Chapter 37

Life with Veer was nothing short of magical.

Every day, I woke up to something new—a small surprise, a thoughtful gesture, or just his unwavering attention. It wasn't the grand, sweeping gestures that took my breath away (though there were plenty of those too); it was the little things he did, the way he always made me feel like I was the center of his world.

One morning, I walked into the living room to find a small bouquet of wildflowers on the coffee table. A note attached simply read, You looked like these yesterday—wild and beautiful.

Another evening, after a particularly tiring day at school, I came home to find the lights dimmed and soft music playing. Veer had set up a small dinner for us on the balcony, the table adorned with candles and my favorite dishes.

"You deserve a little romance," he had said with that small, crooked smile of his.

Every gesture, no matter how big or small, reminded me of how deeply he cared for me.

One afternoon, I was sitting in the study, grading papers, when Veer walked in with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Come with me," he said, holding out his hand.

"What now?" I asked, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

"You'll see," he replied cryptically.

He led me to the garage, where a sleek new bicycle was waiting, complete with a basket at the front.

"I remembered you said you used to love cycling as a kid," he explained, his voice soft. "Thought you might like to do it again."

I stared at the bike, overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness behind the gift. "Veer..."

He grinned, pulling me close. "I'd do anything to see you smile like that."

But there was one thing I couldn't quite figure out about Veer—he never seemed to get mad at me.

Even when I was stubborn or made mistakes, he always remained calm, patient, and understanding. It baffled me.

One evening, as we sat together on the couch, I finally asked him, "Why don't you ever fight with me?"

He glanced at me, amused. "Why would I fight with you?"

"Because it's normal!" I said, throwing my hands up in exasperation. "Couples argue, Veer. It's part of being in a relationship."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't see the point of arguing when I'd rather just listen to you."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "That's not fair. I feel like I'm always winning."

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Isn't that a good thing?"

"No," I insisted. "Sometimes, I want you to push back. Show me you're human."

Veer leaned forward, his expression playful. "Alright," he said. "Let's fight."

I blinked, startled. "What?"

"You heard me," he said, his tone mock-serious. "You're always leaving the cap off the toothpaste, and it's driving me insane."

I burst out laughing. "I do not!"

"You do," he countered, folding his arms. "And another thing—your hairpins are everywhere. I found one in my sock drawer this morning."

My laughter grew louder, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. "Okay, okay, I get it. You don't have to pretend."

Veer softened immediately, reaching out to take my hand. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice gentle. "I can't stand the idea of upsetting you, even if it's fake."

I shook my head, smiling. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"And you love me for it," he replied, pressing a kiss to the back of my hand.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, I realized more and more how much Veer had changed my life.

He wasn't just my husband—he was my partner in every sense of the word. He made me laugh when I wanted to cry, held me when I needed strength, and reminded me every day that love didn't have to be complicated.

It was in the small moments, the shared glances, and the quiet laughter that I found the greatest joy.

And as I leaned against his shoulder one evening, watching the sunset together, I couldn't help but feel grateful.

For him. For us. For this life we were building together.

It started with a slight tickle in my throat, nothing serious—just the kind of thing that comes with changing weather. But by the next morning, I was a mess.

My head felt heavy, my nose was stuffy, and every inch of me ached. Still, I tried to push through, determined not to let a cold slow me down.

"You're not going to school," Veer declared as soon as he saw me shuffle into the living room, wrapped in a blanket.

"I'm fine," I croaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You can barely speak, and you look like you're about to collapse. No."

I tried to argue, but he was already pulling out his phone to call the school and inform them I wouldn't be coming in.

From that moment on, Veer refused to leave my side.

He made me sit on the couch with a pile of pillows and a warm quilt, ensuring I was as comfortable as possible. Then he disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug of ginger tea.

"Drink this," he said, handing it to me.

I wrinkled my nose. "It smells awful."

"And it'll make you feel better," he countered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I took a tentative sip, grimacing at the strong, spicy flavor.

"Good," he said, sitting beside me and watching me like a hawk. "Now finish it."

As the day went on, Veer hovered around me like an overprotective shadow.

He made me soup, fluffed my pillows, and even brought out one of my favorite movies to distract me. Every time I tried to get up to do something, he'd gently push me back down.

"Tara, you're sick," he said for the hundredth time. "Let me take care of you."

"But you're busy," I protested weakly.

"Not as busy as I'll be if you get worse," he replied, smoothing the blanket over my lap.

When evening came, I tried to convince him to go to bed while I rested on the couch, but he refused.

"I'm not leaving you alone," he said firmly, sitting down beside me.

"Veer, I'm fine," I insisted.

"You're not," he replied, his gaze soft but unyielding. "And until you are, I'm staying right here."

I sighed, too tired to argue, and leaned against his shoulder.

What struck me most was how attentive he was to every small detail.

When my nose started running, he handed me tissues before I even realized I needed them. When I started coughing, he brought me a glass of water without a word.

At one point, he gently placed his hand on my forehead, frowning. "You're still warm. I'll get the thermometer."

"Veer, I'm not a child," I muttered, though I secretly appreciated his care.

"No," he said, cupping my cheek gently. "You're my wife. And I'll take care of you whether you like it or not."

As the night wore on and I drifted in and out of sleep, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude.

Veer could've easily left me to rest while he handled his work or other responsibilities, but instead, he stayed. He made me feel loved, cherished, and safe in a way I hadn't experienced before.

And as I dozed off with his hand resting protectively on mine, I realized that even in sickness, life with Veer was full of warmth and love.

He wasn't just my husband—he was my home.