The days after their wedding had slipped into a routine, predictable but almost mechanical in its predictability. The rituals of the house consumed Arati—mornings spent overseeing breakfast, afternoons running errands, evenings preparing dinner. She managed the house with grace, but there was always an undercurrent of loneliness. Rishi had quickly settled into his role, rising early for work, often returning late, leaving her to navigate her new world mostly alone.

She had grown accustomed to the quiet house, the hum of servants in the background, the clatter of dishes and the low murmurs of her mother-in-law, who often lingered near the kitchen, overseeing everything with practiced efficiency. Arati, still a new bride in her heart, could not help but feel a pang of longing every time Rishi left for work—how she wished he would linger just a little longer.

But those quiet moments with him were rare. And though she kept busy, she began to feel the absence of something important. She missed the spark of affection, the gestures that made a marriage feel alive, even if she hadn't fully realized that desire until now.

One afternoon, she found herself standing on the porch, gazing out at the street. It was a rare moment of peace, and it gave her a chance to reflect on the life she was building. She had been learning the ins and outs of the house, mastering the art of managing servants, and taking care of everything that needed attention. But something was missing, a quiet ache that was growing stronger with each passing day.

"Arati didi!", called a voice, breaking her reverie.

It was Sreeparna, followed closely by Charulata. They had become close in the past few weeks, two young brides like herself who were still finding their way. Arati had come to enjoy their company, their laughter and lighthearted chatter a welcome break from the daily responsibilities she now shouldered. They were always a breath of fresh air, their friendship an oasis in the midst of the domestic routine.

"Come on, let's go to the market," Sreeparna suggested, her eyes twinkling with excitement, "I need some vegetables, and Charulata is buying new saris. We could use some company."

Arati hesitated for a moment. There was always something to do at home, always something that needed her attention. But the thought of stepping outside, of having a brief respite from the weight of household duties, was too tempting to resist.

She nodded, "Alright, just let me change into something more comfortable."

The three of them walked to the market together, their laughter and conversation flowing easily. The market was bustling with activity, vendors shouting their wares, children running past, and the smell of spices mingling with the scent of fresh produce. Arati had never felt so alive as she did in these moments. Here, she was just a young woman walking among other young women, enjoying the simple joys of a sunny afternoon.

Sreeparna was the first to speak, "I told my husband I wouldn't go to the market unless he brought me a garland for my hair." 

She flipped a strand of her long, dark hair and smiled, "And guess what? He did! Can you imagine?"

Arati smiled, but her thoughts drifted. Rishi had never once brought her a garland. She had never even thought to ask. It was something she had never considered—expecting such little gestures from him. Maybe, she thought, maybe it was something other women did, but it hadn't occurred to her that she might want it too.

"Really?", Charulata laughed, swiping a mango from a vendor, "That's so romantic. Mine bought me a bottle of alta the other day. You know, the red dye for the hands? He said it would make me more beautiful, but I think it was his way of saying 'I care.'", she smiled coyly, "I didn't even ask for it."

Arati felt a pang in her chest, a sharpness that caught her breath. Her friends had husbands who surprised them with such thoughtful gestures. Rishi had never done anything like that for her. But now that she was hearing about it, it felt like a quiet, aching gap in their relationship.

"I—well, I went to see a movie with Rishi," Arati blurted out, trying to sound casual, though there was a slight tightness in her voice, "We plan on going another time, one day."

Sreeparna raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on her lips, "Once? Just once? Charulata and I go to the movies every month. You know, it's the best way to unwind with our husbands. Don't you think so?"

Arati's smile faltered as her eyes darted away. 

"Yes... I guess so," she said softly, her mind swirling.

Charulata grinned. 

"We have movie nights every month. You should come with us sometime, Arati. It's so much fun, and Rishi can join us too!"

The suggestion felt hollow to Arati. Did she really expect him to have the time when their entire relationship seemed to be so wrapped up in duties, in tasks, in the roles they played? The thought of a casual outing with Rishi seemed like out of reach now. She felt a twinge of disappointment, but she masked it quickly.

