Shruti blinked, her breath hitching for just a second at the sight before her.
Every single dress had been arranged — color-coded, neatly pressed, and perfectly placed as if they belonged on display in a boutique. The kurtis hung gracefully, organized by shade from the softest creams to the deepest blues. The jeans were folded with precision, stacked like uniform bricks. Even her dupattas had been folded and arranged in the drawer, cascading from lightest to darkest like a painter's palette.
Her slippers were lined up near the wardrobe. The boxes from the electronics store were stacked in a corner, not a single scrap of packaging left lying around.
Shruti stood frozen near the door, her lips parted in amazement. The room smelled faintly of new fabric, cardboard, and lavender — clean and calm.
And there, sprawled sideways on the bed, one arm tucked under his head, lay Arjun. His eyes were half-lidded in satisfaction, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
"You're… done?" she asked, voice soft with disbelief.
"Yeah," he said, sounding too casual for the miracle he had performed. "You can thank me now."
Shruti couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Shaking her head, she walked over and dropped beside him on the mattress with a tired sigh, her head tilted toward the ceiling.
"Thank you," she whispered, genuine and quiet.
Arjun turned his head toward her, watching her profile for a second. His voice gentled, as if he didn't want to break the stillness between them. "Take a nap. I'll wake you for dinner."
She didn't respond at first, just closed her eyes and let the comfort of the room sink into her bones. The weight of the day, of all the emotions, of all the surprises — it all softened in the warmth of the space they now shared.
A knock sounded at the door, and Arjun's dad peeked in, his expression already amused at seeing them both sprawled out like defeated warriors.
"Should I cook or order something?" he asked, eyes dancing with humor.
"Order, Appa," Arjun replied without missing a beat, glancing toward the door before Shruti could even lift her head. "We're both about to collapse."
His dad chuckled, nodding knowingly. "Alright. I'll get biryani," he said, his grin widening as he closed the door gently behind him.
Shruti turned to look at Arjun, her tired eyes soft, and found him already looking at her.
Neither spoke.
Their hands didn't touch. Their shoulders didn't brush. A soft space remained between them — small, but filled with quiet understanding. The kind of space that didn't feel empty at all.
The ceiling fan hummed above them. The last rays of the sun spilled through the curtains, casting faint stripes of gold across the floor and their faces.
She studied the way the light touched his jawline, the way his lashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks. And she felt, in that moment, utterly at peace.
Arjun, watching her, found his lips twitching into a small smile. "What?" he asked quietly.
Shruti shook her head, her voice just above a whisper. "Nothing. Just… I didn't think today would end like this."
"Like what?"
"Like me being grateful for getting married to a stranger," she said, the honesty surprising even herself.
His gaze softened, the teasing leaving his features. "I didn't think I'd want to keep surprising someone this much," he admitted.
They held each other's gaze, unspoken things passing between them like a gentle breeze.
Finally, Shruti yawned, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Wake me if Appa brings the food?"
"I promise," Arjun said, his voice low and steady. "Sleep, Shruti."
And as her eyes fluttered closed, he kept looking at her — as if anchoring himself to the quiet, unexpected bond that had begun to form between them.
The world outside their room faded, and for the first time, the silence wasn't heavy.
It was home.
---
Dinner had been simple but deeply satisfying—steaming hot biryani rich with spices, cool creamy raita, and two bowls of payasam that Arjun's father had ordered without consulting anyone, just because. They ate cross-legged on the living room floor, their plates balanced carefully on a low wooden table. The biryani's aroma filled the air, mingling with the soft sounds of the television playing an old movie in the background.
Shruti and Arjun occasionally bumped shoulders as they reached for the same side dish, and each time their glances met, they exchanged small smiles. The kind of smiles that said nothing and everything at once. The kind that stretched silence comfortably, no words needed.
Arjun's father watched them out of the corner of his eye, the hint of a smile hidden behind his payasam spoon. He didn't comment—just quietly observed the way these two, married strangers only days ago, were slowly finding their rhythm.
After dinner, bellies warm and limbs heavy with pleasant fatigue, Shruti and Arjun trudged back to their room like two overfed cats.
The door clicked shut, and Arjun let out a loud, theatrical grunt as he collapsed face-first onto the bed. His arms spread wide like he'd conquered some great battle.
"I can't even feel my legs," he groaned into the mattress.
Shruti laughed softly and followed, letting herself fall beside him with a tired sigh. "This feels like heaven," she agreed, her voice muffled by the pillow.
For a moment, the quiet wrapped around them—peaceful, slow, a perfect end to a long day.
Then suddenly, Arjun shot upright, eyes wide, and smacked his palm against his forehead.
"Shit!"
Shruti startled, turning to him with alarm. "What? What happened?"
He groaned, running both hands through his hair. "I forgot to buy books. College starts Monday. I didn't get my second-year ones… and I didn't get your first-year textbooks either. Completely forgot."
