22. Misunderstanding

Shivaay stretched and got up, shaking off the remnants of sleep. He moved toward the wardrobe, pulling it open to reveal rows of suits, kurtas, and other meticulously organized clothing. His hand paused briefly before he reached for a tailored navy-blue suit. It had been days—weeks, even—since he’d worn formal attire.

With foreign clients visiting today, he couldn’t afford to appear anything less than perfect. The Ranawat name carried a legacy, and he, as its bearer, needed to exude power and elegance.

He slipped on the crisp white shirt, buttoning it with practiced precision, followed by the dark suit jacket that fit him like a second skin. Adjusting his tie in the mirror, he smoothed his hair back, the sharpness of his reflection matching the intensity in his eyes. His watch, a sleek and understated piece, completed the look.

Shivaay glanced at himself in the mirror one last time, satisfied. He hadn’t dressed like this in a while, but today required the aura of the authoritative, unyielding Ranawat.

As he stepped out of the room, his mind briefly flickered to Niharika. A thought crossed his mind—what would she say if she saw him like this? Would her eyes widen in surprise, her lips curl into that soft smile he had grown accustomed to seeing?

Shaking his head at the distraction, he descended the stairs with a commanding presence, ready to conquer the day.

Shivaay stepped into the room, adjusting the cufflinks on his crisp, formal shirt. It was a rare sight—him in formal wear—carefully prepared to meet a group of foreign clients arriving that day. However, just as he was about to step out, a soft, melodious ringtone filled the air, stopping him in his tracks.

The sound was gentle, pleasant, and entirely out of place amidst the grandeur of the Ranawat mansion. His sharp gaze moved toward the source. Sitting on the corner table was a small, modest phone. Its screen glowed faintly, showing an incoming call.

Shivaay frowned as he approached the device. It wasn’t an iPhone or any high-end brand that everyone in the family used. No, this was an inexpensive phone—plain, functional, and completely ordinary. One glance was enough to tell him it belonged to Niharika.

His eyes shifted to the name flashing on the screen: "Love💕💕".

He froze.

"Love? Who the hell is Love?" His mind immediately began spinning. His jaw clenched, and his fists instinctively tightened as an unfamiliar mix of anger and unease settled over him. His earlier guilt from the previous night flickered in his chest, but it was quickly extinguished by a surge of possessiveness.

"She deserved what happened yesterday," he thought defensively. He didn’t know why he had felt guilty in the first place. But now, seeing this… this ridiculous name on her phone, he was furious. Who was this person she was referring to as “Love”?

The buzzing of the phone stopped abruptly, and just then, Niharika walked in.

She wore a stunning red anarkali suit, her dupatta draped gracefully over her shoulder. The vibrant color brought out the delicate features of her face, her vermilion glowing prominently in her hairline. She looked calm, unaware of the storm swirling in Shivaay’s mind.

Shivaay’s piercing gaze locked onto her the moment she entered. He watched her every move, his expression cold and unreadable, though his mind was racing.

Niharika stopped when she noticed him standing there. Her brows furrowed slightly, as if wondering why he was staring at her so intently. Then, she followed his gaze to the phone sitting on the table.

“Oh,” she murmured softly, stepping forward.

Her expression relaxed into a smile as she picked up the phone. Shivaay’s jaw tightened further at how nonchalantly she was acting. She didn’t seem fazed at all.

“Yeah, I’ll call you later,” she said into the phone, her tone light and affectionate. Shivaay’s ears zeroed in on her next words: “Love you, miss you.”

The words were spoken casually, but to him, they were a blow to his pride. His grip on the back of the chair beside him tightened, the veins in his hand becoming visible.

She ended the call and turned toward him, her usual calm demeanor intact. She smiled softly, not registering the storm brewing in his chest.

“Come,” she said, motioning toward the door. “I’ll serve you your breakfast.”

And just like that, she turned and walked out of the room, her steps light and unhurried. Shivaay remained rooted in place, staring after her.

"What the hell just happened?" he thought, his mind churning with questions. Who was on the other end of that call? Who was this “Love” she spoke to so casually, so openly, right in front of him? And why had she smiled so easily when she looked at that name?

The more he thought about it, the tighter his chest felt. He wanted to brush it off, to remind himself that he didn’t care, that she was just playing a role in this arranged marriage. But the scene played in his head on a loop, and the unease grew stronger with every passing second.

For a moment, a flicker of guilt from the previous night resurfaced. He had been harsh, too harsh, perhaps. But no, he shook his head. She deserved it.

Still, there was something about the way she acted—calm, collected, almost unbothered—that irked him. He had never been able to figure her out, and this was no different.

His thoughts spiraled, and he muttered under his breath, “Who the hell are you, Niharika? And who is Love?”

But one thing was certain—Shivaay Singh Ranawat was going to find out.

As Shivaay sat at the dining table, the plate of breakfast before him, his thoughts were far from the food. Niharika had served him with her usual quiet efficiency, her calm demeanor still lingering in his mind. She had smiled at him politely before retreating to the kitchen to finish her chores.

