Chapter VIII
"Of Onions, Headphones, and a Stolen Kiss"
Night had fallen gently over the city, wrapping everything in its quiet hush. In our small apartment, the only light that shimmered softly came from the corner of the room where Sita sat by the table, her eyes fixed on her laptop screen. The glow reflected off her glasses, her fingers dancing across the keys with the grace of someone trying to meet a looming deadline.
I, as always, headed to the kitchen to prepare dinner — a small routine that had become a comforting ritual in our new life together.
I've always preferred the dark — not the terrifying, suffocating kind, but the cozy, silent kind that feels like a warm blanket. So before I began cooking, I turned off the bright hall light, letting only the dim golden glow from the kitchen lamp guide me.
I opened the fridge, pulled out the vegetables, and placed them on the counter.
But something felt missing.
Ah, music.
I reached for the speaker, set the volume just below full blast, and let the melody fill the room. It was a soft, soul-stirring song — one of those that makes chopping onions feel like starring in your own indie film.
I began slicing the onions slowly, humming along, letting myself sink into the rhythm of my thoughts and the comfort of routine.
Then, suddenly — silence.
The music stopped.
I blinked and turned to find Sita standing in the hallway, having just walked out of the room. She looked directly at me and, without a word, had turned off the speaker.
"Hey," I said, half amused, half confused. "Why did you stop the music?"
Sita didn't answer immediately. Instead, she walked over, slipped a pair of headphones over my ears, and said with the utmost seriousness, "From now on, listen to your songs like this."
Before I could respond, the sting of the onions reached my eyes. Tears began to form, uninvited but unstoppable, slipping down my cheeks with dramatic timing.
Sita saw it happen and gasped teasingly. "Ved! Did turning off your music hurt you so much that you actually started crying?"
I gasped theatrically and clutched my chest. "Sita, do you even realize how deeply your words just stabbed me? Right in my heart."
She rolled her eyes, half-smiling. "You and your drama."
Then she asked with mock curiosity, "Why do you hate headphones so much anyway?"
I sighed and placed the knife down, turning toward her. "Once… I wore headphones, and my song… it died," I said dramatically, flipping an invisible scarf over my shoulder. "Since then, I swore — I would only listen to music through speakers, so that the song could live free."
Sita stared at me, her expression unreadable for a moment.
Then she stepped closer, gently cupped my cheeks, and wiped the tears from my face with the corner of her dupatta.
"These tears are from onions," she whispered, amused, "and yet here you are, turning this into a rom-com scene."
She was trying not to laugh.
I grinned, caught her wrist, and held her hand. "But seriously — what's your issue with loud music?"
She hesitated, then shrugged. "I just don't like too much noise. It overwhelms me. Makes me feel like I'm not in control."
I softened at her honesty.
"Okay," I said quietly. "From now on, I'll use headphones. No more speaker drama. Deal?"
She gave me a tiny nod. "Good."
Then she tried to pull away.
But I didn't let go.
My arms slipped around her waist as I held her close.
"Now that we've made peace," I said mischievously, "you owe me something."
Her eyes narrowed with faux suspicion. "What?"
I grinned. "A kiss."
She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by my tactic. "Ved, I have work to do."
I leaned in closer, still holding her. "You can't just walk away after shutting off my music and stabbing my heart. That demands compensation."
She laughed, trying to push me away, her hands pressed lightly against my chest. "Not now, okay? We have plenty of time for kisses. Let me go."
But I pouted. "Please, Sita…"
And just when I thought she was going to resist again — she surprised me.
Without a word, she leaned in, quickly grabbed my face, and pressed the softest, fastest kiss against my lips — a hit-and-run kiss, stolen and sweet.
Before I could even recover from the surprise, she'd wriggled out of my arms and walked away toward the bedroom.
I stood there in the kitchen, dazed, a silly grin spreading across my face as I turned back to the chopping board.
Onions still made me cry.
But tonight, they weren't the only thing making my heart sting.
And for the first time ever — I didn't mind.
Not one bit.
"Of Bhajis, Teasing, and Truths"
I had just finished preparing dinner — hot, crispy onion bhajis with fragrant steamed rice, the kind that filled the kitchen with the smell of home and something warm you couldn't name. I plated everything carefully, placing the dishes on the dining table like they were little pieces of an offering — not to a god, but to the woman I loved.
Wiping my hands on the kitchen towel, I called out, "Hey, Sita! If you're done with your work, dinner's ready."
Her voice floated back from the room, muffled but clear, "Yeah, just two more minutes!"
I smiled. "Alright, I'll wait."
And wait I did — leaning casually against the wall, watching the steam curl from the food as if even it was eager to be eaten.
After a few minutes, Sita walked out into the dining area, her laptop finally forgotten for the night. Her eyes swept across the table, widening at the sight of the meal I'd prepared.
"Well, this looks absolutely delicious," she said with mock suspicion, taking a step closer. "But the real question is — will it taste as good as it looks?"
I gasped, placing a hand on my chest. "You doubt me? How dare you, Sita madam!"
She grinned. "Yes, I do. A little."
I pulled out a chair for her with an exaggerated flourish. "Please… taste first, and then pass your royal judgment."
She laughed, sitting down beside me. "Well, since Ved has cooked it, I have no choice but to try it — no matter the risk."
With a smirk, she picked up a piece of the onion bhaji, brought it to her lips, and took a bite. I watched her face carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.
She chewed thoughtfully, her expression giving nothing away at first.
And then, suddenly, she reached over and patted my back like I'd just won an Olympic medal. "Ved! You've done it. You've actually made me happy. This is SO good!"
I laughed, my heart glowing. "Told you! No one believes the chef until the food speaks for itself."
Sita leaned closer with that familiar mischief in her eyes. "From today, I'm not going to call you 'wifey' anymore."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what will you call me instead?"
"Hubby," she said with a dramatic pause, making the word sound like a joke and a promise all at once.
I chuckled. "You can call me whatever your heart desires, madam. I'm at your service."
Suddenly, she reached out and playfully tugged on my cheek. "This transformation isn't because of my kiss, is it? You seem extra cheerful today."
I blinked and feigned offense. "Look who's talking! You're the one playing kiss-kiss all day long. That was the third one today, by the way. Are we keeping a count now?"
Sita leaned back with a teasing smirk. "I just thought it was time a certain crazy someone learned what a real kiss feels like. I mean, honestly — has anyone ever kissed you before me?"
Her question hung in the air like a spark. And the truth was — no, not like that. Not with the kind of weight and meaning her kisses carried. Not with love behind them.
But I wasn't about to give her that satisfaction.
So I raised my chin and said dramatically, "Of course people have kissed me! Girls used to fall for me all the time. I've had plenty of kisses."
Sita laughed so hard she nearly dropped her spoon.
Then she leaned in, eyes twinkling with amusement and affection, and whispered, "Ved, I know you. I know how much truth you speak… and how much you make up."
She smiled softly, her teasing fading into something quieter. "You don't have to pretend with me, you know. I already love you — for who you really are."
I didn't say anything. I didn't need to.
Because sometimes, love speaks loudest in silence.
That night, we sat together — sharing food, laughter, teasing, and truths.
The world outside was still and quiet, but inside our small apartment, there was warmth.
And in Sita's eyes, I found a kind of home I never thought I'd have.
To be continued…