The house was quiet when Arina stepped inside, the faint hum of the central air the only sound filling the wide hallway. Her heels clicked softly against the polished marble floor, echoing faintly before she paused to unbuckle them. She carried them in one hand as she made her way upstairs, her steps slow, deliberate.
Reyansh wasn't home yet.She had massage him about her arrival when she was in car.
She had learned yesterday—from Anita's casual chatter—that he usually returned around seven. It was only a few minutes before that now. The thought lingered in her mind as she entered her bedroom, the faint scent of lavender from the air freshener greeting her. Without switching on all the lights, she moved to her wardrobe and slipped out of her saree, replacing them with something lighter—an airy pastel kurti and soft cotton trousers.
The fabric felt cool against her skin, a small comfort after a long day. She tied her hair loosely at the nape of her neck and glanced at the clock. He would be home soon.
Without thinking too much about it, she headed downstairs toward the kitchen. The staff had already prepared some ingredients , neatly arranged in bowls on the counter, but she wanted to make something herself. A small act, perhaps, but one that carried more weight than she would admit aloud.
She was halfway through chopping vegetables when she heard the faint sound of the front door unlocking. A shift in the air followed—footsteps, slow and measured. She turned, knife still in hand, just as Reyansh stepped into the kitchen.
He paused at the doorway, taking in the sight of her with a faintly unreadable expression.
"Why are you making dinner when you've just arrived?" His voice was calm, almost casual, but there was a quiet authority underneath.
Arina's lips curved into a soft smile, the kind that didn't give away much. She set the knife down, walked toward him, and without hesitation, reached up to loosen his tie. The silk slipped through her fingers easily.
"I'm not tired," she said, her tone light."i would just make the dinner."
He didn't immediately respond, simply watching her with those steady eyes of his.
"How was your day?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, as though genuinely curious.
For a moment, his gaze lingered on her face before he answered. "It was fine."
She nodded once, stepping back. "Freshen up and come to the dining room. It would be ready."
He gave a short hum of acknowledgment and left the kitchen without another word, his footsteps fading as he went upstairs.
Arina let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. There was a certain weight to his presence that always seemed to press into the room, even when he said little.
She finished the meal quickly—a simple dinner, but with flavors she knew would be balanced. By the time Reyansh returned, the dishes were already set on the table. He had changed into a fresh shirt, the top button undone, hair slightly damp.
"You could take the help of the staff," he said as he sat down, his tone neither sharp nor indulgent—just stating a fact.
Arina shook her head. "don't worry ,I just had to cook .Seema would do the dishes."
They ate in silence for a while, the only sounds the faint clink of cutlery and the low hum of the dining room's chandelier lights. At one point, Arina glanced at him, her expression unreadable.
"How's the food?" she asked suddenly.
Reyansh didn't look up immediately, finishing the bite in his mouth before replying. "It's tasty."
The words were simple, but she caught the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth—so fleeting it might have been imagined.
After dinner, Reyansh left the table without ceremony and went upstairs. Arina cleared her own plate before following him, her steps quiet on the staircase.
When she entered the bedroom, he was seated on the bed, leaning slightly against the headboard, reading a hardcover book. The lamplight threw soft shadows across his face, catching the edge of his glasses.
She walked over and sat down beside him without saying anything. The room felt warmer here, more intimate. For a long moment, she simply sat in silence, her gaze shifting from the book to his profile. He didn't seem to mind her presence; the only sound was the faint rustle of the pages as he turned them.
Eventually, he closed the book and placed it on the nightstand, turning his attention to her. "Do you need anything?"
She shook her head. "No." Then, after a small pause, her voice softened. "You look… really good in glasses."
His gaze lingered on her for a second—steady, unreadable—before he replied, "It's late. Sleep."
No smile, no shift in tone. Just a quiet command, as though he had neatly folded away whatever her words might have stirred.
Arina didn't argue. She simply lay down beside him, her eyes fixed on the faint glow of the ceiling . She couldn't help but feel the subtle tension threaded through the silence.
Outside, the night settled in deeper, wrapping the house in stillness. Inside, they shared the same space, breathing the same air, yet holding worlds apart.
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" Sometimes, the quietest nights hold the loudest desires."