CHAPTER 1: ONE MONTH IN

CHAPTER 1: ONE MONTH IN

Pia's Point of View

The morning sunlight filtered gently through the cream-colored curtains, drawing soft lines across the bedroom walls. It was warm, the kind of golden light that made everything look more peaceful than it really was. I blinked slowly, allowing myself to take it in.

Our bedroom still smelled faintly of sandalwood—I'd lit an incense stick last night before sleeping. A silly little ritual I had carried with me from my parents' home. This room, this space, was beginning to feel like mine now. Ours, I suppose.

I turned my head slowly on the pillow.

Arjun was still asleep beside me, facing me, his expression unusually relaxed. One hand was curled loosely under his chin, his lashes resting lightly on his cheek. It struck me how different he looked like this—unguarded, soft. Not the composed, slightly aloof man I'd first met at the formal rishta meeting in his parents' drawing room.

And yet, here he was. My husband.

One month today.

I smiled to myself. I still wasn't used to calling him that. Or thinking of myself as someone's wife.

My fingers, hidden under the blanket, brushed against his. As if he could sense it in his sleep, his hand found mine instinctively. His eyes remained closed, but his lips moved.

"You're awake?" he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

"I should be asking you that," I whispered back.

He cracked one eye open, and then the other, giving me that slow, lazy smile I was starting to recognize. "Happy one-month anniversary, Mrs. Mehra."

My heart did a small flip. "You remembered?"

"Of course I did." He pushed himself up slightly, rubbing his eyes. "You think I'd forget the day I married the woman who nearly poisoned me with three types of lentils?"

I let out a soft laugh and swatted his shoulder. "That was not poisoning. It was an experiment."

"And a brave one," he said solemnly. "One that my stomach still remembers."

We laughed, the sound of it filling the room like something warm and familiar. I hadn't expected laughter to come so easily with him. But somehow, over the past month, it had.

I got up and began tying my hair into a bun in front of the mirror. He was watching me—he always did when he thought I wouldn't notice. Not in a strange way, just… like he was still figuring me out.

"Hey," he said suddenly. "Let's go out today."

I turned, a little surprised. "Out?"

"Yeah. No calls from relatives. No office. Just us. Let's go somewhere for breakfast and maybe… I don't know, a walk in Lodhi Garden? You said you like big trees, right?"

I blinked at him. He remembered that? I'd mentioned it once—in passing—during a conversation about Delhi winters. My chest felt warm.

"I'd like that," I said, trying to sound casual.

He grinned, satisfied. "Great. You're planning the playlist."

---

The café he took me to was tucked into a corner of Khan Market I hadn't explored before. Ivy curled up the walls like something out of a European postcard. Inside, it smelled of roasted coffee beans and butter. We found a table near the window, sunlight slanting in just enough to bathe our table in gold.

I wore my blue cotton kurta—simple, soft—and he looked effortlessly good in a white shirt with rolled sleeves. He had the kind of look that didn't demand attention but earned it quietly.

"This is nice," I said, cupping my coffee mug. "Being here. With you."

"You sound surprised," he teased.

"No," I said quickly, then smiled. "Okay, maybe a little. Everything happened so fast, Arjun. The wedding, moving in… we barely knew each other."

"I know," he said, nodding as if in deep thought. "It felt like being thrown into someone else's story."

That made me laugh. "Exactly."

He leaned forward, eyes on mine. "But now? Now it feels like we're writing our own."

Something fluttered in my chest. I looked away, smiling into my coffee.

"I didn't know what to expect from this. From you," I admitted. "You seemed nice during the first meeting, but…"

"But I had a resting corporate face?" he offered.

"Exactly," I said, laughing. "I was sure you were silently judging my tea preference."

He raised a brow. "You do drink way too much elaichi chai."

"Rude."

He held his hands up in surrender. "I Googled you, you know. After our meeting."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"Of course. 'Pia Mehra, literature graduate, occasional poet, fan of obscure quotes.' I was scared."

I laughed so hard I almost dropped my spoon. "And here I thought I was mysterious."

"Nope," he said. "Your Goodreads account told me everything."

That made me laugh again, but it also did something else—some small door inside me clicked open. He'd cared enough to look. To try.

---

Later, we walked side by side through Lodhi Garden. The trees were ancient and massive, their shadows cool under the late morning sun. A few early joggers passed by us, and children chased each other near the ruins.

"Why did you say yes?" I asked suddenly, unable to stop myself.

"To the rishta?"

I nodded.

He was quiet for a moment. "I think I was just tired. Of pretending to be someone on dating apps, of searching for a connection that didn't feel forced. My parents met this way. And it worked for them."

I let his words sink in. "Yeah. I think I just wanted someone steady. Someone who'd… show up. Not perfect. Just present."

He looked at me, his gaze steady. "And have I been?"

"You're getting there," I said, bumping him with my shoulder.

He laughed, and I felt the last bit of tension I didn't even know I'd been holding melt away.

---

We found a quiet bench by the lake, and I sat down, the wind gently ruffling my dupatta. Arjun reached into his pocket and handed me a small wrapped package.

"What's this?"

"Open it."

Inside was a hardbound notebook. Cream-colored, elegant. My initials—P.M.—were embossed on the cover in gold.

I stared at it, unsure what to say.

"I saw your old diary," he said. "Thought you could use an upgrade."

I traced the letters with my finger. "This is… really thoughtful."

"It's just a notebook."

"It's not just anything," I said, voice softer than I meant it to be. "You noticed."

We sat in silence for a while after that. Just watching the light play on the surface of the lake. I didn't need to say more. Neither did he.

---

That night, we lit lamps around the living room. Arjun played soft music—some old Hindi song that I vaguely remembered my mother humming on slow evenings.

We sat on the balcony with mugs of cocoa, the city humming quietly around us.

I rested my head on his shoulder. He didn't move.

"One month down," I whispered.

"Eleven more till our anniversary," he replied.

I smiled into the night.

"Do you think we'll change much?" I asked.

"Maybe," he said. "But I hope we'll still be doing this."

"This?"

"Sitting like this. Laughing. Talking. Being us."

I closed my eyes.

"That's all I want too."

And in that quiet, on a balcony somewhere between past and future, I made a silent promise. To try. To be present. To choose him, every day.

One month at a time.