All Strings Attached

Chapter Twenty Eight

"I'm sorry for this morning," he apologises, "I didn't mean to upset you, and I don't know why I got that upset either. I shouldn't have."

I frown at his words. "You can't do anything about how you feel," I voice, putting my phone aside to look at him, "but you can communicate better. I don't want to have a spat with you at the dining table, where everyone can see and hear us."

"It was just Dhruv—" he begins, but I cut him off.

"I don't mind that Dhruv was there, Dhushyanth. But there's a lot of other people in the house, whether or not you notice them, they notice us, and they talk."

"What does it matter what people say?"

"You of all people cannot be saying that. Especially at this point in time. And also you don't listen to reason once you've set your mind to something. Why can't you take a no? It's not like I refused to have breakfast with you because I don't want to. Athayya was in the kitchen, helping out, Nanamma was there as well. How could I have sat with you to eat while they were working?"

"They wouldn't mind," he supplies, softly, "why would they mind if you sat down to have a meal with me?"

"I'm not saying they would mind, Dhushyanth," I try to make him understand, "but it won't sit well with me to sit down and eat with you when they're working. I would not like it."

"It's not that I can't take a no," my husband lets me know, looking down at his hands. "I guess I just didn't like it in the moment."

Dhushyanth's demeanour melts my heart. "I didn't mean it like that, Dhushyanth," I try to control the damage, "it's okay for you to be upset about not being able to have a meal together, but I just think you should've expressed it differently."

He looks up at me with an innocence that does not match his years. "You also lost your cool," he complains.

I smile sheepishly, agreeing. "I did, I'm sorry."

"I am sorry too."

I chuckle at Dhushyanth, wondering how this thirty-three year old has suddenly become a baby. I cup his cheek, pulling him in for a soft peck.

He smiles back at me. "Were you really sick this morning?" he asks, pushing my hair off my face and tucking it behind my ears.

I nod. "I felt really sick, I even threw up. Felt lightheaded too, couldn't stand in the kitchen for too long."

Dhushyanth's eyebrows furrow together. "Like in the morning?" he presses.

"Yes, in the morning, after you left."

"Um-" he tilts his head— "does this not mean anything to you?"

Realisation dawns on me. "No!" The tips of my fingers sling against Dhushyanth's cheek for suggesting such a thing.
It takes me a moment to realise I'd slapped my husband, which is when I cover my mouth with my hands, withholding a gasp.

"Did you just slap me?"

"I'm so sorry," I apologise, overwhelmed by the sudden turn of events. "But do you think this is a movie? You have sex one night and then you wake up puking the next morning?"

"But we didn't have sex just one night," Dhushyanth points out, "we have been having sex. For many nights. When did you last get your period?"

"This morning," I answer, with a deadpan face. "Vachaadu amma peddha gynaecologist." [Look at this Mr Gynaecologist]

"Mogudini pattukoni chempa meedha kodathava?" [How can you slap your husband?]

"Nenu em pattukoni kottale. Just light ga thattaanu." [I didn't slap you. Only lightly patted your cheek.]