5. Lover

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐯…

Ansh sat in his usual casual posture, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes were fixed on Devika. She was smiling—laughing, even—with his cousins, completely unaware of the storm he held inside him. His gaze didn’t waver for a second. It was as if he was watching a vision, a living prayer—his own personal goddess. Because that’s exactly what she was to him. His goddess.

Aryan, who had been observing Ansh’s unsettling silence, finally broke it with a sharp question.

“What is this, Ansh? You told us you loved her, that’s why you were marrying her. But you forced her into this marriage. Why?”

Ansh didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink. His eyes were still locked on her, unbothered by the world, by the accusations, by the truth.

"Ansh, tu maara vaat sambhli rahyo chhe ke nahi?"

(Ansh, are you even listening to me or not?)

“Nahhh,” he replied coldly, eyes still unwavering.

Aryan leaned in, lowering his voice. “Agar usne nani ko bata diya ki tune usse zabardasti shaadi ki hai toh...?”

Ansh’s lips curled into a slow, confident smirk.

“Vo nahin batayegi.”

Aryan frowned. “Tujhe kaise pata?”

Ansh finally tore his gaze away from her just for a moment, the smirk deepening as he spoke—his voice low, firm, unshakable.

“𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐢 𝐧𝐚… 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐣𝐚𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐮𝐬𝐞.”

"I know, I know she's yours," Aryan said, trying to stay calm, pushing down the frustration that was rising in his voice. "But she doesn’t know you, Ansh."

Maybe he expected a reaction—some flicker of emotion, maybe even regret. But Ansh’s next words left him speechless.

“Main use jaanta hoon... bas itna hi kaafi hai,” Ansh replied, the faint smirk fading from his lips. His voice grew darker, quieter.

“Agar voh mujhe jaan gayi... toh darne lagegi mujhse.”

Aryan exhaled deeply, throwing his hands up in resignation.

“Uff maara bhai, tu ane tara jawab kyarey seedha thata nathi!” he muttered, shaking his head. (Uff, my brother... You and your answers…are never simple!)

He turned his attention away from Ansh, his gaze falling on his wife, who was now walking toward Devika along with their dadi-saas, (Janaki Devi—Ansh’s  nani.)

Trying to shift focus, Ansh asked casually, "What about that contract? Did they give the property papers?"

“Oh, yeah—I forgot to tell you,” Aryan said with a distracted grin, eyes still trailing after his wife. “They want to meet your wife.”

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Meanwhile, Revati and Janaki approached Devika, their hands carrying a silver plate filled with fresh Gujarati besan ke ladoo. The sweet aroma filled the hall.

Devika noticed them approaching and immediately rose from her seat out of respect, but Janaki Devi gently gestured for her to sit back down. Smiling kindly, she picked up a ladoo and moved it toward Devika’s mouth.

Devika opened her mouth, not to eat—but probably to say something—

But before she could utter a word—

“𝐀𝐫𝐞𝐲 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐢 𝐦𝐚𝐚, 𝐮𝐬𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐛 𝐭𝐚𝐤 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐛𝐡𝐢 𝐧𝐚𝐡𝐢 𝐤𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐢.”

Ansh’s voice sliced through the entire hall like thunder. The room froze.

Janaki Devi’s hand paused in mid-air. The ladoo hovered inches from Devika’s lips.

Devika’s jaw dropped in horror, eyes wide, completely stunned. She didn’t know what to do—eat? speak? vanish into the floor?

One by one, every head in the room turned to look at Ansh.

And there he was, lounging casually on the sofa, unbothered, as if he had just stated the weather forecast.

Devika’s expression shifted rapidly—from horror, to disbelief, to soul-crushing embarrassment. Her cheeks flushed deep red. Her hands clenched the edge of her dupatta.

And then her eyes found him.

A death glare.

Not just annoyed.

Not just angry.

The kind of look that promised that the very next chance she got, she would drag him and tear him into shreds.

Meanwhile, Aryan, who had been switching his gaze between Devika and her completely unbothered husband, leaned slightly and whispered near her ear with a grin:

“Tu to gayo, Ansh beta... tari bivi aaje tane faadi nakhshe!”

(You're done for, Ansh… your wife’s going to shred you today!)

