A Bond Of Intellect

Chapter - 35

The days that followed weren't loud. There were no dramatic apologies, no long speeches. Just Riti sitting beside Evan a little longer in the morning, and Evan remembering to pour her chai even before she asked. 

But the tension between them still remains, Riti's still feeling guilty for her mistake and scared to approached first, so she every time  waits for Evan to initiate the conversation. But they just talk little, and don't have the joyous vibe like before.

Riti began waking later, but with intention of avoiding Evan. She cleaned out the medicine cabinet on her own. Booked a full check-up and then come together with Evan.

But slowly Riti's realize that she's unable to handle it any longer.  One evening, as she folded laundry, she found something tucked into his sock drawer: a small, half-crumpled envelope which has the inside the invitation of baby shower, which was from his one of friend's. That time Riti realize his care for her, he have never mentioned it in front of her thinking that it may hurt her, but Riti knew he was hurt more than her and she broke out there, sat on ground, her warm--uncontrolled tears don't stop. 

And when Evan fall asleep she kissed him that night with a tenderness that held both apology and promise to not hurt him anymore, but he got woke up, seeing it he held her and take her into arms without saying anything and fall asleep.

Next day, the apartment was quiet that evening. Not heavy—just calm. The kind of calm that came after storms and stitched wounds, where love no longer needed loud declarations to be real.

Riti sat beside Evan on the  couch, legs tucked beneath her, arms nervously folded across her lap. The soft hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence between them. Evan was reading, glasses slipping down his nose as usual, when she finally broke the quiet.

she hesitated first but then said, "Evan.."

He looked up immediately, setting the book aside. " finally u have started calling me by name," and then said " What is it ?"

She didn't meet his eyes.

"I've... been thinking," she began, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her sleeve. "I've done everything I said I wanted to do. you came with me. I Practiced the thing I want. Chose the life I believed in. But in all of that... I hurt you. A lot."

He opened his mouth, but she raised a hand—asking him, silently, to let her finish.

"You followed me through everything. Carried burdens I didn't even notice. Got tired and never showed it. And I—I kept asking for more without seeing what it was costing you."

Her voice cracked then, and her eyes filled, but she didn't wipe them away.

"I've been selfish, Evan. And unfair. You've waited for me in every way. So now..." Her throat tightened. "Now, I want to say... you don't need to hold back anymore."

Evan's brow furrowed slightly, lips parting in quiet surprise.

"I'm ready," she whispered, voice trembling. "Not because I want to prove anything. But because I love you. Because I choose you. Every part of me does. And if... if you still want me—then please, make me yours tonight."

She looked up then, eyes glistening And said, "I know I've said things before that made you stop. But not this time. Don't stop."

Evan didn't respond right away. He just looked at her—really looked at her—with something gentle and reverent in his gaze. Then he said, "You've always been mine, Riti. And don't think that u have hurt me, u have not... so don't pressure yourself with it." and he continued, "If u are ready for it, then I will also don't hold back today, remember your words".

She exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding—and in that moment, they didn't rush. They get freshen, Evan was waiting for Riti in his bath robe, then she came out wearing her robe, her shyness still remains there but not fear, she slowly move towards Evan, he hold her by waist, pull her and opens the knot of her robe and let it fall on the ground. The whole night they continued without any break, and Riti not even once complained.

Riti woke slowly, as though the quiet itself was holding her still. The early sun had slipped through the curtains and painted the room in a warmth that felt like poetry. She hadn't realized how deeply she had slept—until she blinked her eyes open to the steady sound of his heartbeat under her cheek.

Evan was already awake.

He didn't say anything. Just looked down at her with that silent smile of his—the one that said more than a thousand sentences ever could.

"You're staring," she whispered.

He ran his fingers through her hair, careful, as though she might break. "I earned it."

She smirked. "I said that first."

They stayed like that a while longer, limbs tangled in sleepy contentment. No urgency. No schedule. Just morning light and the soft weight of being wanted, without conditions or fear.

Eventually, Riti stretched like a cat and sat up, one side of the blanket still wrapped around her. "I should make breakfast," she mumbled, and was going to out of bed but realize, she's not wearing anything , as the blanket slip a little from her shoulder she covers it,  and then Evan laugh a little and said,  " There's nothing to hide, I have seen everything." But Riti was still shy so she get up while wrapping blanket around her and went to washroom.

The kitchen was a whirlwind of flour, sunlight, and chaos. Riti stood on her tiptoes in one of Evan's oversized T-shirts, sleeves comically long on her as she tried to flip a stubborn dosa that kept folding in the pan. The batter sputtered dramatically, and a small streak of oil landed on her cheek.

From behind her, Evan stifled a laugh.

"You're not helping," she snapped without turning, already grinning.

"I'm deeply impressed," he said, walking over. "You've successfully grilled the pan without cooking the dosa."

"It's rebellious. Like me."

"It's undercooked. Like your logic."

She turned, swatted him with the spatula, and he dodged with theatrical flair. The apartment smelled of turmeric and toasted bread, the scent wrapping around them like a blanket of comfort and memory.

Once breakfast was plated—slightly uneven dosas, lumpy chutney, but all made with triumph—they sat across from each other on the floor with mismatched mugs and sleepy eyes.