It had been just six months since Ayaan and Meher got married. Their apartment still held unopened boxes and wedding gifts they hadn’t figured out what to do with. Amid the soft chaos of newlywed life, there was a quiet understanding between them. Ayaan was gentle, patient, and never crossed the invisible line Meher hadn’t yet spoken about—the line of intimacy.
He did desire her—he was human, after all—but he kept those feelings carefully tucked away. For Ayaan, respect wasn’t just about words but about actions… and sometimes restraint.
But one evening, as Meher passed by their bedroom, she heard muffled laughter. The door was slightly ajar.
“Bro, it’s been six months! SIX! What are you doing, fasting?”
Ayaan groaned, half-laughing. “Shut up, yaar. It’s not like that. She’s just… shy. I don’t want to scare her away by jumping like a lion.”
“A respectful lion,” his friend teased. “But also a very, very lonely one.”
Meher’s cheeks turned bright red as she quietly tiptoed away like a spy in a soap opera. That night, she lay beside him, pretending to sleep, her mind spinning.
He’s been holding back… for me?
Guilt stirred, mixed with nervousness. She wanted to take the step. She wanted to tell him she was ready—but how? Saying it out loud felt impossible, like trying to leap across a canyon in socks.
The next morning, she turned to the modern-day therapist: YouTube.
“How to tell your husband you're ready for physical intimacy?”
“Top 5 ways to initiate romance without being awkward.”
“Make the first move: For beginners.”
She read articles, bookmarked tips, even practiced lines in front of the mirror. Her search history became a hilarious monument to her growing courage.
What she didn’t realize was a small but critical mistake.
The email on her phone—the one she used to sign in to YouTube—was the same one synced to her mother-in-law’s tablet.
That Sunday, while sipping her afternoon tea, Ayaan’s mother absentmindedly opened YouTube on her tablet. She nearly dropped her cup.
“HUH?! ‘Signs your wife is ready to do it?’ ‘Whisper these lines to your man at night?’ What kind of filth is THIS?!”
Storming into the living room, she held up the tablet like a courtroom exhibit.
“WHO has been watching THIS? In my own house?! Shameless!”
Meher, who had just emerged from the kitchen, froze. Her mouth fell open, then closed. She looked like a goldfish who forgot how to breathe.
Ayaan, entering with a plate of samosas, saw the tablet and instantly connected the dots.
He blinked. “Oh… that? That was me.”
“You?!”
“Yes! For work. I’m doing a project. About, uh… online behavior patterns. You know, like how people search for stuff. Data and algorithms. Corporate research.”
He nodded enthusiastically—way too much.
His mother squinted. “You sell air conditioners.”
Ayaan paused. “Yes, but… hot topics help us cool down the stress.”
There was a long, dramatic silence.
She huffed. “Your generation is mad,” she muttered, walking off with the tablet still clutched in horror.
Meher stood completely still. “I think I died just now,” she whispered.
“You should’ve seen your face,” Ayaan grinned.
Her voice was soft. “Thank you.
… for taking the blame today.”
“I had to,” he said, grinning. “You looked like you were about to evaporate.”
She laughed quietly. “I was.”
Later that night, with the house quiet and Ayaan’s mother asleep (though perhaps still a little shaken), Meher lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. Both of them were tucked under a shared blanket, but there was a kind of warm space between them—not distance, just a gentle pause filled with thoughts unspoken.
The bedside lamp cast a soft glow across the room. Outside, the world was still. Inside, Meher finally turned toward him.
Her voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you… for today.”
Ayaan glanced at her, raising an eyebrow playfully. “For almost ruining my reputation forever?”
She rolled her eyes and smiled faintly. “For protecting mine.”
“I’d do it again,” he said quietly. “Always.”
There was a pause before Meher spoke again, a little hesitantly. “I thought you might be upset… or disappointed. That it’s been this long.”
Ayaan turned to face her fully. “Disappointed? Meher, no. Not even for a second.”
She looked at him, searching his eyes. “But I’ve made you wait. And I didn’t even tell you I was scared. You were so patient… and I just kept pretending like everything was fine.”
“You didn’t make me wait,” he said gently. “I chose to. I wanted to. Because I care about you, not just what we haven’t done yet.”
Her throat tightened slightly. “I felt guilty when I overheard you on the phone… I didn’t realize how much you’ve been holding back.”
“Yeah… sometimes it’s tough. I won’t lie. But it’s not about what I want—it’s about what we’re ready for. And I knew pushing you would only make you pull away. That’s the last thing I ever wanted.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she couldn’t hide her grin. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet… here I am. Married to a woman who googled ‘whisper these lines to your man at night.’ Honestly, I’m flattered.”
Meher groaned and buried her face into the pillow. “Can we please never speak of that again?”
“No promises,” he said with a smirk. “That was the highlight of my month. Maybe year.”
She peeked at him with narrowed eyes. “I hate you.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more sincere tone. “You really don’t.”
“No,” she admitted with a small laugh. “I really don’t.”
They lay there in a silence that felt full rather than empty.
“Take your time, Meher. I mean it. Whether it’s one more day or ten more months. We’ll get there together.”
And after that there was no good night need, these comforting words enough for her to fall a peaceful sleep, something she hadn't in past few days.
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