“Ansh… Ni… Patni…”
The words slipped from his lips in a low whisper. The smirk, the lace — everything vanished in an instant, like a mask falling off his face.
Before I could respond, a sharp knock echoed at the door.
“Bhabhi, are you there? Bhabhi…” came Dhritya’s trembling voice, followed by Dakshit’s.
He turned toward the door, his expression tightening, then glanced back at me.
“Open the door,” I said, my voice firm — almost cold.
He clenched his jaw, teeth grinding, but didn’t argue. With one last glare, he moved and unlatched the door.
“Angad chacha…?” Dhritya’s shocked voice filled the air, but her eyes widened further when she saw me.
“Bhabhi!”
Both of them rushed toward me, brushing past him as if he didn’t exist.
“Bhabhi, are you okay?” they asked in unison, worry painting their faces.
I gave a small nod and gestured toward the girl trembling in my arms.
“Bhavya ajji!” both shouted together, horror flashing in their eyes.
“Shh… Don’t shout,” I warned quickly, my tone low but firm. “If anyone hears, it’ll become impossible to handle this.”
The image of Bhavya walking away with him earlier flashed in my mind — the trust in her eyes, the mistake in mine. My jaw tightened. That man had disappeared, but I didn’t care. He wouldn’t get away with it.
“We should take her safely to our room,” I said, glancing at the girl who was still gasping between sobs.
They nodded without a word. Together, we moved swiftly through the dimly lit corridor, every creak of the floorboard making my heart thump faster.
Once inside, I turned to Dakshit. “Go outside and keep watch. Make sure no one comes this way.”
He hesitated but obeyed. After all, Bhavya would feel uneasy with a boy around right now.
I guided her to sit on the bed and handed her a glass of water. She clutched it tightly, her trembling fingers barely steady enough to hold it.
She drank it in one go, choking slightly as tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Aaraam se… shaant ho jao. Koi nahi aayega yahan,” I murmured, patting her back gently.
Her breathing began to slow, though her body still shook with silent fear. The room fell into a heavy stillness — only her muffled sobs and the faint rustle of curtains filled the silence.
And as I looked at her — fragile, broken, terrified — a quiet rage rose inside me.
And why not? I had suffered too — the wound hadn’t healed even now. Yet Ansh ji… he was mending something in me that I hadn’t even known was shattered. He gave me the care, the love, the strength — a shield for a broken heart.
“Bhabhi… Bhavya di’s clothes,” Dhritya’s voice snapped me back from my thoughts. I handed Bhavya the clothes. She dressed slowly; with each layer she seemed a little steadier. When she finally sat on the bed, exhaustion stole over her face and she fell into a restless sleep. I smoothed the blanket over her and watched her chest rise and fall.
“How cruel people have become in this supposedly pure world,” Dhritya whispered, looking at Bhavya with a hurt that made my own chest tighten. “You can’t even feel safe inside your own house.”
I said nothing. The silence between us was heavy with things we didn’t say aloud — anger, fear, and a quiet, fierce rising into me.
“Who is she, Dhritya?” I asked softly, still unsure about the girl’s true identity.
“Bhabhi, she’s the bride — Big Chacha’s daughter. Don’t you remember? I told you about her… that she’s mentally ill.”
Before I could respond, Bhavya suddenly sat up on the bed, her voice trembling but fierce.
“Hum pagal nahi hain! Pagal nahi hain hum!” she screamed, her red eyes glistening with tears.
I rushed toward her. She was shaking, clutching her head as if trying to silence a voice only she could hear.
“Hum pagal nahi hain… humein banaya gaya hai aisa!” she cried again, her words cracking through the still air.
“Calm down, Bhavya… please, calm down,” I said gently, holding her shoulders. “I know you’re not mad. You’re a good girl… please, breathe.”
Her sobs broke into soft whimpers as she buried her face in my arms, clinging tightly.
“Hum pagal nahi hain, Bhabhi… hum padhe likhe hain… humme kabiliyat hai…” she murmured, her voice fragile yet full of defiance.
For a moment, my mind went blank. What could I say? I wasn’t highly educated either — I was a twelfth-fail woman who still believed in her worth. I understood that pain — being judged, being unseen.
