The house was too big for two people who barely spoke.
Every morning, sunlight entered our bedroom before words ever did.
Soft, golden light slipped through the long cream curtains and rested quietly on the empty side of the bed—
his side.
Kartik had already left.
He usually did.
For two years of marriage, I had learned the rhythm of his absence better than the sound of his voice.
His meetings, his late nights, his sudden travels…
all perfectly normal for a man who belonged more to the world outside than to the home inside.
And I…
I belonged to this silence.
I sat in front of the dressing table, brushing my hair slowly, watching my own reflection like it might answer a question I had stopped asking aloud.
How long can love live
without being seen?
The mirror, like always, said nothing.
People think marriages between rich families are full of pride, power, and celebration.
Maybe some are.
Mine wasn't.
Kartik and I didn't marry for business or status.
Our families were already powerful enough without needing each other.
My parents were doctors, respected across the country,
and our family's medical trade business stood at the top—
stable, untouchable, known everywhere.
Kartik's world was just as strong.
His father came from a family that owned prestigious universities.
His mother was a fashion designer whose international brand carried her name across borders.
Two successful families.
Two respected names.
One marriage that looked perfect from the outside.
But perfection is a beautiful lie people tell when they cannot see inside a room.
I had known Kartik long before I became his wife.
I was sixteen when he and his younger brother, Kartikey, came to live in our house for some time.
Their mother—my mother's closest friend—had to travel abroad,
and without hesitation, our home became theirs.
Those days were simple.
Carefree in the quiet way childhood often is.
Kartik wasn't cold back then.
He was warm, talkative, easy to laugh with.
He spoke to me and my sister like we had always been part of his life.
And somewhere between shared dinners, casual conversations, and ordinary evenings…
my heart chose him.
Silently.
Without permission.
Without hope of return.
Back then, love felt harmless.
Anisha—my childhood friend, my classmate, my everything-since-forever—
loved him too.
But our story was never a rivalry.
Never jealousy.
Never bitterness.
Life is not a cheap drama.
She loved him openly.
I loved him quietly.
And he… loved her.
When our marriage was decided years later,
she didn't fight.
She didn't cry in front of anyone.
She simply left…
and after some time, she built her own life,
married someone else,
had a child,
and moved forward the way strong people do—
softly and without noise.
Only Kartik and I remained behind,
tied together by a decision that looked simple to the world
and complicated only to our hearts.
He married me because I was familiar.
Because his grandfather wished for it.
Because saying yes was easier than breaking another heart.
Not because he loved me.
At least…
that's what I believed.
For two years, he stayed careful.
Polite.
Distant.
He never touched me.
Never crossed the invisible line between duty and love.
And I waited.
Not for grand gestures.
Not for promises.
Just…
for one moment that felt like I was truly his.
It never came.
A soft knock on the door pulled me back to the present.
"Madam, breakfast is ready," the housemaid said gently.
"I'm not hungry," I replied, the same answer I had given too many mornings.
Footsteps faded.
Silence returned.
My oldest companion.
I looked once more at the empty side of the bed.
Two years of marriage.
And it still looked untouched.
Something inside me finally whispered a truth I had tried not to hear:
Love should not feel this lonely.
My fingers tightened around the edge of the dressing table.
Maybe waiting was another way of disappearing.
Maybe silence, if stretched long enough,
turns into an ending.
And maybe…
it was time to stop hoping
for a love that never began.
That morning, without telling anyone,
without creating drama,
without even crying—
I made a decision.
A quiet one.
The kind that changes everything
while the world outside continues normally.
I would leave.
Not because I hated him.
Not because someone else came into my life.
But because loving alone
had finally become too heavy
for one heart to carry.
And somewhere far away,
in a place I couldn't yet see—
fate was already preparing the moment
that would make this quiet decision
the beginning of a story
neither of us were ready for.