𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯......
𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐈, 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐑
𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐍𝐨. 𝟑𝟒𝟖
The room was cloaked in the shadows. Only a faint night lamp dared to glow, casting a soft yellow hue that barely illuminated its surroundings. The dimness seemed deliberate, as if the walls themselves wished to remain unseen witnesses to the moment unfolding.
Ansh sat in a chair beside the bed—his posture relaxed, one leg casually thrown over the other, the tip of his shoe brushing the bed’s edge.
In his hand, the switch of the night lamp clicked softly. On. Off. On again. The cycle repeated, but his gaze remained unmoved—anchored to the small figure lying before him.
Devika.
Her face, pale yet luminous in the muted light, held a quiet exhaustion. Though dulled by fatigue, something about her still shimmered—like a wilting lotus under moonlight.
Ansh’s face remained unreadable. Calm. Cold. But his eyes betrayed him. They burned—not with rage, nor desire, but something far deeper… something unfathomable. A storm brewing behind a silent gaze.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out. His fingers hovered near her cheek, barely inches away. But before they could bridge the distance—
Ring.
The sudden vibration of his phone cut through the silence like a knife. His jaw clenched. Without a second glance at the screen, he snatched the phone and answered in hushed urgency, careful not to stir her.
With one last lingering look at Devika, he turned and stepped out onto the balcony, swallowed by the cool night air and the secret between them..
“Ansh, su chhe aa? Kya chho tame? Grandma is getting worried for you,” a woman’s voice burst through the phone the moment he picked it up.
(Ansh what is this, where are you)
“I’m in Varanasi, bhabhi. Don’t worry—I’m safe and doing fine,” Ansh replied softly.
“Dikra, tu thik chhe ne? Ane bahu, bahu kem chhe? Tame to aaje j aavana hata ne?” came another voice—older, gentle, familiar.
(Son, are you ok, and what about daughter in law, is she ok? )
A small smile curved on Ansh’s lips as he turned his head toward the bed. Devika lay there, unconscious, her face bathed in the pale yellow light of the dim night lamp.
“Hello? Dikra? Ansh? Hello, awaz aavti chhe mari?” the older woman asked again.
He let out a soft sigh. “Hmm Nani maa, don't worry. I'm fine, and your granddaughter-in-law is fine too. She’s sleeping right now. Actually, we were about to leave, but she said she was tired, so…”
He lied—his voice steady—his eyes still on Devika’s peaceful face.
“Thik chhe, thik chhe dikra. Bahu no ane tamaru pan khyaal rakhje,” Nani said, her tone softening with relief.
(Okay beta, okay keep safe the daughter in law)
“Hmm, Nani… as you say, ” Ansh murmured, and the call ended with a quiet beep.
Slowly, he turned and walked toward the balcony railing. The sky stretched wide and dark above him, studded with a few distant stars. The moon shone brilliantly—its glow washing over his face.
He tilted his head upward, eyes gently closing, as if soaking in the silver light. In that quiet moment, Ansh stood still—not as the man burdened by secrets, but as someone just trying to feel… something real.
…
𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀
When I tried to sit up, a familiar tug of pain shot through my side, right where the saree’s pleats hugged me too tightly. I winced slightly—but honestly, it was nothing new.
Every morning begins with a new pain… and every night ends with an old one.
But none of them really matter anymore. I’ve grown used to it—like an invisible bruise that never fully fades.
My fingers found the space between my brows, pressing gently. My head throbbed, a dull ache pulsing behind my closed eyelids. I reached for the pillow and set it upright behind me, leaning back against it with slow, calculated effort. My eyes fluttered open.
Blurred.
My vision swam like fog on a cold morning. God knows how long I had been asleep.
And then… I saw something.
Or rather, someone.
There was a figure standing at the edge of the room.
A man.
Tall, broad, his silhouette solid despite the haze in my sight.
My breath caught. My heart paused.
Was I… dreaming?
I rubbed my eyes quickly, as if that would sharpen the dream—make it real. But the vision only got clearer.
He was standing there… half-naked.
Wearing nothing but a jeans on his lower,
"Mere khwaab itne haseen kabse hone lage?"
My mind whispered, half in awe, half in disbelief.
"You’re awake?"
His voice was deep—calm but firm.
“Hmm…”
The sound escaped my lips before I could stop it—soft, unsure, maybe even a little… spellbound.
“Are you able to stand up, or should I help you?”
There it was. That voice again.
Commanding. Concerned. Confident.
I blinked, coming back to reality. My gaze lifted toward his face.
A teasing smirk danced at the corner of his lips. He was clearly enjoying this.
And then..
“Chiiii!”
The word flew out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I slapped my palm over my eyes, scandalized.
“What?” I heard his voice again. I didn't dare to look at him. Maybe for him, this was normal — casual even — but for me, it was second-hand embarrassment of the worst kind.
"Apne kapde pehen lijiye, please," I mumbled, still refusing to open my eyes.
"Why? Am I looking naked to you?" he replied, with a smug calmness in his tone.
"Hunh!"
This man—how can he say something like that? Doesn’t he have any shame?
