Marriage,Aarya learned, was not always loud.
Sometimes it was made of small things.
It was Devraj reaching for her hand without thinking when they crossed the street. It
was the way he adjusted the blanket around her when she fell asleep on the
sofa, never waking her, never asking for thanks. It was morning light slipping
through the curtains while he stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up,
pretending not to watch her sip her tea slowly so it wouldn't upset her stomach.
Love lived there now. Quiet. Certain.
Two months into their marriage, Aarya no longer woke with the instinct to defend
herself. There was no fear of saying the wrong thing, no careful measuring of
emotions. She spoke when she wanted.
She stayed silent when she needed. Devraj
accepted both with the same ease.
Some nights, when the house was wrapped in stillness, he would pull her close—not
urgently, not possessively—just enough for her to feel anchored. His lips would
brush her temple, her cheek, sometimes her mouth, slow and unhurried, as if
there was no need to rush intimacy because it wasn't going anywhere.
Aarya had once believed love needed intensity to survive.
Now she knew better.
Riya noticed it immediately.
"You look… rested," Riya said one afternoon, sitting across from her with a teasing
smile. "Annoyingly peaceful."
Aarya laughed, a sound that surprised even
herself.
"I am peaceful, and ok " she admitted.
Riya leaned back, studying her. "He treats you well."
"He treats me like a loved person," Aarya replied. "Not a responsibility. Not a burden."
Riya's smile softened. "I'm happy for you. Truly."
There was no envy in her voice. No doubt. Only relief.
"I was scared you'd disappear again," Riya added quietly. "But you didn't. You came
back to yourself."
Aarya reached for her friend's hand. "I won't leave myself again."
The day her father arrived in London, the house felt different.
Aarya hadn't told Devraj how much it mattered to her—not in words—but he understood.
He wore a simple suit, understated, respectful. No displays of wealth. No
arrogance.
Her father observed everything.
The way Devraj opened doors without being asked. The way he spoke to the staff. The way
he waited for Aarya to sit before taking his own seat. The way his attention
never wandered when she spoke.
They talked over tea. About business, about London, about plans for the future. Her
father asked questions that seemed casual but weren't. He listened more than he
spoke.
At one point, he looked directly at Devraj and
said, "My daughter has lived through enough to last a lifetime."
Devraj didn't rush his reply.
"Iknow," he said simply. "My job isn't to erase her past. It's to make sure she
never has to carry it alone again."
Her father studied him for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
Later,when Aarya stood beside her father on the balcony, he spoke quietly, his eyes
still on the city.
"He is not loud," he said.
"No,"Aarya agreed.
"But he is solid," her father continued. "He will not shake when life tests him."
Aarya smiled. "That's why I chose him."
Her father placed a hand over hers. "Then I am at peace."
That night, Devraj pulled her close as they stood by the window, the city glowing
below.
"He approves," Aarya said softly.
Devraj smiled. "I was more nervous than any business deal."
She laughed, leaning into him. He kissed her then—slow, deliberate, warm. Not a
promise of passion, but of presence.
For the first time in her life, love didn't feel like something she had to earn.
It was simply there.
And it stayed.