Chapter 3: Silent Mornings & Spilled Tea

The early morning light slipped through the curtains like an uninvited guest. Birds chirped faintly in the background, but inside the room, a strange heaviness lingered.

Poornima stirred first.

Her eyes opened slowly. For a moment, she forgot where she was.

Then it all came flooding back — the wedding, the fight, the kiss… the silence.

She turned her head.

Veeresh was still asleep, his back to her. The distance between them felt like a wall.

With a deep breath, she quietly got up, tied her hair into a bun, wrapped herself in a shawl, and walked into the kitchen.

She wasn’t sure why she was doing it — maybe out of habit, maybe out of guilt, maybe because deep down, she still cared.

She made two cups of tea. The smell of ginger and cardamom filled the air.

When she returned to the room, Veeresh had just woken up, sitting at the edge of the bed, his expression blank.

“Here,” she said softly, extending the cup toward him.

He looked at it… and without saying a word, took it from her hand — and threw it straight into the sink.

The sound of the cup shattering echoed like a slap.

Poornima flinched, stunned.

He didn’t even look at her.

He walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with quiet finality.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Minutes later, he came out freshly dressed — jeans and a crisp white shirt, his face unreadable. Without a glance, he walked straight into the kitchen, toasted two slices of bread, and calmly had his breakfast — without a word.

Poornima stood near the doorway, watching him, her heart sinking deeper with every silent second.

As soon as he finished, he grabbed his bag, slipped on his watch, and walked past her.

Still no eye contact. Still no words.

The front door shut with a hollow thud.

Poornima stood there, her hands clenched into fists.

This wasn’t the Veeresh she knew.

This was a stranger.

And yet, he had kissed her like she was his world.

Wiping her face, she went back inside, changed into her formal churidar, tied her hair, applied a small bindi, and grabbed her office bag.

She locked the door behind her, her steps heavy, heart heavier.

No goodbyes. No breakfast. No closure.

Just silence.

And yet… the ache remained.