DEVIKA
I was busy moving my steps with the rhythm of the song when suddenly I felt something warm wrap around my shoulders — and before I could realize, I was lifted into the air.
For a moment, my heart stopped.
Who dared to touch me?
But then… I felt a familiar breath brush against my ear — slow, deep, and utterly mine.
“Mere naino ka sukoon chhin kar yahan taal se taal mila rahi ho,”
His voice.
That voice that could still my heartbeat and set it racing all at once.
A strange calmness settled over me, a sense of safety blooming in my chest. The warmth of his touch spread through me like I had finally come home.
“ Aa… aap… aap yahan?” I managed to whisper, my voice trembling as I became aware of the crowd around us.
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me — like I was the only person that existed in that entire crowd, the only rhythm he wanted to follow, the only face he wished to see.
“Ji… mujhe neeche utaar dijiye, sab dekh rahe hain…” I murmured, my cheeks burning.
“Nobody is watching us, Devi,” he whispered back — his voice soft, possessive, and filled with that teasing calm that only he could carry.
Adjusting his hold, he carried me through the crowd — each step sure, unhurried, as if the world around us had gone silent.
I didn’t protest.
Instead, I wrapped my arms securely tight around his neck and found myself watching his face — that sharp jaw, those deep eyes, the faint smile tugging at his lips.
And somewhere between his gaze and my heartbeat, a smile quietly bloomed on mine.
He took me to a room — it was the kitchen.
Without saying a word, he slowly lifted me and made me sit on the cool marble slab.
I watched him walk to the counter, his eyes scanning quietly before he picked up the first aid box.
“Tumhari yaad mujhe aisi jagah khinch layi,” he murmured while walking back to me, “jahan main kabhi aana nahi chahta tha.”
My breath hitched.
Even his complaints sounded like confessions.
He gently took my hand in his, his touch firm yet careful.
“Ek din bhi nahi hua… aur tumne chot lagwa li,” he said, applying Dettol on my cut.
“Mere bina apna khayal bhi nahi rakh sakti?”
The sting of Dettol mixed with the softness of his voice — and for the first time, I felt the pain that I had been ignoring.
I remembered how I’d gotten the cut — while struggling to open the gate earlier.
Maybe I’d gotten so used to pain that I’d stopped feeling it altogether.
“Kaise pata chala aapko?” I asked softly, watching him as he wrapped the bandage around my hand.
He looked up, his eyes dark but filled with something unexplainable.
“Didn’t I tell you? I know everything about you,” he said.
“Even the things you think I don’t know… I know them too.” .”
And then, lowering his head, he pressed a gentle kiss on my bandaged hand.
“Tumhara dard mujhe bhi mehsoos hota hai, Devi… chahe tum mere saamne ho, ya duur.”
( I feel your pain too, Devi… whether you’re in front of me or far away.)
His words… what should I even say now? My heart felt heavy and light at once.
“You’ve changed,” I whispered, looking at him. “When I saw you the first time, you weren’t like this. You’re completely different now.”
He chuckled a bit — that teasing, calm smile of his.
“Hmm… sab aapki hi kripa hai, Devi ji,” he said softly, and before I could even react, he placed a tender kiss on my forehead.
Then, without warning, he lifted me in his arms again.
Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around his neck — hesitating at first, but slowly letting my head rest on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat — steady, warm, and strong — and for the first time in a long while, I felt safe.
He started walking toward the upper floor, his steps firm and careful.
Wait… wasn’t this the same room where I was staying with Dhritya?
How did he know that?
I heard the door creak open — probably with a gentle nudge from his leg. Smart man, I thought silently, watching his low expressions,
He placed me carefully on the bed, his eyes scanning me from head to toe, as if checking whether I was truly okay.
“How did you know I’m staying in this room?” I asked curiously.
“I asked Revati bhabhi,” he replied simply, curling his arms to his chest. I just nodded, slightly embarrassed that he had gone through the trouble.
After a pause, he spoke again, his tone turning serious.
“Now tell me, Devi — where’s your pistol? It’s not with you.”
“Umm… actually, I gave it to Bhavya,” I said softly, lowering my gaze.
His brows furrowed instantly. “And why did you give it to Bhavya?”
“For her safety,” I answered, meeting his eyes.
For a second, silence filled the room.
“Okay,” he finally said, breaking it. “I’ll give you another pistol.”
I nodded quietly.
After that, neither of us spoke. Only the faint sound of music drifted in from outside — muffled laughter, the beats of the DJ. He was still staring at me. Not intensely, not possessively — just… watching.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
He was still looking at me, sometimes meeting my eyes, sometimes pretending not to — while I tried hard to look away. But in the end, I couldn’t.
