HAPPY
VIYANA SINCLAIR
The night had settled gently over the city, soft and cool, with the lights of the park, glowing like scattered fireflies under the dark sky.
The usual noise of the day was gone, replaced by quiet winds brushing through the trees and the distant sound of crickets hiding somewhere in the grass.
The moment he entered the house after the hospital, I had already decided his rest period was officially cancelled.
He looked tired, hair still slightly damp from his bath, shirt loosely resting on him like he had no energy left to argue with life itself.
But I had plans. I forced him to come with me to this park beside our home. And now I was sitting on a swing holding the chain like a kid and forcing him to push it for me.
He stood behind the swing and gave it a slow push at first, almost teasing, like he was still deciding how much he wanted to cooperate with my chaos tonight.
“A bit faster,” I demanded immediately, gripping the chains tighter.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he pushed it harder than expected. And in a second, the swing shot forward with so much force that I genuinely felt like I had been launched out to the sky.
My stomach dropped as the night air rushed past me. My hair flew back as I swung way higher than intended, almost like I had personally offended gravity.
“ADITHYA—STOP!” I shouted, panic and laughter mixing together as I tried to control it with my legs, desperately reaching for the ground like that would save my life.
He burst out laughing behind me. Actually laughing. Not his usual quiet smile. A full, shameless laugh.
And only after a few seconds did he finally come forward and slow the swing down, catching it gently before it could send me to another dimension.
The motion gradually settled, and I sat there gripping the chains, breathless, my heart still beating like I had survived something life-threatening.
He stepped in front of me now, still laughing. I looked at him with wide eyes and placed a hand dramatically on my chest.
“Are you trying to send me straight to heaven?” I asked, still catching my breath. “Because I was not emotionally prepared for that experience.”
He just grinned at me.
Completely unbothered.
“No,” he said calmly. “Just testing your grip strength.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“I almost saw my ancestors.”
“That means you are alive,” he replied casually.
I scoffed and kicked the ground lightly with my feet.
“You are dangerous.”
“You asked for faster.”
“I asked for a normal human level of faster.”
He tilted his head slightly, still smiling.
“You are the one who thinks swings come with speed settings.”
I glared at him for a second longer, then slowly broke into a laugh myself because arguing with him at this point felt pointless.
He stepped closer and lightly tapped the chain of the swing with his fingers, making it move just a little again.
“Ready for round two?” he asked.
I immediately held the chains tighter.
“Absolutely not.”
But I was smiling anyway.
He started pushing the swing again, but this time with much less force, gentle enough that I could actually enjoy being alive while sitting on it.
The swing moved softly back and forth as he stood in front of me now, one hand occasionally pushing it, the other resting casually by his side, his tired face finally looking a little lighter under the park lights.
“I was supposed to take rest after my long shift,” he said, giving the swing another small push, his voice carrying that usual quiet complaint that never really sounded serious.
I smiled and leaned back slightly.
“No rest since you married me,” I said, chuckling proudly like that was an achievement.
He smiled faintly at that, shaking his head as if he had accepted his tragic destiny long ago.
I looked at him and asked the most important question of the century.
“Adithya.”
“Hm?”
“After our kids are born…”
He paused.
I continued anyway.
“For whom will you push the swing? For me or for our child?”
Silence.
He stopped the swing completely.
Just like that.
Then he shut his eyes and looked up at the sky like he was silently asking the universe why it had cursed him with me.
“How,” he asked slowly, opening his eyes again, “do you even think of such ridiculous questions?”
I folded my arms stubbornly.
“Because I am preparing for the future.”
“This is not preparation. This is psychological warfare.” He muttered.
I smiled sweetly.
“Answer me.”
He sighed and stepped closer, one hand holding the chain of the swing as he leaned slightly toward me, trapping me there with that look in his eyes that always made my heartbeat forget discipline.
“Answer me,” I repeated, looking right back at him.
He stared at me for a second. He leaned a little closer, his voice low now.
“For you.”
I blinked.
He didn’t look away.
“For you first,” he said softly.
I blushed so badly that I could feel the heat on my entire face, and suddenly looking at him felt like the most difficult task in the world.
So I looked down instead, biting my lower lip like that would somehow help me control the ridiculous smile trying to escape.
My fingers played nervously with the chain of the swing as I tried to act normal.
“Then… what about our daughter?” I asked quietly, still refusing to meet his eyes.
“Daughter?” he repeated, raising one eyebrow, clearly amused by how far ahead I had already planned our future without official permission.
I nodded quickly.
