The city's cool night air kissed Abhira's cheeks crimson as she sat on a bench in the quiet park. She'd left the event without a word, slipping out as soon as his departure had stole the limelight. She didn't care to wait for Armaan. Why would she? Waiter wasn't in the contract, wife was, and that wasn't part of her new job's credentials.

Staring at nothing in particular while the night seemed to stretch endlessly before her, it hit her just how much time had likely passed, but she wasn't ready to return yet, she wasn't ready to return to him.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, hesitating for just a second before dialling a number she know would have a soothing voice.

The phone rang twice before Ruhi's familiar, chirpy voice filled the line. "Abhira! Finally! I was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about me, *Mrs. Poddar*," she teased with a playful laugh.

Abhira forced a smile, though her chest ached. "Like I could forget you" she closed her eyes and sighed in relief; familiarity, home.

God, she missed it.

Ruhi's laugh turned into a soft snort. "Not easily forgotten, I know" her tone was laced with intrigue as she shuffled closer to the phone. "How's he treating you?"

"Armaan?" Abhira scoffed, rolling her eyes even though her sister couldn't see it. "Oh, you know, just walking out on me in the middle of an event, just standard husband behaviour, right?"

"Wait—what?" Ruhi's voice lost its playfulness in an instant. "He walked out on you? Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ru" she replied, her voice softening as she quickly backtracked. She couldn't let Ruhi worry. She'd come across as too vulnerable, and that wasn't the role she played in her family. She was the strong one, the one who always had it together. "I'm just blowing off steam. Had enough of him for one night, so I decided to take a little... breather".

"A breather? In the middle of the night?" Her sister's tone sharpened, suspicion colouring her words. "Where are you?"

Leaning back against the bench, she closed her eyes. She could feel the tears threatening to spill, but she quickly blinked them away. "Where are you?" She shot back playfully.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Abhira could almost hear Ruhi's brain working overtime. Her sister was sharp, too sharp sometimes.

"Abhi," Ruhi said gently, her voice enveloping her in warmth, "Are you sure you're okay? You don't sound like yourself".

A tear escaped before she could stop it, and she quickly wiped it away, her voice hitching for just a moment before she forced herself to laugh. "You know I am, silly" she managed to muster, but there was no real backing to her words.

"Do I?" Her voice was filled with concern, and Abhira hated that she'd let her sister hear even a hint of her pain.

"Really, I'm fine," she insisted, her tone brightening in an exaggerated way. "There was far too many people in there, you know me, hate crowded places, it got too hot and I needed some air, that's all".

"Abhi, if you need to come home—"

She laughed again, though it sounded hollow, even to her own ears. "And have to share a bed with you again? No thank you! I quite enjoy spreading out like a starfish now, I'm too accustomed to return".

Ruhi was quiet for a moment, clearly unconvinced. "It's been one night".

"One night was enough, once I got the taste of being able to turn over without swallowing a mouthful of your hair, there was no turning back".

Ruhi seemed unamused. "Okay, but... if you need anything, *anything*, promise me you'll call?"

"I promise," Abhira lied, the words coming out too easily.

After a few more reassurances, she hung up and let out a deep breath, the weight of the conversation pressing down on her. The tears she had been holding back threatened to spill again, but she swept them away. She wasn't going to break down.

Not over this.

Not over him.

Taking another deep breath, she stood, steeling herself for the walk back to the house. She was angry—furious even—but she wasn't going to let him win by staying away all night. She would face him, no matter how unbearable it was.

***

The house was eerily quiet when she walked through the door. She had half-expected Armaan to be out, still handling whatever business had pulled him away. But as soon as she stepped inside, she felt it—that tension in the air.

He was home.

And he was waiting.

The moment she stepped into the dimly lit living room, he was on her.

"Where the *hell* have you been?" His voice was sharp, harsher than she had ever heard it. Before she could react, his hand gripped her by the upper arm, yanking her closer. "I've been calling you for hours".

Abhira flinched at the roughness of his grip, her heart racing as she met his eyes. They were dark, blazing with an intensity she hadn't expected. He looked... worried. Anger, she had anticipated. But this? This frantic worry? That threw her.

"I just needed some air," she said, her voice steady even though his touch unnerved her. "You weren't exactly around to notice".

Armaan's jaw clenched, his fingers still digging into her arm as though he couldn't bring himself to let go. "You disappeared. No message, no calls. You don't just walk out like that".

Abhira's anger flared. "You *would* be the authority on walking out" she shot back, yanking her arm free from his grip. "What was I supposed to do? Sit around waiting for you like some obedient little wife?"

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. "It's not safe for you to just... leave like that."

"I can take care of myself, Armaan," she snapped, crossing her arms defensively. "I'm not some helpless little girl".

