The morning after the wedding was quieter, but far from peaceful. Aarav and Ishita had resumed their separate routines, moving silently around the house, careful not to disturb each other.
It should have been simple. But simplicity is never simple with two stubborn hearts.
Ishita was preparing breakfast when Aarav entered the kitchen. He had promised himself he would avoid unnecessary conversation, but the scent of fresh coffee drew him in.
"You're using the wrong pan," he said, pointing at the skillet on the stove.
Ishita froze mid-stir. "Excuse me?"
"The non-stick. It's better for eggs," he said calmly.
"I've been cooking eggs my whole life," she shot back, voice sharp.
"And I've been eating them my whole life," he replied evenly. "Consider it advice, not criticism."
Ishita studied him, noting the patient tone, the lack of condescension. It was… different from her assumptions. "Fine," she muttered, adjusting the pan.
Breakfast passed with quiet conversation—brief comments about the weather, the staff, the dishes. But underneath it, something shifted. Both were noticing the other's habits, small quirks, the way they moved around the kitchen.
Later, Aarav asked Ishita to help set up the study room. Their hands brushed as they carried books and folders. The moment lingered—too long, too intense—but neither spoke. They were careful, polite, distant… but the seed of cooperation had been planted.
"I appreciate your… precision," Aarav said finally, after arranging a stack of documents.
Ishita tilted her head. "And I appreciate your… efficiency," she replied softly.
Neither knew what to make of the compliment, but it was an acknowledgment—a tiny, tentative step toward mutual respect.
The day continued with small challenges. Ishita accidentally spilled coffee on a rug; Aarav helped her clean it without a word of complaint. She burned a dish; he silently adjusted the flame for her next attempt. Small acts, unnoticed by most, but monumental to the two of them.
By evening, both were exhausted but quietly satisfied. Their boundaries were still in place, but the edges were softer, more flexible. The walls were still there, but cracks had begun to form.
That night, Ishita lay in bed, thinking about the day. He's… not what I expected. Maybe I misjudged him, she admitted to herself.
Aarav, in his own room, mirrored the sentiment. She's… sharp, clever. And frustrating. But there's something about her. Something I can't ignore.
Neither spoke aloud. Neither would admit it to the other. But the first cracks in their hearts had begun to widen.
And in the quiet of their rooms, both felt the faintest stirrings of curiosity, tension, and… something far more dangerous: attraction.