“Aise kya ghoor rahe hain?” I asked at last, unable to bear the silence.
He simply shook his head, denying it with a small, innocent smile.
I stood up, grabbing a towel from the bed, and handed it to him. “You should take a bath,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You’re smelling bad.”
He frowned.
Then, like a reflex, he bent his head and sniffed his shirt.
I bit my lip to stop the laugh bubbling inside.
“Give me your soap,” he said curtly.
Suppressing my grin, I handed him my soap from the bag. He took it without another word and headed to the bathroom, giving me one last narrowed glance before closing the door behind him.
The moment it shut — the laugh I had been holding back finally burst out.
I silently went to the window, a faint smile dancing on my lips. The cool breeze brushed my face as memories of the day replayed in my mind — Bhavya’s struggles, her quiet strength, and above all, the way her brother stood by her through everything.
Flashback…
It was after the haldi ceremony. Bhavya was sitting quietly in my room when I brought her lunch sent by Jiji.
Her face looked pale, her eyes dull — there was no trace of joy in them.
“Don’t worry,” I said, gently patting her head. “I’ll talk to your Ansh brother.”
“No, bhabhi, please… don’t tell him anything,” she pleaded, panic in her eyes.
“Okay, fine,” I assured her softly. “Now eat something.”
She nodded, trusting me. I watched silently as she ate, questions pressing against my heart.
After she finished, I handed her water, waited a moment, and finally asked, “Bhavya… if you’re comfortable, can you tell me what really happened to you? Only if you trust me.”
She smiled weakly. “I do trust you, bhabhi. After what you did to save me, how could I not?”
Then she began.
“I was just a little girl when my world started to change. My parents always supported my studies, even when others in our village mocked them. I loved learning — I topped every class. But success doesn’t protect you from cruelty.
Someone in the family — someone who should have protected me — tried to harm me. I was too young to understand, too scared to fight back. That night changed me forever.
It was angad chacha when I was in 3rd standard I saw angad chacha cing home in and drunken state, I was thirsty came to take cold water when he saw, he was smiling looking at me, his saliva dripping from his mouth I was young little but not that fool that I wouldn't understand the wrong gaze, I tried to run from him when he caught me before I could shout he closed my mouth with his palm, he started touching me inappropriately , that I started crying he touching my thighs, and then slowly began to my sensitive area but before he could I bite him with all my strength and my luck dadi maa also came there, he left me and I ran to my room,
Even as I grew up, no one truly saw what I carried inside. And I didn't have the courage to tell the trauma to my parents. When I topped my state in 10th, everyone congratulated me, but soon they began talking about marriage. I wanted to study more, to make something of my life, but every ‘no’ from them pushed me deeper into despair.
Then I saw the same man again, unchanged — still bringing shame and pain into our home. I realized I couldn’t let my life be decided by people like him.
So I decided to act. I pretended to be a mentally ill , with help from my mother ,I told her everything . I acted like I had a head injury. When the family took me to the hospital , a lady doctor was checking I told her to help me and she agreed to see the girl like her,
Everyone believed I had lost my mind. They locked me away into a room — but that was my freedom.
Who is gonna marry a mentally ill girl, thinking that they lost the hopes of my marriage,
I studied in secret. Designed clothes. Sold them quietly. Ansh bhaiya found out one day and instead of scolding me, he helped me — found me work, taught me how to handle clients, and how to dream again.
That’s how one day I met Vikash — a kind man,he was from the safe office. He waited for me for years, and his family even sent a marriage proposal. For a while, the family also agreed, thinking finally the girl is getting married. I thought my life was finally turning toward light.
But darkness has long arms. The man who hurt me before found out my secret — that I wasn’t ill anymore.
Angad chacha saw me in the morning when I was giving my clothes in the sunlight, he threaten me to tell the secrets and then I will not get married to my love , he pulled me to ask corner room, I tried to stop him, my trauma started flashing back , my voice was not coming out of my throat, I begged him to leave me but he tore my clothes and beat me by his belt
He tried to use that truth to break me again. I thought it was over for me, but then…”
She stopped, her voice trembling. “Then you came, bhabhi. Like an angel sent by God.”
Tears streamed down her face as she hugged me tightly. My own eyes blurred. I didn’t know why her pain felt like my own, like echoes of something I’d once lived but couldn’t remember. Maybe it was the shared silence of women who’ve learned to hide their scars.
End of Flashback
“Devi…”
Ansh ji’s deep voice pulled me back to the present. I quickly wiped my tears and turned.
He was standing by the bathroom door — wearing my pink towel.
