As Vaidehi fell asleep, Raghuveer lay awake, thinking. He was drowning, head over heels, completely and utterly gone.

Veer’s phone rang, bringing him back to focus. He’d been staring at the wall connected to their bedroom. Vaidehi had returned a short while ago. ‘Veer, zara Vaidehi ko dekhna. Maine usse bulaya, koi awaaz nahi de rahi hain. Phone bhi nahi utha rahi. Bol ke gayi thi ki bas muh haath dhoke neeche aayegi.’

(Veer, can you check on Vaidehi? I called out to her, but she didn’t respond. She’s not lifting her phone either. She said she would just freshen up and come downstairs.)

‘Maa, aapko usse kuch kaam hain?’

(Maa, did you need her for anything?)

‘Nahi…bas baath karna chahthi thi, hum donon ke liye coffee bana rahi thi.’

(No…I just wanted to talk. I was making coffee for the both of us.)

‘Bas itni si baat? Chodiye, na. Kuch kaam kar rahi hogi, disturb nahi karna.’

(That’s it? Then leave it. She must be busy with some work, we shouldn’t disturb her.)

‘Arey aisa nahi, bas chinta ho rahi thi. Phone toh humesha uthathi, ya message bhejthi. Zara dekhna, kya coffee upar laana hain.’

(That’s not what I meant. I was just worried. She always picks up the phone, or at least sends a message. Just check if I should bring the coffee upstairs.)

Veer sighed, ‘Washroom mein hogi, Maa. Aap chinta mat kariye.’

(She must be in the bathroom, Maa. Don’t worry.)

‘Accha, theek hain phir…’

(Fine, then…)

Despite his reassurances, Veer decided to check on Vaidehi. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Since it was unlocked, he called out and entered, but there was no response. “Vaidehi, Maa tumhe bula rahi thi…”

(Vaidehi, Maa’s calling you…)

She was out cold, curled up on the bed. Frown lines were etched on her face, and her hand lay protectively across her stomach. A quick look at the trash can in the bathroom gave Veer the answers he needed. In the bottom drawer of her nightstand, he found what he was looking for – a heating pad.

Plugging it in, he gently tucked it under her hand and pulled up the blanket to cover her. Raghuveer scoured the rest of her things, but didn’t find a stash of snacks hidden away, like Akshu and Priya kept. He’d never seen Vaidehi reaching for savory snacks, which meant chocolate and cookies were a safe bet.

Returning to his study, he called in to a famous Parsi chocolatier and patisserie. ‘This is Raghuveer Malhotra…yes, I need an express order for…’ Fifteen minutes later, he met the employee at the door, before anyone could intercept his order. Just as quickly, he bounded back up the steps, careful to avoid anyone.

Unpacking the sweets, he tucked most of them into an empty drawer, but left a few out on top. Grabbing a pen and paper from his study, he wrote out a simple note, placing it on the nightstand. ‘Kabhi tumhe namkeen khate hue nahi dekha. Socha tumhe iss waqt shayad yeh mithai pasand ayenge. Kuch aur chahiye toh batana.’

(I’ve never seen you having savory snacks. I thought you might prefer these sweets during this time. Let me know if you want anything else.)

Veer was used to going by his last name, so by habit, he was about to write Malhotra. He abruptly stopped, lifting the pen as he thought. Finally, he left it as it was; she would understand. Closing the curtains, and turning off the lights, he was about to leave. A light caught his eye.

On the corner of the vanity were her purse and her unlocked phone, open to the messages app. The family group chat… The chat was on top, overflowing with messages from the bandar gang – their usual silliness. ‘Sleeping, zzz, DND.’ Typing out the message, Veer hit send, then replaced her phone as it was. Gently shutting the door behind him, he returned to his study.

Vaidehi’s eyes snapped open. The curtains were closed, the light was off. When had she fallen asleep? And when had she gotten the heating pad? Rubbing her eyes, she stumbled into the bathroom. Freshening up, she stepped out and noticed things on her nightstand that weren’t there before. Cookies and chocolate from one of the most popular patisseries in the city, with a note.

Vaidehi supposed it was Maa. She must have come to check on her and realized. Shrugging, she couldn’t stop herself from having a chocolate bar. By the gods, it was one of the best she’d ever had in her life. Smooth as silk, rich, filled with creamy ganache. It was utterly luxurious. She would need to thank Maa. Obviously, Maa was the one who’d come to check on her, tucked her in with the heating pad, and gotten her these sweets.

He'd read the document again and again for the past hour and a half, but nothing had gone into his head. The soft click of a door made him jerk out of his chair. Vaidehi was awake. Counting to sixty, he followed her to the kitchen, but stopped a few feet away. “Maa, I saw your message. I’m so sorry, mujhe pata hi nahi chala main kab so gayi thi.”

(Maa, I saw your message. I’m so sorry, I didn’t even realize when I fell asleep.)