“Yes. I want a daughter.”
There was no hesitation in that.
I had decided.
A daughter.
Tiny, dramatic, probably dangerous.
Basically me.
He folded his arms and looked at me with that expression that said he was both entertained and concerned for society.
“And what if it’s a son?” he asked.
“Throw him in the garbage.”I answered immediately.
He stared at me for one full second. Then he laughed. The kind of laugh that made his whole face softer. I burst into laughter too and quickly raised both my hands in surrender.
“I was joking! I was joking,” I said between laughs. “I will not throw him away. Probably.”
“Probably?” he repeated.
“Fine. I will keep him.”
“How generous of you.”
“I know. I would be a very kind mother.”
He shook his head, still smiling.
I looked at him again, softer this time.
“But I really do want a daughter,” I admitted. “I want someone small and chaotic who will team up with me and make your life miserable.”
He gave me a tired look.
“As if one version of you was not enough.”
“No,” I said proudly. “You deserve two.”
He stepped closer again, looking at me with that quiet warmth he never fully admitted.
“And if she becomes exactly like you?”
I smiled slowly.
“Then you are finished.”
He sighed dramatically.
“My condolences to myself.”
I laughed softly, but my voice turned quieter after that.
“She will hold my sleeve too?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice carrying that quiet teasing that always made me want to both hug him and fight him at the same time.
The moment those words left his mouth, my smile disappeared instantly.
I sat up straighter on the swing and narrowed my eyes at him.
“No.”
He blinked.
“No?” he repeated.
I shook my head firmly and reached forward, wrapping my fingers around the sleeve of his shirt like I was reclaiming ownership.
“Only I will hold your sleeve,” I said with complete seriousness.
For a second, he just stared at me.
Then a chuckle escaped him, soft and warm, the kind that made my heart embarrassingly happy.
“Jealous of your own daughter?” he asked, clearly enjoying my shamelessness far too much.
“Yes,” I replied immediately.
“No hesitation at all.”
“None. I suffered too much to earn this sleeve privilege. I am not sharing.”
“This is a very unhealthy level of possessiveness.” He said.
I tightened my hold on his sleeve and lifted my chin proudly.
“She can have your patience, your good manners, your moral lectures, your responsible nature… but this”—I gently shook the fabric between my fingers—“this belongs to me.”
He looked down at my hand holding onto him, and something in his expression softened so quietly that if I blinked, I would have missed it.
Then he looked back at me.
“And what if I want both of you holding onto me?” he asked softly.
My breath caught for a second. Because suddenly it wasn’t teasing anymore. It was that dangerous thing again. That warmth. That future. That image of a little girl with his eyes and my chaos, standing between us.
I swallowed and tried to act normal.
Failed again.
“Then,” I said, my voice much smaller now, “you better start buying more long-sleeve shirts.”
He smiled.
A slow, quiet smile.
And with one gentle movement, he reached forward and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Deal,” he said.
He chuckled softly and stood up from the swing, the chains making a small sound as they settled behind me. I stepped closer to him, looking at him properly now, like I was trying to study the truth written on his face.
The park lights were soft around us, children’s laughter fading in the distance, and for some reason this small question felt heavier than all the others.
“You really started wearing long sleeves because of me?” I asked, my voice quieter now.
He looked at me for a second, and there was no teasing in his expression this time.
“Unfortunately, yes,” he said.
I folded my arms, trying to hide the way my heart reacted to something so simple.
“Why?”
He let out a breath and looked away for a moment before answering, like even he was embarrassed by how ridiculous it sounded.
“Because day by day,” he said slowly, “I am going crazy.”
I blinked.
“Completely insane. Maddened.”
He stepped closer, so close that the soft night air between us disappeared completely, and before I could prepare myself for whatever dangerous thing he was about to say, his hand lifted and gently cupped my cheek.
My breath hitched instantly.
His palm was warm against my skin, his touch careful, like even now he was afraid of holding me too tightly.
I stood there frozen, my fingers instinctively fisting the fabric of my dress, my heart beating so loudly it felt impossible that he couldn’t hear it.
He looked at me with that quiet intensity that always made me forget every clever thing I wanted to say.
“Day by day,” he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek, “I am losing my sanity over you.”
I could only stare at him, my lips parting slightly as my mind completely forgot how language worked.
He leaned a little closer. Close enough that I could feel his breath.
Every part of me waited. For him. For the moment.
but he just chuckled and he pulled away slightly, leaving me there, breathless and offended.
I blinked at him in betrayal.
