One week.
Just seven days.
Yet it feels like my entire life has folded itself into something new—something softer, something unknown…
something I’m still learning to breathe in.
Some mornings I wake up scared.
Some nights I fall asleep grateful.
And in between all of that… I’m trying—really trying—to belong.
If someone had told me a month ago that I’d be studying in one of the top universities in the city, wearing new clothes, taking notes in a neat classroom… I would’ve laughed. Or cried. Or both.
But here I am.
My first day of college feels like a blur even now—
my saree replaced with jeans and a soft kurta Ankita chose for me…
my hair trembling in nervous fingers…
my palms sweating as we reached the massive gate.
And the strangest part?
I wasn’t alone.
Siddharth walked beside me the entire way from the car, like a quiet shadow of reassurance. He didn’t say much. But he didn’t need to.
When we reached the entrance of my department, he paused and looked at me.
“Roohi… breathe,” he murmured, voice low, steady.
I did.
He waited until he was sure my hands stopped shaking before he let me go with a soft,
“You’ll be fine.”
That was enough to carry me through the entire day.
In class, I met Riya and sara, two girls who smiled easily, talked too much, and somehow chose me—me, the quietest person in the room—to sit with.
Riya talks like a radio that never turns off, while sara laughs at her own jokes before anyone else does. I don’t know why… but I like them. Their energy makes the heavy parts of my heart feel lighter.
Between classes, they pull me to the canteen, share their notes, gossip about professors, and ask me the type of silly questions I never got at home.
And every day, , Siddharth waits near the car when my class ends.
He never messages, never calls, but I always find him there—leaning against the car, phone in hand, glancing up as soon as he spots me.
I don’t tell him this, but…
I look for him before anything else.
At home, Ankita treats me like her lost best friend, always dragging me to help with her assignments or fashion experiments. Arjun, on the other hand, is a walking cartoon.
He bursts into rooms dramatically.
Forgets everything.
Trips on nothing.
Talks like the world is ending every two minutes.
But he calls me “bhabhi” with so much innocence that it still surprises me.
They make me laugh in ways I didn’t even realize I’d forgotten.
Siddharth… he’s something else entirely.
Calm.
Polite.
A little intimidating.
But gentle in unexpected ways.
He takes us all out—to malls, movies, the restaurant where the lights glow too softly. He’s never loud, never expressive. But his presence is steady. Strong.
Sometimes I catch myself admiring him—
the way he listens…
the way he commands a room silently…
the way he presses his lips together when he’s thinking…
Maybe it’s a crush.
Maybe something else.
But whatever it is… it scares me and comforts me at the same time.
Except Rekha aunty.
She still doesn’t speak to me.
I’ve tried.
Twice.
She looked away both times.
It hurts, yes.
But I’ve learned how to hide hurt behind small smiles.
Tonight, after a long day, I sit on the bed surrounded by textbooks. I’m trying my best to focus, but the lines keep blurring.
Maybe because of the heat.
Maybe because of the exhaustion.
Or… maybe because Siddharth is sitting just across the bed.
He is on the couch, one leg stretched out, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy. His face looks sharp in the desk lamp’s glow—jaw defined, eyes focused, shirt fitting too perfectly.
I shouldn’t look.
But I do.
A lot.
He types something, brows furrowing, and for a second I forget what air is.
He glances up.
Our eyes lock.
I instantly drop my gaze and flip pages as if I’m preparing for a world exam.
Smooth, Roohi.
Very smooth.
He doesn’t comment.
He doesn’t tease.
He just gives a tiny exhale… something between a laugh and a sigh… and goes back to work.
I try solving a business problem but the numbers swim before my eyes. I must’ve looked frustrated because suddenly Siddharth stood beside the bed.
“Stuck?” he asked.
His voice was closer than expected.
Warm.
Deep.
“N-no,” I said instantly.
He raised one eyebrow.
I closed the book in embarrassment.
“…maybe a little.”
He sat at the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly. I shifted back without meaning to.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “Show me.”
I opened the page again, fingers trembling slightly. He leaned in—not too close, but close enough that I could feel his presence.
He explained slowly, patiently, drawing diagrams in my notebook.
And I… watched him more than the book.
He speaks differently when he teaches—calmer, softer, almost careful.
When I didn’t understand one step, he repeated it without even a hint of irritation.
“You got it?” he asked finally.
I nodded.
“You sure?” His eyes held mine.
I nodded again—too quickly.
He smiled, a tiny one, but I saw it.
Somewhere inside me, something fluttered.
After a while, he closed my notebook gently, not rudely, not abruptly—just enough to tell me I needed a break.
“Roohi,” he said quietly, “you don’t have to push yourself this hard in one night.”
“I just want to do well,” I whispered.
“You will,” he said, voice firm, certain.
“I’ve been watching you. You work hard. You’re sincere. That’s enough.”
No one ever said that to me.
Not my father.
Not my stepmother.
My eyes warmed. I looked away quickly.
But Siddharth noticed.
His tone softened even more.
“Roohi… you’re doing great.”
