The restaurant was noisy — not in a loud, busy way, but in that kind of low, constant murmur where the fans buzz overhead and spoons keep clinking on metal plates. Everyone at their table was either done eating or pretending to be. Only Roshni was still holding her spoon.

She finally picked up her phone.

Rahat didn’t think much of it until he noticed how long she was staring at the screen without moving.

Her face didn’t really change. But her hand froze. The spoon didn’t go to her mouth.

She scrolled. Slowly. Tapped something. Then locked the phone again and put it face-down beside the plate.

He didn’t ask. She didn’t say anything.

But something about the way she blinked — a little faster than normal — made him shift in his seat.

“You okay?” he asked, low.

She took a shallow breath. “Yeah. Just some messages.”

“From home?”

Roshni didn’t answer immediately. Then shrugged. “Friends. People. I might’ve told one where we were.”

Rahat’s throat tightened. “You think they’ll come?”

“I don’t know.” She pushed her plate a little forward, not finished but done anyway. “Let’s go.”

The others were already getting up.

Asif cracked his fingers. “Well then, husband and wife. What’s the plan for tonight?”

Farhan leaned over Rahat. “Yeah, light some candles? Rose petals on the floor?”

Rahat went red instantly.

“Shut up, idiots,” Roshni said, standing. “You sound like drama queens.”

“Oh, we are,” Naim grinned. “Anyway, enjoy your honeymoon at ‘Hotel Mess House’.”

“Don’t worry,” Farhan winked, “if the bed collapses, we’ll know it went well.”

“Go die,” Rahat mumbled, still not meeting anyone’s eyes.

They stepped outside. The street smelled like biryani grease and engine smoke.

The group split near the alley. Just a few half-hugs and quick “byes.” Nobody said anything deep. That’s how boys do it. But still… something hung in the air. Something that felt like this might be the last simple evening for a while.

Back at the house, the first thing Roshni did when she stepped in was let out a long sigh. Not dramatic — just tired. And then she looked around. Slowly. Like she was seeing it properly for the first time.

Rahat stood behind her awkwardly, still holding the key in one hand.

“Sorry, it’s a bit—” he began.

“Messy. Yeah.” She didn’t say it with judgment. Just fact.

Then she walked in. Set her bag down. Looked at the cracked corner of the wall. The half-used shampoo bottle on the table. The shirt thrown over the back of the chair. And the bed — uneven sheet, one pillow.

She pulled her hair back with one hand and took a deep breath through her nose. Then walked over to the corner and started stacking books.

“You don’t have to—” Rahat said.

“Yeah, I know.” She was already picking up the noodle wrappers.

She moved fast, like her body was on autopilot. Every item she moved made a sound. A thud. A creak. A swish of cloth.

She opened her suitcase next — slowly. Took out a plastic hanger. A rolled-up towel. A tiny bottle of rose-scented something. A few clothes. One of them was a yellow salwar kameez that still had a faint fragrance of some kind of powder.

Rahat watched without saying much. He felt like a guest in his own house.

She placed her things on a shelf. Carefully. Like it mattered.

By the time she was done, it was still the same crappy room. But now there was a faint scent of lavender. And less trash on the floor.

Roshni finally sat down at the edge of the bed. “Better.”

He nodded. “Looks like a place people live now.”

She gave a short smile. Not really at him. Just to herself.

He stood there for another minute, unsure what to do.

Then he said, “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

Her smile vanished.

“What?”

“I mean, you can take the bed. It’s yours too. I’ll—”

“You’re my husband.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“Then stop acting like we’re roommates.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“I just thought… you’d want space.”

“You thought wrong,” she said. Her voice didn’t rise, but it didn’t have to.

“I didn’t marry you to feel like a stranger in my own home.” She stared at him now. Eyes sharp. “I already had a house where I felt like that.”

Rahat swallowed. “…Sorry.”

“Just get in bed, okay?”

He obeyed.

She lay down first. Then him. The mattress groaned beneath them. There was hardly any room, but Rahat kept himself to the very edge like he was trying to escape without getting up.

Roshni noticed. Of course she did. But she didn’t say anything.

They stared at the ceiling for a while. Someone outside was playing music on a speaker. Something old. Kishore Kumar maybe.

Then he spoke. Quietly. “So… are you going to reply to those texts?”

“No.”

“…What if they come?”

“Let them.”

He was quiet again.

She turned slightly toward him. Not fully. Just a shift. “You scared?”

He hesitated. “Kind of.”

“Same.”

“…What now?”

“We sleep. We wake up. We figure it out.”

“Okay.”

Another long pause.

“I don’t snore, by the way,” she said.

“I don’t sleep much anyway,” he muttered.

A beat.

Then she added, softly, “Good. You’ll be awake if I push you off the bed.”

For the first time that day, he chuckled.

The room felt too quiet after that.

Too many emotions, not enough space.

They didn’t say goodnight.

But they didn’t need to.