“What are you saying, Bhavya?” I asked softly.
“Yes, Bhavya di,” Dhritya added, eyes wide with confusion. “What do you mean?”
Bhavya lifted her head slowly, her tear-streaked face hardening with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.
“Hum pagal hone ka natak kar rahe hain,” she whispered. “Koi pagal nahi hai hum… Surat ke famous textile designers mein se ek hain hum. Hamari majboori ne humein pagal bana rakha…”
Her words hung in the air like broken glass — sharp, shattering, and real.
Before I could ask more, Dakshit’s urgent voice came from outside the door.
“Bhabhi! Bhabhi! Revati Bhabhi is coming to your room!”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Bhavya— act like you’re sleeping. Quickly!” I whispered, helping her lie down and pulling the blanket up to her chin.
The three of us exchanged a silent, terrified glance as the sound of footsteps grew louder outside the door.
Author’s POV…
The door to Devika’s room opened with a soft thud.
Revati stepped in, her voice already raised, “Devika, why are you not getting rea—”
She stopped mid-sentence, her words hanging in the air.
Devika sat before the dressing table, her reflection calm yet distant, while Dhritya stood beside her, carefully applying kajal to her eyes.
“What happened, Jiji?” Devika turned slightly, meeting Revati’s startled gaze through the mirror.
Revati blinked, composing herself. “No… nothing. I just came to remind you of the time,” she said with a faint smile.
Stepping closer, Revati leaned in, and with the tip of her finger, took a tiny streak of kajal from Devika’s eye and marked it gently behind her ear.
“You’re looking gorgeous,” she said softly. “Kisi ki nazar na lage.”
Then, with a teasing grin, she added, “Waise, agar tumhara pati yahan hota, toh kisi ki himmat nahi hoti tum par nazar daalne ki. Par ab jab vo nahi hai, toh mere kajal se hi kaam chala lo.”
Her laughter filled the room like the tinkle of glass bangles, and Devika couldn’t help but blush, lowering her gaze with a small smile.
But Revati’s laughter faded when her eyes drifted toward the bed.
“Bhavya?” she asked, frowning. “What is she doing here… in your room?”
Devika’s heart skipped for a moment, but she quickly steadied her tone.
“Uh… she came to see me,” Devika replied. “She wasn’t feeling well and wanted to rest for a while, so I let her sleep here.”
Revati’s suspicion lingered for a heartbeat, but she nodded slowly. “Alright… come down in ten minutes, okay? With Dhritya. Everyone’s already arrived.”
Devika frowned, puzzled. “Everyone?”
“Yes,” Revati said casually, adjusting the end of her dupatta. “Some villagers have come — people close to the family. You know how it is.”
She turned and left, her anklets jingling faintly against the marble floor.
As the door clicked shut behind her, the air in the room shifted again — calm on the surface, but underneath, the quiet fear still pulsed like an unspoken secret.
Devika turned toward Bhavya, her expression calm but firm.
“Bhavya… please stay here,” she said softly, opening the drawer beside her dressing table. She pulled out a small, elegant ladies’ pistol — its silver body gleaming faintly under the light. “And keep this with you, okay?”
Bhavya’s eyes widened in disbelief, but before she could react, Dhritya gasped aloud.
“Bhabhi! Bandook?!” she blurted out, her voice high with shock.
“Shh! Don’t shout, Dhriti!” Devika quickly pressed her palm over the girl’s mouth, her heartbeat quickening. “Do you want the whole house to hear?” she whispered sharply.
When Dhritya nodded, Devika slowly removed her hand.
“But… Bhabhi, ye bandook aapke paas aayi kahan se?” Dhritya asked in a hushed voice, still staring at the pistol as if it were something forbidden.
Devika’s eyes softened — but only for a second. “Tumhare bhaiya ne di thi,” she said quietly, a hint of irony curling her tone. “First rasoi ki gift.”
The corners of her lips lifted in a faint, bitter smile as a memory flickered through her mind — one that left her face shadowed with restrained frustration.
“Ansh Bhaiya ne… aapko gun di?” Dhritya repeated, disbelief lacing her voice.
Bhavya, who had been listening silently, finally spoke — her tone both curious and admiring.
“Aap… Ansh Bhaiya ki wife ho?”
