Mayank’s POV

"Tune kiya na mana?” Maa’s voice cracked like a whip from behind.

“Haan. Maine pehle bhi kaha tha — mujhe nahi karni shaadi.”

I didn’t wait for a reply. I closed the door and walked away.

“Kyun nahi karega? Koi pasand aa gayi hai kya?”

I didn’t hesitate this time.

“Haan.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her. Nitya. Standing at the edge of the hallway, half in light, half in shadow.

She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just... watched.

And I walked into my room before I broke more than just rules.

❂

I sat on the bed, my hands on my knees, breath shallow.

In the distance, I could hear Maa screaming — louder than ever.

A plate shattered.

Then silence.

Thick, ringing silence.

And then...

Knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

The door creaked, and there she was.

She didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, unsure.

“Main… aa jaaun?”

I nodded.

She stepped in quietly, her fingers tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She walked slowly and sat beside me — not too close.

Just enough to make me feel her presence like a weight.

I turned toward her. She opened her mouth to speak...

But the words caught.

Then finally, in a voice barely louder than a whisper—

“Kya kami thi usmein…?Sundar toh thi woh…”

I stared at her.

Her eyes didn’t meet mine.

She was pretending to be curious. Calm. Distant.

But I saw her.

Really saw her.

The slight smudge of kajal beneath her eyes — the kind that only happens when you’ve wiped tears in a hurry.

The way her fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the hem of her dupatta.

I kept looking.

“Tum nahi thi,” I said.

Her head turned sharply.

“Kya bol rahe hain?” she asked, her voice too quick, her cheeks tinting red.

“Kami us ladki mein yeh thi… ki woh tum nahi thi,” I said, not blinking.

She stared at me like I had grown horns.

Like I had said something unspeakable.

“Aapka dimaag kharab ho gaya hai kya? Kya bol rahe hain?” she stood up, her voice rising now.

I stood too.

“Aisa kya bol diya? Tum toh aise bhadak rahi ho jaise jaanti hi nahi ho…”

“Sach bol rahi hoon — Maaji sahi keh rahi thi. Aapka dimaag phir gaya hai.”

“Haan. Phir gaya hai.”

I stepped closer. “Batao ab kya karoon?”

She didn’t answer.

Her breath was shaky. Her chest rose and fell fast beneath the pallu she clutched like armour.

“Shaadi kariye, ghar basaiye apna. Mere peeche mat lagiyega.”

She tried to sound angry — sharp, distant.

But I could hear it. The calm in her voice. The calm that hadn’t been there this morning when she heard about the rishta.

I took a slow step toward her.

She stepped back.

Her gaze faltered.

Then, without another word, she turned around — and walked out of the room.

I heard her steps go up — wooden stairs creaking faintly. I followed. I knew where she’d go.

The terrace.

❂

She stood under the pale sun, clipping clothes onto the line — like nothing had just happened.

I didn’t say a word.

Just marched up and snatched the bucket from her hands.

“Kya kar rahe hain aap?!” she gasped.

I grabbed her wrist — not roughly, but tightly enough that she couldn’t look away.

“Tumhare khaane ka, rehne ka, har ek cheez ka kharcha uthaya hai maine. Har insaan se tumhe bachaya hai, kisi cheez ki kami nahi hone di kabhi.” I said it all in one breath.

“Kyun nahi kar sakta pyaar tumse main? Sirf isliye kyunki mere bhai ne tumse shaadi ki thi? Kahan hai woh? Uske baaki kaam kisne sambhale? Maine.. Is hisaab se… main hoon tumhara pati.”

A truth I had swallowed for too long.

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared at me, like she was seeing something she’d buried deep and forgotten.

“Main tumhari parwah karta hoon, aur karta rahunga.”

She finally whispered—

“Kyun?”

“Haq hai mera,” I said, voice low but unwavering.

She narrowed her eyes slightly — not in anger, but confusion.

A thousand emotions swirling behind them.

“Aur ye haq kisne diya aapko?” she asked, steady now.

I didn’t speak right away.

Just looked at her.

