CHAPTER 44
ANIKA
My husband won’t stop looking at me.
It's not the kind of look you throw casually across the room—it's intense, focused, like he's watching me instead of listening to whatever Samarth is rambling about.
His gaze lingers on my face, drops to my neck, and then trails further down with absolutely no shame.
And even though I pretend to be busy helping Bhabhi set the breakfast table outside, my skin prickles under the weight of his eyes.
I should be used to it by now. After everything that happened last night—and this morning—this should feel normal. But it doesn’t. It feels electric, charged, like my body is on high alert just from the way his lashes lower and he exhales sharply when our eyes meet.
The old me—the unsure, self-conscious me—would’ve fumbled for a dupatta, turned my back, or acted like I hadn’t noticed. I would’ve overthought every little glance, dissected his expression, and wondered what he saw when he looked at me like that. But now? Now I know.
I know what his hands feel like on my waist when I’m breathless beneath him.
I know what he sounds like when he whispers my name like it’s a secret he’s scared to let the world hear.
I know how much he wanted me last night.
And again this morning, when I was barely awake, and he didn’t even let me leave the bed without leaving another mark.
So yeah, whatever little doubt I had about whether he’d see me differently after... that’s gone. Disintegrated. Because if his hands roaming under my t-shirt while I was brushing my teeth meant anything, it’s that he sees me exactly the same. No, not the same. More.
The way he's staring at me right now? Sends a shiver straight down my spine and pulls flashes of last night into the present. His mouth. His hands. His voice begging—
Okay. Nope. Focus, Anika. You're holding a steel jug of chai, and Bhabhi's watching you.
"You're smiling at the teacups now?" Shivani Bhabhi grins as she nudges me lightly with her elbow. "Should I be concerned?"
I laugh a little too quickly, trying to play it off, but I can feel my cheeks heating up.
“No, Bhabhi,” I say, avoiding Aarav’s stare and pouring the tea like it’s a full-time job that requires all my attention. “Just in a good mood.”
“A very good mood, I’m guessing.” Aditi chimes in from across the table, waggling her brows so obviously I want the earth to swallow me whole. “You were glowing at dinner yesterday too. Was it the bhaang? Or was it... post-bhaang activities?”
I freeze with the spoon halfway to the sugar bowl. Shivani gasps and slaps Aditi lightly on the arm, though she’s clearly trying not to laugh.
“Don’t tease her so much,” Bhabhi says, barely managing a serious tone. “Poor girl’s already pinker than the Holi gulaal.”
“Oh, come on,” Aditi says with a dramatic sigh. “Don’t act like you didn’t notice. Aarav literally walked into a glass door yesterday because he was too busy staring at her.”
“I—what?!” I turn to them, scandalized, but they all burst into laughter.
"Calm down," Bhabhi giggles. "It wasn’t serious. Just a bump. But yes, your husband has been a little... distracted."
My husband . That word still makes something flutter in my stomach.
The teasing continues, and I try to dodge it gracefully, swatting Aditi’s arm when she starts humming some old Bollywood song about newlyweds. I roll my eyes, but even I can’t hide the smile that tugs at my lips.
Just then, Badi Maa walks in with a calm elegance that makes the three of us straighten up like school kids caught gossiping.
She gives me a warm smile before sitting down, and I catch the affectionate glance she throws at Aarav, then me.
She doesn’t say anything, but I swear there’s a twinkle of something approving in her eyes. Like she knows.
Maa, on the other hand… different story. She joins a few minutes later and greets everyone, but there’s something cold—no, not cold, just distant—about the way she acknowledges me. Not rude. Not aggressive. But something’s… off. And I feel it like a stone in my stomach.
I clear my throat and inch closer, whispering in her ear, “Maa? Can we talk? About… about Holi? I think I might’ve said something after the bhaang—”
“We’ll talk at home,” she cuts in softly but firmly. “Not here.”
I nod quickly. “Okay.”
But I don’t miss the way her jaw tenses when she says it, or the tightness in her smile when I thank her for the paratha she passes me. And now that seed of anxiety, the one I’ve been trying to ignore since yesterday, starts to sprout again.
What did I do? What did I say?
The worst part is I can’t remember. The bhaang hit hard and fast, and my memory from yesterday is hazy at best. Bits and pieces. Laughter. Dancing. Aarav holding me close. Someone crying? Was it me?
I shake my head slightly and try to focus on the present.
It’s our last day here at the farmhouse. Everyone’s relaxed, lounging around the backyard, enjoying the sun before we head back tomorrow. Someone’s playing music on a Bluetooth speaker, there’s leftover gujiya being passed around, and the air still smells faintly of gulal.
I should be enjoying this. I want to. Because truth be told... I’ll miss it.
I’ll miss waking up to birds and not traffic. I’ll miss being barefoot on the grass. I'll miss how perfectly in sync we were at the games we played. And I’ll miss the rain dance, obviously.
This place changed something between us. Maybe because there were no distractions. No work stress. Just us.
We crossed a line here. One that we’d been inching toward for four months but never had the guts to jump into. And now that we have, I feel like I’m on the other side of something big.
The on and off? The guessing games? It’s over. We’re us now. Real. Raw. Tangled in every way. Obviously, there's a lot to figure out, but after a long time I finally feel a little positive. I am looking forward to what's going to happen next.
Still, there's a quiet corner in my heart that wonders—what happens when we go back? When we return to the house, to real life, to all the things that once kept us distant?
Will this… us… still be the same?
Or did I dream it all?
I glance up and find him still watching me. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilting in that slow, lazy smirk I’ve come to recognize as my undoing. My breath hitches. It’s real. It's all real. And tomorrow, when we go back, we’ll find out just how real it can get.