Devika looked at her for a moment, then nodded softly.
Bhavya’s lips parted in a small, almost wistful smile. “You’re so lucky, Bhabhi… please, always stay with him. He’s a good man — one of the rare ones in this cruel world.” Her eyes glimmered faintly with something like gratitude. “He helped me once… helped me chase my dreams when everyone else only called me weak.”
Devika’s grip tightened slightly on the pistol before she gently placed it in Bhavya’s hand.
For a fleeting second, her heart stirred — pride, pain, and an emotion she couldn’t quite name.
“Maybe he’s not as bad as you think, Devika…”
The thought brushed her mind like a quiet whisper as she adjusted her ghoonghat and stepped out with Dhritya.
---
Downstairs, the air was thick with incense and the rhythm of folk songs. Devika sat on a small wooden bench, her legs curled neatly beneath her, hands resting in her lap. Women surrounded her on both sides, singing old Gujarati songs that filled the grand hall with festive warmth.
In between the verses, the gossip began — soft at first, then rising like murmurs through the crowd.
“Janē kevī bahu lāyo hase moṭī mālakin no nāto!”
(I wonder what kind of daughter-in-law the big mistress’s grandson has brought!)
“Ansh nī patnī chhe būā jī, khūbsūrat ja hase ne!”
(She’s Ansh’s wife, bua ji — she must be beautiful, right?)
“Are Rīmiyā nī mā, khūbsūratī to kevaḷ chehērā thi nathī jovānī,
khūbsūratī to chāl-chalan ane vyavhār mā hoy chhe!”
(Oh Rimya’s mother, beauty isn’t just about the face.
True beauty lies in manners and conduct.)
“Je vāto tame sācī kahī didī!”
(You said the right thing, didi!)
“Pan ā aajkal nu modarn jamāno chhe, have to chehērā joi ne ja andāz āvī jāy kevī bahu chhe!”
(But this is today’s modern era — people judge what kind of daughter-in-law she is just by looking at her face!)
“Ā badhu chhodi do jījī, huṁ to ā vichāri rahī hatī ke apdo Ansh āhyo kem nathī?
Nā, etle ke have to e nī patnī pan chhe ne — to āvvuṁ joye ne!”
(Forget all that, jiji — I was just wondering why our Ansh hasn’t come! I mean, now that he’s married, shouldn’t he be here too?)
The laughter and chatter swirled around Devika like wind, all centering on one name — Ansh Pratap Singh and his mysterious bride.
But it all quieted at once when the steady sound of a cane struck the marble floor.
“Etlo shoṛ shuṁ thay rahyo chhe bhai?”
(Why is there so much noise?)
An aged voice echoed through the hallway. The crowd parted respectfully as an elderly woman entered — even older than Ansh’s Nani Ma, Janaki Devi. Her silver hair was tied neatly, her hand gripping a wooden cane for support, but her presence commanded the room effortlessly.
She slowly made her way to Devika and sat beside her, her veil still lowered.
“Shuṁ thāyuṁ? Koi kai nathī bolto! Hāl to badhā toḍo shoṛ karī rahyā hatā ne!”
(What happened? No one’s talking now! Just a moment ago, everyone was making such a racket!)
“Kai nathī mālakin, ame to āṁ ja navi vahū vishe vāto karī rahyā hatā,”
(Nothing, ma’am — we were just talking about the new daughter-in-law,)
one woman replied nervously.
The elder’s eyes narrowed for a moment before softening.
“Āmā shuṁ vāto karvānī? Ansh nī pasand chhe — sāruṁ ja hase.”
(What’s there to discuss? She’s Ansh’s choice — she must be good.)
Then, smiling faintly, she picked up a small diya, circled it thrice around Devika, and blew it gently to ward off evil.
“Sada suhāgan raho ane hameshā khush raho, betī.”
(May you always remain married and forever happy, my daughter.)
Devika bent low to touch her feet, her long eyelashes fluttering down in respect.
The elder cupped her chin tenderly, lifting her face so everyone could see. Devika’s face glowed under the soft light — graceful, innocent, yet quietly regal.
“Khūb ja khūbsūrat chho, betī — koīnī nazar nā lage tamne,”
(You’re truly very beautiful, my daughter — may no evil eye ever fall upon you,)
she said warmly, taking her balaiyaan to ward off bad luck.
