London greeted them with a pale grey sky and a sharp breeze that carried the scent of rain. The moment they stepped out of the airport, Meher paused mid step, her eyes catching something a few feet away.

A young man stood near the parking area holding a large placard high in the air.

Written in bold glittering letters were the words, Dulhe Raja padharo apni Dulhan Rani k sath. (Welcome Groom King, arrive with your Bride Queen.)

Meher blinked, then tugged at Kabir’s sleeve. “Kabir, look,” she whispered, barely containing her amusement. “Someone is waiting for a groom.”

Kabir followed her gaze and the color drained from his face.

“What happened?” Meher asked, watching his expression change from composed to horrified in less than a second.

“Nothing,” he muttered quickly.

Before she could say another word, he grabbed her hand and began walking briskly toward the very man holding the sign.

Meher’s eyes widened in realization. A giggle escaped her lips. “Wait. Is he here for us?”

Kabir did not answer.

By the time they reached him, Kabir spoke in a low, urgent voice. “Rudy, what is all this?”

The young man immediately broke into loud singing, throwing an arm around Kabir’s shoulders. “Mere yaar ki shadi ho gai! (My best friend got married!)” he sang dramatically, ignoring the annoyed look on Kabir’s face. He even attempted a small dance step right there on the pavement.

Kabir snatched the placard from his hand and placed it flat on the car bonnet. “What is wrong with you?”

Rudransh grinned shamelessly. “You got married without inviting me. At least the welcome should be grand.” He pulled Kabir’s cheek playfully. “You look cute when you panic.”

Kabir stood there with an expression that clearly said he was reconsidering this friendship.

Meher stood a step behind, struggling not to laugh.

Rudransh finally turned toward her, straightened himself, and folded his hands respectfully. “Welcome, Bhabhi ji. I am your younger devar, Rudransh.”

Meher’s face lit up instantly. “You are Rudransh Rathore?” she blurted out excitedly, recognizing the name at once.

Kabir turned sharply toward her. “Meher. Do not start.”

She looked confused. “Start what?”

Kabir lowered his voice. “Leave that excitement here at the airport. Mrs Rathore does not like politics. And especially if someone links Rudy to it, then absolutely not. So please remember not to mention anything political in front of her.”

The shift in tone was immediate. Meher’s smile softened into something more careful. “I am sorry,” she murmured quietly.

Rudransh sensed the sudden tension and quickly waved his hand dismissively. “Arre Bhabhi, talk to me about anything you want. I do not mind at all. In fact I like it when someone speaks happily about my dad or my sister. It is just Mom who gets triggered sometimes. Old habits do not disappear easily.”

Meher nodded gently. “I will keep that in mind.”

They placed the luggage in the car and began the drive toward the city. Kabir and Rudransh quickly slipped into business talk, discussing meetings, deadlines, and numbers as if the wedding had been a minor interruption in a larger plan.

Meher sat in the back seat quietly, her face turned toward the window.

Her eyes sparkled like a child seeing a new fairground. The tall glass buildings, the red buses, the unfamiliar streets, the orderly traffic, the cold light filtering through clouds. Everything fascinated her. She pressed her palm lightly against the window, taking it all in.

Kabir glanced at her through the rearview mirror once and found her smiling at something outside. He looked away quickly.

When they reached the building, Rudransh left them and drove away. The elevator took them directly up to Kabir’s penthouse. As the doors opened, Kabir suddenly remembered something that Kaushalya had instructed him.

“Wait here,” he said to Meher.

She looked at him curiously but stayed by the entrance.

Kabir walked inside, glancing around quickly. There was obviously no traditional metal kalash in a modern London penthouse. After a moment of searching, he found a metal vase in the living room. He filled it with rice and brought it back to the entrance.

“There is no proper kalash here,” he said matter of factly, placing the vase on the floor. “We will manage with this.”

Meher looked at him softly. There was no teasing in her eyes this time. Only warmth.

She slipped off her shoes, adjusted the edge of her scarf like a dupatta over her head, and gently nudged the vase with her right foot. The rice spilled forward onto the marble floor as she stepped inside.

Kabir quietly recorded the moment on his phone to send his Dadi.

“Welcome, Mrs Gill,” he said while filming, his tone half formal, half amused.

Meher laughed lightly. “It feels so nice hearing that. Mrs Gill.”

Kabir shook his head and stopped the recording. He bent down to gather the scattered rice.

