Just The Beginning

Arjun's POV

Arjun stepped into the living room, running a hand through his still-damp hair. Dressed in a simple white T-shirt and black shorts, he looked casual, but his heart wasn't calm. His gaze immediately found Shruti in the kitchen.

She was tying on an apron—his mother's old apron. It was a little loose on her slender frame, and she had to loop the strings twice around her waist. But somehow… she looked like she belonged in that space. Like she had always been part of this house.

Her ponytail swung gently as she moved about. The faint sound of her humming filled the air—soft, tuneless, like she wasn't even aware she was doing it. Was she still thinking about the bathroom accident? Arjun wondered, guilt creeping in again. He rubbed the back of his neck.

She seems so natural… so unbothered. Or maybe she's just trying not to make me uncomfortable.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching her, unable to look away. The sunlight streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow over her, making the loose strands of her hair shimmer.

And then there was that line from earlier…

"You're my husband."

The words echoed in his mind, louder than the clatter of utensils. Does she mean it only because of the legal papers? Or does she actually feel it… in her heart?

Shruti glanced over her shoulder and spotted him watching. A faint blush crept up her neck. "Breakfast ready!" she called, her voice bright, but with a nervous lilt.

Arjun straightened, stepping forward. God, she's adorable when she's shy.

At 10:50 AM, he sat at the table, folding his hands on the polished wood, watching as she served him. Upma that smelled like the kind his mom used to make.

She placed the plate in front of him, then sat across with her own plate—eyes flicking up at him, waiting for him to take the first bite.

Arjun stopped a spoonful and tasted it.

And just like that—he was hit by a wave of warmth. It tasted like home. Like care. Like her. It was a simple breakfast. But it felt special.

"This is really good," he said, genuinely surprised.

Shruti smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I was worried it might be bad. I usually mess up."

"No. It's perfect." He took another bite, savoring it. "You made this just now?"

"Yeah. I woke up early. Wanted to make something… I don't know. Familiar? I didn't want the first breakfast here to be awkward."

He looked at her for a moment—really looked. Her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her dupatta, eyes lowered, cheeks still pink.

"It's not awkward," he said softly. "It feels… nice. Like I've known you longer than I have."

Shruti blinked, startled, meeting his eyes.

Why does he say things like this? she thought, heart thudding.

"I'm glad you like it," she said, voice almost a whisper.

They ate quietly for a moment, the kind of quiet that wasn't heavy, just comfortable.

Then Arjun chuckled. "You know… this is the first time someone cooked breakfast just for me. Apart from mom or dad."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Usually it's canteen food, or Kiran's sad attempt at instant noodles. Or my dad's toast that's more charcoal than bread."

Shruti giggled, the sound light and sweet. "Then I'm honored to be your first."

She clamped her mouth shut the second the words left her lips. Her eyes went wide. Oh no. That came out so wrong.

Arjun froze for a second, then laughed—really laughed, the tension in the room dissolving like sugar in tea. "That… that sounded more dramatic than you meant, didn't it?"

Shruti covered her face. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"I know, I know," he said between chuckles. "But it was cute."

They shared a smile, the kind that reached the eyes, warm and genuine.

After a pause, Arjun added, quieter, "Thank you, Shruti. For this. For trying. For being here."

Shruti looked up, surprised at the sincerity in his tone.

"You don't have to thank me. I'm your wife, remember?"

God help me, Arjun thought, heart twisting again. She's going to wreck me if she keeps saying that.

12:30 PM — Living Room

The house was finally quiet again. After spending nearly an hour cleaning up the remnants of last night—the rose petals, the stray balloons, the embarrassing heart-shaped cushions—Arjun and Shruti collapsed onto the couch, completely spent.

The overhead fan hummed softly, stirring the warm afternoon air. The scent of fresh detergent still lingered faintly where they'd wiped down the surfaces. Outside, the world buzzed on: the distant honk of a scooter, the call of a vegetable vendor. But inside, it was just the two of them—and the growing awareness of each other.

