Chapter 5: Cracks in the Facade

The heartless producers only had to say a word—

It was always like this in the TV industry. One last-minute change, and suddenly my script was in shambles.

I pulled an all-nighter revising the script, so busy I barely had time to touch the ground.

The apartment was strewn with notes, empty tea cups piling up on the side table. The pressure cooker whistled in the kitchen, but I barely noticed, lost in the world of my characters.

On the fifth night of sleeping in the study,

My back ached from the lumpy sofa. I missed my bed, the comfort of Arjun’s quiet breathing beside me.

Arjun knocked on the door late at night.

The knock was soft, hesitant. I glanced at the clock—2:30 am.

"Priya."

His voice was low, almost uncertain. He rarely called me by my full name. My heart skipped a beat.

Arjun rarely called me by my full name.

Usually it was just “hey,” or “listen.” Hearing “Priya” felt oddly formal, like a school principal calling me in.

I looked up in confusion.

His silhouette was framed by the light from the corridor, hair tousled, shirt unbuttoned at the collar.

Arjun walked over slowly, a cold air and dampness clinging to him.

He must’ve just showered. I caught the scent of him—fresh, clean, familiar.

His tone was unreadable: "Did you forget you still have a husband?"

He spoke with a touch of humour, but his eyes were serious. I set my pen down, unsure what to say.

"Are you planning to always sleep in the study from now on and live apart from me?"

His words caught me off guard. Was he... jealous? I couldn’t tell.

Pressed against the desk by Arjun, our breaths tangled, lips meeting.

He closed the distance between us, his hands bracketing my waist. Our lips met, tentative at first, then urgent.

Only then did I realize what he meant.

The longing in his touch, the hunger in his kiss—it was all for me. I melted, giving in.

Blushing, I took the initiative to respond, wanting to coax him.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Sorry, I got busy,” I whispered against his lips.

"Arrey, Arjun, don’t suddenly ignore me again, okay?" Arjun suddenly said.

His voice was muffled, almost petulant. It was so uncharacteristic, I had to stifle a laugh.

I blinked and stammered out an explanation:

"I just forgot, um..."

I fumbled for words, my mind still foggy with exhaustion and desire.

"I haven’t been ignoring you these days..."

Before I could finish, Arjun’s eyes darkened, and he kissed me deeply, swallowing the rest of my words.

His lips were demanding, possessive. I let myself be swept away.

He didn’t continue the topic.

The argument dissolved in the heat of our embrace, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

The tube light above seemed to sway endlessly.

Its harsh white glow made everything feel surreal. I closed my eyes, letting myself forget the world outside.

I bit my lip and looked at our tightly clasped fingers.

His hand was warm, strong, anchoring me to the moment. For the first time, I dared to hope.

I began to feel dissatisfied with just being respectful partners.

I wanted more—more touch, more laughter, more of everything that made a marriage real.

Maybe—

I could try to fall in love with him, little by little.

A thought I’d always suppressed, never daring to hope, quietly began to sprout in my heart.

[Could it be that Arjun likes me, even a little?]

The question haunted me as I drifted to sleep in his arms, the study finally feeling like home.