One week later...

-

🧿 Aanya's POV

It had been exactly seven days since I became Mrs. Aanya Kabir Rathore.
A name I still struggled to write, let alone own.

People around me had adjusted faster than I had. Kabir’s family — overly affectionate, strangely perfect — had welcomed me like they were expecting me forever.

But me?

I still flinched every time someone called me bahu.

I still turned my back when I heard patni.

And I still didn’t know how to exist around Kabir Rathore.

---

The morning sun spilled through the large bay windows of our room.
I woke up on my side of the bed — pillow wall intact.

He was already dressed, buttoning his shirt, his jaw set like always — serious, unreadable.

> “You’re up,” he said flatly.

> “And you’re already dressed. Must be a world record,” I replied, reaching for my dupatta.

> “Breakfast’s downstairs. Maa ne bola hai late na ho.”

> “Wow. Pati ho ya HR department?”

He didn’t reply, but the corner of his lip twitched.
I had started noticing those tiny, rare soft expressions.

They were fleeting. Quiet. Like him.

---

Downstairs, chaos had already begun.

Kabir’s cousin Ayaan spotted me and immediately launched a full-blown teasing session.

> “Oye dulhan! Tum toh ab ghar ki ho gayi. Itni jaldi adapt kar liya? Ab toh asli ‘bhabhi’ lag rahi ho!”

> “Bhabhi toh tab se thi jab bhaiya ne tujhe ‘mera room’ bola tha,” added his little sister Tanya, eyes sparkling with mischief.

I rolled my eyes.

> “Kabir ne kuch bola nahi, but his tone screamed, ‘Why is this woman breathing my air’.”

The whole table burst out laughing. Even Kabir looked like he was fighting a smile.

---

His parents watched us — me and Kabir — like we were some experimental arranged couple on a reality show.
And I was constantly being judged on how many parathas I could serve, how well I folded my hands during aarti, how softly I laughed.

It was exhausting.

But also... weirdly grounding.

---

Later that day, when the family gathered in the living room for chai, the teasing got worse.

> “Bhabhi, Kabir bhaiya ne shaadi ke baad kuch romantic kiya ya sab HR policies ke under hi aata hai?” Ayaan smirked.

> “Romance?” I laughed. “Woh toh toothbrush bhi permission se uthate hain.”

Kabir looked up from his phone.

> “Bas kar le. Tumhare dialogues ek din OTT pe milenge.”

> “Aur tumhara expression? Wahin same rehega.”

Tanya clapped dramatically.

> “Full Netflix chemistry chal rahi hai!”

I should’ve hated this. The attention. The teasing. The fake domesticity.

But I didn’t.

Somewhere in between all the jokes and jabs, it felt a little less lonely.

---

🌒 That Night

We lay in silence again, backs to each other.
Same room, same pillow-wall. Same uncomfortable space.

But the silence tonight? It wasn’t heavy.
It was… thoughtful.

> “Tum waise ho ya ban rahe ho?” I asked quietly.

> “Matlab?” he replied, voice low in the dark.

> “This whole grumpy, no-nonsense Kabir Rathore act. Real hai ya performance?”

He took a second.

> “Mujhe logon se zyada baat karna kabhi pasand nahi tha. Shaadi se pehle bhi.”

> “Aur ab?”

> “Ab... I'm still trying. That’s the best I can do.”

I turned slightly, facing the pillow wall.
He wasn’t an open book — more like a locked diary with just a few pages left unreadable.

And somehow, I wanted to read all of them.

---

The next morning, I was looking for my charger in the drawer of the side table.
Accidentally opened the one Kabir usually kept locked.

There were two things inside:

1. A small, black notebook with initials D.R.

2. An envelope — unmarked — with my name on it. But sealed.

Before I could touch it, Kabir entered.

> “Don’t go through other people’s things,” he said, tone clipped.

I froze.

> “Then don’t keep them half-open in shared drawers.”

He didn’t explain.
Didn’t raise his voice.
But his jaw tightened, and that unreadable mask slipped back on.

> “Kabir, what is that envelope?” I asked, genuinely confused.

> “Nothing that concerns you right now,” he replied. “Please don’t touch it again.”

Right now?
Not never.
Not it’s nothing.
But not right now.

What was he hiding?

And why did it feel like everyone else already knew?

---

🌧️ The Stormy Evening

Rain had started falling outside — dramatic, like our life.

I was sitting near the window when Kabir returned from work, drenched slightly, tie loosened, eyes tired.

He didn’t say a word and walked straight to the bathroom.

But just before he went in — he stopped.

> “Did you eat?”

I nodded.

> “Your mom made halwa. I had two bowls.”

> “Next time, wait. I’ll eat with you.”

I blinked.

That was… new.

Sweet. Unexpected.
And completely against his character.

> “Who are you and what have you done with Kabir?” I asked.

> “Mat sochna. Bas accept kar lo.”

---

That night, we didn’t speak much.
But something in the air had shifted.

No pillow wall.
Just two people — lying silently.

Not touching.
But not so far either.

A breath away.
Like if one of us even sighed, the whole atmosphere would crack.

---

🌘 Late Night Thought

I couldn't sleep.

Something about that envelope kept pulling me back.
Why was it sealed with my name... but never handed to me?

And why did Kabir look almost... sad when he saw me find it?

There was something he wasn’t telling me.

Not just him — the entire family.

Even Tanya looked away when I casually mentioned it later.

> “Chhodo na bhabhi,” she had said. “Some things are just... too old to open again.”

What did that mean?

What weren’t they opening?

---

💭 Aanya's Inner Thoughts

This house... is warm.
Too warm.

Sometimes the warmth feels fake. Like something’s burning underneath.

And Kabir?

He’s not cold.
He’s careful.

And careful people don’t avoid emotions — they hide them.

The question is…

What is he hiding?

And why does everyone else pretend it’s normal?

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To be continued....