Ezhil's  pov:

I stood outside the coaching centre, watching Kayal talk to the receptionist with a mix of nerves and excitement. Her eyes darted from the pamphlet in her hand to the posters on the wall, taking it all in. I knew this meant a lot to her.

And to me too.

Two days ago, she'd walked up to me with that determined spark in her eyes and said, "Ezhil, I really want to do CA. Will you help me?" As if I wouldn't. As if there was anything she could ask and I'd say no.

I had quietly gone through the options, picked a good institute close to our home, and enrolled her. Today was orientation. I told her I'd just wait outside, but honestly, I couldn't resist watching her step into this new phase of her life.

She turned back after a while, saw me standing at the entrance, and waved. I waved back, hiding a smile.

Back at home, the mood was different. Softer. Lighter.

I saw her arranging the books on our tiny bookshelf, one by one, with care. Some books I had used during my teaching days. I'd offered them to her , she'd hugged them like they were treasure.

"Ezhil," she said, flipping open the taxation book, "these letters feel like aliens to me. Are you sure I can do this?"

I chuckled, settling next to her on the floor. "Aliens? Come on, it's just numbers and logic. Two things you already have."

She scoffed. "Numbers, okay. Logic... depends on the day."

"You married me. That's proof of excellent logic."

She rolled her eyes, but I caught the faint blush on her cheeks.

We studied together for an hour. I explained concepts, drew silly stick figures to make her laugh, made her coffee in between breaks. And she — well, she listened. She nodded. She asked questions. Real ones. Smart ones. The ones I always knew she had in her.

At one point, I looked at her scribbling in her notebook, lips moving as she revised something softly, and I felt something settle in my chest.

Pride.

Not because she was doing CA. But because she was choosing herself.

And maybe... just maybe ,because she let me be part of it.

That night, as we sat on the balcony sharing a bowl of cut mangoes, I asked, "How was your first day?"

She looked at the sky, thought for a second. "Scary. But good scary. Like I'm doing something I was always meant to. Even if I never knew it until now."

I nodded. "Good. That's the best kind of scary."

She glanced at me sideways, eyes soft. "Thank you, Ezhil."

"For what?"

"For seeing me. Even when I didn't."

I didn't reply. I just nudged her shoulder with mine, gentle and quiet.

Sometimes love doesn't need grand words. Just presence. Just belief.

And tonight, that was enough.

Kayal's pov:

We were sitting side by side, both of us working silently . I was highlighting a few notes, he was typing something on his laptop. The evening breeze drifted in through the balcony, carrying with it a faint scent of jasmine from the neighbor's garden.

That's when I turned to him, curiosity bubbling up.

"Ezhil... can I ask you something?"

He looked up, glasses slipping a little on his nose. "You already are."

I rolled my eyes. "Why didn't you try for CA? You're so good with numbers and laws and all these books. Why NET?"

He chuckled softly and leaned back, arms resting behind his head.

"I liked teaching, Kayal. I always did. The way a class listens when you explain something they thought was too hard... it's a different joy." He paused, his eyes distant now. "So I studied hard and gave NET. I cleared it with a good score, got into this government-aided college. Even while doing my PhD, I managed because I got a scholarship — thanks to my good marks."

I blinked. "You were doing both?"

He nodded. "And still am. Along with the college job, I also freelance with a private firm online , I help them with research reports. Some evenings, I write academic content for competitive exam centres. Notes, mock tests, sample key answers."

I stared at him. "You do all that?" I whispered.

He smiled faintly but didn't meet my eyes. "Yeah... it helps."

I felt something tighten in my chest.

Then his smile wavered. Something about it cracked at the edges.

"But you know what, Kayal..." he continued, his voice lower now, "Amma and Appa never really appreciated any of it. Not like they did Arjun. Always him first — the brilliant son, the engineer, the shining star."

I sat still, letting his words fall into the silence between us.

