The First Night

Shruti's POV:

The room still held the soft glow of the candles, though their flames had quieted, casting gentle shadows on the maroon and gold curtains that framed the window. The air was heavy with the scent of roses and jasmine, the sea breeze pushing through it, trying to clear the overwhelming sweetness.

Shruti stood by the door, fingers lightly tracing the edge of her pallu, her heart thudding in her chest. This is… beyond awkward, she thought, glancing at the bed strewn with rose petals, at the flickering lights, at the heart-shaped cushions that seemed to mock the moment. The flowers, the lights, the bed… everything screams 'romance' and I feel like hiding under the floor.

But then her gaze shifted to Arjun, and she watched him scold his father like a parent chastising a mischievous child. The way he stood, arms crossed, voice firm but not unkind—it was oddly charming. It's like the roles are reversed, she thought, lips curving in spite of herself. He's the grown-up here, and his father's the naughty kid.

Arjun turned toward her, cheeks still tinged pink, the tips of his ears burning. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I'm sorry," he said earnestly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. "My dad has a knack for this kind of madness. Please ignore it. I swear, I had no clue."

Shruti shook her head, trying to ease the tension with a soft smile. "It's okay. I mean… it was supposed to happen anyway. We're married, after all." Her voice dropped at the end, the weight of that word—married—suddenly feeling real, heavy, terrifying. "Not like we'll… you know." The last words dissolved into awkward silence.

Arjun gave a nervous chuckle, running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah." He exhaled a little too hard. "Well… I'll kill Kiran and those idiots after going to college. One by one."

That made Shruti laugh, a small, genuine laugh that made him look at her with softened eyes.

Just then, Subbarao peeked back in, still grinning like a man far too proud of his handiwork. "Sorry, dear. Got a little carried away," he said, scratching the back of his head like a boy caught stealing sweets.

Shruti hesitated, then took a small step forward. Her voice was soft but sure. "It's okay, un… dad. Is it okay if I call you dad instead of uncle?"

Subbarao froze, his eyes widening for a moment before lighting up with the purest joy. His smile was so wide it reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners. "Of course, dear! Of course!" His voice was thick with emotion, and he looked like he might just burst with happiness. He gave Arjun a mock salute before practically skipping out of the room. For a brief second, he seemed like a boy gifted the best toy of his life.

Shruti watched him leave, and warmth blossomed in her chest—I feel cared for, she thought. I haven't felt that in so long.

Arjun let out a breath, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. He turned to her, offering a gentle smile. "Shall we?"

"Yeah. I'm tired too," she replied, though her throat felt dry, the reality of the day catching up to her in waves.

They stepped into the room together, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath their feet blending with the distant sound of the sea. The window beside the bed revealed a sky dusted with stars, the moon half-hidden behind wisps of cloud, casting silver streaks on the polished floor. The breeze that rolled in smelled of salt and wet earth, cool and calming.

Arjun hesitated, then pointed at the couch by the far wall. "I'll sleep there. You take the bed," he said, voice low but firm, as if he'd decided this long ago.

Shruti blinked, surprised. "No… you can sleep on the bed. We're married, after all. You must be tired too." Her voice quivered slightly at the word married, and she stared down at her hands.

Arjun hesitated, brow furrowed. "Is it really okay?"

"Yeah." She looked up briefly, her eyes meeting his with quiet sincerity. "I don't want to be an obstacle to your comfort."

"It's not that." He shook his head gently. "I want you to feel safe and comfortable. That's what matters."

"I do," she said softly, and smiled. "That's why I'm asking you. Please don't make me feel like a guest here."

He studied her face for a second longer, then nodded. "Alright." His tone was gentle, and when he settled onto the bed, he carefully kept space between them, as if to reassure her. The distance was respectful, but even then, Shruti could feel the faint warmth of his presence. Her heart pounded so loudly she wondered if he could hear it.

As they lay there, the quiet of the night enveloping them, Arjun spoke again. "Thanks… for calling him 'dad' earlier."

"Really?" Shruti turned her head slightly toward him.

"Yeah." His voice softened, carrying traces of memory and affection. "You're the first woman to enter this house after Mom passed away. I bet he's smiling in his sleep right now."

Shruti's throat tightened, emotion welling up unexpectedly. "I should be the one thanking you," she said. "I already feel cared for here."

