Chapter 27
KAVYA
Saurav shared my bed again that night, but we hadn't spoken since the ride home. The silence was becoming so suffocating I wanted to bolt from the villa. If Saurav Chauhan wanted to torture me, he didn't need to shout; he only had to stay quiet.
Morning arrived the moment I finally closed my eyes. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, but it did nothing to warm the cold space between us. I reached out, only to find his side of the bed empty. God knew how early he'd woken up to bury his frustration in a workout.
I showered quickly and headed downstairs in the kitchen, my movements mechanical as I stirred my tea.
My thoughts were stuck in a loop, replaying the events of yesterday: his mother, Abhiraj, and the sharp edge of Saurav's jealousy.
I wished I understood my husband well enough to ease his pain, but every time I thought I was getting close, he proved me wrong.
"Good morning, sweetheart." Mr. Chauhan walked into the kitchen with a wide, warm smile. For a heartbeat, my problems felt a little lighter.
"Good morning, Dad." I smiled back, sliding a black coffee toward him as he sat at the kitchen island.
A moment later, footsteps approached. Saurav appeared, freshly showered and looking effortlessly handsome in a navy blue t-shirt and jeans.
He sat next to his father, his expression as composed as ever.
The air in the room instantly thickened.
I hated these "family" moments. I wondered what made Saurav loathe his father so much.
I wondered why Mr. Chauhan's wife had really left, and why he refused to tell his son where she was. I could only wonder.
"Tea," I said, placing a cup in front of him without meeting his eyes.
He gave a stiff nod. "Thanks." His tone was flat, drained of any emotion.
"I might be out this evening. Rehearsals for my Kathak are starting," I said, glancing between the two men.
"That's wonderful news! I'm so glad you're returning to the stage," my father-in-law said, his enthusiasm genuine.
I didn't get a single word from my husband. He just sipped his tea, his eyes glued to his phone.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. I turned to face him fully. "Would you mind putting the phone away while we're having breakfast?"
Saurav looked up, caught off guard-not by anger, but by the sudden sharpness in my voice. "Yes, of course." He set the phone on the counter and reached for a cookie. He took a sip of tea, then set the cup down with a slow, deliberate click.
"I'm being posted for a high-risk assignment," he announced.
My heart skipped. I snapped my gaze to his. "High-risk?"
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon outside the window. "It's a specialized strike over the border. Low-altitude, night-entry. The radar environment is 'red.' They'll be looking for us the second we cross the line."
"And you're the lead pilot," Mr. Chauhan said, his voice turning cold. He clearly didn't approve.
"I have to be," Saurav said firmly. "My squadron needs someone with experience. I'm not just going for the mission; I'm going to make sure the younger guys get back, too."
I froze. This was new. He had shared details about the base before, but never anything about this level of risk. He usually told me the good things; he never spoke of borders, combat, or the reality of what they faced.
"But you said you were going to a military exercise in Spain," I whispered. "Not this..."
"I just got the confirmation," Saurav said, his gaze shifting between me and his father.
"For how long?"
"A few months," he replied. He looked away quickly, as if to preempt any more questions.
Silence fell over the kitchen again. I looked down at my tea; it had grown cold, a thin film gathering on the surface. My appetite vanished instantly. I picked up my cup to take it to the sink, but Saurav's voice stopped me.
"I've applied for leave before I go."
I paused, turning back to him with a frown. "You're already on leave, Saurav."
Saurav glanced at his father before answering. "I lied. I didn't just take a week. I took a month."
My brows furrowed as confusion replaced my dread. "But why?"
He was silent for a beat, watching me. "We're going to Bali."
The words didn't register at first. They looped in my head until the meaning finally sank in.
"...What?" I blurted out.
"A trip," he clarified. "One month together before I deploy."
"Do you mean a honeymoon?" Mr. Chauhan asked, beaming. God, he looked more excited than me.
I stared at my husband, searching his face for any sign of sarcasm. I waited for him to laugh, to tell me he was joking, but he didn't. He was dead serious. He watched my stunned expression for a moment before repeating, "I'm serious, Kav. We're going."
"You hate vacations," I managed to say. "That's what I heard, anyway."
"I don't hate them," he replied, leaning closer. I could smell the fresh, minty scent of his breath. "I just never prioritized them."
"And now you are?"
"Yes."
I felt something shift inside me-small and uncertain, but undeniable.
"Why?" I asked again, my voice quieter this time.
Saurav held my gaze. His eyes dropped to my lips for a fleeting second before returning to mine. "Because whatever this is..." he gestured subtly between us, "...it isn't working."
My breath caught. No, no, no. This had to be part of his act for his father-a way to play the doting husband so he could get information about his mother.
It couldn't be real. He was just playing a part.
