The shift was small at first.
So small that Anaya almost missed it.
It wasn't in something Aarav said. It wasn't in something he did. It was in the way the air between them felt slightly heavier that morning, like something unspoken had settled quietly overnight, waiting to be acknowledged.
She found him standing near the dining table, his phone in his hand, his expression unreadable — not distant, not cold — but thoughtful in a way that made her chest tighten instinctively.
"Is everything okay?" she asked gently.
He looked up, and for a brief second, she saw hesitation flicker across his face before it disappeared.
"Yes," he said. "Just work."
But it didn't feel like just work.
And she knew him well enough now to sense when something was being carried silently.
---
The rest of the morning passed normally — breakfast, small conversation, shared space — yet something invisible lingered between them, a quiet tension that neither of them addressed.
Anaya tried to ignore it.
Tried to convince herself she was imagining things.
But the feeling stayed.
---
By afternoon, Aarav had stepped out for a meeting, leaving the house unusually quiet, and Anaya found herself pacing the living room, her thoughts louder than the silence around her.
Why had his voice sounded different?
Why had he avoided her eyes for that brief moment?
Why did her chest feel tight without a clear reason?
She hated how much his mood affected her.
She hated it even more because she didn't actually hate it.
She cared.
And caring meant vulnerability.
---
When Aarav returned that evening, his expression was calm again — too calm — and Anaya immediately knew that whatever had unsettled him earlier had not disappeared.
"You're back early," she said.
"The meeting was shorter than expected," he replied.
She studied him carefully. "Did it go well?"
"It went… fine."
That pause again.
That slight delay.
She felt it.
And this time, she didn't let it pass.
"Aarav," she said softly but firmly, "what's wrong?"
He looked at her — really looked at her — and for a moment, the walls he had slowly lowered seemed to rise just slightly again.
"Nothing is wrong," he said.
"That's not true," she replied.
Silence.
Not comfortable this time.
Tight.
---
Finally, he exhaled slowly.
"My family called," he admitted.
Her heart skipped. "And?"
"They asked about the contract," he said. "About how long it will continue."
The word contract suddenly felt heavier than it had in weeks.
"And what did you say?" she asked quietly.
"I told them it's temporary," he replied.
The room felt smaller.
Temporary.
The word echoed in her mind, louder than it should have.
She knew it was temporary.
She had always known.
But hearing him say it — out loud — felt different.
Real.
Painfully real.
---
"That's what it is," she said carefully.
"Yes," he agreed.
But neither of them sounded convinced anymore.
---
Anaya turned slightly away, pretending to adjust something on the table so he wouldn't see the flicker of hurt in her eyes.
"Does it bother you?" he asked quietly.
She hesitated.
"Yes," she admitted.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"It bothers me too," he said.
She looked up at him, surprised.
"Then why say it like that?" she asked.
"Because that's what we agreed to," he replied. "And sometimes I don't know if I have the right to want more."
The vulnerability in his voice cracked something inside her.
"You have the right," she whispered.
"Do I?" he asked.
"Yes," she said softly. "Because I want more too."
Silence filled the room again.
But this time, it wasn't tension.
It was revelation.
---
Aarav stepped closer, his voice lower now.
"If this ends," he said quietly, "I don't think I'll walk away the same."
Her heart pounded.
"Neither will I," she replied.
And for the first time since this marriage began, the possibility of losing each other didn't feel theoretical.
It felt terrifyingly real.
---
That night, Anaya lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the word temporary repeating in her mind like a ticking clock she had ignored for too long.
For weeks, they had avoided talking about the ending.
Now it stood between them.
Unavoidable.
Uncertain.
And closer than it had ever felt.
---
Because love is easy to grow in safe spaces.
But what happens…
When time runs out?
---