It was July 29th.
A date that would stay etched in their memories forever—whether in tenderness, awkwardness, or something neither of them could name just yet. The day Arjun and Shruti are returning to Vizag a few days after their wedding was finished.
After a whirlwind of rituals, relatives, and rushed goodbyes, after garlands and blessings and endless photo flashes, Arjun and Shruthi found themselves back in Vizag by evening. The rain, which had drenched the city earlier, had left the streets washed clean, the air crisp with the scent of wet earth and salt from the sea.
The cab's tires splashed gently over puddles as it rolled into their quiet residential lane. The streetlights cast soft golden halos on the glistening road, and the occasional breeze carried the faint scent of jasmine from a neighbor's garden.
Inside the cab, the silence between them was heavy, but not uncomfortable—more like two people listening to the same unfamiliar melody, unsure of the next note. Arjun sat on the left, arms folded loosely, legs stretched just enough to be casual but not intrusive. His gaze shifted between the window and Shruthi, stealing quick glances at her reflection in the glass.
Shruthi sat to his right, her dupatta clutched tightly in her hands, fingers twisting the fabric unconsciously. Her eyes stayed fixed on the window, watching as Vizag—the city she knew, yet suddenly felt like a stranger in—blurred past, the streetlights turning rain droplets into tiny stars sliding down the glass.
This is it, she thought. My new life. My new home. My new everything.
The cab slowed to a stop outside the house. The coastal breeze greeted them like an old friend, brushing their cheeks, ruffling Arjun's hair, making Shruthi's bangles chime softly as she adjusted her saree.
Arjun's friends, who had accompanied them, jumped out first, their boisterous chatter filling the quiet street.
"Finally, Mr. Arjun's house!" one teased, grabbing a suitcase.
"Shruthi vadina, get ready for our surprise housewarming party!" another joked, though there was no such party—just their attempt to make the moment less daunting.
Shruthi smiled politely, grateful for their kindness, though her heart thudded with nerves.
They carried the luggage inside—suitcases filled with clothes, books, small keepsakes, and kitchen essentials, all packed neatly by Shruthi's mother that morning with quiet efficiency, as if trying to avoid emotional goodbyes.
Subbarao was waiting at the door, arms crossed, face warm with welcome. The porch light bathed him in a soft glow as he stepped forward and rested a gentle hand on Shruthi's head.
"You're home now, daughter-in-law," he said, his voice kind, his eyes crinkling with sincerity.
Shruthi's throat tightened. She managed a soft, "Thank you, uncle."
He chuckled. "Good girl."
The friends exchanged quick grins, giving Arjun sly looks before offering their final goodbyes and leaving the couple to their new reality.
Subbarao gestured for them to enter fully. "You both sit for a bit. I'll check the room upstairs—just need to put a few things in place." He disappeared toward the staircase.
The house smelled of incense and fresh paint—a mix of old memories and new beginnings. Shruthi perched on the edge of the sofa, the plush cushion sinking slightly under her, making her feel smaller. She smoothed her saree, tucking in the loose end that kept slipping from her shoulder.
Arjun sat beside her but left a respectful distance between them. He noticed her fingers trembling slightly as they rested on her lap. Wordlessly, he poured water into a glass from the jug on the table and offered it to her.
"Here," he said gently. "You'll feel better."
"Thanks," she murmured, taking the glass carefully, her fingers brushing his for a fleeting second. The cool water soothed her dry throat, but the flutter in her chest remained.
Trying to ease the weight of the moment, Arjun stood up, rubbing his neck awkwardly. "Come," he said, his voice lighter. "Let me show you the ground floor… since we're waiting anyway."
She hesitated but nodded, placing the glass back on the table.
He led her through the space. The living room, simple but neat, with light-colored tiles and pale curtains that swayed gently in the breeze.
"This is the puja room," he said, opening the small wooden door to reveal a space that smelled faintly of sandalwood and camphor. The idols gleamed in the dim light, a small diya still flickering from the morning prayer.
"I like the smell," Shruthi said softly, surprising herself with the comment.