Not at her clothes, not at her hands — but at her. The woman I had protected, watched, waited for. The woman the world had called parayi, but who had slowly become my every day.

“Kisi ne nahi diya. Khud-ba-khud mila hai. Aur ab…Main tumhe kisi ko nahi dunga.”

I slowly let go of her hand. The imprint of her skin stayed on my fingers.

And I turned away —

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I’d finally said everything.

And now…

It was her turn to feel it.

But she didn’t say anything.

Not that day.

Not the next.

❂

The day went on, dragging behind it a silence that refused to break.

She didn’t avoid me — no, not exactly.

She still passed me the steel dabba for tiffin.

Still left a glass of water on the table before I left.

Still folded my towel neatly after drying it.

But she never looked me in the eye again.

And that hurt more than her words.

I wanted her to speak.

To yell. Cry. Fight.

To say something — even if it was to throw my words back at me.

But what I got… was silence.

And the weight of it grew heavier with each hour.

Maybe I was too harsh.

Too direct.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said all that.

She’s already been through so much —

A husband who left her, a family that barely respects her, a village that whispers behind her back.

And now me.

Throwing feelings at her like firewood on an already burning flame.

I told myself to give her space.

To wait.

But waiting doesn’t feel the same after you’ve shown your heart.

Days passed…

At night, I’d sit by the window of my room, shirt half-unbuttoned, staring into the dark village street.

Mosquitoes buzzed at the net.

The old bulb flickered in the verandah.

And just beyond that, her room — the faint sound of her bangles.

I knew she was awake too.

I wanted to knock.

But i knew i shouldn’t, I kept staring at the moon wanting things to change between us.

Next day

It was past ten when I unlocked the gate.

The village slept early, but I didn’t t wanted to return.

Lit a cigarette outside the gate, let the smoke dull my thoughts before it curled into the black sky and disappeared.

The rusted gate creaked as I entered.

No lights in the courtyard.

Maa had probably dozed off while watching her TV serials.

I opened the front door quietly, careful not to wake anyone.

But as I stepped inside...

I saw her.

❂

She was sitting near the kitchen, back to the wall, a pallu wrapped tightly around her.

Her knees pulled up. Eyes wide open. Hair a little messy like she’d run her hand through it too many times.

She wasn’t doing anything.

Not cooking.

Not cleaning.

Just… sitting.

Still.

Waiting?

“Abhi tak jaagi ho?” I asked, voice low—careful.

She looked up slowly. Eyes met mine for a second longer than usual.

“Neend nahi aa rahi thi,” she said quietly, brushing her palm over her knee.

Her voice didn’t have that old sharpness anymore.

It was soft. Honest. Tired.

“Khana khaya?” she asked before I could speak again.

I shook my head.

“Bhook nahi hai.”

She stood up silently and walked to the kitchen.

No words. No expressions. Just her quiet movements.

I watched her warm the daal.

Add a fresh tadka like she always did, even when I said not to.

She placed the plate in front of me on the table, then stepped back, wiping her hands on the end of her dupatta.

“Thoda sa khaa lijiye…” she said.

I sat down.

Not because I was hungry.

But because she asked.

Every bite felt heavier, not because of the food… but because she stood there — arms crossed, eyes refusing to meet mine, still not walking away.

Finally, I looked up from my half-finished plate.

“Tumhe neend kyun nahi aa rahi?” I asked.

She didn’t look at me, just kept adjusting the edge of her dupatta over her shoulder.

“Ese hi,” she said. Too quickly.

Her voice slipped, like it wasn’t ready to lie, but tried anyway.

I let a beat pass.

Then said, quieter—more pointedly—

“Mera intezaar kar rahi thi?”

That made her freeze.

Just for a second.

A blink.

A breath.

And then, in the blink of an eye, her posture stiffened. Before I could say anything else, she turned around—sharp, sudden—and walked off toward her room.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And then… locked.

I stared at it for a moment.

And I smiled.

Enough of this distance.

After finishing my food, I freshened up, went to my room, lay shirtless there for a while staring at the fan. But I couldn’t stay still.

I got up.

Walked to her room.

Knocked.

After a few seconds, she opened the door.

