Vaibhav

Morning reached their room quietly.

Vaibhav woke up before the sun had fully claimed the sky. For a few seconds, he stayed still, just breathing—then his eyes moved to her.

Samriddhi.

Her hair lay messily on the pillow, a faint crease on her cheek from sleep, her lips parted ever so slightly. There was something sacred about watching her sleep—as if the world had paused just for him. Last night hadn’t felt like a dream anymore. She was real. Here. His wife.

A small smile curved his lips.

Carefully, so he wouldn’t wake her, he leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. His thumb brushed her skin gently, almost instinctively.

She stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first—then they found him.

And she smiled.

“Good morning,” she murmured, her voice still wrapped in sleep.

“Good morning,” he replied, just as softly. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded, then glanced around as if the reality was still settling in. “I did… did you?”

He hummed. “Hard not to, with you right here.”

She rolled her eyes, but the blush betrayed her.

They lay there for a few moments, just looking at each other—like neither wanted to be the first to break the quiet comfort. That’s when a knock echoed through the room.

Vaibhav groaned.

Samriddhi laughed. “Welcome to married life.”

He shook his head dramatically and got up, opening the door. A maid stood there, holding neatly folded clothes.

“Madam ke liye,” she said politely. “Maa ji ne bheje hain. Pehli rasoi ke liye.”

He thanked her, closed the door, and turned back.

Samriddhi’s eyes widened as she unfolded the fabric—a beautiful red anarkali, delicate and elegant. Beneath it lay matching jhumkas.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.

“They knew exactly what they were doing,” he said with a smile.

They got ready together—quietly, comfortably—like this had always been their rhythm. When they finally stepped downstairs, the house was already warm with activity.

For her pehli rasoi, Samriddhi chose simplicity.

Sooji ka halwa.

She offered it first to Lord Krishna, her eyes closed in quiet prayer—then served everyone with a shy smile.

“Bahut achha hai,” his mother said warmly.
“Perfect,” his father added, nodding appreciatively.

Then came the gifts.

His mother placed a velvet box in Samriddhi’s hands—a diamond set that caught the light beautifully.

Before Samriddhi could react, his father spoke, calm and firm.
“Hospital ke shares. Aadhe tumhare.”

Samriddhi froze. “Papa—no, yeh… yeh bahut zyada hai—”

“Bas,” his mother said with mock sternness. “Abhi se mana karna shuru mat karo.”

Vaibhav chuckled as Samriddhi looked at him, still stunned. He only smiled back—steady, reassuring.

When his mother teased, “Aur beta, tumhara gift?”

Vaibhav smiled knowingly. “Uske liye humein kahin jaana padega.”

Samriddhi’s brows furrowed. “Kahaan?”

He just winked.

They left after breakfast. The drive was long, peaceful—trees blurring past as she kept asking questions and he kept dodging them.

“Vaibhav—”
“Bas thoda aur.”
“Tum bahut annoying ho.”
“I know. You married me.”

When the car finally stopped, she stepped out and froze.

Tall trees. Silence. And ahead of them—a cozy wooden cabin, warm and inviting, like it belonged in a dream.

He took her hand, laced his fingers with hers, and leaned close.

“Happy pehli rasoi,” he whispered.

Her breath caught. “Yeh… mere liye?”

“Our place,” he corrected gently. “Jab bhi tumhein space chahiye. Jab bhi humein shanti chahiye.”

Inside, she moved slowly, touching everything—absorbing the calm, the safety.

“It feels… home,” she said softly.

“That’s the point.”

They sat together, talked, laughed quietly—nothing loud, nothing rushed. Just them.

Later, back home, as they changed, she surprised him.

She kissed him first.

He blinked—then smiled against her lips, returning it softly.

That night, they fell asleep wrapped around each other, the world outside fading into silence.

And for the first time in a long time, Vaibhav knew—
some gifts weren’t meant to be opened.

They were meant to be lived.