nandini skipped down the stairs, hurried taps of her rushing feet echoing behind her as she made her way to the door, her heart lifting at the thought of her husband’s unexpected arrival. It was quarter to six—a bit too early for him to be home, especially on a Wednesday when his work usually held him later than most days. Her lips curved into a wide smile as she opened the door, only for it to falter for a mere moment as she took in his weary expression. Tushar, who usually smiled softly upon her sight, appeared clouded, a hint of gloom resting in his eyes as he stepped past her.

"Welcome home," she murmured, stepping aside with a quickened breath as he brushed past her. His cologne—rich with hints of lime and aqua—swirled around her, lingering like a comforting embrace even as he moved further into the house. She shut the door, taking a steadying breath before turning around, half-expecting him to already be halfway up the stairs. To her surprise, however, he hadn’t moved far. In fact, he’d drawn closer, his tall frame suddenly filling her view as she spun around, bumping gently into his chest with a surprised "oops."

A nervous smile crept across her face as she looked up at him, her eyes bright with curiosity, "You’re home early?" The words slipped out as more of a question than a remark, her voice barely masking the quiet wonder in her tone. Her lashes brushed her cheeks as she stole a glance, catching the subtle twitch at the corner of his lips, a glimmer of amusement chasing away the fatigue on his face, for the briefest minute.

"Would you rather I not?" he quipped, his tone light yet carrying the warmth of someone humored by her surprise.

As if compelled by instinct, Nandini shook her head, her brows knitting together in a frown as she responded, "I didn’t say that—" her voice slipping out louder than she would usually respond, and all the while the gaze of that man never fled, unspokenly bore upon hers, a soft crease sat amidst his brows, furthermore. Then, with the gentlest of gestures, his hand rose—strong and steady—and grazed the top of her head, his fingertips barely brushing her hair before settling there. He lingered, unhurried, allowing his hand to rest, a comforting weight sank onto her, fingers moved, tracing soft, rhythmic pats.

"Sure," he murmured, that hand slipped away, leaving her standing in a daze as he moved to step aside, his lips pulling into a small, knowing smile just before he disappeared from view.

Nandini stood still, hands clenched by her sides, lingering at the front door as a flustered warmth spread over her. Here she was, twenty-seven years old, yet feeling like a schoolgirl whose heart raced just from passing by her secret crush in the hallway. She felt her cheeks grow warm, a delicate pink brushing across her face. Tushar had never touched her like that before, as though she were a baby. That gentle pat reminded her of a certain someone, the man she loved.

A shy smile crept over her lips, and with cheeks still rosy, Nandini made her way into the kitchen further off to her right. Five days. It had been five days since she stumbled across those revelations tucked away in his book—words that felt both heartwarming and mind-wrenching. Her heart had been in constant bloom ever since, an ache and a joy winding tightly together, potent as so, such that sleep evaded her for two nights, her days rushed and the fuming touch of his tears seared her mind and soul. She couldn't meet his skipping gaze, the wrongdoings gripping her shoulders, nails of it digging deeper. And then amidst his shy touches and bothered glances, she fumbled into the ideas her mind concocted.