Ansh shot him a sidelong glance—but didn’t dignify it with a response. Instead, he rose from his seat, taking long, deliberate strides toward Devika.

“Sorry, Nani maa,” he said smoothly, grabbing Devika by the wrist. “She’s tired. She needs to rest.”

Janaki just gave a resigned nod, as if this was nothing new. She knew exactly how her grandson was. And she didn’t bother arguing.

“But bhai, we didn’t even get to talk to bhabhi properly,” Dakshit complained, and a few others chimed in agreement.

“Baad mein mil lena,” Ansh replied, not even stopping, “Tumhari bhabhi kaunsa kahin bhaagi jaa rahi hai.”

Devika’s head was low, her cheeks still burning from the earlier embarrassment. She didn’t look at anyone. Her feet moved only because he was leading her.

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Once they reached upstairs, he finally let go of her wrist.

“Go change and freshen up. That’s the closet—your clothes are inside,” he said, pointing towards a sleek wooden wardrobe near the bed.

She didn’t respond. Didn’t move.

He turned around, slightly annoyed—only to find her just standing there, arms crossed tightly to her chest, staring at him with a mixture of exhaustion, rage, and disbelief.

“What?” he asked casually, as if nothing had happened moments ago in front of an entire audience.

And then, she moved.

Not with words—but with action.

She shoved him, making him stumble back and fall onto the bed. Before he could recover, she leaned over him, eyes blazing.

“Kya zaroorat thi vo bakwas karne ki?” she snapped.

“Main bol rahi thi Nani maa se, kisne kaha aapko beech mein chillane ko?”

She didn’t stop there. The dam had broken.

“Mujhe laga tha aap bas thode mannerless honge—par nahi! Aap toh battamizon ke baap nikle!”

She kept going, her voice rising, her hands flying as her anger poured out. And there he was—lying comfortably on the bed, arms folded behind his head, watching her with an amused, almost teasing smile.

He wasn’t stopping her.

He wasn’t interrupting.

“Aap bohot… Aaaa—”

Before she could complete her sentence, he grabbed both her wrists and pulled her down over him. Her hands landed against his firm, bare chest, and her breath caught in her throat.

“Gusse mein tumhare chehre ki laali… kaafi khoobsurat lagti hai, Devi.”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. A shiver shot through her, uninvited yet impossible to ignore.

She instinctively tried to pull away, but he trapped her between his arms. One hand slid slowly, deliberately, over her slim waist. Her body tensed. She gasped, unfamiliar with the sensation—but it didn’t feel wrong. Not like it should have.

No.

It didn’t feel threatening at all.

Instead, it made her feel… safe. Safer than she had ever felt any touch. Like this wasn’t a violation, but a balm—like it was healing every unseen scar she'd carried for years.

She looked up at him, startled by her own thoughts, and found his eyes already fixed on her—calm, deep, and unreadable. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Another shiver.

She tried again to pull back, to create even the smallest distance—but his arms only tightened around her, not with force, but something more potent—a silent claim.

“ishh..this redness…is it because of me..?” he whispered, mischief lacing his voice.

She dropped her gaze instantly, cheeks burning.

And then, so gently it made her heart skip, he kissed her forehead.

Her eyes fluttered shut—not from fear, but from that strange, unwanted yet deeply craved feeling that nestled quietly in her chest.

He watched her closed eyes, the way her breath changed, the way her body stilled—not resisting anymore, but unsure.

He knew exactly what she was feeling.

“Abhi-abhi toh aayi ho meri zindagi mein, Devi… aur dekho… kya haal kar diya tumne mera.”

His voice was softer now, like a confession. Like he hadn’t even meant to say it aloud.

Her eyes flew open, startled.

“M… Maine kuch nahi kiya…”

Her voice trembled against his. Unsure. Shaky. Honest.

She truly didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

To run?

Or to stay tangled in this chaos that didn’t feel like pain anymore—but a strange kind of freedom?

"Jo kiya hai… tumne hi toh kiya hai," he whispered finally, his voice low and laced with meaning. And just like that, he let her go.

Devika instantly stepped back, turning her face away as if the air around him burned. Trying to ground herself, she straightened her posture, determined to reclaim control.

