Running dreams.

My form.

One evening, I was sitting on the bed with the college application form in my lap. He entered. I smiled. "Look."

He didn't answer.

"Aarav?"

He dropped his bag. "What?"

"The application."

He looked at the paper. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then: "Not now, Meera."

I stared at him. "You said?"

"I know what I said."

His voice was sharper than I had ever heard it.

I became quiet. He rubbed his face. "I'm sorry."

I lowered the paper. "It's okay."

He sat beside me. "I've had a difficult day."

"I know."

He took my hand. "I'll sort everything out."

That night, I folded the college form. I placed it beneath my clothes. And told myself: Tomorrow. There would always be tomorrow.

Outside, rain began tapping against the window. Softly. Patiently. Like fingers asking to be let in. I listened.

The first few months of marriage were made of small adjustments.

I learned that Savita liked her tea strong.

I learned that Baba Malhotra, whom everyone called Papaji liked his rotis soft enough to fold with one hand.

I learned that the house had a loose window in the kitchen that whistled whenever the wind came from the east.

I learned where Aarav kept his shirts.

I learned that he hated waking up early but loved pretending he did not.

I learned that marriage was less like the wedding ceremony people photographed and more like remembering hundreds of tiny things nobody else noticed.

How much salt.

Which side of the bed.

When to speak.

When not to.

What made the other person laugh.

What made them tired.

What made them quiet.

I was learning.

And I was happy.

Mostly.

Aarav still came home with flowers sometimes.

Not expensive ones.

He couldn't afford expensive things anymore.

But he would return from the market with two or three marigolds tucked inside his shirt pocket.

"For you."

I would laugh.

"Why marigolds?"

"Because roses are expensive."

"So I get the cheap flowers?"

"You get the flowers I can afford."

He would grin.

"And when I become rich, I'll buy you a whole garden."

I would put the flowers in a glass.

"You'll become rich?"

"Definitely."

"How?"

"I haven't figured that part out."

I would laugh.

Those moments made everything feel possible again.

Even college.

Especially college.

And then, one afternoon, I found the application form beneath my clothes.