Akash's
Our balance slipped, and Meera fell right on top of me.
We were already too close, and while we tried to move apart, water from the bathroom floor followed us. She lost balance again—and once more, landed on me.
"This was your plan all along, wasn't it?" I muttered.
Her eyes blazed with dangerous anger, our faces just inches apart. I tightened my grip on her waist and deliberately laid her flat on the floor.
"That's where you deserve to be," I said coldly. "On the floor. And remember—inside this room, only my dominance will prevail."
Meera got up, her face flushed red with fury.
"What did you just say?" she snapped.
"I don't repeat myself," I smirked. "And what I said was the truth."
"You think you're so charming that every girl must be dreaming about you? Even if they were, it doesn't matter to me. You'd be the last person I'd ever want to be close to."
"Close?" I raised a brow. "You mean on top of me?"
"You're crossing every limit, Akash!" she hissed. "I think I should change rooms."
"Of course," I replied smoothly. "That fear must be real—you're scared you might fall in love with me."
Meera stared at me, then said with biting sarcasm, "Are you done with your nonsense, or do you want to continue?"
I grinned. "At least admit I'm handsome."
"Yes, you're handsome," she shot back, "but definitely not worth loving."
And with that, she turned to leave. But just as she reached the door, she paused and said, "Careful, Akash. Make sure you don't end up falling for me." Then she walked out.
I couldn't help laughing. Fall for her? That will never happen, not in this lifetime.
Love? Please. I've liked girls before, sure—but love? Never. Even with Neha—it wasn't love, though I did like her a lot. She was someone I wanted to spend my life with. But true love? That had never touched me.
And Meera, of all people, dared to say that line?
Maybe I've been too soft with her—that's why such thoughts creep into her mind. Fine then, Meera. Soon, I'll make it clear—love and even liking you would be too big of a stretch.
I changed clothes. Fifteen minutes later, Meera came back into the room carrying something wrapped in her hand—it looked like flowers, though only a little peeked out. She was about to leave again when I stopped her.
"Meera, wait a minute."
She halted.
"You said earlier—'what if you fall in love with me?' Do you really think that's possible? Just because I spoke to you a little, you think I'm interested? Listen carefully—I can never like you. Forget love."
I spoke harshly. "That's the truth. Think of me as selfish, arrogant, whatever you want. I don't care. I don't care about anything you say. Keep your anger to yourself."
She said nothing, just turned to leave.
"Without answering me, where are you going?" I demanded.
She stopped, turned slightly, and replied, "Didn't you just say you don't care about my words? Then why do you need an answer now?"
Her calmness stunned me. Then she added softly, "You know, Akash—you can never love anyone. Because to love, you need to set aside ego and arrogance. But ego and arrogance are your best friends."
That was it. My temper snapped. I strode to where she stood at the door, grabbed her hand, pulled her inside, and slammed the door shut.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shouted.
"Don't shout!" I barked. "Do you think you can say and do whatever you want, and I'll just stay quiet? No, Meera. Listen carefully."
I leaned close, trapping her against the door.
"I never forced this marriage. You're angry, fine—but direct that anger at your parents. The first guy they chose for you wasn't properly background-checked. That's where it all went wrong. I only attended your wedding as a guest, and suddenly I was asked to marry you. What do you expect my reaction to be?
I had plans, Meera. Once I got my posting at City Hospital, I wanted to talk to my parents about Neha. I had dreams. And yes, I did get the job—but I couldn't even speak about her. Because now, I'm tied to you."
Meera's eyes lowered. She stood silently, listening. When she finally lifted her gaze, tears shimmered in both her eyes.
Her voice trembled. "You think I don't know what's happened to me? If I'm angry, it's not without reason. You could've said two simple sentences that day: 'I already love someone else, and I want to marry her.' We could have thought of a solution together. But instead, you insulted me. You humiliated me—for my looks, my job, my clothes—everything.
Dr. Akash Sharma, yes, you are handsome, and yes, you're a cardiologist. Very good. But none of that gives you the right to insult me. I like myself the way I am. I don't need a man's validation to feel beautiful. I won't change my wardrobe or wear makeup just to appear extra pretty. I don't hate myself, Akash. I love myself. And I've already accepted who I am, with or without anyone else's approval."
Tears slid down her face. She placed the wrapped package on the table and went into the bathroom.
The water tap ran for thirty minutes. I knew she was crying inside.
I sat on the bed, frustrated.
When she came out, she had washed her face, carefully hiding all traces of tears. She ignored me, picked up the package, and left the room.
Was I feeling sad? Guilty? I didn't know. But I knew I wasn't feeling good.
After that, Meera didn't return to the room again.
At 8 p.m., I went to the hall. Rohan and Shruti were bickering over nothing. I stopped their silly fight. Shruti had fresh jasmine flowers tucked in her hair, and Rohan kept plucking petals from it to annoy her.
