HAROLD’S POV

Took me some time to get out of bed and start functioning again like a proper human. I consider it time wasted. Time I would've used to find my wife and tell her how fucking stupid she is.

How dare she leave me?

She called mum once to ask if there is any improvement in my condition. I made mum say no. If she believes I'm still unconscious she will have less time to come up with excuses for leaving me when I show up in front of her.

I step out of the jet and look around. I've never been to India before, though I always wanted to visit. I have too many ties to this place for someone who never step foot on this land.

The drive is slow because of traffic so I look around the city of Hyderabad. My wife grew up here, she is the princess of this place. It's a lot like her. Grounded, quiet yet brewing up a storm inside.

The palace I step in front of is an old architectural marvel. I remember Faisal talking about places like these. He loved them.

I focus on the couple that step out of said stunning architecture and welcome me warmly. "We are so happy to welcome you into our home."

I'll see how happy they are when they realise I helped their daughter escape them. I also married her which they aren't aware of from the way they talked to me. To them, I'm the Duke of Halesbury, visiting India for the first time and what's better than nobility meeting nobility for absolutely no reason?

I step into their gigantic house, looking around in hopes of finding my wife. She doesn't seem to be here nor does she seem aware that I'm the one visiting her mansion.

I'm seated on a plush white couch that looks straight out of a medieval painting. Golden trimmings and all. I'm not sure if all this is pretentious or they are actually that rich. The house and furniture paint a picture their financial accounts can't catch up with.

Yes, I did a background check.

Once my mother told me all the information she has got to know about Inayat in the past year, I had multiple people running some checks. I don't know why she ran away from home. I don't know why she never mentioned her parents.

I simply wanted to know who they were and if she was doing well. From the investigation, I know that these people do have money but their losses are huge too. They have a status to maintain but their accounts are falling faster than hair off of an average British man's head.

Not me. I have impeccable genes. Safe to say my lineage is probably one of the only in the British empire with absolutely no incest. Thank fucking god.

I'm served tea, Indian style. They call it Chai. My wife loves it. She isn't fond of English tea so I had someone import a few different kinds of Indian teas to our house. I'm still not a milk and sugar in my tea person but I enjoy chai once a while when she makes it for me too.

It mostly happens when she accidentally makes a little too much and rather than throwing it away, considers me her own garbage disposal and feeds me things I'd rather not eat on my own.

"You could try a bite darling. You made me eat that horrendously fatty thing in the morning." She scowls a little. We've been married three months and she is finally warming up to this house and me.

She doesn't stay as quiet anymore. Often cooks Indian dishes, sometimes she would sit with my mother and listen to her ramble about my childhood.

"How dare you Harold? It's called a paratha and it's amazing." It was good but it was extremely fatty and a bit too spicy for my taste.

"Darling I have so much oil in my body from that one meal, I fear the US would want to invade me." I watch as a small smile cracks up her always stoic facade. I still haven't seen a full blown smile and a laugh from her seems like a fever dream but I can work with this for now.

"So I'm begging you, to at least give this try. Some might call it a national dish." I say as I put a plate of beans on toast in front of her. She looks at it with a grimace.

"You have Sunday roast, shepherds pie, steaks and yet you consider beans on toast your national dish?" She asks, still grimacing at the plate. "Actually, our national dish is Chicken tikka masala." I inform her.

She blinks at me before picking up the plate. "You people are a disgrace." My ancestors absolutely deserve that. She takes a bite of the toast, chews slowly before turning and spitting out whatever she ate into the garbage bin. Well, at least she tried it.

"This is an abomination to food, right next to vegemite." I nod. I do understand that the food we eat isn't upto the standards of an Indian who grew up eating spices. I also understand that she can't cook three meals a day for herself while working a full time job.

"I'll hire a chef who specialises in Indian cuisine. You shouldn't have to tire yourself everyday just for a meal, darling."

I never imagined myself married after I left college or that burnt building that raised cults. But if I were to imagine one, I would say Inayat and I did a good job. Sure, we never touched each other, held hands, slept while holding each other, had sex or kissed but marriage is much more than that. And we did a good job at it.

