Meera sat at the dinner table, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the silver plate. The meal was nearly over, but the unease still clung to her like a second skin. Kabir had barely spoken to her throughout the evening. His coldness had only grown since the wedding, and tonight, as they sat together in the grand dining room, the silence was more suffocating than ever.

His family—Simran, Rajeev, and the rest of the household—had carried on with their usual banter, completely ignoring her presence as if she were merely a shadow in their world. Even when Meera tried to join in, their responses were polite, but distant. Kabir, however, remained detached, his eyes constantly scanning his phone, a habit that had become increasingly frequent since their marriage.

Simran, noticing the tension between them, shot Meera a sympathetic look, but it didn’t offer any comfort. Instead, it only reminded Meera of how much she was still an outsider in this house.

"Meera," Simran spoke up suddenly, "Have you heard about the upcoming gala? It's for the prominent businessmen and women in the city. It would be a good opportunity for you to meet people and understand Kabir's world better."

Meera forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I’ve heard of it," she replied, her voice steady despite the undercurrent of tension in the room. "I’m sure it will be... interesting."

The gala Simran mentioned was not just a social event; it was a platform for those in Kabir’s world to assert their power and influence. Kabir, being the heir to the Ahuja empire, was expected to make appearances at such events, though he rarely spoke to anyone beyond what was necessary.

Simran looked at her son, who was still glued to his phone. His indifference toward the conversation was palpable.

"Kabir," she said, her voice soft but firm, "You should make sure Meera feels comfortable at these events. It’s important she understands the role she’s stepping into."

Kabir’s gaze lifted from the screen for a brief moment, his expression unreadable. He looked at his mother, then at Meera, and nodded. "I’ll make sure she knows what’s expected."

Meera’s chest tightened. The words felt like another reminder that she wasn’t a partner in this marriage—she was a responsibility. An obligation.

“Good,” Simran replied, seemingly satisfied with his response.

The conversation shifted back to business as Kabir spoke briefly with his father, but Meera could feel the distance between them grow, the tension building silently. She had expected the isolation, but not this overwhelming sense of detachment. She had imagined that, in time, Kabir would warm to her. But now, she wasn’t sure if he even cared to try.

The most unsettling part, though, was the unspoken tension between Kabir and his father, Rajeev Ahuja. It was subtle—hidden in the way Kabir would avoid direct eye contact with him or the clipped tone that always seemed to enter his voice when he addressed his father. Kabir never looked for his father’s approval, and Rajeev, though present, seemed to regard Kabir with a certain cold detachment. It was clear that there was no warmth between them, no bond of father and son. In fact, there was an almost palpable sense of unspoken rivalry, one that had clearly been building for years.

Kabir’s words were always measured when he spoke to Rajeev, his posture stiff, almost as though he were constantly on guard. Meera noticed how Rajeev rarely looked directly at Kabir, choosing instead to engage in conversations with other people at the table. His lack of attention was a silent rejection, one that seemed to speak volumes about the fracture in their relationship.

“Kabir, we need to discuss the merger,” Rajeev said at one point, his voice sharp and commanding.

Kabir glanced at him, but there was no warmth in his response. “I know. I’ve been reviewing the documents. We’ll talk later.”

Rajeev didn’t press further, but the tension between them hung thick in the air. Meera watched quietly, unsure of how to interpret the silent exchange. It was clear that there was no closeness between father and son. Kabir seemed almost indifferent to his father’s presence, as though his approval—or lack thereof—meant little to him.

After dinner, Meera excused herself from the table, needing some time to process the evening. She wandered into the garden, hoping the cool night air would clear her mind. The stars above offered little comfort, but the quiet solitude was better than the suffocating atmosphere inside.

She barely had time to settle in before Kabir appeared in the doorway, his tall figure casting a long shadow on the ground. He walked toward her without a word, his pace deliberate but unhurried.

Meera looked up, meeting his gaze. “You didn’t seem to enjoy dinner tonight.”

Kabir stopped in front of her, his expression as unreadable as always. “Dinner isn’t about enjoyment,” he said, his tone flat.

There it was again—the indifference. The lack of anything beyond the surface.

“You know,” Meera ventured, feeling braver now that they were alone, “You’re nothing like your father.”

Kabir’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, and he took a step closer. “What do you mean?”

Meera hesitated. She didn’t want to overstep, but the question had been nagging at her all evening. “It’s obvious. The way you both interact, the way he looks at you. There’s... something missing. A connection. Don’t you ever wish things were different?”

Kabir’s expression darkened. “Don’t concern yourself with my family,” he said, his voice colder now. “It’s not your place.”

“But it is my place,” Meera responded, her voice softer now but laced with an edge. “I’m married to you. And I can see the tension. I know something’s not right between you and your father.”

Kabir’s gaze hardened, and for a moment, the coldness in his eyes seemed even more pronounced. “This is not something you need to understand,” he said tightly. “My relationship with my father is... complicated. It’s not for you to worry about.”

Meera stood her ground. “I’m not worried. But I am curious. I’m living in this house, I’m married to you, and I need to understand the people I’m surrounded by.”

Kabir didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned away from her and started walking back toward the house. “You’ll understand in time,” he said, his voice distant.

But Meera wasn’t so sure. Something about the way Kabir kept everything so hidden—from her, from his family—made her wonder if their marriage could ever be more than just a union of convenience. Kabir’s reluctance to share, to be vulnerable, was beginning to feel like a wal

l that was only growing taller with each passing day.

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