Then, with a proud smile, she added:
“Ane Rājputī strīoṁ ā rīte nazar nī jhukaḍī nathī rehtī —
e to shān sāthe nazar uṭhāvīne ubhī rehtī hoy chhe.”
(Rajput women don’t lower their eyes — they hold their gaze high and stand with pride.)
Devika smiled softly, nodding in agreement. The woman wasn’t as stern as she’d appeared — there was strength in her warmth.
Then, from among the women, someone teased,
“Are bahu, gungī chho shuṁ? Kahi nathī rahī! Kamasekam tamāruṁ nām to kahī do, bahuriyā!”
(Oh daughter-in-law, are you mute or what? You haven’t said a word! At least tell us your name!)
Laughter rippled through the crowd, making Devika flush under her veil. She looked toward Janaki Devi and Revati, who nodded reassuringly. Then she turned back to the elderly woman before her.
“Ham Ansh ki badi nani hain,”
the woman said with a gentle smile,
“Aur tumhari badi nani saas. Hamse ghabrane ki zarurat nahi — aur na hi in aurton se. Inhein apna naam bata do, beti.”
Devika took a deep breath.
“Jii… mera naam D… Devika hai,” she said softly.
“Ari bahu, poora naam batao,”
the elder urged, still smiling.
“Tumhari shaadi ho gayi hai — pati ke naam ke saath tumhara naam aur sansar juda hai.”
Her words settled heavily in the room. Devika hesitated, then lifted her chin slightly. A warm, shy smile curved her lips as she finally said,
“Jii… mera naam Devika Ansh Pratap Singh hai.”
“je hui na baat!”
the Badi Nani exclaimed with delight, pulling out a small pouch of bangles.
“Ye hamari taraf se.”
Devika knew refusing a gift from an elder was considered inauspicious. She accepted it gracefully, touching the woman’s feet once more.
One by one, the others followed — offering neg, gifts, and blessings.
And just like that, the ritual of Devika’s face reveal — muh dikhai — came to an end, wrapped in songs, laughter, and the quiet beating of a heart still learning its place in a new world.
.
.
It was 7:30 p.m. in the evening. Devika and Dhritya were sitting beside Bhavya, gently applying a little makeup on her face.
Bhavya, dressed in a crisp blue floral lehenga, looked gorgeous — the matching jewels glimmered under the soft yellow lights. But her face… it was blank. No expression, no joy, no sorrow — only silence. Her eyes were swollen, red, and heavy, as if they had forgotten what peace felt like. And yes… she had cried a lot.
It was her sangeet and mehendi night. The haldi function had already taken place earlier in the day. Usually, wedding rituals stretched over several days, but here, everything was being rushed. Two days — that’s all this family seemed to want. Two days to finish a lifetime’s worth of ceremonies. It was as if they were desperate to get this wedding done as soon as possible.
“Don’t worry, Bhavya,” Devika said softly, dabbing a tear-stain near her cheek. “It’s not your fault in any of this. God is watching everything. He’ll punish the one who hurt you soon.”
But Bhavya remained lost in thought — her eyes fixed on her own reflection, as if trying to recognize the person staring back.
“Bhavya, don’t spoil your special day,” Devika whispered again. “Please… smile a little.”
Bhavya slowly lifted her gaze to the mirror, meeting Devika’s reflection. Her lips trembled before she spoke, “You don’t know these people, bhabhi… If they find out what happened, they’ll destroy everything. They won’t let me marry the person I love.”
Dhritya, who was adjusting Bhavya’s dupatta, looked at her through the mirror. “Don’t worry, Bhavya didi. Stay strong. Nobody will find out anything before your marriage. And we’ll make sure that the demon doesn’t come around you — just like we did during haldi this ceremony will also end with happiness.”
Tears welled in Bhavya’s eyes again as she whispered, “Thank you, Dhritya. Thank you, bhabhi… for coming in time, and for everything. If you hadn’t reached at that time… he would have…” Her voice broke. “…he would have eaten me alive.”
Devika gently placed a comforting hand on Bhavya’s shoulder. “He won’t even get a glimpse of you now,” she said firmly, her voice like a quiet shield.
