11-08-2025, 06:06 PM
Chapter 1 – The Gentle Beginning
The day began the way Manisha loved best — slow, warm, and full of the familiar music of home. The distant call of a chaiwala’s kettle whistle drifted in from the street below. Somewhere in the alley, a harmonium played a morning raga, its notes weaving into the sunlight that poured through the sheer white curtains.
Manisha lay still for a moment, letting the comfort of the morning sink into her bones. She was twenty-four, in the third year of her marriage, and her life felt like a well-rehearsed Bharatanatyam sequence — each step precise, each expression meaningful.
Beside her, Aarav stirred. His arm was still dbangd protectively across her waist, his fingers brushing the edge of her cotton night saree. She smiled to herself. In all the years she had known him — first as the quiet, principled engineering student her cousin had introduced at a wedding, then as her fiancé, and now as her husband — that protective touch had never changed.
She turned slightly to look at him. Aarav’s eyes were half open, and he was watching her in that unguarded, unselfconscious way that always made her blush.
“Why are you awake so early?” she teased, her voice a soft whisper.
“Today is Sunday.”
“I could ask you the same,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of her hair away from her face. “And anyway… I wasn’t ready to stop looking at you yet.”
Manisha rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Flattery doesn’t get you extra luchis at breakfast.”
“I’m not fishing for food,” he said, his voice gentle but certain. “I just… like knowing you’re here. That I can wake up and you’re the first thing I see.”
She tucked her face against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood soap on his skin. In moments like these, she often thought of her mother’s words from before the wedding — A marriage is like a river, Manisha. Some days it will flow gently, some days the current will be strong, but if you swim together, you will always find the shore.
Aarav’s palm pressed lightly against her back, and she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a few long minutes, they stayed like that — not speaking, simply existing in each other’s presence.
===============================
The kitchen clock ticked faintly in the next room, reminding Manisha that the day would not wait for her forever. With a reluctant sigh, she began to move, but Aarav’s hand caught hers.
“Stay,” he said softly.
She laughed. “If I stay, who will make your chai?”
“I can survive one morning without tea.”
“You say that now,” she said, shaking her head, “but by ten o’clock, you’ll be pacing like a caged tiger.”
He grinned, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her gently back down beside him. She gave in, curling into the warmth of his chest.
“You know,” Aarav said after a moment, “when I tell my colleagues about you, I always say you’re my miracle.”
She arched an eyebrow. “A miracle? I’m just a woman who cooks, cleans, and nags you when you leave socks everywhere.”
“Not just,” he said firmly. “You’re the reason I feel… whole. The reason home feels like more than four walls.”
Manisha’s heart softened at his words. She had never been one for loud declarations of love; she preferred quiet gestures — the extra spoon of sugar in his tea, the careful folding of his shirts, the way she learned the names of all his work friends just so she could ask about them.
And of course, her dancing.
It had been years since she’d performed publicly, but Bharatanatyam was still woven into her daily life. Even while stirring dal, she caught herself keeping rhythm with her feet. Sometimes, Aarav would return home early to find her in the living room, wearing her old ghungroo bells, the soft chime of ankle bells filling the air as she practiced an adavus sequence.
“You’re graceful even when you’re burning rotis,” he liked to joke.
Now, lying beside him, she thought about how that discipline from dance — the balance, the patience, the control—had shaped her life. She was loyal to Aarav not because she had to be, but because she chose to be. In a world that often celebrated shortcuts and convenience, she believed in the beauty of constancy.
Finally, she sat up, wrapping the pallu of her night saree over her shoulder. Aarav watched her, his gaze warm.
“You know,” he said, “one day we should go to Santiniketan during the Poush Mela. You could dance there again.”
She turned to him, surprised. “It’s been so long…”
“And?” he said with a small smile. “You haven’t forgotten how. I see you practicing when you think I’m not looking.”
She laughed. “You notice too much.”
“That’s my job.”
For a moment, their eyes held, and she saw something deeper there — admiration, yes, but also a kind of silent promise. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Alright,” she said softly. “One day.”
