The clock’s hands had crept past 8 PM. Any moment now, he would walk through that door. The thought sent a subtle flutter through your chest, a feeling you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge. Just as you reached for the pot of pasta water to enhance the sauce, the front door clicked open. The sound was unmistakable, a quiet declaration of his arrival. You knew it was him without needing to turn around. Instead, you focused on the steady motion of stirring, pretending the anticipation curling in your stomach wasn’t there.

It wasn’t that you were indifferent to him—far from it. He was everything a woman could wish for in a husband. Tall, handsome, kind. A man who carried himself with effortless grace, whose presence alone commanded attention. And yet, love born from an arranged marriage was a slow, hesitant thing. Like embers waiting for the right gust of wind to turn them into flames. Even after eight months of sharing the same home, the same quiet moments, an invisible distance still stretched between you, bridged only by fleeting touches and stolen glances.

Lost in thought, you didn’t hear him approach. But suddenly, warmth surrounded you. His strong arms slid around your waist, enveloping you in an embrace that felt both unfamiliar and natural all at once. A small gasp caught in your throat, but before you could react, he buried his face into the delicate curve of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. The air shifted, thickened with something unspoken, something that made your heart pound just a little harder.

What happened?” Your voice was soft, a whisper meant only for him. “Long day at the office?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he inhaled deeply, as if drinking in your scent, grounding himself in your presence. When he finally spoke, his voice was rougher than usual, deep and laced with emotion. His arms tightened slightly, his hold possessive yet tender, as if the words he was about to say had been resting on his tongue for far too long.

“Baby, let's have a baby."