Page 83 of Protect my Heart
CHAPTER 48
ANIKA
The message stares back at me from my screen like it’s about to explode.
Mumma:
Come home. Bring Aarav.
No emoji. No “beta.” No warm exclamation mark. Just… cold. It doesn’t feel like her. It feels like a stranger wearing her name.
She sends me fifteen-minute voice notes about some aunty's dal recipe and insists I send a photo of every outfit before stepping out. And now this? No emojis. No heart. Not even a "beta." Just… instructions. I’ve read it five—no, six—times now, each time hoping maybe I imagined the tone, maybe the next read will soften it, make it sound more like her. But no. It stays the same. Sharp. Distant.
I tried calling her. Of course I did. But she didn’t pick up. Not once.
Each unanswered call made the dread grow louder in my head. Was she okay? Did something happen?
I panicked and dialed the nurse. My heart was thudding so loud I barely heard her say, “She’s fine.” Apparently, Mumma told her she’d only talk to me face-to-face.
Which makes everything worse. Because when has she ever…?
I can’t sit still. My leg bounces as I stare at the message again, chewing my thumbnail.
Finally, I tap Aarav’s name and call.
He picks up before the first ring even finishes. “Missing me already, wifey?” Was he sitting on the phone? His voice makes something flutter in my chest. That damn flutter. I hate it. I love it.
“Maybe a little,” I mumble, staring at the message again. But I don't think I am in a mood to romance, so before he can comment on something, I speak. “Listen, Mumma texted. She wants to meet us both.”
He’s quiet for a second. “Okay… when?”
“When you’re free, could you please—”
“Wait.” He cuts me off. "One, I am always free for you, Anika; keep that in mind." My heart races. Why does he have to say things like that? "Two, did you just say please?" I frown. "You're not allowed to do that. There's no please, thank you, or sorry from your side in this relationship. Those are words that only I will use, okay?" A small smile appears on my lips, and I shake my head. If I die early, the reason would be my husband and his stupid, cheesy lines that anyone else ever speaking would have earned a glare from me, but apparently it makes me feel giddy inside when it's him.
"Shut up," I mumble as I bite back a smile. I hate how he does this—how he makes the anxiety shrink with just a few words. Like some annoying wizard.
“I’ll pick you up in fifteen.” He says, and I can hear his smile in his voice.
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ll come with the driver. Just meet me there.”
“Why? Let me pick you up." He whines, "That way I will get more time to spend with my wife.”
I laugh under my breath. “Are you a child?” Shaking my head at his antics.
“Nope,” he says smoothly, “just a man obsessed with his wife.”
God, he’s stupid. Stupid and charming and swoon-worthy and annoying.
“Aarav,” I say with mock exasperation, “just reach on time, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He chuckles, and I end the call.
I walk into the closet and put on a short pink kurti and denim jeans. I tie my hair up in a pony and give myself a last look in the mirror. I call Jayesh Bhaiya and ask him to bring the car to the front door. I race down the stairs and inform Badi Maa and Bhabhi, who are sitting in the living room, that I am going to my mother’s house, and they give me a smile. I rush out and get into the car, my mind wandering. What would have happened for Mumma to message me and not call? And to call me with Aarav?
The city blurs past me as I try to distract myself with the new coloring game I had downloaded recently. Childish, yes. But also calming.
The car comes to a halt, and I get out, and there he is.
