Episode 5

The first formal dinner as a married couple was not the intimate, hopeful affair Isha had envisioned. Instead, it felt like another grand performance, albeit with a smaller, more discerning audience. The Malhotra dining hall, a cavernous room with a long, polished mahogany table, was bathed in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers. Silverware gleamed, porcelain shimmered, and the hushed movements of the house staff added to the almost reverent atmosphere.

Isha sat beside Aarav, feeling the weight of her new silk saree, a deep sapphire blue that complemented her complexion. She had chosen it carefully, hoping its elegance would convey a quiet confidence she didn't quite feel. Asha Malhotra sat at the head of the table, radiating warmth and hospitality, while Rajeev Malhotra, Aarav’s father, occupied the opposite end, his presence equally commanding. Devansh, ever the light-hearted one, sat across from them, his eyes twinkling with an unspoken curiosity.

The conversation flowed easily around them, primarily driven by Asha Aunty and Rajeev Uncle, who spoke of business ventures, social engagements, and upcoming family events. Devansh interjected with witty remarks, occasionally drawing a rare, fleeting smile from Aarav. Isha tried to participate, offering polite comments when addressed, but her attention was constantly drawn to the man beside her.

Aarav, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, maintained a posture of quiet dignity. He listened attentively, nodded at appropriate moments, and offered concise, intelligent responses when directly questioned about his work. He ate with practiced precision, his movements economical and controlled. But towards Isha, his demeanor remained formal, almost detached.

He ensured her water glass was full, gestured for a serving of a particular delicacy, and even passed her the salt shaker without her asking. These were small, considerate gestures, the actions of a polite host, but they lacked any personal warmth. There was no shared glance, no lingering touch, no private word exchanged between them. It was as if she were a distinguished guest, rather than his newlywed wife.

Isha tried to initiate conversation, her voice soft but hopeful. “Aarav-ji, the painting in the main hall… is it an antique?”

He turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting hers for a brief, unreadable moment. “Yes. It’s a family heirloom. From the 18th century.” His tone was factual, devoid of any personal anecdote or shared interest. He then turned back to his father, who was discussing a new investment.

Isha felt a familiar pang of disappointment. It was like trying to chip away at a block of ice with a feather. Each attempt to connect met with a polite, impenetrable barrier. She found herself observing his hands, his strong, capable fingers as he cut his food, wondering what it would be like if those hands reached for hers, if they held hers with tenderness.

Asha Malhotra, ever gracious, tried to include Isha. “Isha, dear, Aarav tells me you have an interest in art. Perhaps you can show him some of your embroidery pieces?”

Isha’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Oh, yes, Aunty. I’d love to. When I get a chance to unpack them.” She glanced at Aarav, hoping for a sign of interest, but he simply nodded, his expression unchanged.

Devansh, however, chimed in. “That’s wonderful, Bhabhi! You must show me too. I appreciate art, even if Bhai here only appreciates its monetary value.” He grinned playfully at Aarav, who gave a faint, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips that might have been a smile.

“Devansh,” Aarav said, his voice low, a hint of amusement in it. “Don’t tease.”

It was the most natural interaction Isha had witnessed from him all evening, and it wasn’t directed at her. A bitter taste settled in her mouth. He could be lighthearted with his brother, but with her, he was a fortress.

As the dinner progressed, Isha found herself growing increasingly self-conscious. She tried to maintain a pleasant demeanor, to smile and nod at the right moments, but inside, a cold knot of anxiety tightened. Was she doing something wrong? Was she not interesting enough? Or was this simply who he was, and she had to accept it?

She noticed the subtle glances from Aarav’s paternal aunt, a woman with sharp, discerning eyes. The aunt’s gaze lingered on Isha, then shifted to Aarav, a faint frown creasing her brow. It was clear that the lack of warmth between the newlyweds was not going unnoticed.

After dinner, they moved to a sitting room for coffee and dessert. The conversation became more relaxed, but Aarav remained largely aloof. He answered a few work calls on his phone, excusing himself briefly, and then returned to his quiet observation.

Isha felt a growing sense of despair. The grand wedding, the beautiful home, the loving family – it was all there, but the most crucial piece, the connection with her husband, was missing. She had imagined whispered conversations, shared laughter, a gradual unfolding of intimacy. Instead, there was this polite, impenetrable wall.

As the evening wound down, and guests began to disperse, Asha Malhotra pulled Isha aside, her voice soft. “You must be tired, beta. It’s been a long day. Get some rest.”

Isha nodded, managing a weary smile. “Thank you, Aunty.”

She glanced over at Aarav, who was standing with his father, discussing something with serious expressions. He didn’t look her way. He didn’t say goodnight. He simply existed in his own silent world.

As she walked back to her spacious, empty room, the silence of the mansion felt heavier than ever. The echoes of the day’s celebrations seemed to mock her, highlighting the profound absence of warmth in her marriage. She was Mrs. Aarav Malhotra, but she felt like a ghost in her own home, unseen and unheard by the one person who mattered most. The first dinner had confirmed her deepest fears: Aarav was not just reserved; he was cold, detached, and utterly unreadable. And the thought chilled her to the bone.

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