13. Phuchka

𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀

“Devi.”

His cold voice cut through the room, and my head snapped toward the doorframe. For a second, I wanted to run to him. But the old lady’s trembling hand still held mine, anchoring me there.

I saw him. He saw me. And then his gaze shifted—sharp, unreadable—toward her.

“Go. Sit in the car and wait for me. I’ll come in five minutes,” he ordered, voice clipped, final.

My eyes flickered between her hand gripping mine and her face. She gave me a faint smile, one that seemed to carry a thousand unsaid things, and slowly let go. After one last lingering look at him, I obeyed and walked out.

Crossing the ashram, my steps slowed when my eyes fell on the field outside—wet, muddy earth, yet thousands of daisies bloomed across it like stars scattered in the dark. Something about it tugged at me.

“Hello ma’am, did you enjoy the exhibition?” A familiar voice startled me.

It was the same girl who had bumped into us at the entrance.

“Yeah… I enjoyed it a lot—with my husband,” I replied, putting deliberate weight on the last words. My gaze flicked to her as I said it. She smiled back—forced, almost brittle—and said nothing more.

Without wasting another thought, I crossed the ashram gates. Several black cars stood lined up now, guards posted around ours. They hadn’t been here when we arrived. Why now?

I slipped into the front seat. My hair was still damp, sticking to my neck. Long hair—sometimes a blessing, mostly a curse. Fifteen minutes to braid, forever to wash, even longer to dry. I hadn’t cut it since eighth grade, and right now I regretted every inch of it.

Minutes dragged before I finally saw him coming out of the gate. My gaze instantly caught on the sandals and the paper bag in his hands. Mine.

Oh God. He actually carried them. I had almost forgotten about them myself.

He walked to the car, his face as silent and blank as ever. But not always—no, he wasn’t the same with everyone. He had layers, and I still hadn’t figured which ones were real.

He opened the driver’s seat, placed my sandals and bag on the back, and then his eyes lifted to me.

This time I didn’t turn away. I kept watching, even when he leaned closer, his hand slowly reaching toward me. My breath caught, my heart thudded wildly—

Ohhh myyy…

I instinctively covered my chest. But instead of what I feared, his hand brushed past me, tugging the seatbelt across and clicking it into place.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, his tone low but steady. “If I want something, I’ll ask your consent first.”

Heat rushed to my face, part embarrassment, part frustration. My hands fell to my lap as I turned my face away in silent agony.

Devi, stop thinking like this about him. Stop.

But how could I, when memories stabbed through me?

Did he ask my consent before that day—when his shameless hand grabbed me without warning?

Mannerless monster. Heartless man.

I screamed it inside, but my throat betrayed me—my lips stayed shut. Only silence filled the car, thick with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.

The road stretched ahead, but my mind was still tangled in that old lady’s words. Her trembling hands, her teary eyes, her strange certainty. Why… why had she spoken like that? Should I ask him?

“Do you… know that lady?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

His eyes stayed on the road. “Which lady?”

“That one. The one who was with me.”

A pause. Then, calm as ever—“No. I don’t know her.”

I bit my lip. “But… she said everything there was mine. That it was made by our mothers.”

His tone didn’t change. “Maybe she saw her daughter in you.”

“Hmm… hote pare,” I whispered. Maybe.

After that, I didn’t ask anything more. I only turned my gaze outside. The storm had passed. The sky was clear now, painted in soft hues where day and night were meeting. Twilight. My favorite time. That magical hour when the sun doesn’t want to leave, and the moon waits patiently to arrive.

Our car rolled into the market streets, where life bustled with noise and color. My eyes followed the crowded shops, the laughter of people bargaining, the bright stalls bursting with clothes and trinkets. And then—

My gaze froze. A phuchka stall.

Something inside me flipped, and suddenly my stomach felt like it was begging, craving. My fingers fidgeted against my lap, scratching at nothing.

“Phuchka… phuchkaa… dadao! Dadao phuchkaa!” I blurted out, half in desperation, half in childish excitement. The car screeched to a halt.

“Phuchka… phuchka…” I kept mumbling, trying to open the car door. But it was locked.

Frustrated, I turned toward him—only to find his gaze already fixed… downward. Not at me. At—

I followed it. My nails. Oh god. They were scratching at his shirt.

Ohhh shit.

“I… I… I’m sorry,” I stammered, my face heating instantly.

He pressed a switch, and the car door locks flickered open. His gaze lingered on me as he leaned slightly closer, his voice a whisper brushing my ear.

“Because of your health… limited hi milengi.”

My face bloomed like a flower at dawn. I nodded eagerly and almost bounced out of the car. Excitement bursting through me, I ran straight to the phuchka stall.

“Bhaiya, ek plate lagana!” I chirped.

The vendor handed me a conical leaf bowl and placed a golden, water-filled phuchka on top.

For two whole seconds, I simply admired it. At last, my love. After so long… And then, reverently, I lifted it to my lips and popped it into my mouth.

My eyes closed on their own as the crunchy shell burst, spilling spiced water and tangy potato filling. Bliss. Pure, mouth-watering bliss.

When I opened them again, another phuchka was already waiting on my plate, and one more was balanced in the vendor’s hand. I didn’t even hesitate—I grabbed, devoured, and grabbed again.

