"I myself am made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions...................."

The sun dipped low in the sky as Vatsal and Shubhita finally made their way back home. The day had been long and somewhat taxing, filled with more serious undertones than either had anticipated. While they exchanged words, there was a noticeable absence of the playful banter that usually flowed so easily between them. Instead, their conversations were peppered with contemplation and the occasional sigh, as if they were both lost in their own thoughts.

Once they reached the apartment, a quiet stillness settled over them. Vatsal came out of the washroom after which Shubhita went straight to change out of her day clothes, while Vatsal, feeling the weight of the day, slouched onto the mattress with a groan. He flipped through his phone absentmindedly, not really focusing on anything.

As Shubhita re-entered the room, she noticed Vatsal still lounging, his body sprawled out as if he had no intention of moving anytime soon. She watched him for a moment, her own thoughts swirling. But then her gaze shifted to the washroom door, and her brow furrowed. The sight of the damp floor tiles peeking out from beneath the door sent a new wave of determination surging through her.

Her patience, she realized, was beginning to wear thin.

“Vatsal,” she called, her voice firm but laced with the hint of a request, “The washroom is a mess again.”

Vatsal didn’t look up from his phone, his thumb still lazily scrolling. “Hmm? What did you say?”

“I said, the washroom is a mess,” she repeated, a bit more insistently this time, stepping closer. “Can you please go and fix it?”

Vatsal finally glanced up, his face etched with a mixture of exhaustion and mild irritation. “Shubhita, I’ve been doing everything you’ve asked for the past three days. Don’t you think I deserve a little break? I need a vacation—no, scratch that—a long one.”

His tone was joking, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of truth in his words. Shubhita’s eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms over her chest, her stance indicating that she wasn’t about to back down.

“A vacation?” she scoffed, “You’ve barely done the bare minimum! The washroom is all wet; it looks like a hurricane blew through there!”

Vatsal leaned back against the couch, arms stretched out along the pillows, his posture the epitome of nonchalance. “Well, water’s job is to make things wet, isn’t it? That’s what it does.”

Shubhita’s mouth fell open in disbelief at his casual dismissal. She stared at him, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or just trying to provoke her. “And,” she countered sharply, “by that logic, there should be a wiper’s job too, to clean up the mess!”

Vatsal smirked, clearly amused by her growing frustration. “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of a little water, Shubhita. It’ll dry on its own, eventually.”

Shubhita could feel her patience fraying at the edges. It wasn’t just about the wet floor—this was about something deeper. She was tired of picking up after him, of silently doing things that he should have been responsible for. And now, when she was finally standing her ground, he was shrugging it off like it was nothing.

“No, Vatsal, it won’t ‘dry on its own’,” she snapped, her voice rising in pitch. “It’s not about the water; it’s about you taking responsibility!”

Vatsal sighed, finally putting his phone down and sitting up straight. He looked at her with an expression that was part exasperation, part fondness. “I get it, okay? But can’t it wait? I’m just really tired right now.”

Shubhita threw her hands up in the air, her irritation bubbling over. “No, it can’t wait! If we keep letting things ‘wait,’ nothing will ever get done! You’re always putting things off, and I end up doing them because—because it’s easier than arguing with you!”

Vatsal rubbed the back of his neck, a slight grimace on his face. He knew she was right, but admitting that would mean more work for him, and right now, that was the last thing he wanted.

“Okay, okay,” he conceded, but then quickly added, “But can’t you just let this one slide? Just this once?”

Shubhita’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and determination. “No, Vatsal, I won’t let this one slide. You need to go in there and fix it now.”

He groaned, dramatically falling back onto the mattress. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” she said firmly, her hands on her hips as she stood over him, waiting for him to move.

Vatsal sighed deeply, pushing himself up from the couch with exaggerated slowness. “Fine, fine, I’ll go take care of it. But just so you know, this counts as part of my ‘vacation’.”

Shubhita rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “Oh, please. Your ‘vacation’ ended the moment you decided to be lazy.”

Vatsal shot her a playful glare as he trudged towards the washroom, muttering under his breath. But there was a glint of humour in his eyes, and Shubhita couldn’t help but feel a small victory.

He disappeared into the washroom, and a few moments later, the sounds of clattering echoed from within. Shubhita leaned against the doorframe, arms still crossed, listening as Vatsal half-heartedly grumbled about the injustice of it all.

