The Morning of Small Beginnings

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow on the quiet room.

Poornima opened her eyes slowly.

No dream had come to her — just the heaviness of a new life. A new name. A new man sleeping beside her.

She quietly got up from the bed, careful not to wake Veeresh. His arm was still lazily resting across where she had been lying.

She moved like a whisper.

She picked a simple cotton saree — pale peach with delicate silver borders. No heavy jewellery. Just soft glass bangles, the red of her wedding still clinking gently.

She braided her hair simply, tucked a small jasmine flower in it.

As she turned to walk out—

> “We need to go to the temple,” came Veeresh’s husky voice from behind.

She turned.

He was still on the bed, hair messy, voice half-sleepy but direct.

> “In our tradition, we go the next morning. My suit’s in the closet.”

> “Okay,” she replied softly, nodding.

He stretched and walked into the bathroom to freshen up.

Poornima walked to the closet. Among many suits — her hand stopped at one.

Navy blue. Sharp. Elegant.

Her favourite colour.

She placed it neatly on the bed. Then walked out to the kitchen.

---

In the Kitchen

The kitchen was massive. Steel. Marble. Organized.

An older maid looked up in surprise. “Bahu...?”

> “I just thought I’ll make breakfast.”

The maid blinked. “Saab likes tea. And poha, actually.”

Poornima paused. Then smiled. A genuine little chuckle escaped her lips.

> “He likes poha?” she said in disbelief.

It felt... normal. Almost too human for someone like Veeresh Rathore.

The kitchen filled with a gentle clinking of pans and the smell of mustard seeds popping in hot oil.

She added peanuts, turmeric, a pinch of sugar — just the way she liked it. Just maybe… the way he would too.

She poured the tea, letting the cardamom bloom.

---

In the Dining Hall

Veeresh walked in. Freshly bathed. Wearing the navy blue suit she had chosen.

Their eyes met for a second. He noticed. Didn’t comment.

He sat down.

Poornima quietly placed the plate of poha and a cup of tea in front of him.

He took a bite.

Paused.

> “You made this?” he asked.

She nodded.

> “It’s good,” he muttered.

And he kept eating. No smile. No compliment.

But he finished every bite.

---

The Drive to the Temple

The car was silent. He sat with his phone. She looked out the window, the world slowly waking up.

Two strangers in one car. One bond.

A morning that held no promises — but maybe, a beginning.

And together, without a word more, they drove off to the temple.