You were simple and adorable. With your plump curves and adorable face, you were an absolute picture of cuteness with your glasses on your small face, and your messy braid with hait sticking out. 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 cutely with him.

You were not at all slim though you were not over weight either. You were healthy according to BMI. More in the middle, though the 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 proper kurta, leggings and dupatta.

The rhythmic chug of the train filled the silence between you and Abhiram Chaturvedi. The compartment was dimly lit, casting soft shadows over his sharp, chiseled features—the strong jaw, the intense dark eyes that flickered toward you every few minutes as if ensuring you hadn’t disappeared. You sat by the window, watching the landscape blur past, but his presence beside you was impossible to ignore.

A sudden jolt sent you leaning toward him, and before you could steady yourself, his large, calloused hand gripped your wrist, pulling you closer. "Careful," he murmured, his voice low, rough.