Arjun chuckled softly, his gaze on the ceiling. "You're my wife. It's not a big deal."

The simplicity of the words, the honesty in them, left her momentarily speechless. She stared at the dark outline of his profile, the way his hair fell over his forehead, the way the moonlight caught the edge of his jaw.

I didn't expect this, she thought. I didn't expect him to be like this. Warm, kind. Not cold at all. Kiran said he's cold and calm with everyone… but with me?

"Good night," he said after a quiet pause.

"Good night," she echoed, turning slightly so that she faced the window.

The silence that followed was no longer heavy or awkward. It was peaceful, like the hush of the sea beyond the walls. The breeze played with the curtains, carrying the scent of the rain-washed world outside.

My heart's still not calming down, she admitted to herself. Every time he says 'wife' my ears burn. His voice, his gestures… if I'm not careful…

Her eyes fluttered closed, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. I think I'll fall in love with this lighthouse.

Arjun's POV:

Arjun lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath his head, eyes half-open as he stared into the soft dark. The room had quieted, the last candle extinguished, leaving only the silver-blue glow of the moon slipping through the curtains and the occasional sigh of the sea breeze brushing past the window.

And beside him—Shruti. His wife.

The word echoed softly in his mind, as if testing its weight, its meaning.

My wife.

Arjun drew in a slow breath, his chest rising and falling quietly. His gaze flickered to her—just a glimpse at first, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. She lay curled on her side, facing away, her small frame hidden beneath the soft folds of her saree. A few strands of her hair had fallen loose, resting against her cheek, the faint moonlight catching their silkiness. Her breathing was slow, even, almost silent.

She's so small, he thought, a strange tenderness curling in his chest. So gentle. Like a breeze that entered my life unannounced, and now I don't know how to breathe without it.

Her scent reached him again—a delicate mix of rose and something distinctly her. The floral trace from the scattered petals on the bed had blended with the subtle fragrance of her shampoo, and he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Is it the flowers? Or is it her?

He smiled faintly, shaking his head at himself. God, Arjun. You've lost it. She smells like roses and you're lying here wondering if the universe conspired to make her this soft.

She hadn't moved since she'd lain down. Just a quiet bundle of warmth, so still that it made him wonder if she was truly asleep or simply trying, like him, to pretend she was. I've slept with pillows that moved more than her, he thought wryly, though the fondness in his heart softened the jest.

His eyes lingered on the curve of her shoulder, the way her fingers rested lightly near her face, almost childlike. She's too cute. Too soft. Too innocent.

And with that realization came a pang of fear—a fear of hurting her, of saying the wrong thing, of becoming the reason her trust might break.

I don't think I've ever wanted to not mess something up this badly. The thought was almost painful in its sincerity.

The longer he watched her, the more he felt it—that quiet urge to protect, to shield her from everything, even from himself if need be. She feels like something I want to protect. Something precious. Something fragile that I shouldn't hurt.

His heart, traitorous and loud, thudded in his chest. The steady rhythm of it seemed out of place in the peaceful silence of the room. My heart's doing gymnastics for no reason, he told himself, as if that would slow it down. Why is this so difficult? I should be calm. I've shared rooms with friends. Slept near people during trips. Why is this so different?

But deep down, he knew the answer.

What if I fall in love with her? The question rose unbidden, and he lay still, letting it hang in the air of his mind. Would that be so terrible? Would it be wrong to hope for something more than this accidental marriage born of family wishes?

His eyes softened as he studied the gentle rise and fall of her back, the delicate movement of her breath. This shorty, he thought, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, might just wreck my heart without even trying.

A strange, sweet ache settled in his chest—If I ever get the chance… he thought, gaze warm, I want to hold her close. Not tonight. Maybe not this month. Maybe not even this year.

But someday.

Someday, when the timing is right. When she smiles at him not out of politeness but out of trust. When her hand reaches for his not because tradition dictates it, but because she wants to.

I hope I get that moment.

He turned his gaze to the ceiling, forcing himself to close his eyes, though sleep felt far away. The breeze carried the scent of salt and wet earth, and in that quiet room, Arjun made himself a silent promise:

I'll earn that moment. I'll earn her trust. Slowly. Patiently.

And for the first time that night, his heart calmed.

To be Continued...