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Two years of marriage,
And yet, sometimes, Meher still felt like a stranger in her own home… in her own marriage.
The nights were familiar—his touch, his breath against her skin, the warmth of his body. They shared a bed, shared routines, even shared smiles in front of family. But hearts? Not quite.
Their relationship had settled into a quiet rhythm—intimate, yes, but distant. Words stayed trapped between polite conversations and hesitant pauses. Arhan was kind… but reserved. Present… but never fully there.
It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t cruel. It just wasn’t complete.
Tonight was their second anniversary.
There were no grand gestures, no flowers, no dinner plans. Just silence… and the low hum of the AC in the bedroom. He reached for her like he always did—gentle, practiced. And she let him, like she always did—quiet, accepting.
And still, somewhere deep inside her, a little hope stirred.
Maybe someday, this would be more than just comfort.
Maybe someday, this would feel like love.
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