Chapter XII
As soon as Sita left, closing the door behind her with that soft but unmistakably final click, a silence settled over the apartment. Not the comforting kind — but the kind that hums beneath your skin, poking at your thoughts with quiet fingers.
Mia, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside me, reached out and tugged gently at my cheek, grinning in that playful way she always had. "Hey, Vedu," she teased, "your wife gets jealous — and you know what? It's absolutely adorable."
I blinked at her, forcing a laugh that barely made it past my throat. "Haha… yeah. Adorable."
But in truth, my mind wasn't in the room anymore.
It was chasing Sita's footsteps.
Was that really jealousy I saw in her eyes… or something else entirely?
Was it about Mia? Or was there a deeper silence sitting between us — something we hadn't named yet, something that had been growing slowly, just beneath the surface?
The question gnawed at me, even as I tried to keep my expression light.
Mia sat down beside me on the couch, crossing her legs and looking around the apartment with that same easy comfort she always carried.
"You know," she began, brushing her hair behind her ear, "I've been meaning to ask… Where did you even meet Sita? You never told me the story. Even on your wedding day — you two barely spoke about each other."
I let out a small, almost hollow chuckle. "That's because there wasn't much time to talk."
Mia raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
I exhaled slowly, eyes drifting toward the empty chair across from me — the one Sita had just been sitting in not fifteen minutes ago.
"It all happened so fast," I said quietly. "One moment I was working, building things, surviving… and the next, I met Sita. And it was like… like someone flipped a switch inside me."
Mia tilted her head, listening closely now, her teasing gone.
"Sita and I — we didn't have some long, dramatic love story. No years of courtship or endless messages. We met, we connected, and before I even had the time to understand what was happening… we were married."
I smiled to myself — not a big, proud smile — but the kind that's soft around the edges. Bittersweet.
"It was beautiful," I continued. "It is beautiful. But sometimes I wonder if in the rush of it all… we forgot to talk. Forgot to pause. Forgot to understand each other deeply, beyond the laughter, the teasing, and the moments."
Mia watched me for a moment, then said gently, "Is that what you're thinking now? That she left angry? Not jealous?"
I nodded slowly. "I'm not sure what I saw in her eyes, Mia. I just… I know something shifted."
She didn't try to offer false reassurance. Didn't sugarcoat it.
Instead, she just reached for my hand and gave it a light squeeze. "Then talk to her, Vedu. Before the silence grows too loud."
I looked down at our hands — one belonging to someone who had been in my life for years, and the other that was still learning how to hold on to someone new.
And in that moment, I realized something simple.
Marriage wasn't just about sharing space.
It was about sharing weight.
And I hadn't asked Sita what she was carrying.
But I would.
I had to.
Because love — real love — wasn't built in grand gestures or perfectly planned weddings.
It was built in the quiet moments after.
In the misunderstandings, the corrections, the apologies, and the willingness to try again.
I stood up, suddenly needing air — not to escape Mia or the room — but to clear the fog in my chest.
"I'll talk to her," I said softly, more to myself than to Mia.
And as I reached for my phone, my fingers hovered over Sita's name — not to call yet, not to text.
Just to remind myself she was still there.
Somewhere.
Waiting, perhaps… to be heard.
Sita's POV
"Jealousy I Didn't Ask For"
I sat quietly in the backseat of the cab, the city moving past me in a blur of honking cars, streetlights, and morning rush. My hands were resting on my lap, fingers tangled together a little too tightly. I kept telling myself to relax… but I couldn't.
Not when my mind was still spinning from what just happened back at home.
Why did I act like that?
I leaned my head against the window, letting the cool glass press against my temple. The memory of Mia walking into our apartment — that easy confidence in her steps, her casual familiarity with Ved — kept replaying over and over in my head like a scene I hadn't agreed to be in.
And I hated how it made me feel.
Jealous.
That's the word I didn't want to admit, even to myself. But there it was — loud and stubborn in the pit of my stomach.
Why did I get so irritated the moment I saw her?
Why did I suddenly feel like a stranger in my own house, in my own marriage?
I mean… I had told myself again and again — Ved is just a friend. Yes, we got married, but it wasn't some passionate love story. It was a decision, a leap of faith, something that felt right… even if we hadn't figured everything out yet.
But then Mia walked in.
And suddenly, all those calm, composed thoughts shattered into something sharp and petty.
I wasn't mad that she was there.
I was mad at how comfortable she was there.
At how easily she touched her, teased her, sat across from her like she belonged in that space — my space.
And the worst part?
Ved didn't notice.
Or maybe she did, and chose to pretend nothing had changed.
I sighed and closed my eyes, a bitter chuckle slipping past my lips.
This isn't me.
I don't do jealousy.
I don't get possessive.
For years, I barely let anyone get close enough to stir feelings inside me — let alone feelings like this.
And yet… here I was.
Jealous.
Over someone I claimed was just a friend.
The cab slowed to a stop at a red light, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the window's reflection. My expression looked tired — not from lack of sleep, but from battling something I didn't fully understand yet.
I'll apologize to Mia, I told myself.
I will.
She didn't do anything wrong. Not really.
But I'll also tell her — in the calmest voice I can manage — to keep a little distance from Ved. No more clinging to her arm, no more casual touching, no more "just friends" gestures that make my skin itch.
She may not be mine forever.
Maybe this marriage won't last a lifetime.
Maybe we'll grow apart like most rushed love stories do.
But for now?
For these next few years… she is mine.
And I won't share her.
Not physically. Not emotionally.
Not even for a moment.
Even if I can't admit it out loud — even if I still pretend I don't love her — I know one thing for certain.
I can't watch someone else get too close.
I won't allow that kind of closeness.
Because maybe… just maybe…
The truth is, I've already started falling for her.
And it terrifies me.
Because falling means letting go of control.
And I've spent years building walls to keep control.
But now… Ved is breaking them.
One soft smile at a time.
To be continued….