“Alright now,” Devika said, with a deep breath, trying to lighten the moment. “Let’s go. Everyone must be waiting for you.”
Bhavya nodded faintly, and with a trembling smile, stood up.
As they stepped out of the room, the faint rhythm of dhols and laughter echoed from the courtyard —
Devika and Dhritya slowly guided Bhavya to sit on the little stage decorated with marigold garlands and fairy lights, made specially for her mehendi.
Devika turned to leave for a moment, but Bhavya’s trembling hand caught her wrist. Devika looked back — Bhavya’s eyes were pleading, fearful, fragile.
“Don’t worry, Bhavya,” Devika said softly, squeezing her hand. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here with you.”
The courtyard was glowing with lanterns. The women had gathered around, singing traditional mehendi geet in chorus. The rhythmic beat of the dhol blended with the sweet hum of the harmonium, filling the air with festive warmth.
Bhavya’s mother came and sat beside her, smiling faintly. As the ritual demanded, she applied the first streak of henna on Bhavya’s palm. Her hands trembled a little — perhaps because a mother can always sense what her daughter hides behind a smile. After that, the mehendi artist took over, slowly tracing intricate patterns on Bhavya’s hands.
Bhavya kept smiling… but the smiles didn’t reach her eyes. They were hollow — forced. The kind of smile one wears to hide a wound too deep to show. Devika noticed it all. Every little flinch, every vacant glance.
It hurt her.
It wasn’t just sympathy — it was recognition. Devika knew that pain. She had lived through it.
And seeing Bhavya, another woman, suffering silently on a day meant for joy — it burned her heart.
But then, something changed in Devika’s expression. A soft, mischievous spark lit up in her eyes. She turned toward Dhritya and Dakshit, who were standing near the food counters, looking bored. With a playful wave of her hand, she called them closer and whispered something in their ears.
Whatever she said made both of them grin instantly. Dhritya’s eyes widened in excitement, and Dakshit almost laughed out loud. The two exchanged a quick nod before running toward the DJ setup.
Moments later, Dakshit grabbed the mic, his voice booming through the speakers:
“Arey! Mara gujju brothers and sisters!” he shouted, earning an instant cheer from the crowd. “Let’s do this mehendi in proper Gujju style! Time for some real dance, haan!”
The dhol player picked up the rhythm, the DJ turned up the beats, and within seconds, the atmosphere shifted. The dull, ritualistic mood burst into life — laughter, claps, and whistles echoed through the courtyard.
Song after song played, and after that it was brides turn when dhritya said bhavya to perform dance, but her hands were full from mehendi, then her gaze fell on Devika who was enjoying the dance with warm smile standing on a corner,
She tried to convince devika, at first she denied but than agreed “bhabhi gujarati song pe dance karna padega kar loge na “, dhritya said in a challenging tone and devika accepted that challenge,
Devika looked once at the door as if hoping to arrive someone, she took a deep breath indicate to start the song,
The song played on the background and devika's body started shimmering on the tune, her curves they were talking with the rhthym, she was enjoying herself not knowing someone was giving her an eye check with dirty looks,
Song after song played, filling the courtyard with energy and color. The crowd clapped, cheered, and moved with the rhythm, but soon it was the bride’s turn.
Dhritya gently turned to Bhavya. “Come on, it’s your turn to dance!” she urged.
Bhavya looked down at her hands — still adorned with freshly applied mehendi — and frowned. Her gaze then shifted to Devika, standing at the corner with a warm smile, enjoying the dance, letting the music carry her.
She hesitated, unsure if she could manage, but finally turned to Devika and whispered, a little pleadingly.
At first, Devika shook her head, silently refusing. But then Bhavya tilted her head, eyes challenging and expectant. Devika’s lips curved into a mischievous smile.
“Bhabhi… Gujarati song pe dance karna padega. Kar loge na?” Dhritya asked in a teasing, challenging tone.
Devika’s smile widened. She accepted the challenge.
Before starting, she glanced at the entrance as if hoping for someone to arrive. She took a deep breath, adjusted her dupatta slightly, and signaled for the song to begin.
