Chapter - 33
Shivanya ~
By the time we were home, the rain had eventually turned into a drizzle. I had just changed into a baby pink short kurti and salwaar and walked out of the washroom when I saw Vihaan sitting at his desk.
"Did something come up?" I asked him, putting my towel on the backrest of the chair.
"There is a bill in the pipeline and before it goes to the committee for formation, the minister has called for a meeting tomorrow." He replied, looking briefly away from the screen to me.
"Oh, okay. You finish that up and I will go get something for us to eat." I said, turning away but as I did, I felt his fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.
His fingers around my wrist were not tight, they were just firm enough to make my breath stumble for a second..
I turned back slowly.
"Let's order something in Shivanya. I don't want you to cook after a long day." He said, looking up to meet his eyes with mine and I couldn't help but smile.
"Vihaan, aap apna kaam khatam kariye aur mujhe kitchen mein jaane dijiye. Aapke liye khana banane mein mujhe kabhi bhi takleef nahi hogi, aur mai bilkul bhi nahi thaki hoon." I replied, to him, hesitantly bringing my fingers onto the wrist of his hand that was holding mine.
"Still," he said, eyes lowering to where his hand held my wrist, "you have had a long day."
"I'm fine."
"I know you're fine," he murmured, "I just don't want you to feel you have to look after me. Not out of obligation."
"Vihaan," I said quietly, "I'm not doing it out of obligation."
His eyes lifted immediately. Searching mine. Almost too intently.
"You're not?" His voice came out softer, almost unbelieving.
I shook my head. "No. I want to cook for you because I am your wife and I don't know how to be one but I had seen my mom do it for my dad when they would come home. He would look after the other house chores and our homework and Maa would cook for us and he would eat it like that is the most peaceful time of the day for him."
A softness settled over his face.
"Shivanya..." he said, almost like he didn't know what to do with the way those words of mine made him feel.
I looked away for a second, suddenly aware of how much I'd said. "I know it might sound silly," I murmured, "but that's... that's what marriage looked like to me. At least the good parts of it. And I....." I hesitated, choosing my words carefully, "I want to try. In my own way."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Just exhaled once, slow and unsteady.
When I finally looked back at him, he was still staring. Eyes soft, unsure, surprised... and something else I couldn't name.
He didn't let go of my wrist immediately. If anything, his fingers curled just a little tighter, not enough to stop me, just enough to anchor himself.
"You don't have to learn how to be a wife," he said quietly. "Not for me."
"I want to," I said, almost whispering.
His jaw flexed once in a small, subtle motion before he let my wrist go gently.
"Okay," he said, voice low. "Then I will finish this quickly and be there with you."
I nodded and turned to walk toward the door, my heartbeat a little too loud in my chest.
But before I could take two steps, he spoke again.
"Shivanya."
I turned.
He sat there, elbows resting on the desk, fingers loosely interlocked like he was steadying himself before saying something he wasn't used to saying out loud.
"For the record," he said, his voice steady but so, so soft, "coming home with you already feels like peace."
My breath caught.
He wasn't teasing. He wasn't flirting. He wasn't trying to charm me.
He was telling the truth.
And he didn't wait for my reply.
He just turned back to his laptop, giving me a moment to breathe—and maybe giving himself one too.
I stood there for a few seconds, trying to swallow the way his words made everything inside me feel warm and unsettled at the same time.
Then I walked to the kitchen, my fingers were still tingling where his hand had held mine.
I shook my head to shake off my thoughts and feelings and then began to chop some onions, tomatoes and capsicums. I was going to make him one of my favourites, kadhai paneer.
It took me a total of forty five minutes to finish it all.
I wiped the counter clean, arranged the sabzi and phulkas in two plates, and hesitated for a moment.
Should I call him?
But he hadn't come out yet. Maybe he was still buried in the bill work. Maybe he wasn't hungry yet.
I picked up both plates carefully and headed toward the room.
The door was half open. He was still at the desk, shoulders a little tense, glasses on, eyes focused on whatever document he was reading. He didn't hear me come in.
