Abhimaan SS-Bounded By Fate

Chapter Nine.

Her eyes flickered downward, immediately noticing their joined hands. The tight grip. The undeniable closeness. And then, as if the reality of it all crashed over her, her cheeks warmed. She quickly pulled her hand away, the abruptness of the action mirrored by Armaan as he withdrew his hand just as hastily. 

Neither spoke. 

The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of the unspoken. Abhira avoided his gaze, her hands fumbling with the edge of the blanket as though it held the answers she sought. Armaan, on the other hand, shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. 

“I— I should get ready,” he finally muttered, his voice low and gruff, breaking the silence. Without waiting for a response, he swung his legs over the bed, the creak of the mattress the only sound that followed. 

Just as he was about to head towards the bathroom, Abhira’s voice stopped him. 

"Mr. Poddar—" 

He paused, his back still facing her. 

“I’m..,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to…” 

Before she could complete her sentence, Armaan turned, shaking his head. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a softness in his eyes. 

"Don’t," he interrupted, his tone firm yet calm. "It’s— it’s fine." 

She opened her mouth to say something, but the words refused to come. He offered a small nod, then walked into the bathroom, leaving her sitting on the bed, her thoughts tangled in the awkwardness of the moment. 

The room once again fell silent, the echoes of their morning lingering in the air.

Abhira stood in the middle of the room, the remnants of the morning’s awkwardness still clinging to her. The soft hum of the air conditioner and the distant chirping of birds from the window barely registered as she stared at the closed bathroom door. 

Why had she apologized? 

The question gnawed at her, unsettling her more than she cared to admit. It was instinctual, the words spilling out before she could stop them. Maybe it was the way she had held his hand so tightly, as though afraid he would disappear. Or maybe it was the sheer intimacy of waking up so close to him, their hands entwined like they belonged there. She had felt it — the undeniable warmth of his skin, the subtle pulse beneath her fingers. It had been a fleeting moment, but it lingered like a trace of warmth after a flame had been extinguished. 

And then there was Armaan. 

The way he had looked at her. She could still see it — that flash of something she couldn’t quite name. He hadn’t been angry. He hadn’t even looked uncomfortable. No, it was something deeper, something that made her pulse quicken and her palms grow clammy. But just as quickly as it had come, he had masked it, retreating behind his usual composed self. 

Still, he had stopped her. 

Abhira’s brows furrowed, her arms wrapping around herself as if to shield from the confusing storm of emotions swirling within. Why had he done that? Why didn’t he let her apologize? Was he just trying to spare her the awkwardness, or was it something more? 

She shook her head. It didn’t matter. 

They weren’t supposed to dwell on things like this. Their marriage wasn’t built on love or affection. It was a decision, a necessity. Armaan was kind, yes. Respectful. But there were no expectations, no reason for her to feel this strange tightness in her chest.