She studied him for a long moment, clearly trying to figure out his angle. "It's about a woman who's trapped in a loveless arrangement. And the man who slowly realizes she's the best thing that ever happened to him. Before it's too late."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"Is it good?" he asked, his voice rougher than intended. "Your writing."
"Some people think so."
"Let me read one."
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Your books. I want to read one."
"Why?"
"Because you're my wife." He moved closer to the window seat. "I should know what you do. What you're good at. What matters to you."
She stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "You've never asked before."
"I'm asking now."
She bit her lip, clearly torn. Finally, she reached for her bag and pulled out a paperback—well-worn, with a romantic cover depicting a couple in an embrace.
"This one. It's my latest." She handed it to him. "But you don't have to read it if you're just being polite—"
"I'm never polite." He took the book, examining the cover.The Distance Between Usby T. Shah. "You use your maiden name."
"I started publishing before we married. Seemed easier to keep it."
He nodded, tucking the book under his arm. "I'll read it."
"Samarth—" She stopped, unsure what to say.
"What?"
"Nothing. I just... thank you. For asking."
The gratitude in her voice made his chest tight.
He should say something. Explain why he was suddenly interested in her life, her work, her world.
But he didn't know how to put it into words.
So he simply nodded and left, the book clutched in his hand like a lifeline.
That Night - Samarth's Study, 11:34 PM
Samarth sat in his leather chair, whiskey beside him, reading his wife's book.
He'd intended to skim it. Get a general sense of her writing and move on.
Instead, he was on page 127, completely absorbed.
The story was about a woman named Aanya who'd been married to a cold, distant man named Vihaan. An arranged marriage born of family obligation. The hero kept the heroine at arm's length, convinced he was protecting her by not letting her in.
But slowly, inevitably, he fell.
It was in the small moments. The way Aanya made tea exactly how he liked it without being asked. The way she waited up for him even though he never acknowledged it. The way she loved him silently, asking for nothing, giving everything.
