Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Monsoon Mornings and Masala Chai

The first week of July in Bhopal had always carried with it the scent of damp earth and the romance of grey skies. Raindrops gently danced on the tin roofs, and the city breathed a little slower as if lulled into a peaceful trance by the steady rhythm of the monsoon. The early morning drizzle coated everything in a misty veil—trees shimmered like they’d been freshly painted, and roads glistened under puddles reflecting the grey-blue heavens.

Inside a parked car just outside a modest, two-storey bungalow in Arera Colony, Dr. Arjun Mehta sat silently behind the wheel. His eyes were heavy with exhaustion from a long night shift at the hospital, the kind of bone-deep fatigue only doctors truly understood. He had taken the emergency shift willingly, not because there was a shortage of doctors—but because he needed an excuse. An excuse to avoid going home. Home, where Anahita now lived. Anahita, his wife of barely a week.

He exhaled, fogging up the window slightly. The rhythmic patter of raindrops on the windshield was oddly soothing, masking the quiet unrest in his chest. He adjusted the rearview mirror, glanced at the backseat where his duffel bag lay, and then looked up at the house.

It still didn’t feel like his house anymore. Not entirely.

The porch light was off, but he could see faint movement inside through the lace curtains. She was awake. Of course, she was. He closed his eyes for a second, preparing himself.

Gripping the handle, Arjun stepped out. Rain kissed his shoulders as he walked to the door, steps slow, almost hesitant. Just as he was about to twist the doorknob, the door flung open.

Anahita stood there, a beaming smile lighting up her face like a Diwali diya.

“Welcome home, dear husband,” she chirped, her eyes twinkling.

Arjun blinked. He hadn’t expected that. He wasn’t used to being greeted. Certainly not like this.

But he quickly composed himself, managed a small, polite smile, and gave a slight nod.

Anahita stepped aside to let him in, her colorful kurta bright against the pale beige of the house walls. She turned on her heel and began walking towards the kitchen, her voice floating behind her.

“I waited for you yesterday, you know,” she said cheerfully, pulling two glasses from the shelf. “You didn’t come home, but yes, I got your message. ‘Busy with emergency shift.’ Still, I’m officially angry. But since you look like a walking zombie right now, I’ll save the scolding for later.”

Arjun put down his bag and murmured, “It was important, trust me.”

Anahita laughed, her voice light and unbothered. “So scared of my anger, huh? Just joking! I am Dr. Rajiv Kapoor’s daughter, after all—I know exactly how unpredictable a doctor’s schedule is.”

She filled a glass with water and handed it to him. “You look extremely tired. Sit. I’ll make you some kadak masala chai.”

He hesitated. “I—”

“I know, I know,” she cut in before he could refuse. “You probably hate chai. But you’re married now. And I love chai. Can’t start my day without it. But today, I thought I’d have it with you.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, humming under her breath, while Arjun sat down on the sofa, feeling slightly disoriented.

He did hate chai. Always had. Too strong, too bitter, too spicy. But when she said it like that, so matter-of-fact and full of life, how could he say no? Maybe this is what marriage meant—adjustments, compromises… or perhaps learning to say yes when you’d always said no before.

The smell of boiling tea leaves and crushed ginger began to waft through the house. Mixed with the smell of rain and the faint scent of lavender from a reed diffuser she must’ve placed in the corner, it somehow felt like... home. Different, but not bad.

Moments later, Anahita returned with two mismatched mugs and a plate.

“You’re lucky today,” she declared proudly, placing the tray on the table. “I’m letting you have my special bun maska—even though I’m upset with you. Don’t get used to it though. I don’t usually offer this kind of special treatment to people I’m mad at. But you—” she pointed a mock-accusing finger at him “—are my new new husband. So, I’m being forgiving.”

She grinned, her nose scrunching up in a way that made Arjun’s lips twitch with the urge to smile back.

He took the mug, held it cautiously. “Thank you.”

She sat beside him, curled up with her own cup, dipping the edge of her bun into the tea like it was a sacred ritual.

Arjun tasted it. Too strong. Too sweet. But somehow, tolerable.

He glanced at her as she chatted about how the rain made everything feel cinematic, how she once tried dancing in the rain with her cousins during college, how she had packed all her books in color-coded boxes before the wedding.

He barely said a word, just nodded occasionally. But Anahita didn’t seem to mind.

When the chai was done, she stretched, took the empty mugs, and got up.

“You go freshen up,” she said cheerfully. “I’ll make something for us to eat. Something light—poha maybe? Or upma?”

He nodded and stood up, but before he could walk away, he felt her fingers wrap around his wrist gently.

“Arjun,” she said softly.

He turned to look at her.

“I know you’re an introvert. I know this—this arrangement—is new and strange for you. Honestly? It’s new to me too. But I’m not here to change you.”

Her voice was calm, sincere. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Just listen when I speak. That alone will make me feel seen. And when you’re comfortable… when it feels natural to you… talk back. I’ll wait for that day.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. So, he just looked at her for a long moment. And in a gesture that surprised even himself, he gave a small nod. A real one.

Anahita smiled. “Good. Now go, Doctor Sahib. I have to battle the kitchen now.”

As he walked toward the bedroom, his heart ached with something unfamiliar. Not regret. Not discomfort. Something... softer. She was full of life, and laughter, and light. And she deserved someone who could match that. Someone who could dance in the rain with her, not just sit silently watching the storm pass.

But for now, she didn’t ask him to change. Just to stay. Just to listen.

And for Arjun Mehta, that felt like the beginning of something he never saw coming.