OS: Confessions in Ink

This OS can be considered a stand-alone story post-remarriage or a sequel in the vein of my previous stories, The Art of War and Parley. Thank you in advance to all who enjoy reading it and most especially to those who comment, as I will be away the next few weeks and may not be able to check in during that time. However, I am looking forward to some great discussions and fic on my return (and hopefully some better times on the show :)

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In a drawer of her nightstand is a box she has not opened in years. It sits, waiting patiently, always within reach but never reached for.

It began with a girlish whim ages ago, when her face glowed with the mere mention of her first love but she found herself ill-equipped to express the tumultuous emotions he inspired in her. She wanted to (oh how she wanted to) but couldn't match the intensity of his declarations of love for her - she was the sun, the moon, the stars. The words dripped from him like honey, and as sweet as they tasted, as much as they begged to be reciprocated, she was afraid she would be unable to do him justice. He was her universe - how could she make him understand?

But despite her silence, he did understand. Nachiket was patient and kind, and learned to read her in the way her delicate eyelashes would lower, how her fingers would linger around his wrist just a few moments longer than they needed to.

Still, she hoped to be able to tell him one day how she felt, plainly and from the heart. Until that day came, she wrote him letters.

My dearest Nachiket,

My eyes have seen it but my heart still cannot believe that you are back in my life, and that soon our lives are to be joined in the eyes of God. I often wonder if this is a dream, but then I see our engagement ring on my finger, as solid as the hands that placed it there. We are to be husband and wife soon. I admit this sometimes scares me - will I be the wife you deserve? When I feel that way I close my eyes and picture you. Somehow you make everything better.

To my dear husband,

As I write this you are sleeping next to me, at peace with the world. The last few days have been beyond anything I could have ever imagined. The more I know you the more I find myself helplessly falling for you. Your compassion and love have awakened parts of me I did not know existed. It is as if I myself did not exist before you...

They were never meant to be sent or read, only carefully folded and tucked away in an old jewelry box. In them she indulged in flights of fancy and language she would rarely utter outside the safety of pen and paper.

Dear Nachiket,

My heart is so full of joy right now I am afraid it will burst from happiness. I know that you will scoff at that idea and tell me it's impossible, but if I could only tell you of the life that is growing inside me. Our love has produced a miracle. I will not keep this from you much longer - I cannot - I am only waiting for the right moment to see your eyes light up at the thought of starting our own family.

Nachiket,

My feet are swollen and my back hurts especially today, but all I can think about at this moment is how you are not here with me. I miss your laugh. I miss your gentle hands on my shoulders. I miss the way you greet the twins every morning - one of them just kicked - and although the kids miss their father, I miss you the most. I know it is only three more days but sometimes just hearing your voice is not enough. Come home soon.

They had gotten better over the years at communicating, and she was no longer overwhelmed by the depth of emotion he brought out in her, whether it be affection or anger. Even so there were still times she couldn't tell him everything and found it easier to keep a piece of herself hidden in the creases of paper.

She had not touched the box since they had split the first time, finding that her heart had nothing left to confess.

Living with Nachiket again was an entirely different matter. They clashed and fought over every little thing when alone, rarely seeing eye to eye. He provoked her, and though she tried to feign indifference, made her blood boil like only he could. The night they took their tension to its logical conclusion (they were man and wife after all), she refused to believe that anything had changed, no longer recognizing this man that could be so callous and yet so tender.

But something had changed.

They were less combative, finally settling in to what could be considered a routine marriage, if not for the past that threatened to render all their efforts meaningless.

He surprised her every day. It was in the small things, really. Some mornings she woke up to find his side of the bed empty and instead, a steaming cup of tea awaiting her in the kitchen.

Suddenly the kids could no longer depend on him to contradict her rules, though his reasoning was usually more empathetic than hers.

Once she had struggled wordlessly throughout the day with a terrible kink in her neck and was annoyed to find him out of the house so close to dinnertime, with no notice. But as she turned to bring out more rotis there he was in the kitchen, with a bag from the local apothecary in his hands. He took the plate from her hands and turned her around, methodically applying the balm up and down her upper spine. She protested at first but soon lost her ability to speak as his strong hands worked against her tired muscles. Once she had murmured her satisfaction he squeezed her shoulders gently before moving to wash up. When she finally opened her eyes, Suhaani was there to pull her to the dinner table.

Sometimes she would try to study him and piece together what he was thinking behind those furrowed eyebrows. There was a time when she would have known unequivocally. Now, she could only hope.

"Ragini," he said one day as she was rummaging for her favorite pair of earrings. "Yeh kya hai?"

"Hmm?" she turned around and her heart dropped as she recognized the handwriting on the stationery he was clutching. She looked up at him, eyes wide.

His features were a mask and betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. "Yeh kya hai?" he repeated, eyes burning into her as he held the sheet in front of her face.

"Where...?" She trailed off, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

"Pichle mahine ke paper mein chupa tha." Nachiket forced her chin up with a strong tug. "Tumne bataya kyun nahin?" His facade dropped as he searched her face for answers. "Aur mein bhi samajh nahin paya," he whispered. She turned her head away, eyelashes wet with tears.

As he wrapped his arms around his wife the letter floated to the ground, finally having fulfilled its purpose.

Nachiket,

I don't know when it happened, or how, but I look at you now and I begin to see the man I fell in love with all those years ago. We've both changed, both for the better and the worse, but somehow my heart still beats for you, still calls out for you and you alone. Life is not that easy, I know. If these past few months are all that we will ever have, they will always be precious to me because it is in these days that I have found my family and my Nachiket once again.

We have said many things to each other in anger and pain. For a long time I could think of nothing else except how I felt you had betrayed and abandoned me once again. I threw your loneliness in your face when in reality I was just as much to blame for your bitterness and just as lonely. I hope you can learn to forgive me as I have forgiven you.

And yes, I love you. Even more than when we recited our vows the first time. I was a naive girl then. You made me a woman and a mother and taught me what it really means to love. Though we may never be perfect I would never give up what we have in search of perfection. Our flaws and blemishes - that is what makes us Nachiket and Ragini.

I hope one day I can find the courage to tell you this. I hope it's not too late.

THE END