Got it! We'll dial it back and keep the slow-burn pace. Here's **Chapter 6: *Lines in
**Chapter 6: Lines in the Dark**
The kiss hadn't happened.
At least, that's what Aanya told herself.
Because the moment had passed, and they hadn't spoken about it. No words. No lingering touches. No stolen glances.
Just silence.
Thick and careful.
They moved through the apartment like two ghosts occupying the same space but walking different timelines. When they passed each other in the hall, neither lingered. During meals, their conversations were neutral—safe topics, clinical politeness.
And somehow, that made it worse.
Because Aanya remembered. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the press of his hand on her waist, the hesitant heat in his kiss, the way he pulled back like he was afraid of breaking something.
She hadn't pushed him away.
That haunted her more than the kiss itself.
She was supposed to hate him. Wasn't that the rule? Resent the forced marriage, resent the unwanted intrusion in her life.
And yet... part of her didn't feel intruded upon.
It felt like being seen.
And that terrified her.
***
Arjun, on the other hand, kept his distance.
Not because he didn't want her—God, he wanted her—but because he knew one wrong step would ruin everything.
He had crossed a line. He knew that.
Even though she hadn't protested, hadn't flinched—he knew she wasn't ready.
So, he gave her space.
Too much space.
He worked late. Ate in silence. Slept on the couch, no matter how stiff his neck became or how cold the nights got.
He missed her presence in the kitchen.
The sound of her voice, even when it was sarcastic or angry.
The quiet thud of her footsteps from the study.
Now, the apartment felt like a paused life.
He didn't know how to un-pause it without scaring her away.
So, he waited.
And in his waiting, the distance grew.
***
One evening, nearly a week later, Aanya found herself standing outside his study.
She rarely went in there—it was his domain, filled with technical books, project reports, blueprints, and a faint scent of cedarwood that oddly comforted her.
He wasn't inside.
The room was dimly lit, a desk lamp casting shadows over his notebook. She spotted a sheet of paper with her name on it.
She shouldn't have looked.
But she did.
It wasn't a letter. It was a list.
**"Things Aanya likes (that I keep forgetting)"**
1. She likes her tea with two pinches of cardamom. Not one. Not three. Two.
2. She hates cold showers. Even in summer.
3. She talks to herself when she's reading complicated texts.
4. She sleeps on her left side.
5. She never finishes a coffee. Just sips and forgets.
6. She gets scared during thunderstorms but pretends not to.
7. Her favorite color isn't blue—it's teal. "Not green, not blue," she said once. "Something in-between."
There were more. Dozens more.
Aanya's heart clenched.
She placed the paper back exactly where she found it and stepped out before the guilt became unbearable.
That night, for the first time in weeks, she entered the kitchen while he was cooking.
"I'll help," she said.
He looked up, stunned, but said nothing.
She picked up the chopping board and began cutting onions beside him. Their shoulders brushed once.
Neither flinched.
***
Dinner was quiet, but it wasn't cold. They sat at the table, not saying much, yet something in the air had shifted. Softer, calmer.
She noticed how he looked tired—dark circles beneath his eyes, a slight slump in his posture. But he hadn't complained. He never did.
"You're still working on the solar panel project?" she asked.
He looked up, surprised. "Yeah. Presentation next week."
She nodded. "It's important to you?"
"Very."
There was a pause.
"I hope it goes well," she said softly.
He smiled. A genuine, small smile.
"Thanks."
And that was it.
But it meant everything.
***
The next morning, Aanya woke up to a neatly folded newspaper and a cup of tea on her desk.
Two pinches of cardamom.
Just right.
She stared at it for a full minute before picking it up.
She didn't drink it.
She just held the warmth in her hands and wondered when his presence had started feeling like safety instead of suffocation.
***
That evening, her parents called.
"How are things?" her mother asked, careful.
"They're... okay."
"Still thinking about MBA?"
"Every day."
"You need to decide soon. Exams won't wait."
"I know."
"And Arjun?"
"What about him?"
Her mother paused. "He's not going to stop you, is he?"
"No," Aanya said truthfully. "He never did."
There was another pause.
"I still think you married well," her mother said eventually.
"I didn't marry for love."
"Few do."
"I wanted to marry for *me*," she said quietly. "Not because people thought it was a good match."
"Well, maybe... now that you're living it, you'll find your own reasons."
Her mother always had a way of turning the conversation into a mirror.
Aanya hung up and stared at her reflection in the window for a long time.
She didn't look angry anymore.
Just… lost.
***
Three days later, they were invited to a family dinner.
Arjun's relatives.
Aanya didn't want to go.
But he asked.
And for once, he didn't ask like he expected her to obey.
He asked like he wanted her to *want* to come.
So, she did.
The dinner was held at his cousin's home—a luxurious bungalow in the heart of the city. Laughter echoed in the hallways, children ran barefoot on the marble, and the smell of biryani filled the air.
They arrived together, but not touching. Not close.
Just side by side.
People noticed.
Some smiled. Some stared.
One aunty whispered to another, *"See how quiet she is. Modern girls are always like this."*
Another said, *"He used to be so jovial before marriage. Now look at him—always distracted."*
Aanya pretended not to hear.
Until his mother cornered her in the hallway.
"You've changed him," she said, accusatory.
"I didn't ask him to."
"He never used to say no to me. Now he barely listens."
"Maybe he's just learning to set boundaries."
"Boundaries?" his mother laughed. "You've filled his head with nonsense."
"He's not a boy anymore, aunty. He's a man. He can make his own decisions."
"Don't get arrogant. We know your type."
Aanya clenched her jaw.
She turned to leave—and saw Arjun standing at the end of the hallway.
He had heard everything.
His mother opened her mouth to defend herself, but Arjun raised a hand.
"I told you before, Maa," he said quietly. "Don't talk to her like that."
"She's disrespecting me!"
"She's my wife."
The silence that followed was sharp.
Aanya blinked.
Not because he defended her.
But because it was the first time he'd said those words—*my wife*—like it meant something.
Not a legal label.
But a choice.
She didn't say thank you.
She just stood beside him.
Not close.
But not apart, either.
And somehow, that was enough for now.
---
**[End of Chapter 6]**