The logic trapped her neatly. Refuse and risk his mother's concerns escalating. Refuse and become the difficult new bride.
Or agree to something temporary. Simple. Practical.
"Temporarily," she heard herself say.
"Absolutely." His relief looked genuine, and it was, just not for the reasons she thought. "Just until Mom's satisfied."
"And you stay on your side."
"Without question." He placed his hand over his heart. "I won't even acknowledge your existence once the lights are off."
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped. "That seems extreme in the other direction."
"I'm committed to making this work." His expression softened. "This morning was... I know it was embarrassing for you. I won't make it worse."
The kindness in his voice did something strange to her chest.
"Okay," she said quietly. "For now."
"Thank you." He extended his hand formally, as if sealing a business arrangement. "For understanding about my mother. And the belan."
She placed her hand in his. His fingers closed around hers, warm and firm. The handshake lasted a beat too long.
When he released her, she returned to her desk, trying to focus on notes that had become meaningless. Behind her, she heard him settle onto the bed, the bed they would share tonight.
For now,she reminded herself.
She absolutely did not notice the small, satisfied smile on his face as he pulled back the covers.
And Vikram? Vikram allowed himself one moment of pure triumph before schooling his expression back to neutral.
The couch arrangement was done. His wife would sleep beside him every night from now on. And she'd agreed to it herself.
Perfect.
Night One
Divya lay on the far right edge of the mattress, rigid as a plank. She could feel the dip where he lay on the opposite side. Could hear his breathing, too controlled, too deliberate.
Her own breath felt trapped. Each inhale too loud in the quiet room. She stared at the ceiling fan, arms at her sides, unmoving. The position felt performative. She usually slept curled within herself, but curling felt too vulnerable.
Vikram was right there. Inches away. Close enough that she could feel his body heat radiating across the space.
Minutes crawled. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.
On the far side, Vikram tracked the same ceiling fan without seeing it. Every muscle coiled tight. This was his bed, his space. He should feel at ease. Instead, he felt hyperaware of every breath, every small movement.
Eventually, exhaustion won. Divya's breathing deepened first. Vikram followed hours later, both still clinging to their edges when dawn broke.
Nights Two Through Six
The strangeness wore off gradually. Divya allowed herself to curl on her side, finding her natural position. The gap between them shrank, not dramatically, not consciously, but incrementally, the way bodies gravitate toward warmth when defenses lower.
She stopped waking to check the distance. Stopped monitoring her position. Her body adjusted to the knowledge that Vikram would be there, solid and warm on the other side.
She slept better. Deeper. The quality of rest improved in ways she didn't want to examine.
By the sixth night, the shared bed felt less like an arrangement and more like routine, the kind that sneaks up without announcement, settling in before you realize it's arrived.