“Didi, one plate khatam,” the seller reminded gently.

“Haan toh?” I replied between bites. “Aur khilao bhai! Bahut paisa hai mere paas. Aur haan—thoda teekha zyada dena!”

He chuckled, nodding, and began preparing another round. One after another, I ate and ate, until suddenly—a firm hand came down over mine, stopping me mid-bite.

My cheeks puffed with the stuffed phuchka, I turned, ready to unleash my fury on whoever dared—

And of course, it was him. My husband.

His glare was sharp enough to slice through the night.

“Didn’t I tell you… only limited?”

I gulped down the bite and gave him my best puppy eyes. “Yes, I remember. But I haven’t reached the limit yet. Abhi maine bas… twelve hi khaye hain.”

I turned back to the vendor, deliberately ignoring the frost radiating beside me. “Bhaiya, ek plate inke liye bhi laga do.”

“I don’t eat this unhygienic stuff,” he replied coldly before the poor seller could move.

“Thik hai then… inhein ek sookhi papdi de do,” I shot back smugly.

“Didi, aapke abhi aur teen baaki hain,” the seller reminded.

I tugged at my husband’s grip. “Leave my hand.”

He actually did. And without wasting a second, I pounced on the next phuchka. Victory was sweet… and spicy.

But as I reached for another, I felt his gaze burning into me. I needed a distraction. Fast.

“Arey, aapke guards bula rahe aapko,” I gestured with my eyes toward the black-suited men a little distance away.

He didn’t even blink. His face was blank, but his stare was ruthless. A wall of silence.

Finally, after what felt like ages, he spoke. “Ho gaya.”

“Nooo… one more plate!” I pleaded, holding up a single finger, my voice dripping with desperation.

But he ignored me completely. Calmly pulling out his phone, he scanned the QR code and paid the vendor.

Before I could protest again, his hand seized mine, and he pulled me away from the stall.

“Arey rukiye!” I dug in my heels, resisting with all my strength. He stopped, exasperated.

“Ab kya?”

“I forgot something. Leave my hand!” I huffed.

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t let go.

I twisted back toward the seller, raising my voice. “Bhaiya, aapne mujhe sookhi papdi nahi di!”

The vendor blinked, sighed, then finally handed me a crisp papdi drenched in sweet chutney. I caught it with my free left hand, grinning, while my right hand remained firmly locked in his grasp.

Finally, he all but forced me back into the car, shutting the door before slipping into the driver’s seat beside me.

“It’s hot inside… please open the window,” I muttered, still breathing heavily, the afterburn of too much spice clinging to my throat.

“Meri taraf dekho, Devi,” his voice came, low and firm.

I turned, and saw him already pulling out his handkerchief. With quiet precision, he leaned closer and wiped my face—softly, carefully—as though I were a child who had just made a glorious mess. Only then did he roll the window down, letting the evening air rush in.

“Jab itna teekha bardasht nahi hota,” he said flatly, his face unreadable, “toh khati kyun ho?”

“Vo… bohot din baad khaya na,” I mumbled, lips curving into a small excuse. “Isliye itna lag raha hai.”

His eyes cut to me—sharp, unimpressed, like he was already done with my nonsense.

I gave him a sheepish grin in return, stretching my lips wide, showing all my teeth as if that would soften his glare. He didn’t react.

So, defeated, I turned toward the open window, watching the twilight-streaked world outside as the wind brushed against my damp hair.

After about half an hour, the car finally pulled up in front of Pratap Manor. He unbuckled his seatbelt, then walked around to my side. With a quiet click, he opened the door and leaned in, his fingers brushing mine as he unfastened my belt too.

He extended his hand, and I slipped mine into it, stepping out of the car.

“Go inside,” he said simply.

“What about you? Won’t you come with me?” I asked, hesitating, almost hoping for something else.

“I have some work to do,” his reply came in that same blank, steady tone.

I didn’t push further. Only nodded and turned toward the manor, my footsteps echoing faintly against the stone path. But all the while, I could feel his gaze trailing after me.

I tilted my head just slightly to check if I was imagining it—and no, I wasn’t. His eyes were fixed on me, unreadable, blank as ever… but heavy, almost as if his soul itself was following my every step.

And then another thought struck me.

Where were his guards? They had been shadowing him since morning, and yet now—nothing. No footsteps, no presence.

My heart skipped. Was I overthinking it? Or was this really unusual?

“I’ll ask him about it later,” I murmured inwardly, brushing away the unease as I finally crossed the threshold into the manor.

As I stepped into the hall, I found everyone gathered there with their bags, the air buzzing with quiet preparation.

“Lijiye maa ji, Devika pan aavi gayi,” Jiji said the moment her eyes caught me.

( look maa, Devika has also came)

“Lambi umar chhe tari, tanej yaad kari rahya hata ame.” Nani Maa smiled, drawing me close. She kissed my forehead and caressed my hair with that familiar motherly warmth.

(You have a long life, we were just remembering you)

I returned her smile softly.

“Dhritya has packed your clothes,” she continued. “If you need to take anything else important, do so. We will leave in half an hour.”

“Ji,” I nodded, then quietly made my way toward my room.

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