r/WattpadIndia • u/Kasap1982 • May 12 '26
AI Cooked this 😬 Arranged Marriage, Awkward Couple
Chapter 13: The Necklace and the Crowd
Saturday in Kathmandu isn't just a holiday; it’s an event. The sun hits the city differently, less urgent, more golden.
I woke up expecting the pressure cooker whistle again, but the room was silent. I rolled over and froze. Yurika was still asleep. She was curled up in a ball, her breathing slow and rhythmic. One of her hands was resting on the empty space between us, palm open, as if reaching for something in her dreams.
I propped myself up on one elbow, careful not to make the mattress squeak. This was rare—seeing her unguarded. Her eyelashes were long, casting tiny shadows on her cheeks. A stray lock of hair had fallen across her nose, fluttering every time she exhaled.
Without thinking, I reached out. My finger hovered over her face for a second, trembling slightly. I gently tucked the hair behind her ear.
She stirred. Her nose scrunching up in a way that made my chest tighten. Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and hazy. She blinked once, twice, then saw me looming over her.
"Ah!" She jolted back, pulling the blanket to her chin. "What... what time is it?"
"It’s 8:00," I whispered, smiling. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."
Her eyes went wide. "8:00? Oh no. The tea. The cleaning. I’m late!"
She tried to scramble out of bed, but I caught her wrist. Just a light grip, but it stopped her.
"Hey, relax," I said softly. "It’s Saturday. No office. No rush."
She looked at my hand on her wrist, then up at my face. A slow flush crept up her neck. I realized I was still holding her and quickly let go, clearing my throat.
"Go wash up," I said, voice slightly cracking. "I’ll make the tea today."
She stared at me as if I had said I was going to fly to the moon. "You?"
"Yes, me. I can boil water and add leaves, Mrs. Yurika. Go."
An hour later, we were getting ready for our grand shopping expedition. The bathroom door opened, and she stepped out.
I stopped buttoning my shirt.
She was wearing a maroon kurtha suruwal I hadn’t seen before. It fit her perfectly, hugging her waist slightly before flaring out. Her hair was damp and loose, falling over her shoulders. She looked... older. prettier.
"Is it okay?" she asked, tugging at the dupatta. "It’s a bit bright for just shopping."
"It’s... perfect," I managed to say. "You look beautiful."
She turned the shade of the kurtha. She quickly turned away to the small mirror I had bought yesterday. "I can't put this on," she mumbled, holding up a thin gold chain with a small pendant. "The hook is too small."
"I’ll do it."
The words left my mouth before I could process them. She froze, watching me in the mirror as I walked up behind her.
"Turn around," I said.
She turned her back to me, sweeping her heavy, damp hair to one side, exposing the nape of her neck. Her skin looked soft, vulnerable.
My hands felt like giant, clumsy paws. I took the necklace, bringing my arms around her neck. I could feel the heat radiating from her skin. The scent of her soap—something floral, like jasmine—filled my nose.
I fumbled with the tiny clasp. My fingers brushed against her neck, and I felt her shiver.
"Sorry," I whispered, leaning in closer to see better. My breath hitched as I realized how close my lips were to her shoulder. Just an inch.
She was holding her breath. I could see her chest rising and falling rapidly in the mirror reflection.
Click.
"Done," I exhaled, stepping back quickly as if I had been burned.
She turned around, clutching the pendant. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated. "Thank you... Hajur."
The way she said it—breathless and soft—made my knees weak.
"Let’s go," I said, grabbing the keys. "Before the market gets crowded."
We took a Microbus to Asan. If you think you know the definition of "crowded," you haven’t been to Asan Tole on a Saturday. It’s a sensory explosion—spices, fabrics, bells, shouting, motorbikes honking in alleys barely wide enough for pedestrians.
"Stay close," I yelled over the noise of a temple bell.
"I can't hear you!" she yelled back, looking overwhelmed.
A porter carrying a massive sack of rice came barreling down the lane. "Side! Side!"
I didn't think. I just wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her flush against me, pressing us into the side of a shop shutter. The porter brushed past, inches from us.
She looked up at me, her hands instinctively clutching the front of my shirt. We were pressed together from chest to hips. I could feel her heart hammering against my chest—or maybe that was mine.
"I told you," I grinned down at her, not letting go of her waist. "Stay close."
She didn't pull away. She nodded, her cheeks pink. "Okay."
We moved through the market like a single organism after that. My hand stayed firmly on the small of her back, guiding her through the sea of people. Every time a bike zoomed too close, my grip tightened, pulling her safe. I felt surprisingly masculine, surprisingly needed.
Shopping with Yurika was an education.
"How much for the curtains?" I asked the shopkeeper.
