01-04-2026, 08:35 AM
The laughter in her eyes wasn't mocking; it was as if she were watching a child caught in a harmless act of mischief. I stood there, frozen, my arms still halfway through a celebratory gesture that now felt utterly ridiculous. The cold, calculated wall I had built over the last few weeks didn't just crack—it disintegrated.
"Is this part of the morning routine?" Shreya asked, her voice carrying a playful lilt that cut through the heavy silence of the room. "Or are you always this enthusiastic about waking up?"
I couldn't find my tongue. For months, I had pictured a "forced" wife as a burden, a faceless extension of my parents' will. But Shreya wasn't a shadow. She was radiant, and more importantly, she seemed completely unfazed by my pathetic attempt at a cold shoulder.
"I... I thought you left," I stammered, my bravado replaced by a stinging sense of embarrassment.
She stepped closer, the silk of her red saree rustling softly. "Left? On the first morning? I think you’ve been watching too many melodramas. I just went to get some tea, but then I saw you... performing. I didn't want to interrupt the show."
The guilt hit me then, sharper than the anger I’d been nursing. I had spent the night on a sofa, nursing a grudge against a woman who hadn't done anything to me, while she had woken up, dressed with care, and was now offering me a smile instead of the tears I had expected.
"Look, about last night," I began, the image of Kusum finally starting to blur against the vivid reality of the woman standing in front of me.
"Last night was a long day for both of us," she interrupted gently, her expression softening. She walked over to the nightstand and picked up two cups of tea. "The sofa looked uncomfortable. Maybe today we can try actually talking instead of sleeping through the introductions?"
I looked at the tea, then at her. My plan to be the "villain" of this story was failing miserably, mostly because I realized I didn't want to be one
anymore.
"Is this part of the morning routine?" Shreya asked, her voice carrying a playful lilt that cut through the heavy silence of the room. "Or are you always this enthusiastic about waking up?"
I couldn't find my tongue. For months, I had pictured a "forced" wife as a burden, a faceless extension of my parents' will. But Shreya wasn't a shadow. She was radiant, and more importantly, she seemed completely unfazed by my pathetic attempt at a cold shoulder.
"I... I thought you left," I stammered, my bravado replaced by a stinging sense of embarrassment.
She stepped closer, the silk of her red saree rustling softly. "Left? On the first morning? I think you’ve been watching too many melodramas. I just went to get some tea, but then I saw you... performing. I didn't want to interrupt the show."
The guilt hit me then, sharper than the anger I’d been nursing. I had spent the night on a sofa, nursing a grudge against a woman who hadn't done anything to me, while she had woken up, dressed with care, and was now offering me a smile instead of the tears I had expected.
"Look, about last night," I began, the image of Kusum finally starting to blur against the vivid reality of the woman standing in front of me.
"Last night was a long day for both of us," she interrupted gently, her expression softening. She walked over to the nightstand and picked up two cups of tea. "The sofa looked uncomfortable. Maybe today we can try actually talking instead of sleeping through the introductions?"
I looked at the tea, then at her. My plan to be the "villain" of this story was failing miserably, mostly because I realized I didn't want to be one
anymore.
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