“What are you doing here?”

The moment Akshaj stepped into the kitchen, his mother snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through the quiet of a lazy Sunday morning. She stood by the stove, eyes blazing like a dragon poised to breathe fire.

“Get out of here.”

Lavanya turned at the sound, a polite smile fixed on her face. She watched her husband being reprimanded by her mother-in-law before breakfast had even settled.

“I’m here to help,” Akshaj said, as if the word itself were harmless. He walked toward Lavanya, unaware - or perhaps only half-aware - of how each step tightened her shoulders.

“What?” he whispered to her when she glanced at him, her eyes silently begging him to stop.

“One time was more than enough for you to prove your so-called kind heart,” his mother scoffed. “I don’t want a fire accident in this house. And anyway, this is not men’s work. We women can handle it.”

The sentence carried the kind of  authority that Akshaj had begun to dislike. He placed his hands dramatically over his hip and looked at his mother. “And who decided that this isn’t a man’s job?”

“No one needs to decide,” she snapped, her lips curling into a scowl. “Have you ever seen your father in the kitchen? Or any man, for that matter?”

He hesitated only briefly. “Last week, when we went to that restaurant, didn’t you notice the chef was a man?”

Lavanya’s eyes widened. She shook her head ever so slightly, pleading with him to retreat before this turned into something bigger.

But his mother grabbed his arm firmly. “Go. I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

There it was again.

Dismissal disguised as efficiency. Debate framed as disrespect. Questions labeled as foolishness.

Grunting under his breath, Akshaj walked out into the living room.

His father sat on the sofa, eyes glued to the news, while his brother lounged beside him. Jiya sat comfortably too - legs crossed, posture relaxed, wholly unapologetic about the space she occupied.

For the first time in his life, Akshaj felt a sharp, unfamiliar stab of jealousy toward his brother.

Parthiv had married for love. Dated Jiya for almost a year, chosen her on his own terms, and informed their parents rather than sought permission. Back then, Akshaj had thought it selfish. Disrespectful even. Parents knew best, didn’t they?

Now, watching Jiya sit there - unbothered, unshrinking, unafraid of disapproval - he realized what that choice had given her.

Freedom.

Jiya didn’t bend herself into acceptable shapes. She didn’t live to keep the peace. She didn’t apologize for existing loudly. Yes, she had hidden her comedy gigs - but Akshaj knew that if they ever came to light, she wouldn’t beg for understanding. She would explain herself once, maybe twice, and then move on.

She was true to what she meant - I’m not here to fit into stereotypes.

Parthiv and Jiya had been married for nearly five years. Childfree. Intentionally so. Despite countless hints, suggestions, and outright questions, neither of them had visited a doctor for “consultation.” It was clear - to anyone willing to accept it - that this was a choice.

Their choice.

They were secure in themselves, anchored in mutual respect, and unapologetic about their authority over their own lives.

And Akshaj?

He didn’t even know where his life stood anymore.

Watching his wife slowly disappear into inherited expectations felt unbearable.

The realization of what being obedient to elders had brought upon him made his blood boil.

What was all this supposed to be?

Love?

Or just centuries of conditioning wrapped so tightly around a choice that it no longer felt like a cage?

Akshaj stared at the television without seeing it, his mind loud with questions he didn’t yet know how to ask - and fears he wasn’t sure he was allowed to name.

---

“Lavanya, can I ask you something?” Akshaj asked softly once his wife settled beside him - no, on him. His shoulder had become her favourite resting place these past few days, as though her body instinctively knew where it felt safest.

Her fingers traced the sharp line of his jaw lazily, familiarly. “I wanted to ask you something too,” she whispered, leaning in to press a slow kiss there. “It’s been a week…”

Her touch drifted lower, over his bare chest, her lips following, unhurried and affectionate - less demanding, more inviting.

There was no force in the world strong enough to make Akshaj refuse her. He gave in easily, willingly, losing himself in her until she was content, until her body relaxed against his with a sigh that felt like gratitude.

Later, when they lay stretched out beside each other, the room filled with their scent, Akshaj realized how deeply satisfying the session had been. One of the best for him, actually.

Pregnancy definitely had impacted their sex life in a positive way. Lavanya seemed more expressive now, more open, more certain of what she wanted. Their intimacy had taken on a different rhythm, slower and somehow deeper.

He had no complaints. None at all.

After a while, the silence nudged his thoughts back to where they had been circling all day. He cleared his throat.

“Lavanya…”

“Yes,” she murmured, tugging the blanket over their bare bodies, shielding them from the sharp chill of the air conditioner.

He turned onto his side and studied her face in the dim light, saying nothing.

She noticed, of course. She always did. “What?” she asked, smiling faintly.

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Really?”

Instead of answering, he cupped her face and kissed her quickly, almost shyly. Then, quieter, more vulnerable, “Are you happy?”

She laughed softly, not mockingly - more surprised than anything. “What kind of question is that?” She paused, then lifted herself slightly so her face was level with his. “Are you actually doubting that?”

He didn’t respond.

Her gaze lingered on him. Akshaj had learned, over time, to read that look - the unspoken devotion in it. Sometimes it overwhelmed him. Sometimes it scared him. He often felt undeserving of her love.

“Aye,” she said gently, cradling his cheek in her small palm. “What’s going on in that head of yours? You’ve been so distracted lately.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I feel incredibly lucky to have you as my wife. But sometimes…” He hesitated. “Sometimes I feel like it’s my fault that you’re stuck here with---”

Before he could finish, Lavanya cut him off.

“Akshaj,” she said firmly but softly, pressing her forehead against his. “I am happy with you.” A small smile curved her lips. “Actually, I’m happier here, in your arms, than I’ve ever been.”

He sighed as her arms circled his neck, hugging him tightly.

Because somewhere deep inside, her words reached places his thoughts never could. They calmed the storm he hadn’t known how to name - soothed him more than he had expected, more than he deserved.

---

vote. share. comment.

---