Chapter 3: Rituals and Routines

I took the initiative to postpone our honeymoon.

My mother-in-law looked a little surprised, but didn’t object. “Work comes first, beta,” she said, clinking her tea cup on the saucer. I flashed her a grateful smile.

Arjun was busy with work at his company.

He’d been pulling long hours, often coming home late, shirt rumpled and eyes tired. Sometimes, I’d find him hunched over his laptop, specs slipping down his nose.

And I was about to start working as a screenwriter on a production next month.

It was my first real job, my chance to prove myself. Every night, I’d pore over old scripts, highlighter in hand, trying to absorb every trick in the book.

But the main reason I postponed it—

I wanted to save it for when there was some feeling between Arjun and me, even if just a little, whether real or not.

In the quiet of our bedroom, I’d stare at the suitcase half-packed for our honeymoon and whisper to myself, “Let’s wait, Priya. Let there be some magic, some memory, to hold onto.”

After marriage, Arjun and I got along surprisingly well, both in daily life and in bed.

We settled into an easy rhythm—sharing chores, eating together, watching old cricket matches. Our bedroom had become a safe haven, a place where we both shed the weight of our public selves.

He was unexpectedly attentive in certain ways.

He remembered how I liked my tea—strong, two sugars. He bought me guavas from the market because he knew they were my favourite. On weekends, he’d quietly put my phone on silent so I could sleep in.

It’s just that our use of ultra-thin Durex went from two per week to two times, one whole box each time.

I started hiding the wrappers in the deepest corner of the dustbin, lest the maid start gossiping. The packet would crinkle in his hand, sounding louder than the pressure cooker in the kitchen. We never spoke about it—just a silent agreement, like the way we avoided each other’s eyes during aarti. The frequency left me blushing—and limping—the next morning. Still, there was something intoxicating about our secret excesses.

The next morning,

Sunlight filtered through the curtains. I struggled to sit up, my limbs heavy and sore. Arjun was already dressed, waiting for me by the dresser.

My legs were still trembling when Arjun picked me up so I could tie his tie for him.

He lifted me easily, as if I weighed nothing. “Come, help me,” he said, his tone gentle. I bit my lip, trying not to let my embarrassment show.

My mind was blank.

The words of my script, the dialogue I’d been memorizing—all vanished. There was only Arjun, looking at me with that inscrutable gaze.

"Arjun, from now on, on workdays, let’s..." I paused, then tactfully suggested, "Let’s not go so late, okay?"

I tried to keep my tone light, but I couldn’t hide the pleading note. My fingers fumbled with his tie.

Although I’d always craved Arjun’s body,

Some things are best enjoyed in moderation.

My cheeks reddened. I looked away, busying myself with straightening his collar. “Bas, Arjun, take it easy,” I mumbled, half-joking, half-serious.

"I’m not refusing marital intimacy. It’s just... for our health, let’s keep it to twice a week."

I cringed inwardly at how formal I sounded. Still, I waited for his reaction, heart pounding.

As I spoke, I secretly watched Arjun’s expression.

He didn’t look offended. Instead, the corners of his lips twitched, as if he was amused by my nervousness.

My hands didn’t stop moving, and soon his tie was neatly done.

I took a tiny step back, admiring my handiwork. He looked dashing—like one of those CEOs from the serials Ma watched in the afternoons.

Whenever Arjun was home, I always tied his tie for him.

It had become our ritual. No matter how rushed the morning, he would stand patiently, letting me fuss over him. It felt oddly intimate, like a secret language only we shared.

Similarly, whenever I finished washing my hair, he would dry it and care for it for me.

He was gentle, running his fingers through the wet strands, careful not to pull. Sometimes, he’d tease me about how long it took to dry, but I knew he enjoyed it.

I always felt a bit embarrassed about it.

In the early days, I’d insist I could manage myself. But he’d just shake his head and say, “Let me do it, na.” Eventually, I stopped protesting.

But Arjun would say, "Does Priya think my hands are clumsy? Between husband and wife, there’s no need to be so formal."

He had a way of making everything sound natural, as if sharing these small acts was the most normal thing in the world. His words soothed the anxious flutter in my heart.

I cherished these moments, as if they were proof that Arjun loved me.

Even if he never said the words, I clung to these gestures, reading love in every touch and glance.

But I knew he could never let go of his first love, his 'white moonlight.'

Sometimes, I’d catch him lost in thought, staring at nothing. His phone would buzz, and he’d smile at the screen—a smile I’d never seen directed at me.

Still, it didn’t matter. His future life would be spent with me.

That was the deal our families made. Even if he never gave me his heart, I could still have his presence, his companionship.

After hearing my suggestion, Arjun raised his brows slightly.

He looked at me, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I held my breath, waiting for his verdict.

His sharp jaw shifted as he spoke.

The movement was distracting. I focused on the strong lines of his face, the way his lips curved into a smirk.

"Sorry, I lost control last night. But Priya, I have needs too."

His bluntness startled me. I flushed, looking away, mumbling something incoherent.

I froze.

His words echoed in my ears. Was this his way of flirting? Or just stating facts?

He pressed his fingertips to my sore waist and abdomen through my pyjamas, gently kneading as he continued,

His touch was gentle, soothing away the aches he’d caused. I bit back a sigh, unable to meet his eyes.

"Last night’s meeting ran late, so we started too late. I’ll be more mindful in the future and start earlier."

He sounded so serious, as if he was scheduling a board meeting. I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension broken.

"Priya, were you uncomfortable yesterday? Do you need me to put some Boroline on for you?" Arjun asked casually.

I nearly choked on my own breath. Of all things—Boroline? My cheeks flamed.

I teased back, "What’s next, Arjun? Will you rub Amrutanjan on my back too?"

My face flushed instantly, and I squeezed out a word in a soft voice:

"...No."

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. I couldn’t look at him, choosing instead to fiddle with the edge of my dupatta.

Arjun’s eyes darkened, and his long fingers gently pinched my chin as he leaned down.

He tilted my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes made me shiver.

A burning kiss fell.

It was fierce, claiming, leaving me breathless. I clung to him, all thoughts scattering.

Then it became an irresistible, breath-stealing plunder.

The world fell away, replaced by the taste of him, the feel of his hands roaming my skin. My knees buckled, and I let myself drown in his touch.

When my hand, guided by Arjun, touched his eight-pack abs and then moved lower,

His body tensed, muscles rippling under my fingers. My own breath grew ragged, anticipation curling in my belly.

My breathing quickened.

I tried to steady myself, but every touch, every sigh, drove me further from reason.

After a long while, Arjun spoke, his voice hoarse:

"But, everything Priya said is right."

He paused, waiting for my response. I could only nod, lips swollen from his kisses.

"For our health, from now on, pick three days a week to get up early and work out with me?"

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he serious? Early mornings and workouts?

Me: "..."

I couldn’t believe my ears. Was this his idea of romance?

My world collapsed.

I groaned, flopping back onto the bed. Arjun laughed, the sound warm and genuine.