Rukhsar’s POV

It was a Friday evening, and I had just finished lighting the rose-scented candles in the hallway when I heard the doorbell ring.

"Azeem?" I called out, wiping my hands on my dupatta.

He opened the door before I could reach it.

And then... there she was.

He stepped aside, gesturing toward her casually.

"Rukhsar, this is Mehar," he said with a smile, setting his laptop bag down. "She’s the one I was telling you about ... the one handling our Delhi expansion."

She stepped forward ... confident, composed. Maybe mid-twenties. Wearing a crisp ivory kurta, subtle makeup, long black hair pulled into a clean ponytail.

Mehar extended her hand toward me with a respectful smile.

"Ma’am... I’ve heard so much about you," she said politely.

I smiled back and joined my hands instead. "Welcome to our home."

He turned to her and added, "And this... is Rukhsar. My wife. My peace. My favorite person."

My cheeks warmed at his words.

There was a time when I used to hear things like that every week.

Now... it felt like a well-practiced line. A compliment he had saved for company.

Still, I smiled. Because that’s what wives do.

"Come in," I said, leading them to the living room. "I’ve just made elaichi chai... hope you don’t mind strong tea."

***

She sat gracefully, legs crossed at the ankle. Observing everything. Not judging ... just... aware.

I noticed the way Azeem spoke to her. Direct, focused, admiring. His tone was proud. Not flirty. Just... different. Sharper. More engaged.

They discussed work while I served tea. Their words overlapped like old friends ...inside jokes about meetings, quirky clients, delayed shipments. Things I had never heard before.

Things he never told me.

I placed a tray of kaju barfi between them and sat on the single-seater across the room.

"So, Mehar," I said gently, "how long have you been working with Azeem?"

"Almost seven months now," she replied, stirring her tea.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.

"He’s been incredibly supportive. I was new to this sector... but he trusted me with real responsibilities from the start."

He smiled. "She earned it. Mehar is brilliant. Handles things better than most men I’ve hired."

I nodded. "That’s wonderful. Hardworking women are rare these days."

She smiled politely. "Thank you, ma’am. But honestly... he makes it easy. The way he explains things, the clarity he gives ... it's not like working under a boss. It’s more like... a team."

I glanced at him. He looked away, sipping his tea.

A strange silence followed. Not awkward. Just... noticeable.

I broke it with a smile. "You’ve had a long day. Let me get dinner started."

"No no, let’s order," Azeem interjected, standing. "You’ve already done enough. Mehar hasn’t eaten all day either ... she’s been running around since morning."

My hands froze on the teacup.

He used to say that about me.

He used to notice those things... about me.

But I nodded anyway. "Sure. Whatever you both like."

****

Later, as they sat laughing over some office joke.. which I clearly didn't understand anything..., I excused myself and went to the kitchen.

I leaned against the counter.

Just stood there.

No tears.

No anger.

Nothing loud.

Just... a stillness I couldn’t explain.

Something in me had shifted. I didn’t know if it was jealousy, or sadness, or something far worse.

That he's not treating me like I'm his centre of world...

What the hell ruksar..

You're overthinking...

Azeem is just trying to make mehar more comfortable in our house ..

He's still your husband.

***

At night...

It was past 1:30 a.m. when I finally turned off the kitchen lights and walked back into the bedroom. The warmth of dinner, the laughter, the quiet clinking of cutlery... it had all faded into shadows now.

Azeem was already in bed ... lying on his back, eyes half-shut, scrolling through his phone in that dim glow that made his face look distant. Not unkind. Just... elsewhere.

I changed silently, slipping into his favorite maroon nightgown. The one he always said made me look like a rose in the dark.

He didn’t notice.

I crawled into bed beside him, resting my head near his shoulder, letting my hand brush his chest lightly. 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.

He smelled like sandalwood soap and a hint of cologne.... the scent of home, the scent of him.

"You’re quiet," I whispered.

He turned to look at me briefly, smiling. "Just tired, jaan."

"You worked so hard today," I murmured, curling closer to him.

He sighed, fingers running through my hair for a moment.

"Mehar handled the entire vendor mess by herself," he said suddenly, eyes still on the ceiling. "I honestly don’t know how she manages it all. She's just... relentless. Doesn't complain. Doesn't hesitate."

I stayed still.

He continued, almost in admiration. "Even when everything’s falling apart, she doesn’t panic. I don’t think I’ve seen that kind of drive in anyone before."

There was nothing bitter in his tone. No flirtation.

Just praise ... pure and clean. But somehow... that hurt more.

I let his words settle into my chest like dust.

"You never used to talk like that about anyone," I said softly, barely audible.

He turned slightly. "Hmm? Have you said something"

"Nothing," I smiled faintly. "I’m glad she’s good. It’s good to have capable people around."

He nodded. "Exactly."

I shifted, resting my hand gently on his chest, fingertips trailing down. Just a little. Just enough to ask ... without words ...for something more than silence tonight.

Something intimate.

Familiar.

Ours.

He kissed my forehead.

"Not tonight, Rukhsar," he said, voice kind. "I’m really exhausted."

I paused. Pulled my hand back slowly. "Of course."

He turned to the side.

I watched his back for a long time.

****

I wasn’t angry.

I wasn’t even disappointed.

Just... aware.

That love was still here ... in gestures, in habit, in kindness.

But the desire... the hunger... the spark?

It wasn’t.

And I wondered quietly, not for the first time...

He never used to say no to me..

Even after return

ing at 1 or 2 ... We used made love...

Shut up ruksar... Maybe he's really tired..

Ofcourse he's a businessmen...

Be an understanding good wife..

Don't be a burden on him...