CHAPTER 16
The midnight coffee
VIHAAN
It’s almost midnight, and the silence in my study feels heavier than the weight of the papers scattered across my desk.
My lamp throws a soft pool of yellow light over the documents—contracts, reports, things that require my signature before dawn.
I rub the bridge of my nose and glance at the clock again. Past midnight.
So much for sleep tonight.
I lean back in my chair, the leather creaking quietly.
My mind is still restless, running in circles despite the long hours I’ve already spent here.
Numbers blur together. Words lose meaning.
All I can think of is how in a few hours, I’ll have to show up at the palace office pretending like I had a full night of rest.
And then—A knock on the door. Soft, hesitant.
I straighten. No one usually disturbs me at this hour. For a second, I wonder if Sitara needs something, or maybe one of the staff. “Come in,” I call, my voice rough with fatigue.
The door opens slowly, and there she is. Poorvi. She’s holding a tray in both hands, her delicate wrists tense from balancing its weight. Two cups sit on it, steam curling up and filling the room with the faint, rich aroma of coffee.
“You’re not asleep?” I ask, surprise leaking into my tone.
She shakes her head gently, her eyes lowered, voice soft enough to make me lean forward to hear. “I thought… you might need some rest. So I made coffee for you.”
For a moment, I don’t move. I just look at her—the way her hair falls in a loose braid over her shoulder, the way her dupatta is slipping from her arm as if it, too, is tired at this hour.
She looks so small standing there in the doorway, carrying something for me, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I rise from my chair, take the tray from her before it can slip. “Thank you, Poorvi,” I murmur. My left hand still balances the tray, but my right hand lifts without thought—my fingers brushing under her chin, tilting her face up.
Her eyes finally meet mine. Wide, unsure, glimmering under the lamplight. I smile. I can’t help it.
I lead her to the couch, setting the tray down on the coffee table. Gesturing for her to sit, I hand her one of the cups before taking my own.
The first sip burns my tongue lightly, but what shocks me is not the heat—it’s the taste.
Exactly right.
My head jerks up to look at her. “It’s exactly how I like it. Two—”
She interrupts, almost shyly. “Two spoon coffee, half spoon sugar, two spoon milk, and one cup warm water.”
I blink at her, stunned. “How did you—”
Again, she cuts me off, looking away quickly. “I asked the staff.”
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. And then, unexpectedly, I grin. The kind of grin I haven’t felt in days, maybe weeks. “Thank you. This is… perfect.”
She ducks her head again, as though embarrassed by the compliment, but I can see the corner of her lips twitch upward.
I lean back against the couch, watching her cradle the cup carefully in both hands. The steam curls against her cheeks, tinting them pinker than usual. For a long moment, I don’t even bother with the documents piled on my desk. All I want is to keep looking at her.
“How are your classes going?” I ask, breaking the silence.
“They’re good,” she replies softly. “I’m not… very good at making friends. But I managed to talk to a few people.”
I smile at that, the warmth rising unbidden in my chest. “I’m proud of you,” I say. And I mean it. More than I thought I would.
She blinks at me, startled, and the tiniest blush colors her face. Her eyes drop to her cup again, almost as though she doesn’t know how to hold the weight of those words.
Her hair slips loose from her braid, falling into her face, and before I can think better of it, I reach forward and tuck the strand behind her ear. My fingers linger for the briefest second on her cheek. She inhales sharply, and I pull back slowly, as though not to frighten her.
We finish our coffee in silence that isn’t uncomfortable, just… new. Different.
When we both stand, she holds the tray, looking up at me with that same hesitant expression. “Thank you,” she whispers.
I frown slightly. “For what?”
“For yesterday,” she adds, her eyes flicking away. “For helping me with the blouse.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “You don’t have to thank me for anything, Poorvi. You’re my wife.”
She freezes. Something shifts in her eyes at those words, but before I can decipher it, she takes a deep breath. “Could you… close your eyes?” she whispers suddenly.
“Please.” Her voice is urgent, nervous.
I obey. “All right. They’re closed.”
“Don’t open them!” she exclaims quickly, and I laugh softly.
“I won’t, Poorvi.”
Her scent hits me first. Warm, floral, uniquely hers. Then her nearness—the air shifts, charged. My shirt tugs slightly under her fingers, and before I can process what’s happening, something soft brushes my cheek.
Her lips.
My eyes flutter open, startled, but all I catch is her retreating—her dupatta flying behind her as she practically runs toward the door.
I raise a hand to the spot on my cheek where her lips had been seconds ago, the warmth lingering, searing into my skin. My heart stutters, then races wildly, louder than it has in years.
At the door, she pauses, looks back at me with her cheeks flushed scarlet, her smile shy yet radiant. “Good night, Vihaan.”
And then she closes the door softly, leaving me standing there like an idiot—one hand on my cheek, my mouth curving helplessly into the biggest grin of my life. She kissed me. My wife kissed me.