43. MUMBAI
VEERANSH:
I wake up before the alarm. Not because of habit this time, but because of warmth.
My arm is wrapped around something soft.
My hand is resting on a slim waist. And against my chest, I feel her, Aarohi, curled into me in sleep, her fingers gripping my shirt like she's afraid I might disappear if she lets go.
For a second, I don't move. The sight of her like this, unguarded, trusting, hits me harder than any confrontation ever has.
Her hair is spread across my arm, her face tilted toward my collarbone.
One knee is drawn up between us, her body molded into mine without any awareness. Then the alarm rings.
Sharp. Loud. Jarring. She doesn't wake. She only tightens her hold. I sigh softly and lean down. "Aarohi," I murmur. "Wake up." Nothing.
I try again, brushing her hair back gently. "Aarohi. It's morning now." She makes a small sound, half-asleep, half-protest, and pulls my shirt tighter. I can't help it, I smile. "If you don't wake up now," I say quietly, "then we'll get late for Mumbai."
That works. Her eyes flutter open slowly, confused, unfocused. When she realizes where she is, she pulls back a little, embarrassed. "I, sorry," she mumbles. "It's fine," I say, sitting up. "Get ready."
We get ready in the same room, in front of the same dressing table. She's wearing a simple saree today, light and elegant. The mangalsutra rests against her collarbone, sindoor bright in her hairline, bangles softly clinking as she moves. She sits on the chair, fixing her hair.
I stand behind her, adjusting my cufflinks, watching her reflection in the mirror. For a moment, it feels domestic. Like this is how it's supposed to be. When she finishes, she stands up, and immediately stumbles. Her pallu gets caught around her ankle.
Before she can fall, I grab her. "The wedding isn't today," I mutter. "You could've worn something else too." She looks flustered, trying to steady herself, but then her mangalsutra catches in the third button of my shirt. We both freeze.
She tries to free it, but it's tangled. "I, sorry," she says softly. I look down, then up at her. Slowly, deliberately, I unbutton the top three buttons of my shirt. She stares.
At my chest. Then quickly looks away, cheeks turning pink. She carefully lifts the chain free. "There," she whispers. I watch her for a second longer than I should. Then, casually, "Will you tie my tie?"
She looks up, startled. "Me?" "There's no staff today." She nods quickly. But there's one problem. She's too short.
She tries to reach, stretching on her toes, fingers barely brushing my collar. I raise an eyebrow. She hesitates, then climbs onto the dressing chair. Her hands are close to my face now, carefully adjusting the tie. I stay completely still, afraid that if I move even a little, she'll lose balance.
She finishes, satisfied. "Done." Before she can climb down herself, I pick her up in one smooth motion, one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, setting her gently on the floor. Her eyes widen slightly. She nods. "Thank you."
We leave together. The drive is long. Too long. At first, we talk, small things. About Mumbai traffic. About Suhana. About what bua ji's house might be like. For a while, we sound like a normal couple.
Then she grows quiet. By the time we reach Mumbai, she's asleep. Her head leans against the seat, her face soft in rest. I don't wake her when we stop in front of bua ji's house. I just look at her.
And for the first time in my life, I think. Maybe this marriage was never just a deal after all. I gently shake her shoulder. "Aarohi, we've reached." She stirs, blinking slowly, still lost somewhere between sleep and waking.
Her hair is messy, her cheek marked faintly where it was pressed against the window. For a second she looks almost like a child, disoriented and soft. "Mm?" she murmurs. "Mumbai," I say quietly. "Bua's house."
Her eyes widen a little. She straightens quickly, smoothing her saree, suddenly aware of everything again. I step out of the car and hold the door for her. She places her hand in mine, steadying herself as she steps down. Behind us, Maa and Suhana get out of their car.
Suhana stretches, yawning. Maa looks around, taking in the familiar house with nostalgic eyes. Bua's house is large but old, paint slightly faded, walls filled with memories. The gate creaks when it opens. Even before we reach the entrance, voices drift out.
Bua comes rushing toward us, smiling wide. "Oh Veer! You've come, beta!" She turns to Aarohi instantly. "And this is bahu?" Aarohi's fingers tighten slightly in mine. She steps forward, leaving my hand, and bends to touch Bua's feet.
"Stay blessed, beta," Bua says warmly, placing her hand on Aarohi's head. Then I notice another figure sitting on a wooden chair near the door, an old woman, thin, sharp-eyed, wrapped in a heavy shawl. "She is my mother-in-law," Bua says softly.
Aarohi looks at me for a brief second, uncertain. I nod. She walks forward again and bends to touch her feet too. I do the same beside her. The old woman studies her slowly, carefully, like she's measuring her worth with her eyes.
"The girl is very nice," she finally says. "Beautiful and simple too." Aarohi exhales slightly in relief. Maa steps forward and touches Dadi saas's feet as well. The old woman looks at her, lips pursed.
"You never remember me," she says in a slightly bitter tone. "You got your son married all alone. You didn't even invite us. Didn't even think it was necessary to inform us? Which family does the girl belong to?" Maa stiffens. I feel Aarohi tense beside me.
Before anyone can respond, Bua quickly steps in, smiling. "Oh, they've come from very far away. Let them rest first. We can talk later." Dadi saas huffs but doesn't argue. Bua turns to us. "You both must be tired. Your room is upstairs."
A servant takes our bags. Aarohi follows quietly, still a little overwhelmed by everything. I walk behind her, watching how small she looks in this new place. We reach the room. It's simple, clean, warm.
As soon as the door closes behind us, the noise from downstairs fades. She sits on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. "Now sleep," I say quietly. "No one will disturb you now." She nods, too tired to respond.
Within minutes, she lies down, curling slightly on her side, eyes closing. I go into the washroom, splash water on my face. I remove my shirt, too tired to care about anything else, and come back. She's already asleep.
I lie down beside her, careful not to wake her. And in this quiet room, far from our own home, with her breathing soft and steady beside me, I realize something I never expected. I feel at peace.