Purnima wiped her hands on the kitchen towel, staring at the closed bedroom door. Last night’s fight with Rajat still echoed in her mind—his sharp words, her cold silence. The house felt like a battlefield, frozen in the aftermath of war.
She sighed, stepping onto the balcony. The morning sunbathed the city in gold, the chai stall downstairs buzzing with life. She inhaled deeply, the aroma of fresh ginger tea filling her senses. ‘What am I doing?’ she thought. Clutching past bitterness was like wearing an old, suffocating cloak. Maybe she couldn’t erase what had happened, but she could choose how this morning unfolded.
With a quiet resolve, she brewed two cups of tea and walked into their room. Rajat was sitting at the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, his face still clouded with the weight of last night.
She placed the cup beside him. “Truce?” she asked, her voice softer than she’d expected.
He looked up, surprised. “You’re not still angry?”
She sat beside him, stirring her tea. “I was. But I realized something. We keep dragging yesterday into today. And that’s exhausting.”
He exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know how to change that. Every time we argue, I feel like we’re stuck in the same loop.”
Purnima took a sip before speaking. “Maybe we don’t need to win arguments. Maybe we need to understand each other better.”
Rajat’s fingers tightened around his cup. “And how do we do that?”
She smiled slightly. “By listening. Without planning a counterattack.”
A flicker of something passed through his eyes—doubt, hope, guilt? “Okay,” he said, setting his cup down. “I’ll go first. Last night… I wasn’t really upset about the mess in the kitchen. It was just… a long day, and I felt unseen.”
Her heart clenched. “You felt unseen?”
He nodded. “I know you do so much. But sometimes, I feel like I don’t matter enough in your world.”
Purnima’s chest tightened. “Rajat, I—” She hesitated, her throat dry. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”
He shrugged, looking down. “I never say it. I just… react.”
A long silence stretched between them. Then, she reached for his hand. “I don’t want us to be two people just reacting to each other’s worst moments. I want us to see each other, even on the bad days.”
Rajat turned his palm up, lacing his fingers through hers. The tension in the room softened, like a breeze had swept through, clearing the air.
She squeezed his hand. “Let’s change the pattern. Let’s start fresh every day.”
He exhaled, the ghost of a smile forming. “Fresh start, huh?”
She nodded. “Fresh start.”
The tea between them had cooled, but something warmer had taken its place. And just like that, the course of their future shifted—not with grand apologies, but with quiet understanding and a willingness to begin again.