Chapter 60 - His Puppy Eyes & Her Cold Heart
Morning – The Kitchen Disaster
Aarav Malhotra, the feared CEO, had declared war.
Against who?
His own wife.
Not in an aggressive way—no, that would be too simple. This was a different kind of war. The kind where he had to fight against her stubborn silence, against the walls she had built around herself.
And if that meant invading her territory—the kitchen—he was ready.
Except…
The kitchen wasn’t ready for him.
One moment, he was confidently reaching for flour. The next, the atta container slipped from his hands, exploding into a white powdery mess.
Ira, standing a few feet away, turned slowly.
Her face?
Pure murderous rage.
Aarav gulped. "I—uh—"
Then, as if his hands had decided to betray him completely, he sliced his finger while cutting vegetables.
"Shit!" He hissed, shaking his hand as a drop of blood appeared.
Before he could even react, Ira grabbed his hand.
Her fingers were gentle but cold. Emotionless. She held his hand under the tap, pressed a tissue against the wound, and then—without a word—let go.
And in that moment, standing there covered in atta, nursing a tiny cut, Aarav Malhotra realized something terrifying.
She truly wasn’t his anymore.
Because if she was, she would’ve scolded him. She would’ve called him careless. She would’ve nagged him like she used to.
Instead?
She looked at him once—a look that screamed ‘Get out of my kitchen’—and went back to work.
Aarav, standing there pouting like a rejected kid, stormed out.
But in his heart?
"She still cares. Right?"
Breakfast Table –
As usual, the chaos started the moment everyone sat down.
Kabir smirked, glancing between Ira and Aarav. "Why does the air feel so... tense?"
Vihaan leaned back. "Hmm. Maybe because big brother got kicked out of the bedroom?"
Aarav froze mid-sip. "Shut up."
Anika giggled. "Bhabhi, what did he do this time?"
Ira, calm as ever, simply said, "Nothing new."
Aarav almost choked.
That hurt.
That really hurt.
The teasing continued, but Ira? She barely reacted. She changed the topic smoothly, shutting down every attempt to bring up last night.
And that’s when it hit him.
She wasn’t even angry anymore.
She was just... indifferent.
And that was so much worse.
Aarav couldn’t take it anymore.
Days had passed without her in his arms, without her warmth, without even a fight.
So he came up with a brilliant plan.
Grabbing his shirt, he ripped off a button.
Not the one near the bottom—no. That wouldn’t be useful.
He ripped the top one.
The one right at his chest.
Then, sitting on his bed, he shouted, “IRA! IRAAA!”
Silence.
His frown deepened. "Ira, I need you!"
Still nothing.
Finally, after what felt like forever, she walked in, unimpressed.
"What now?" she asked, arms crossed.
Aarav looked up at her innocently. "My button broke."
She raised an eyebrow. "And?"
He sighed dramatically. "I have an important meeting. This is my favorite shirt. My lucky shirt."
Total bullshit.
Ira gave him a cold, done-with-his-crap look. But after a long pause, she muttered, "Where’s the shirt?"
His lips curled into a wicked smirk.
"I’m wearing it."
Ira blinked. "What?"
He sat back, completely relaxed. "Sew it while I’m wearing it."
For a second, she looked like she wanted to murder him.
But then?
She didn’t argue.
She walked forward, took the needle and thread from the drawer, and sat beside him. Close.
Too close.
Aarav’s breath hitched.
Her fingers brushed against his skin as she carefully threaded the needle, and he swore he felt sparks.
Her eyes remained focused, avoiding his gaze.
But he?
He wasn’t looking at the button.
He was looking at her.
At the way her brows furrowed in concentration. At the way a loose strand of hair fell over her cheek.
God, he had missed her.
Suddenly, the needle pricked his skin.
"Ow!" he hissed, jerking slightly.
Ira? Completely unfazed.
"Oh, sorry," she said, voice flat, emotionless.
She wasn’t sorry.
At all.
Aarav chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"
She didn’t answer. Just kept stitching.
But he caught it.
A tiny, almost invisible twitch of her lips.
Aarav smirked.
Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as hopeless as he thought.
And as she finished the last stitch, her fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary, he knew one thing for sure.
She wasn’t unaffected.
No matter how much she tried to be.
The moment Ira left the room, Aarav grinned.
Not just any grin—a full-blown, victorious, like-he-just-won-a-million-dollar-deal kind of grin.
He leaned back against the bed, running a hand through his hair, feeling lighter, happier.
"She touched me."
"She talked to me."
"She didn’t completely ignore me."
For days, he had been drowning in silence, watching her slip further and further away. But today?
Today, she sat beside him. Stitched his shirt. Touched his skin. Even if it was just for a few minutes.
Even if it meant getting pricked with a needle.
Hell, he’d let her stab him if it meant she’d actually look at him like she used to.
He exhaled, still grinning, and plopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling like some teenage boy who just got noticed by his crush.
It was ridiculous.
He was a grown man. A powerful businessman. A man who never wasted time on nonsense.
And yet, here he was—kicking his feet mentally over one tiny moment with his wife.
God, he was so screwed.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Picking it up, he saw a message from Kabir.
Kabir: Why the hell are you smiling at the breakfast table like a damn love-struck fool?
Aarav smirked, typing back.
Aarav: Mind your own business, little brother.
And with that, he got up, rolling his shoulders, ready to crush his work day.
Because today?
Today started with Ira stitching a button.
And somehow, that was enough to make the world feel right again.
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