But before she could gather her thoughts, she blurted—

"A… Aap… aap baat badalne ki koshish kar rahe hain!"

Ansh took a step toward her, voice like silk and sin.

"Kaunsi baat, Devi?"

He leaned close, his breath teasing her skin. One hand slid down to her waist again—fingers expertly nudging her pallu aside, just enough to reveal the delicate curve of her navel.

Her breath hitched.

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles there—light, teasing, possessive.

The sensation hit her like a jolt of electricity. She froze, unable to push him away… unable to move at all.

"Why so quiet now?" he murmured against her skin. "Abhi toh tum bohot kuch keh rahi thi…"

With a swift move, he flipped her gently by the shoulders to face him.

Her hands landed against his chest, trembling.

"P… Please don't," she whispered, her voice shaking as much as her breath, which now fanned across his face in rapid bursts.

His face was barely inches from hers.

"Just say the word," he whispered, his voice almost reverent. "Tell me you're not liking it… and I’ll stop."

Her lips quivered. "P… Please…"

He paused.

Then suddenly stepped back, smirking.

"Okay. Now go and brush."

Her eyes shot open—realizing how close he still was, how casual his words sounded. She blinked in disbelief.

There he stood, arms crossed over his chest, a cocky grin playing on his lips.

The embarrassment from downstairs surged back like a flood.

Her anger flared.

She grabbed the nearest pillow from the bed and hurled it at him.

"You mannerless monster! Gunde kahin ke!"

He caught it mid-air with ease, laughed, and gave her a playful wink.

"Nice try, Devi."

Then he tossed the pillow back—right into her face.

"Bye, biwi. Shaam mein milte hain."

"You—!"

Before she could complete her sentence or throw another one, he was already gone, disappearing from her sight like smoke—leaving her flustered, furious, and confused all at once.

Frustrated, she tapped her feet on the marble floor, lips pressed tightly. With a sharp exhale, she finally turned and walked toward the bathroom.

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𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀

I was wearing the red bangles—given by him —when my gaze caught the mirror beside me.

Draped in a soft yellow cotton saree, the black embroidered borders gently brushing my skin, I stood still. My fingers lightly traced the bangles on my wrist.

I remembered the way he had slid them onto my hands… the way his fingers lingered just a moment too long. That moment had etched itself into my mind, playing on a loop now.

And then my eyes fell on the dressing table.

There it was.

A small, delicate box. The same box from which he had taken the vermillion and filled my maang.

I stared at it.

Then slowly, almost unconsciously, my gaze dropped lower—to the exposed curve of my waist, my navel. A flush crawled up my skin.

I didn’t even realize when my hands reached there—right where he had touched me.

That touch...

It wasn’t filthy. It wasn’t forceful.

It was pure.

So pure... that I felt I didn’t even deserve it.

Didn’t deserve him.

Why am I here?

Why did fate bring me to him?

Is this truly my fate?

And if it is… why didn’t it come earlier in my life?

What am I even thinking?

Stop it, Devi. Just stop it.

And then...

“Devi…”

The way he calls my name. Not just my name, but like he’s calling my soul.

Devi.

Like he knows me from the very beginning.

Like he’s always known me—more than I know myself.

He sees through me.

Understands my silence.

Hears the emotions I don’t say aloud.

And I don’t know when… but my eyes began to well up with tears.

Knock knock.

I was pulled back to reality by the soft knock on the door.

Quickly, I wiped my tears away and walked over to open it.

Standing there—with warm, wide smiles—were Dakshit, Dhritya, Raghav, Lily, and Rocky.

Dhritya was holding a tray.

“Bhabhi… can we come in?” she asked gently.

I gave a small smile. “Why are you even asking? Please come in—it’s your house.”

They all entered, looking around curiously. No—adoringly—as if they were stepping into some kind of sacred space. Their eyes were wide with wonder.

“Hey bhabhi,” Dhritya chimed in cheerfully, keeping the tray on the table near the couch “This is your breakfast. Grandma told us to bring it to you.”

"Ohh! Okay, thank you," I said with a soft smile.

“Why are you all standing? Please, have a seat,” I offered, noticing their excited faces. They were absolutely adorable—even the dogs.

