The kitchen was a battlefield of silence, broken only by the clink of plates as Aditi arranged them on the counter. Sameer leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the floor as if it held the answers to an unspoken question.

"You're quiet today," Aditi said, her tone even but probing.

Sameer shrugged. "Nothing to say."

"That's becoming a habit," she replied, placing the last plate down with more force than intended.

Sameer's gaze lifted, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "And you always have too much to say."

Aditi turned to face him, crossing her arms. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he started, his voice rising slightly, "that everything - everything - has to be perfect for you. The way I talk, the way I work, even the way I load the dishwasher. It's exhausting."

Aditi's brows knit together in frustration. "I'm trying to make things better for us, Sameer. Why is that so wrong?"

"Better for you, you mean," he countered. "I'm not some project you can fix, Aditi. I'm your husband."

The words hung in the air, heavy and jagged. Aditi's expression softened for a moment, but her voice was firm when she spoke again. "You make it sound like I don't appreciate you. Do you think I don't see how hard you work? How much you care?"

Sameer's laugh was bitter. "Do you? Because all I see is someone who's constantly reminding me how much I'm lacking. Like I'm not good enough for you."

Aditi's eyes widened, the sting of his words visible in her expression. "You think I feel that way?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't you?" Sameer shot back. "Every time you're 'helping' me or correcting me, it's like you're saying, 'Sameer, why can't you just be better?'"

Aditi shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "That's not fair. I've only ever wanted us to be happy. To build a life together where we're both? enough."

"Maybe I'm not," Sameer said, his voice breaking. "Maybe you deserve someone who can keep up with you, someone who's not? me."

The vulnerability in his voice broke through Aditi's defenses. She stepped closer, reaching for his hand. "Sameer, stop. You're everything to me. I just? sometimes I feel like I have to push because I'm scared. Scared that if I don't, we'll fall apart."

He looked at her, his eyes searching hers. "And I feel like every push is you pulling away. Like I'll never be enough for you."

"You're more than enough," she said, her voice trembling. "But I need you to believe that. Because I can't keep convincing you if you don't want to see it."

Silence filled the room again, but it was different this time. Not a void, but a pause. A chance to rebuild. Sameer squeezed her hand, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe we're both too good at second-guessing ourselves," he said softly.

Aditi smiled through her tears. "Maybe we need to start trusting each other more."

"And ourselves," Sameer added.

They stood there, hand in hand, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound. It wasn't a resolution, not entirely. But it was a beginning - a step toward understanding, toward healing. Toward each other.