As they continued walking through the crowded market, her mind kept drifting back to their conversation. Could Rishi ever do something like that for her? Had their marriage become so devoid of these small acts of affection?

The question lingered, and just as she was about to push it away, her eyes landed on something in a jewelry stall—delicate silver hoops, simple but striking. The pair of earrings seemed to call out to her. She walked over, drawn in by their understated beauty.

"Those would look lovely on you, beta," the shopkeeper said, smiling warmly as she noticed Arati's gaze, "Your husband must be a lucky man, to have such a beautiful wife. These earrings would suit you perfectly."

Arati's heart twisted at the compliment. Lucky man. It was the same phrase she had heard so many times at her wedding, and yet it felt so distant now. The earrings gleamed in her hands, but all she could think about was how she had never received such a gift from Rishi. How he had never even thought to bring her something so simple, so beautiful. The thought lingered, and for the first time, she felt the weight of that absence keenly.

Sreeparna and Charulata continued chatting, unaware of the growing ache in Arati's chest. She placed the earrings back on the stall and walked away, her heart heavy with a quiet longing.

The rest of the market trip passed in a blur. She bought the essentials for the house, a few vegetables and spices, but her mind wasn't fully present. She was thinking about her conversation with her friends, the small gestures they spoke of, and the way Rishi had never once done anything like that for her. She felt an uncomfortable knot form in her stomach, the weight of unmet expectations creeping in.

When she returned home, her mother-in-law was in the garden, watering the plants. "How was the market, beta?" she asked with a soft smile.

"It was fine," Arati replied, forcing a smile. "Busy, but... nice."

Her mother-in-law nodded and continued her work, but Arati felt the distance between them, the way her life seemed so quiet, so routine, with nothing to break it up.

Dinner passed in silence, as it always did. Rishi barely spoke, his mind clearly elsewhere. Arati sat at the table, trying not to feel the gulf between them, trying not to think about how she had spent the afternoon with her friends, who seemed to have everything she lacked in her marriage—affection, attention, thoughtful gestures.

That night, as Arati entered the room, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease. She made the bed a little more roughly than usual, placed her things down with a little more force. She was startled when Rishi looked up from his book, his brow furrowed.

"Everything alright?", he asked, his voice low.

Arati's chest tightened. She hadn't meant for him to notice, hadn't meant for him to see her frustration. But there it was, all laid bare in her movements, in the sudden sharpness of her actions. 

"Nothing," she murmured, not meeting his gaze.

"Are you sure?", he asked again, his voice soft.

She hesitated, her breath catching. She could feel the words bubbling up inside her, the quiet anger, the sadness, the disappointment, all threatening to spill out.

"I heard today," she started, her voice shaky, "that... that husbands bring their wives flowers and stuff....o-or go out with them." 

She stopped, the last part hanging in the air like a fragile thing. Rishi's expression softened, but Arati, now overwhelmed by her own feelings, quickly apologized,

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Please, go to sleep. I'm fine."

Rishi didn't say anything more, just nodded and turned back to his book. Arati lay in bed, her thoughts swirling in a quiet storm.

The next morning, she awoke late, the sunlight already streaming through the window. She looked over to find Rishi's side of the bed empty, the room unusually quiet. She quickly got out of bed and began making it, still lost in her thoughts.

And then she saw it—a small garland of jasmine, freshly strung, lying next to a small box on his side of the bed.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she was frozen, unable to understand what she was seeing. Slowly, she reached for the garland and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the sweet fragrance. It was delicate, tender, and it made her heart flutter in a way she hadn't expected.

He had done this for her. He had noticed her.

A warmth spread through her chest, mingling with the guilt she felt for having doubted him. She held the garland in her hands for a moment, and in that instant, everything seemed to shift. Maybe this was his way of telling her that he did care, in his own quiet, subtle way.

