"Arey Kriti, tum yaha kyu breakfast leke aayi? Mein aa raha tha na neeche..." Sahil asked with a soft smile, gripping the armrest of the sofa as he attempted to stand with the help of his crutch. His tone carried a gentle warmth, an attempt to lighten the moment.
Kriti, however, wasn't in the mood. She placed the plate on the table with a loud thud, the sound reverberating through the room.
Her lips curved into a sarcastic chuckle as she replied, "Haan, tumhara neeche aane ka wait karti toh din kya, puri raat nikal jaati meri."
His smile faded slowly hearing her.The jab wasn't unfamiliar, and Sahil merely let it wash over him. Over the months, he had grown accustomed to her sharp remarks.
His shoulders slumped slightly as he muttered, "Woh... office ka kaam karte karte thoda late ho gaya." His voice was soft, almost apologetic, but Kriti's expression didn't soften.
She moved briskly, pouring the steaming dish onto his plate, her movements precise but devoid of care. "Office ka kaam karna ya ghar pe baithe rehna, ek hi baat hai tumhare liye," she shot back, her voice cutting through the morning quiet.
Sahil looked at her, his face etched with hurt and confusion. "Tum aise kyu baat kar rahi ho, Kriti?" he asked gently, hoping for a kinder response.
"Toh? Sahi toh keh rahi hoon! Galat kya bola maine?" she snapped, her tone rising as she straightened up.
"Tum office jaate ho kya roz meri tarah? Agar jaate, toh samajh paate late hona kise kehte hain!"
Her words hung heavy in the air, but Sahil had no response. He watched as she shook her head in irritation and rushed to the mirror, hurriedly applying makeup. Her hands moved quickly as she tried to manage her files and bag at the same time, clearly pressed for time.
He felt guilt tug at him, its weight settling on his chest.
"I'm sorry, Kriti... mujhe nahi pata tha ki tumhara aaj important meeting hai... ek baar batati toh-" He trailed off, his voice faltering as he hurriedly reached for the serving spoon to fill her plate.
"Ab sorry bolke kya fayda? Late toh already ho gayi na!" she retorted, her frustration evident as she rolled her eyes. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she made for the door without a second glance.
As she reached the door, Sahil called out to her, desperation lacing his voice. "Breakfast toh karke jao... I've set up your plate."
'Mujhe nahi karni ....I will have food from the cafeteria' her voice trailed..
He sighed as he picked up his crutch, its rubber base thudding softly against the floor as he tried to gather the strength to follow Kriti to leave her at the door.
He hated the way their mornings had become routine, stripped of warmth or connection. What once could have been moments of shared laughter or tenderness were now marked by cold exchanges and unspoken resentments. Sahil had entered this marriage with a heart full of hope, dreaming of a partnership built on support, love, and mutual understanding. But the reality was far from his imagination.
Kriti's frustration was palpable, and he couldn't blame her entirely. He knew his injury, his limitations, had added unanticipated challenges to their lives. The dreams she had carried into this marriage-dreams of adventure, companionship, and an easy, effortless love-had likely clashed with the reality of caring for a partner who needed more support than she had bargained for.
In the two years of their marriage, Sahil had poured his heart into trying to win her love, trying to be enough for her. But no matter how hard he tried, the love he longed for never came. Her affection was like a mirage-visible yet unreachable.
Kriti stormed out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the wooden floor as she adjusted her bag strap on her shoulder. She was running late again, thanks to Sahil's inability to manage even the simplest things around the house. She could hear the faint sound of Sahil's crutch tapping against the floor as he tried to follow her but she stepped out without giving a glance back.
Sahil's heart sank as he hobbled towards the door, the rhythmic thud of his crutch echoing in the silence left by Kriti's absence. Guilt gnawed at him, sharper than the phantom pain he sometimes felt in his missing leg. It was a guilt that had shadowed him for years, ever since the accident that had stolen not just his leg but also a piece of his confidence, his independence, and now, seemingly, his marriage.
He couldn't forget the day it all happened-how a reckless moment of youthful carelessness had altered the trajectory of his life forever. He was only a teenager, full of dreams and energy, never imagining that one wrong step would leave him with a permanent reminder of his vulnerability. Sahil had spent months recovering physically, but the emotional scars ran far deeper. He hated how it made him feel weak, incapable, and constantly dependent on others.
Now, every interaction with Kriti felt like a painful reminder of his inadequacies. He saw the exhaustion in her eyes, heard the sharpness in her words, he felt he deserved it. He blamed himself for the imbalance in their lives, for being the reason she had to juggle everything alone. If he hadn't lost his leg, he could have been the husband she deserved-someone who could meet her halfway, someone who could be her equal.
Instead, he was stuck, both literally and figuratively. The crutch was an extension of his body, but also a symbol of the limitations he couldn't escape. The guilt festered as he thought about all the things he couldn't do-things Kriti had to pick up because he couldn't be there for her fully.
"I'm holding her back," he often thought. It was this belief, this crushing weight of guilt, that made him over-apologize, overcompensate, and over-analyze every word she said. To Sahil, Kriti's anger wasn't just frustration; it was a mirror reflecting his own self-loathing. He didn't resent her for it-how could he, when he believed she was right? It was his fault, after all.
He paused by the door, staring at the empty driveway where Kriti's car had just been. The morning air was crisp, but Sahil felt a deep chill settle in his chest.
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