His eyes softened for a split second, but then his face hardened again. "Then don't act like one!" He bellowed. "I drove around for hours searching for you, I must have called a hundred times".

She blinked, surprised by the raw emotion in his voice. He looked genuinely shaken, something she hadn't expected. Her anger faltered slightly, but she refused to let it drop completely.

"Well" she shrugged, "Now you know how it feels," she muttered, still holding onto her defiance, though her heart was pounding in her chest. "You walked out on me first. If I'm expected to play this role, you should at least stick around long enough to see it".

He softened, though he didn't step back. He was still too close, still watching her with those intense, unreadable eyes. "This isn't tit for tat, you don't know this area, the people, this night could have ended differently, don't you get that?"

She glared at him, her frustration bubbling over. "Don't you get that you were the one who started this? You don't get to disappear and then demand I stay put!"

He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he pulled her into him, his arms wrapping around her in a tight, almost desperate embrace.

Her breath hitched at the suddenness of it, her body going rigid against his, but she didn't pull away. For the first time, he seemed... human. Not the unflappable, composed Armaan she was used to, but someone vulnerable.

"I was so worried," he kept repeating, his voice a whisper this time.

For a moment, she stayed there, caught in the strange comfort of his embrace. But then the reality of the situation hit her, and she pushed him back, stepping out of his hold.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice shakier than she intended. "You don't need to worry."

Armaan's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he finally nodded, stepping back to give her space. "I'm glad you're home."

Abhira swallowed, the tension between them thick and palpable. "Yeah," she murmured, her heart still racing. "So am I."

***

The early morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, casting a dull glow over the room as Abhira blinked herself awake. She groaned, stretching her arms wide before pulling the duvet tighter around herself. The bed was cold and unfamiliar. She had half-expected to wake up in a mood after the emotional storm of the previous night, but instead, she just felt... off.

She turned her head slightly, listening for any sounds. It was too quiet. The house had previously carried the hum of morning—water running, footsteps moving in the hallways, even the muffled sounds of Armaan's business phone calls.

But today, there was nothing.

Dragging herself out of bed, she tugged her oversized sweater over her head and padded across the room in bare feet. The air was cool against her skin as she opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

Still nothing.

She hesitated as she passed by Armaan's bedroom door, instinctively expecting to hear movement inside. Last night's confrontation flashed briefly in her mind—his rough grip, the heat of his worry as he pulled her into that unexpected embrace. She shook her head, brushing the thought away. No use dwelling on *that*.

Curiosity, however, got the better of her. She leaned closer to his door, holding her breath for just a moment before pressing her palm against the cool wood. Slowly, she pushed the door open and peeked inside.

The bed was untouched.

Her brow furrowed.

Unslept in?

The sheets were perfectly arranged, pillows fluffed, the faintest trace of his cologne lingering in the air, but there was no sign that he had been there at all; no crease in the blankets, no personal items tossed around carelessly as she had found him to do only yesterday.

There was only one conclusion; he hadn't come to bed last night.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, closing the door with a soft click. "Of course he didn't," she muttered under her breath, heading toward the stairs. "Apparently, disappearing without a word was his signature move".

Still, the emptiness of the house unsettled her. It wasn't like him to be gone completely—especially not this early. Not that she cared, of course. She just... well, she had gotten used to his presence, albeit only her second day here, he seemed a man of routine and this, this didn't seem like routine.

She entered the kitchen and set the kettle to boil, letting the white noise fill the void. Leaning against the counter, she stared blankly at the floor, her thoughts wandering in the quiet. She reached for her phone to check the time: 6:00 a.m.

Running a hand over her face, she groaned, "Why am I even awake?" Stifling a yawn, she stirred her tea lazily. No amount of caffeine could help her at this ungodly hour, that she knew, but traipsing around like an extra from The Walking Dead really wasn't a good look for Mrs Poddar.

Abhira scoffed at the name, shaking her head in dismay. "Keeper of treasure" she mimicked. "Ooh look at me, my name is Armaan and I'm a pirate, probably off sailing the high seas to find more women to keep as treasure under my ever watchful gaze" throwing her spoon in the sink, she growled in annoyance once again.

Tapping her fingers rhythmically against the counter as the sarcasm faded, the quiet began to gnaw at her. She couldn't help but wonder where he was. Was he still mad? Or was he just... indifferent now?

"Urghhh, why do you even care, Abhira?!" She yelled into the silence, stubbornly taking another sip of tea, though the thought had long ago settled uncomfortably within her.

As she moved to sit at the kitchen island, her eyes wandered aimlessly over the space. Everything felt too still, too polished—like a museum rather than a home. Even the sunlight spilling in through the windows felt muted, as if it too was unsure of its place here. The walls and the expensive furniture seemed to mock her, reminding her that no matter how much time passed, this wasn't her space.

