Chapter 15: Wanting Her Without Forcing Her

The invitation came in the afternoon.

An office party.
Team celebration.
Families invited.

“Bring your wife also,” his colleague said casually, smiling.

Veeresh smiled back and said, “Okay.”

But the moment he ended the call, the smile faded.

He sat at his desk for a long time, staring at the screen without seeing the code in front of him.

My wife.

The word still felt heavy.

Poornima was talking to him now—yes. She spoke politely, calmly, sometimes even normally. But she wasn’t with him. Not really. There was still a distance, invisible but firm. She shared space, not life. Trust, not love. Tolerance, not acceptance.

And he knew why.

How could she forget?

The mandap where he tied the thali without her consent.
Her parents slapping her.
The words “You are dead to us.”
His own family.
The village.
The way her character was dragged through mud for his mistake.

How could any woman walk past that and smile at a party?

That evening, he came home quietly. Poornima was sitting with her laptop open, notes spread out. Her phone lay beside her, screen dark—but he knew she had tried calling again. Different numbers. Different timings. Still no response.

His chest tightened.

If he asked her to come to the party, it would feel like another demand. Another force. Another place where she would have to pretend she was okay.

He had broken her once.

He wouldn’t do it again.

During dinner, he hesitated, then spoke carefully.

“There’s… an office party,” he said. “They asked me to bring my wife.”

She looked up briefly. No expression. No reaction.

After a moment, she said, “Okay.”

Just that.

But he knew that “okay” didn’t mean yes. It meant I heard you.

Veeresh put his spoon down.

“You don’t have to come,” he said softly.
“I won’t feel bad. I understand.”

She looked at him then—really looked at him.

“I know,” she said. “I’m not ready.”

He nodded.

“I won’t force you,” he said. “Not now. Not ever.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t sharp. It was honest.

That night, Veeresh lay awake longer than usual.

His heart wanted her beside him—standing with him, being introduced as his wife, sharing a normal moment like other couples.

But his conscience reminded him—

She didn’t choose this marriage.
She chose survival.

And if loving her meant waiting, then he would wait.

Not because he owned her.

But because he owed her.

Outside, the city slept.

Inside, Veeresh made another silent promise—

One day, if Poornima ever stands beside him openly,
it will not be because of a thali,
or society,
or obligation.

It will be because she chose him.

And until then,
he would love her quietly, patiently,
from the space she allowed him.