50. HOME
VEERANSH:
Morning arrives quietly. No loud music. No wedding chaos. No rush of guests. Just a soft light slipping in through the curtains and a strange stillness that feels like the end of something important.
The wedding is over. Bua's son is married, rituals are done, promises exchanged, and now we are leaving. I wake up before everyone else. That isn't new. What is new is the weight on my chest. Not uncomfortable. Not heavy. Just there. Aarohi.
She is asleep, curled slightly toward me, her forehead resting near my shoulder, one hand loosely clutching the edge of my shirt like she's afraid it might disappear if she lets go.
Her hair is spread across the pillow, messy, unstyled, nothing like the carefully arranged woman everyone saw last night.
This is the version of her no one else sees. Unaware. Soft. Safe. I don't move immediately. I should. We have a long drive, a flight, schedules. But something inside me refuses to break this moment.
Last night replays in fragments. The quiet.
The kiss. The way she hid in my chest like it was the most natural place in the world.
I had kissed her before, but last night wasn't about desire alone.
It was about choice. I choose her, and above all, she chose me.
Not because of obligation. Not because of rules.
Not because of the world watching. I chose her because I wanted to. That realization still unsettles me.
Slowly, carefully, I lift my hand and brush a strand of hair away from her face. She stirs. Not fully awake. Her fingers tighten briefly on my shirt, like instinct, then relax again. I smile without meaning to.
"Morning has come," I murmur softly.
No response.
I try again, a little louder. "Aarohi." She hums, eyes still closed, and shifts closer. For a moment, I consider letting her sleep longer. Then reality intrudes. We have to leave. I sigh softly and tap her arm gently. "Wake up. Everyone else must already be awake."
She blinks slowly, eyes unfocused, then looks up at me. For half a second, she doesn't seem to remember where she is. Then recognition dawns. And her cheeks turn pink.
"Good morning," she says, voice still thick with sleep.
"Morning," I reply.
She sits up carefully, pulling the blanket around herself, suddenly shy. I watch her for a second, then stand up and move away to give her space.
"I'll get ready," I say. "You freshen up too. Mother and Suhana must already be awake."
She nods quietly.
I head to the washroom, splash water on my face, and stare at my reflection. I look different. Not softer, but calmer. Less rigid. Like someone has loosened something inside me that had been clenched for years.
When I come out, she's already dressed in a simple saree, hair still slightly damp, bangles soft instead of loud. Not trying to impress anyone. Just herself.
"Ready?" I ask.
"Yes," she says softly.
Downstairs, the house is already awake. Suitcases near the door. Bua giving last-minute instructions. Nirav laughing with his friends. Mother sees us and smiles.
"Good that you both woke up early," she says. "The travel is long too."
Suhana yawns dramatically. "From Mumbai to Rajasthan... when are we even going to reach home?"
I shake my head. "You'll sleep throughout the flight anyway."
Aarohi smiles at that, small and shy.
Bua comes over and blesses both of us, placing her hands over our heads.
"Stay happy," she says warmly. "And stay together like this always."
I nod respectfully while Aarohi bends to touch her feet. There is something different in the way people look at her now. Not questioning. Not curious. Accepting.
She is Veeransh Sarkar's wife.
And for the first time, that thought doesn't feel like a burden.
It feels right.
The car ride to the airport is quiet. Suhana falls asleep almost immediately, head resting against Mother's shoulder while Mother murmurs a prayer softly under her breath.
Aarohi sits beside me, hands folded in her lap, looking out the window.
I notice small things. How she leans slightly toward me whenever the road gets uneven.
How she adjusts her saree nervously. How she glances at me once, then quickly looks away when she catches me watching.
At one point, she whispers softly, "You must be tired."
I shake my head. "What about you?"
She shrugs slightly. "A little."
Without thinking, I shift closer and let her rest her shoulder against my arm. She hesitates for a second. Then relaxes. That single movement feels more intimate than anything else.
At the airport, things move quickly. Check-in. Security. Boarding. I handle everything automatically, but I'm constantly aware of her presence beside me. Making sure she's not overwhelmed. Making sure she's not left behind.
On the plane, she sits by the window. She watches the clouds with quiet fascination, like she always does.
"You okay?" I ask.
She nods. "Yes. Just a little tired."
She closes her eyes midway through the flight, head tilting slightly. I adjust the armrest so she's comfortable. She doesn't wake.
Somewhere over the clouds, I realize something that makes my chest tighten.
I no longer see her as someone fragile I need to control.
I see her as something precious I want to protect.
There's a difference.
A big one.
We land in Rajasthan early evening. The heat hits us immediately after Mumbai's humidity. The driver is already waiting. As we drive toward the haveli, the familiar sandstone walls appear, tall and imposing.
Home.
For years, this place meant power. Authority. Control. Now, I wonder what it will mean to her. To us. When we arrive, the gate opens slowly. Mother sighs softly.
"One's own home will always feel different," she says quietly.
Suhana stretches dramatically. "Finally." Aarohi steps out carefully, looking around. I watch her reaction closely. There is no fear. Just curiosity. Maybe acceptance.
Inside, servants greet us immediately.
"Welcome home, sir."
"Welcome home, ma'am."
Ma'am.
The word makes her flinch slightly. Then she straightens. She belongs here. Whether she realizes it fully or not. Mother gives instructions while Suhana heads toward her room already talking about college again. I stop Aarohi before she follows a servant upstairs.
"You should rest first," I say. "The journey was long."
She nods softly. "Okay." She hesitates, then asks quietly, "And you?" "I'll come later," I reply. "There's some work." She looks like she wants to say something else. Then thinks better of it.
"Okay." She turns and walks toward the stairs. I watch her until she disappears around the corner. Mother comes and stands beside me. She doesn't say anything at first. Just looks at me. Then quietly, "You seem different."
I exhale slowly. "Do I?" She nods gently.
"Yes. And it feels good to see the way you behave with Aarohi now.
" I don't reply. Because if I speak, I might admit things I'm not ready to say out loud yet.
Later that night, when the haveli settles into its usual silence, I stand alone in my study.
The same room where anger once lived. Where control was law.
I think of the journey. Of Mumbai. Of a quiet room and a kiss that changed something fundamental. Of a woman who once feared me and now sleeps peacefully beside me.
I don't know when exactly it happened. When obligation turned into concern. When concern turned into attachment. When attachment began to feel dangerously close to love.
But I know this much. I cannot undo what I did to her.
The forced marriage. The fear. The pain.
But I can change what happens next. And as I turn off the lights and head toward the room where she is resting, one thought settles firmly in my mind.
From this point on, I will not be the man she is afraid of.
I will be the man she comes home with.
Back to Rajasthan. Back to Sarkar Haveli. Back to a life that will never be the same again.