Rayaan's pov:

I don't know whose idea it was to make Arvi sit in the front seat. Probably Areekha's. She shoved her in before I could protest and claimed the back with Aleesha like it was some sort of pre-planned strategy.

Now Arvi sat beside me, barely breathing.

Hands clasped tightly in her lap, dupatta pulled just a little too carefully over her shoulder. Her eyes stayed fixed on the road like she didn't dare glance in my direction.

From the backseat, chaos was brewing.

"Arvi," Aleesha started, voice sweet in that annoying, calculated way, "did you pick this outfit for your first-day-back look or just to impress the driver?"

Areekha giggled. "Yeah, seriously. A little too traditional. What happened to your jeans-and-kurti phase?"

Arvi looked mortified. "It's just comfortable," she mumbled.

"She means Rayaan Bhaiya's comfortable," Aleesha whispered loudly.

I tapped the steering wheel once. "Shut up."

The car went silent for half a second.

"Possessive," Areekha muttered behind a fake cough. "Noted."

I didn't respond. I didn't have to.

Arvi, on the other hand, was shrinking into her seat like she could disappear. Her cheeks had gone red, and she pulled her dupatta tighter, still refusing to meet my eyes.

Good. Maybe then she wouldn't notice how tight I was gripping the steering wheel.

I didn't like the way they teased her. Even if it was harmless. Even if it was stupid cousin-sister nonsense.

Because I knew her. I knew that kind of attention made her anxious. Nervous. And for some reason, that bothered me more than it should've.

"Say one more thing and you both are walking," I said, calm but sharp.

Aleesha gasped. "You wouldn't."

I looked at her through the mirror. "Try me."

They went quiet after that, whispering between themselves but careful now. I could still hear the occasional giggle. But Arvi... she stayed frozen. Eyes on the windshield. Shoulders stiff.

I wanted to say something. Something that would ease the tension. Maybe tell her she didn't need to let them get to her.

But I didn't.

Instead, I slowed the car a little.

So she wouldn't feel rushed.

So maybe she'd know... I noticed.

I pulled the car up to the college gate, the usual rush of students swarming the entrance like bees to a hive. Aleesha and Arekha were already getting restless in the backseat, chatting about something I had zero interest in.

"Thanks, bhai!" Arekha called as she hopped out, Aleesha following with a wink and a flip of her hair.

And then... her.

Arvi.

She sat beside me in silence, fingers curled around the strap of her bag, eyes fixed straight ahead. Like I wasn't even there.

My wife

The title echoed in my mind like a secret I wasn't supposed to say out loud. It still felt surreal how we ended up here. Married, but strangers in so many ways. Under one roof, yet separated by distance that wasn't measured in meters.

"You dont want to go?," I said, keeping my voice neutral.

She glanced at me then just a flicker of a look. Her lips parted like she might say something, but she didn't. Just pushed open the door and got out.

No goodbye. No smile. Not even a glance back.

I watched her disappear into the crowd, a strange ache blooming in my chest.

I hated that feeling.

.

.

The office was quieter than usual when I got in. My chair welcomed me like an old friend, but my mind wasn't with the numbers or the reports waiting on my desk. It was still back there... with her.

I told myself it didn't matter. That she was just playing her part, and I was playing mine. But deep down, I knew better.

She wasn't just anyone. She was mine on paper, in law.

But the question that haunted me was

Would she ever be mine in the way that mattered?

I had been staring at the same damn file for twenty minutes. The numbers blurred into nonsense, and the usual sharp focus I prided myself on? Gone.

All because of her.

Arvi.

The way she left this morning without looking back... it shouldn't bother me. We weren't like other couples. Ours wasn't a marriage built on sweet mornings and soft words.

But still it bothered me.

I leaned back in my chair, jaw tight, fingers tapping against the glass table.

What was she doing right now? Laughing with someone? Hiding that stubborn spark in her eyes behind fake politeness?

Or maybe... she was thinking about me too?

A scoff escaped my lips.

I hated feeling this unbalanced. Like she had the power to distract me without even trying. That wasn't how I operated.