“Arey, uth gayi tum? Koi baat nahi, beta. Bohot thak gayi hogi, period bhi chal raha, hain na?”

(Arey, you woke up? Oh, don’t worry, dear. You seemed really tired, and you got your period, too, right?)

“Haan, Maa. Actually, can I give you a hug?” Chandrika looked at her curiously. “Of course, yeh koi poochne wali baat hain?”

(Of course, is this even something to ask?)

She gave her bahu a great bear hug, kissing her forehead for good measure. “Thank you.” “Kis baat ki? For the hug?” Chandrika asked, waving off her silly question.

(For what? The hug?)

“Yes, but also mere khayal rakhne ki.”

(Yes, but for also looking after me.)

“Tum bhi na! Agar maa baap apne baache ka khayal nahi rakhenge, toh kaun rakhega.”

(Come on! If parents won’t look after their children, then who will?)

Vaidehi thanked her lucky stars for in-laws who considered her their own daughter. Her parents hadn’t cared even a fraction as much for her. Veer, understanding his wife’s statement, stepped away. So, she believed Maa had taken care of her. Fair enough, since he’d never paid attention to Vaidehi before, at least not in a way that she would notice. But why did it still prick his heart? He couldn’t be jealous of his mother, could he? For hugging his wife?

‘Sweetheart, no half-measures this time, I’m truly going to make you my wife.’ 

The next several weeks passed by pleasantly. Raghuveer made it a point to do the simple things. Wishing her good morning, thanking her for packing him lunch, helping her cook - despite the fact that he only knew how to boil water and stir fry frozen vegetables, after all he had access to two antaryamis - his mom and the internet. Making small talk with her about her likes and dislikes, her memories, random discussions about Latin names for botanical species. The best part though, was how he increasingly flirted with her, or at least what passed as flirting in Vaidehi’s book.

Vaidehi didn’t exactly dislike the changes her husband was making, but it didn’t exactly make it easy to see him as just a professional colleague. Their relationship was becoming something more. It wasn’t unpleasant – in fact, it was extremely tempting – but it also wasn’t something she bargained for. However, some of her inhibitions were cleared the day she had revealed her working status.

Seeing her at work on the couch, Raghuveer asked the question that had been going through his mind for several days. “Itne dinon mein tumhare baare mein poocha, par tumhare kaam ke baare mein zyaada nahi poocha.”

(In all these days, I’ve asked about you, but not much about your work.)

He’d been hoping she’d bring it up herself, since work was an important part of everyone’s day and life. But Vaidehi had been especially reticent about this subject. The extent of the conversation on her end was simply answering ‘good’ when he asked how work was that day. Vaidehi gave him a sidelong look – she’d been wondering why he hadn’t asked yet. “Kya jaanna chahthe hain?”

(What do you want to know?)

He gave her a welcoming smile, taking a seat and spreading his arm on the couch behind her. “Ab kya kar rahi ho?”

(What are you doing right now?)

Vaidehi laughed internally. As if he doesn’t already know. “I’m grading papers.” His eyebrows shot up. “You’re a teacher?” “Professor, actually.” “Wow! Not what I would have guessed, but neither am I surprised.” Not what he would have guessed, huh? “And what would you have guessed?” He shrugged, tilting his head as he observed her. “Maybe a software engineer, an accountant.” Oh, he was definitely playing games.

Setting aside her papers, she turned completely towards him. “Ab joh kehna chahthe hain, seedhe seedhe kahiye.”

(Whatever you want to say, just say it straightforward.)

His perplexed expression didn’t help his case. “Mujhe pata hain ki joh bhi aap jaante hain mere kaam ke baare mein, aapko accha nahi lagta. Lekin joh bhi hain, muh pe bataiye, aise taane mat mariye.”

(I know that whatever you know about my work, you don’t like. But whatever it is, just say it to my face. Don’t taunt me.)

The perplexed expression turned concerned, and slightly offended. “Main koi taunt nahi mar raha tha. Genuinely jaanna chahtha hain. Aur tumhe kyun lagta hain mujhe tumhare kaam accha nahi lagta?”

(I was taunting you. I genuinely want to know. And why do you think that I don’t like your work?)

He had chosen the absolute worst time to have this conversation. Her head hurt, her stomach ached, and she was feeling the effects of her body preparing to lose two liters of blood. Vaidehi also hated grading- it was the worst part of her job. Any other day, she might patiently draw out this conversation, adding her own share of wittiness. Today, it was all she could do to control the volume of her voice and refrain from giving Veer an exasperated sigh. “Aapke muh se hi suna maine.”

(I heard it from your mouth.)

After a moment, she muttered under her breath, “Main thoda na khayali pulao pakati hoon.” Veer’s brow twitched. Okay….she’s never been this..chid-chid (easily irritated) before.

(I don’t just make stuff up.)