I pushed the door open with my elbow. "Vihaan?"
He looked up instantly, almost too quickly, like he'd been waiting for a reason to stop working.
"Haan Shivanya?" His voice was softer than earlier. Tired, maybe.
"I... brought dinner," I said, lifting the plates slightly.
His brows rose. "Yahan? In the room?"
"You're still working," I said, setting the plates on the little coffee table near the window. "And I didn't want it to get cold."
For a second, he didn't move. Just watched me.
Then, he stood up on his feet, walked to me and took both the plates in his own hands and kept them on the coffee table.
When he placed the plates on the coffee table, he didn't step away.
He just stood there for a moment, close enough that I had to tilt my chin up slightly to look at him. His shirt sleeves were still rolled, the faintest shadow of tiredness under his eyes, and somehow... he still looked warm. Present. Here with me.
"Sit?" he said softly.
I nodded and sat down on the floor beside the table. He followed, settling opposite me, legs folded, the dim yellow lamp making the whole room feel smaller, quieter.
We ate without too much talking.
Just small things.
"This is really good," he said after the first bite.
I felt my lips curve. "Really?"
He nodded once, taking another bite. I smiled and took one another too.
Then, out of nowhere, he said, "It is a good thing I did not help you with the cooking. I am a terrible cook."
I smiled a little again, looking at him. "Terrible as in burning things?"
"Terrible as in once I put sugar instead of salt."
I paused mid-bite and stared at him. His face was completely straight.
"You're joking," I said.
"Sadly, no." His mouth twitched. " A friend tried to eat it to be nice. He still brings it up every time we meet."
I laughed softly. "Okay, that's... really bad."
"Horrific," he agreed, shaking his head. "After that, I stuck to ordering food. Safer for everyone."
"What about you?" he asked suddenly. "Any kitchen disasters?"
I shook my head quickly. "No."
He raised an eyebrow. "Not a single one?"
"No," I repeated, looking very serious.
"You're lying."
"I'm not lying."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. "Everyone has at least one."
"I don't." I crossed my arms, trying to hold my expression.
"Shivanya," he said, dragging out my name. "You have burned something at least once."
"I didn't burn anything," I insisted, then added under my breath, "except the first time I tried making tea."
He blinked. "Tea? You burned tea?"
"I didn't burn the tea," I corrected quickly. "I just... forgot the milk on the stove."
He stared at me.
I stared back and then he burst into laughter.
"What happened?" he asked, still smiling once he stopped.
"I was twelve," I said, rolling my eyes at myself. "Radhika and one of my cousins said they saw a snake near the gate, and obviously I ran outside."
"Obviously," he repeated, as if this was the only logical reaction.
"And by the time I came back, the milk had boiled over, and the whole kitchen smelled like burnt... everything."
He shook his head, still smiling. "I can picture that."
"I bet you can," I muttered.
For a moment, he didn't look away. His smile softened in a way that made my chest feel strangely warm.
We were almost done eating when his phone rang and I was pretty sure that it had something to do with work.
Vihaan glanced at the screen once, then pressed the side button to silence it.
"You can take it," I said softly, taking a sip of water. "It must be important."
He shook his head. "It will have to wait."
Then we finished the last bites quietly. He pushed his empty plate aside and leaned back a little, stretching his legs out in front of him until they brushed against mine, just lightly, like he hadn't meant to but didn't pull away either.
I pretended not to notice, but my stomach tightened anyway.
"Vihaan aap apna kaam khatam kar lijiye, I know that you are going to have a long day tomorrow." I said, standing up and as I was about to take our plates, he beat me to it.
"Aap aaj ke liye kaafi kaam kar chuki hain, yeh plates mai le jaa raha hoon, aap jaake Radhika se mil lijiye warna woh mujhe kal yahan aakar sunaayegi." He smiled before walking out of the room and I found myself standing there, smiling at his words.
But he was right. I had to go and see her and so I did.
Taran had some meeting going on with a foreign investor so it was just her and me with coffee.
"Di, I kinda made something I wanted to show you." She said, as we were sitting in her living room.
