21. Nishachar

Niharika lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling in the dim glow of the moonlight seeping through the curtains. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions—hurt, confusion, anger, and a deep sense of emptiness. No matter how hard she tried, the events of the day replayed in her head like a broken record.

She sighed deeply, sitting up. The saree she had worn earlier felt too heavy, a reminder of the day’s chaos. She got up and changed into a simple suit, the kind she was most comfortable in. The soft cotton fabric and light dupatta gave her some comfort, but it did nothing to ease the turmoil in her heart.

She adjusted her dupatta carefully, ensuring it covered her modestly. Her hands went to the mangalsutra around her neck, her fingers tracing its beads absently. The red bangles clinked softly as she moved, and the faint vermillion in her hairline seemed to mock her—a symbol of a relationship she couldn’t comprehend.

Her stomach growled faintly, but she ignored it. She hadn’t eaten a single bite all day, yet hunger was the last thing on her mind. She sat on the bed, curling up with her knees drawn to her chest.

She tried closing her eyes, but sleep evaded her. Her thoughts kept circling back to Shivaay—his words, his anger, the way he had looked at her. Why did it hurt so much? Why did his actions feel so personal when she had barely begun to understand him?

Clutching her dupatta tightly, she whispered into the silence, "Why is this happening to me? Am I really so wrong to hope for some peace, some respect?"

The night stretched on, heavy and quiet. The occasional sound of crickets outside was the only indication of time passing. As much as she wanted to block out her thoughts and rest, her heart refused to calm down.

The faint creak of the main gates outside reached Niharika’s ears. Lying on the bed, she instinctively knew her husband was finally back. Despite hearing the sound, she didn’t move. She remained still, staring at the ceiling, her emotions a storm she couldn’t quiet.

Moments later, the door to the room opened. Shivaay stepped inside, his tall frame casting shadows in the dim light. His piercing gaze fell on her. For a few seconds, he simply stood there, his eyes scanning her figure lying motionless on the bed.

Without a word, he turned and entered the bathroom. The faint sound of running water filled the silence as he changed into his nightclothes. Emerging from the bathroom, he glanced at her once more, his face unreadable, before leaving the room again.

Niharika sat up slowly, the silence now replaced by a growing sense of unease. She wondered why he hadn’t said anything or stayed. Her thoughts turned to the day’s events, each moment weighing heavily on her heart. Shaking herself out of her stupor, she quietly stepped out of the room to check on him.

The light spilling out from the kitchen caught her attention. She walked toward it, her steps soft and hesitant. As she reached the doorway, she saw him standing near the counter. His back was to her, and he seemed lost in thought, his shoulders stiff with tension.

It struck her then—he hadn’t eaten anything the entire day, not since breakfast. She realized his temper and actions had consumed him just as much as they had hurt her.

Quietly, she entered the kitchen and switched on the lights. The sudden brightness startled him, and he turned to look at her. For a moment, their eyes met, but no words were exchanged.

Niharika moved past him, her hands going instinctively to the fridge. She pulled out the leftover litti chokha she had prepared earlier. Shivaay stood silently, his gaze following her as she worked. The sound of the microwave humming filled the room as she heated the food.

Once done, she arranged the meal on a plate with the same care she had earlier when serving the family. Taking the plate, she walked up to him and extended it.

“Here is your dinner,” she said softly, her voice devoid of emotion.

He looked at her, his expression unreadable. As she turned to leave, his voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

She froze, the question taking her by surprise. After a moment, she turned to face him. “No,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He frowned, his brow furrowing. “Why not?”

Her eyes met his then, brimming with hurt. “After...everything that happened today, I don’t have any appetite, Rana Sa,” she said, the pain in her voice cutting through the heavy air.

For a moment, he said nothing. His jaw clenched, and his fingers gripped the edge of the counter. Then, in a softer tone, though still commanding, he spoke.

“You need to eat,” he said, his voice steady.

She shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

He took a step closer to her, his eyes locking onto hers. “You are the queen of this family now. As such, you have responsibilities. Skipping meals isn’t an option—not for you, not for Jaipur. You need your strength.”

