All Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty-Three

"Are you stressed about the elections?" She asks, ruffling my hair.

I chuckle, taking her cold hand in mine and pressing it to my face. "Isn't everyone?" I pose, rhetorically, "your hand is cold."

"It's cause I washed it just now," she says, using the AC remote to lower the temperature in the room. "Do you wanna sleep?"

"Mhm," I hum, turning off the TV and lying down fully. "I have an alarm for 5:30 tomorrow," I let her know. "Will you be able to go back to sleep?"

"I'll be fine, don't worry," she says, fluffing her pillow before she lies down and turns to look at me. "I think I missed you," she whispers, "I don't like the house without you in it."

My breath hitches at the confession. "I missed you, too," I reply, "I was very excited for you to come here."

"Were you?"

"I was."

"Do you think we are in this space because we are married?"

I turn to look at her. "You mean, together, on a bed?"

"No," she chuckles, "I know that's not true. I'm asking- do you think we are at this stage of our relationship because we are married?"

"The stage where we miss each other?"

"Maybe," she says, her tone wavering as she finds herself unable to articulate exactly what she means, "but do you think we are as we are because of the marriage?"

"Are you asking me if I would still like you if you weren't my wife?"

"You like me?"

I turn my bed light on, so I can look at Sita clearly. I look at her, my eyebrows furrowed in sincere confusion. "Why do you think I miss you, or I'm excited to see you, or I kiss you, or hold you, or have sex with you?"

"I haven't thought about it," she says, innocently, her eyes reflecting the innocence of her tone.

"Of course I like you, Sita. And I don't like you just because you're my wife. I like you for who you are."

"Who I am, as a person?"

I blink, trying to understand how this person- possibly the smartest person I know, is unable to comprehend how I feel for her.

"I like you."

I see a tinge of pink spread across her cheeks as the corners of her lips quirk up. "Okay."

I'm struck by the relief and excitement that floods my brain at once. I had never admitted that I liked Sita before this moment.

How long had I admired her? I don't know.

How long did I think she was the most beautiful, attractive, ravishing woman I had met? Since the first time I'd made a move on her.

How long did I like her?

I can only say that it in this moment, it is not of relevance to me. It seemed almost obvious that I had liked her. The knowledge wasn't striking, nor was it a revelation. It simply is.

Sita looks up at me with her big, innocent doe eyes, in complete contrast to her usual countenance, forever mischievous and witty.

The perceived vulnerability propels me to cup her cheek as I lower my lips onto hers, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. "I do like you," I repeat, "I like you for who you are, for your smarts and your wit and your incomparable wit and your determination and intention. I like you for the person that you are."

"I like you too," Sita grins, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she adds, "sort of, kind of."

I laugh, feeling my face warming up with her confession. "I'm glad."