I nodded and she kept her cup aside, pulling something out of the bag under the coffee table.
It was a beautiful crochet basket and it was so damn aesthetic!
"This is so so pretty." I said, taking it in my own hands.
"You think? There is an exhibition happening nearby next week, I was thinking to put up a stall. I have made many other little things I'll show you tomorrow. They are kept in the room where Taran is doing his meeting." She said, but I could hear a little skeptism in her tone.
"That is a brilliant idea Rads! Do you need my help?" I volunteered.
"Yes! It's next Sunday so if you are free, will you help me manage sales?" She asked, hopefully.
"Let's do it!" I agreed and she gave me a big smile before we finished out coffees.
Then, after sometime, I walked back home, only to find mom and dad's car pulling up.
I walked back home, only to find Mom and Dad's car pulling up. I slowed down so they could get out first.
Mom stepped out with a small smile. "Aa gayi, beta?"
"yes mom," I said, walking to them. "Aap log late ho gaye?"
"Haan beta, thoda door rehte hain na woh log." She replied and I nodded.
We all walked back inside.
"Sahabzaade apna kaam khatam kar rahe honge?" Dad guessed and I nodded.
He sighed.
"Iss ladke ko kaam se fursat hi nahi milti hai." Mom added as I gave them both a glass of water.
"Accha Shivanya, beta hum log toh sone jaa rahe hain, kaafi late ho gaya hai. Tum bhi so jaana, woh apna kaam khatam kare bina nahi soyega, that doesn't mean you need to ruin your sleep." Dad said before both of them wished me a goodnight and we made our way to the rooms.
When I walked inside the room, I saw him sitting at his desk, pinching the gap between his eyes while the screen of his laptop was still glowing.
"Vihaan?" I said quietly.
He looked up at once. "You're back."
I stepped closer. "You're going to get a headache if you sit like this."
He gave a small, almost absent smile. "It's fine. I am just finishing."
I didn't argue. I walked behind him and placed my hands on his shoulders before he could say anything else.
He froze for half a second. "Shivanya..."
"Don't move," I said simply. "You're stiff."
I pressed my thumbs gently along the top of his shoulders. The tension there surprised me. He exhaled once like his body accepted the help before his mind did.
"You don't have to..." he started.
"I'm not doing anything difficult," I said, fingers moving slowly. "Just sit."
He didn't protest after that.
His head dipped forward a little, his shoulders relaxing under my touch. I worked my thumbs lightly along the muscles near his neck, then down toward the shoulder blades. His breathing evened out, and for a moment, the room felt quieter than before.
After a minute, he reached up and closed the laptop without looking at it.
I smiled without meaning to. "Done for tonight?"
"Yes," he said, still keeping his voice low, as if matching the calm in the room. "I am done."
When he looked up at me, it wasn't the worn-out expression he had earlier. It was calmer. More focused. Almost too focused.
I stepped back a little, suddenly conscious of how close I had stood behind him during the massage.
He noticed. Of course he noticed.
"You always move away the second I look at you," he said, voice low and steady.
"I don't," I replied, far too quickly.
His eyes held mine for a beat and something in them said he already knew the truth.
"You do," he said simply.
I turned my gaze away, pretending to adjust the lamp even though it didn't need adjusting.
His chair creaked softly when he pushed it back and stood up.
I heard it before I saw him move, and somehow that sound alone made my shoulders go a little stiff. I stared very hard at the lamp, even though it was perfectly fine and did not need the amount of attention I was giving it.
"You do," he repeated, and this time his voice was closer.
I turned, slowly.
He had taken only a few steps, but it made all the difference. We were not pressed close, but we were nowhere near polite distance either. I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, the way the light from the bedside lamp caught in his eyes.
"You were fine two minutes ago," he said, his tone dipping into something deeper, "but the moment I looked at you... gone."
"I wasn't gone, I am right here." I muttered.
He looked at me for a long moment, and I could see it in his face when he decided not to let me get away with that.
"Your body is here," he said slowly. "The rest of you? Running laps."
I frowned, even though my heart did a strange, traitorous skip. "You're overthinking this."
