The Morning Awkwardness

Arjun's POV

Tuesday. 10:00 AM.

Sunlight streamed in gentle stripes through the gap in the curtains, casting golden patterns on the floor. The air in the room was still, holding that late-morning warmth that signaled the day was already well underway. Arjun stirred beneath the sheet, blinking groggily at the soft glow that filled the space.

His brow furrowed. The silence felt... wrong. Too peaceful. Too still. Where's the usual morning rush? The voices, the clatter of dishes, Dad's humming?

He turned his head slowly, groaning as he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen's brightness stabbed at his barely-awake eyes. As his vision cleared, his stomach dropped.

10:00 AM.

"Damn… I overslept," he muttered under his breath, pushing himself up on his elbows. His hair fell messily over his forehead, and he rubbed his face with both hands.

And then it hit him—last night.

The flood of memories came crashing down: the maroon curtains, the bed of rose petals, the flickering candlelight, his father's grinning face, Kiran's teasing, Shruti's shy glances, the scent of flowers hanging heavy in the air. And Shruti herself—so near, yet so impossibly distant. So quietly powerful in her innocence.

Arjun exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. I need to be more careful. She's so gentle… I can't mess this up by being the awkward fool I was last night. God, she probably thinks I'm the most clueless guy on earth.

His gaze swept the room. The bed had been tidied—the sheets straight, the cushions arranged, as if Shruti had done it all without making a sound. There was no trace of her. Where is she? Maybe downstairs?

Just then, his phone vibrated with a message. He glanced at it.

Dad:

Left for office early. Don't forget to lock up if you step out.

Arjun groaned softly. Right… Tuesday. Dad's office day. Thank God he left early—I don't think I could handle another round of his "romantic night" remarks. His ears warmed at just the memory.

And those so-called friends of mine? Oh, I'll deal with them once college starts. Bunch of traitors.

Yawning, he dragged himself toward the bathroom, running a hand over his neck. First, shower. Clear my head.

Still half-asleep, he pushed the door open without thinking—

And froze.

His heart stopped.

There, for the briefest second, stood Shruti, wrapped in nothing but a towel. Damp hair clung to her shoulders, droplets of water glistening on her skin, her eyes wide, startled.

Time stood still.

And then, like a reflex, SLAM.

He shut the door, stumbling back a step, blood rushing to his face so fast it felt like his ears would catch fire. His heart pounded, wild and heavy.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. What did I just do?

His palms pressed against the cool wood of the door. Shruti. I saw—oh god—I saw her. Even if it was just a second, I—

His mind raced. What was her expression? Shocked? Embarrassed? Furious?

He clenched his jaw, mortified. God, Arjun. You colossal idiot. You didn't mean to. It was an accident. A terrible, timing-from-hell accident.

He could feel the heat of shame rising all the way to the roots of his hair.

He stayed there, frozen, trying to will his heart to slow down. The house felt too quiet, as if holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.

Arjun swallowed hard, fists tightening at his sides. I need to say something. Anything. I can't leave this hanging. She'll think I'm some perv. No, no—apologize. Right now. Clear it up.

His voice came out soft, strained but sincere.

"Shruti…" he said through the door, his head lowered, as if she could see the apology written all over his face. "I'm— I'm really sorry. I didn't know you were inside. I swear. It was just—just bad timing. I didn't see anything. I mean— I didn't mean to see anything. Please… please don't feel uncomfortable."

His heart thudded painfully in his chest as he waited, every second stretching unbearably long.

God, I hope she understands. Please let her understand.

Shruti's POV

Oh my God. OH MY GOD!

Shruti's pulse raced as she pressed her back to the cool bathroom door, trying to steady her breathing. The towel clung to her damp skin, and the scent of shampoo mixed with the steam in the air. Her cheeks were burning, her heart drumming so loud she could hear it echo in her ears.

Arjun just opened the bathroom door. He saw me. He SAW me.

Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the edges of the towel tighter. Sure, I was covered—but it feels like I was completely exposed. My first morning here, and this happens?

Why didn't I scream? Why didn't I even react the way I should? The thought made her panic even more. Why did I feel… breathless instead?

Her reflection in the mirror looked back at her: wide eyes, flushed skin, hair damp and clinging to her face. She swallowed hard, shaking her head as if that would clear the confusion in her mind.

What is wrong with me?! Why is my skin still tingling? Why does my heart react like this around him?

Determined to regain composure, she quickly pulled on a soft blue top, the kind that felt like a comfort blanket, and black cotton shorts. Her hands were still shaking as she tied her hair up into a ponytail. The familiar routine helped her breathe again.

Okay, Shruti. Just step out. Act normal. This happens. It was an accident. He didn't mean to. He's probably freaking out more than you are.

Her heart thudded as she slowly opened the bathroom door.

Arjun was sitting at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped so tight his knuckles were pale. His gaze lifted the moment he heard the door creak open.

Their eyes met—and in that instant, Shruti saw it: the guilt, the nervousness, the complete panic written all over his face. His hair was messy from running his fingers through it too many times.

"I'm so sorry about earlier," Arjun blurted, standing up so fast he nearly lost his balance. His voice was low, almost pleading. "I didn't mean to—I thought you were in the living room or maybe downstairs. I just— I just walked in to freshen up but—"

Shruti held up a hand, shaking her head gently. "It's okay," she said softly, cutting him off before his words spiraled further.

His brows rose in surprise. "Really? You're not mad?" His voice was tentative, as if bracing for anger that hadn't come.

"Why would I be mad?" she replied, folding her arms lightly across her chest to steady herself. "I trust you, Arjun. I know you're not that kind of person." The words spilled out before she could stop herself, her voice trembling just slightly. And then, as if possessed by some part of her heart she didn't fully understand, she added, "After all… you are my husband."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted it. Why did I say that?! Why would I say something like that? What is wrong with me?

Arjun blinked, stunned. His mouth opened slightly, as though the sentence had knocked the air from his lungs. The tips of his ears turned pink, and his cheeks flushed visibly. His hand rose awkwardly to rub the back of his neck—a nervous habit.

"Thank you," he managed, voice soft, earnest. "I… I feel relieved now. I was seriously dying of embarrassment here."

His eyes darted downward, unable to meet hers for long, as if the weight of the moment was too much. He scuffed his heel against the floor, looking every bit the shy, boyish version of himself that few had probably seen.

Shruti's heart melted a little at the sight. This isn't the cold, blunt Arjun they warned me about. This Arjun… is soft. Gentle. And he looks like he's the one who's flustered, not me.

Needing to break the charged silence, she cleared her throat and managed a smile. "Um… I'll go make breakfast," she said, the words tumbling out fast. "You should… freshen up. Take your time."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll do that," he said, almost too quickly, like he was thankful for the escape. "Sorry again. And… thanks for not freaking out."

Shruti turned toward the door but couldn't resist peeking over her shoulder once. He was watching the floor, face still red, looking like he wanted the earth to swallow him.

Does he like me? The thought surprised her. No. No way. He's just being kind. But why do I want to believe that maybe… maybe he does?

Her cheeks burned hotter. This lighthouse of a man… Why is he messing with my heart like this?

As she stepped toward the kitchen, she caught herself smiling, despite everything.

To be continued...