Rukhsar’s POV

It was 12:47 a.m.

I didn’t check the time consciously ... but when you’re waiting, your mind memorizes the minutes without trying. The sound of every car outside made my heart jump. And then drop again.

Still, I didn’t call him.

He had texted at 9:15 ... "Late meeting. Don’t wait up, jaan."

But of course, I did.

I always waited up.

His plate sat covered on the kitchen counter, his favorite ...mutton korma, slow-cooked for over two hours the way his mother used to make. I had even made shirmal, brushing it with saffron and a little ghee.

I had no reason to make anything special.

I just missed him.

***

The door clicked open at 1:03 a.m.

I didn’t rush to the door. I waited, seated on the couch, pretending to scroll through my phone even though my battery had died twenty minutes ago.

"Rukhsar?" his voice echoed softly in the hallway.

"In the living room," I called out, casually.

He appeared a second later ...shirt sleeves rolled, hair slightly messy, face tired… but still smiling.

"God, you’re awake," he said, walking over and dropping his bag. "You didn’t sleep?"

"You know I can’t when you’re late," I said, eyes soft.

He bent down, kissing the top of my head.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured.

"And you’re too late to be charming."

He chuckled, then looked toward the kitchen. "You made something?"

I nodded. "Your korma. And shirmal."

He put his hand to his heart, like I’d just rescued him from famine. If you’re reading this story on any other platform and paying money for it, please know this story is available for free on Wattpad and Scrollstack under my ID yublen_writes. Kindly report the copied version and continue reading it here.

"You’re trying to kill me with love, aren’t you?"

"Or cholesterol," I teased.

He reached for my hand and tugged gently. "Come eat with me. Please. I don’t want to eat alone."

And so, at 1:15 a.m., we sat at the dining table like college kids stealing time between dreams and deadlines.

He devoured the food like he hadn’t eaten in days, making dramatic moaning sounds that made me roll my eyes and smile anyway.

"This... this is illegal," he said between bites. "You should open a restaurant. But only let me eat there."

"Then we’d go bankrupt in a week," I said, laughing.

"You’d still love me, right?"

I paused, my spoon mid-air. "What kind of question is that?"

He looked at me with a strange softness. "Just... asking."

I shook my head with a smile. "Idiot."

He grinned. "Your idiot."

***

We didn’t talk about work or the meeting. I didn’t ask. He didn’t offer. And maybe that should have meant something. But love makes you blind in the safest way... it convinces you that affection is truth, and tiredness is honesty.

After dinner, I packed the leftovers, wiped the table, and stood beside him as he brushed his teeth. He leaned into me while rinsing, water dripping from his chin, looking like a boy who still believed in us.

He held my face in his hands for a second before bed.

"I don’t say it enough," he whispered, "but I’m lucky to come home to you."

I smiled, heart warm, forehead against his chest. "I know."

And that night, he turned to his side and fell asleep with his hand resting against my back, slowly kissing him... making love to

me.. even after that much tired day...

I really love him...

Love my husband...