"We are lawyers Sunshine," he replied, almost mildly. "Overthinking is part of the job description."
I tried not to smile at that, but my lips betrayed me and twitched anyway.
His gaze dropped to my mouth for a second, and my breath caught. It was such a small thing, that one look, but it made the room feel suddenly too warm.
"That," he said quietly, eyes lifting back to mine, "is exactly what I mean."
"What?"
"You get shy every time I look at you properly," he said. His tone wasn't accusing. It was calm, steady, like he was just stating facts he had already examined from every angle. "You talk to everyone else like it's the easiest thing in the world, but with me, one look and you go very quiet."
"That's not true," I protested, even as I felt my cheeks warming again.
His mouth tilted, just a little. "Sunshine."
The way he said it... I could feel my denial crumbling already.
"I do not go very quiet," I tried again, weaker this time.
"Then say what you were going to say earlier," he said. "When you stepped back."
I stared at him. "I wasn't going to say anything."
He took another small step toward me. I felt it in my pulse more than in the space between us.
"You were," he said. "You always do that. You feel something, you think something, and then the second our eyes meet, you swallow it down."
I looked away, my gaze dropping to the buttons of his shirt.
His voice dropped lower. "Exactly like that."
I wanted to be annoyed with him. I wanted to tell him to stop noticing everything.
But the truth was... he was right.
I did tuck my feelings away the second they felt too big, too soft, too close to something I wasn't ready to admit. And lately, with him, it happened a lot.
"You are doing it again," he murmured.
I forced my eyes back up. "You keep saying that."
"Because you keep doing it." His expression was annoyingly patient. "You keep pretending that I don't affect you. I am just wondering why."
I blinked once, twice, because no one had ever asked me something like that so simply before.
"Maybe," I said slowly, "because you walk around like nothing affects you."
His brows lifted slightly, like that answer genuinely surprised him.
"Nothing?" he repeated. "You think nothing affects me?"
I swallowed. "You... don't show much. Not when it comes to..." I waved my hand between us, suddenly too aware of how close we were standing. "This."
He took that in silently.
Then, very calmly, he said, "That is not because I don't feel anything, Shivanya. It's because the last thing I want is to scare you."
My chest tightened around something I didn't have a name for.
"You don't scare me," I said, before I could stop myself.
"No?" he asked, eyes dipping to my mouth again, slow, intentional. "Not even a little?"
I hated how my breath hitched at that exact moment.
"Maybe a little," I admitted, my voice coming out smaller than I wanted. "Sometimes."
His jaw shifted once, and there was something like satisfaction in his eyes, but it wasn't arrogant. It was quiet. Controlled.
"I can live with a little," he said softly. "As long as you are not afraid of me, only of how much you are starting to feel for me."
My heart knocked hard against my ribs.
"I didn't say that," I whispered.
"You did not have to," he said. "You wear it on your face every time I walk into a room."
I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
"That's not fair," I muttered.
His mouth curved, warmer now. "No," he agreed. "It is not. Not to me either."
I frowned, thrown off. "What do you mean?"
"Do you have any idea," he said, his tone still calm, still so annoyingly sure, "how many times a day I have to stop myself from touching you?"
My breath left me.
"Vihaan....."
He didn't move any closer this time. He just stood there, solid and steady, letting his words hang in the air between us.
"In the morning," he went on, as if he had been holding this in for days, "when you walk around getting ready and you don't even look in the mirror long enough to see how beautiful you are? I want to pull you back and make you look."
My cheeks burned.
"When you sit in the car and argue with me about which route is better," he continued, his eyes softer than his voice, "I want to just hold your hand and let you argue anyway."
"Vihaan..." I said again, but it came out weaker than before.
"And when you fall asleep on the sofa," he added, "I want to carry you every single time. Not just when anyone else is watching."
Something melted inside my chest at that.
He let out a slow breath. "So if I sound sure, Shivanya, it's because I am. About what I feel. About what I want from us. I am not going to pretend otherwise just because it makes you blush."
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
The room felt smaller. Warmer. Quieter.