He smiled faintly, that shameless, impossible smile that made me want to kiss him harder.
“You,” he said, still looking at me like I was the center of every bad decision in his life, “are the reason why I am losing my mind all over again.”
I narrowed my eyes immediately, trying very hard to recover whatever dignity I had left.
“So this is my fault now?”
“Completely.”
“Wow. I give you love, emotional support, and excellent company, and this is the respect I get?”
He stepped closer again, just enough to ruin my heartbeat for the second time in one minute.
“No,” he said quietly. “You gave me something much worse.”
I frowned.
“What?”
He looked straight into my eyes.
“Happiness.”
“Why? Were you not happy before I came into your life?” I asked quietly as I sat back down on the swing, the earlier teasing fading into something softer.
He stood in front of me again, his hands holding the chain as he gave the swing a slow, gentle push. The children’s laughter had faded now, the park quieter, the night wrapping around us like a secret.
“Not this kind of happy,” he said.
I looked up at him, my feet dragging lightly against the ground.
“What kind?” I asked.
“I genuinely don’t know what kind,” he admitted.
His voice was quiet, honest in a way that made me listen even more carefully.
“I had peace sometimes. I had work. I had routine. I had responsibilities. I had people around me. I laughed when I needed to. I lived… normally, I guess.”
He gave the swing another small push.
“But happiness?” he said, shaking his head faintly. “Not like this.”
I frowned a little.
“Then what is this?”
He looked at me.
“This,” he said slowly, “is coming home tired after a terrible shift and knowing someone will be waiting at the door for me.”
My fingers tightened slightly around the chain.
“This is someone forcing me to go to a park when all I want is sleep. Someone asking ridiculous questions about imaginary children. Someone fighting with me over flowers and cats and my sleeve belongs to whom.”
A small smile touched his lips.
“This is noise where there used to be silence.”
His voice softened.
“This is worrying when you’re sick. This is getting irritated when you skip your medicine. This is buying bangles because you mentioned them once and remembering the way your face looked when you talked about them.”
“This, is letting you paint on my face even though I knew I might get allergies.”
“And bringing a stray cat into my house,” he continued, a faint smile touching his lips, “just because one day you looked at me and asked, ‘Can we keep her?’ .”
A soft laugh escaped me through the emotion building in my throat.
Little Sinclair.
The tiny criminal who had somehow become family.
He shook his head faintly.
“I am allergic to cats, Viyana. I avoid half the world because my skin decides drama is a personality trait. But there I was, buying cat food and pretending I had control over my own life.”
“This is looking at a future I never planned and somehow finding you in every part of it.”
“I didn’t realize how empty my life was until you filled it with your chaos.”
He gave the swing one final gentle push and looked at me like he was trying to explain something.
“I don’t know what kind of happiness this is, Viyana,” he said softly.
“But I know that before you, life felt like something I was surviving.”
His eyes met mine.
“And now… it feels like something I actually want to stay for.”
“Is that a proposal?” I asked immediately, narrowing my eyes at him suspiciously as I held the swing.
He shook his head and gave the swing a faster push before stepping back like a coward creating distance for survival.
“No.”
I blinked.
“No?”
He scrunched his nose cutely and looked at me like I he was disgusted by that thought.
“Who would propose to you?” he asked dramatically, shaking his head with fake disappointment.
I slowly got down from the swing. The kind of calm that should make any intelligent person start running. I leaned down and took the stone lying beside my feet.
He noticed immediately as his expression changed.
“Viyana—”
I cracked my knuckles.
“Repeat that.”
He took one step back.
“I think we should all stay calm.”
I took one step forward.
“Adithya.”
He looked around like the park itself might provide protection.
“I would like to formally apologize to—”
Too late. I started running toward him.
“Oh God, save me!” he shouted dramatically and turned around and ran like his life depended on it.
“COME BACK HERE!”
Children in the park stopped playing just to watch the live entertainment.
He laughed while running, and I hated the fact that even now he looked ridiculously cute. I finally caught the back of his shirt near the bench and yanked him backward dramatically.
“Aha!”
He stumbled slightly and turned, breathless, still laughing.
I grabbed his jaw harshly and turned his face toward me before pressing a quick, aggressive kiss on his cheek like I was sealing an official lifelong contract.
“You are stuck with me,” I said, looking at him with full warning in my eyes. “There is no return policy, no exchange, and absolutely no escape.”
He let out a soft chuckle, his hands settling gently around my waist as he looked at me like I was both his biggest problem and his favorite one.
"Not complaining" he said.
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