They Don't Know about Us

Chapter 27 - Quiet moments

Chapter 27 – Quiet moments

The first thing Riddhima felt was the warmth of sunlight brushing against her face. It filtered through the thin cream curtains, painting shifting gold patterns across the bedsheet. For a moment, she stayed perfectly still, eyes closed, listening — the faint hum of ceiling fans, a faraway murmur of voices in the courtyard, birds chirping somewhere near the window.

It was peaceful, the kind of quiet that settled deep inside you — rare, fragile, and new.

When she finally opened her eyes, the high ceiling and ornate carved beams reminded her where she was — the Malik ancestral haveli, draped in history and sunlight. She turned onto her side, staring at the intricate jaali shadows dancing on the wall, her mind still half-lost in last night — the laughter, the reunion, the way Armaan's eyes had lingered across the dinner table when he thought no one was watching, the way she had sat next to her jeeju, cracking jokes together. The way she had jugged her sister.

It all felt so surreal.

The air smelled faintly of sandalwood and old roses — someone had refreshed the vases in their room, which held a bouquet of roses and eucalyptus. She pushed herself up slowly, pulling her dupatta around her shoulders, moving her fingers through her hair. On the nightstand sat her phone, a few missed messages from Muskaan, and one from Jeevika — a picture of the baby smiling, captioned 'Morning cuddles from your favorite nephew.'

Her heart felt so full seeing the picture. She replied with a heart emoji. She simply couldn't wait to see him again. Looking over at Muskaan, seeing her fast asleep, she turned back to her phone and opened her message.

Muskaan
[3 Images Attached]

Riddhima frowned, thumb hesitating before she tapped it open.

The first picture loaded slowly — and her stomach dropped. It was from the night of Anjali's Mehndi. The terrace bathed in fairy lights. She was standing inches from Armaan, her back towards the railing, her eyes closed, the air between them charged, face lifted towards his. It was one of those seconds right before gravity takes over — before a kiss. His lips were hovering above hers, one hand on her cheek, the other around her face.

Her mouth fell open. "Oh. My. God." She could feel her cheeks heat up. She had asked Muskaan to delete the pictures but of course she hadn't listened. This picture was taken right before muskaan had barged in and broken their moment.

She swiped to the next one — she was covering her face, clearly flustered, her cheeks crimson. Armaan, on the other hand, was caught mid-smirk, gaze fixed on her like he knew exactly what effect he had. His hand was still around her face, although she had moved slightly away from them. The next one still showed her face covered by her hand, whereas, he was trying to give the camera, or Muskaan, a glare but it looked more like a cocky smile.

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Muskaan, I am going to kill you." However, she kept staring at the pictures. These were the first pictures of them together that was not a selfie, but ones that someone else had snapped of them. Blushing, she saved the pictures to her phone, rubbing her neck. Because even as she tried to scold Muskaan in her head, her mind kept circling back to those photos — the way he'd been looking at her, like she was the only thing that existed.

Her hand brushed the pillow beside her, resting in between her and a sleeping Muskaan, fingertips absently tracing the fabric. All of a sudden, she missed him. The nights they had spent together, in his apartment, where it was just the two of them. She couldn't wait for this wedding to be over and for them to return to their daily routines which included their secret rendez-vous at work and seeing each other in their homes and spending quality time together.