Meant to be yours

Night of confession

Anamika was still in the washroom when Ishika and Riya walked into the room, mid-argument about whether popcorn counted as dinner.
“Ishu, if you add caramel , it becomes a meal,” Riya insisted.
“It is junk food and will always be junk food. Payu told me about your manipulation.,” Ishika shot back.
From behind the closed washroom door, Anamika’s calm voice cut in, completely unfazed.
“Riya, Payal asked me to give you the parcel. It’s on the bed.”
Riya paused.
“…Parcel?”
She turned toward the bed.
A neat paper bag sat there, innocent-looking. Too innocent.
Riya opened it.
Inside:
A folded note.
And beneath it—
a red sleeveless body-con dress.
Ishika let out a low whistle.
“ohhhh. Someone’s wife has plans.”
Riya unfolded the note with shaking fingers, reading silently. Her ears turned red first. Then her neck. Then her entire face.
Ishika leaned over her shoulder, reading the last line aloud with exaggerated drama.
“ wear me. You will look more beautiful.”
She clutched her chest. “I am emotionally single at this moment.”
From the washroom, the sound of water stopped.
Anamika opened the door with just a crack.
“Well?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
Riya looked up, flustered. “She—she wants me to—”
Anamika smiled knowingly. “Go. Before Payal panics and pretends this was all a joke.”
Ishika nodded sagely. “possible. She will fake a fever.”
Riya laughed nervously, clutching the dress. “Okay. Okay. I’m going.”
“Now,” Anamika said firmly. “No delays.”
Riya hurried out, still half-reading the note as she went.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Ishika turned back toward Anamika—
and froze.
Anamika stood there, fresh from the shower, wrapped in nothing but a bath towel. Damp hair fell loosely around her shoulders, a few droplets sliding down her collarbone. Calm. Confident. Completely unbothered.
Ishika blinked once.
Twice.
Then her brain visibly crashed.
“…Oh.”
Anamika tilted her head, amused. “You locked the door?”
Ishika swallowed. Hard.
“Yes.”
“And?” Anamika stepped closer, slow, deliberate.
Ishika backed up a step, palms raised like she was negotiating with a wild animal.
“You—you can’t just do that.”
“Do what?” Anamika asked innocently.
“Exist like this,” Ishika said weakly.
Anamika smirked. “You were teasing Riya five seconds ago.”
“That was different,” Ishika mumbled. “She’s not you.”
Anamika reached out, gently tugged Ishika closer by the wrist. Not forceful. Just certain.
Ishika’s knees almost gave out.
“You’re adorable when your mind blanks,” Anamika murmured.
Ishika groaned, dropping her forehead onto Anamika’s shoulder.
“You do this on purpose.”
Anamika smiled, wrapping an arm around her.
“Always.”
Outside, Payal was probably hyperventilating.
Inside, Ishika was absolutely not surviving this marriage.
" So, you called me a monster. Again." Anamika stressed the word as Ishika moved away.
Ishika froze as Anamika was behind her in a flash.
" You're very bold on the phone. Now, what happened,biwi?" Anamika kissed her earlobe as her fingers graze Ishika's waist .
“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Anamika asked lightly.
Ishika blinked. Once. Twice.
“…You’re doing it on purpose.”
“Doing what?” Anamika asked, shifting her weight just enough to make the towel sway dangerously.
Ishika groaned and covered her eyes. “THIS. The… closeness. You in bath towel.”
Anamika stepped closer, slow and unhurried. “And monsters don’t put on shows?”
Ishika peeked through her fingers. Bad decision.
“You are not allowed to smirk like that,” Ishika warned. “ not when I’m trying to survive.”
Anamika laughed softly, stopping right in front of her. “You called me a monster. I’m simply living up to expectations.”
Ishika sighed, defeated, then suddenly straightened.
“Okay. Enough. Sit.” Anamika's absolute words made her obey.
Anamika stopped teasing.
The shift was subtle—but Ishika felt it.
She was still in her bathrobe, hair damp, confidence softened into something raw and unguarded. Anamika took a breath, then slowly—deliberately—knelt down in front of Ishika.
Ishika froze.
“Anu—”
“Let me,” Anamika said quietly.
She rested her hands on her thighs, head slightly bowed. Not dramatic. Not performative. Just honest.