31. TALK
AAROHI:
The sound comes first.
A deep, hollow ringing, slow and steady, cutting through my sleep. Once. Twice. Three times. My brow creases slightly against the cold air brushing my skin while the sound echoes somewhere far away, like an old clock tower hidden between the mountains.
Four. Five. Six.
Six bells.
Even half asleep, I know what that means. Six in the evening. The sound fades slowly into silence, and then I feel it, a light tap against my shoulder. My body reacts before my mind does. I jerk awake sharply, breath catching in my throat as I stand too quickly from the balcony sofa.
The world spins for a second.
Cold bites against my skin where my shawl has slipped. He's standing in front of me, close enough that I can see the concern clearly written across his face. Not anger. Not irritation. Just something firm and unsettled.
"What is wrong with you?" he asks quietly. "Sleeping here? In this much cold?"
My mouth opens, but no words come out. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to explain myself without sounding like another mistake waiting to happen. So instead, I turn away quickly and walk past him toward the washroom.
I close the door softly behind me and lean against it, breathing too fast.
The warmth inside feels suffocating after the freezing balcony air. My fingers tremble while changing clothes, movements rushed and clumsy. I splash water on my face before staring at myself in the mirror for a long moment.
I look tired.
Guilty.
And I don't even understand why the guilt feels so heavy today. I didn't do anything wrong. At least, I don't think I did. Still, my chest feels tight as if I'm waiting for punishment that hasn't arrived yet.
I take a slow breath before stepping outside again.
He's sitting on the bed now, scrolling through his phone. Something about the sight feels strangely personal, even though it shouldn't. I quietly walk toward the sofa and sit down carefully, folding my hands tightly in my lap.
Silence stretches across the room again.
I stare at the floor, too nervous to turn on the TV, too nervous to move around too much, too nervous to disturb the quiet. The room feels warm, but my body still feels cold from outside.
Then he speaks first.
"What do you want to eat?"
The question catches me completely off guard.
"I..." I shake my head slightly. "I d-don't feel h-hungry."
It's partly true. My stomach doesn't feel empty. It feels twisted and tight instead. He taps something on his phone before suddenly standing and walking toward me. My heart jumps violently at the movement.
I tense immediately.
He's angry.
I did something wrong again.
Before he reaches me, there's a knock on the door.
Sharp. Polite.
"Dinner," a voice says from outside.
He turns away and opens the door while hotel staff wheel trays inside. The smell fills the room instantly, warm butter, rich spices, creamy curry. Punjabi food. Heavy food.
He gestures toward the dining table. "Sit."
I hesitate before speaking softly. "I...I have allergy from spicy food. I don't w-want to eat."
He looks at me directly, not harshly, not coldly, just steadily.
"It's not spicy," he says calmly.
"But I..."
"Sit and eat."
His tone is firm, but not raised.
I obey.
I always do.
I sit carefully at the table and begin eating in slow, measured bites. The food feels richer than anything I usually eat, heavier too. I force myself to chew and swallow even though my appetite refuses to return properly.
After a few quiet minutes, he looks at me again.
"Are you okay?"
I nod immediately because I don't trust my voice enough to answer out loud. Silence settles between us again until he suddenly says, almost casually, "Tomorrow, we're going to Sonmarg. Be ready early."
My hand freezes around the spoon.
My chest sinks instantly.
"I...I don't w-want to go."
He looks genuinely surprised. "Why?"
I take a slow breath and force myself to continue before fear stops me.
"We both know," I say carefully, "that we came here because maa insisted. To make her happy."
He says nothing.
"You don't have to go out with me," I continue softly, my voice trembling less with every word. "I can stay here. In this room. You can continue your office work."
Finally, I look up at him.
"It's a waste of your time... hanging out with me."
The words hurt while leaving my mouth, but they feel honest. I don't belong in places like this. I don't belong beside him in snow-covered mountains and expensive hotels pretending to be normal.
"I can stay in the room," I add quickly. "It's comfortable. I don't want to go outside."
Silence falls heavily between us again.
My heartbeat feels painfully loud while I wait for anger, irritation, something sharp enough to end the conversation. Instead, he just looks at me quietly for a long moment.
Thoughtful.
Unreadable.
And somehow, that feels far worse.