We were only a few days away from our first anniversary when I fell into a coma. Our second anniversary is tomorrow. We never got to the first one and I'm not sure if she wants to see me on our second either.

Mum said she left because she felt guilty for what happened to me and blamed herself. I worry that my wife left because she realised she deserves better than a fucked up, stuck in the past murderer.

Could be either. And I don't like the sound of both of them.

I listen to my in laws talk about their ancestry, heritage and how they became nobility. I'm not bored, I'm even interested in knowing about my wife's family but I'm more interested in knowing about her and where she is.

I want to see her beautiful face and possibly get a little mad about her disappearance. The first face that I wanted to see when I opened my eyes was hers. Whether she knows it or not, I almost died but I came back for her.

Because I do not want to leave her alone. Because she gives me a reason to wake up every morning. And from a coma too.

"Is it just the two of you?" I ask nonchalantly. "No children?"

"We have a daughter." My mother in law smiles and points at a family portrait on the wall. My eyes study it. It has the couple, a little girl no older than ten and a teenage boy.

Inayat's eyes look lively. For the first time I see spark in them and it's the ten year old version of her. How come no one saw the light leaving her eyes? How come no one noticed her smile disappearing?

Or maybe they did and ignored it. "Of course she isn't this young anymore. She is in her mid twenties now."

"And the boy?" I ask. I didn't know she had a sibling and these people didn't mention a son. "He was my friend's son." Inayat's father speaks. "His parents passed away in a car accident when he was still a child so we took him in and raised him. He is family."

"Is he here?" I question. Unease spreading through my chest like wildfire. He was never once mentioned to me. Not by Inayat, not in the background checks.

I'm practically a stranger to them and they just told me who he is to them which means they are not trying to actively hide him. Then how come I didn't know about him?

"No." They say in unison. "He lives in Canada. He is doing his own business." I nod. "He was supposed to move here after his marriage but that didn't happen." I usually don't like people who overshare but this is extremely beneficial to me so I encourage them to speak more.

"Could I ask why?"

The man shakes his head in distress so his wife tells me. "Our daughter refused and ran away for a bit. These two grew up together and were extremely close. We think they had a big fight, though we are still hoping that things work out again."

Fuck unease, this time it's fury. It's turning my blood into molten lava. I knew that they are not aware of me being Inayat's husband but it seems they don't know she got married altogether. And they are dreaming of getting her married to whoever the fuck this guy is.

Over my dead body!

Even then I'll plaster my ghost to her side and keep cockroaches who think they can marry her away. I clench my fist around a cushion beside me, nearly popping it but then they invite me to the table for dinner and I discard my plans of manslaughter.

They share Inayat's childhood memories while we eat, seeming extremely proud and loving. I've spent years trying to make sure I see people for who they are. I didn't want to judge wrong again.

My in laws seem to genuinely love my wife. She seems like their pride and joy. They even get emotional when they talk about her disappearance. My mother in law tells me she even went to pray to Delhi and on her way back, she saw Inayat at the airport.

They looked around that island and multiple states in the US since that's where she disappeared from. I believe their mind didn't go to England. Dinner wraps up around nine and my wife still isn't home.

I'm not sure what times she usually comes back at but back in England she was always home before dinner. "You should stay."

My father in law says when he sees me reach for my suitcase. I came here directly from the airport. "Our daughter went to her friend's house in Mumbai and she will be coming back tonight. You could meet her tomorrow morning at breakfast.

I'm sure she would be glad to meet you. And you should give us some more time to take proper care of you." I have heard a lot about Indian hospitality. While I'm not interested in making them treat me like a king and go out of their way, I do want to see my wife.

