chapter 63

Thulir's POVWrapping myself in a towel, with another tied around my head, I stepped out of the bathroom and headed straight to my walk-in wardrobe. Standing in front of the mirror, I took a closer look at my nose stud—it had faded over time. Shaking my head lightly, I removed it and unlocked the cupboard where I kept my jewelry. I pulled out the box filled with nose pins and rings, along with another box containing my toe rings. I'd decided to change those as well.Opening the boxes, I sighed. The real trouble had begun—choosing the right one. Every piece was handpicked with care, each holding its own charm, making it impossible to pick a favorite. Since I'd already decided to go for a nose ring, I set aside the nose pins to narrow down my options. One by one, I held up the rings near my nose, trying to imagine how they'd look. That's when my eyes landed on a particular nose ring.Ah, how could I have forgotten about this one? A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I remembered wearing it during my baby shower. Despite its simplicity, I had insisted on wearing it that day. Unlike the others, this ring carried a story—a history that made it special.I smiled, a mix of satisfaction and shyness filling me as the memories came rushing back. That day, he had left abruptly, and I was too angry to acknowledge him. But my stubbornness didn't last long. He had to leave urgently because of a stampede at an election rally in his jurisdiction. The political party responsible hadn't even obtained police permission, and the chaos unfolded suddenly. He had to step in to control the situation and resolve the issues. I only learned about it the next day through the news.That's when the guilt hit me. He had taken time out of his packed schedule to visit me, and then this crisis forced him to leave immediately. I knew he must have been under immense stress, juggling the tension and pressure of the situation. On top of that, I had fought with him and hadn't even said goodbye. I couldn't stop blaming myself. I tried calling him repeatedly, but he didn't answer. Knowing how busy he must be, I started sending him voice notes and messages, apologizing over and over. But there was no reply.The news coverage showed the escalating tension in the region, which only heightened my worry. I desperately wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay, and to apologize in person. But the only message I received from him was a firm instruction: not to contact him or try to visit until the situation settled down. That option was off the table.To make matters worse, my guilt and anxiety completely derailed my DC meeting. Everything felt like a mess. The same situation dragged on for two weeks, and though I managed to compose myself and shift my focus back to my studies, I couldn't shake the lingering thoughts and worries about him. I kept trying to call, but he never picked up. What made things even worse was the news that goons had attacked him after he arrested a powerful political leader responsible for the rally and stampede. The story was everywhere, and I was terrified.Unable to bear the anxiety, I decided to go see him myself. Just as I was about to board the bus, he called. His voice was calm as he assured me he was fine and asked me not to come, saying the situation wasn't safe. He mentioned he had only a few scratches—nothing serious—but even his reassurance couldn't bring me peace. Another restless day passed.The next morning, I received a parcel from him. Seeing his name on it filled me with both curiosity and anxiety. I opened it immediately and found a small box, a few photos, and a handwritten letter. I recognized his handwriting instantly. The letter was a heartfelt apology, accompanied by his hospital report to reassure me that he was fine. The photos showed him with minor wounds—his way of proving that it was nothing dangerous or serious, just as he had said. It brought me some relief, but the desire to see him in person still lingered.Then I opened the small box, and there it was—a simple yet beautiful nose ring. It was the first gift he had ever given me since we entered the relationship. I put it on immediately and didn't take it off until much later, when he gifted me another one. But this ring remained special. It wasn't just the first gift—it was a symbol of hope during a tough time. It reassured me that he was okay and showed me how much he cared. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry; it was his way of telling me how important I was to him.I knew this wasn't something he had ordered online. He must have gone to the store himself, carefully selecting it. The thought of him doing that, especially in such a tense situation, didn't sit lightly with me. If anyone had spotted him at the store, it could have sparked another issue, and the media would have jumped at the chance to label him as incompetent—something they were already doing.Even in that letter, he mentioned not to come to him and promised that once the situation settled, he would come to see me. I wanted to do something for him—not as a tit-for-tat gesture, but as a way to say sorry from my side. I didn't know what to do at first, but then an idea struck me, and I acted on it immediately. I got a tattoo—a tiny butterfly design near my shoulder, just next to my collarbone. It was a replica of the nose ring's design.When I got back home, I grabbed my vintage instant photo camera. I removed my shirt so the tattoo would be visible and spent ages trying to get the perfect shot. Finally, after countless attempts, I captured the ideal photo—me looking at the tattoo from the side, with the nose ring clearly visible. It was a perfect click, and for that one day, I felt like a professional photographer. I was so proud of myself.Next, I wrote him a letter. That, too, took several tries to get just right. By the time I finished, my room was a mess—papers and discarded photos scattered everywhere. With a sigh, I gathered a few of the failed photos that I still liked, along with the final one and the letter, and sent them to him.And guess what? He kept that photo in his wallet, carrying it with him everywhere. I don't know if it's still there. Last month, when I randomly took his wallet to grab some money, I found a family photo inside—a beautiful picture of me, him, and our daughters. But where was that photo? Had he lost it?I shook my head vigorously. No, he wouldn't have lost it. I was just overthinking. Maybe he had kept it somewhere safe. I reassured myself with that thought, hoping the answer was yes. Taking a deep breath, I sighed.Turning back to the present, I wondered what to wear. My hand instinctively reached for a nighty, but I stopped and looked at myself in the mirror. I don't know why, but I felt different—maybe even beautiful, for the first time in a long while, without letting insecurities cloud my mind. Nighties always made me feel worse about myself, so I ditched the idea. Closing that section, I moved to the kurti section. Hmm, no. I wasn't going out, so that didn't feel right either.Then, almost instinctively, I opened the saree section. A small smile crept onto my lips as my hands brushed over the soft fabric. These were my sarees, my collection. Ammu had her own vast collection, including her mother's sarees, which she maintained perfectly. But after I became a lecturer, I started buying sarees for myself—simple ones, mostly mul cotton sarees, soft and comfortable. Wearing them always made me feel beautiful. I used to be so particular about matching sarees with jewelry, but I'd forgotten that part of myself after I stopped working. Now, I wanted to rediscover it.I picked a turquoise saree with a navy-blue border. This one was special—it was one of those I used to wear just to tease my husband. The blouse was backless, held together by a single knot. Since it was a tie-up blouse, I didn't have to worry about the fit, which was a win. And since it was nighttime and I wasn't going anywhere, I decided to skip the bra and panties. Biting my lower lip, I walked back to the mirror, removed the towel, and tossed it aside. Turning this way and that, I admired myself. I looked alluring, and for once, I smiled with satisfaction.I slipped on the petticoat first, then the blouse. I didn't tie the knot at the back just yet. Instead, I unwrapped the towel from my head, letting my long, luscious wet hair fall freely. Shaking my head, I ran my fingers through my hair, only to have them get stuck in the tousled strands. I sighed. I should brush it. After detangling my fingers, I looked at myself in the mirror again. Something was missing. Then I spotted it—a sticker bindi on the mirror itself. Without leaving the wardrobe, I peeled it off and pressed it between my brows, making sure it was perfectly in place.Now it was perfect. Smiling at my reflection, I took a deep breath, gave myself a playful flying kiss in the mirror, and finally reached back to tie the knot of the blouse. It was tricky, and after several failed attempts, I was still struggling."So, how long are you going to pretend I'm not here?" came his deep, familiar voice.I rolled my eyes.The nose ring