Chapter 24
Evening found them in their usual awkward choreography. Vikram emerged from the bathroom in pajama pants and a t-shirt. Divya sat at the desk, pretending to study, hyperaware of every sound he made behind her.
They'd managed to avoid each other for most of the day. She'd stayed home, exams approaching. He'd spent hours at the studio for a magazine interview.
Neither had mentioned the morning. The waking-up-wrapped-around-him morning. The mortifying, never-speaking-of-it-again morning.
Now, trapped together as night fell, the memory sat between them like a third presence.
"Divya."
His voice carried across the room, casual but purposeful. She tensed, fingers tightening around her pen.
"Yes?"
"Mom asked me something today."
Her stomach dropped. Slowly, she turned in the desk chair to face him. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, expression serious.
"What did she ask?"
"If we're sharing the bed properly." He paused, letting that sink in. "She mentioned she came by yesterday morning. Early. To ask if you wanted to join her walk. Said she noticed the couch still had blankets and a pillow on it."
Divya's mind raced back. Yesterday morning. Her mother-in-law had knocked around six, invited her for a walk. Divya had still been half-asleep, had agreed quickly and left to change. The couch...
Her eyes widened slightly. She clicked her tongue in frustration.
Vikram felt relief flood through him so suddenly he had to suppress the urge to grin. It had been a complete gamble. He'd had no idea if his mother had actually noticed anything. Had simply hoped that at some point, someone might have seen something that would make his story believable.
And Divya's reaction, that small, frustrated click of her tongue, confirmed she was remembering. The couch must have still been rumpled when his mother stopped by.
Pure luck. But he'd take it.
"She asked me point-blank if there was a problem," he continued, pressing his advantage while she was still processing. "If you were uncomfortable. If I was being disrespectful as a husband."
"What did you tell her?"
"That everything was fine. That we just have different sleep schedules sometimes." He met her eyes. "She didn't believe me."
"But we're just... this is just..."
"She doesn't know that." His voice was gentle but firm. "To her, we're newlyweds. Married couples share beds. Especially in this family. Tradition matters to her."
"So what do we..."
"For the next few days, we should share the bed." He said it quickly, matter-of-factly, as if suggesting they change dinner plans. "Just until she's satisfied."
"But?"
"It's a big bed. Plenty of room." He stood, moving closer. "And honestly, my mother gets ideas. If she thinks I'm making you uncomfortable, that I'm not treating you properly as my wife..."
"She wouldn't..."
"She has a rolling pin. A wooden one." He said it with such sincere worry that Divya found herself caught between disbelief and concern.
"And she's very protective of daughters-in-law.
If she thinks I've wronged you somehow, not respected you...
" He left that statement hanging. "Last year at a cousin's wedding, one of the my cousins made a comment about his wife's cooking. She pulled out the belan right there."
The detail felt specific enough to be believable. Divya wavered.
"I'd rather not test it," he said quickly. "It's just sleeping. We're adults. Married adults. And it's temporary, just until Mom's concerns are satisfied. A week, maybe two."
The logic trapped her neatly. Refuse and risk his mother's concerns escalating. Refuse and become the difficult new bride.
Or agree to something temporary. Simple. Practical.
"Temporarily," she heard herself say.
"Absolutely." His relief looked genuine, and it was, just not for the reasons she thought. "Just until Mom's satisfied."
"And you stay on your side."
"Without question." He placed his hand over his heart. "I won't even acknowledge your existence once the lights are off."
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped. "That seems extreme in the other direction."
"I'm committed to making this work." His expression softened. "This morning was... I know it was embarrassing for you. I won't make it worse."
The kindness in his voice did something strange to her chest.
"Okay," she said quietly. "For now."
"Thank you." He extended his hand formally, as if sealing a business arrangement. "For understanding about my mother. And the belan."
She placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and firm. The handshake lasted a beat too long.
When he released her, she returned to her desk, trying to focus on notes that had become meaningless. Behind her, she heard him settle onto the bed, the bed they would share tonight.
For now, she reminded herself.
She absolutely did not notice the small, satisfied smile on his face as he pulled back the covers.
And Vikram? Vikram allowed himself one moment of pure triumph before schooling his expression back to neutral.
The couch arrangement was done. His wife would sleep beside him every night from now on. And she'd agreed to it herself.
Perfect.
Night One
Divya lay on the far right edge of the mattress, rigid as a plank. She could feel the dip where he lay on the opposite side. Could hear his breathing, too controlled, too deliberate.
Her own breath felt trapped. Each inhale too loud in the quiet room. She stared at the ceiling fan, arms at her sides, unmoving. The position felt performative. She usually slept curled within herself, but curling felt too vulnerable.
Vikram was right there. Inches away. Close enough that she could feel his body heat radiating across the space.
Minutes crawled. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
On the far side, Vikram tracked the same ceiling fan without seeing it. Every muscle coiled tight. This was his bed, his space. He should feel at ease. Instead, he felt hyperaware of every breath, every small movement.
Eventually, exhaustion won. Divya's breathing deepened first. Vikram followed hours later, both still clinging to their edges when dawn broke.
Nights Two Through Six
The strangeness wore off gradually. Divya allowed herself to curl on her side, finding her natural position. The gap between them shrank, not dramatically, not consciously, but incrementally, the way bodies gravitate toward warmth when defenses lower.
She stopped waking to check the distance. Stopped monitoring her position. Her body adjusted to the knowledge that Vikram would be there, solid and warm on the other side.
She slept better. Deeper. The quality of rest improved in ways she didn't want to examine.
By the sixth night, the shared bed felt less like an arrangement and more like routine, the kind that sneaks up without announcement, settling in before you realize it's arrived.
Night Seven
The space between them had closed to perhaps a hand's width. Close enough to feel each other's presence. Not touching, but near enough that touch would require only the smallest movement.
Divya prepared for bed without conscious thought, changed, braided her hair, removed her glasses. Climbed into her side without hesitation. Settled with the ease of habit.
"Goodnight," she murmured, already half-asleep.
"Goodnight," he replied, voice low and warm in the darkness.
Neither suggested returning to their alternating arrangement. Neither mentioned it had been a week. Neither acknowledged that temporary had seamlessly become normal.
This was how they slept now. Together. At the same time.
Simple as that.
And Vikram, watching her settle beside him with increasing ease each night, had a plan.
And it started with making sure she never slept anywhere but right here, close enough to touch, close enough to reach, close enough that eventually, inevitably, she'd stop pulling away.