40. HIS ROOM
AAROHI:
By the time I reach my room, my body feels like it's finally giving up. Not in pain just tired. The kind of tired that settles deep into your bones after too much travel, too many emotions, too many new things at once.
I change out of my clothes slowly, my movements unhurried, my fingers feel heavy as I unpack the bags, placing folded clothes into the cupboard the way I always do, neatly, quietly, without disturbing anything.
It is a habit from years of living carefully, like taking up less space might make life gentler.
When I am done, I sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, staring at the wall.
Home. The haveli feels the same, big, echoing, beautiful, but I do not feel the same inside it.
Kashmir feels like a dream I woke up from too early.
A knock breaks my thoughts. "Ma'am," a servant says softly from the door, "Maa sa is calling you downstairs.
" I nod, "I am coming." I fix my dupatta and walk down toward the garden.
Veeransh and maa are already there, seated at the small table under the neem tree.
Steam rises from cups of ginger tea. The morning sun filters through the leaves, warm but gentle.
I stop a step away, unsure. "Sit beta," maa says immediately, smiling at me.
I hesitate only for a second before pulling the chair and sitting down.
Veeransh looks calm, not distant, not harsh, just quiet, and that makes me uneasy.
A thought creeps into my mind without permission.
Maybe he was like that only because we were outside, because there was no one else to take care of me, now that we are back maybe he will be like before.
I wrap my hands around the tea cup, letting the warmth seep into my palms. Maa asks him about the trip,
"Where did you go?" He tells her about Gulmarg, Sonmarg, the snowfall, his voice steady, matter of fact. She turns to me, "And your health, are you better now?" I say softly, "Yes maa, better."
She nods satisfied. Then Veeransh speaks again, "I told the servants to shift your things to my room." The words hit me without warning. I look up at him startled. My heart skips, not in happiness, more in confusion.
I open my mouth then close it again. A second passes. Then I gather courage, "But..." He looks at me immediately, "It is okay, if you are uncomfortable I will shift back." The ease in his voice throws me off balance.
Maa frowns lightly, "What are you saying Veer?" She turns to me, her voice gentle but firm, "Beta, you are his wife, if any guest comes and sees husband and wife living in different rooms it will not look right." I feel my throat tighten.
I glance at Veeransh, he does not look annoyed, he does not look forced. "It is fine maa," he says, "I can adjust for her." Adjust, the word echoes inside me. He looks at me again, "You tell, are you okay with it?"
So many thoughts rush through my head at once, fear, habit, rules I memorized on my first day here, the way I learned to survive by not wanting too much.
And then the way he held me when I was scared, the way he stayed, the way he did not leave this time.
I swallow, "...Okay," I say finally, my voice low but clear, "I will shift.
" Maa smiles warmly, "Good." Veeransh nods once like the matter is settled.
I sip my tea again but it tastes different now, not bitter, not sweet, just unfamiliar, as if something in my life has quietly changed direction and I do not yet know where it is taking me. I stand at the threshold longer than necessary.
The door is open, the space inside familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time. I have been here before many times but never like this, never with permission, never with the understanding that this space is now shared.
My fingers tighten around the edge of my dupatta.
The room smells faintly of him, woody, clean, something calm and dangerous at the same time.
The curtains are half drawn, sunlight spilling across the floor.
Everything is arranged with discipline, files stacked neatly on the table, his watch placed with precision, the bed made perfectly like no one ever rests here, only exists.
A servant enters behind me with my suitcase, "Ma'am, where should I keep this? "
I hesitate then gesture toward the side of the bed that is clearly not his, "There, please.
" She nods and leaves. I step inside slowly, my footsteps almost soundless against the marble floor.
My heart beats louder than my movements.
This is happening. I move toward the cupboard.
One side is already full, his clothes, dark colors, crisp lines, the other side is empty, for me.
The thought makes my chest tighten. I open my suitcase and begin unpacking again, this time slower, more careful. Each folded kurti, each saree, each small thing I place inside feels like a decision I did not know I was making.
I am here, not as a guest, not as a burden, as his wife. The word still feels strange inside my head. I place my bangles in one drawer, my dupattas on a shelf. My mangalsutra stays around my neck, resting against my skin like a constant reminder of rules I can never forget.
When I am done, I sit on the edge of the bed.
It is bigger than the one in my room, softer too.
I do not lie down. I do not feel like I have the right to yet.
My eyes drift around the room, landing on the bedside table.
There is a photo frame turned face down.
Curiosity flickers but I do not touch it. Some boundaries are safer untested.
Minutes pass. I hear footsteps. My body stiffens instantly. The door opens. Veeransh walks in. He stops when he sees me sitting there like he was not expecting me to already be inside. For a second neither of us speaks. Then he looks at the suitcase, at the cupboard, at me, "You settled?"
I nod, "Yes." Silence again. He moves toward the table, loosening his watch, placing it down.
His movements are calm, controlled, but there is something else there too, something thoughtful.
"You do not have to stay tense," he says without looking at me, "this is your room too.
" The words hit harder than they should. I lower my gaze, "I know."
But I do not feel it yet. He turns toward me then, studying my face like he is trying to understand something unsaid.
"You are tired," he states. "I am fine," I reply automatically.
He exhales slowly, "Stop saying that all the time.
" I flinch, not because of anger, but because his tone is not harsh, it is concerned.
"I do not want you to force yourself," he continues, "if you are tired rest." I nod again, unsure what to do with his softness.
He walks toward the bed, stopping a little distance away from me, not too close, not too far.
"I will be working in the study for a while," he says, "you can rest or watch TV or sleep. "
He pauses then adds, "No one will disturb you." Something warm spreads through my chest at that. "Thank you," I whisper. He hesitates then turns toward the door. Just before leaving he stops again, "And Aarohi," he says quietly, "you do not have to be scared here." The door closes behind him.
I sit there long after he leaves, replaying his words in my head.
You do not have to be scared here. I lie down slowly, careful, choosing the edge of the bed.
The pillows smell faintly of him and it makes my heart race in a way I do not fully understand.
I curl onto my side, knees drawn slightly, my hands clutching the bedsheet.
For the first time since coming back to the haveli, my body relaxes. Not fully, but enough. I close my eyes. And somewhere deep inside a quiet thought forms, soft, dangerous, hopeful. Maybe just maybe this room will not cage me, maybe it will protect me instead.