CHAPTER 49
AARAV
‘Now I want him to be my husband.’
Her words have been echoing in my head on a loop ever since we left the living room-turned-interrogation room this afternoon.
It's the kind of thing that would’ve terrified me if it was someone else, but it's her. And her words settle under my skin like something warm. Familiar. Something I didn’t know I needed until she said it out loud.
I’ve replayed it so many times I could quote her exact tone.
The breathy way she said ‘want’ and the pause before she said ‘my husband.’
I am someone who has always run away from commitment and relationships.
Yes, it was mainly because I wanted to be hers and hers only.
But it’s also because relationships come with needs, like being an open book with someone, and I can't for the love of god show my true self to anyone, except her.
I have no clue how she does it, but I can never not be myself in front of her.
Maa wanted to tell the rest of the family about the contract when we got back home.
She said something like “Family should always be kept in the loop”—her words, not mine.
I love my family. I do. But Anika’s reputation?
That comes before anything else. She's my wife. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone—anyone, even someone I share blood with—treat her like a scandal.
So I begged Maa not to say anything. I never beg, not for anything, but I did for this.
For her. Thankfully, Maa agreed. Reluctantly, but still.
Then she told me, as calmly as someone telling me the weather, “We’ll get you two married again. Properly this time. With all the rituals. No negotiations.”
And how could I argue? I’ve already hurt her enough.
Lied, even if it was to protect. She took away her chance to prepare my wedding, the same wedding she and Rekha aunty had started talking about when we were kids.
So I stayed quiet and nodded. For once, I didn’t want control. I just wanted to make it right.
Which is why I’m sitting here now, fidgeting with the divorce papers like a madman happy to sign them. Divorcing my wife. Feeling over the moon about it. Ridiculous, I know. But this—this is the ending of the lie. The beginning of us. Real us. No contracts, no conditions.
There’s a knock on my door. “Come in,” I say, already knowing who it is. Her footsteps are soft, but her presence hits me like a punch to the gut every time.
Anika walks in with a tray—tea, I assume. Probably hasn’t had any herself yet. She places it on the coffee table with practiced grace, not meeting my eyes.
“So,” she says, straightening, “ready to end our temporary marriage, Mr. Malhotra?” I stand up, stretching, smirking. “Desperately. I mean, my wife’s been ignoring me for months, her sass levels are through the roof, and she still hasn’t made me sandwiches I love. It was long overdue.”
She rolls her eyes. “Poor you. It must be so hard being married to me.”
I step closer, catching her wrist and twisting her gently, not enough to hurt—never to hurt—just enough to make her breath hitch and her eyes snap up to mine. “You’ve no idea,” I murmur, brushing my lips near her ear. “Torture.”
She exhales sharply. Her other hand lands on my chest, as if to push me back, but she doesn’t. Instead, her fingers curl in my shirt.
And then she does push, lightly. Just enough to add distance. “I’m here to tell you something,” she says, voice suddenly quieter, more serious. “After the divorce, I’m moving back in with Mumma. Till the wedding.”
I blink. “What? Why?”
She looks down at her hands. “It’s what our parents want. I already told Mumma I would.”
I hate the way something tightens in my chest. “You don’t have to listen to them—”
“I do, Aarav,” she cuts in, looking at me with eyes that are too big, too soft, and too full of things she’s not saying. “We’ve disappointed them enough. Let’s just… do this their way.”
I open my mouth to argue, but her voice dips lower, more fragile. “I’m just… happy I get to marry you, Aarav." And just like that, she can undo me. "Might’ve been my childhood dream, you know.” She chuckles, her eyes not meeting mine, as if what she admitted makes her feel embarrassed.
God, what is she doing to me?
I brush my thumb against her cheek, smirking. “Then I’ll fulfill all your dreams, baby.”
She laughs. “One of my dreams was also to slap you.”
I catch her hand, lifting it dramatically, grinning like a fool, ready to slap myself for her happiness. “So let me help you live that one too.”
“No! What are you doing?” She yelps, pulling back, but she’s laughing.
“Fulfilling your dreams, Anika.” I say seriously, I mean every word of it.
She’s still giggling, but something in her expression shifts when I take a step closer. I don’t even touch her, not yet, just lower my voice. “That was when you thought I was ignoring you, right?”
She nods slowly, eyes searching mine.
“And now?” I ask.
Her breath catches again. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Now… now I just want you to divorce me ASAP so we can get married legally and you can finally have your happily ever after.”
I blink as she smirks and bursts into a laugh, heart full. “Yes, ma’am. That’s my dream too.” I murmur, grinning like a fool.
I lean in and kiss her gently. Nothing wild. Just something that says I’m here. That I’m staying. That I’m hers.
She lets me. She softens into it. Then her arms wrap around me, and I pull her close, burying my face in her hair and resting my chin on her head.
She smells like vanilla and something sweet—maybe that lotion she keeps on her bedside. Her heart’s beating fast. Mine is, too.
This—this quiet, warm, real moment—it’s everything.
This is my whole world. She is my whole world.
And in a few days, I get to marry her all over again.
I’m the luckiest idiot alive. What a dramatic way to reunite us, destiny.
I chuckle, her head snaps up, and I peck her forehead; she beams, and I fall in love all over again.
Love? Yup, love. That's what this is. That's what it has always been, you idiot.