The music started, vibrant and rhythmic. Devika moved with it, her body shimmering, every curve and step flowing naturally with the tune. She danced with a grace that was effortless yet captivating, each movement precise, almost like a professional performance. Her face glowed with joy, unaware that someone across the courtyard was watching her with eyes that didn’t hold admiration but something darker, more calculating.
She danced passionately, each step a blend of elegance and fire. Her expression was warm, radiant — if her husband had been present, he would probably have been completely mesmerized by her performance.
Even in the midst of her performance, her gaze flicked repeatedly to the entrance, silently hoping for that one awaited arrival.
Dhritya, caught up in the energy, pulled everyone to the stage. Even Janaki Devi, with a little chuckle, joined in, swaying gently to the music.
The crowd laughed, clapped, and moved with the rhythm, the courtyard alive with life and celebration.
Meanwhile, Revati’s phone buzzed insistently. She stepped aside from the crowd, taking the call and walking outside, leaving the festive chaos behind her.
The music continued, Devika’s movements flawless and mesmerizing, but an unspoken tension lingered beneath the bright celebration — a sense that someone’s gaze was fixed on her for reasons she couldn’t yet see.
Meanwhile, outside…
Revati stepped out, phone still in hand, and froze. Her eyes widened.
There, casually leaning against the bonnet of his jeep, was Ansh Pratap Singh. A thin wisp of cigar smoke curled lazily into the evening air. The moment he noticed Revati approaching, he dropped the cigar and straightened, exuding calm authority.
“Devar ji… aap yahan?” she asked, disbelief lacing her voice.
“Hmm,” he replied simply, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I was missing my wife.”
Revati rolled her eyes, a teasing smile breaking through. “Oh bappa, ek din bhi nahi rahvi aapni biwi ni vina?”
Ansh chuckled softly, then pulled a set of keys from his pocket, holding them casually in front of her.
“Your husband is in the car,” he said smoothly. “Go see him. I’m going to my wife.”
Revati stared at him, caught between shock and confusion, as he turned and walked away. With a deep breath, she approached the jeep and opened the driver’s side door. Empty. The seat was completely vacant.
Then a soft, muffled sound made her pause. Her gaze fell to the passenger side.
Aryan.
He was lying there, bound. His upper body bare, his hands and legs tied tightly, and a cloth stuffed into his mouth.
“Aaaaa!” Revati screamed, then instantly covered her mouth, afraid to alert anyone nearby. Her hands shook as she moved to open the passenger-side door.
Carefully, she untied his legs and arms, fumbling against the knots. Finally, she pulled the cloth from his mouth. Aryan gasped for air, taking deep, trembling breaths, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.
“A Ji… ye kya ho gaya aapko?” she whispered, panic rising in her throat.
Aryan coughed violently, finally able to speak as the tension of his bindings loosened. The evening air seemed suddenly heavy around them, charged with fear and the unspoken question — who had done this, and why?
“Ye tumhare uss harami devar ne kiya hai!” Aryan complained, sounding almost like a scolded child. His face looked so helpless that if Revati had hugged him right then, he probably would’ve burst into tears.
“Ansh ne?!” Revati’s eyes widened in disbelief. Then, unable to control herself, she burst out laughing. “Oh Bappa! But why would he do this to you?”
Aryan glared at her, his lips twitching in annoyance as she continued laughing, still wiping his sweaty face with the edge of her pallu.
“Stop laughing, Revati!” he muttered, but she only giggled harder.
Meanwhile, Aryan sighed and began recounting what had happened.
---
(Flashback)
It was late at night. Aryan had just fallen asleep when the door creaked open.
Ansh stood there, silent, his expression unreadable, jaw clenched tightly. He stared at Aryan for a long moment before walking out. Within five minutes, he returned — with a rope in hand.
Aryan stirred as the bed shifted. “Hmm? What—what are you doing?” he mumbled, still half asleep.
Ansh said nothing. He grabbed Aryan’s hands and began tying them with the rope, his movements firm and deliberate.
“Oye! I’m asking you something—what nonsense is this?” Aryan protested, trying to wriggle free.
But before he could speak another word, Ansh stuffed a cloth into his mouth.
“Mmphhh! Mmmphhh—!”
Ansh gave a small smirk and pulled him up with surprising strength. The sight was almost comical — the strong, confident police officer now being dragged like a petty thief by his younger brother.