As soon as Dakshit sat on the couch, he looked around and complained with a dramatic sigh,

“Sorry to say, bhabhi, but your husband is a devil. He never even lets us see his room!”

he added, laughing, “He’s only soft with Dadi and Revati bhabhi. The rest of us? We don’t exist.”

Hmm, He’s not just a devil—he’s a mannerless one. But wait He never lets anyone come inside this room, why?

I blinked in surprise. “Is this the first time you all are seeing his room?”

They all nodded, and Dakshit replied, “Hmm, bhabhi. That too, only because of you.”

Just then, Dhritya glared at him. “Kutte, tu bhaiya ki shikayat kyun kar raha hai?”

(You mutt! Why are you complaining about bhaiya?) she scolded, half teasing, half serious.

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my saree.

Looking down, I saw that little Labrador pawing at the fabric—Rocky, trying to get my attention. A smile tugged at my lips as I bent down and gently picked him up. He immediately licked my face, as if trying to tell me something sweet and important.

I chuckled, burying my face into his soft fur, before looking at his mother—Lily, wagging her tail excitedly, her tongue out like she too was beaming. I leaned over and patted her on the head.

The warmth… the affection... it was all so new. So unexpectedly comforting.

And then I remembered.

“ why weren’t you all there at the wedding?” I asked softly. I hadn't seen anyone from his family that day. Back then, I had assumed he had no one—no family. If they had been present… maybe I wouldn’t have been forced into this marriage.

Dhritya looked up casually and said, “Oh yeah! Bhaiya told us that his love was going to be forcefully married by her parents… so he went to bring her back from that marriage.”

I froze.

"What the hell… 'love'?"

He told his family he was rescuing his love?

That’s why no one said anything about Roohi—because he never told them.

He lied. He lied to everyone.

Not just a monster.

A liar. A huge liar.

What if his family found out the truth?

Dakshit laughed and added, “And here I thought bhaiya had a stone heart. That he was incapable of love. But turns out, he’s some kind of great lover—crashing weddings and stealing brides!”

I turned slowly to look at him. And there was Dakshit—laughing like a maniac, absolutely enjoying every bit of it.

And then little Raghav, eyes sparkling with excitement, jumped in, “Main bhi Anch chachu jaisa lover banunga! Apni girlfriend ko bhaga loonga! Yayyy!”

(I’ll become a lover like Ansh chachu! I’ll elope with my girlfriend! Yay!)

Dakshit gave him a mock-stern look, mimicking in his tone,

“Abe papa ke pale… teri girlflend bhi hai?”

(You father's fairy… you even have a girlfriend?!)

Raghav puffed out his chest proudly and said,

“Aur nahi toh kya! Tumche toh  chundal hai… vo nahi, vo sabse chundal hai!”

(Of course I do! She's more beautiful than you… no no, she's beautiful than everyone!)

He said it like it was a badge of honor.

Dakshit clutched his head dramatically. “Main 23 ka ho gaya, aur ab tak meri girlfriend nahi bani… aur teri hai?”

(I’m 23 and still haven’t got a girlfriend, and you already have one?!)

Trying to get the gossip out, he smirked and asked, “Vaise kaun hai vo?”

(By the way, who is she?)

Raghav narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “Main nahi bataunga. Walna tum papa ko bata doge!”

(I won’t tell! Otherwise, you’ll go and tell dad!)

The room burst into laughter—even the dogs barking in excitement, giggles echoing from every corner.

And in the middle of it all, for the first time since I entered this strange new life…

I felt like I was in home,

“Bhabhi, do you wanna tour the house?” Dhritya asked, eyes gleaming with excitement.

How could I say no?

They were all so sweet—so warm. And truthfully, I wanted to talk to them too. To feel something normal… something real.

I smiled and nodded. “Yeah, why not?”

“Lech go!” Raghav chirped—his tiny voice full of energy.

“Laghav apko apne toys dikhayega, chachi!”

(Raghav will show you his toys, aunty!)

His little hand wrapped around my wrist before I could react.

Rocky was still nestled in my arms, refusing to be put down.

So there I was—being pulled along by a five-year-old with a determined smile on his face, while holding a dog that clearly had no plans of walking on his own.

I let out a soft laugh. What chaos. What comfort.

It was all a person prey to have in  life,

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