ใ โง ๐๐๐ง๐๐ค โง ใ
Waking up with your body aching on your twenty-eighth birthday was really sucky. And more so, was waking up alone even after you got a husband.
Why?
Just why did he keep disappearing every night after dinner? Every night since the wedding, I fell asleep waiting for my husband.
Why?
Just why did I even wait around for him? Checking the time on my phone, on the digital clock by his bed, the analogue clock hanging on the wall, and even checking the surveillance cameras, whenever a car came into the driveway, why did I do all that?
Why?
Just why did I even anticipate his arrival? Why did I look forward to him going to our room after dinner, or coming to our room after he finally came home? Why did I wait to hear his footsteps after he finally came home, and heard the door of the study open and shut behind him?
Why?
Just why was I even thinking of things like it had been months since I was abandoned by my husband, when it had only been two days? After the games yesterday, we had dinner, and my husband just... left. Right after.
And something that hurt even more than that?
Sitting around in the living room, with every member of the family, after lunch and not receiving, let alone a gift, a simple and measly birthday wish.
Aryan hadn't come down from his study, neither for breakfast nor lunch. And everybody pretended as though it wasn't weird. But it was clear on their faces. Especially Dev Uncle's. I hadn't missed how, every now and then, he would look up at the duplex floor and glare at his study door.
Even when Dev Uncle had called for him to come down and eat with the family, he had refused. And how mad that had made him.
Well fine.
If that's what he wanted to do. If he didn't want to eat with me. Then fine.
I was happy eating with his family.
But at the moment, even they weren't my most favourite people. It was well in the evening, and none of them had wished me. My reason for disappointment wasn't that they had forgotten. Because after everything that had happened in the past few days, I would have forgotten my birthday if it weren't for Shiv and Mahi calling me at twelve at night and being the first people to wish me, followed by my parents.
And radio silence since.
Every year, without fail, Dev Uncle used to send me gifts on my birthday. But this year? When I was actually his daughter-in-law?
Absolutely, nothing!
It made me far angrier than it hurt me.
"It's time for her dressing," Tara Aunty said as she sat beside me and motioned for the first aid kit to be brought.
"So, when are you planning on joining the firm, again?" Dev Uncle asked as he lounged on the couch. We were having our evening tea with Tara Aunty and Dadi, something only the two of us enjoyed.
I sat up a bit straighter on mine and said, "Once my injury heals."
"So, after your wedding Reception?" Tara Aunty asked.
'Ghoomer', the word rang in my ear as though he had whispered it directly into it again, and almost scoffed.
"If we are holding one, Aunty," I replied, and continued, "then yes."
There was a sigh. "How many times do we have to remind you that she is not your Aunty anymore?" Dadi asked. "And while you are at it, stop calling Dev 'Uncle' as well. Call them Maa and Papa."
I fidget in my seat and look up at Dev Uncle. He merely smiled at me and said, "It's okay, Maa," and petted my head. "She will when she is ready."
"Yes, Maa," Tara Aunty said. "She has been having all of her meals and spending time with us, more than our actual son. She has accepted us as her family, and that's what matters."
A nurse sat in front of me and began undressing my wound. Where had a nurse appeared from? I had no idea.
"Aryan appointed her for you," Dev Uncle said, as he took a sip of his chai. "So tell me about this Merger. The one your firm is handling."
I was grateful for the question.
Because I did not want to think about the 'Aryan appointed her for you' comment.
"Well, it's mostly the London branch that is handling the merger," I said. "But because it was a personal request from my professor, I am keeping an eye out and reviewing."
"It's the Connaught acquiring the Chevcom, right?" Tara Aunty asked.
I nodded and set the tea cup on the side table carefully, trying not to disturb the nurse as she dressed my injury. "Connaught Group is entering the communications industry, and they are merging with Chevcom. It's a personal favour and I have to make sure that the negotiation goes right, and there is no room for dispute."