"I don't even think I mattered that much," he said with a small, sad laugh. "Before I wrote the NET exam, I worked at a private college. Ridiculous salary, exhausting workload. But I still sent most of it home — just kept enough for food and rent. Every time I'd visit them, I'd be so excited... like a child. But even then, everything would revolve around him. His job, his car, his opinions."

He looked away for a moment, jaw clenched.

"Once, I asked Amma ... just teasing , why she never gave me the same attention. She said, 'His one month salary is what you earn in a year.' She laughed after. I smiled too. But Kayal... it hurt. Deep."

I swallowed hard. My heart ached as he continued.

"When I joked about his arrears once —I had been a gold medalist, you know... Appa simply said, 'He studied engineering. You studied arts. Anyone can do arts.'"

He scoffed bitterly. "As if hard work has levels based on degree titles. As if I'm less... because I chose what I loved."

Then he exhaled shakily and his voice turned softer , more broken.

"They didn't even come to my graduation, Kayal. Not for UG, not for PG. Not even when I won gold medals in both. But you know what they did for him?"

I stayed silent, heart in my throat.

"He had arrears. His college didn't even let him attend graduation. But they took him to a photo studio... dressed him up in a fake graduation robe and cap... and took photos. You know the best part? Those are still hung all over the house. Proudly.While i don't even know where my photos would be."

My stomach twisted.

"If someone asks Appa what his sons do, he says with pride, 'My elder son works in Bangalore, earns three lakhs a month.' And when they ask about me? He just shrugs and says, 'He's just a professor.'"

He let out a short, bitter laugh. "When we return to our respective cities, Amma packs his bag with idli podi, paruppu podi, thokku... like he's going to a desert island. Even though he eats outside most of the time, and half the things go unused."

"But me?" His voice cracked. "Even though I cook... she gives me just one box of podi. And when I'd glance at his bag, she'd say, 'He works hard. He can't cook like you. You don't have much work. You can make whatever you want.'"

" But he is not the one standing for hours,speaking even when there's a throat pain,sweating profusely on summers.He sits in an ac room and works for hours...I'm not telling his work is simple but i too work hard. "

I didn't realize I had tears in my eyes until they blurred my vision.

"Appa carries his bags to the station. Books his cab. Makes sure he's comfortable. When I leave, they barely look up ...they would just nod or barely come outside of house when I leave."

" You know what kayal ma ,even after i reach there tired from here...they would ask me to go and pick up him as he arrives ,I would have barely removed my slippers."

He laughed again, but it was dry and empty.

"That's why I stopped going. I'm so... unwanted, Kayal. In their eyes."

I didn't think. I just moved closer and wrapped my arms around him tightly.

"Ezhil..." I whispered, feeling his shoulders tremble.

He didn't resist. Just let me hold him like that, his head buried in my neck like he had been waiting for this one moment of softness for years.

"You didn't fail. You're the only person who's never made me feel like I was a failure. And now I see , you've been carrying so much silently... And still smiling, still loving, still caring..."

I pulled back gently, cupping his cheeks, wiping his tears.

"How much can you hide behind your happy face, Ezhil? Who would know that the boy who cracks jokes and keeps everyone laughing is carrying this much pain inside him?"

He looked at me, eyes swimming, raw.

I shook my head slowly. "But you have me now. Okay? Always. No matter what your parents say, no matter how much they overlook you... you matter. You matter to me."

He stared at me like I'd just said something he didn't think he deserved to hear.

"You are not 'just a professor.' You are the reason I got up the day after my wedding and took a breath. You're the reason I dared to dream again."

He blinked fast, clearly overwhelmed.

"You took a good decision to save and settle in life rather than drowning in EMI's and Loans."

"And about that house," I said, smiling through the lump in my throat, "we'll build it. Together. With both of our earnings."

He didn't say a word.

But in that silence, his arms came around me — warm, firm, and sure.

And I knew.

This was our beginning.

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