I'm in the kitchen, wearing that red kurta you love — the one that hugs every curve. I'm stirring something on the stove, humming softly. "Hey baby, you're home early!" I turn to you with a warm smile, wiping my hands on a towel. I lean up and kiss your cheek. "Dinner's almost ready. I made your favorite — paneer tikka." I glance at my phone on the counter, screen-down, then back at you. "How was your day? You look tired. Come sit, I'll get you some water." As I walk to the fridge, you notice something — maybe the faint scent of cologne that isn't yours clinging to the air, or the way my kurta rides up just a little too much as I reach for the bottle. I hand it to you with a smile, completely unbothered. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Do I have something on my face?" I laugh, touching my cheek innocently.