So I agree and retire to bed. Hoping to see her in the morning. Or possibly before.

~~~~~~

INAYAT’S POV

How many times can a flight be delayed? Infinite. For some reason they kept delaying my flight by fifteen minutes for five hours. That's twenty delays. Just say it's five hours late and let us go somewhere but no.

I hate the way I'm acting. I hate that Harold spoiled me rotten. He got me on his private jet so much that I completely forgot the issues other people face.

And I already dread the fact that I have to fly back to Mumbai in two days for Ananya and Faisal's anniversary. This time they decided to not throw a party but celebrate with their family in the afternoon and since they are both friendless, they decided to invite me to dinner.

So I have to be the third wheel on their anniversary. Just as I have to be alone on mine. Our anniversaries are only a day apart. It’s a coincidence which would’ve been amazing if I had my husband.

I had texted my mother about my flight delays and told her to not wait up. The house is dark and quiet when I step into it.

I try to make absolutely no sound as I walk past my parent's bedroom and towards mine. I pause at the door. There is something different. It's a different smell, that feels more like home than this mansion ever did.

It's a comforting scent. It reminds me of Harold. I notice that the whole house smells like him. Did my father buy a new cologne?

I had called mum back in England to ask about Harold and she told me nothing has changed. Every time I ask her this and her answer doesn't change makes me want to cry. Why isn't it changing? Why isn't he waking up?

Does he not know that I miss him? I want him to wake up so I know whether he hates me the same way his father and Cassandra say he would. Neither of them are my fans and neither bother to be nice but I fear Harold might not want to see me after he realises that I didn't hold his hand to save him.

I want to hold his hand. God I do.

The clock on a church nearby rings twelve times. It's midnight. It Harold and mine second wedding anniversary. Last year on this day I cried in my bed. I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I didn't even shower. I had locked myself in and cried over what I did.

I wanted him to be there. I wanted him to see that I made a friend. That I joined therapy. I wanted him to know that I pet a dog and even a cat. I wanted him to know that this time, I would want nothing more than to hold his hand.

I turn away from my bedroom door. Suddenly suffocated in between the closed walls and his scent. It's a slow poison that is killing me from the inside. Reminding that he isn't here and it's my fault.

The lush garden around the palace seems particularly beautiful in the moonlight. I walk around the space, taking in the flowers that are blooming. I look around a couple times when I feel I'm being watched. Though I see no one.

Something is wrong with me today. First I could smell Harold around me and now I feel that someone is watching me. It's-

"Aayat."

This is what I'm sure the world sounds like when your heart stops. There is a deafening silence around me. Not even the crickets make a sound. I probably imagined his voice. I should go and lie down. "Aayat. Darling?" No. No I can't be hallucinating so much.

I turn. His beautiful blonde hair is slightly longer than before but still not too long. This suits him the best. He is wearing a simple black tshirt and grey joggers. Is he real? He is actually here? How did he get in? My family, how did they- H- I frown. What did he call me?

"Harold?" I call out. He takes a step closer. "Yes darling?"

"You're here." I breathe out like an idiot. "I am." He responds.

"You called me Aayat." He nods. "It sounds beautiful, does it not?" I- what? I am so confused, so happy, so...... overwhelmed.

"I-" I start breathing faster. No air seems enough for my lungs. I raise my palm up. I'm not sure what for but I let it stay firmly in the air. He walks closer to place his palm against mine. Still not touching me.

I can feel the warmth of his palm, I can feel him but it's not enough. None of this is enough. I still don't believe that he is here. I need him to seep into my bones to assure me. I let the air dissipate between us.

I let my palm touch his. His eyes widen slightly, his body turns to marble. He freezes but doesn't take his eyes off of me. I intertwine our fingers and clutch his hand tightly.

My therapist told me I'm ready to try and touch a person but when she tried to hold my finger, I had pulled away. The thought still made my skin itch but not with him. His touch doesn't burn. His touch doesn't make me want to panic.

He clasps his fingers over mine before looking at our hands. He seems so shocked, so surprised, even elated. "Harry." I breathe out with desperation and tears. I need him to tell me he forgives me and that he isn't mad at me.

He looks at me again. Still shaken before his jaw clenches. "Never call me Harold again." He says. I frown only for it to melt. "I want to be Harry, Aayat. Just Harry." I give him a watery smile.

"Then I just want to be Aayat." Just his. Someone no one else knows.

~~~~~~