Chapter 4
Ranbir
Ireached the office much earlier than usual the next morning, hoping that burying myself in work would stop me from thinking about everything that had happened since yesterday.
The city was still waking up, and the corridors of the Raichand Group headquarters were unusually quiet.
Normally, I appreciated the silence before the day became chaotic with meetings and phone calls, but today it only gave my thoughts more room to wander.
I placed my laptop on the desk and looked at the schedule my assistant had left for me the previous evening.
There were meetings lined up throughout the day, documents waiting for my approval, and a presentation that needed to be reviewed before noon.
Usually, I would have started working immediately, but no matter how hard I tried to focus on the papers in front of me, my mind kept drifting back to Surbhi.
The image of her standing in our bedroom last night refused to leave me.
I had expected our first night to be awkward.
We were strangers who had married because our families believed we were a good match.
It would have been unrealistic to expect comfort or affection from someone who barely knew me.
I had prepared myself for silence, hesitation, and the unfamiliarity that naturally came with an arranged marriage.
What I had not expected was fear.
Throughout the wedding, I had noticed how uncomfortable she became whenever someone tried to speak to her.
During the reception, she had smiled politely at every guest, accepted every blessing with folded hands, and answered every question with remarkable courtesy, but she never looked at ease.
Even when Vihaan, Aarush, Ruhaan, and Nitin had come to congratulate us, she had hardly spoken.
That wasn't what concerned me.
It was the way she reacted whenever someone addressed her directly. She became unusually tense, almost as though she was measuring every word before saying it aloud. She looked anxious, not because she was surrounded by strangers, but because she seemed genuinely afraid of making a mistake.
Then there was last night.
I could still remember how she had struggled to ask for a separate room.
She had looked so frightened while saying those words that, for a brief moment, I wondered what she thought I was going to do.
It wasn't the request itself that stayed with me.
If she wanted her own space, I respected that completely.
It was the guilt on her face that I couldn't understand.
She had apologized before I had even answered, as though she was already expecting me to refuse or become angry.
No one should have to feel that way.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my forehead.
There were too many questions in my mind, but I knew better than to ask them right now.
Whatever she was carrying with her, it wasn't something she would share after knowing me for barely a few weeks.
Trust wasn't built overnight, and if I wanted our marriage to work, I had to earn hers instead of demanding it.
I wasn't in a hurry.
For as long as I could remember, I had imagined marriage as a partnership built on mutual respect rather than grand declarations of love.
I wanted to come home after a long day and find peace instead of conflict.
I wanted a wife who felt comfortable enough to laugh with me, argue with me when I was wrong, and eventually share her life with me without fear.
Someday, I wanted children who would grow up in a home where they never had to question whether they were safe or loved.
It was a simple dream, but it mattered to me.
If making that dream a reality meant waiting patiently for Surbhi to trust me, then I was willing to wait.
A knock on the cabin door interrupted my thoughts.
"Come in."
The door opened, and Aarush walked inside carrying a file under one arm.
"I had a meeting nearby," he said as he settled into the chair opposite mine. "I thought I'd stop by before heading to the hospital."
"I'm glad you did."
For the next half hour, we discussed the healthcare project our companies were working on together.
Aarush had inherited his father's multi-specialty hospital a few years ago, and despite being one of my closest friends since school, he had always been remarkably professional whenever we worked together.
Once we finished discussing the project, he closed the file and looked at me with an expression that immediately told me he wanted to ask something else.
"So," he said casually, "how's married life treating you?"
I smiled faintly.
"It's been less than twenty-four hours."
"Fair point."
There was a brief silence before he continued.
"Is Surbhi alright?"
The question didn't surprise me.
"You noticed it too?"
He nodded. "She looked nervous yesterday."
I sighed. "More than nervous."
Aarush waited for me to continue.
"She asked for a separate room last night."
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but there was no judgment in his expression.
"And?"
"I moved into the guest room."
A small smile appeared on his face.
"I think you handled that well."
"I didn't want her to feel uncomfortable."
"I know."
Aarush leaned back in his chair before speaking again.
"You know, working in a hospital teaches you to notice certain things about people. I spend a lot of time around psychologists, and after a while, you begin recognizing patterns. Fear doesn't always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks exactly like what I saw yesterday."
I remained silent.
"I'm not saying something terrible has definitely happened," he continued carefully. "But she seemed unusually guarded around people, especially men. It might simply take her time to adjust, or there may be something she's still carrying from her past."
His words echoed my own thoughts.
"I've been wondering the same thing," I admitted.
"So don't rush her."
"I won't."
"If she trusts you enough, she'll tell you when she's ready."
I nodded because I believed that too.
After all, trust couldn't be demanded.
It had to be earned.
Aarush stood, picked up his file, and smiled.
"Congratulations, by the way. I forgot to say it properly yesterday."
I laughed softly.
"Thanks."
As he reached the door, he turned back one last time.
"I know the beginning hasn't been easy, but I have a feeling things will work out for both of you. Just be patient."
After he left, I looked out through the large glass window overlooking the city.
I didn't know what Surbhi had been through, and I didn't know how long it would take before she stopped looking at me with the same hesitation she had carried since the wedding. But I had already made a promise to myself, and I intended to keep it.
