The house had been full that evening—relatives from Veeresh’s extended family had come over, laughter and chatter echoing in the halls. Poornima had been helping in the kitchen, serving tea and snacks with her usual quiet grace.

But amidst the warmth of family, a comment landed like a sharp stone in still water.

One of the older aunties, sipping tea, turned to Poornima with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Beta, it’s been three months since the wedding. No good news yet? You should hurry before time passes.”

Another chimed in, “Yes, children should come early. Otherwise, what’s the use? Young blood shouldn’t be wasted.”

Poornima froze for a second, unsure how to respond. Her cheeks heated, not from shyness but from discomfort. Before she could say a word, Veeresh—who had been quietly sitting in the corner—placed his cup down with a loud thud.

“We got married three months ago,” his voice was calm but laced with steel, “and now you want us to have babies? It is our wish when to have them. If we want, we will. If we don’t, we won’t. No one—absolutely no one—gets to decide that for us.”

The room fell silent. The only sound was the ticking clock on the wall.

He stood up abruptly, giving Poornima one last glance—something between reassurance and frustration—before striding out of the room. His sudden exit left everyone staring, and Poornima standing there, unsure whether to feel proud that he defended her or hurt that he walked away without another word.

Later, when she went to their room, he was sitting by the window, staring out into the dark. He didn’t speak, and she didn’t push. Something in his posture told her this wasn’t just about the taunts—it was about something deeper, something from his past he wasn’t ready to share.

That night, the silence between them was heavier than ever. It was the first small crack in what had seemed like an unshakable bond.