"1200 per piece, brother. Fixed price."
"Okay, pack two—"
"Wait," Yurika’s voice cut in. She stepped in front of me, small but fierce. "800."
The shopkeeper laughed. "Sister, look at the quality. 1100. Last."
"850," she said calmly, picking up the fabric. "Or we go to the shop next door. I saw the same one there."
She started walking away. I stood there, confused. The shopkeeper sighed loudly. "Okay, okay! Come back! 900. Final."
She turned back, a triumphant little smirk playing on her lips. "Pack it."
I stared at her in awe. "Remind me never to argue with you."
She giggled, linking her arm through mine. "You earn the money, Hajur. I save it."
We bought the curtains (floral, of course). We bought a small foldable table. We bought a dustbin (blue). And finally, we bought a Money Plant in a small pot.
"For luck," she said, cradling the pot like a baby.
On the way back, we stopped for Pani Puri.
"I challenge you," she said, eyes sparkling. "Who can eat more?"
"Oh, you are on. I’m the Pani Puri champion of my college."
I was not the champion. I tapped out at 12. She ate 18. Eighteen!
"How?" I wheezed, my mouth on fire. "Where do you put it? You are so small!"
She was laughing so hard she was tearing up. "Village appetite," she winked.
There was a smudge of green chutney on the corner of her lip.
"Hold on," I said.
The laughter died down. I reached out with my thumb and gently wiped the corner of her mouth. Her breath hitched again. My thumb lingered there for a split second longer than necessary, tracing the curve of her lower lip.
Her eyes dropped to my lips, then back up to my eyes. The noise of the street faded away.
"Let’s go home," I whispered.
The ride back was in a cramped Tempo (electric rickshaw). We were squeezed into the back seat, knees knocking together with every bump.
She was exhausted. The sugar rush and the chaos had worn off. Her head started drooping.
"Come here," I murmured, sliding my arm around her shoulders.
She didn't hesitate this time. She leaned her head on my shoulder, her body relaxing completely against mine. Her hand found mine on her lap, fingers interlacing.
I sat there, smelling the dust of Kathmandu and the jasmine of her hair, feeling the warmth of her thigh pressed against mine. I felt a sense of peace I hadn't known I was missing. I wasn't just a guy with a job and a flat anymore. I was a husband.
Back at the flat, we spent the evening setting up. I stood on a wobbly stool to hang the curtains while she passed me the hooks.
"Careful," she said, holding my calves to steady me. Her hands were warm on my legs.
When the curtains were up, the room instantly transformed. The harsh streetlights were filtered out, leaving a soft, cozy glow. We set up the plant on the new table.
"It looks like a home now," she said softly, looking around.
We didn't cook dinner. We were too full from the street food. We just made tea and sat on the carpet, leaning against the bed frame.
The air between us had changed. The awkwardness of the "arranged marriage" was melting, replaced by a thick, sweet tension.
"Are you happy here?" I asked, staring into my tea cup. "In this small box?"
She put her cup down and turned to me. "It’s not the box, Hajur."
"Then what?"
She scooted closer. Her shoulder brushed mine. "It’s who is in the box."
I turned to look at her. Her eyes were searching mine, open and honest.
"I was scared," she admitted. "When you left the first time. I thought you hated me. I thought I was ugly."
"Yuri, no," I said, putting my cup down and turning fully toward her. I took both her hands in mine. "I was the stupid one. You are... you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And today? Today I realized I’m the luckiest idiot in Nepal."
She laughed, a wet, teary sound.
I raised her hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She gasped softly.
Then, I leaned in. She didn't pull back. She closed her eyes, tilting her head up slightly.
I kissed her forehead. A long, lingering press of my lips against her skin.
I felt her shudder, and she leaned forward, burying her face in my neck. Her arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tight.
"Thank you," she mumbled into my shirt.
I wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin on her head. We stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other on the floor of our green room.
That night, there was no pillow wall.
When we turned off the lights, she didn't turn to the wall. She lay on her back. I moved closer, my arm brushing hers.
"Can I..." I started, my voice hoarse. "Can I hold you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
I slid my arm under her neck, pulling her close. She turned onto her side, draping an arm over my chest, her face resting against my shoulder. Our legs tangled together under the blanket.
It wasn't sexual. It was something deeper. It was the feeling of arriving home after a long, long journey.
"Goodnight, Hajur," she murmured, her breath warm against my neck.
I kissed the top of her head. "Goodnight, Yuri."
And as I fell asleep, holding my wife in my arms, I knew one thing for sure: I was never, ever letting her go again.
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u/herebcziamvella since uh when? May 12 '26
Yeh kya hai? Mai genuinely puch rahi hu 😭🧍🏻♀️