For a second, my sorrow scattered like dust in the wind.
He looked impossibly serious and adorable at once, water still dripping from his hair.
“What happened to you, Devi? Why are you crying?” he asked, his tone filled with concern.
He stepped closer and cupped my face in his palms. “Did someone say anything to you ? Have I done anything wrong? Tell me, bachha.”
His warmth, his voice — everything felt like a promise that I wasn’t alone anymore.
I hugged him — I hugged him so tightly that for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. I could feel his warmth as he wrapped his arms around me, securing me completely in his embrace.
Like that, I don’t even know how long I cried in his arms. He didn’t say a word, just kept holding me, gently patting my back, whispering calm through silence.
When I finally looked up, his eyes were red too.
“A ji… are you crying?” I asked softly.
“No, why would I?” he said, his voice trembling. “It’s you who’s crying.”
No doubt — he was calming me, but also himself.
“Hmm… vaise, from jija ji to A ji, not bad,” he teased faintly, wiping my tears with his thumbs.
“Sorry for that,” I mumbled, lowering my gaze. “I didn’t know what to call you that day…”
He smiled gently. “You can take my name.”
I shook my head quickly. “No, no — maa taught me never to take the husband’s name.”
He chuckled under his breath, then his tone softened again. “Are you okay now?”
I nodded, barely smiling.
“Then tell me,” he said, wrapping his arm around me once more, “why were you crying?”
“Nothing,” I whispered, leaning against his chest. “I was just… missing you.”
Silence. Complete, lingering silence.
I lifted my face to look at him — he was staring at me too. His eyes spoke something I couldn’t read.
“What happened?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Okay then,” I said quietly, freeing myself from his arms, “let me get dinner for you. Wait here, I’ll come soon.”
As I stood, fixing my saree, his hand suddenly caught mine. I turned to face him.
“Yun aansu mat bahaya karo…” he said softly, voice trembling “seene mein dard hota hai… saans nahi le pata main.”
His tenderness froze me — those words, they always did. Whether it was my mouth or my heart, they silenced both.
He let go of my hand slowly. I could feel the ache in his voice even after he’d released me. No one had ever cried for my pain before.
I turned to leave, but my eyes couldn’t resist one last glance – that pink towel
“A ji,” I said, trying to sound normal, “meri trolley mein aapke kapde rakhe hain… pehen lijiye.”
And before he could say anything, I almost ran from the room —
As I was walking downstairs, my face was still blooming — I could feel the warmth rising in my cheeks. But before the smile could fade from my lips, a sudden hand gripped my wrist and pulled me aside.
Before I could speak, another hand clamped over my mouth.
Darkness surrounded me.
My heart thudded violently. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. The strong, nauseating smell of alcohol filled my nose, making me feel sick. I struggled, pushing against the force holding me, but the grip only tightened — so hard that pain shot through my wrist.
Then I felt it — his hand sliding from my wrist toward my waist.
Fear consumed me. I was terrified, frozen for a second — and then something snapped inside me.
No. Not again.
I caught his wrist mid–air and pushed back with all my strength, then kicked his leg hard.
“Aaaaah!” a man’s voice cried out in pain.
A man.
Before I could run, he grabbed my wrist again, his fingers digging into my skin. My fear began to shift, slowly burning into something else — into anger.
He pulled me hard against the wall. My back hit the cold surface, I saw his face clearly.
It was him — the same man I had protected Bhavya from that morning.
“You—!” My voice trembled with rage. “How dare you touch me?”
“Chupp… ekdam chupp,” he hissed, his breath reeking of alcohol. “Saali… tu mujhe dhamkāyegi?”
His grip tightened, twisting my wrist painfully. But I wasn’t weak anymore — not this time.
Summoning all my strength, I shoved him back with both hands. He stumbled, his drunken feet slipping against the floor, and fell hard onto the ground.
I didn’t wait.
The moment his body hit the floor, I ran — heart pounding, tears and fury blurring my sight.
Wiping off my tears, I started preparing food on a plate in a hurry. My hands were shaking slightly, but I kept going.
“Arey Devika, for whom are you preparing this plate?” Nani maa’s voice came from behind. “Didn’t you already have your dinner?”
“Nani maa… it’s for him,” I said softly.
“Him? Who him?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Vo… Nani maa, it’s for my husband,” I murmured shyly.
“Ohh… your husband…” she nodded, but then suddenly turned to me again, eyes wide. “Beta, your husband — means Ansh dikra — he’s here?”
I nodded.
“Did he come alone?” she asked, her tone half-curious, half-worried.
“I don’t know, Nani maa. I didn’t ask him,” I replied truthfully, arranging the bowl of dal on the plate.
