The evening was quiet, save for the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windows. You sat cross-legged on the sofa, engrossed in your laptop, unaware of the pair of sharp eyes tracing every movement you made. Arnav leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching as you pushed your slipping glasses up your nose for the tenth time in five minutes.

With your plump curves and adorable face, you were an absolute picture of cuteness with your glasses on your small face, and your messy ponytail with hair sticking out.

God, he was thinking.What was this woman? A gift sent from heaven?

You were a prim proper little thing. Aye that you, his wife through an arranged marriage were. He had initially dreaded the match, but look at the both of you, now. As proper you were, you acted a bit childish in front of him.

You were not at all slim though you were not over weight either. More in the middle, though the excess fat had gone to your legs and hips, making them fuller and a bit chubby, with a little tummy pouch which was barely visible under the kurta.

Arnav thought as he glances at your simple and sober, kurta, leggings and dupatta clad figure.

You hummed softly, a tune you weren’t even aware you were singing, your fingers absentmindedly drumming against your knee. The oversized kurta you wore draped loosely over your form, but it didn’t hide the soft curves he had long memorized.

His jaw clenched.

How could you sit there so obliviously, so completely untouched by the storm raging inside him? You had no idea how badly he wanted to reach out, to wrap his fingers around your waist and pull you onto his lap—to make you understand that you weren’t just his wife.

You were his.

And one day, you would know just how deep that truth ran.