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe again.
Before the silence grew heavy, he stood up.
“Sleep. I’m here if you need anything.”
And just like that… he returned to his couch, opened his laptop, and continued working—calm, composed, unaware of the storm he just stirred inside me.
When I finally lay down, a strange calm settled over me.
Maybe it was the quiet of the night.
Maybe it was college.
Maybe it was Ankita and Arjun.
Or maybe… it was Siddharth’s gentle presence sitting a few feet away.
Whatever it was…
for the first time since the marriage, I didn’t feel like an outsider.
And as I closed my eyes, one thought echoed softly—

Late at night, the skies burst open.
Rain slapped against the windows, harsh and heavy.
Thunder growled across the sky like an angry beast.
Lightning flashed, filling the room with sharp, white light for a second.
Roohi jerked awake.
Her breath hitched instantly—
her chest tightening, her pulse racing.
Another loud CRACK of thunder.
She gasped, covering her ears with trembling hands.
Her whole body curled instinctively, shaking.
She sat up on the bed, pressing her knees to her chest, rocking slightly.
“Maa… maa…” she whispered in a choked voice.
The word slipped out before she could stop it—
a reflex from childhood.
Her eyes squeezed shut as memories hit her.
She remembered Sarika hugging Rinki protectively during storms,
pressing Rinki to her chest, covering her ears.
But Roohi?
She was always left alone in a dark corner.
Told to “stop overacting,”
told to “sleep quietly.”
Now, in Siddharth’s room, that same loneliness wrapped around her like cold air.
“Maa… please…”
Her voice cracked.
Another thunderclap hit, louder, violent.
Roohi cried out, hands flying to her ears.
“I’m scared… hug me… please… I’m scared…”
Her voice broke completely as she began to sob.
She didn’t even realize Siddharth had entered until she felt a shadow fall over her.
He had heard the sound of the thunder,
then a small, terrified whimper.
He came immediately.
“Roohi?” he said softly.
She didn’t hear him—she was too lost in panic.
Her breaths were sharp, fast, uncontrolled.
Her eyes unfocused.
She was spiraling.
Siddharth walked closer and knelt beside the bed.
“Roohi,” he said again, this time firmer,
touching her shoulder gently.
She flinched—then blinked at him through tears, her voice shaking:
“Please… hug me… maa…”
She wasn’t even fully conscious of her words.
Siddharth’s expression softened—painfully.
She wasn’t calling him. She was calling for comfort she never received.
He sat beside her, steadying her shoulders.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
She tried—barely holding focus.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, brushing her hair away from her wet cheeks.
“You’re safe. Breathe.”
Another thunderbolt exploded across the sky.
Roohi gasped loudly, shaking uncontrollably.
Without thinking, Siddharth pulled her gently into his chest.
She immediately clutched his shirt tightly, her fists trembling.
Her tears soaked into him.
Her heartbeat pounded violently.
Her whole body pressed close—seeking warmth, protection, anything.
“It’s alright,” he whispered against her hair.
“I’ve got you.”
Her breathing slowly steadied in his arms.
When she loosened her grip, he helped her drink water.
Her voice was a broken whisper:
“I’m sorry… I’m not used to storms… I’m not used to anyone being there…”
Siddharth didn’t answer immediately.
Seeing her like this…
this fragile, terrified version…
made something deep inside him ache.
“You don’t have to apologize for being afraid,” he said quietly.
She nodded weakly.
“Try to sleep. I’ll stay here,” he added.
He stood and walked toward the couch.
She watched him.
He lay down, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm his own racing mind.
Minutes passed.
A sudden roar of thunder—
Roohi shot up again, eyes wide, hands flying to her ears.
“siddhart …!” she whispered in fear.
He sat up instantly.
Her breathing was becoming fast again—another panic wave.
He walked back to the bed.
“Move,” he said softly, sitting a little distance away from her.
She lay down reluctantly, still shaking.
Her saree pallu clutched in her fist.
Her lashes wet.
Comfort nowhere in reach.
Thunder rolled again.
She jerked.
Siddharth inhaled slowly… and then reached out.
He took her hand.
Her cold, trembling fingers slid into his palm as if they belonged there.
Roohi’s breath slowed.
Her eyes softened.
Siddharth said quietly:
“I’m here. Nothing will happen.”
She held his hand tightly, eyes closing.
Another thunder strike echoed—
This time she only flinched slightly…
…and moved closer.
Inches only.
Not touching fully.
Just seeking warmth.
Siddharth didn’t move away.
He tightened his hold, thumb brushing her knuckles once, instinctively.
Her face relaxed—
her fear melting slowly.
Her breaths became softer…
slower…
safer.
Within minutes, she drifted into s
leep
with her hand locked in his.
Siddharth stayed awake a little longer, staring at her peaceful face.
Something tightened in his chest.
Not responsibility.
Not sympathy.
Something he wasn’t ready to name.
But one thing he knew—
Tonight,
for the first time,
he didn’t want to let go of her hand.
______________________________________
✨Hey readers!
Hope you liked this chapter.
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