This time — no dupatta covering her body. No mangalsutra. Hair open. Blouse hugging her softly. Skirt tied low. Her chest was rising and falling a little faster.

I could see it — she had been awake. Thinking. Waiting.

I stepped forward.

She didn’t stop me. She didn’t speak. She just… moved aside, and let me in.

“Kya hua?” I asked, my voice soft. “Abhi bhi neend nahi aayi?”

Her eyes blinked slowly, met mine.

She nodded no.

“Mujhe bhi nahi aa rahi…” I said, walking in, closing the door behind me.

Her cheeks — red. Her lips — slightly parted. The whole room — heavy with things we never said.

moved towards her.

This time…

She didn’t move back.

I raised my hand, slow and careful, and placed it on her waist.

Her skin was warm, her breath hitching just slightly.

And then— She placed her hand on my chest.

Not to push me away. Not to stop me. But to feel me. To steady herself.

My heart was beating loud enough for her to hear.

And hers… I could feel it through her palm — fast, nervous, alive.

We stood like that for a moment — forehead to forehead, barely touching, hearts roaring in a room full of silence.

I tilted my head, brushing my lips softly along her temple.

She didn’t flinch.

Her hand curled slightly on my chest.

“Nitya…” I whispered.

She looked up at me, slowly. Her lashes heavy. Eyes uncertain, but not afraid.

I leaned in — not to kiss her mouth — but the edge of her jaw, the soft space just below her ear.

She shivered against me.

My other hand rose to her back, fingers splaying wide as I pulled her closer, letting her feel the heat of my need… my care… my restraint.

“Bol do…ruk jaunga,” I murmured.

She said nothing.

Instead… she closed her eyes.

She rested her forehead against my shoulder.

That was enough.

We moved back to the bed, wordless.

I unclasped her blouse, slowly sliding it off her shoulders.

She didn’t stop me — just looked at me with flushed cheeks and parted lips.

Her breasts were big, soft, full, her skin warm under my hands.

She reached down and tugged at the knot of my pajama, opening it, her fingers brushing against me.

We kissed again — deeper this time, messier.

Our hands explored without hesitation now.

I cupped one breast, squeezing gently while my mouth found the other.

I sucked on her nipple, slow and wet, while rolling the other between my fingers.

Her back arched off the bed.

“Aahh…” she breathed, clutching my shoulder.

I moved between her legs. She opened them without a word, her eyes locked on mine.

I held her thighs and pushed in — slow, firm, steady.

She gasped, body tightening around me.

“Mayank…” she whispered, barely able to speak.

I thrust deeper, filling her completely.

She moaned, louder this time, pulling me closer.

We moved together — skin against skin, lips searching, bodies pressing hard and fast.

Her fingers dug into my back, her breath coming in short, quick gasps as I kept moving inside her — faster, deeper, until her moans turned to whimpers and her body trembled beneath me.

“Ahhh… aur tez,” she whispered, her voice broken, desperate.

And I didn’t stop.

I held her tighter. Kissed her lips, her neck, her chest — again and again — until her moans spilled freely into the night.

My hips moved faster now, harder, deeper — her body meeting every thrust like she’d been aching for it just as long as I had.

Her nails dug into my back.

Her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, pulling me in, again, again.

“Uhhhhhmmm…” she gasped, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut.

I watched her unravel beneath me — her body trembling, chest heaving, lips parted.

I leaned down, kissed the corner of her mouth, then murmured against her skin:

“Abse tum meri ho…”

Her eyes opened — wide, wet, stunned — but she didn’t speak.

She just held me tighter, burying her face into my neck as her body tensed again, back arching.

“Main… main…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence — her body tensed, legs tightening around me, a soft cry escaping her lips as she came, trembling beneath me.

That was all I needed.

I thrust one last time, deep and hard, and let go — releasing everything inside her with a rough, low groan.

“Nitya…” I breathed against her skin, burying my face into the crook of her neck as I spilled into her — warm, full, claiming her in a way I hadn’t dared to before.

Her hands were still on my back, not pulling me closer this time, just holding me there — like she didn’t want me to move.