ASSIGNMENT: LOVE YOU

CHAPTER 4

The bell rang sharply, signaling the end of another lecture. I quickly gathered my notes, trying to avoid the flood of students rushing to leave the classroom. 

   I wasn't in the mood for small talk, and frankly, I just wanted to be alone for a while. But, of course, Krutika had other plans.

   "Professor Singhania, wait!" I heard her voice—soft yet determined. My stomach twisted. I could never get used to her voice, no matter how hard I tried.

   I didn't turn around immediately. What was I supposed to say to her? I didn't want to face her right now. But somehow, I knew I couldn't walk away either.

   I sighed and reluctantly faced her. "What is it, Krutika?"

   She walked up to me, her footsteps slower than usual, hesitant almost. "I need to talk to you. Just for a minute."

   I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my cool. "We've talked enough, Krutika. There's no need for more conversations. Not now."

   But she wasn't giving up that easily. Her eyes softened as she closed the distance between us, her hand reaching out slightly, almost like she was unsure whether to touch me. I instinctively took a step back, the space between us widening.

   Her gaze faltered for a second, but she pushed through. "I know we're not supposed to talk about this in public, but I just wanted to see you for a minute. Are you okay?"

   I didn't know how to answer her. Am I okay? That was a loaded question. I had no idea what I was doing. I felt lost, like I was stuck in a maze of my own making.

   "Are you asking me if I'm okay?" I couldn't keep the irritation from creeping into my voice. "Krutika, we just got married. You think I'm just fine? We're both caught in this mess together."

   She flinched, and I immediately regretted my words. But it was too late to take them back. "I know you're not fine," she whispered. "But I'm just trying to make sure you're not burying everything inside."

   I could feel my temper rising again. "I'm fine. I don't need anyone's help. I've handled worse on my own."

   Krutika didn't say anything for a while, letting my words hang in the air between us. It felt like a distance had grown, both physically and emotionally. 

   The noise from the bustling hallway faded into the background, and it was just the two of us, standing in the empty classroom.

   "Devansh," she spoke again, softer this time, almost like she was afraid. "I know you're not ready to talk, but I need you to know... I'm not just your wife because of some arrangement. I care about you. Even if you don't feel the same way."

   Her words pierced through me like a sharp knife. I turned my face slightly to avoid looking at her. But it was no use. 

   I could feel her gaze burning into me, and something inside me twisted in an unfamiliar way. Was I supposed to care about her too? Was that even possible?

   "I don't need you to care about me," I said, my voice coming out a little harsher than I intended. "We don't need to pretend, Krutika. We both know this marriage isn't about love."

   Her eyes clouded over, and I could see the sadness creeping into her expression. But she didn't back down. She stayed firm, her posture unwavering. "I know it's not love. But that doesn't mean we can't build something together. We don't have to let this be just a contract."

   I couldn't believe she was saying this. It felt like I was trapped in a dream. "You're dreaming, Krutika," I said, my tone dripping with sarcasm. "This is just a business deal. Nothing more. I don't know why you're holding onto something that's never going to happen."

  She nodded slowly, a sad, almost understanding smile on her face. "But I don't want to give up on this."

   Her words hit me hard. I could feel the frustration building inside me. I wasn't ready for this. I wasn't ready to let someone else in. I had never been. And now, Krutika was asking me to open up—to trust her in ways I didn't think I could.

   "I don't need your sympathy," I said through clenched teeth. "I don't need your pity."

   But she wasn't giving up. "It's not sympathy, Devansh."

   A strange sensation stirred within me. Her words, her sincerity—it was hard to ignore. I stood there, speechless, feeling the weight of everything she was offering. She cared. She wanted to try.

   But I didn't know how to let her.

   "Or maybe— you're just a trophy wife," I muttered, desperate to escape before the emotions choking me could spill out. 

   Without waiting for her to respond, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding in my chest.

   Later that evening, I sat in my room. It felt like a— sanctuary, a place where I could drown out the noise of the outside world. But despite the silence, my mind was anything but still. Krutika's words haunted me.

   "I'm not just your wife because of some arrangement. I care about you."

   Why was that so hard to ignore? Why couldn't I just let it go like I had with everything else? I had to admit it—her presence, her words— they kept me awake long into the night, and I didn't know what to do with them.

   A knock at the door broke my thoughts, and I looked up, irritated. "What is it?"

   The door opened slightly, and there she was. Krutika, standing in the doorway, holding a small cup of coffee in her hands. Her face was soft, and that gentle smile was still there, even after everything.

   "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," she said, her voice laced with sincerity. "But I thought if I could bring you some coffee."

   I stared at her for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She was always so patient with me, so understanding. And that irritated me, because I didn't deserve it. I didn't deserve her kindness, her patience.

   "It's fine," I said quickly, brushing it off, trying to hide the vulnerability I felt. "Nothing to worry about."

   But she didn't leave. She stood there, not pushing, but waiting—waiting for me to let her in.

   "Have you ever let anyone in?" she asked, her voice soft, almost fragile.

   I didn't have an answer for her. I had never let anyone in—not truly. Not like this. And I wasn't sure I was ready to change.

   "I know you're not ready to talk about this," she continued, her voice quiet but full of understanding. "But I'm here. I'm here when you're ready."

   Her words were like a balm to a wound I didn't even know I had. But I didn't know how to respond. I wasn't ready. I didn't know how to open up.

   "I'm not..." I started, but my voice faltered. I wasn't ready to admit anything, not to her, not to myself.

   "You're not ready," she finished for me, her smile gentle. "And that's okay. I know. But I'll wait. I'm not going anywhere."

   Her words, simple as they were, held so much weight. I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. I looked away, trying to hide the emotions that were threatening to spill over.

   "I know," I said softly, barely a whisper.

   She smiled, patting my head. "Then that's enough for now."

   "Stop doing that. You're being annoying." I muttered.

   "Am I now?" she whispered. 

   "o-of course." I said, trying to avoid her gaze.

   "I thought you loved being pampered." She smiled. 

   "I don't. And who told you that?"

   "Dadi," she said softly.

   "Of course it's her." I sighed, turning away from her. 

   And for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel like I was... alone?