Arati stood there for a moment, holding the garland of jasmine in her hands, the scent of fresh flowers filling the room. She felt a gentle warmth flood her chest, a relief mixed with confusion. Could it be? Had Rishi—her Rishi—actually thought of something so delicate, so thoughtful, as to leave this for her, just as she had been quietly longing for?

The box beside it seemed to shimmer in the soft morning light. As she opened it , she was greeted by a silver flicker against the pale wood of the nightstand. Those earrings.....It was as though the gesture, though simple, carried with it a kind of unspoken promise—a recognition of what she had been silently yearning for but too shy to ask. 

She hesitated, wondering if perhaps there was some other explanation. But deep down, she knew that was not the case. Rishi wasn't one for impulsive gestures; he didn't do things without thought. He hadn't done anything like this before, but perhaps—just perhaps—he was trying, in his own way, to bridge the silence that had come to define their marriage.

Arati sat on the edge of the bed, still holding the garland, and let out a quiet breath. Her heart, which had been so tightly knotted the night before, was beginning to unfurl, though it still felt a little unsure, a little tentative. Could this be the start of something more? Or was it just a one-time gesture?

She couldn't help but feel guilty for the frustration she had felt earlier, the sharp thoughts she had harbored in her heart. She had imagined Rishi to be indifferent to her, to their marriage. But this act—this thoughtful little offering—made her realize how much she had taken him for granted. How much she had been focusing on what he hadn't done, rather than appreciating the quiet ways in which he had cared for her all along.

The door creaked open, and Arati quickly wiped away the faint sheen of tears that had gathered in her eyes. It was Rishi, standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his eyes scanning the room, landing on her.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice still carrying the traces of sleep. He stepped inside, his gaze flicking to the garland and then to her, as though trying to gauge her reaction.

"Good morning," Arati replied, her voice steady but her heart beating faster. She placed the garland back on the nightstand, smoothing it down carefully.

He stepped forward and gently took her hand in his. Arati's breath hitched at the warmth of his touch, the simple yet tender gesture that spoke louder than words.

"I thought you might like them," he said quietly, his voice carrying a note of vulnerability that she hadn't expected. 

"I wasn't sure... but I thought, maybe...", he trailed off, as if searching for the right words, then gave a small shrug, "I thought they might make you smile."

Arati's chest tightened, a surge of emotion threatening to spill over. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with the realization that maybe, just maybe, he had been trying to show her that he cared all along. In the quiet, reserved way that he always did.

She smiled softly, her heart warming. 

"I do," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're beautiful"

His eyes flickered with relief, and for a brief moment, the awkwardness between them seemed to disappear. They stood there, holding hands, neither one knowing exactly what to say next, but both feeling an unspoken connection in the simple exchange.

"Well," Rishi said, breaking the silence with a small chuckle, "I'm glad you like them. I was... I was thinking about how you mentioned the garland and stuff yesterday. I'm not... great with these things, but I thought I could try."

Arati's heart swelled with affection, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She hadn't expected him to be so open, so willing to make an effort. She realized now how much she had been underestimating him, how her own expectations had colored her view of their relationship.

"Thank you," she said softly, squeezing his hand gently, "I didn't exactly expect this."

Rishi's lips quirked up in a small, self-conscious smile. "I know. I'm not really the type to... surprise people." 

His smile faltered slightly, "But I want to try. For you."

The simplicity of his words, the quiet sincerity in them, made Arati's heart ache. She hadn't known how much she had been longing for these small, tender gestures until now. It was a quiet reassurance that maybe their marriage wasn't as distant as she had feared. Maybe they were just moving at their own pace, learning together, step by step.

Before she could respond, a knock at the door interrupted them, followed by the soft voice of her mother-in-law calling from the hallway.

"Arati beta, Rishi beta, breakfast is ready. Come down quickly."

Arati and Rishi exchanged a glance, both of them holding on to the quiet moment they had shared. The door clicked shut, and Rishi moved to get dressed. Arati took one last look at the garland of jasmine, and smiled to herself. Maybe this was how it was meant to be—slow, steady, and full of small but meaningful moments that spoke louder than grand gestures.