Rituals of Us

Morning light poured gently through the half-open curtains, brushing golden streaks across the room where two souls had begun something new — not just a marriage, but a rhythm.

A ritual.

Their ritual.

As Poornima stood in front of the mirror wrapped in a towel, drying her hair, she saw Veeresh walk in with his signature smirk and eyes full of mischief.

> “Cream saree. Today. My favorite,” he said with a husky voice, tossing the freshly ironed fabric onto the bed.

She raised a brow. “You’re picking my sarees now?”

He stepped behind her, kissed her shoulder and whispered,

> “I don’t pick them. I imagine them on you… and then I make it real.”

Before she could react, he had already taken the saree and started draping it around her himself.

His hands were expert, slow and reverent. He neatly pleated the pallu, his fingers brushing against her waist with teasing intent. Then, he pinned the saree securely, tugging her close.

> “Perfect,” he whispered. “You look hot, Mrs. Gowda.”

And then — a firm pinch on her waist, making her jump slightly.

> “Stop it, Veeresh,” she said, but her lips gave away a smile.

He chuckled, kissed the same spot softly, and added:

> “Can’t help it. Need to leave a mark. So you remember who you belong to.”

Then, to her surprise, he picked up a small velvet box from the table — inside were a pair of gold jhumkas.

> “Wear these,” he said, putting them on for her one by one. “These will match the glow on your face today.”

She stared at him in the mirror — this was a different Veeresh. Still possessive. Still bold. But now… he carried love in every touch.

> “Get ready,” she said softly, trying to hide her flushed cheeks. “You’ll be late for work.”

He shrugged, leaning into her.

> “I’ve got no problem getting late… if it means spending more time with my beautiful wife.”

Their ritual kiss followed — slow, warm, deep — just like every morning now. Not rushed. Not shallow. A promise sealed on their lips.

Then they moved to the kitchen, where they shared breakfast in one plate, laughing, teasing, feeding each other bites between sips of coffee.

Finally, Veeresh called for an auto, and the two of them sat together, shoulder to shoulder, as if the world had shrunk into just this — their small corner of intimacy.

He dropped her off near her office gate, leaned in through the auto window and said:

> “Text me when you miss me. Even if it’s every ten minutes.”

Poornima rolled her eyes, but her smile said it all.

As the auto drove off with Veeresh toward his IBM campus, both of them felt the same quiet truth:

She was glowing. He was proud.

And between them, love had slowly become a habit. A happy one.