Shruti blinked at him, trying not to laugh. "Wait… don't you still have your first-year books? I mean, I can just use those, right?"
Arjun hesitated, guilt creeping up his neck. He scratched behind his ear, avoiding her gaze. "I, uh… I gave them away."
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Gave them away where? Don't tell me—"
"No!" he said quickly, holding his hands up. "Not to the garbage truck! I sold them at a second-hand bookstore. I didn't think I'd ever need them again."
Shruti's laughter finally escaped, warm and bubbling. "Arjun, seriously? You're that guy who clears out textbooks the second exams are over?"
"They take up space!" he defended, but even as he said it, he realized how weak it sounded.
She shook her head, grinning. "And now look who's got no space left in his memory."
He groaned again, flopping back onto the bed, this time throwing an arm over his eyes. "Fine, I deserve that. I'll go get them soon. I promise."
Shruti turned on her side to face him, propping her head on her palm. "We can go after our temple visits on Saturday."
He peeked at her from under his arm, squinting. "Temple visits?"
"Yes." She nodded, tone casual but firm. "I want to visit four or five famous temples around Vizag. Always wanted to."
Arjun's eyes widened like she'd just asked him to climb Mount Everest. "Four or five?"
She raised a brow. "You have a problem?"
"I didn't sign up for a spiritual marathon," he groaned dramatically, flopping back again.
Shruti laughed, the sound soft but bright. "So you don't visit temples often?"
"I do," he said, a little sheepishly. "Just not when it involves waking up at ungodly hours or walking more than ten steps at a stretch."
"Lazy," she teased, eyes twinkling.
"Very," he admitted without shame.
"Too bad," she said, nudging him lightly with her foot. "We're still going. I want prasadam from every single one."
He exhaled deeply, as if preparing for battle. "Alright. Fine. We'll go. We'll visit temples, buy books, come back home looking like zombies."
She grinned, victorious. "You'll survive."
He pointed a finger at her dramatically. "If I survive that day, I owe you an ice cream. Big one."
"Deal!" she said, extending her pinky.
Arjun laughed, looping his pinky around hers and shaking on it. "You're dangerous."
"And you're stuck with me," she quipped.
They lay there, side by side, the soft glow of the bedside lamp painting warm shadows across the room. The hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence, accompanied by the occasional distant bark of a street dog or the soft chime of wind chimes from the balcony.
Arjun turned to face her, his voice lowering. "You really want to go to that many temples?"
She nodded, her tone gentle now. "It's not just about the temples. I want to pray. For strength. For us."
His gaze softened, and he studied her for a long moment. "Then we'll go," he said quietly. "And I'll pray too."
Shruti smiled, her heart unexpectedly full. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being nice. Even when you're tired. Even when you grumble."
He smiled back, the day's exhaustion fading for just a heartbeat. "That's easy," he said. "You make it easy."
They stayed like that, quiet and content, until their eyes grew heavy and the world outside faded into the soft cocoon of their shared space.
Shruti hesitated only for a breath before slowly reaching toward him, her limbs heavy with both exhaustion and something far more tender. Her arms wrapped around his torso, tentative at first, as if unsure if she was allowed, then tighter, pulling herself closer until her forehead nearly rested against his shoulder. She let her fingers gently pat his back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her palm.
Arjun stilled for a second, surprised but not moving away. The warmth of her touch seeped through his t-shirt, calming in a way that words never could.
His voice broke the quiet, soft and muffled against the pillow, laced with that familiar playfulness. "Are you—" a pause as he tilted his head slightly toward her, "—gonna sing me a lullaby too? Might as well, since you've started."
Shruti chuckled, her breath fanning lightly against his arm. "Shut up and sleep," she murmured, her tone fond.
Arjun shifted just enough to glance at her, his lips curving into a sleepy grin. "I'm just saying... you're halfway to being the perfect wife. Just missing the lullaby."
She rolled her eyes, though he couldn't see it in the dim light. "Sleep, Arjun," she said again, softer this time, her fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. "Or I will sing, and I can't promise it'll sound good."
He laughed quietly, the sound rumbling under her cheek. "I'll take my chances."
But despite his teasing, his eyelids had begun to droop, the weight of the day pulling him down. Her presence—close, warm, comforting—felt like an anchor he hadn't realized he'd needed.
Shruti held him closer, feeling his breathing slow, her own matching its rhythm. The room felt smaller, cozier, like the world outside had shrunk to just the space they occupied.
"You're really not letting go, are you?" he asked after a beat, his voice softer now, touched with something almost shy.
"No," she whispered, eyes closing, her forehead brushing his shoulder. "Not tonight."
There was a pause, and then she heard him exhale, long and content. "Good," he murmured. "I don't want you to."
She smiled, small and private, and stayed right where she was.
In the soft glow of that night, under the hum of the tired ceiling fan, with the distant sound of crickets outside and the memory of shared biryani still lingering, they drifted together into sleep—closer than before, quieter than ever.
To be continued...