"I mean... apne pure kapde pehen lijiye, please..." I stuttered, cheeks flushed, eyes tightly shut.
"Vo maine already pehne hue hain," he said lazily. "Filhaal tum utho aur jakar nahao. Pichle 17 ghanto se so rahi ho tum... aur mujhe 'chhiii' keh rahi ho?"
What? Seventeen hours?
The thought jolted me. And then everything came flooding back — the wedding, the mandap, the screams, the silence, him.
He was my forced husband. The man who married an abandoned bride without her will.
I couldn’t face him. I just couldn’t. I wanted to run and lock myself somewhere, anywhere — somewhere he couldn't find me.
But I knew I couldn’t. He was the monster. The one Roohi had run away from. And now I was trapped.
"Tum uth rahi ho ya main aaun?"
His voice darkened slightly.
I flinched at his words and tried to move, tried to sit up. My eyes still closed, my body heavy. But the moment my feet touched the floor, a sharp, unbearable pain surged through me.
"Ahhh..." I winced, unable to stand.
Before I could collapse, I felt a strong grip on my wrist. And then — a firm tug.
In the next second, I was pulled into his chest — solid and warm. I gasped, my eyes fluttering open, only to meet his face — serious, calm... but somehow focused entirely on me.
His hazel brown eyes, usually unreadable, now carried a faint tension. Was it concern? For me?
No. That can’t be. His face was blank — unreadable. But his eyes… eyes never lie.
Without a word, he bent down and lifted me into his arms.
"Bohot kamzor ho tum, Devi," he murmured, his voice soft, almost teasing. "Mere bina khadi bhi nahi ho sakti."
His breath tickled against my ear. I should’ve pushed him away. I wanted to. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
My body was weak.
But my heart — it was beginning to stir. And I didn’t know if that terrified me more... or comforted me.
I didn’t say a word. He carried me toward the bathroom, and still, I couldn’t pull my gaze away from his face — that sharp jawline, the well-kept beard, and the strange charm he carried like an armor. Something about him was deeply unsettling, yet inexplicably captivating.
Why is he pulling me toward him like this? I should hate him. I want to hate him. He forced me. I don’t even know him. And yet, he’s walking around as if nothing happened — as if everything between us is casual... normal.
When we reached, he set me down gently. I turned my back to him, refusing to meet his eyes. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
“Khud naha logi, ya vo bhi main…?”
(“Will you bathe yourself, or should I…”)
My heart skipped a beat.
“Ji nahi... aap bahar jaiyein bas,” I mumbled, my voice barely a whisper. “Baki main khud kar loongi.”
(“No... please just leave. I’ll manage the rest.”)
“Okay,” he said.
I dared to glance behind — and for the first time, exhaled in relief. He was gone.
I turned to look around the bathroom. It was luxurious, the kind that reminded me of my old house… and my ex-husband’s mansion. But I never really used such a bathroom. Baba had given me a tiny room — more like a storage space — and the bathroom there… old, grimy, barely functional. But I had no choice. I used it. Quietly. Always.
I never understood why they treated me like I wasn’t human. No — worse than animals. Even animals are fed.
They would serve me food that looked like scraps. My ex-husband too — he gave me his leftovers like I wasn’t worth more. I remember holding back nausea just looking at it. Many times, I didn’t eat at all. Hunger gnawed at me so hard, I couldn’t sleep.
And now this headache, this constant pain — it’s all a result of the last two days. I haven’t eaten. Haven’t slept.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as memories suffocated me. I didn’t even realize when my fingers reached the shower knob. Water poured down, crashing onto my skin, mixing with the tears I could no longer control — soaking my clothes, drenching me completely.
But I didn’t move.
Maybe this is what cleansing feels like. Not of dirt. But of grief.
Should I thank God for what I have now… or keep grieving over what’s lost?
But does it even matter?
Maybe this is my fate. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe every tear, every betrayal, every scar… was meant for me.
And yet, I can’t look away from this new reality. He—this man—he’s now a part of it. If God gave me this, then perhaps… he had his reasons.
After a few quiet minutes under the soothing water, I finally felt a bit human again. I dried my face and wrapped the towel around my body. Just as I placed my hand on the doorknob, it hit me.
I don’t have clothes.
I turned around quickly. My old clothes were still soaked—clinging to the bathroom floor like a reminder of everything I had no control over. Now what?
I let out a small sigh. Of course. The devil himself. Only he can help me now.
I cracked the bathroom door open just a little and peeked out. He was there—sitting casually on the edge of the bed, his back facing me. Still. Unbothered.
“… 𝐣𝐢, …”
I whispered, trying to get his attention without alerting the whole world. No response.
“Hello… suniye…”
Still nothing. He didn’t even flinch.
An…
I paused. Wait. How can I take his name? He’s older than me. And now… my husband.
But he was supposed to be my brother in law — my sister’s husband. And here I am, married to him. This whole situation is twisted.
I hesitated, my heart pounding like I was committing a crime.
And then, without thinking any further, I just blurted it out—
“𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐚 𝐣𝐢𝐢𝐢𝐢! “, … . . . .
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Have a sweet day sundariyon...
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