Kayal's pov:

There's something oddly comforting about falling into a routine.

Morning tea. Two mugs. One with extra ginger ,his. One plain, with a dash of sugar - mine. He never says it out loud anymore, and I don't ask. It just happens. Like clockwork.

We've started finishing each other's sentences too. Not the cheesy movie types. Real ones. Like:

"Did you keep the—" "Yeah, charger's in your bag."

Or:

"You want to eat—" "Not brinjal again."

Sometimes I wonder, how do we even know these little things about each other? Maybe because we grew up side by side. Maybe because we've had years of shared silences and noisy fights. Or maybe... it's just muscle memory.

Today was like any other. I was trying to wrap my head around this thing called deferred tax liability. Honestly, even reading the word gave me a headache.

"This makes no sense, Ezhil," I groaned, slamming my pen down. "How can you owe tax now for income you didn't even technically earn yet?"

He didn't even look up. "You said the same thing yesterday."

"I did?"

He nodded, turning a page in his research book. "And then you asked me if it's like borrowing a friend's chocolate and promising to pay back after exam season."

I blinked. "Oh yeah... it still doesn't make sense."

"Deferred tax is like that. You get the benefit now, pay the tax later. Just think of it like karma. It always comes around," he said with a grin.

I snorted. "Wow. Spiritual accounting. New learning technique  unlocked."

When I looked up, he was already watching me. Not the normal 'what now' look. Something softer. Like I'd just solved a world problem. I raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, flipping his page again.

Strange.

______________________________________

I was yapping about some book I read , something about a misunderstood heroine  and he was just... there. Nodding. Smiling. Teasing occasionally.

"You're telling me she left her whole kingdom for that guy? Who even writes this stuff?" he said, pulling a face.

"It's not about logic! It's about feeling, Ezhil!"

"Ah. My bad. I forgot feelings are more important than survival," he said dramatically, ducking as I threw a pillow at him.

He laughed. I rolled my eyes.

But for some reason, I didn't want this moment to end.

After dinner, I was cleaning up when he handed me a small brown packet.

"What's this?"

"Just open."

Inside was a set of tip pencils and a small notebook with blue flowers on the cover.

I looked up, confused.

"You were complaining that your old one broke during your mock test," he said, pretending to examine the ceiling. "So... I just picked these."

I blinked.

He scratched the back of his head. "Not a big deal, Kayal. It's just—"

I interrupted. "No. It's nice. Really."

He smiled. Quietly. And turned away.

He's kind. Too kind, sometimes.

Patient, like he's always waiting for something.

And I? I just keep going on like I don't notice it.

But I do.

I notice how he remembers which side of the bed I sleep on. I notice how he makes tea quietly when I'm upset. I notice how he checks my exam schedule before planning his days.

And sometimes... I wonder why my heart feels full at such small things.

But it's probably because I'm finally learning to live again.

That's it. Right?

Just that.

Right?

Next day

I don't know what it was about that Monday. Maybe the humidity. Maybe the long lectures. Maybe the fact that I hadn't had breakfast. But I remember feeling... off.

Class was dragging like melted cheese, and the fans were just pretending to rotate. I had my head buried in my notes when Shruti, one of the girls in my class, leaned toward our bench with a grin plastered on her face.

"You know, I think our class mentor is hot."

I froze. My pen stopped mid-scribble.

"Hmm?" someone else chimed in. "You mean Professor Ezhil?"

"Yeah. Like, he's so quiet and soft-spoken, but there's just something about him... those glasses, the calm voice... I swear, he gives book boyfriend vibes," she giggled.

Book. Boyfriend. Vibes?

I blinked, trying to stay indifferent. I nodded weakly and gave a forced smile, but inside?

Inside, my stomach twisted like I had gulped down hot tea on an empty stomach.

What was that?

Why did my ears suddenly feel hot?

Why did I feel like standing up and saying, "Yes, he's kind, smart, calm, and all of that — but also, please shut up?"

Instead, I stayed quiet, smiling like I hadn't heard anything remotely offensive. Like I wasn't sitting there wondering how many other girls in the class had thought the same.

No one in class knew I was married to him. Not even Shruti. People knew I was married, yes — that mangalsutra was too obvious — but I'd never told them who. They never asked,they were'nt nosy. Thank God.

Still... it stung.

Back home, he was in the kitchen , chopping onions while humming that same old Ilaiyaraaja tune he always did when he was in a good mood. I watched him from the doorway. Just watched.

Why did they have to like my Ezhil?

My brain screamed, He's not even yours like that! But the other part, the stupid, irrational part of me , it didn't listen.

I walked in and leaned against the kitchen counter.

"Ezhil?"

"Hmm?"

I pretended to play with the salt container. "Did you... I mean, have you ever loved anyone?"

He stopped chopping, knife mid-air. Then he turned to me slowly, raising an eyebrow. "Now that's a dangerous question."

"I'm serious," I said, looking straight at him. "Tell me the truth."

He smirked. "Should I tell the truth or lie to stay safe?"

I crossed my arms. "Truth. You better."

There was a small pause. Then a soft sigh. "Yes. I did."

My throat went dry. I don't know why.

"And?" I asked, forcing my voice to sound casual. "What happened?"

He didn't look at me this time. Just stared at the onion pieces. "She loved someone else."

I don't know if it was his voice, the way it dipped at the end, or the way his fingers clenched the knife a little tighter  but something shifted in the air. Like he wasn't just talking about the past, but reliving it.

It pinched my chest in a way I didn't expect.

I swallowed. "So... what happened after that?"

He finally looked at me. Eyes unreadable. "Kayal... I'll tell you someday. Not now."

I nodded. Not because I didn't want to know more. But because suddenly, I didn't know if I could handle hearing it.

I went to my room quietly. Closed the door behind me.

I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall, unsure of what was happening to me.

Why did I feel so...off?

Why did hearing about his love feel like someone poured cold water on a warm evening?

And why the hell was I jealous of a girl who only giggled and called him a book boyfriend?

I lay down on the bed, turning my face to the wall.

I'm just tired, I told myself.

Just overthinking.

Right?

Then why did it feel like I'd just heard something I didn't want to admit mattered?

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