The aroma of the freshly prepared food filled the air, but Shivaay barely touched it. He picked at the food with his fork, eating just enough to satisfy appearances but not enough to calm the growing storm inside him.

Every bite felt heavy, his mind replaying the earlier scene. The phone, the name "Love💕💕," and her affectionate words—Love you, miss you.

His appetite was gone.

Across the room, Niharika worked in silence, organizing the counter and tidying up. She didn’t say a word to him, and he didn’t try to engage her either. The silence between them wasn’t new, but today it felt different—thicker, heavier.

After a few minutes, Shivaay pushed his chair back, the screech of the wood against the floor breaking the silence. Niharika glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable.

He stood, adjusted his cufflinks, and grabbed his phone from the table. Without a word, he turned on his heel and left the dining area, his footsteps echoing in the quiet mansion.

Niharika watched him leave, her eyes lingering on his retreating figure for a moment. She sighed softly, shaking her head, before turning back to her work.

In the hallway, Shivaay’s strides were long and purposeful, but his mind remained clouded. The unease gnawed at him, but he buried it beneath his usual mask of indifference. Work will distract me, he told himself.

But even as he walked out of the mansion, the image of Niharika smiling at that phone screen lingered in his mind, refusing to leave.

As Shivaay left the dining area without finishing his breakfast, Niharika glanced at his plate. He had barely eaten. A frown crept onto her face as she wiped her hands on the edge of her dupatta, her mind swirling with unease.

She stepped closer to the table, her eyes lingering on the untouched food. It wasn’t like him to leave the table like this. Usually, Shivaay was composed, even cold, but today there was something off about his demeanor.

Her thoughts wandered to the moments before breakfast. She had caught him holding her phone, his expression unreadable. The way he had looked at her afterward—it wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t calm either. It was as if he was battling some internal turmoil.

She recalled the call from Kanika, her best friend, and their brief conversation. Was that what bothered him? But why would it? Kanika was like family to her. She shook her head. What could possibly be running through his mind?

Her heart twisted slightly. Despite everything—the coldness, the distance, the moments of tension—Niharika couldn’t help but care about him. That care was part of who she was, ingrained in her nature.

Did something happen at work? she wondered. Or was he still upset over the events of last night?

She sighed, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of the plate he’d left behind. “What has happened to him?” she murmured to herself, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

She decided to give him space, to let him sort through whatever was bothering him. But deep inside, a small part of her hoped he would talk to her, explain himself, or even share a fraction of what he was feeling.

For now, though, she pushed her thoughts aside and resumed her chores, her mind still clouded with unanswered questions.

Feeling restless after Shivaay left the breakfast table without a word, Niharika decided to distract herself. She walked to her room and picked up her phone. Scrolling through the contacts, her eyes stopped at the name Kanika. A soft smile crept onto her face.

Kanika had always been her safe space, her confidant who knew her inside out. Without a second thought, she pressed the call button.

After a couple of rings, a cheerful voice answered, “Finally! I was waiting for your call, madam.”

Niharika chuckled softly. “Sorry, Kanika. Things have been a little... complicated.”

“Complicated?” Kanika’s voice immediately turned concerned. “What happened? Is everything alright?”

Niharika hesitated for a moment, unsure of how much to share. “It’s nothing serious. Just… Shivaay ji. Sometimes I don’t understand him. He left the table without eating properly today, and he’s been acting strange since morning.”

Kanika sighed on the other end. “Nihu, you’ve always tried to understand everyone around you, even those who don’t let you in. But maybe he needs time to figure things out himself. Men like him… they don’t express easily.”

Niharika sat down on the edge of her bed, holding the phone tightly. “I know, Kanika. But it’s not just about this morning. Last night was... difficult. He was so angry, and now he’s so quiet. I can’t figure out if I did something wrong or if he’s dealing with something else.”

Kanika’s tone softened. “Listen to me, Niharika. You’re doing your best. Don’t blame yourself for his behavior. If he’s upset, it’s on him to communicate, not for you to constantly decode.”

Niharika felt a lump in her throat. She looked down at the red chudi on her wrist, the symbols of her new life as Shivaay’s wife. “It’s just hard, Kanika. Sometimes I feel like I’m navigating everything blindfolded. But I don’t want to give up.”

Kanika’s voice was firm but gentle. “And you shouldn’t. You’re stronger than you think, Nihu. But don’t forget to take care of yourself in the process. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

A small, appreciative smile formed on Niharika’s lips. “Thank you, Kanika. You always know what to say.”

Kanika laughed. “Of course I do! I’m your best friend. Now, promise me you’ll focus on yourself too, okay? And call me anytime. You’re not alone in this.”

“I promise,” Niharika whispered, feeling a little lighter.

They talked for a few more minutes, with Kanika trying to cheer her up by sharing a few funny anecdotes about her day. By the time the call ended, Niharika felt a renewed sense of calm.

As she put the phone down, she glanced at the clock. Maybe I’ll try talking to Shivaay again later, she thought. For now, she decided to take Kanika’s advice—to breathe and not overthink.