Page 14 of Protect my Heart
“What can I do for you, Bhabhi ji?” I ask, half-teasing. She rarely calls me. She doesn’t need to. I’m usually with her when I’m home—especially now that Aditi’s gone off to college.Bhabhi’s always been more like a friend than just Bhai’s wife. I genuinely adore her.
“You didn’t come for breakfast.” She jumps straight in, and her voice carries a weight of quiet disappointment.
I pause. How do I even begin to explain? I wanted to. I could smell that sandwich—my favorite, the one only she knows how to make just right. But the moment I saw Anika, I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want her to think that anything was okay. That I was okay.
I hate her. No, maybe not hate. But when she wasn’t around, I could pretend. I could at least pray she was happy, wherever she was. But now she’s here. With me. And all I can think about is everything she’s done. The silence. The betrayal. The years.
“I had work, Bhabhi,” I say finally.
She sighs. “Aarav, I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m lecturing you—you’re older than me, and I’m sure you know better—but…” She trails off for a second. I don’t say anything. I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. "It’s just… Today was her first day, and no one really made her feel welcome. Things felt tense. It’s your responsibility now to stand by her. She’s your wife.” I flinch a little at that word.
“I don’t know what happened between you two, and I’m not asking,” her voice cracks a bit, “but thinking from her side… It’s just sad, Aarav. She must be feeling so alone.” I press my lips together, guilt washing over me like a wave I can’t stop.
“You’re right, Bhabhi,” I whisper.
I hadn’t even thought about how Anika must be feeling. In a house where everyone kept their distance, where no onesmiled at her or welcomed her. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own hurt, I didn’t even stop to consider hers. My fingers drum against the desk, restless. This isn’t who I am. I don’t ignore pain—especially not hers. Bhabhi’s right. Like it or not, Anika is my wife. And I owe her… something. If not kindness, then at least decency.
“I’m so tired of crying,” Bhabhi chuckles weakly, breaking the silence.
I smile faintly. “Don’t stress, okay? I’ll make things right. Promise.”
“I know you will,” she says softly, her voice already sleepy. “Have a good day, Aarav.”
“You too, Bhabhi.” I end the call, staring at my phone for a few seconds before dialing Anika’s number. We exchanged numbers in the car when we were driving back home.
She picks up after four rings. Not three. Not two. Four.
That little pause before answering—it's her way of saying, I don't care you're calling. I know her patterns better than I know my own. She’s always done that when she’s mad. Or pretending not to care. Or both. Guess that has not changed.
“Hello?” Her voice is clipped. Cold. But not shaking. Not soft.
I lean back in my chair, trying to keep my voice neutral, even though my fingers are tightening around the phone. “You settled in?”
There's a pause, and then she replies sharply, “Is that why you called? To check if I’ve settled in?”
I sigh, dragging my hand over my face. This is exactly why I don’t talk unless I have to. She’s already armed, already prickling with defenses. But I asked for this. I picked up the phone knowing damn well she wouldn’t greet me like sunshine.
“I called because…” I trail off, choosing my next words carefully. “Look. This morning. I should’ve sat down for breakfast.”
“You should’ve done a lot of things,” she mutters under her breath, but it’s loud enough for me to catch.
I clench my jaw. “Anika, I’m not here to argue.”
“Then don’t.” She exhales hard, the sound echoing in my ear. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not expecting anything from you. I got the message loud and clear.”
I stare at the view outside my glass window—the skyline blurred under monsoon clouds. My chest tightens, but I’m too used to swallowing things down now. Guilt. Anger. Want. Whatever.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But I don’t want you walking around thinking you’re invisible in that house. You’re not.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, and this time there’s something raw underneath the sarcasm. Something that makes my throat feel like sandpaper.
I look at the clock. Already past one. I haven’t eaten a bite. My stomach growls at the worst time.
“I’m working late today,” I say, switching tracks.
“Okay?”
“So… Pack that sandwich you made in the morning. The one with cheese and chutney,” I say, voice low, not bothering tohide the fact that I remember exactly what it was. “Send it to the office.”
