"Happy Married Life, Shivya Pathak" I weakly smiled seeing my condition, mangalsutra dangling in my neck, vermilion in hair and both hands filled with gold bangles.
"Come out quickly or do you want me to break the gate," my husband knocked again...
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I stepped out of the bathroom, the soft cotton of my saree brushing against my skin as I adjusted the pleats. My damp hair clung to the sides of my face, and I patted it dry with the towel, moving slowly, absently.
I was about to fling the towel onto the couch when my hand stopped mid-air, fingers tightening around the fabric. The couch was no longer mine.
Last night, after dinner, when we returned to our room, I had told Vedant to take the bed. It only made sense. I had grown used to the couch, its awkward curves and creaky legs, the lumpy cushion I never bothered to replace.
But he had talked to me with that strange calm he always carried, like the world could be burning around him and he'd still find a way to sit through it "I'm comfortable on the couch. You've already slept there five months. It's my turn now."
I had frowned at him, my voice softer but still stubborn. "That's not how it works. It was my decision to sleep there, not yours."
He had shrugged, his jaw tightening just a little as he replied, "Maybe. But I was the reason behind that decision, wasn't I? So if someone has to be uncomfortable now, it should be me."
I had opened my mouth to argue, tried to tell him he was being dramatic, that one bad decision didn't require a counter punishment. But he'd just looked at me with that frustrating mix of calm and finality and said, "So at least for the next five months, this is my place. "
I had scoffed and asked, perhaps too lightly, "And what happens after five months?"
He'd only shrugged, leaning back against the doorframe, his voice as unbothered as his expression. "We'll think about that after five months."
As if time was a game of passing parcels and he could simply wait for the music to stop.
I didn't argue after that. Not because he had convinced me but because I was tired of fighting small battles that led nowhere. So I took the bed, laid down on the cold sheets, and stared at the ceiling while he settled on the couch without another word.
And now, as I stood in our room, the towel suspended in my hand, it hit me that the bed was mine again, for the next five months, so I tossed the towel onto the bed.
I turned to the vanity and opened the small container of vermillion. With a tentative hand, I dabbed a thin, almost invisible line into the parting of my hair. Just enough to say it was there. Just enough for someone to see it if they really looked. I like it this way little and light.
I was fastening my earrings, when the door creaked softly and Vedant stepped inside the room. I didn't need to turn to know it was him. His presence always arrived before he did, heavy and calm, like a monsoon cloud looming quietly before the storm.
I looked at him through the mirror, our eyes locking for a moment-a second, maybe less-but it felt longer. Something sharp and uncertain passed between us.
