Page 65 of Protect my Heart
“This is six months,” I say, my voice trembling with uncertainty. “That’s all this is.”
His face hardens, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something dark in his eyes. His jaw clenches, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. But I don’t care. I need him to hear me. I need him to understand why I keep pushing him away and that he should stop living in whatever bubble he is in because the reality is we are not actually a normal, happy couple; we are bound by an agreement. That's what this is.
“Anika,” he says, his voice tight. He opens his mouth to say something else, but no words come out. His expression hardens, and his eyes flash with frustration, but it’s like he’s trying to say something that even he doesn’t know how to put into words.
I stare at him, my own emotions unraveling before my eyes. I feel the tears welling up, but I won’t let them fall. Not now. Not in front of him.
“You got your answer,” I say, my voice breaking. “You know exactly where I stand.”
I turn and walk away before I can change my mind. I don’t look back. I can’t. If I do, I’ll fall apart completely. All this time he makes me feel I mean so much to him, and I believeit; I see it in his eyes. But every time I bring up the contract, he never denies it. He could just say no, we are beyond the contract, and maybe—just maybe—the uncertainty I have about this relationship would snap, but it never does. He never denies.
And I can't let him ruin me, not now, because after this marriage I will not know how to survive without him. And that will kill me.
CHAPTER 40
AARAV
I don’t know who started the damn countdown, but suddenly, every direction I turn, someone is shouting “Happy Holi!” and throwing color like it’s an Olympic sport. Music blares, kids are running around with water balloons, and someone’s already slipped and fallen near the lawn.Classic. I didn't know when Maa said she had invited some people over, it would be so many but that's on me because when Maa and Badi maa say that it usually means at least hundreds of people.
It’s chaos. Mostly the good kind. The loud, messy, colorful kind that used to give me a headache when I was younger. Now I barely even notice the noise. I’m too focused on one thing.
One person.
I scan the crowd, ducking a splash of pink that barely misses my shirt. I’ve already escaped four attempts at getting colored. It’s like a mission now. No one colors me until she does. Call it cheesy, I don’t care. I waited twelve years for this Holi with her. I am not big on Holi—too much wastage of water. I don't see the joy in it, but I know she loves it. And this is our first after twelve years, and that too as husband and wife.
A marriage she still keeps at arm’s length, sure, but she’s here. She’s here, and I get to see her again in that white kurta shewore every Holi—the one that ended up a painting by the end of the day. Except today, she’s been avoiding me like I’m the actual plague, and it’s starting to get to me.
I keep playing the last afternoon in my head on repeat. The way her body went still in my arms, the way she’d leaned into me like she couldn’t stop herself… and then ran the moment where I didn’t say anything when she said, "This is just six months." The quiet anger in her eyes this morning. The way she looked at me like I’d broken something. Again.
Not because it wasn’t worth saying something about. Not because I didn’t feel the punch of that line in my chest. But because I’ve always been more afraid of losing her than I’ve ever been of saying the wrong thing. I couldn’t tell her she was wrong because part of me is scared she’ll use that as a reason to walk away again.
I’m not sure I’d survive that this time. So, I wait. I wait for her to come to me. I wanted her to fall for me and initiate first, but now that's not a requirement because the hurt in her eyes and in her voice was evident enough that she feels the same way about us as I do; she wants this, she wants us to exist.
I hear a loud, unfiltered laugh, and my head snaps in the direction, and then I spot her. Of course she’s standing at the bhaang counter.
I stop walking.
What the hell is she doing?
She’s talking to the man behind the counter, and he is smiling wide, too wide for my comfort, and she is giggling. And chugging the bhaang like it’s… vodka? What?
“What is wrong with you?” I mutter under my breath and start moving toward her, pushing past a group of aunties who are too busy gossiping to notice me. Thank you, God, for not letting me squeeze to death.
She throws her head back and takes another sip. Her cheeks are already flushed, and her eyes… yeah, she’s completely gone.
Oh boy.
I reach her just in time to hear her say to no one in particular, "Why does this Thandaai taste better than that one?"
Right. Of course she doesn't know. I glare at the man who's eyeing my wife, and he cowers under my gaze and looks down.
She turns and freezes when she sees me. Her face lights up like she’s seen candy. “Aaruuu!” she yells, arms wide, sloshingbhaangeverywhere. That nickname. It does things to me, although I hate it, but it sounds like music from her mouth: “I was looking for you!”
“No, you weren’t.”
She gasps, dramatically offended. “Okay, maybe not looking. But thinking about you. You were in my brain." She frowns and tilts her head, "Like… like a mosquito. Constantly buzzing.” She giggles.
“Thanks. That’s flattering.” I shake my head.