Dadi snickered. "Makes sense. Everyone knows how egoistic both the CEOs are, and if it isn't handled delicately, it would be a domino of disaster."
I nodded. "Which is why my being away from the firm is proving to be difficult," I said.
"Ah, finally, he has time for family," Dadi said as she looked behind me.
I didn't turn around.
"And his wife," Dev Uncle said.
"I had some work to finish," came his voice from right over my head.
My head jerked up, instantly, and came the view of him looking down at my foot where the toe rings were still. Where his name had been carved.
And then, he looked down on me.
"Your wife is doing something far better and important, but she has been spending her days with her family," Dev Uncle said. "And hasn't shut herself in her room right after the wedding."
He kept looking at me, even when Uncle was talking to him. "I apologise," came the smooth words. Then, he looked at the nurse and said, "Is it done?"
She nodded and got up. "Most of it is healed. The cut looked deeper than it was. She would be able to walk by next week," she said and left after Aryan dismissed her.
"So, are we ready then?" Aryan asked everyone in the room, and Dev Uncle nodded.
With that unspoken signal, Aryan turned toward me, and before I could process what was happening, he bent down and scooped me effortlessly into his arms. My breath hitched with a mix of annoyance and a flutter in my chest.
"You put me on that thing, Aryan Rathore," I hissed, eyeing the wheelchair he was about to lower me onto. He froze, mid-motion, when I used his full name, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "And I will break your legs and have you use that chair for the rest of your life."
Dev Uncle and Tara Aunty burst out laughing, but Aryan's eyes stayed locked on mine.
"Then would you rather I carry you around in my arms?" he murmured, voice low, teasing.
I arched a brow. "I would rather walk on my own two feet." My patience thinning, I glanced around the room. "Where are we going, though?"
"Well," he said, tightening his grip slightly, "I'm not putting you on your feet until you're completely healed. So, in my arms it is."
I frowned, the irritation in my voice barely hiding the flutter in my chest. "Where are we going?"
"Patience."
"Oh, shut up!" I snapped, then turned to Dev Uncle. "Where are we going, Uncle?"
"You'll see in due time," he replied, his tone laced with mischief.
I looked at Tara Aunty, hoping for mercy, but she only smiled knowingly. "Like father, like son."
Aryan pushed the door open, and we entered the dining room. The moment the lights flickered on, my breath caught.
"Happy Birthday!"
The shout erupted around me, echoing against the high ceilings, wrapping me in a wave of warmth and disbelief. My jaw fell open as my gaze darted across the room, the soft golden lighting, the fairy-tale themed decorations glittering on the walls, and the enormous cake standing proud in the center like a crown jewel. My parents. My cousins. His family. Everyone was there.
"What is this?" I whispered, barely finding my voice.
"Did you really think we'd forget your birthday?" Tara Aunty said, smiling.
Don't cry.
"We would just like to apologise that it took too long." She threw a playful glare at Aryan. "Your husband has been preparing this forever and still couldn't finish on time."
Seriously, Kanak. Don't cry.
"We've been setting up since morning!" Mahi chimed in, beaming.
"How did you not notice?" Parth asked.
"We kept her pretty distracted," Dev Uncle said, his laughter joining the rest.
My parents smiled at me. Slowly, Aryan helped me to my feet, his arm steadying me as I limped toward the cake. My fingers trembled when I touched the knife, but when everyone began to sing, I smiled.
As somebody lit the candles on the cake, I turned to look at the man who made all this possible. The man who hated me was playing the role of a husband perfectly. And my heart was surely getting fooled.
And, that's how I celebrated my birthday in everyday clothes, my foot bandaged and surrounded by family and the perfect husband who hated me.
What I didn't know then was that the man holding me so gently, the man I realised I never really knew at all, was still the same dark, dangerous Aryan I'd met in the forest. And that part of him wasn't gone; it was merely hidden.
