Namaste
Chapter 7

Anubhav unlocked the door quietly, the night’s stillness wrapping around him. He slipped inside, careful not to make a sound, but the soft glow from the kitchen told him Nitara was still awake. 

She was sitting at the table, her chin resting on her hand, waiting for him. When she saw him, her eyes softened with both relief and worry. 

“You’re home late,” she whispered, standing up slowly. 

Anubhav gave a tired smile, tapping his watch to say, Work ran long. He walked over to the table, pulled the folded cheque from his pocket, and placed it in front of her. But instead of feeling proud, the weight of it made his chest tighten. 

Nitara picked up the cheque and stared at it in silence. She knew what this money meant—knew what Anubhav had given up to get it. She knew her husband had to swallow his self respect to get that cheque. For her uncle was one disgusting man who treated people inhumanely. Her heart ached for him. “You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered, her voice gentle. 

He shook his head, his silver eyes filled with quiet resolve. ‘For Dhruv. For us,’ they seemed to say.

Nitara gave a sad, knowing smile. Without another word, she knelt beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. “We’ll get through this together,” she said softly. Her touch, her presence, made something inside him relax—like a knot slowly loosening.

For the first time in a long while, Anubhav felt that maybe he wasn’t carrying everything alone. 

---

The days passed in a quiet rhythm. Nitara spent her mornings taking Dhruv to his doctor’s appointments, helping him with his drawings, and getting ready to return to college. Anubhav buried himself in his shifts—running between the café, the petrol pump, and odd jobs in between. Every rupee mattered, and he wasn’t going to waste a second. 

But even through the exhaustion, it was the small moments at home that gave him strength. The smell of tea brewing, the sound of Nitara reading aloud to Dhruv, or the way she smiled when she saw him walk through the door. These moments felt like little pieces of a life he thought he’d never have again. 

And slowly, their house began to feel like something more. It began to feel like home.

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One night, Anubhav came home earlier than usual. As he stepped inside, he found Nitara and Dhruv asleep on the bed. Dhruv’s head rested in Nitara’s lap, and she was holding a book loosely in her hand, her other arm draped protectively over him. 

Anubhav stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching them. Something shifted in his chest—something warm and unfamiliar. It was a quiet, aching kind of happiness. 

He walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake them. As he looked at them, a thought came unbidden: *Maybe this is what family feels like.* 

Gently, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Nitara’s face. His touch was light, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid that the moment might slip away. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. 

For a long time, Anubhav just sat there, his heart full in a way he couldn’t quite put into words. He didn’t know what the future held—whether he could give Nitara the life she deserved or how they would make it through everything ahead. But in that quiet moment, it didn’t seem to matter. 

Because right now, she was here. And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he had a place to belong. 

And maybe, just maybe, one day he’d find the courage to tell her that she wasn’t just his wife. 

She was his home, too. 

Nitara stirred awake, her hand instinctively reaching to the other side of the bed—only to find it empty. The cool sheets told her he’d been gone for a while. With a sigh, she got up, splashed cold water on her face, and brushed her teeth, the routine grounding her in the quiet morning.

Stepping out of the room, she froze for a moment, taking in the scene in front of her. There he was—her husband, Anubhav, bent over, mopping the floor in smooth, practised strokes. His shoulders looked heavier than usual, the exhaustion from juggling three, sometimes four jobs settling in, but he moved with silent determination.

“Anubhav ji, you don’t have to do that. I would’ve taken care of it,” Nitara said softly, guilt prickling at her chest. She knew how much he was already carrying—working long hours, providing for them, stretching himself thin just to make things work. The least she could do was manage the household chores.

Anubhav paused and looked up at her, his silver eyes calm but firm. Without a word, he walked to the small table, picked up the notepad lying there, and scribbled a quick note.

“You start college again today. You need to be well-rested to focus. Let me handle this. Breakfast is ready. Get dressed, and I’ll drop you off if you want.”

