𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓣𝓸 𝓕𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 ♾️

✨BROKEN BUT NOT DEFEATED-CHAPTER-20

I shook my head slowly, tears still leaking.

"Then believe me when I say this,  I chose this life. I chose you. Not your salary. Not your status. I chose the man who holds my hand in crowds, who peels orange slices for me, who cries because he loves too deeply."

She kissed my forehead. Then my cheek. Then again, near the corner of my eye, where a tear had paused.

"I'm not leaving," she whispered. "Not today. Not ever. You'll fall. I'll stand guard. You'll cry. I'll hold you. You'll doubt. I'll remind you who you are."

I stared at her, my hands shaking. My lungs finally pulling air like I hadn't breathed all evening.

"I don't deserve you," I murmured.

She smiled. "That's your favorite lie. I'm not letting you say it again."

And then, like nothing had happened, she brought the dosa plate closer. She stood up for a moment, brought the plate to my lap. "Eat," she whispered.

I didn't want to. I felt like I didn't deserve her food. But she broke a piece of dosa, dipped it in chutney, and gently brought it to my mouth. "Just one bite, please."

I opened my mouth, and the moment the food touched my tongue, it wasn't just dosa. It was warmth. Home. Her.

She smiled. "Good boy."

I chuckled softly through my tears. "You'll treat me like a baby now, huh?"

"Only if that's what you need today."

We sat like that, me half-leaning on her, and she feeding me bit by bit until I finally started breathing normally again. Once my plate was empty, I took the other one from her hand and broke a piece for her.

"Your turn" I said, voice still a little shaky.

She smiled and leaned forward, eating from my hand. After that we both cleared the plates and bowl and went to our room my heart now feeling little light.

She lay beside me, her hand combing through my hair as my head rested against her chest, right over her heart. I could hear it—steady, warm... like it was trying to whisper to mine that everything was okay now.

And then, I felt her shift a little, her lips near my ear.

 "Do you know how much it hurt me," she whispered, "to see you stand there, swallowing everything they threw at you? You didn't say a word when they insulted you... but when they spoke about me, you walked through fire."

I opened my eyes slowly, My voice cracked as I replied, "I can take it if they spit on me, Nithya. But you..." I turned my head, pressing my cheek gently against her chest. "You're my wife. My pride. No one gets to touch that."

She ran her fingers through my hair again, slower this time, her heartbeat thudding against my ear. "Then let me be your strength, too."

I shifted, rising up a bit to look at her. Her eyes were soft, glinting with unshed tears in the dim light. And before I could say anything, she brushed my hair back from my forehead and said, "Do you know what I prayed for on our wedding day?"

I shook my head.

She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to mine, her voice barely more than breath. "That even if we're poor... even if all we ever eat is kanji(Rice porridge) and pickle... you should never carry your pain alone. I didn't come into your life to be just your wife,  I came to be your home."

That line. That word—home.
Something inside me cracked. But this time, it didn't shatter. It healed.

My eyes burned, but my chest felt full. Overwhelmingly full. "I don't need your salary," brushing her thumb across my cheek. "But if you ever give me your silence again, I'll start charging interest."