The first thing I heard was a distant calling of my name—soft, irritated, and steadily growing sharper.

“Bhabi… Bhabi… uthoo na! It’s already 8:30!”

I groaned, forcing my eyes open. My eyelids felt like someone had glued them together; my body was heavy, as if I had wandered miles the entire night. In a way… I had.

“Bhabi!” Bhavya’s voice burst into my half-dreaming mind again, followed by the sound of cupboard doors opening. “Aaj aapki pehli rasoi hai. Please, jaldi uth jao!”

First rasoi.

My brain lagged behind a full ten seconds before the meaning settled.

Marriage.
The new house.
The new family.
Reality.

I blinked hard, my vision still blurred by sleep. Last night’s dream—or whatever that place was—flooded my memory.

Megha.
Her face.
Her voice.
Her words.

“You created me.”

I sat up with a jolt.

“Finally!” Bhavya huffed, hands on her hips like a strict class teacher. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for the last fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry,” I murmured, rubbing my eyes. “I… I slept late.”

More like I didn’t just sleep—I traveled.

Bhavya softened immediately. “It’s fine. Bas hurry up. Everyone is waiting downstairs.”

She rushed out, leaving the door open.

I pressed my palms against my forehead and took a deep breath.
Reality was back. The dream world—magical, haunting, impossible—had dissolved in daylight.

For now.

The Ritual

The kitchen was warm with the smell of ghee, cardamom, and jaggery. I folded the edge of my dupatta over my shoulder and started preparing halwa, just like my mother had taught me.

To my relief, things went smoothly. My hands worked automatically, the familiarity grounding me.

When I came out with the dish, the entire family was already seated.

My father-in-law took the first bite and beamed.
“Bahut accha banaya hai, beta.” (It's delicious!)

Mother-in-law nodded approvingly.
“First rasoi successful.”

Bhavya winked and whispered, “See? I told you!”

Everyone complimented me—soft words, warm smiles.

Everyone except one.

Kritik.

He sat at the far end of the table, eating quietly, not once meeting my eyes. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he wasn’t a morning person.

But then Bhavya nudged him with a mischievous grin.

“Bhai, how’s the halwa made by your wife?”

He looked up for barely a second, shrugged, and said nothing.

Just shrugged.

The moment passed quickly, but… it sat heavily in my chest.

Why did it feel like everyone was trying, except the one person who should?

I pushed the thought away with a smile. First day. New people. New place. Things needed time.

Or maybe I just hoped they did.

Behind Closed Doors

The house settled into a comfortable rhythm as the day passed. Laughter in the corridors, relatives visiting, the new bride being pulled into every little ritual possible.

And I smiled through all of it.

But every time I stole a glance at Kritik, he looked away first.

Was I imagining it?

By evening, when we finally returned to the room, the silence between us was no longer subtle—it was suffocating.

He walked in first, loosened his collar, and sat on the couch without a word.

I shut the door gently and stood there for a moment, unsure how to begin.

“Everything okay?” I asked finally.

“Hm,” he responded, eyes still on his phone.

Not even looking at me.

Something twisted inside my chest—not hurt, but confusion.
Unease.

“Kritik…” I tried again, softer this time. “If something is wrong, you can tell me.”

He froze—not visibly, but emotionally. I could feel it in the air.

A long pause stretched between us before he exhaled sharply.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

His tone… wasn’t angry.
Just guarded.

Too guarded.

The same man who, just last night in front of everyone, had held my hand gently, smiled, played the part of the charming new husband… was now sitting like a stranger avoiding eye contact.

I walked closer, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“You barely spoke today.”

He rubbed his forehead, the way someone does when they’re trying to hide something.

“Don’t think too much,” he muttered.

Too late.

My heartbeat kicked faster.

“I’m your wife now,” I said quietly. “If there’s something I should know… I deserve to.”

His jaw tightened.
His eyes flickered—fear? guilt? something else entirely?

“Kritik,” I whispered, “are you hiding something?”

His silence stretched too long.

Long enough for the soft air-conditioning hum to feel like a roar in my ears. He kept staring at the floor, the muscles in his jaw clenched tight, fingers tapping restlessly against his knee.

“Kritik,” I said again, this time not with accusation… but fear.

That was when he finally stood up.

Not slowly.
Abruptly.
As if my words had pushed him to the edge.

He ran a hand through his hair, turning away from me as though looking at me made things worse.

“How many times,” he said, voice low, controlled, but shaking with something sharp, “do I have to make it clear that we are nothing other than roommates?”

My heart dropped.

Roommates?

“I never—” I began, but he cut me off with a bitter laugh.

“Have you forgotten your limits?”

“Limits?” I repeated, stunned. “I just asked—”

“Oh, I know what you asked!” His voice rose, not loud but laced with anger he had held in too long. “You want to know everything. You want explanations. Reasons. And what next? You’ll start expecting love? Partnership? A marriage?”

His words stung like a slap.

I stood up slowly, heat rising to my cheeks.

“I only expected decency,” I said quietly. “Communication. Honesty.”

He turned to me then, eyes flashing—not with hatred… but with something broken.

“Or…” he continued, stepping closer, “is this how you treat everyone around you? By suffocating them with your presence?”

The breath left my lungs in a painful rush.

Suffocating?

He realized the weight of what he’d said only after the words slipped out. I saw it flicker across his face—a second of regret before he masked it again.

“You’re being unfair,” I whispered, throat tight. “I haven’t even asked for anything. I just—”

He looked away again.

That hurt more than the words.

“Kritik,” I continued, voice trembling despite my best efforts, “if you wanted only a roommate, why did you marry me?”

Silence.

Not the comfortable kind.
The kind that leaves bruises.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t look back.

And in that moment, I understood something clearly—

Maybe fear wasn’t the problem.
Maybe anger wasn’t the problem.

Maybe, secrets were?

And whatever he was hiding… was big enough to push me away before I ever got close.

Without saying another word, he moved to the window, hands gripping the sill as if holding himself together.

I turned toward the door, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from falling.

Because no matter how strange the dream had been…
Reality was beginning to feel far more frightening.