"Rohan!" I warned. "If you irritate her again, you'll get a slap from me. Now go to your room and study—or else fail the entrance exam again."
Rohan glared but left. I asked Shruti, "What's the occasion? Why the flowers?"
"Bhabhi brought them," Shruti replied. "All of us—Mummy, Aunty, and me—we wore them."
I didn't comment. Then Duggu came and started tugging at the flowers in Shruti's hair too.
"Duggu!" I scolded. "Did you finish your homework?"
"Bhaiya, you only ever ask about homework!" he complained.
"All the boys in this house are useless," I muttered. "At least try to be like me. And stop bothering Shruti!"
Aunty called us for dinner. Meera was still in the kitchen with Mummy, talking. She still looked sad.
Later, Papa called out, "Both of you come for dinner."
Mummy said, "You all start first. We'll eat later."
We sat down, and soon Mummy and Meera joined too. Aunty pointed to the chair beside me. "Meera, sit next to your husband."
Meera refused. "I'm fine here, beside Mummy."
Aunty chuckled. "In this house, wives sit beside their husbands. Look around."
Shruti teased, "Bhabhi's trying to change the rules!"
Everyone laughed.
After dinner, Uncle joked about the jasmine fragrance filling the house. Mummy teased him back to bring flowers sometimes too.
That's when Meera hesitated, then softly said to Papa, "I want to shift to Shruti's room."
Everyone's eyes turned to me. I looked down, ignoring them.
Papa's expression hardened. "Meera, you're married to Akash. I expect you both to make this marriage work. Akash already made a mistake—don't make another. When he wasn't here, your father called me every day. I had to lie every single time. I can't lose a lifelong friend because of your childishness. You know how fragile his health is."
Mummy tried to protest, "But—"
Papa snapped, "Rekha! I don't want to hear another word against this marriage. If anyone tries to break it, they'll lose their ties with me too."
He looked directly at Meera. "Give this marriage some time. Don't think of ending it because of Akash's foolishness. If your father's health worsens because of this, will you ever forgive yourself?"
Meera said nothing.
That night, everyone went to their rooms.
When Meera came to ours, she turned off the light and went straight to sleep on the sofa. She didn't touch a book, didn't even read with her phone light like before. But I could hear her muffled sobs.
Hesitant, I finally said, "Meera… listen. We're stuck living like this. At least let's try to build a casual understanding. That would be better."
She stayed silent. Then, after a while, her voice came, low and trembling:
"Believe me, Akash. If Papa's health wasn't fragile, I would've left the day you admitted there was another girl in your life. I don't want to force myself into anyone's life. I'm only staying because of him. So until something changes with this marriage, continue your relationship with Neha. Live your life as you want. In this room, we'll stay as strangers. Just… don't make me feel worthless because of my looks. That's all I ask."
I could only whisper, "I'm sorry."
For the first time, I felt hurt too.
She gave no reply. At some point, I fell asleep.
When I woke at 6 a.m., she was still asleep. The jasmine gajra had fallen to the floor. For reasons I couldn't explain, I picked it up and tried pinning it back into her hair.
But I pushed the pin too hard. She winced and woke up.
"What are you doing here? Something pricked me—"
I had no answer. I walked away silently.
Downstairs, I sat in the hall, reading the newspaper. Mummy handed me tea without a word. Maybe Meera hadn't told her anything. Or maybe she was angry with me too.
Just then, Neha's call came. She wished me good morning—though this morning was anything but good. She said, "Want me to come pick you up again?"
"No, my hand's healed. I'll drive. I'll meet you on the weekend," I said.
"Where?" she teased. "At my flat?"
"At a café," I replied firmly.
After cutting the call, I wondered—how would I ever explain this emotional mess to her? She wouldn't understand. Papa had made it clear—I must make this marriage work. But with Meera, it felt impossible. She hurt my ego every single day.
She accused me of putting her down. But wasn't she doing the same? What wife says to her husband, "Go live with your girlfriend, I don't care"? That only means one thing—she doesn't consider me her husband at all.
And that… that I couldn't accept. Maybe it was arrogance, but Meera never even tried to save this marriage. Her silence was rejection too—just as much as my words were.
And that thought burned inside me.
Later, when I returned to the room, Meera looked… different. She had left her hair open. Maybe even applied a touch of makeup. She was laughing on the phone with someone.
Laughing? After last night?
She picked up her bag and left the room, brushing past me, her hair grazing my face—as if I didn't exist.
Suspicion pricked at me. It was only 8 a.m., yet she was leaving in such a hurry.
I followed her.
Before her school, there was a small tea stall. She was sitting there—
but not alone.
Someone else was with her. And both of them were smiling.
A strange feeling twisted in my chest. Not exactly jealousy, but definitely not pleasant either.