The Unexpected

09. I Hate Her

This marriage is going to be my ruin.

I knew it from the moment she walked down the aisle, every deliberate step drawing me deeper into the quicksand. Her beauty wasn't the kind that just turned heads—it was the kind that rendered you powerless, left you with no choice but to stare. And me? I had stared too long.

I knew it last night when I couldn't stop my eyes from tracing the curves of her back as she sat in front of the dressing table, the lights in the room accentuating everything I shouldn't have been looking at. And I knew it again this morning when I saw her, damp hair cascading over her shoulders, droplets clinging to her collarbone like they, too, couldn't bear to leave her.

She's so beautiful it hurts—literally hurts. My chest tightens every single time her gaze meets mine, as if my body is punishing me for daring to look.

But the real surprise? It isn't that she's haunting my thoughts. That much was inevitable. She's been living rent-free in my mind ever since I first saw her. I could've walked away—said no to this wedding and to her. My family would've understood, even if the match had been arranged years ago, a promise between my grandfather and hers. But I didn't want to walk away. I didn't even consider it.

Because I'm Obsessed. Mesmerized. Gone.

The biggest shock of all, though, came last night. I slept.

And for someone like me, that's no small miracle. The nightmares that have plagued me my entire life? They didn't come. Not when Vaidehi was in the room. It was as though some part of my subconscious knew that her presence would keep them at bay, as if her very existence had the power to quiet the chaos in my mind.

But sleep didn't come easily. No, the couch wasn't working. The cushions felt too stiff, the angle too awkward—and maybe, just maybe, a part of me wasn't really trying to make it work.

When I glanced at the bed, she was there, fast asleep, sprawled across my side.

I should've taken the other side. It was empty, a perfectly logical solution. But my heart—damn traitorous thing—demanded otherwise. Before I could think twice, I'd shifted her just enough to make room and slid in beside her. Close enough to feel the faint warmth of her body but far enough to not cross the invisible line of decency.

And then, it happened. I fell asleep.

Not the restless kind that leaves you feeling like a shadow of yourself the next morning. No, this was deep, dreamless, and uninterrupted—the kind of sleep I'd spent 29 years believing wasn't meant for me.

Was it her presence? Her scent? The soft rhythm of her breathing? I don't know. All I know is that, for the first time in my life, I felt at peace.

I turn my head sideways, stealing a glance at her. She's gazing out of the car window, a soft smile playing on her lips. Her expression is serene, her cheeks tinged with the faintest pink. I don't know why I said what I said earlier, but the fact that a simple line from me could bring that hue to her face fills me with an unfamiliar kind of pride.