“Hey, Shubhita,” Vatsal called out from inside, “What’s the difference between a wife and a bossy wife again?”

She could hear the smirk in his voice and rolled her eyes. “Don’t you dare try to wriggle out of this with jokes!”

“I’m just saying,” Vatsal continued, “Both are wives but...”

“Vatsal!” she exclaimed, exasperated but also trying to suppress a laugh. “Just finish it!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with mock seriousness. “I’ll have it done in a jiffy.”

Shubhita shook her head, her irritation slowly melting away. As much as Vatsal frustrated her, there was something endearing about his reluctance, how he tried to spin every situation into something lighter. But this time, she wasn’t going to let him off the hook so easily.

She waited until the sounds from the washroom finally ceased, and Vatsal emerged, looking mildly triumphant. “Done and dusted,” he announced with a flourish. “The washroom is now pristine, thanks to my excellent wiper skills.”

Shubhita peeked inside, and to her surprise, the floor was indeed dry. “Not bad,” she admitted grudgingly, “But don’t think this means you get to slack off tomorrow.”

Vatsal grinned, pulling her hand as they walked back to the room. “You know you can always count on me… eventually.”

Shubhita rolled her eyes again, her earlier irritation now a distant memory. “Just don’t make me remind you every time, okay?”

“Deal,” Vatsal said, squeezing her hand. “But only if you promise to go easy on me during my ‘vacation’.”

She chuckled, nudging him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

The banter had restored the easy-going rhythm of their relationship, a balance between exasperation and affection that seemed to define them.

And as they sat, side by side, Shubhita couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, they were getting the hang of this whole “living together” thing after all.

_

_

_

The whole day had passed in a comfortable rhythm, but as night fell, the quiet of the evening brought with it a sense of impending reality. The two days of respite were coming to an end, and with them, the return to the harshness of the world outside their shared space.

The sky outside was a deep indigo, the stars barely visible through the haze of the city lights, and the soft hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence in their small apartment.

Shubhita was standing in front of the plastic table, her fingers deftly smoothing out the wrinkles from her saree. The soft rustle of the fabric as she moved the iron along it over the table was the only sound in the room, a comforting rhythm that calmed her mind as she prepared for the next day. It was the same dark green saree with a simple black border, the one which was reserved for her teaching days—professional, yet elegant.

She had always taken pride in how she presented herself at school. The saree was more than just a uniform; it was a symbol of her dedication and respect for her profession. As she ran the iron over the pleats, she thought about the classroom that awaited her in the morning, the students who would be looking to her for guidance and knowledge. It was a routine she had grown to cherish, one that gave her a sense of purpose and fulfilment.

But tonight, as she ironed her saree, there was a subtle tension in the air. She glanced over at Vatsal, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his posture slouched, his gaze fixed on the floor. His usual playful demeanour was absent, replaced by a heaviness. His two-day break from work was coming to an end, and she could sense the reluctance in his every movement.

“Vatsal, can you hand me your shirts? I’ll iron them too while I’m at it,” she asked gently, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, a fleeting expression of hesitation crossing his face. For a moment, he didn’t move, as if the simple act of getting up to fetch his shirts required more effort than he could muster. But then, he nodded, forcing a small sigh as he pushed himself off the mattress and walked over to the closet.

“Yeah, sure,” he replied, his voice a bit rough, as if he had been deep in thought.

He handed her a couple of shirts, his fingers lingering on the fabric for a second longer than usual before he let go. As she took them from him, she noticed the tension in his jaw. Something was bothering him, but she didn’t push. She knew Vatsal well enough to understand that he would speak when he was ready.

As she began to iron his shirts, Vatsal sat back down on the mattress, watching her with a distant expression.

His mind was a tangle of thoughts, none of them pleasant. The thought of returning to work filled him with a deep sense of dread, one that had been growing over the past few days. The office politics, the constant backstabbing, the never-ending struggle to stay ahead—it was all too much.

These past two days had been a much-needed escape from that toxic environment.

Shubhita’s presence had been a balm to his frayed nerves, her quiet strength and gentle humour a welcome distraction from the chaos that awaited him at work. But now, as the end of his break loomed closer, he couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that gnawed at his insides.