He half-carried, half-dragged Aryan out of the room, opened the jeep’s passenger door, and practically threw him onto the seat.
Aryan’s upper body was bare — only wearing his bermudas — while Ansh, utterly calm, began tying his legs as if handling an unruly suspect.
Aryan tried to shout, but the cloth muffled everything. All he could do was glare helplessly while Ansh slammed the door shut, walked to the driver’s side, and drove off into the night.
(Flashback ends)
“Your devar did all this drama just to meet his wife,” Aryan said finally, pouting like a sulking boy. “Because he was missing her and couldn’t sleep without her!”
Revati burst into laughter again, holding her stomach. “Oh God, Aryan ji! Only Ansh could do something like this!”
“Haan haan, hass lo! Tum bhi hass lo, biwi ji,” Aryan muttered, turning his face away like a kid denied his candy.
“Okay, okay, sorry!” she said between giggles. “I’m not laughing. Just… give me a minute. Aap yahin rukiye, main kapde lekar aati hoon.”
“Kapde yahin hain, peeche,” Aryan mumbled gruffly, still refusing to look at her.
Revati smiled softly, walked to the back seat, and took out his clothes. Then she came back and helped him straighten up, her fingers carefully fixing his shirt.
As she buttoned it, she couldn’t help but chuckle again. “ye devar ji bhi na… bilkul pagal hain.”
Aryan gave her a side glance, his expression softening despite himself. “Pagal toh hai, par apni biwi ke liye.”
Revati looked up at him with a small smile “ho bhi kyu na ji, after all he had waited along for her”,
On the other side..
The Courtyard
Ansh stepped into the courtyard, where the DJ’s beats roared through the open night. Laughter, claps, and cheers filled the air — colors swirling, skirts spinning, bangles chiming.
His eyes began their search — not for anyone, but her.
He moved through the crowd, brushing past people, his sharp gaze scanning every direction.
“ Aye Aunty, zara side hatna,” he said politely to a woman who accidentally blocked his path.
“Huh?” she blinked at him in shock.
“Jara āk side thaī jāo, mā jī,” he repeated in Gujarati, calm yet commanding.
The woman instantly stepped aside, staring at him with wide eyes and a half-open mouth, as if she’d just seen someone walk out of a dream.
And then—his gaze froze.
There she was.
Devika.
Moving gracefully with the rhythm, her mehendi-clad hands twirling the dandiya sticks. Her long hair swayed with every spin, her face glowing under the fairy lights, drops of sweat gleaming like pearls.
Ansh stood still for a moment. Completely mesmerized. His lips curved unknowingly — his wife was stealing the spotlight, and his breath.
Drawn like a magnet, he walked straight toward her.
Devika, lost in the rhythm, had no idea her majnu husband had arrived. She was fully into the beat — eyes sparkling, smile blooming, body swaying with the song.
Before she could sense him, a pair of strong arms suddenly lifted her from the ground.
“Aah!” she gasped, startled — and then her eyes met his.
Ansh.
A rush of emotions flooded her — shock, joy, warmth, disbelief. Her dandiya sticks slipped from her hands.
“Apne pati ke naino ka sukoon chinkar yahan taal se taal mila rahi ho,”
(“Stealing peace from your husband’s eyes while dancing to someone else’s rhythm?”)
His deep voice brushed against her ear, half teasing, half possessive — and her heartbeat stumbled with the music.
He looked at her with love and affection and then kissed her forehead, didn't care about where he's right now or who was seeing him.
Devika was right, he was a mannerless monster who was now totally caged in his wife's thoughts,
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Okay so koi nahi bolega ki ye chota part hai bhai hafta bhar liya hai ise likhne mein.
And truely I was so excited to write the last part,
Sorry that I didn't updated on sunday as i wanted to give the diwali gift...
So happy diwali to everyone enjoy the chapter don't forget to comment and votes, next chapters are gonna be the full of fun and some sadness,
And please celebrate an eco freindly diwali, try to boom the crackers away from the dogs, I have a pet jerman and she is scared of crackers actually they can't resist the sound of crackers so I don't boom any crackers on diwali for my pet....
Baki radhe radhe everyone and stay happy..
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