It was after I had cut the cake and fed everyone. The room was alive with laughter. Bursts of joy echoed against the chandeliered ceiling, the hum of music mixed with the clinking of glasses. Warm candlelight flickered across smiling faces, casting a golden glow that made the entire scene feel almost cinematic.
Mohini Aunty was teasing Brij Uncle about eating too much frosting, Maithili was showing off her photography skills, and my parents were chatting with Aryan's. For a moment, everything felt right. My chest felt light, my cheeks hurt from smiling, and even Aryan, who was standing beside me in his usual, intimidating calm, looked softened by the warmth of it all.
Then came his turn.
I turned toward him, holding the plate. My fingers trembled slightly from the way his gaze had fixed on me. There was something in his eyes, that deep, unreadable glint that always seemed to say too much.
I grabbed the slice between my fingers and brought it to his lips.
His lips twitched, not into a smile, but something darker and far more deliberate. A smirk. Before I could blink, his hand shot up and caught mine mid-air, his fingers curling firmly around my wrist. The laughter around us blurred, dimmed.
Then, with infuriating calm, he broke off a piece of the cake from the slice I was holding and brought it to my mouth instead. His touch was possessive, the gesture oddly intimate in front of everyone. My breath faltered when his fingers brushed my lips. I opened my mouth because fighting him here, in front of everyone, would draw too much attention.
We bit into our respective slices at the same time, a picture-perfect couple to everyone watching. The family cheered and clapped, oblivious. Someone even whistled.
As the room drifted back into its chatter, Aryan's gaze never left mine. He licked my fingers, tasting the frosting, and before I could react, his thumb pressed against my lips and pushed it inside.
My eyes widened in shock as he rubbed his frost-covered thumb on my tongue. His expression didn't waver. If anything, the faint curve of his lips deepened, as though he was testing how far he could push me in front of everyone and still get away with it.
The noise of the room seemed to fade, replaced by the rush of my own pulse in my ears.
I tightened my jaw, ready to retaliate, to bite down and make him regret it, but before I could act, he withdrew his hand.
"Tonight," he murmured. "You will submit to me tonight."
'Submit.' There was that godforsaken word again.
I clenched my jaw, forcing down the storm building inside me. On the outside, I smiled. Inside, I was seething.
When the evening finally ended and the laughter faded into quiet goodnights, the house began to empty. One by one, doors closed, lights dimmed, and the celebration was over.
Aryan slid an arm around me without asking, carrying me through the corridor as if I weighed nothing. The sound of his footsteps echoed against the marble floor, steady and deliberate. I didn't resist. I waited.
He pushed the door to our room open and stepped inside.
"Are you ready, my wife?" he asked, his voice quiet but heavy, like a challenge. He set me gently on my feet, his hands lingering just a moment too long at my waist.
I walked to the bedside table and grabbed the water jug, looked up at him and smirked. "Are you ready, my husband?"
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, brief but real. "Oh, you have no idea," he murmured.
That was my cue. "But you forgot something, Peasant. Kanak Rathore does not submit to anyone. Even to her dear husband."
I threw the water on my side of the bed and stomped my injured foot against the floor. A white-hot pain shot up my leg, searing and immediate, but I held onto it. I wanted it. I needed it. It wasn't as painful as I had hoped, but it helped. The tears that sprang to my eyes weren't entirely fake, but they served their purpose.
"Oh God, I really, really hate you!" I screamed, my voice bouncing off the walls so loudly that even the curtains probably flinched.
I turned on my heel, or well, as gracefully as a woman with a half-healed foot could turn on her heel, and hobbled dramatically toward the door. "I can't bear to see your face!" I yelled, flinging my arm in the air for extra flair.
When I turned back, he was still standing there, frozen, blinking at me
"I hate you! I really, truly hate you! How could you!" I shouted again, louder this time, just enough for my voice to carry across the hall. Somewhere in the house, I heard a door creak open. Perfect.
Moments later, Tara Aunty came rushing up the stairs in her nightgown, followed closely by Dev Uncle, who looked more confused than alarmed. "What happened? Why are you shouting?" she cried.
