A few days had passed since Ashwin and I returned from Chikli, and something felt off. Ashwin’s mood had been distant, and he seemed preoccupied. I had tried asking him a couple of times if something was bothering him, but he dismissed my concerns with a quick “It’s nothing.” Thinking it might be best to give him space, I didn’t press further. Still, his aloofness left me feeling uneasy and distracted. It was hard to focus on my studies, especially since I spent most of my time in the college dorm, only coming home on weekends and holidays.
Today was Sunday, and I had returned home the previous night. As sunlight streamed through the curtains, I turned to see my dear husband still sleeping soundly. Feeling playful, I leaned over and gently poked his cheek. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Smiling mischievously, I leaned in, gave him a quick kiss on the forehead, and dashed to the bathroom before he could react.
After my shower, I returned to the room and sat in front of the dressing table, combing my wet hair. Just then, Ashwin walked in, still groggy but smiling. Without a word, he picked up the hair dryer and began blow-drying my hair for me, something he always did whenever I was home.
“Dolly, you really like my face, don’t you?” he teased, his voice playful.
I sheepishly smiled and replied, “My husband, whatever I do…”
Ashwin chuckled and smirked, “So, you feel I’m your personal property?”
Without thinking, I quipped, “Of course, yes.”
He let out a mock sigh and lightly smacked my back before heading to the bathroom to freshen up. I chuckled to myself, enjoying these small moments with him. Once he was gone, I headed to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Since our cook would only arrive in the afternoon today, I decided to prepare something hearty for the two of us.
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I placed some potatoes in the pressure cooker and began kneading a mix of wheat and semolina flour to make soft, fluffy pooris. Just as I was finishing up, Ashwin entered the kitchen and grabbed some fruits from the fridge. He started chopping them, sprinkling chaat masala on top to make a fruit bowl.
“Dolly, open your mouth,” he said, holding a piece of apple toward me.
I opened my mouth, and he stuffed the fruit in playfully before popping a piece into his own mouth. Then, rummaging through the fridge, he added, “I’m really hungry. I’ll make the gravy while you finish the pooris.”
Although I protested, saying, “Ashu, I can manage on my own. You don’t have to help,” he waved me off with a cheeky grin and continued prepping the ingredients.
In the end, we worked together to prepare breakfast. The kitchen filled with the warm aroma of freshly fried pooris, spiced potato gravy, and the sweet tang of fruit. Once everything was ready, we set the table and enjoyed a lavish breakfast.
While we were eating, Ashwin’s phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen and declined the call. A few minutes later, the phone rang again, and once more, he declined it. This happened several times before I couldn’t hold back my curiosity anymore.
“Ashu, why aren’t you answering Papa’s calls? Don’t mind, but I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding calls lately,” I said carefully.
Ashwin’s expression immediately darkened. For the first time, he glared at me, his usual warmth replaced with a hint of irritation. I froze, unsure of what to say next. After a moment, he sighed and said in a controlled tone, “Dolly, I’m uncomfortable discussing this right now.”
I bit my lip and decided to drop the topic, sensing that pushing further might upset him more. We finished the rest of our breakfast in silence, a heavy tension lingering between us.