Without saying anything, Meher knelt beside him to help.

Their fingers brushed accidentally over the same handful of rice.

Both froze.

For a brief second, time slowed. The city outside faded. The elevator hum was distant. There was only the soft sound of their breathing.

Kabir’s eyes lifted first and Meher’s gaze met his.

It was not playful. Not teasing. It was something quieter. Something new.

He cleared his throat lightly and looked away first. “Come,” he said in a more neutral tone. “I will show you the house.”

She stood and followed him, looking around with curiosity.

The penthouse was spacious, modern, filled with glass walls that overlooked the city skyline. Everything was organized, minimal, structured.

“So,” Meher said lightly in a teasing tone from behind him, unable to resist. “Now that we are far from home, you are not going to throw me into some separate room in the name of space and understanding, are you?”

Kabir stopped abruptly.

Meher nearly collided into his back, barely managing to halt herself in time.

He turned around slowly. His expression was flat, but there was a faint irritation in his voice. “You really need to stop watching so many dramatic shows because they are getting into your head and messing with your mind.”

Meher blinked, then crossed her arms defensively. “I was joking.”

He looked at her for a second longer than necessary. “Good. Because this is not a serial.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Then what is it?”

Kabir did not answer immediately. Instead, he turned and continued walking. “It is real life.”

Meher followed quietly this time, a small smile returning to her lips.

Real life.

It sounded serious.

But somehow, standing in a new city, inside a new home, beside a man who had filled a vase with rice just so she could do her griha pravesh properly, real life did not feel frightening.

It felt like the beginning of something she was ready to explore.

Kabir gave her the full tour of the penthouse without unnecessary commentary, but Meher did not need explanations. She walked through every space as if she were discovering a hidden treasure.

The living room opened into a wide glass wall that overlooked the city skyline. The Thames shimmered faintly in the distance, and the pale London light spilled across polished floors. Meher moved closer to the glass, pressing her fingertips against it in wonder.

“It feels like we are floating above the city,” she murmured softly.

Kabir did not respond immediately. He simply watched her. The way her eyes widened at every detail. The way she turned slowly in place, absorbing everything. Nothing about her excitement looked fake or dramatic. It was pure and unfiltered.

He showed her the study next, then the guest room, then the open kitchen. She ran her hand lightly over the marble counter. “This kitchen looks like something from a cooking show,” she said with a grin. “If I burn something here, it will feel like a crime.”

Finally he led her to the master bedroom.

The door opened to a spacious room wrapped in soft neutral tones. One entire wall was glass, revealing the skyline stretching endlessly. The bed was large, minimal, structured just like everything else in his world. The curtains were sheer, allowing the grey daylight to seep in gently.

Meher stepped inside slowly, almost reverently. “This is beautiful,” she whispered.

Kabir leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching her reaction rather than the room itself. She moved toward the glass wall again, looking down at the tiny moving cars below. For a moment she forgot he was even there.

He walked her toward the walk in closet next. The space was organized with military precision. Shelves aligned perfectly. Suits arranged by shade. Shoes placed with geometric accuracy.

“House help Mary will come in the afternoon,” he said calmly. “She will clear some space for your things. You can arrange your belongings however you like. Just do not disturb mine. I do not like unnecessary interference with my things.”

Meher immediately turned toward him. “I know how grumpy and stubborn you get when it comes to this matter.” she said quickly, words spilling out in one breath. “Just tell me clearly which shelf I can shift, which side I should use. I do not want our marriage to begin with a fight over such small matters.”

Kabir stared at her, slightly taken aback by the speed of her response.

When she noticed his expression, she hurried to explain. “You have always been like this. Whenever I used to come to meet Mehek, you would scold her for moving your books and shoes. So I remember.”

He did not argue. He simply looked at her for another second before saying, “The bathroom is there. Freshen up. I will arrange something to eat.”

And just like that he walked out.

Meher stood still for a moment, “Meher,” she muttered to herself under her breath, “why does your tongue run ahead of your brain? You talk anywhere, anything, without thinking.”

Then she entered the bathroom. The space was larger than her entire childhood home. Marble floors, a wide mirror, sleek fittings, a rain shower panel that looked complicated enough to require instructions and a beautiful bathtub.

She stared at everything in disbelief.  She shook her head at her reflection, then laughed softly and began to freshen up.

When she stepped out after some time, towel drying her hair lightly, the smell of coffee filled the air.