He held up the note for her to see, his expression steady but kind.

Something tugged at Nitara’s heart—something deep and warm. She knew how much he was doing for them, how he silently carried burdens without complaint. And even now, when he was worn to the bone, he thought of her first. 

For a moment, she simply stood there, staring at him with an intensity that made his brow furrow in quiet confusion. Then, without thinking twice, she crossed the space between them. 

Her hand cupped his cheek, fingers brushing lightly against his jaw. Before Anubhav could react, she leaned in, closing the small distance between them, and kissed him. 

The kiss was soft, deliberate, filled with emotions she hadn’t put into words yet. Anubhav stiffened for a second, caught off guard, but slowly, he melted into the moment. His hands, hesitant at first, rested gently on her waist. 

When they pulled away, Nitara pressed her forehead against his, her breath warm against his skin. 

“I didn’t just marry you, Anubhav ji,” she whispered, her voice low but filled with affection. “I found my biggest blessing with you.” 

Anubhav’s lips twitched, a quiet, rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t need words to tell her how much that moment meant. His eyes, shining with emotions, said everything she needed to know. 

And in the quiet intimacy of that early morning, Nitara knew—She was lucky.

Nitara smiled as she handed Dhruv his medicine, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Don’t give Seema Chachi any trouble, okay? I’ll be home by 2 in the afternoon,” she said gently.

Dhruv grinned. “Come home soon.” 

“I will,” she promised, kissing his forehead tenderly. 

In the living room, Anubhav was sitting on the edge of the sofa, tying his shoelaces. When he glanced up, he saw Nitara standing there, adjusting the strap of her bag. She wore a plain crop top with cargo pants, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. The small black beads of her mangalsutra glinted against her neck. She looked effortlessly beautiful—so much so that Anubhav felt a warmth stir in his chest.

Without thinking, he stood and walked over to her, gently tucking the mangalsutra inside her top. Nitara blinked, puzzled. “What are you doing?” 

Anubhav didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pulled out his phone, typed something quickly, and held the screen up for her to read. 

“If your classmates see you wearing this, they’ll tease you. Not only are you married to a poor, middle-class, college dropout—but to someone who’s mute too.”

His face gave nothing away, but she could see the flicker of something dark in his eyes—a shadow of old wounds that hadn’t healed. Memories from school, where kids would mock him with the cruel word *“goonga.”* Even Seema Chachi sometimes used the same slur, as if it was a joke. He couldn’t bear the thought of Nitara facing ridicule because of him. 

Nitara read the message, and her expression hardened. She shot him a glare, anger flashing in her eyes. 

“Stay here. I’ll go to college on my own,” she said sharply, brushing past him toward the door.

Anubhav stood there, stunned, watching her storm out. He had only wanted to spare her from embarrassment, but instead, he had somehow hurt her. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. 

Outside, Nitara walked briskly down the street, blinking back tears of frustration. Her heart ached.

How could he think she was ashamed of him? They were about to complete a month of marriage tomorrow, and in all that time, she had only grown more certain of her feelings for him. Yes, she has fallen for him in only a month. He was hers—her husband, her partner—and she was in love with him. 

Stupid man. 

Couldn’t he see? Every night, she made an effort to dress up before bed, hoping he would make the first move, but he never did. And now, on top of that, he thought she was embarrassed by their marriage? 

Her eyes stung, but she brushed away the tears with the back of her hand. She wasn’t ashamed of him—how could she be? Anubhav was handsome, inside and out. He didn’t need to speak to show the depth of his care. Every gesture, every look, spoke louder than words ever could.

"Idiot," she muttered under her breath. 

She sniffled, her frustration bubbling over. She wasn’t just in love with him—she wanted him. She wanted all of him, to build a life with him, to share everything, not hide pieces of themselves away. And yet, the fool thought he wasn’t enough for her. 

She shook her head, determined. He might not see his own worth, but she did. And she was going to show him. Whether he liked it or not.

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