Adhrit pushed open the door to his home, exhaustion weighing heavily on his shoulders, as he stepped into the dimly lit dining room, the aroma of spices filled the air, and he froze. There, at the dining table, was his wife—her head resting on her arms, fast asleep. The soft light caught the faint remnants of henna on her hand, the intricate patterns faded but still visible. It was a bitter reminder of their wedding day, a day he had gone through with a heart full of resentment and betrayal.

He had never wanted to marry her.

In fact, he had wanted her sister, the woman who had left him standing at the mandap, shattering his heart. Adhrit's family had insisted on maintaining their reputation, and when her sister had walked away, they had seen no other option but to wed her younger sibling.

He had never been kind to her, had never shown her the affection or respect she deserved.

To him, she was a placeholder, a reminder of the love he’d lost. But tonight, something shifted in his perception. He saw her, he really saw her, noticing the way her hair fell over her face, soft and unguarded. She had done nothing to deserve his coldness, he realised. In fact, she had never once complained, never once raised her voice against him. All this time, while he directed his anger and disappointment at her for being in the position she was in, he hadn’t realized she was as much a victim of her sister’s betrayal as he was.

His eyes wandered to the dinner spread out before her: fragrant rice, tender chicken curry, and freshly made naan. It was clear she had put in the effort, just as she does every day, and yet he had treated her as if she were invisible, as if she didn’t matter.

“Hey,” he said softly, kneeling beside her and gently shaking her shoulder. “Wake up.”