CHAPTER 35
ANIKA
The sound of the shower fills the room, steady and loud, a sort of background noise to the chaos in my head.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the bed, pretending to read a book that’s been stuck on the same page for the last ten minutes.
I’ve read the same sentence three times.
Maybe four. Doesn’t matter—none of it’s registering.
How could it?
Aarav came home tonight with bruised knuckles, a storm behind his eyes, and not a single explanation.
Just silence and tension and this… heaviness that hasn’t left the room since he walked in.
He didn’t say a word—just went straight to the shower.
And yeah, I know it was a hot shower because the damn steam’s been creeping under the door for the last twenty minutes.
Also because… well, okay fine, I may have imagined him naked.
Did I want to? No. Did my brain betray me anyway? Absolutely.
The bathroom door creaks open, and I swear my spine straightens on instinct.
The steam follows him out like a loyal pet, curling around his frame like it has a vendetta against my sanity.
And him? He’s just casually walking out like it’s no big deal—wrapped in nothing but a towel slung low on his hips.
Water clings to his skin, and his hair’s damp and messy in a way that should not be attractive but unfortunately is.
I snap my eyes to the book in my lap and grip it like it’s going to save me from spontaneous combustion. “Why are you walking around like that?” I mutter, trying to sound bored instead of breathless.
His eyes travel to mine, and he smirks, rubbing another towel through his hair, the muscles in his arms flexing like they know I’m looking. “It’s my room too, isn’t it, wifey?”
My eyes narrow, and my cheeks heat up instantly. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You are my wife.” His tone is teasing and light, but there’s a flicker in his expression that doesn’t quite match the smugness in his voice.
He takes a slow step toward the bed.
Then another.
I scoot back like a coward, even though there’s nowhere to go.
“I—I’m just a contract wife,” I blurt, my voice sharp, defensive. Like that’ll somehow keep my feelings in check. His smirk fades for a split second—blink and I’d miss it—but I catch it. There's something else there, a crack in the wall he keeps up. But it’s gone just as fast.
He leans over, placing both hands on the mattress, caging me in like some kind of romance-novel fever dream. I don’t breathe. I’m too busy trying to figure out what’s happening to my heart rate.
“Aarav,” I whisper, barely audible.
“Hm?” he hums, tilting his head like he’s genuinely curious, but his eyes are gleaming with mischief. “You look flustered,” he says softly.
“I am—” My voice catches. My brain short-circuits. “I am not flustered,” I finish, though it sounds embarrassingly unconvincing.
His gaze drops to my mouth for the briefest second before he lets out a low chuckle. "Are you sure, Biwi Ji?”
I shove at his chest, meaning to push him back, but it’s a mistake. He’s warm, damp, and solid—and my hand just stays there for a second longer than it should. I jerk it back like he’s burned me.
“Go put on some clothes!” I snap, trying to sound mad, but it comes out more like a squeak.
He straightens, but not before throwing me a look over his shoulder that screams, I know exactly what I’m doing. “Why? Does it bother you?” His voice is maddeningly casual.
“Yes! No! I mean—ugh!” I grab the nearest pillow and throw it at him. He catches it midair, smirking as he heads to the closet like he’s just won something.
“I love how easy you are to tease.”
“I hate you.”
He pauses, just for a second, turning to glance at me. Something flickers in his eyes—soft, serious—and suddenly the air shifts.
“No, you don’t,” he says quietly.
And just like that, the room feels too still.
When he finally disappears into the closet, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath this whole time.
My heart’s pounding, my palms are sweaty, and I’m dangerously close to losing my grip on reality.
All because of a towel. Okay—no, not just the towel.
The towel and the muscles. And the steam.
And the damp hair. And the way he looked at me, like I was the only thing worth noticing.
I groan and flop backward onto the bed, tossing the book aside. “Get a grip, Anika,” I mutter. “You’ve seen shirtless guys before. You’ve seen Aarav shirtless before.”
But not like this. Not in this weird, domestic limbo we’ve found ourselves in lately. Not after everything. Not with the way he’s been... different. Softer, somehow. Still broody and stubborn and impossible, but... there are cracks now. Little glimpses of the man underneath all that armor.
And worse? There are cracks in me too.
I used to be good at keeping him at a distance. Used to remind myself that this whole marriage was temporary. Just a deal. A way out. A way to keep Maa happy and my life from completely derailing.
But now I lie down here in the same bed as him and look at him while he sleeps every night.
Wondering if he dreams. I’m in trouble. That much is obvious.
The closet door creaks open, and I sit up so fast I almost knock my head against the wall.
He’s dressed now, thank God—but somehow it’s worse?
A black t-shirt stretched over his chest and those damn grey sweatpants that should honestly be illegal.
His hair’s still damp. There’s a towel slung over his shoulder like he just walked out of a shampoo ad. Seriously, this isn’t fair.
“I didn’t take that long,” he says, smirking again like he knows.
“Five minutes too long,” I grumble, grabbing the book again and pretending to read.
It’s upside down. He walks over and sits beside me on the bed. Beside me. Not across. Not at a polite distance. Right there. Close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his skin.
He leans back against the headboard, arms behind his head, and my heart does a full gymnastic routine. I’m not even into sports.
“You’re being awfully quiet,” he says.
“I’m reading.”
“Upside down?”
I slam the book shut. “You’re annoying.”
“You’re flustered.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he says, and when he turns to look at me, it’s not teasing anymore. He’s watching me—really watching me—with this calm intensity that makes me feel seen and exposed all at once.
“Fine. Maybe I was a little flustered,” I admit, crossing my arms. “You walk out half-naked, dripping wet, like that’s some kind of normal Tuesday behavior.”
He shrugs. “It’s my room too. You said so yourself.”
God. This man.
I grab the blanket and pull it over myself like I’m hoping it’ll work as a shield. “From now on, walk out fully dressed or give me a five-minute warning so I can blindfold myself.”
He laughs this time—not a smirk, not a scoff. A real laugh. Low. Warm. A sound I wasn’t prepared for. “Why?” he grins. “Am I too hot for you to handle?”
I shoot him a look. “No, Mr. Malhotra. It’s because I can’t stand the sight of you; that’s why.”
He goes quiet.
For a moment, I wonder if I took it too far. I peek at him, and he’s staring at me like he’s trying to figure out if I mean it.
“You’re cute when you try to act mad,” he says eventually.
“I’m not trying—” I start to protest, but then I stop. Because he’s giving me that look again. The one that makes my lungs forget how to work.
He looks at me like he knows me. Like he remembers me—not just now, not just this version of us—but the girl I used to be. And maybe that’s what really terrifies me. Because I think I remember him too.
I shift under the blanket, turning slightly away. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m yours.”
The silence after that is too much.
And then, soft and steady, “But you are, Anika.”
My heart flips again. Stupid heart. “It’s just a contract,” I say, but even I don't sound convinced.
“Is it?”
His hand brushes mine, lightly at first—like he’s giving me the chance to move. To say no.
I don’t.
“It doesn’t feel like it anymore,” he says, quieter now. Like he’s not even talking to me, just... saying the truth out loud.
“Don’t say stuff like that, Aarav,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
“Because I’ll start believing you.”
His fingers curl around mine. And I let them. We don’t say anything else after that. But we don’t really need to. Something’s shifted. And I have no idea what will happen next.