It was his.

The silence was taunting, she needed something to blare it out- music, that was the only suitable answer here.

There was *nothing* a good song couldn't fix.

Turning the volume on her phone up, she began scrolling through her playlist. Something upbeat. Something ridiculous. *Anything* to fill the silence at this point. She hit play then, letting a pop song blare through the kitchen.

Humming along, bopping her head and shaking her hips as she stifled through the cupboards for inspiration, she began to relax.

Hunger thrummed in her stomach causing a low ache to settle in her belly. Grabbing the pancake mixture from the cupboard, she held it to her chest and span around with glee.

Flipping on the stove, she moved with an almost exaggerated sense of purpose. Whisking the batter aggressively, her frustration bubbling up alongside the mixture. "Some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world"

She let out a small laugh, though it sounded hollow even to her ears.

Where *is* he?

The thought broke through again, more insistently this time. She didn't want to be curious—didn't want to care—but his absence was gnawing at her. Last night had been intense, *too intense*, and now that intensity was missing.

For the first time since she had stepped into this marriage, she wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Abhira continued to cook, pouring her energy into the mundane task to drown out the swirling thoughts, but as the minutes ticked by, the absence of his presence became more glaring. No matter how much she tried to push the thought of him away, it crept back in—unwelcome, uninvited.

Just as she sat down at the table, a pancake piled on her plate laden with maple syrup and sugar, she heard the familiar lurch of the creaky, wooden door.

Her heart skipped despite herself. She froze, fork midway to her mouth, the absurdity of her situation slapping her across the face.

What did she care if Armaan was finally home?

She shouldn't care.

She *didn't* care.

The heavy footsteps grew louder, slow and deliberate, as if he already knew she was waiting, hiding behind her facade of sarcasm and pancakes.

Abhira forced herself to chew, but the food turned to ash in her mouth. It wasn't that she was afraid of him—no, nothing like that—it was the fact that he'd been gone all night, without an explanation. The vulnerability from the previous night had somehow shifted something between them, or maybe it had just shifted something within her.

The door to the kitchen swung open, and there he was. Armaan's presence immediately filled the room, his dark eyes locking onto hers as if he had been expecting her all along.

His hair was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and the usual hard edges of his composed exterior were dull, as though whatever had kept him away had left a mark. There was a flicker of something—fatigue, maybe?—in the depths of his gaze, but it was gone before she could read it fully.

Abhira swallowed hard, setting her fork down with exaggerated calm. "Decided to grace me with your presence, I see," she said, injecting as much sarcasm into her tone as she could muster. She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as if she didn't care at all about the strange knot of relief unraveling in her chest.

Armaan didn't respond immediately. He stood in the doorway for a moment longer, taking her in—the messy hair, the oversized sweater swallowing her frame, the stubborn tilt of her chin. Then, without a word, he walked over to the counter and poured himself a glass of water, his back turned to her.

Silence stretched between them.

Fine. The silent treatment, well, two could play that game, she thought, staring daggers into his back.

Except, she wasn't very good at it.

"You know," she began, her voice light, almost conversational, "It's funny. I was just thinking this morning how empty the house felt without you, but now that you're back, I can't say it's an improvement".

He took a long sip of water before setting the glass down and finally turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, as always, though there was something in the way he studied her that made her want to fidget in her seat.

"I had some business to handle," he said simply, his voice low and steady, as if that explained everything.

Abhira raised an eyebrow. "Business? That lasted all night? Sorry, what side of the world are your clients?"

He didn't take the bait. He just stood there, watching her. That infuriating calmness. It was like he wasn't fazed at all by the fact that she had spent the entire morning talking to herself, cooking pancakes, and wondering where the hell he had disappeared to.

He moved toward the table, his steps slow but deliberate. He stopped just a foot away from her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his presence. His gaze bore into hers, dark and intense, like he was searching for something.

"Did you worry about me, Abhira?" he asked quietly, his voice so soft that it sent a shiver down her spine.

Her heart skipped again—damn it, why did he always have this effect on her? She quickly masked her reaction, rolling her eyes for good measure. "Please. I just didn't want to be woken up by police knocking at the door, telling me my husband's dead body had been found" she shoved some pancakes into her mouth, chewing loudly around her words; "It's not a good look after signing a contract, I'd be suspect number one and even Ruhi would tell you, a girl like me, wouldn't make it in prison" though, saying that, she seemed to be handling *this* prison quite well.

His lips twitched, just barely, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken.

"Well," he said, stepping back slightly, his tone returning to its usual composed calm, "You don't need to worry. I'm not going anywhere".

Her chest tightened, but she forced herself to laugh. "I wasn't worried. Just...mildly curious." She grabbed her fork again, poking at the pancake, though her appetite had completely vanished.