Without a second thought, I reached for my phone.

"Call the HOD of City Central College," I ordered my secretary.

A few minutes later, the call connected. I didn't waste time.

"This is Rayaan Oberoi," I said, my tone sharp and unmistakable. "I want access to your campus's CCTV feed. Specifically the west wing entrances and common areas."

There was a nervous chuckle on the other end. "O..of course, sir. May I ask the reason?"

"You may not."

Silence.

Then, compliance. As always.

Within the hour, a secure portal link hit my inbox. Password protected, but easily cracked with the access he handed over because no one says no to an Oberoi. And definitely not to me.

I opened the footage, fast-forwarding past the blur of students, until I found her.

Arvi.

Sitting alone under a tree in the courtyard. Her head lowered, fingers fidgeting with the edge of a notebook. She looked distant.

Sad, even.

Something twisted in my chest.

I shouldn't have done this.

I should've just focused on work like the man I was known to be. Cold. Unshaken. Ruthless.

But here I was watching her like some desperate fool, trying to read the silence between her glances and the stories behind her stillness.

God, what the hell are you doing to me, Arvi?

.

.

By the time I stepped out of the car, the rain had already started falling gentle, steady drops soaking into the earth. The sky was a deep gray, the kind that made everything look softer, quieter.

I didn't bother with an umbrella. Just walked through the Oberoi Mansion gates, hands in my pockets, my shirt slowly dampening, hair slicking back. The guards opened the doors before I could reach them, and I went straight up to my room, craving silence.

But then,

Something caught my eye from the window.

Laughter.

I turned my head.

Down in the garden, in the middle of the rain, were four girls. Aleesha, Arekha, Vanisha and her. My wife.

Arvi.

Soaked to the skin, barefoot in the grass, spinning like a child who had never known sorrow. Her hair clung to her face, her kurti plastered to her frame. She was laughing freely, fully. The kind of laugh I'd never heard from her. The kind of smile she never gave me.

She looked like everything I didn't know I needed.

My feet moved before I could think. I stepped closer to the window, eyes fixed on her. The others were jumping around, screaming at the cold, but she didn't care. She just kept dancing.

Without thinking, I pulled out my phone. My fingers hovered for a second

And then I clicked.

A single photo.

Her, mid-laugh, arms in the air, eyes closed.

Captured.

I stared at it for a moment, then locked my phone and slipped it into my pocket. A faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

No one saw it. No one ever does.

But in that second, I realized something.

I didn't just want to watch her from a distance anymore.

I wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.

Even if she hated me now.

Even if she never knew I took that photo.

The photo was still glowing on my screen when the door suddenly creaked open.

I didn't move just slid my phone into my pocket and looked up, already knowing who it was.

Arvi.

She froze the second our eyes met. Her chest was rising and falling fast, strands of wet hair clinging to her cheeks, droplets of rain trailing down her skin.

She hadn't expected me.

Her clothes were soaked through completely. And beneath the thin cotton, I could see more than she probably intended me to. Her dupatta had slipped off, hanging uselessly from her elbow. Her arms wrapped instinctively around her torso, trying to hide herself.

But it was too late.

For a long moment, neither of us said a word.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to speak but nothing came out. Her eyes darted to the side, to the floor, to anywhere but me.

And me?

I should've looked away.

I should've respected the space, the silence, the lines we drew between us.

But I didn't.

Because right then, she looked like poetry in motion fragile and fierce, embarrassed but still burning with that fire she always tried to hide from me.

I finally stood up, slow and deliberate. Walked toward her. She stiffened.

Wordlessly, I reached for the wardrobe, pulled out a towel, and held it out to her no questions, no remarks. Just quiet.

She took it with trembling fingers, eyes still lowered.

"You'll catch a cold," I said, my voice rougher than I meant.

She nodded once, then turned to go. But just before stepping out, she paused.

For a second, I thought she'd say something.

But she didn't.

She walked out, leaving only the scent of rain and jasmine behind.

And me,

Still standing there, wondering when the hell this woman became the center of my world.