Kabir had set up a simple breakfast at the dining table. Toast, omelet, and two cups of coffee.

Meher blinked in surprise and walked over. “You can cook too? That is impressive. You are turning out to be a proper green flag.”

Kabir sat down calmly and replied flatly, “Eat quietly. Do not test my patience.”

She tilted her head playfully. “You know smiling does not cost money.”

He looked like he was about to respond when his phone began ringing. The screen flashed a video call from home.

He answered.

Within seconds Mehek, Amrita, and Kaushalya appeared on screen. They did not even greet him properly.

“Did Meher feel scared on her first flight?” Kaushalya asked immediately.

Meher nearly choked on her coffee trying not to laugh at the expression on Kabir’s face.

“Dadi,” Kabir said with exaggerated injury, “am I adopted? You did not even ask how I am.”

“You are old news now,” Kaushalya replied proudly. “We are more concerned about our new daughter. Where is she?”

Meher quickly leaned into the frame and greeted everyone warmly. “Sat Shri Akal everyone. I am absolutely fine, dadi. I was not scared. Kabir was there. He handled everything.”

Mehek smirked instantly. “Oh wow, bhai. Since when did you become someone’s emotional support system? Should we frame this moment?”

Kabir rolled his eyes dramatically.

Amrita smiled softly. “Beta, call your parents too. And rest. The journey was long.”

“Yes, Maa,” Meher replied obediently.

After a few more minutes, the call ended.

Meher picked up her own phone. “What is the WiFi password?”

Kabir recited it casually while sipping his coffee.

She connected quickly and called her family. Her voice softened instantly as she spoke to her parents and siblings. She assured them she had landed safely, described the house briefly, and laughed at Seerat’s endless questions.

When she ended the call, Kabir said calmly, “Your new SIM will arrive by evening.”

She nodded while finishing her toast.

He stood up after finishing his coffee and walked toward the bedroom. A few minutes later he emerged dressed formally in a sharp suit, completely transformed into the composed businessman. Something Meher was seeing for the very first time.

Meher looked up in confusion. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” he replied simply. “I am going to the office. I have already taken too many days off.”

She blinked. “Today?”

He adjusted his watch. “You rest. Sleep if you want. House help will come and quietly do her work. You do not have to do anything. Mary handles everything here.” He picked up his keys. “Just rest and make yourself home.”

And before she could respond properly, he walked out, the door closing behind him with quiet finality.

The apartment suddenly felt very large. Very quiet.

Meher remained seated at the dining table for a few seconds, staring at the empty doorway. The city outside still moved. Cars honked faintly in the distance. The sky remained grey and unfamiliar.

She had just arrived in a new country. A new home. A new life and she had not even fully settled when he had already left.

She slowly stood up and walked toward the glass wall again. The excitement from earlier dimmed slightly, replaced by something softer. Something lonelier.

“Real life,” she whispered to herself.

It did not feel frightening. But it did feel… quiet.

On the other hand, Kabir reached the office with the same composed expression he wore like armor. The glass doors slid open and the familiar hum of activity surrounded him. His assistant, Antonio, almost jogged toward him the moment he spotted him.

“Good morning, sir,” Antonio said quickly, falling into step beside him.

Kabir did not slow down. “What is the schedule today? What is pending?”

Antonio began briefing him efficiently as they walked down the corridor. There were two client meetings postponed during his leave, three contract files awaiting signatures, a strategy review presentation that required his approval, and a call with the Singapore team in the evening. Kabir listened without interruption, his mind already organizing priorities.

“Anything urgent that cannot wait?” he asked.

“The Henderson file needs your sign off today,” Antonio replied.

Kabir gave a short nod and headed toward the corner cabin to meet his boss first.

Inside, Ruhanika Raichand Rathore was on a call, speaking sharply into her headset. Kabir knocked lightly.

“Come in,” she said without looking up.

Kabir stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The moment she lifted her eyes and saw him, her expression changed. She frowned slightly and said into the phone, “I will call you back in ten minutes.” She ended the call without waiting for a response.

“Good morning, Mrs Rathore,” Kabir said politely, walking forward.

She stood up from her chair immediately and asked instead. “What are you doing here?”

“Work,” he replied simply.

She stared at him as if he had said something absurd. “Work was happening perfectly fine for so many days. It could have continued for a few more.”