His words carried a weight that left no room for argument. She hesitated, torn between her emotions and his undeniable reasoning. Finally, with reluctance, she moved back to the counter and began setting up another plate for herself.

They sat at the kitchen table, an unspoken truce hanging between them. The silence was thick, the tension from earlier still palpable. She ate quietly, taking only two littis. Her movements were slow, almost mechanical, and she avoided looking at him.

Shivaay, too, ate without saying a word. Yet his eyes occasionally flickered to her, observing her fragile state. He said nothing, but deep within him, a strange turmoil brewed—a guilt he wasn’t ready to confront.

The night stretched on in the quiet kitchen, with the only sounds being the clinking of plates and the occasional rustle of movements. The storm of the day was far from over, but in that moment, they both allowed themselves a brief respite.

After finishing their silent dinner, Niharika quietly gathered the plates and began cleaning up. Shivaay remained seated for a moment, watching her with a mix of unreadable emotions. He didn’t offer to help, nor did he leave immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the table as if lost in thought.

When she finally turned to him, wiping her hands on a towel, she said softly, “You should rest. It’s late.”

He gave a slight nod, stood up, and walked past her without a word, heading back to their room.

Niharika lingered for a moment in the kitchen, her mind racing with everything that had transpired throughout the day. She felt an ache in her chest, a heaviness she couldn’t shake. Taking a deep breath, she turned off the lights and followed him.

When she entered the room, she found him already lying on his side of the bed, his back to her. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast long shadows, emphasizing the distance between them despite their proximity.

She changed into her night suit, draping her dupatta loosely around her shoulders. The soft rustling of fabric was the only sound as she prepared for bed.

Slipping under the covers, she kept as much space between them as possible, lying on her side with her back to him. The silence in the room was deafening, filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

Neither of them spoke or moved. The tension lingered, but exhaustion eventually began to take over.

As the night deepened, both drifted into a restless sleep, the events of the day replaying in their minds. While their bodies rested, their hearts remained heavy, burdened by the weight of misunderstandings and unexpressed feelings.

The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight filtered into the room, Niharika woke up early as usual. Stretching slightly, she rose from the bed and walked toward the bathroom, careful not to disturb Shivaay, who was still fast asleep.

After a refreshing bath, she emerged, her hair damp and glistening as it cascaded over her shoulders. Draping her saree neatly and securing her mangalsutra, she glanced toward the bed and saw her husband, Shivaay Singh Ranawat, still in deep slumber. His strong, stoic face looked peaceful in his sleep, a sharp contrast to his otherwise intense demeanor.

She couldn’t help but pause for a moment, observing him. The sight was rare—Shivaay, free of his usual cold and guarded expression. A soft smile played on her lips, and in a barely audible whisper, she muttered, “Nishachar” (night wanderer).

Shaking her head at the thought, she quietly turned back to continue getting ready, applying a light touch of sindoor to her forehead and adjusting her chudi. Despite the heaviness lingering from the previous night, her routine brought her some solace, grounding her in her responsibilities.

As she moved around the room, organizing her things, she kept her steps light, ensuring she didn’t wake him. There was much to do, as always, and she resolved to keep herself occupied, determined to maintain her composure no matter what the day held.

Niharika stepped out of the room quietly, her dupatta draped neatly over her shoulder. Shivaay stirred slightly as she closed the door behind her, the soft sound of her bangles fading into the distance.

He opened his eyes slowly, blinking against the morning light filtering through the curtains. His gaze instinctively shifted toward the dressing table, now empty. A sigh escaped his lips as he checked the clock on the wall.

“Oh God,” he muttered under his breath, ruffling his hair in mild frustration. “I missed seeing her get ready.”

The thought lingered in his mind for a moment—a small but cherished routine he never admitted to enjoying. Watching her delicately drape her saree, adjust her mangalsutra, and apply her sindoor had become something he secretly looked forward to. It was a fleeting glimpse into her world, a quiet moment of grace and beauty that often left him captivated.

Now, with her already gone, he leaned back against the headboard, his mind wandering as he thought about her—his wife, the woman who managed to stir something deep within him despite his best efforts to remain indifferent.

With a deep breath, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, preparing to face the day ahead, though the faint trace of her presence lingered in the air.