R A N V I J A Y

3 weeks later

I opened the door of our bedroom and stepped inside, looking around for my wife. My eyes moved across the room, but it was empty. I softly called out, “Sweetheart?” Then I noticed a faint figure on the open balcony. There she was, sitting quietly on the cushioned swing, her eyes lifted to the sky, lost in deep thoughts.

I let out a deep sigh as I walked over to her, stopping by her side. But she seemed too lost in the sky to notice I was even there. I looked up at the sky too, and I won’t lie—something inside me felt jealous. What was it about this fucking sky that had all of my wife’s attention? What did it have that I didn’t?

I shot a sharp look at the sky and muttered under my breath, “She’s mine. She doesn’t love you like she loves me.” With a quiet scoff, I dropped to my knees in front of her, right by her feet, my eyes locked onto her face.

She sat there, wrapped in a deep magenta saree that clung to her like it was made just for her. Her wrists shimmered with matching glass bangles that chimed softly with the breeze. Around her neck, my nuptial chain glowed against her skin, and the line of vermilion in her hair marked her as mine in the most sacred way.