Kayal's pov:

The Chennai sun hit different.

Sharper, warmer, as if it knew I had come here unwilling. The train ride was mostly silent — Ezhil had tried to talk, gently, kindly... but I kept my answers short. Not rude, just... tired. And he understood.

When we reached his apartment, I stood at the doorway for a moment. He reached over my shoulder and unlocked it with a soft click.

"This is it," he said, pushing the door open.

The air smelled like books, old wooden shelves, and mild detergent. Simple curtains. A two-seater sofa. A single potted plant wilting slightly on the windowsill. It was nothing like the big houses I had visited before — not fancy, not showy. But clean. Lived in.

And now, mine too.

Well i am also not fond of big bunglows either.

"I know it's small," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "Not like the house Anna owns in Bangalore with all the glass walls and smart switches."

I didn't say anything. He glanced at me, then looked away.

"But I didn't know I'd be getting married this soon either," he continued with a small laugh. "So... didn't plan for two. But I'll build something better soon. For us. A place you'd be proud to call yours too."

I just nodded.

He didn't wait for my response. He gently walked me around the apartment.

"That's the kitchen , I try not to burn things."

I glanced at the few neatly arranged utensils. A fridge with post-it notes, probably reminders for milk or exams or seminars.

"That's the study , mostly my college work, some old novels. You can dump all your books there too. Or throw mine out if you need space," he said, smiling a little.

I looked at the bookshelves. Well-used. Lined with pens and crumpled papers. A familiar kind of mess.

"And here's the bedroom," he said, then paused awkwardly at the door. "Um... I cleaned it. You can... take the bed. I'll sleep outside for now. Until you're comfortable."

I looked at the room. A single bed pushed to one side, a small cupboard, and a folded blanket on the chair.

He placed the bags down and walked toward the kitchen.

"I'll make tea," he said. "Unless you want to rest first?"

"I'll freshen up," I said quietly.

He nodded and disappeared behind the fridge.

As I unpacked my things slowly, I looked around and felt the oddness of it all settle inside me.

Just yesterday, I was Kayal — the girl whose home smelt of jasmine and filter coffee, whose mother placed fresh clothes on the bed after every bath, who would sit cross-legged with Paati every evening listening to stories.

And today?

I'm Kayalvizhi Ezhil, I guess. A professor's wife. In a one-bedroom apartment in a strange city. A stranger in her own skin.

I opened the window. The Chennai air smelled of dust and roasting peanuts. A scooter horn echoed faintly from the road.

Ezhil came in with two cups.

He placed one gently on the table. "No much sugar in yours," he said.

I blinked.

"You don't like two spoons of sugar in tea, right?" he asked.

I nodded slowly. Surprised.

"You remembered?"

He smiled, looking down. "I remember more than you think."

He didn't wait for me to reply. Just sipped his tea, looking out of the window, letting me stand there in silence.

For a moment, just a tiny one, I let the warmth of the tea touch something cold inside me.

Maybe this wasn't what I dreamed of.

But at least... it was real.

Ezhil's pov:

"Mhm," she says, softly, nodding at something I've just said.

She doesn't speak much these days. Not like before.

But that little nod... it means something.

We were sitting by the window, the two of us sipping tea. The sun was dipping behind the buildings, casting golden streaks across the apartment floor.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound casual. "Kayal... I have to go to college tomorrow. I'd applied for leave, but just for today and the travel."

She didn't look at me, but I saw her nod again. Eyes fixed outside, lips slightly pressed together.

"I'll be back early," I added quickly. "You'll be okay, right?"

Another nod.

God, she was the girl who would never close her talkative mouth once she opens it but now she speaks volumes in silence.

"I get a weekend off," I continued. "So the day after tomorrow, we'll go out. Okay? Maybe to that Murugan idli kadai you used to like , I saw you post about it on your WhatsApp status once."

A flicker. She turned slightly. Not a smile. But recognition.

I grabbed onto that moment like a thread in a storm.

"We'll buy your favourite sweets too," I added. "And I'll cook lunch for us... sambhar and potato roast. The way Paati used to make it. I promise I won't burn it this time."

I turned to look at her fully. "Is that okay with you?"

She finally met my eyes. Just for a second. And nodded again.

It wasn't a yes filled with excitement. It was tired. Hesitant. But it wasn't a no.

That was enough.

I smiled , the kind that didn't need to be returned.

She looked down again, fiddling with the edge of her saree. The little gold bangles on her wrist clinked softly, and for a second, I was taken back to years ago , when she used to sit in our veranda with her hair in two plaits, yelling at me for stealing her notebook.

How easy it was to tease her back then. How natural.

Now, everything was careful. Like walking on eggshells.

She looked cute tonight.

Not the made-up kind of cute. Just her, in a simple cotton saree, hair tied into a lazy bun, no kajal. No lipstick. Just Kayal.

And I had to stop myself , physically stop myself from reaching out and pulling her cheeks like I used to.

God, how many times had I done that as a teenager? Just to annoy her. Just to see her pout and yell, "Ezhil! Don't...I'll pull your hair!"

But now?

Now she wouldn't yell. She'd just... flinch.

She's broken.

And I won't be another weight on her chest.

So I held back. Let that urge dissolve quietly. She wasn't ready. Maybe she'd never be.

And I'd make peace with that too, if I had to.

Because loving her didn't mean possessing her.

It meant protecting her peace , even if it meant sacrificing my own.

I stood up slowly, collecting the empty cups.

"Goodnight, Kayal," I said, softly.

She looked up again. "Goodnight," she murmured.

A word. A real one.

I held onto it like it was a treasure.

Maybe tomorrow, she'll say another.

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