“Zara hume bataiye, humne kya kaha hain?”

(Please tell me, what exactly did I say?)

Vaidehi drew an angry zero on the paper where there should have been a nine. Grumbling, she added a line to fashion the zero into a nine. Very carefully, too carefully, she set aside her papers and turned towards with a prim expression. Crossing her legs, she rested her hands on her knees. “Aapko yaad nahi hain?”

(You don’t remember?)

Her tone was too calm. “Nahi…” (No…) She huffed slightly. “Yaad kyun hoga, bas judgement sunate haina ur bhool jaate hain.”

(Why would you remember? You just pass judgement and forget.)

Veer took a breath as he waited for her to finish muttering. Asking her to repeat herself would probably only irritate her more. “Aap Abhiram bhaiyya se baat kar rahe the. Shaadi ke baad haal chaal pooch rahe the woh. You clearly said, ‘Vaidehi’s just fine, but I wanted someone with more ambition. No, not more ambition, just ambition, period. But whatever’s done is done.’ Then you both were discussing some news about how foreign-educated Indians were returning and taking up ‘middle-class’ jobs. Which you disapproved of. Aapko laga jo pade likhe hain, unhe unke level ka job karna chahiye, ya abroad hi rehna chahiye. Itne padke bas ek teacher ka job karna- unka ambition ka kya kehta hain, unka character ka kya kehta hain?”

(You were talking to Abhiram Bhaiyya. He was checking in with you after the marriage…

You thought that ‘they’re educated, they should do a job worth their level, or just stay abroad. They study so much and then become a teacher- what does that say about their ambition and character?’)

By the time she had explained, Veer could see her temper rising like a gradually growing flame inside a lantern. Vaidehi rose, pretending to organize her papers, walking back and forth from her bag to desk.

“Aapko laga aapko pata hain mera job kya hain. Aapko pasand nahi hain ki main US mein padke wapas aake bas ek professor ka kaam kar rahi hoon. Aapko laga mujh mein ambition nahi hain, ki main koi dhokebaaz hoon jo dusron ka kaam cheenti hoon. Par pata hain, mujhe aapka kisi bhi baat ka bura nahi laga. Kyun lagna? Aap mein bhi kamiyaan hain, mere mein bhi hain. Theek hain. Koi thodi na perfect ho sakta. Yeah, I’m ‘just fine.’ Yeah, ‘whatever’s done is done.’ I was happy with whatever decisions and compromises I’d made. If you weren’t, well, that’s your problem. Because you’re a grown man. Haan, mujh mein ‘ambition’ nahi hain. Kyun hona hain?”

(You thought you knew what my job was. You didn’t like that I studied in the US then came back and became a professor. You thought I didn’t have ambition, that I was some traitor who stole other people’s jobs. But you know what? I didn’t feel bad because of anything you said. Why would I? You have your faults, I have mine. That’s fine. Everyone can’t be perfect. Yeah, I’m ‘just fine.’ Yeah, ‘whatever’s done is done.’ I was happy with whatever decisions and compromises I’d made. If you weren’t, well, that’s your problem. Because you’re a grown man. Yeah, I don’t have ambition. Why should I?)

Veer opened his mouth several times, but Vaidehi’s monologue couldn’t be stopped. Suddenly, she whirled on him, hands on her hips. “Nahi, main ambitious nahi hoon. Mujhe nahi kholna hain business, mujhe nahi banna hain Forbes 30 under 30, mujhe nahi banna hain India ka Prime Minister! Toh kya hua?! Aur ambition ka matlab sirf yeh hain ki career mein naam banana hain?

Mera ambition yeh tha ki mujhe ek pyaar karne wala parivaar mile, joh mujhe apnayenge. Mera ambition yeh tha ki main apni education ko acche ke liye wasool karoon, chahe woh bada kaam ho ya chota. Mera ambition yeh tha ki main ek sukoon si, boring si zindagi jeeyoon. Kyunki joh meri zindagi mein kami thi, main bas wahi chahthi thi. Aur woh mil gaya mujhe. Aap mere baare mein joh bhi socho, mujhe kuch farq nahi padta. Bas itna samajh nahi payi ki woh insaan joh business mein ek kadam nahi uthata pure research ke bina, mere baare mein bina soche samjhe bas mann bana liye!”

(No, I’m not ambitious. I don’t want to start a business, I don’t want to be in Forbes 30 under 30, I don’t want to become the Prime Minister! So what?! And does having ambition only mean making a name in my career? My ambition was to find a loving family, who would accept me. My ambition was to use my education for good, whether that be in an important career or small career. My ambition was to live a peaceful, boring life. Because whatever was missing in my life, that’s all I wanted. And I found it. You can think whatever you want about me, I don’t care. I just couldn’t understand how a man who doesn’t take a step in business without doing complete research just made up his mind about me without a second thought.)