But my heart wasn't ready to admit that, because Saurav looked entirely genuine.
His eyes were soft; his voice was gentle.
"And before I leave," he continued, rounding the kitchen island to stand in front of me, "I'd rather try to fix it than come back to more of the same."
I didn't know how to react. This wasn't the Saurav I knew-or perhaps it was a version of him I had never been allowed to see.
"And if it still doesn't work?" I asked cautiously. I hated the question, but I needed to know the stakes.
Saurav's expression remained calm. "Then at least we'll know we tried."
I looked down, absorbing his words. A part of me wanted to refuse-to protect myself and stay within the safety of our distance.
But a quieter, deeper part of me whispered a different question: What if this is our only chance?
I didn't know what tomorrow held, but I wanted to make a memory worth holding onto. "When?" I asked.
"Tomorrow."
Mr. Chauhan's head snapped up. "Tomorrow? You've already made the bookings, haven't you, son?"
"I have," Saurav said, a small smile playing on his lips at my expression.
"You don't give people much time to think, do you?" I said, planting my hands on my hips.
"No," he said. "Because you would overthink it and say no."
I couldn't deny that. A silence followed, but this time it wasn't suffocating. It felt open, almost like a relief. I picked up my cup and took a slow sip, studying him. This man was still a stranger to me, but I wasn't sure I wanted to keep him that way.
"...Fine," I said finally.
Saurav's gaze sharpened. "Fine?"
"I'll go," I said, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. On the outside, I was composed; on the inside, I was doing bhootni dance.
Saurav gave a small nod. "I'll handle the details."
"I'm sure you will," I replied, a hint of softness returning to my tone.
With one last knowing smile, he grabbed an apple and walked away.
"Well, well, well..." my father-in-law cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling. "This is going to be fun, isn't it?"
"I guess it will be," I said, starting to clear the counter. Mr. Chauhan tried to help with the dishes, but I nudged him away with a smile.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of nervous energy. I found myself in our bedroom, staring at an open suitcase like it was a chessboard I didn’t know how to play. How was I supposed to pack for a “new beginning” when the old one was still bruised and aching?
I pulled a few cotton dresses from the hanger, my mind drifting back to the way Saurav had looked at my lips. It wasn’t the look of a man playing a part for his father. It was the look of a man hungry for something he had denied himself for a year.
“Need help?”
I jumped, dropping the clothes. Saurav was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his broad chest. That posture, casual yet commanding, was exactly how I imagined the male lead in a dark romance.
And my husband gave me the same brooding, magnetic energy I had always yearned for. I was behaving like a lovesick fool.
“You startled me,” I said, bending to retrieve the clothes. “And no, I’m fine. I just… I don’t know what to take. I’ve never been to Bali. I’ve heard so much about it, but I’ve never been.”
Saurav walked into the room, the space suddenly feeling much smaller. He reached past me, picking up a bright yellow sundress I had cast aside.
“Take this one,” he said, his voice low, almost seductive. “It suits you.”
I took the fabric from his hand, our fingers brushing for a second too long. Electricity shot through me. He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a few more dresses I didn’t even know were there.
“I bought these for you. I don’t know if they’ll fit, but… ” Saurav paused, his eyes sweeping over me from head to toe. My breath caught as heat rushed through me. “…I know your body well enough.”
“Oh God, Saurav.” My cheeks burned as I turned back to the suitcase, desperate to ignore the way his gaze scorched me, making me feel warm everywhere. I needed to change the subject before I lost my mind.
“About the assignment… the one after this trip,” I said. His expression shuttered instantly, that familiar wall sliding back into place.
“Don’t, Kavya. Don’t think about the assignment. We have thirty days.”
“But how am I supposed to forget?” My voice trembled. “You’re asking me to go on a honeymoon while you’re preparing for war.”
He stepped closer, his hands resting gently on my shoulders.
It was the first time he had touched me without pretense.
“I’m asking you to give me thirty days of peace.
If I’m going to lead my men into that environment, I need to know what I’m coming home to.
I need to know if there’s still a ‘we’ left to fight for. ”
I looked up at him, searching those dark, disciplined eyes. For the first time, I didn’t see the lead pilot or the stubborn son. I saw a man just as terrified of the silence between us as I was.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Thirty days.”
Relief washed over his face. He squeezed my shoulders firmly before letting go.
“Finish packing. The car will be here at five tomorrow morning.”
As he walked out, I turned back to my suitcase. I didn’t just pack the yellow dress; I packed the hope I had been trying to bury for months.
That night, as I lay on my side of the bed, the silence was no longer suffocating. It was heavy, yes, but heavy like a cloud right before it rains which was charged with electricity and the promise of change. Tomorrow, we would leave the villa, the secrets, and the shadows of his parents behind.
Tomorrow, it would just be us.
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