Without missing a beat, I bolted toward her and threw myself into her arms, sobbing so hard that even the family portrait on the wall might've started worrying.
"I swear to God, Aunty! Your son is the worst!" I wailed between sniffles that were just a little too rhythmic to be natural.
Her arms tightened around me immediately. "What? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" she asked, her voice filled with concern and just a hint of panic, the kind mothers get right before they decide whose side they're on.
I looked up at her with tear-glossed eyes and pointed dramatically toward Aryan. The moment my gaze met his, I broke down again, crying even louder, burying my face in Aunty's shoulder for effect.
Tara Aunty's head snapped in his direction, her eyes narrowing to slits. "What. Did. You. Do?" she asked, each word slow, precise, and dripping with maternal fury.
Leaning against the wall like a man who had seen this movie before, Aryan crossed his arms and said flatly, "Nothing."
"Oh, it can't be 'nothing'!" she snapped back. "Look at her! She's crying so much!"
He shrugged. "Really, nothing."
"Nothing?" I repeated, pulling away just enough to glare at him through watery eyes. "You really think that was nothing?"
He tilted his head, entirely unbothered. "Yes, Princess. I really didn't do anything."
I scoffed, wiping a very dramatic tear off my cheek. "Was it really that insignificant to you?"
The melodrama was a chef's kiss. Even the house staff had peeked from the corridor to see what fresh chaos was unfolding. And judging by the mixture of sympathy and suspicion on everyone's faces, I knew I was winning.
Aryan let out a quiet exhale, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "For me to determine that," he said, in that calm, teasing tone that made me want to throw something, "you'll have to tell me what I've done."
"Did you..." I began, voice trembling with mock outrage, pointing a very accusing finger at Aryan. "Or did you not throw a pillow down on the floorโ"
He frowned.
"โordering me," I continued, dramatically clutching my chest, "to sleep on the ground because apparently, I am your wife and a wife's position is beneath her husband!"
Tara Aunty gasped so hard you could hear it over my loud sobs.
"You said what?" she exclaimed, scandalised in the way only a mother could be.
Aryan blinked. "It wasn't... sheโ"
"And!" I interrupted, lifting one triumphant finger. "When I refused, when I dared to protest this outrageous mistreatment, do you know what your son did next?"
Dev Uncle leaned forward, clearly invested now. "What did he do?"
"He threw water on my side of the bed!" I shrieked. "Water! Aunty! Just to stop me from sleeping there!"
The room collectively gasped. Somewhere, I think even the ceiling fan slowed down to hear the verdict.
Aryan pinched the bridge of his nose. "That did not happen."
"Oh, really?" I shot back. "Because I distinctly remember you saying, 'Either you sleep on the floor or the wet mattress. Your choice.'"
Tara Aunty's jaw dropped, her eyes blazing. "I can't believe my ears. Even as a joke, it's too low!"
Aryan clenched his jaw. "I didn't do that."
"He is lying." I turned to Tara Aunty, dramatically clutching my heart like a heroine in a tragic play. "Aunty, you remember, don't you? Before I left for London, when I was in the garden watching the gardener work, I said I wanted to help."
She nodded slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Yes... You came back looking like you'd wrestled a mud monster."
"Exactly!" I exclaimed. "And how I came back covered in manure and completely drenched?"
She nodded again, lips pressed thin. "I remember. You smelled like... fertiliser for a week."
I took a dramatic pause, lowering my voice to a whisper that carried perfectly through the room. "That was him, too."
Tara Aunty blinked. "What?"
"Yes!" I wailed. "He pushed me into the manure, Aunty! Just like that! Shoved me straight in! And then, pretending to help, he turned on the water hose! Full pressure!"
"And he didn't even turn it off right away," I continued, sniffing tragically. "No, Aunty. He just stood there, holding the hose, laughing! Like a villain!"