He had always prided himself on being able to handle stress, on being the calm in the storm. But recently, the weight of his responsibilities had begun to take its toll. The endless deadlines, the cutthroat competition—it was all starting to feel like too much.

He couldn’t let Shubhita see how much it was affecting him. He couldn’t afford to be a disappointment to her as well. He was already a disappointment and would forever be to his family.

As Shubhita continued to iron, her movements steady and precise, Vatsal found himself comparing the simplicity of this moment to the complexity of his work life. Here, in the quiet of their small space, everything was straightforward. There were no hidden agendas, no underhanded tactics—just the two of them, making efforts to share a peaceful life together.

At work, it was a different story.

Every conversation was a power play, every decision a potential minefield. He had to constantly watch his back, anticipate the next move from his colleagues, who were just waiting for him to slip up. It was exhausting, and the thought of diving back into that environment made his stomach twist with dread.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to push the negative thoughts aside. “You know,” he said, trying to sound light-hearted, “I’ve been thinking… Maybe I should just quit my job and become your full-time assistant. Iron your saree, fetch you milk… What do you think?”

Shubhita looked up from her task, her eyes meeting his. She could see the forced humour in his smile, the way his shoulders slumped slightly under the weight of something unsaid. But she played along, sensing that he needed the distraction.

“Oh, really?” she replied with a teasing smile. “And what makes you think you’d be any good at that?”

“Well, I’ve been observing you, haven’t I?” he said, leaning back on his hands. “I think I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

She chuckled, the sound filling the room with a warmth that eased the tension between them. “Maybe. But I don’t think you’d last a week without complaining about the workload.”

“True,” he admitted, grinning. “Since you’re awful.”

“What the heck?” Her laughter was genuine this time, a bright note in the otherwise sombre atmosphere. For a moment, it felt like the heaviness in the air had lifted, replaced by the comfort of their shared humour. But as the laughter faded, the reality of the situation settled back in.

Vatsal’s smile slowly faded as he watched her finish ironing his shirts. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to go back to work. The thought of stepping into that workplace again, of facing his unjust seniors, colleagues and the endless cycle of stress and competition, made him feel sick to his stomach.

He wanted more time—time to just be with Shubhita, away from the pressures of the outside world.

But he knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. Tomorrow would come, and with it, the return to reality.

As she folded the last of his shirts, Shubhita turned to him, her expression softening as she noticed the faraway look in his eyes. She walked over to him, placing the neatly folded shirts on the mattress beside him. “Vatsal,” she said quietly, her voice full of concern, “are you sure you’re okay?”

He looked up at her, the urge to confide in her almost overwhelming. But he hesitated, not wanting to burden her with his worries. He couldn’t add to her load.

“I’m fine,” he lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just… not looking forward to going back to work, that’s all.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t press him further. Instead, she sat down beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. “You know,” she said softly, “if you ever want to talk about it, I’m here. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

Vatsal’s chest tightened at her words, the sincerity in her voice cutting through the walls he had built around himself. He wanted to tell her everything—the stress, the anxiety, the overwhelming pressure that had been building up inside him. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

“You’re so kind all of a sudden,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “Fever?”

“Yeah, why not?” She gave his arm a teasing squeeze before standing up to finish her preparations for the next day. As she moved around the room, gathering her things, Vatsal watched her, a mix of admiration and guilt swirling in his chest. She was his anchor, the one thing that kept him grounded when everything else felt like it was spiralling out of control. And he was determined to protect that—to protect her—from the darkness that was slowly creeping into his life.

The rest of the evening passed in a comfortable silence, with both of them lost in their own thoughts. But even as they shared a quiet dinner and prepared for bed, Vatsal couldn’t shake the sense of dread that hung over him like a storm cloud. He knew that tomorrow, he would have to return to the grind, to the endless cycle of stress and competition. But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy the peace of the moment, the comfort of being with Shubhita.

As they lay in bed that night, the room bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, Vatsal reached out to take her hand in his. She looked over at him, a small smile playing on her lips as she intertwined her fingers with his.

“Goodnight, Vatsal,” she whispered, her voice warm and comforting.

“Goodnight, Shubhita,” he replied, his heart swelling with affection for the woman beside him.

As they drifted off to sleep, Vatsal held on to that moment of peace, hoping it would be enough to carry him through the challenges that awaited him in the morning.