Reyansh Carter
Aisha doesn’t say anything but just keeps staring at my face, as if trying to find out whether I am saying the truth or not. The idea that she thinks I am lying about her being special to me stings my heart, but I know no one else is responsible for this other than me.
Had I treated her right, like I used to do before, like she mattered to me because she does—God, she is the only one who does—then maybe she wouldn’t have such doubts when I say something remotely nice to her.
Last night, I got drunk to my core, done with myself and my situation. Aarav’s words hit my weak spot. How could I even forget her birthday? It’s her special day, the day I should have engraved inside my brain, and for a while, it was.
When we started dating, I used to make sure her birthday month was special for her. I have never been one to understand the hype of birthdays, but they mattered to her, so they mattered to me.
It makes me realize how downright pathetic I am to have forgotten it. Not only that, but slowly we have drifted apart so much that we feel more like roommates than a married couple.
Last night, I decided to win her back. In the drunk chaos that my mind had become, I came to the realization that nothing mattered if I didn’t have her.
Not the success, not the lifestyle we both worked hard for together, not the health—nothing. I would much rather be penniless and have her happy and willing by my side than be rich and not have her at all.
Because I know a life without Aisha would be a life not worth living. I knew that the moment I saw her; I just needed some help remembering that.
Even if that help came from my dumbass best friend and my mother smacking some sense into me.
Before leaving for home, my mother called me, asking if I had prepped something for their “daughter’s” birthday. At this point, she adores her more than me, and I can’t even be mad about it.
After all, Aisha deserves it. She deserves all the love in the world and then some more.
When she got to know that I had in fact forgotten her birthday, she yelled at me in typical British fashion and even tried to curse me in Punjabi. One she had learned from my dad, and she butchered it so bad that I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud.
But I got her point. If I didn’t value the one woman whom I yearned to have, then what was the point of all this?
“Sit down, Aisha,” I urged softly. “I made your favorite breakfast.”
She sighed before sitting down across from me, and I yearned to pull her closer to my side. But I knew I had to be slow with her.
The first thing I need to win back is her trust and comfort with me. I don’t want her to walk on eggshells around me all the time.
It’s a pain that we came down to this point, but crying over past wounds won’t do us any good. I need to let go of the past.
I just hope I can convince her to let go too.
The familiar silence fell over the table, and I swallowed the lump in my throat that was stopping me from speaking up.
Breathe, I reminded myself.
“Aisha,” I called her name, and her eyes slowly rose up from the plate to me, and I realized how much I missed having her eyes on me. “I am sorry.”
My words seemed to have caught her off guard as she coughed out loud.
I stood up to pass her a glass of water. She twisted in her seat to look at me as I handed her the glass and knelt down in front of her. Her eyes widened as she gulped down the glass in one go.
“Wha—”
Before she could complete her next words, I took her hands in my own, relishing the feel of touching her once again. I missed her touch, her softness, her everything.
I kissed her hands before pressing them to my forehead, and I noticed how her breath hitched at my actions.
“I am sorry, Aisha,” I said, looking directly in her eyes. “I am so sorry. I haven’t been the best husband, and I recognize that. I am sorry for the way I have been with you for the past year. I am sorry for forgetting how much you matter to me. You always have and always will.”
I looked at her hands again the moment I felt my eyes getting heavy with tears.
“But I promise I will make it up to you. Let me promise you on your birthday that I will fix everything.”
I looked at her, and the pain that flashed on her face pierced through my chest.
I rose up to my feet, bending down slightly to kiss her forehead.
I didn’t wait for her response. Partly because I didn’t think I would get any at the moment.
Partly because I was scared of her rejection.
“Aarav has decided to throw a small party for you at his place,” I told her, stroking her hair and relishing in the fact that she didn’t push me away. “I have some work I need to get done, but I will come back soon. Be ready by 6, and we will go there together.”
She didn’t say anything but nodded, and that movement alone felt mechanical.
I wanted to say I love you, but I couldn’t.
That hurt more than the empty eyes that followed me out.
* * *
“Is everything ready for her birthday?” I ask Aarav, who has been giving me unnecessary attitude ever since he got to know that I forgot his sister-in-law’s birthday. While I love his affection and care for Aisha, it did kind of piss me off a little bit. Jealousy it was.
“Yes,” he says for the umpteenth time. “Did you apologize to her?”
I stop in my steps leading me up to the front door of my house, Aisha’s favorite flowers in my hand. Purple orchids, her favorite kind.
“Yes,” I grumble. “I did. I do love her, you know.”
There’s silence on the other side, and I wonder how much it will take for me to repeat these words and match them in actions to make everyone believe that. At this point I don’t even care if anyone believes it.
I just hope she believes it enough to give me another chance.
“Make sure she knows that this time then.”
He says and hangs up on me, and I sigh.
As soon as I enter our place, I am met with the most beautiful sight in front of me. Aisha in a saree. Correction—Aisha in a lavender saree and golden jhumkas with her hair open at the back, golden bangles adorning her hands, and thick black kajal in her eyes.
She doesn’t notice my presence, too busy trying to tie her blouse behind her back, and here I am feeling as if I need to call the ambulance because this woman is so damn beautiful there aren’t enough words to describe it.
Her blouse is neck deep, and my favorite beauty mark on her collarbone just accentuates her beauty.
I am so down bad for my wife. Why did I even hide it?
It seems like I was ogling her like a creep because she yells my name, breaking me out of my trance.
“Reyansh,” she says a little firmly this time. “Can you stop staring and come help me with the strings?”
“Yes,” I clear my throat, placing the bouquet on the table.
I cover the distance between us swiftly, and she follows my every move. I move her hair to the side, my fingers grazing her naked back, and she trembles under my touch.
I smile a little, knowing that at least she is still affected by my touch.
“You look beautiful, Aisha,” I say, my voice coming out a little breathy as I tighten the knot and move to face her.
My hands shiver slightly as I touch her face, and she looks at me with an indescribable look in her eyes, and I just yearn for her to say all that’s going on inside her pretty little mind out loud.
But unfortunately I have pushed her so far away from me that she might as well talk about her feelings with a stranger rather than me, and that is a kind of pain nothing can match up to.
“I am grateful that I get to call you my wife,” I say and lean down to press a gentle kiss on her forehead. Meanwhile, my heart thunders in my chest all the while thinking that she will pull away, but she doesn’t.
Thank God she doesn’t.
“Thanks,” she says, and I nod. “Shall we?”
“Yes,” I say, taking her hand in mine, but before leaving, I grab the flowers I got her. “For you.”
She passed me a small smile, and my heart relaxed in relief.
Maybe we will make some progress.
Maybe I can still win her back.
Maybe