Author’s POV

Weeks slipped by like soft verses of a love song.

Marriage didn’t change them—it settled them.
Samriddhi and Vaibhav grew into each other so naturally that even silence felt shared. Morning teas turned into quiet smiles, late-night talks into sleepy laughter. He was hopelessly, openly whipped—always reaching for her hand, always looking for her first in a room. And she… she wore that love like ease.

They went to Coorg after their marriage —because she had always wanted to.

Misty mornings, coffee plantations, long drives where music played low and conversations flowed easier than the roads ahead. He clicked candid pictures of her laughing, she sketched him sitting by the window with a book he never finished. They walked hand in hand through foggy trails, shared warmth over cups of coffee, and returned each night feeling fuller than before.

They became inseparable—not in a loud way, but in the way two souls choose the same pace.

Love didn’t rush them.
It wrapped them.

And somewhere between shared pillows, shared dreams, and shared homes, they realized—
this happiness wasn’t temporary.

It was theirs.

Vaibhav's POV

It was past midnight when I finally returned.

The hospital corridors still clung to me—the smell of antiseptic, the weight of decisions, the quiet exhaustion that only long shifts leave behind. I pushed the door to our room open gently, not wanting to disturb her.

And then I saw her.

Curled up on the sofa, dupatta slipping off one shoulder, head tilted awkwardly yet peacefully—fast asleep while waiting for me.

A smile found its way to my lips before I could stop it.

“Pagal hai aap…” I murmured under my breath.

I walked up to her slowly, as if the moment itself was fragile, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Just as I bent to lift her into my arms, her eyelashes fluttered open.

There it was—that sleepy smile meant only for me.

“You’re back,” she whispered, voice heavy with sleep.

“Hmm,” I said softly. “Go back to sleep.”

She wrapped her fingers around my collar lightly. “Put me down on the bed.”

I chuckled. “Madam has orders.”

I carried her anyway—carefully, like she was made of something precious—and placed her on the bed. She laughed quietly, adjusting the pillow beneath her head.

She glanced at the clock and instantly sat up.
“It’s so late! You must be starving. Go change—I’ll bring food.”

Before I could protest, she was already off the bed.

I smiled, reached out, and ruffled her hair. “You waited for me again.”

She looked up at me, pretending to scold. “Obviously. Now go.”

I obeyed.

When I came back from the bathroom, towel still around my neck, the table was already set. Warm food. Familiar aromas. Home.

I went to pick up the plate when she stopped me.

“Nope,” she said, taking the spoon. “I’ll feed you.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Doctor sahab is very capable of feeding himself.”

She narrowed her eyes. “After sixteen hours of surgery? Sit.”

I sat.

She fed me slowly, teasing me when I tried to steal the spoon, laughing when dal nearly spilled. At one point, I fed her back, and she complained dramatically.

“This is unfair. You’re feeding me more than you’re eating.”

“That’s called equality,” I replied smugly.

She rolled her eyes, laughter spilling out anyway.

By the time we finished, exhaustion had softened into comfort.

We lay down side by side, the world finally quiet.

She turned toward me suddenly. “Vaibhav?”

“Yes?”

“I want to tell you something,” she said carefully, fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bedsheet. “But for that… we have to go somewhere tomorrow.”

I studied her face—those eyes always held a little mystery.
“Where?”

She smiled. The kind that meant no answers tonight.
“You’ll know tomorrow.”

I sighed theatrically. “You both tease and torture your husband.”

She tucked herself closer to me. “And you love it.”

I did.

Next Morning

She drove.

Not because she needed to—but because she wanted to.

And because she pestered me until I finally handed over the keys.

“Careful,” I warned. “This car is my favourite car after all it was given for my  first rasoi -”

She smirked. “Too bad. I outrank it now.”

The drive was peaceful. She hummed softly, sunlight dancing through the windshield. After a while, she slowed the car and parked.

I looked outside—and froze.

“This place…” I murmured.

She turned to me, eyes shining. “Come.”

She took my hand and led me inside.

Before I could process anything—

“Didi! Didi!”

A small boy came running toward her, arms wide open. She laughed and knelt just in time to catch him.

My heart skipped.

I stared at the scene, utterly confused.

“Why are we here?” I asked slowly. “This is… an orphanage.”

She looked at me then—soft, calm, honest.
“Yes. Tulip Orphanage.”

Before I could say anything more, the boy spotted me.

His eyes widened. “Doctor uncle!”

He ran to me and folded his hands quickly. “Thank you for making me better.”

I smiled, crouched down, and lifted him easily.
“Arre little champ, no need for this.”

I tickled him lightly, and his laughter filled the hallway before he wriggled free and ran off again.

We both laughed—hers softer, fuller.

She then led me to the manager’s cabin. We sat down, facing each other.

She took a deep breath.

“This orphanage…” she began, “I sponsor it.”

I felt my chest still.

“You… what?”

“I’ve been doing it for years,” she continued gently. “Education, medical care, everything.”

Memory struck me like lightning.

The anonymous sponsor.
The name I had once admired without knowing her face.

I looked at her—really looked at her.

And suddenly, everything made sense.