Shruti sank into the cushions beside him, close enough that the soft fabric of her sleeve brushed his bare arm. Arjun felt it like an electric current. God, why does her presence feel so… overwhelming?

Her ponytail was a little messy now, strands escaping to frame her tired face. Her eyelids fluttered, like she was fighting sleep. She looked delicate. Like a feather that might drift away if I move too fast.

Arjun's fingers twitched against the armrest. I want to hold her. Just once. Just pull her close, let her rest. But no. Idiot. What are you thinking? Control yourself.

Trying to distract both of them, he cleared his throat. "Wanna watch a movie?"

Shruti's eyes opened a little wider, the sleepiness giving way to curiosity. "Yes," she said, without hesitation. The eagerness in her voice caught him off guard.

"Uh… okay. What's your favourite genre?"

A soft smile curved her lips. "Romance."

Arjun smirked, shaking his head. "Of course it is."

He picked up the remote, panic setting in as he scrolled. I don't watch romance movies. I barely watch movies at all. What the hell do I pick? Something safe? Something famous? Why am I overthinking this?

Shruti noticed his hesitation. "Is there a problem?" she asked gently, tilting her head.

He swallowed. "Uh… I don't know what to choose. I don't really watch movies. Maybe… maybe you can pick something?"

Her eyes lit up, and before he could react, she leaned in. Too close. Close enough that he caught the faint jasmine scent of her hair. Her shoulder touched his, light as air but enough to make his heart stutter.

She reached for the remote, her fingers grazing his. His brain short-circuited for a moment.

Breathe, Arjun. Just breathe.

She selected a film confidently. He didn't even glance at the title. He couldn't. Not when she was sitting so close, looking so happy.

"Have you seen this before?" he asked, his voice lower than usual, trying to steady himself.

Shruti nodded. "Yeah. It's my favourite."

Of course it is.

The movie began. Arjun tried to focus. He really did. But all he could think about was how her presence filled the room, how his pulse refused to calm down.

Then, slowly, something shifted. Shruti's head, heavy with sleep, tilted sideways—resting gently on his shoulder.

Arjun froze. His breath hitched. Oh no. Oh God.

Her hair tickled his neck. Her warmth seeped through his shirt. His arm felt like stone—he didn't dare move it.

He glanced down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted slightly in soft, even breaths. The rise and fall of her chest was slow, peaceful. She's asleep. On me. On my shoulder.

Arjun's heart pounded so loud he was sure it echoed in the quiet room.

Then, without warning, she shifted again—her small frame leaning further until she began to slide sideways on the couch.

"Hey, careful," he whispered instinctively, catching her before she could slip off completely.

He hesitated for a second, then gently lifted her legs onto the couch cushion, stretching them out. She didn't stir.

He stared at her face for a long moment. She looks… like an angel. So peaceful. How is it possible to look this gentle?

Just for a minute, he told himself, extending the sofa. I'll sit. Just so I can make sure she's comfortable.

But the minute became longer. The sight of her, the soft fall of her hair, the way her hand rested so lightly on the cushion beside him—it was impossible to look away.

To hell with it, he thought. He lowered himself beside her, careful not to wake her.

Lying next to her, his head turned, watching the subtle expressions of her dreaming face, he felt a strange calm.

Her hair brushed against his cheek. The faint scent of jasmine shampoo filled his senses.

Her hand, in sleep, shifted—just barely—and brushed his chest.

Arjun's heart gave up trying to act normal. I'm done for, he thought, a helpless smile tugging at his lips.

He whispered so softly that even the walls wouldn't hear, "You're too cute, Shorty."

His eyes softened as he watched her. I guess… I'm really falling for you. And I don't think I mind.

Someday, I hope I can hold you close without fear. Someday, I hope you'll want that too.

The movie played on, but the real story—their story—had already begun.

To be continued...