Aryan groaned. "That's not how it happened, Tara Maa --"
"Oh, don't even try," Tara Aunty snapped, cutting him off. "Pushing her into manure? With a hose? Throwing water on her side of the bed? Asking her to sleep on the floor? Saying her position is beneath you, because she is a woman. Aryan, are you out of your mind?"
He did not reply but continued to just look at me. He did not even glare. His face and eyes were completely blank.
I ignored him and turned to Tara Aunty. "Aunty, what should I do?"
"Aryan," she began. "You not only disrespected your wife but also spoiled her birthday."
Aryan didn't react.
"Get out of the house!" Tara Aunty roared, her voice thundering through the hall so loudly that even the chandelier seemed to rattle in fear. "And don't show your face to us until the morning!"
He took a deep breath and turned around. Without a word, he walked out of the house, and my heart settled.
'Submit my ass.'
"Nobody will open the door for him," Tara Aunty declared, spinning on her heel like a general issuing orders before battle. "Have I made myself understood?"
There were obedient nods all around. Even Dev Uncle nodded.
"Good." She exhaled dramatically. "Go to sleep, Kanak. I will deal with Aryan in the morning."
"Yes, Aunty," I sniffed, trying to look fragile and pitiful. "Goodnight."
And with the best performance of my life, I trudged back to my room like a wounded kitten, sniffling, limping slightly, the picture of heartbreak. But the moment my bedroom door clicked shut behind me...
A shit-eating grin took over my face.
"Hah!" I whispered to myself, punching the air in triumph. "That'll teach you, Mr. 'Submit to me.'"
Humming a sweet little tune, I began my bedtime routine. Even my injury could not stop the hop in my step. I practically twirled into my pyjamas
I glanced at his pillow, his perfectly fluffed, annoyingly disciplined pillow, and smirked. "Oh, don't look at me like that," I told it. "Your master's sleeping with mosquitoes tonight."
Pulling the blanket over myself, I stretched across his side of the bed, starfishing triumphantly, because victory is best enjoyed horizontally. I didn't even mind my arms touching the wet mattress.
Outside, the crickets chirped. Somewhere far off, a lonely Aryan probably scowled at the moon.
Inside, I sighed contentedly, whispering to the darkness, "Goodnight, Peasant"
And with that, I drifted off into the sweetest, most peaceful slumber I'd had in days.
Which was probably why I hadn't felt the arm that slowly slid across my stomach or the warmth that crept up behind me. A breath brushed against the back of my neck, steady and familiar. My eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep one moment, wide and alert the next.
The realisation hit instantly. He was in bed.
I tried to move, but his leg came over mine, pinning me down effortlessly. "Where are you going, darling?" his voice murmured, too calm, too close.
"Get off me, Peasant!" I snapped, my words muffled by the blanket and the half-darkness.
"I'm only here to deliver a message, Princess," he said quietly. "From a husband to his wife."
I struggled, trying to twist free, but his grip tightened. He leaned closer, his breath steady against my ear.
"Don't worry," he said, tone shifting to something colder. "I'm not here to demand anything. I'm here to remind you."
"Some battles aren't as one-sided as you think," he said.
That stilled me. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, my voice lower now, sharper.
"It means," he said, "you can play your little games, darling. But remember, I always know when you're bluffing. I know how you react to me, Princess," he said. "I know just how hot your blood burns and how you pretend as though your pussy does not get for me."
"Fuck off!" I said and tried to pull his hand away.
"Worry not." He bit my ear. "Next time I touch that pussy, it's when you beg me for it."
I scoffed. "Like hell, I would."
I could feel him smile. "Oh, you will. Now, it's your turn to come to me. And until you drop on your knees and beg me to take you, I won't touch you."
My heart thundered in my chest.
I turned my head, trying to see his expression, but he was already pulling away, the mattress shifting as he stood.
For a long moment, silence stretched between us. Then, in that same calm voice, he said, "Happy birthday, Darling."
And then, he left.
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