**Chapter 13: Whispers in the Hall**
Aanya had never felt so unwelcome in her own home.
The apartment wasn't large—two bedrooms, an open kitchen, a living room barely big enough for two people. With Arjun's mother staying over, the walls seemed to shrink. The air thickened with unsaid things.
She wasn't rude. Just… strategic with her silences.
"This kitchen was never designed well," Ma said on her second morning there. "No storage. Very little light. But I suppose when girls focus more on careers than homemaking, such things don't matter."
Aanya didn't reply. She stirred her tea slowly, her fingers tightening around the spoon.
Arjun entered a moment later, yawning. "Smells nice. Did you make parathas?"
"Of course I did," his mother said before Aanya could answer. "Who else would cook while you both stay busy with your modern lives?"
Aanya got up quietly and poured her tea into the sink.
Later that afternoon, Arjun pulled her aside. "She'll leave in a few days."
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
"I've dealt with worse," she said. "It's not the insults that sting. It's that you never stop them."
He looked stung. "What do you want me to say? She's my mother."
"And I'm your wife," she said softly. "You don't have to choose. But you *do* have to protect."
That night, Aanya stayed in the study, pretending to review her MBA prep notes. Her mind was elsewhere.
At midnight, thirsty, she stepped out into the dark hallway.
She was just about to reach the kitchen when she heard voices.
Low. Urgent.
She froze.
"…used to be so sharp, so focused," Ma was saying. "Now he waits on her like a servant. Even came running to pick her up from her parents' house in the middle of the night."
A pause.
Then: "And you think that's not love?" came a voice she didn't recognize at first.
It was Shruti. His sister.
"She's ruined him," Ma said. "He barely visits home. Doesn't call. He's changing."
"Ma, maybe he's just… happy."
A scoff. "No man is happy under a woman's thumb."
Another pause.
Then: "You're just bitter she won't play your games."
"You don't understand," Ma snapped. "He's obsessed with her. I see it in his eyes. That kind of obsession? It never ends well."
Aanya stepped back, heart hammering.
She didn't wait to hear more.
***
She didn't sleep that night.
When Arjun came to bed, she pretended.
He lay beside her silently, closer than usual, his warmth bleeding through the sheet. His fingers brushed her back once, like they were testing if she was awake.
She didn't move.
When his breathing slowed into sleep, she turned to face him.
His brows were furrowed even in rest.
"Why do you love me?" she whispered into the dark.
He didn't stir.
But something inside her did.
***
The next morning, she was gone before he woke.
She took her laptop, her books, and left a note:
> *Library. Don't call. Don't follow.*
She needed time. Clarity.
And silence.
The public library was nearly empty. She found a quiet corner and opened her notes, but the words danced without meaning. Her mind kept replaying the conversation from last night.
*He's obsessed with her.*
*It never ends well.*
She clenched her jaw and pushed away her notebook.
Arjun didn't *just* love her. He clung to her. Possessively. Fearfully. Like she was a lifeline he couldn't afford to lose.
She used to resent it.
Now it scared her.
Because deep down, some part of her liked it. The way his eyes searched for her in crowded rooms. The way his voice softened when he said her name. The way he looked like he'd tear the world apart if she ever truly left.
But it also meant…
She could hurt him more than anyone ever had.
And that power terrified her.
She stayed at the library until dusk.
When she returned home, the lights were dimmed, and Arjun was sitting alone in the living room.
The moment she opened the door, he stood up.
"Where were you?"
"I left a note."
"I waited."
"You always do."
He didn't argue.
"Ma went to stay with Shruti tonight," he said quietly. "She'll leave tomorrow morning."
She nodded.
He walked toward her. Slow. Hesitant.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," he said. "Any of it. Not the rushed marriage. Not this… mess."
She looked up at him.
"You didn't force me to marry you," she said. "But you made it hard to leave."
"Because I was afraid you would."
"You still are."
He didn't deny it.
"I'm trying, Aanya. I don't always know how to be the man you deserve. But I'm trying."
She studied him—really studied him.
The lines around his eyes. The curve of his mouth. The way he held himself, always a little tense around her. Like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She stepped forward.
And kissed him.
Not out of desire.
But out of the aching need to quiet the storm between them.
His hands came up slowly, resting on her waist, unsure.
When she deepened the kiss, he responded like a man dying of thirst.
It wasn't hurried. Or rough.
It was slow. Searching. Fragile.
Like they were building something with trembling hands.
When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.
"I don't want you to go," he whispered.
"I haven't," she whispered back.
Yet.
***
They slept in the same bed that night.
For the first time in weeks, she didn't pull away when his arm curled around her.
For the first time in weeks, he didn't ask for more.
Just held her like a secret he never wanted to share.
At some point in the night, she woke to find his face inches from hers.
And a thought struck her with quiet violence.
*What if this isn't the storm before the calm… but the calm before the storm?*
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**[End of Chapter 13]**