Arjun smiled. "Me too. Dad keeps this place sacred like a temple. You'll see—every Saturday morning, he'll sit here and hum those old songs."
They moved to the dining space—a compact corner near the kitchen, with a small four-seater table. A fresh tablecloth was spread over it, likely his father's attempt to make it feel welcoming.
"I know it's not fancy," Arjun said, scratching his head. "But the food's good. I can handle dal-chawal and omelets. The rest… I guess we'll figure out together?"
Shruthi gave a small, genuine smile, her nerves softening for the first time that day. "That sounds good."
Arjun caught the smile and felt some of his own tension ease. He pointed to the staircase tucked in the corner. "And upstairs is our floor. I'll let dad finish up before we go."
They stood in silence for a moment, side by side, looking at the stairs that would lead them to the next chapter of their lives.
"Scared?" he asked quietly, glancing at her.
She took a breath and admitted, "A little."
He chuckled softly. "Me too."
And for the first time since the cab ride, they shared a look—not as strangers or as bride and groom put together by circumstance, but as two young people who didn't quite know where this road led, but who had at least taken the first step on it… together.
Arjun watched Shruti out of the corner of his eye, noting how she sat there—almost statuesque, except for the way her fingers clutched the edge of her pallu. Every so often, she'd glance around the room, her gaze flitting over the furniture, the family photos, the small decorative pieces that marked the house as his life, not yet theirs. The nervous curiosity on her face made his chest tighten in an odd way—protective, maybe. Or maybe just guilty that she felt like an outsider on what was supposed to be her first day home.
She looks so surprised. And shy, he thought, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Of course she does. We barely know each other. Sure, we talked over the phone—what, three or four times? I know she likes filter coffee. I know she wears oversized sweaters when she's cold. But knowing that doesn't mean I know her. Not enough to make this easier.
His eyes lowered to her hands—how tightly she held that pallu, as if it were a lifeline in this strange new world. I should say something. I should help. But what?
The minutes ticked by. The silence of the house, now emptied of the cheerful noise of friends and relatives, felt louder somehow. Arjun rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes drifting toward the staircase. What's taking them so long upstairs? he wondered, his patience thinning. It's been almost an hour. Are they redecorating my room from scratch? Laying down new tiles?
He exhaled heavily, leaning his head against the sofa's backrest. His mind, exhausted but still racing, stumbled upon a realization that made his eyes snap open.
Wait. I never actually thought about this until now… Is she going to sleep in my room? His heartbeat stuttered. I mean… we're married, sure. But that's just for our parents, right? She probably expects her own space. I shouldn't assume anything. A flood of thoughts hit him at once. She's probably scared out of her mind. The last thing I want is to make this worse. I'll take the guest room. Keep it decent. Keep it safe. Keep my expectations low. That's best.
Just then, Subbarao descended the stairs, with Kiran following close behind, both looking far too pleased with themselves.
Arjun sat up straighter, eyeing them suspiciously. Why do they look like they just shared some inside joke? Kiran's grin was too wide, too mischievous—like a kid who'd set up a prank and was waiting for it to spring.
"Did you show her this whole floor?" Subbarao asked, his tone suspiciously formal, as if Arjun were a schoolboy under inspection.
"Yeah," Arjun said, narrowing his eyes. "I did. And why did it take so long upstairs? What were you doing?"
Subbarao shrugged, too casually. "What do you think we were doing? It takes time to… arrange things properly."
Arjun opened his mouth to argue when Kiran elbowed him sharply. "What's the rush, Romeo?" he whispered, smirking.
Arjun shot him a glare. "I swear, Kiran—"
"Relax, man. I'm just wondering if you're that eager for the 'wedding night' part already," Kiran teased, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Arjun deadpanned. "Do you wanna die?"
Kiran laughed, backing off with hands raised in mock surrender. "No thanks. I'd rather live long enough to see your flustered face right now."
Subbarao cleared his throat, pretending not to hear, but Arjun caught the faint twitch of amusement on his father's lips. God, why is everyone having fun at my expense?
To be continued...