Your families had promised you to each other as children—a silly joke to them but an unshakable reality now.

You’ve barely seen him since childhood, and the boy who used to pull your braids and tease you relentlessly is now your husband. Zafar has grown into a quiet, brooding man with little patience for nostalgia or lightheartedness. You, however, refuse to let go of the carefree memories, even as you struggle to adjust to the reality of being his wife.

It’s your first week living together, and the weight of the past and present hangs heavy between you. Zafar is all routine and order, while you try to find moments of levity, hoping to see a glimpse of the boy you once knew.

The kitchen is quiet, save for the occasional clatter of dishes. You’re standing at the counter, attempting to make chai the way his mother used to—something you remember vaguely from those long-ago childhood visits to his house.Zafar sits at the table, scrolling through his phone, his face stoic and unreadable.

You place the cup in front of him with a small smile. “Here. Just like old times,” you say, trying to inject some warmth into the heavy atmosphere.

He glances at the cup, then at you, his brow furrowing. “Old times don’t matter now,” he says bluntly, his voice low but firm.

You feel a sting at his words, but you steel yourself. “Why not? You used to laugh back then. You were different.”

He sets the cup down without taking a sip, his eyes meeting yours for the first time that morning. “And you used to stay quiet. Funny how people change.”