56. HOLI
VEERANSH:
Holi has always been loud in our haveli. Colors, music, guests, laughter echoing through the courtyards everything louder, brighter, more alive. But this year feels different. This year... I have a wife beside me. And not just in name. In heart.
I wake up early, before sunrise, and for a few seconds I don't move at all. Aarohi is sleeping beside me, still in her saree from last night because she must have been too tired to change. Her face looks softer when she sleeps, peaceful in a way that makes my chest ache quietly. Almost childlike.
But something about her has seemed off for the past week. She eats less, argues more, asks for sour things constantly, and looks sleepy all the time. Every single time I ask what's wrong, she just smiles faintly and says, "I'm fine."
I gently move a strand of hair away from her face, careful not to wake her. She stirs slightly in sleep, then her hand automatically searches for me under the blanket until her fingers find my shirt. She grips it lightly, and something protective twists painfully inside my chest.
Maybe it's because Holi means chaos in this haveli. Too many people. Too much noise. Too much movement everywhere. And for some reason, I don't want even the slightest discomfort to touch her today.
Downstairs, the entire house is already buzzing with preparations. Servants are arranging bright colors in large brass plates, buckets are being filled near the courtyard, and the smell of fresh gujiya drifts out from the kitchen. Maa is supervising everything like a strict general.
"Veer, when will the guests arrive?" she asks while checking decorations near the staircase. "By ten," I reply calmly. "And security?" "Already arranged." She nods once, satisfied, before lowering her voice slightly.
"Take care of Aarohi tomorrow," she says quietly. "I always do," I answer automatically. Maa gives me a look before adding, "Don't let too much color touch her. She had that allergy last week." My jaw tightens slightly. "I won't."
Just then, Suhana walks into the room dramatically, already irritated before the day has even started. "Maa! Bhai! If someone forcefully puts color on me tomorrow, I swea" "You're definitely getting the most color," I interrupt casually.
She gasps in betrayal. "Partiality! You'll protect bhabhi but not me?" "Obviously," I reply without hesitation. She throws a cushion at me while Maa suppresses a smile behind her tea cup.
The haveli feels alive again, but even in the middle of all this noise, my mind keeps drifting back upstairs. Back to her. When I finally return to our room, I find her sitting quietly on the bed with her hair loose around her shoulders.
"You didn't wake me," she says softly when she notices me standing there. "You were sleeping like someone who hadn't slept in years," I reply. She smiles faintly, but the tiredness beneath it doesn't escape me.
"How are you feeling?" I ask while sitting beside her. "I'm fine." Again. That word. I study her carefully before saying, "You slept in your saree." She looks down slightly. "I was too tired."
There's something different about her lately. A softness in her features, a strange glow that wasn't there before, but also something unreadable beneath it. "Are you sure you're okay?" I ask again quietly.
She nods quickly and changes the topic immediately. "Tomorrow is Holi... don't put too much color on me." I smirk slightly. "I'll be the first one to color you." She narrows her eyes playfully. "Try and see."
There's that spark again stubborn, playful, alive. But while she talks, I notice her palm resting briefly against her stomach. The movement is subconscious, almost absent-minded, but my eyes catch it immediately.
A strange thought crosses my mind so suddenly that it almost startles me. But I push it away just as quickly. No. If something like that was happening... she would tell me. Wouldn't she?
By afternoon, the courtyard is almost completely ready. Colorful drapes hang from the carved pillars, silver bowls filled with gulal shine under the sunlight, and workers move around checking the music system repeatedly. I supervise everything, but I'm distracted.
When I glance up toward the balcony, I see her standing there quietly. One hand rests on the railing while the other again rests lightly on her stomach. My heartbeat stumbles for a second.
Is she unwell? Or am I imagining things now?
I excuse myself from the workers and head upstairs immediately. She turns toward me when I enter the room. "You're not resting," I say. "I wasn't sleepy," she replies softly.
Without another word, I walk closer and place my hand against her forehead. Normal. No fever. Then I look at her properly. "Aarohi."
"Hm?"
"If something is bothering you, you tell me."
She smiles lightly. "Why do you ask me this every ten minutes?"
"Because I feel like you're hiding something."
For a fraction of a second, her smile falters. So briefly that someone else might not notice it. But I do. Then she smiles again and says quietly, "I'm not."
I don't push further, but my instincts are rarely wrong. And today they refuse to stay quiet.
As evening approaches, the sky turns orange and gold while the haveli slowly grows calmer. Most of the preparations are complete now. Tomorrow morning the guests will start arriving properly.
I find her in the room again, folding clothes that don't even need folding. "You're overworking," I say while taking the clothes from her hands. "I'm not," she argues softly.
"Sit."
This time she obeys quietly. I kneel in front of her and take both her hands in mine. Warm. Soft. Mine.
"You've been different this week," I say gently.
"Different how?" she asks.
"More stubborn. More sleepy. Less hungry."
She laughs softly at that. "So I'm stubborn now?"
"Yes."
She squeezes my hand lightly before whispering, "Maybe I'm just comfortable now."
That answer disarms me completely.
Comfortable. With me.
I exhale slowly before saying, "Tomorrow is Holi. I want you happy. No stress. No overthinking."
She nods quietly, then suddenly leans forward until her forehead rests against mine. "I am happy," she whispers softly.
And for a moment, I believe her completely.
But even while I hold her in my arms, there's still a small question sitting heavily in the back of my mind. Something is changing. I don't know what it is yet.
But tomorrow...
Maybe I finally will.