CHAPTER 12
AARAV
I have been given the responsibility of driving Anika to her mother's house for the pagh phera ritual.
I shifted her mother here, to this city, so Anika could visit whenever she wanted.
Especially because she's been worried sick about her mother’s health.
No matter how angry I get at her, no matter how much she tests my patience, I can't stand seeing her sad.
It makes my chest tighten in a way I don't know how to explain. But she doesn't need to know that.
Of course, she fought with me the moment I told her.
Picked a full-blown argument over it, accusing me of making decisions for her like she’s some puppet.
I had to shut her up by reminding her why we even got married in the first place.
For her mother's health. That was the deal. That was the only reason. But instead of thanking me like a normal person, she taunted me. Said I shifted her mother here just so she could leave me alone and not have to deal with me. I let her think whatever the hell she wants. I’m done justifying myself.
I've been standing here for ten minutes now, leaning against the car, arms crossed, waiting as my finger drums against my arm. God knows what’s taking her so long. Then finally, the door creaks open. And there she is.
The moment my eyes land on her, my breath stumbles somewhere in my chest as if I am not a grown adult but a teenager with hormonal imbalance. Get a grip, Aarav.
The black kurti she’s wearing hugs her figure perfectly, outlining every curve, every dip, every inch that drives me insane.
For a few seconds, I forget how to breathe, how to be mad, and how to do anything except stare.
I force myself to snap out of it quickly, swallowing down the rush of emotions threatening to take over.
I clench my fists, jaw tightening as I look away.
She wasted my six hundred seconds and came out dressed like this, like a goddamn dream.
“You're finally here,” I say, keeping my tone flat and disinterested—even though my pulse hasn’t settled.
She frowns, annoyed and confused. “What are you doing here?” she snaps.
“Why do you think I’m here?” I reply, matching her tone. “To drive you to your mother’s.”
She stomps toward me, tiny and furious. For someone so much smaller, she somehow fills all the space between us. She jabs a finger into my chest.
“I can go by myself. I don’t need you,” she says, chin high.
I catch her wrist—gently, but firmly. “Don’t push me, Anika,” I mutter, pulling her a little closer.
Her chest brushes mine, and for a second, my thoughts short-circuit.
She drives me crazy. She always has. And yet, even when she’s impossible, she’s still the only person who’s ever made me feel anything real.
“I didn’t ask if you needed me,” I say, holding her gaze. “I’m here. I’m taking you. That’s it.”
She yanks at her wrist, but I don’t let go. I don’t hurt her—just remind her I’m not backing down.
“You’re my responsibility now,” I say, quieter. “Whether you like it or not.”
“Just for six months,” she snaps. “Then you’ll be free.”
Her words land harder than they should. I don’t respond. I just walk around the car and open the passenger-side door.
“Get in,” I say.
She crosses her arms, stubborn to the last breath. I look away, clenching my jaw, breathing deep.
“Now, Anika.”
“No.”
“Don’t test me.”
“Make me—”
I cover her mouth without thinking, cutting her off.
Her eyes widen in surprise. We freeze. She’s close, too close, and everything in me is suddenly on edge.
Her breath is warm against my hand. My heart’s hammering.
I let go before I do something stupid—before I forget everything that’s changed between us.
God, I hate her sometimes. I hate how she always manages to get under my skin, to make me lose control. I hate how much I want her. But I can't touch her. Not without her permission. Not like this. She's my wife now. It's more complicated than it used to be.
Slowly, I step back, creating a little bit of space between us before I lose whatever is left of my sanity. She stares at me for a beat longer, and then, finally, she huffs and climbs into the car, slamming the door harder than necessary.
I let out a shaky breath and walk around to the driver’s side, forcing myself to stay calm. This is harder than I thought it would be. Having her close but feeling like she’s miles away.
I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine. The drive is wrapped in silence, heavy and suffocating. The city blurs past the windows, the familiar streets and traffic lights feeling distant, like I’m not really here at all.
Beside me, Anika sits stiffly, her hands clenched tightly in her lap, staring out the window like she can't wait to get away from me. The space between us feels like a war zone, full of things left unsaid and wounds that never really healed.
"You must be happy," she says suddenly, her voice low but cutting through the silence like a knife. "I’m leaving for a while. You’ll finally have your precious freedom."
My fingers tighten around the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white.
You think that's what I want, Anika? Freedom from you?
If only you knew. I've lived without you for twelve long years.
Twelve years of aching emptiness, of hollow nights and lonely mornings.
Of waiting for a call that never came. Of breaking a little more every day.
I remember sitting by the phone every afternoon like a fool, telling myself, Maybe today she'll remember.
Maybe today she'll miss me. And every day ended with nothing but silence.
You moved on. And I was stuck. So the last thing I want is freedom from you. Unfortunately for you, I want to bound you. Keep you here forever.
I glance at her, my chest tight, but she’s still staring out the window, her profile lit by the fading sunlight. She doesn't know. She doesn't know how deeply she hurt me. And I can't even tell her. Because saying it out loud would mean admitting just how much power she still has over me.
I turn back to the road. "Yeah," I say, the word tasting like ash on my tongue. "I’ll be very happy."
The lie feels like a betrayal. But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe if she hates me enough, it'll hurt a little less when she finally leaves for good.
When we pull up outside her mother’s house, I cut the engine and sit there, staring at the steering wheel like it holds all the answers.
"We’re here," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
She nods stiffly, reaching for the door handle.
"Thank you," she says, but the words are cold, stripped of any emotion. It’s worse than anger. It’s indifference.
I watch her walk away, every step feeling like another crack forming inside my chest. She disappears into the house without looking back once.
I sit there for a long time after, the keys still dangling from the ignition, my hands numb on the steering wheel.
I've survived without you, Anika. I’ll survive again. But surviving isn’t living. And some wounds don't heal. They just become a part of you. A quiet ache you learn to live with.