“Okay, let’s go. I’ll also meet him,” she said warmly. I smiled — somewhere in my heart, it felt good that she wanted to meet him too.
We crossed the hall together. My steps slowed when my eyes caught sight of Angad chacha sitting on the sofa, a glass of something in his hand.
“Arey Angad, yahan kyun baitha hai? Ja, jaakar khana kha le,” Nani maa said casually.
He nodded, but his eyes — his disgusting, deathly glare — met mine. For a second, the warmth I felt vanished. I looked away quickly, clutching the plate a little tighter.
When we reached our room, I placed the dinner on the table. The room was quiet. He wasn’t there.
“Maybe he’s in the balcony,” I said to Nani maa. She nodded and walked towards it. He was standing there indeed — tall, calm, with his usual silence wrapped around him like the night.
I went to wash my face. The redness in my eyes had faded now, but when I looked down at my wrist… my heart sank. The red marks — his disgusting fingerprints — were still there. I scrubbed them hard with soap, so hard that it left faint scratches above the old marks.
If Ansh ji sees this, he’ll go mad, I thought, staring at the bruises. I can’t let him know. Not before Bhavya’s marriage. Once everything is over, I’ll tell him everything.
Until then, I had to hide it.
When I came out, he was already sitting near the dinner table, looking at the food. I quietly served him and stood aside.
He looked at the plate, then at me.
“Come here, Devi,” he said softly.
Before I could say anything, he pulled me close and made me sit on his lap.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, trying to get up, my cheeks burning.
“Don’t. Just sit here.” His voice was firm, but there was tenderness in his touch. His arm slid around my waist, holding me in place. My eyes lowered in shyness.
“Take a bite,” he said, handing me a morsel. “Eat.”
I looked at him — his calm eyes, his faint smile — and took the bite silently.
Then he said, “Now feed me. I want to eat from your hands.”
“Huh?” I looked at him, surprised.
“I’m hungry, Devi. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday,” he said, his tone so soft it melted my heart.
“What? Since yesterday?” I whispered. How can he be so careless?
Without saying more, I took a bite and fed him. He ate quietly, one by one, until the plate was empty.
“Wait, I’ll get water for you,” I said, slipping off his lap. I poured water into a glass and handed it to him.
But his gaze didn’t leave my hand. “What happened to your wrist?” he asked suddenly. “Why does it look so red?”
I quickly hid it under my pallu. “Nothing, it’s nothing.”
He caught my hand before I could pull it back. “It doesn’t look like nothing,” he said in a low voice. Standing up, he took me to the bed.
“A ji, really, it’s not that big… I can handle it,” I said nervously, walking behind him.
“Shhh.” He pressed his finger to his lips, silencing me. Then he sat beside me and gently opened the ointment.
When the cool cream touched my skin, it burned a little. “Ahh…” a small hiss escaped my lips. He immediately looked at me — then softly blew air on my wrist, his breath cool against the sting.
“Why don’t you ever take care of yourself, hmm?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly — part anger, part pain.
I couldn’t answer. Because at that moment, his care hurt me more than my wound.
I should tell him everything, but I know his anger... I’ve seen that monster once, and I don’t want to see him again.
“You should rest now, it’s already late,” he said, picking up a pillow from beside me. He was about to go somewhere when I grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
“Where are you going? You should also sleep,” I asked softly.
“Yes, I’m sleeping here,” he replied, pointing to the floor.
I looked at the cold ground—there wasn’t even a mat. I’m not that cruel, I thought, to let my husband sleep on the floor.
“You can sleep on the bed… it’s enough for both of us, ji,” I said, shifting a little to one side and patting the space beside me.
“Will you be comfortable? There’s no space to make a border,” he said, narrowing his eyes slightly.
I knew he wouldn’t cross any line without my consent, so I nodded happily.
He agreed and lay down beside me. His bicep brushed against my arm, and a shiver ran through me.
“Are you really okay?” he asked.
“Hmm,” I hummed faintly.
(Hunh, puuch toh aise rahe hain jaise kabhi kuch kiya hi nahi...) I whispered in my mind, unable to say it out loud.
“Don’t curse me in your mind,” he said suddenly, “you can say everything directly to me.”
“Ishhh! How can you say I’m cursing you? Maybe I was praising you! You think too bad about me,” I huffed, giving a light punch on his chest.
He looked down where I’d hit him, then at me — and I instantly regretted it.
Giving him a sheepish smile, I quickly turned toward the window.
“Good night, ji,” I said, closing my eyes.
And just like that… the night took the rest of our words away.
Only he knows what happened next.
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