Nandini's POV
The house was... silent.
Not scary silent. More like "rich-people-who-don't-know-how-to-make-noise" silent.
As soon as we entered, I stood frozen in the massive living room, my brain buffering.
Sleek grey furniture, giant windows, dramatic curtains that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, and a staircase that curled like it belonged in a romantic drama.
This wasn't a house.
This was Pinterest.
"Your room is upstairs. The second one on the left," Siddharth said casually, already walking off toward his study like we hadn't just moved in together five minutes ago.
Your room?
Hold on.
Was I being roommate-zoned by my husband on day one?
I stared after him, offended and confused, but my inner polite Tamil girl said don't question your in-laws yet—even if the in-law is your own husband.
So I went upstairs like a good newlywed ghost bride.
Once I entered the bedroom, I forgot to breathe again.
Because—wow.
Cream-colored walls. Huge bed. Warm fairy lights. A small bookshelf in the corner. And most importantly...
A balcony.
With plants.
MY PLANTS.
Okay, not actually mine, but still. Someone here liked greenery and that someone wasn't my husband, who gives "I prefer steel over flowers" vibes.
I dropped my bag and headed straight to the balcony.
Sunlight. Fresh air. Tiny wind chimes. Basil. Jasmine. Even a baby money plant in a frog-shaped pot. I felt like Snow White minus the birds.
"I could live here," I whispered to a potted marigold.
After a long peaceful moment with the plants, I returned inside and began my unofficial self-guided house tour.
Room #1: Guest bedroom. Neat. Dust-free. Boring.
Room #2: Study. Locked. Of course. Probably has top-secret business plans or his favorite pen.
Room #3: Another guest room. Who needs this many rooms? Was he planning to adopt a football team?
Then... I found the door.
At the end of the hallway. Slightly ajar. The light off.
Naturally, I opened it. Because curiosity is my middle name (it's not, it's Lakshmi, but still).
Inside was... a music room?
A sleek black piano sat in the center. Guitars lined up on the wall. Soft carpets. Dim lighting. And a photo frame on the shelf—
Of a younger Siddharth holding a violin.
Wait, what?
My husband—the human version of "do not disturb"—played music?
I stepped in slowly, heart beating like a Bollywood heroine who just found her hero's secret hobby.
I picked up the frame. He looked so... different. Relaxed. Smiling.
Not the cold CEO. Not the awkward new husband. Just... a guy who loved music.
Then—click.
The door creaked behind me.
I turned around like a kid caught stealing cookies.
And there he was.
Siddharth.
Staring at me.
"You found it," he said quietly.
"I—uh—I didn't mean to snoop! The door was open! And the piano looked at me first—I mean—" I wanted to disappear.
He didn't yell.
He didn't scold.
He just stepped in, looked around, and gently took the photo from my hand. "This was my favorite room... before everything got serious."
I stayed quiet.
He glanced at me. "You can come here anytime. It's yours now too."
My heart did a little somersault.
"I don't know music," I whispered.
"Then I'll teach you."
WHAT.
I blinked. "Seriously?"
He gave the smallest nod. "Start with piano. It's easier than understanding me."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
This wasn't just a house.
It was the beginning of something.
================================================================================