The day began the way Manisha loved best — slow, warm, and full of the familiar music of home. The distant call of a chaiwala’s kettle whistle drifted in from the street below. Somewhere in the alley, a harmonium played a morning raga, its notes weaving into the sunlight that poured through the sheer white curtains.
Manisha lay still for a moment, letting the comfort of the morning sink into her bones. She was twenty-four, in the third year of her marriage, and her life felt like a well-rehearsed Bharatanatyam sequence — each step precise, each expression meaningful.
Beside her, Aarav stirred. His arm was still dbangd protectively across her waist, his fingers brushing the edge of her cotton night saree. She smiled to herself. In all the years she had known him — first as the quiet, principled engineering student her cousin had introduced at a wedding, then as her fiancé, and now as her husband — that protective touch had never changed.
She turned slightly to look at him. Aarav’s eyes were half open, and he was watching her in that unguarded, unselfconscious way that always made her blush.
“Why are you awake so early?” she teased, her voice a soft whisper.
“Today is Sunday.”
“I could ask you the same,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of her hair away from her face. “And anyway… I wasn’t ready to stop looking at you yet.”
Manisha rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Flattery doesn’t get you extra luchis at breakfast.”
“I’m not fishing for food,” he said, his voice gentle but certain. “I just… like knowing you’re here. That I can wake up and you’re the first thing I see.”
She tucked her face against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of sandalwood soap on his skin. In moments like these, she often thought of her mother’s words from before the wedding — A marriage is like a river, Manisha. Some days it will flow gently, some days the current will be strong, but if you swim together, you will always find the shore.
Aarav’s palm pressed lightly against her back, and she felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a few long minutes, they stayed like that — not speaking, simply existing in each other’s presence.
===============================
The kitchen clock ticked faintly in the next room, reminding Manisha that the day would not wait for her forever. With a reluctant sigh, she began to move, but Aarav’s hand caught hers.
“Stay,” he said softly.
She laughed. “If I stay, who will make your chai?”
“I can survive one morning without tea.”
“You say that now,” she said, shaking her head, “but by ten o’clock, you’ll be pacing like a caged tiger.”
He grinned, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled her gently back down beside him. She gave in, curling into the warmth of his chest.
“You know,” Aarav said after a moment, “when I tell my colleagues about you, I always say you’re my miracle.”
She arched an eyebrow. “A miracle? I’m just a woman who cooks, cleans, and nags you when you leave socks everywhere.”
“Not just,” he said firmly. “You’re the reason I feel… whole. The reason home feels like more than four walls.”
Manisha’s heart softened at his words. She had never been one for loud declarations of love; she preferred quiet gestures — the extra spoon of sugar in his tea, the careful folding of his shirts, the way she learned the names of all his work friends just so she could ask about them.
And of course, her dancing.
It had been years since she’d performed publicly, but Bharatanatyam was still woven into her daily life. Even while stirring dal, she caught herself keeping rhythm with her feet. Sometimes, Aarav would return home early to find her in the living room, wearing her old ghungroo bells, the soft chime of ankle bells filling the air as she practiced an adavus sequence.
“You’re graceful even when you’re burning rotis,” he liked to joke.
Now, lying beside him, she thought about how that discipline from dance — the balance, the patience, the control—had shaped her life. She was loyal to Aarav not because she had to be, but because she chose to be. In a world that often celebrated shortcuts and convenience, she believed in the beauty of constancy.
Finally, she sat up, wrapping the pallu of her night saree over her shoulder. Aarav watched her, his gaze warm.
“You know,” he said, “one day we should go to Santiniketan during the Poush Mela. You could dance there again.”
She turned to him, surprised. “It’s been so long…”
“And?” he said with a small smile. “You haven’t forgotten how. I see you practicing when you think I’m not looking.”
She laughed. “You notice too much.”
“That’s my job.”
For a moment, their eyes held, and she saw something deeper there — admiration, yes, but also a kind of silent promise. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Alright,” she said softly. “One day.”
King$Alex 
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