No matter how long it took, I would make sure that one day she felt completely safe with me, because that was the least she deserved from the man she had been asked to spend the rest of her life with.
I had never imagined that the nights after my wedding would end with me lying awake in the guest room, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether my wife was afraid of me.
Sleep simply refused to come.
I had switched off the lights nearly an hour ago, hoping exhaustion would eventually take over, but every time I closed my eyes, my thoughts wandered back to Surbhi.
I kept replaying every interaction we had shared since the wedding, searching for something I might have missed.
Had I unknowingly said something that had frightened her?
Had I stood too close? Had I failed to notice something important?
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that her fear had nothing to do with me personally.
It was older than that.
Much older.
Whatever burden she was carrying had been with her long before I entered her life.
I turned to my side and glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table. It was well past two in the morning, and the entire penthouse had fallen silent. Outside, the city lights still glittered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, but even the traffic had begun to thin.
I closed my eyes once again, forcing myself to stop thinking.
Just as I was beginning to drift into sleep, a muffled scream echoed through the hallway.
My eyes flew open.
For a second, I wasn't even sure whether I had imagined it, but then I heard another frightened sound, quieter this time, as though someone was struggling in their sleep.
Surbhi.
Without wasting another moment, I got out of bed and hurried toward her room. My heartbeat quickened with every step until I reached her door.
I knocked firmly.
"Surbhi?"
There was no answer.
I knocked again, a little louder.
"Surbhi, are you alright?"
A few seconds passed before I finally heard her weak voice from inside.
"Come in."
I opened the door carefully.
The bedside lamp was switched on, casting a warm glow across the room.
Surbhi was sitting upright on the bed, her breathing uneven. Strands of hair clung to her forehead, and her face was pale. The bedsheet was tangled around her legs, and from the way her hands trembled, it was obvious that she had woken up from a nightmare.
More than anything else, I noticed the sweat.
Her forehead, her neck, even the sleeves of her nightdress were damp, as though she had just run a marathon.
I immediately walked closer, stopping at a respectful distance from the bed.
"Are you okay?" I asked gently. "Should I take you to the hospital?"
She shook her head almost instantly.
"No... I'm okay."
"You don't look okay."
"It's just..." She paused to steady her breathing. "It happens sometimes."
The words caught my attention.
Sometimes.
That meant this wasn't the first time.
She opened the drawer of the bedside table with slightly trembling hands and took out a small strip of medicines. After removing one tablet, she reached for the glass of water kept beside the bed and swallowed it without another word.
I watched quietly, resisting the urge to ask more questions.
She looked exhausted.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
As though whatever she had seen in her sleep had drained every bit of strength she had.
The room remained silent for a few moments before I spoke again.
"Do those medicines help?"
She nodded.
"They help me calm down."
I wanted to ask what the nightmares were about.
I wanted to know what had frightened her so deeply that even in sleep she couldn't escape it.
But I remembered the promise I had made to myself.
Don't push.
Not until she's ready.
Instead, I asked, "Is there anything else you need?"
She lowered her eyes.
"No."
I hesitated for a moment before speaking again.
"Can I ask you something?"
She looked up.
"If you're comfortable with it..." I said carefully, choosing every word, "...would it be alright if I stayed here for a little while? Just until you fall asleep again."
For the first time since I had entered the room, surprise crossed her face.
She stared at me as though she hadn't expected the question.
"I won't disturb you," I added quickly. "I'll sit over there."
I pointed toward the sofa near the window.
"I just don't want you to be alone if you're not feeling well."
She remained silent for several seconds.
Then she gave a small nod.
"Okay."
"Thank you."
I walked over to the sofa and sat down, making sure to leave as much space between us as possible.
She slowly lay back against the pillows, though it was obvious she wasn't ready to sleep yet.
Every now and then, she glanced toward me, perhaps checking whether I was really going to stay where I had said I would.
I simply offered her a reassuring smile before picking up a magazine lying on the coffee table, pretending to read it so she wouldn't feel watched.
The minutes passed quietly.
Gradually, her breathing became steadier.
The medicine was beginning to work.
Her eyelids grew heavier, and before long, she had drifted back to sleep.
This time, her face looked peaceful.
I remained seated on the sofa, listening carefully for any sign that another nightmare might return.
As I watched her sleeping, I couldn't stop thinking about how much pain a person had to carry before it began following them even into their dreams.
Whatever had happened to Surbhi had left wounds that time alone hadn't healed.
I didn't know what those wounds were.
I didn't know who had caused them.
And I certainly didn't know how long it would take before she trusted me enough to tell me the truth.
But sitting there in the quiet of the room, watching over the woman who had become my wife only a day ago, I made another silent promise to myself.
I would not let my curiosity come before her comfort.
If she needed weeks, I would wait for weeks.
If she needed months, I would wait for months.
However long it took, I would make sure that one day she no longer woke up terrified in the middle of the night, believing she had to face those fears alone.
Because whether she realized it yet or not, she wasn't alone anymore.
And until she found the strength to lean on me, I would simply stand beside her, patiently waiting for the day she finally believed that she could.