You and Aakash got married through your sisters, who thought you were a perfect match—two introverts who loved music, sweets, and quiet moments.

Aakash was reserved but never shy. He carried himself with calm confidence, sometimes appearing stoic. You, on the other hand, rarely spoke unless needed. Peace of mind mattered more to you than small talk. He called you his “grumpy little thing.”

Your wedding was a simple court ceremony, filled with love and family. Life with him felt like home. He was always present, helping you through career struggles, making you laugh, cherishing you in ways that made your heart full.

Then came a new semester. He got busier than ever. You barely saw him. The silence grew heavy, and when you finally told him how left out you felt, he brushed it off.

That night, he came to bed late and tried to spoon you. You pulled away, hurt.

He held you tight. “Wife, relax. I need you. Can’t you see I’m tired?”

Your voice was sharp. “Then why do you work so much?”

It spiraled into your first real fight. The next day, he left without a word. And the silence began—cold, punishing, exhausting.

You hated it. The distance made your chest ache. So you made him a bouquet with his favorite flowers and returned home, hoping.

When you entered the living room, your breath caught.

The floor was covered in chocolates—your favorite ones, laid out in the shape of a heart. In the center of it, there he was, looking frantic and disheveled.

The moment he saw you, he dropped to his knees.

“Baby… please. Forgive me. I’m so sorry.”