The house was quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves from the balcony and the faint humming of the air conditioning. Aryan lay back on the bed, his belly full from the pasta Diana had made earlier that evening. It wasn't just good—it was amazing. Creamy, well-seasoned, perfectly cooked. A pleasant surprise, especially considering Diana often bragged about burning toast.

He closed his eyes, trying to will away the dull throb in his temples. Work had been brutal lately. Endless meetings, some contracts falling through, staff underperforming—just one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. All he wanted was a little peace, and now that he was finally home, the quiet was doing its part.

Just as he let out a deep sigh, he felt something soft touch his head. At first, he flinched slightly, but then relaxed as skilled fingers began to massage his scalp, pressing gently into the sore spots, kneading away the tension he hadn't realized he was holding onto.

He opened his eyes slowly, the room still dimly lit from the bedside lamp, and saw Diana sitting behind him, her legs folded neatly, his head resting against her lap. She was looking down at him, but not speaking, her lips slightly parted, eyes unusually serious.

"You're going to put massage therapists out of business," he mumbled with a tired smile.

Diana didn't respond, just continued massaging his temples with gentle, circular motions. The silence from her was louder than anything she had ever said. Normally, she would've made a sarcastic remark, teased him, or at least smirked. But right now—she was unusually quiet. And it made Aryan feel uneasy.

He sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the loss of comfort, and turned to face her. "Are you still mad about earlier?"

Diana blinked, then reached for the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small strip of painkillers. She handed it to him without a word along with a glass of water. He took it, swallowing the tablet before setting the glass down. She still hadn't looked at him directly.

"Diana?" he asked again, softer this time. "What's wrong?"

She sat still for a moment, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her T-shirt. Then, finally, she exhaled and met his eyes.

"I'm not upset about the fight," she began. "Not exactly."

He stayed quiet, letting her continue.

"I know I'm not the ideal Indian wife, Aryan," she said with a small, dry laugh. "I can't cook to save my life. My mom spent years trying to get me into the kitchen, but I always pushed it aside. I kept telling her I'd learn eventually... after this assignment, after that project, after I launched the company..."

She paused, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

"I kept saying 'later' so many times that I think even she stopped believing me. And maybe I stopped believing myself too."

Aryan leaned back slightly, absorbing her words. He didn't expect this. Not from Diana—the firecracker, the sass queen, the woman who wore confidence like perfume.

She glanced up again. "You know I've had a lot of boyfriends, right? That wasn't just a line I threw at you in our first meeting."

He nodded slowly, recalling her candid confession that day over coffee, when she compared her exes to her nail appointments.

"I used to change them like I changed outfits," she admitted. "And not because I didn't care. It's because... I cared too much. I used to be the quietest kid in school. Straight A student, barely spoke to anyone. Teachers loved me. Classmates ignored me. I blended in."

Her voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "And then, one day in college, someone noticed me. Complimented me. Laughed at my joke. It felt like a switch flipped. Suddenly, I wanted more. More eyes on me, more laughter, more validation. I craved it. Loud clothes, bold makeup, louder personality... the quiet girl disappeared."

Aryan sat beside her, heart sinking a little. Not out of disappointment, but out of the heaviness she carried behind her mask of flamboyance.

"I thought if I stayed loud, people wouldn't forget me again," she said. "And now here I am, in this house, with a husband who works all day and a mother-in-law who's trying her best to be kind even though I can tell she thinks I'm a little... much. I can't even make a round laddoo."

Aryan finally reached out, taking her hand in his.

"Diana," he said quietly, "you don't need to be anything but yourself."

She looked up, surprised.

"I know I joked before that you'd kill me with your outfits, or your sass. But the truth is, you're the best thing that's happened to me. Yeah, you're loud. Yeah, you make my life unpredictable. But you also make it full. You give it color. You challenge me."

Her lips parted slightly in astonishment.

He smiled gently. "So no, you may not be a 'proper' Indian wife, but you are mine. And you're perfect for me."

Diana blinked rapidly, and for a moment, Aryan was worried he'd said too much. But then she launched herself at him in a tight hug, her face buried in his shoulder.

"You idiot," she whispered. "You absolute idiot."

He laughed, holding her tightly. "Takes one to marry one."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. "We're really going to Paris?"

He nodded. "February seventh. Valentine's week. I want to see your world."

Her smile widened slowly. "Then get ready, Aryan Malhotra. Because my world is crazy."

"I figured," he chuckled. "I married you, didn't I?"