"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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After almost two months of discussions, hesitations, and countless conversations about everything that could possibly go wrong, they were finally making their way back to the haveli. Every time Vedant thought about returning, however, an old fear quietly tightened around his heart, because more than anything else, he was afraid of what the place might do to Shivya.
He didn't want to be the reason the happiness she had found with him lost even a little of its brightness, nor could he bear the thought of watching the warmth in her eyes slowly disappear beneath the weight of his past.
But Shivya had reassured him every time his doubts surfaced, reminding him that they would return only if he genuinely wanted to, because if he never gave the haveli another chance, they would never know whether things could be different this time.
She had also reminded him that they were not trapped there, because if returning proved to be a mistake, they could always leave and come back to their new home whenever they wished.
Perhaps that simple freedom was what finally made the journey possible. Vedant changed gears and glanced towards the passenger seat, where his wife was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of the thoughts occupying his mind.
It hadn't even been an hour since they had begun driving, yet she had already surrendered to sleep, her head resting comfortably against the headrest. By now, he had discovered that Shivya simply couldn't remain awake during a car journey, regardless of whether she had slept properly beforehand or had told him that she would keep him company.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, he slowed the car slightly, careful not to disturb her, before looking at her again. A few strands of hair had fallen across her face, and he found himself staring at them for a moment longer than necessary, wondering, as he often did, how he had somehow become lucky enough to call this woman his wife.
He reached towards her and carefully moved the loose strands away from her face, tucking them gently behind her ear, but the moment she shifted her head, his fingers retreated instinctively as though he had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do.
She didn't wake, he released the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and looked at her once more before allowing his hand to hover above her head, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence but deliberately stopping before his palm could touch her hair.
He wanted to caress her hair but he didn't want to disturb the peaceful sleep she had fallen into so effortlessly.
After a moment, he pulled his hand back and returned it to the steering wheel, although his fingers soon found the corner of her dupatta instead, holding onto the fabric while he continued driving as though even that tiny connection was enough to reassure some possessive corner of his heart that she was still beside him.
