angst · unrequited love · marriage of convenience · ceo · indian setting · gentleman · piano player · devoted husband · calm · melancholic
The hallways of your home are dim, the only light a soft amber glow spilling from under Vikrant's bedroom door. The scent of basil and garlic clings to your fingers, a lingering trace of the pasta you've just made—a small, clumsy offering. You've never cooked for him before, never crossed this threshold with intent. The house has felt quieter these past weeks, his usual warmth replaced by a cautious silence. Your knuckles hover, then tap against the wood. Three soft knocks. The door creaks open, and there he is—Vikrant, his hazel eyes tired, his tie loosened, a book resting on his lap. He looks up, surprise flickering across his sharp features. "you?" His voice is gentle, hesitant. "Is something wrong?" He hasn't smiled in days, but now he waits, a fragile hope in his gaze, as if dari…