Armaan's eyes flickered toward the barely touched pancake in front of her. He said nothing, but there was a hint of something—a small, unreadable smile—as he reached for the chair across from her and sat down.

"I don't want you to think that this is how it's going to be".

She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious now. "How what's going to be?"

"This," he gestured between them, "You wondering where I am, me coming home late. I don't want you to think I'm not... invested".

Her stomach did a strange flip, but she quickly pushed it aside. *Invested?* In what? This marriage? This game they were playing?

Armaan didn't say anything more and neither did she.

He simply leaned back in his chair, watching her in that maddeningly calm way of his, as if he had all the time in the world.

And for the first time since she'd married him, Abhira felt the unsettling sensation that maybe, just maybe, this game wasn't as straightforward as she thought.

***

The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft hum of the kettle on the stove. Abhira sat at the kitchen island, absentmindedly swirling her spoon in her tea, the steam curling up lazily into the air. It was barely past three and she'd found herself with little to do other than guzzle some more tea.

He was home, of course, but had been holed in his home office ever since she'd finished breakfast, if she hadn't seen him walk in there, she would have assumed he'd disappeared again.

She sighed, resting her chin in her hand as she stared out the window. Everything was too quiet, too still. And in the stillness, her thoughts drifted home.

Home. The word felt distant now, like something from another lifetime. Her old apartment, small but cozy, filled with the smell of fresh tea in the mornings and Ruhi's annoyingly cheerful voice as she sang off-key in the shower.

God, how she missed that.

Abhira smiled softly to herself, remembering the endless teasing between her and her sister. The way they'd argue over who got the bathroom first, or Ruhi's habit of borrowing her clothes and pretending she hadn't. Their late-night binge-watching sessions, where they'd sit in their pajamas, eating junk food and making fun of whatever trashy reality TV show was on. It had been messy, chaotic... but it had been hers.

If Ruhi were here, they'd be laughing about something ridiculous right now. Probably arguing over whether ketchup belonged on pancakes (it did, no matter how many times Ruhi insisted it didn't ). Or maybe they'd be curled up on the couch with face masks, drinking wine and watching reruns of Friends, shouting at the TV when Ross said something stupid.

And Ruhi would probably throw something at her the second Abhira started tearing up during one of those cheesy moments—because she always did, no matter how many times they'd seen it.

"Gross, you're getting tears on my t-shirt"

"*My* t-shirt" Abhira would respond, like she ever wore anything of Ruhi's. Then a pillow would be launched her way, she'd launch it back and giggle as it smacked her sister right where she'd wanted it to.

Abhira smiled to herself. She missed that. The teasing, the lightness. The way Ruhi always made everything seem less complicated, less heavy.

But here?

In this house?

Nothing felt light.

Everything was draped in tension, in carefully spoken words and unspoken rules. She felt like she was walking on eggshells all the time, playing a role she didn't know the lines for.

Taking another sip of tea, she glanced at the empty seat across from her. It felt wrong, sitting here by herself, the house so eerily quiet. She half expected Ruhi to come waltzing through the door, hair in a messy bun, demanding they bake cookies at 2 a.m. for no reason whatsoever. Or trying to convince her to do some ridiculous TikTok dance challenge that neither of them could get right.

"I miss you" she spoke aloud into the emptiness.

And not just Ruhi, but everything that came with being herself—her mess, her chaos, her freedom to just *be*. Here, everything felt too neat, too controlled. Like she wasn't allowed to be Abhira anymore. She was "Mrs. Poddar," some polished version of herself that didn't quite fit right.

The door creaked open, pulling her from her thoughts. Her heart skipped a betraying beat, and she straightened in her chair.

She watched him for a moment, her lips pressing into a tight line. The tension between them from earlier on still hung in the air, heavy and unresolved. And yet, as he walked in, the house didn't feel quite as empty anymore.

"What are you thinking about?"

Home. She wanted to say, but that was too real, too raw.

"About ketchup on pancakes." She turned away from him, picking up her mug and taking another sip.

Armaan's lips twitched into the faintest smile, but he said nothing, simply watching her for a long, quiet moment.

The silence stretched on, and Abhira could feel the weight of his gaze on her. She shifted in her seat, refusing to look at him. She wasn't going to let him pull her into another one of his games. Not today.

"Five o'clock," his voice soft but firm. "Be ready."

And just like that, he turned and left the kitchen, leaving Abhira alone with her thoughts once again.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair as she stared down at her cup. The silence pressed in on her again, and her thoughts drifted back to Ruhi, to the warmth of home, to the easy laughter they used to share.

"I miss you, Ru" she thought to herself, a lone tear escaping, "I miss us".