Kabir tried to speak. “Ma’am, I thought since I'm back……”

She cut him off. “You left your newly wedded wife alone in a new country and came straight to the office?”

Kabir remained silent.

“Are you out of your mind?” she continued, her voice firm but not unkind. “Go home. Take her out. Help her settle. Show her the city. This office will not collapse without you for one more day.”

“Ma’am,” Kabir began again, attempting to reason.

She raised her hand. “Are you leaving now, or should I personally throw you out?”

He knew that tone. There was no argument to be won here. Without another word, Kabir gave a small nod and walked out.

Antonio looked confused when he saw him returning toward the exit. Kabir merely said, “Reschedule the Henderson file for tomorrow,” and left.

The drive back felt longer than usual.

When he entered the penthouse quietly, he found Meher sitting near the glass wall. She was on the floor with her knees drawn slightly toward her chest, looking out at the grey skyline. She looked small against the vast city beyond the glass. So lost in her own thoughts and looking sad.

Something in his chest tightened.

“Meher,” he called gently.

She turned immediately. Her eyes moved to the clock on the wall, then back to him in surprise. “You came back so soon?”

He cleared his throat. “There was a lot of pending work. I thought I would complete it from home today before continuing further.”

The lie slipped out smoothly. He did not mention that his boss had practically pushed him out for her sake.

A soft smile spread across her face. “So you are staying home?”

It was such a simple question. And yet her tone carried something larger. Relief.

“Yes,” he said. “I will be in the study. You can do whatever you like. Watch television if you want. Tomorrow morning I can take you to the hospital. I spoke to Dr Garewal on my way back. You can join whenever you are comfortable. There is no rush from my side, but I will be going to the office regularly. You might get bored alone here. It is better if you focus on your work too.”

He paused, hearing his own words that were sounding so ridiculous.

She had not spoken once. She just kept looking at him with a straight face.

He continued, perhaps more than necessary. “This is not how things will always be. We will go out. I will show you the city, make you comfortable. Weekends will be yours. But right now there is a lot of pressure at work. I hope you understand my situation.”

She was still quiet, simply looking at him.

“And do not complain to my sister,” he added lightly. “If she finds out, she will make my life difficult.”

Meher bit her lip to suppress a smile.

He muttered under his breath, “And if Dadi hears anything, I am finished.”

Then, slightly embarrassed by how much he had just said, he added, “Excuse me,” and walked toward the study.

The moment the door closed behind him, Meher let out a soft laugh. It was not mocking. It was warm.

The house did not feel as hollow anymore.

She moved to the living room sofa and sat there, a gentle smile resting on her face. The loneliness that had wrapped around her earlier had loosened. He had come back.

That mattered more than she wanted to admit.

A few minutes later Kabir stepped out quietly to retrieve his laptop charger from the living area. He paused without realizing it.

Meher was sitting cross legged on the sofa, looking at something on her phone, a faint smile playing on her lips. The earlier shadow of isolation that he had seen when he first walked in was gone.

He remembered how she had been sitting when he returned. Lost in the skyline. Quiet. Too quiet and now she looked… lighter.

A dull guilt settled inside him.

He had left her alone in a new country, in a big empty house on her first day.

What kind of husband does that?

He exhaled slowly, looking at her for a moment longer than he intended.

Perhaps he had been more thoughtless than he liked to believe.

For the first time that day, Kabir felt something unfamiliar pressing against his carefully controlled self image.

Regret.

That afternoon was briefly interrupted by the arrival of the house help. The doorbell rang softly, and Kabir stepped out of the study to open it. A middle aged woman with kind eyes and neatly tied hair stood outside.

“Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted politely.

“Mary, come in,” Kabir said, stepping aside.

Meher walked out of the living room curiously. Kabir glanced at her and then at Mary. “This is Meher,” he said calmly. “My wife, the lady of the house.”

The words were simple. Matter of fact. But the moment they left his mouth, something stirred quietly in Meher’s chest. Lady of the house. It sounded heavier than she expected. Warmer too.

“Congratulations to both of you.” Mary smiled warmly at her. “Welcome, ma’am.”

“Please call me Meher,” she replied instantly, smiling back.

They both had lunch together at the dining table. It was simple food that Mary had prepared quickly, but the atmosphere felt oddly balanced. Kabir spoke very little, eating quietly while occasionally giving Mary small instructions about groceries and timings. Meher listened, observing how efficiently everything in his life functioned.

