4 hours ago
Chapter 14 - Permission
The call ended.
The sudden silence in the bedroom felt louder than the conversation that had just taken place. Tara slowly placed the phone back on the bedside table. The screen light faded, leaving only the weak streetlight coming through the curtains.
She turned to look at him.
Whatever she saw on Jeeva’s face made her pause. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, but something in them had gone flat and cold. The easy breathing he had found only minutes earlier was gone. His chest rose and fell in short, controlled movements, as if he was deliberately stopping himself from saying the wrong thing.
Tara spoke carefully, almost gently.
“Jeeva… I need your permission to bring Sam home tomorrow.”
The words hit harder than the birthday wish.
For a few seconds Jeeva did not react. Then he let out a short, disbelieving breath through his nose.
“Why?”
“Tomorrow is his birthday.”
He finally turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. In the dim light her face looked calm, almost soft. That calmness irritated him more than if she had been nervous.
“It’s been barely a week,” he said, voice low. “Barely one week and you’re already inviting him into our house?”
“I just felt like cooking something for him. His family is away these days. You know that.”
“We have an agreement.” Jeeva’s voice tightened despite his effort to keep it steady. “We both agreed. When your partner is here, I will not be here. When my partner is here, you will not be here. That was clear.”
Tara stayed quiet for a moment, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the bedsheet.
“Then you spend some extra time with Ramya tomorrow evening,” she said. “Stay out a little longer. We’ll come early. I’ll cook for three people… but the special dishes will be for him. What do you say?”
Jeeva sat up slowly, resting his back against the headboard. The sheet slipped down to his waist. He ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s too early, Tara. This is moving too fast.”
“He’s trustworthy,” she replied. There was a quiet certainty in her tone that he had started to dislike. “He’s earned it.”
When Jeeva didn’t answer, she shifted closer, still lying on her side, looking up at him.
“Listen to me. All these days he has been picking me up after office. Every single evening. Not once — not even once — did he drop me at our gate. Because I told him I didn’t want to bring him here yet. He respected that.
Is that not enough for you?
Even if this experiment ends tomorrow, I honestly feel I’m gaining a real friendship.
A good one. The kind that doesn’t come easily.”
Jeeva stared at the opposite wall.
Every argument that rose in his throat sounded like pure jealousy. He hated that. He hated that she was forcing him into a corner where saying “no” would make him look insecure, and saying “yes” felt like handing her over.
The silence stretched.
Finally he spoke, the words coming out rough.
“Plan simple dishes. Nothing too special. Cook early. And send him home early.
I don’t want to stay late at office tomorrow just so the two of you can have extra time here.”
Tara’s face changed instantly. The tension left her shoulders.
A small, genuine smile appeared — the kind she used to give him when he agreed to something she really wanted.
She moved across the small space between them, wrapped both arms around his waist, and rested her head against his bare stomach.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jeeva looked down at her. His hand hovered in the air for a few seconds before it finally came to rest on her back. He did not stroke her hair. He did not pull her closer. He only kept his palm there, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her nightdress.
Outside, a two-wheeler passed and faded into the night.
Inside the room the birthday call still seemed to echo, mixed with the permission he had just given.
Tara’s breathing slowly evened out against him, but Jeeva remained awake, eyes open in the dark.
Tomorrow Sam Arya would sit in their living room.
Eat food cooked by his wife.
In his house.
And for the first time since the experiment began, Jeeva felt the clear, sharp fear that the rules they had written so carefully might not be strong enough to hold what was coming.
The call ended.
The sudden silence in the bedroom felt louder than the conversation that had just taken place. Tara slowly placed the phone back on the bedside table. The screen light faded, leaving only the weak streetlight coming through the curtains.
She turned to look at him.
Whatever she saw on Jeeva’s face made her pause. His eyes were open, fixed on the ceiling, but something in them had gone flat and cold. The easy breathing he had found only minutes earlier was gone. His chest rose and fell in short, controlled movements, as if he was deliberately stopping himself from saying the wrong thing.
Tara spoke carefully, almost gently.
“Jeeva… I need your permission to bring Sam home tomorrow.”
The words hit harder than the birthday wish.
For a few seconds Jeeva did not react. Then he let out a short, disbelieving breath through his nose.
“Why?”
“Tomorrow is his birthday.”
He finally turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. In the dim light her face looked calm, almost soft. That calmness irritated him more than if she had been nervous.
“It’s been barely a week,” he said, voice low. “Barely one week and you’re already inviting him into our house?”
“I just felt like cooking something for him. His family is away these days. You know that.”
“We have an agreement.” Jeeva’s voice tightened despite his effort to keep it steady. “We both agreed. When your partner is here, I will not be here. When my partner is here, you will not be here. That was clear.”
Tara stayed quiet for a moment, fingers lightly tracing the edge of the bedsheet.
“Then you spend some extra time with Ramya tomorrow evening,” she said. “Stay out a little longer. We’ll come early. I’ll cook for three people… but the special dishes will be for him. What do you say?”
Jeeva sat up slowly, resting his back against the headboard. The sheet slipped down to his waist. He ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s too early, Tara. This is moving too fast.”
“He’s trustworthy,” she replied. There was a quiet certainty in her tone that he had started to dislike. “He’s earned it.”
When Jeeva didn’t answer, she shifted closer, still lying on her side, looking up at him.
“Listen to me. All these days he has been picking me up after office. Every single evening. Not once — not even once — did he drop me at our gate. Because I told him I didn’t want to bring him here yet. He respected that.
Is that not enough for you?
Even if this experiment ends tomorrow, I honestly feel I’m gaining a real friendship.
A good one. The kind that doesn’t come easily.”
Jeeva stared at the opposite wall.
Every argument that rose in his throat sounded like pure jealousy. He hated that. He hated that she was forcing him into a corner where saying “no” would make him look insecure, and saying “yes” felt like handing her over.
The silence stretched.
Finally he spoke, the words coming out rough.
“Plan simple dishes. Nothing too special. Cook early. And send him home early.
I don’t want to stay late at office tomorrow just so the two of you can have extra time here.”
Tara’s face changed instantly. The tension left her shoulders.
A small, genuine smile appeared — the kind she used to give him when he agreed to something she really wanted.
She moved across the small space between them, wrapped both arms around his waist, and rested her head against his bare stomach.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Jeeva looked down at her. His hand hovered in the air for a few seconds before it finally came to rest on her back. He did not stroke her hair. He did not pull her closer. He only kept his palm there, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her nightdress.
Outside, a two-wheeler passed and faded into the night.
Inside the room the birthday call still seemed to echo, mixed with the permission he had just given.
Tara’s breathing slowly evened out against him, but Jeeva remained awake, eyes open in the dark.
Tomorrow Sam Arya would sit in their living room.
Eat food cooked by his wife.
In his house.
And for the first time since the experiment began, Jeeva felt the clear, sharp fear that the rules they had written so carefully might not be strong enough to hold what was coming.
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