"You shouldn't say things like that," I whispered.
"Why not?" he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.
"Because then I..." I stopped. I couldn't say it out loud.
His gaze sharpened. "Then you what?"
My fingers twisted in the hem of my kurti. "Then I don't know where to look."
He exhaled, and this time, there was the hint of a smile in it.
"Here," he said, eyes holding mine. "Look here. At me."
I tried. I really did.
But it was hard, when his eyes were this open and his words were this honest and my heart was behaving like it had never met a steady rhythm in its life.
He watched me for a beat, studying every flicker of hesitation.
"See?" he murmured. "You're running again."
"I'm not...."
He stepped that last, tiny distance between us.
Not enough to crowd. Just enough that I could feel the warmth of him, the faint scent of his cologne, the quiet power in the way he carried himself.
My pulse fluttered wildly.
He lifted his hand and, very gently, brushed his knuckles along my cheek. The touch was barely there, but it was enough to make my breathing go shallow.
"You know what the problem is, Sunshine?" he asked softly.
I could only shake my head.
"You think I am going to ask you for more than you are ready to give," he said. "I am not."
His thumb traced the line of my jaw, slow and steady.
"I am only going to ask you for this," he added. "Don't hide from me. If you feel something, let me see it. That's all."
My throat felt tight.
"That's not all" I managed. "That's... a lot."
He nodded, like he understood. "It is. But we have all the time in the world."
The simplicity of that made my eyes sting for a second.
He seemed to notice that too, because his hand moved up, smoothing a strand of hair back behind my ear. His fingers lingered at my temple, warm and steady.
"Relax," he said gently. "I'm not going to kiss you, not yet."
My heart, which had been halfway between terrified and expectant, stumbled.
"You're not?" I asked, before I could stop myself.
His mouth curved into the kind of slow, amused smile that made my stomach dip.
"I would," he said, matter-of-fact. "Very easily. I've wanted to from the first week you started working for me."
My breath hitched.
"But," he added, eyes never leaving my face, "if I kiss you now, you will go into full cross-examination mode in your head, and I will lose you to your thoughts for the next god knows how many days."
I hated how accurate that sounded. I also, secretly, loved that he knew me that well already.
"So," he finished quietly, "we will start with this."
His hand slid to the back of my head, his fingers threading gently into my hair, holding me in place without any force, just a sure, steady grip.
My eyes fluttered shut on their own.
He leaned in.
For one suspended heartbeat, I felt his breath on my skin, warm and soft against my forehead.
Then his lips touched down there, slow and firm and so full of quiet intent that I forgot everything else.
There was no rush in the kiss. No pushing. No question.
Just a simple, steady promise pressed into my skin.
The world went silent for a moment.
When he pulled back, he didn't go far. His hand was still in my hair, his thumb brushing lightly along my temple, like he was reluctant to break all contact just yet.
I opened my eyes slowly.
He was watching me with that same calm, unshakable certainty. Like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he had decided he could take his time.
"There," he said softly. "You handled that."
I swallowed. "Barely."
A hint of laughter edged his voice. "Barely is still enough."
I stepped back half an inch, because I needed to breathe, but I didn't move further away than that.
He noticed. His eyes softened even more, and something in his shoulders relaxed, just a little.
"Come to bed," he said quietly. "It's late."
I nodded, grateful for the practical instruction when my brain felt like cotton.
The room slipped into darkness, the soft night light near the wardrobe casting a faint glow.
For a few seconds, there was only the quiet hum of the fan and the echo of my heartbeat in my ears.
Then I felt the mattress dip as he lay down beside me.
There was a brief pause.
And then, exactly like the night before, his hand slid across the bedsheet in search of mine.
This time, I didn't hesitate.
I reached back at once, threading my fingers through his.
His grip tightened gently, solid and sure.
"Goodnight, Sunshine," he murmured.
This time, when I answered, my voice was soft but steady.
"Goodnight, Vihaan."
I closed my eyes, his kiss still warm against my forehead, his hand firm around mine.
And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, I realised that maybe, just maybe, I wasn't running quite as fast anymore.
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