After lunch Kabir excused himself and returned to the study, already slipping back into work mode. Meher felt tired from the journey, but sleep refused to come. There was too much newness around her. Too much to absorb.

She wandered from one corner of the penthouse to another, touching surfaces lightly as if confirming they were real. Mary moved around efficiently, cleaning and organizing. Within an hour, Meher found herself chatting freely with her. She asked where Mary lived, how long she had worked there, what London winters were like. Mary answered kindly, amused by the younger woman’s curiosity.

By evening the sky outside had darkened into a deep blue grey. Mary began preparing dinner in the kitchen.

“Can I help?” Meher asked enthusiastically, tying her hair into a loose knot.

Mary shook her head quickly. “No, ma’am. Sir will get upset if you do kitchen work on the first day.”

Meher frowned slightly. “Why would he get upset?”

“He does not like anyone troubling themselves unnecessarily,” Mary replied diplomatically. “Please sit. I will finish.”

Meher sighed but obeyed.

When Mary finally left after arranging dinner neatly on the table, the house fell silent again. A heavy, echoing silence that seemed to expand with the size of the rooms.

Meher stood in the living room for a few moments, unsure what to do with herself. The excitement of morning had faded into a strange stillness.

She picked up her phone and almost dialed Mehek’s number, then paused. If Mehek asked what Kabir is doing, what would she say? That he was serious? That he had gone to office on the first day? That he had come back? She did not even know what she herself felt.

She dropped the idea and switched on the television instead.

Bright colors flashed across the screen. English news. Cooking shows. Sitcom laughter tracks. She flipped channels aimlessly, not really watching anything. The unfamiliar accents and references felt distant.

Eventually the study door opened and Kabir stepped out, rolling the sleeves of his shirt. “Dinner?” he asked.

“I will serve,” Meher said quickly.

“We will do it together,” he replied.

They walked into the kitchen side by side and began placing dishes on the table. Their movements were quiet but synchronized. When they finally sat down to eat, Meher tried to begin a conversation.

“The city looks beautiful at night,” she said gently. “From the glass wall.”

“Hmm,” he responded.

“I was thinking maybe tomorrow we could explore a little nearby. Just walking.”

“We will see.”

She tried again. “Mary seems nice.”

“Yes.”

Each answer was short. Functional. Not rude, but distant.

Meher stopped trying after a while.

When they finished eating, he began collecting plates automatically.

“I will clean up,” she said.

“I was doing this even before you came,” Kabir replied calmly, taking plates from her hands. “It is not a big deal.”

He helped her rinse and stack everything efficiently. There was something strangely intimate about sharing such small domestic tasks, yet it ended too quickly.

Once done, he wiped his hands and said, “I have some pending work,” and returned to the study.

Meher watched him go, wanting to say something, but the door had already closed.

She stayed in the living room for some time, scrolling through her phone without reading anything. Minutes stretched into an hour. Then another.

The apartment felt too large and even more quieter at night.

Finally, exhausted from the long day and the emotional roller coaster, she went to the bedroom.

The massive bed, the endless glass wall, the quiet hum of the city below made her feel small. She lay down but sleep did not come. The emptiness beside her felt louder than any noise.

After a long while, she sat up. The clock showed it was well past midnight.

Taking a quiet breath, she walked toward the study and knocked softly.

“Come in,” Kabir’s voice came from inside.

She opened the door slightly. He looked up immediately, concern flickering across his face. “What happened?”

She hesitated for a second before speaking softly. “I am not used to such a big empty house and a big empty room.” She glanced down briefly. “And I am very sleepy. How much longer will you take?”

Something shifted in his expression. He closed his laptop without another word.

“You had work,” she said quickly. “You can finish.”

“It can wait,” he replied simply. “I will complete it tomorrow.”

He stood up and walked past her toward the bedroom.

They entered the room quietly. Meher lay down first, pulling the blanket lightly over herself. Kabir turned off the lights and lay down beside her, maintaining a careful distance at first.

Within minutes, exhaustion claimed her.

Sometime in the middle of the night, without fully waking, Meher shifted closer. Her hand slid across his arm. Her head rested lightly against his chest as if guided by instinct rather than thought.

Kabir opened his eyes briefly when he felt the movement. He looked down at her sleeping face, peaceful and unaware.

This time he did not try to move away.

After a moment, his arm lifted slightly and settled around her naturally.