Jiya's Pov

I stood in the room, Jasmine and roses everywhere — hanging, scattered, suffocating. Candles flickered in small brass stands, their smoke curling upward like ghosts. I sat on the edge, careful not to crush any petals, clutching my lehenga like it might save me.

A woman walked in, balancing a tiny baby on her hip. The child slipped free and came toward me with that fearless toddler energy. For a second, her laugh made my chest loosen. Finally, someone in this place who wasn’t whispering, judging, or chanting.

“Tumhara naam kya hai?” the woman asked, her tone kind.

“Jiya,” I said, my voice barely there.

“Bohot sundar naam hai,” she said, smiling. “Main Priya hoon. Aur ye... Chaavi.” She tickled the baby, making her giggle again.

“Chachi!” Chaavi squealed and tried climbing onto my lap. I helped her up. She instantly started playing with the embroidery on my skirt, tugging at the sequins. I didn’t even mind. At least she wasn’t trying to make small talk about my new “happy married life.”

“Rahul ko maaf kar do,” Priya said gently. “Ye dono bhai na, ek jaise hain.”

I blinked, confused. Maaf? Bhai? What am I missing here?

“Tum kisi doosre gaon ki ho kya? Pehle kabhi dekha nahi.”

“Main… gaon main nahi rehti… Delhi se hoon.”

“Oho,” she said, eyebrows rising. “Fir toh bohot taqleef hoti hogi.”

“Matlab?”

“Matlab yahi ki yahan ke taur-tarike alag hain.”

Oh, you don’t say.

Before I could answer, another woman entered — older, limping slightly, eyes scanning the room like a general inspecting soldiers.

“Yeh Mummy-ji hain,” Priya said quickly.

Mummy-ji. I swear I hadn’t heard that word since Star Plus.

The older woman frowned. “Yeh kaise baithi ho?”

Before I could even process that, she came closer, pulled Chaavi off my lap, positioned me squarely in the middle of the bed, folded my legs, tugged my veil down to my knees.

“Ab theek,” she said, like I was a broken doll she’d fixed. “Doodh rakha hai, Rahul aaye toh bata dena.”

And just like that, they left.

Silence.

The kind that presses against your ears until your own heartbeat sounds too loud.

I stared at the floor, the spilled petals, the candle wax melting in tiny rivers. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Laxmi’s face flashed before my eyes — her tears, her fear, my stupid words.

Main hoti toh bhaag jaati.

Yeah, well done, Jiya. The universe heard you loud and clear.

Tears welled up again. I hit my forehead lightly.

Mar rahi thi toh marne deti, kya chul machi thi mujhe!

Someone grabbed my wrists.

My breath caught.

Through the veil I saw a shadow — The buddha groom himself.

He was too close, his presence heavy, making the air feel smaller. My pulse was so loud it hurt. If he could drag me into a marriage, what else could he do?

He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. Just stared.

After a long moment, he let go of my hands. I quickly adjusted my dupatta, my fingers trembling.

“Yeh kya kar rahi thi?” His tone was flat, not angry, not gentle — just command.

I shook my head.

“Bolo.”

It wasn’t a request.

“Kuch nahi,” I whispered.

He studied me for a few seconds — like trying to decide whether to believe me — then stepped back. He lifted the lid from the cup of milk on the table, drank it in one go, and sat beside me. The mattress dipped under his weight.

I stiffened. My brain started chanting: Please Bhagwan, bachalo is gawar se.

He reached forward, lifted my veil slightly, and brushed the back of his hand across my cheek. Just a fleeting touch — but enough to make my entire body freeze. His hand was warm, rough. My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.

He didn’t say a word, just took out a small ring from his pocket, slid it onto my finger with mechanical precision, then got up and walked into the small side room — probably the washroom.

As soon as he disappeared, I exhaled so hard it hurt.

“Aur bano gyaan ki devi,” I muttered. “Khud toh bhaag gayi, mujhe fasaa diya is buddhe ke saath.”

The door opened again. Rahul stepped out, drying his hands, looking perfectly at ease — like this was just another Tuesday evening. His gaze moved from my face down to my trembling hands and back up again.

“Suhaag raat manani hai kya?”

My brain short-circuited. “K.....k..kya?”

He tilted his head. “Bologi ya bas dekhti rahegi?”

I shook my head so fast I almost dislodged the veil. “Nahi!”

“Theek hai,” he said simply, pulled the blanket over himself, and lay down facing away from me. “Jaldi so jana. Kal baaki rasme karni hain.”

That was it. Just like that, my kidnapper-slash-husband went to sleep.

I sat there in complete disbelief. The jasmine smell was making me nauseous. My lehenga felt like armor made of glitter and regret.

I wanted to change, but I had no clothes. None.

Should I ask him? No. What if he misunderstood?

‘Hi, I just need something to sleep in’ might sound very different to a man who married me at gunpoint.

But how does anyone sleep in a lehenga?

Before I could spiral further, his voice came again — calm, muffled under the blanket.

“Kya soch rahi ho itna?”

“The lehenga… ke sparkles chubh rahe hain,” I muttered, staring at the wall.

“Toh utar do,” he said, so casually that for a second, I wasn’t sure I’d heard right.

Rahul's Pov

“Matlab kapde utar doon?” she whispered, eyes wide.

I almost rolled mine. “He Bhagwan,” I muttered under my breath. “Mera matlab tha ki change kar lo… bas.”

She kept staring at me like I’d spoken urdu or farsi. The longer she looked, the more uncomfortable I felt.

"Kapde nahin hain," she said.

So I pulled off my kurta and tossed it on her lap.

“Yeh pehn lo,” I said.

She blinked up at me, then down at the kurta, and slipped away toward the washroom—only to stop at the doorway.

“Main andar nahi change kar paungi. Paani phaila hua hai. Lehenga kharab ho jaayega.... Ye maine apni saving se liya tha,” she said, almost pleading.

I folded my arms. “Yeh mera kamra hai.”

Her eyes didn’t move from mine. I sighed, turned over on the bed. “Main bahar nahi jaunga. Jo karna hai, yahin kar lo.”

Silence stretched. I could feel her still standing there. My patience started thinning. Finally, I sat up. “Paanch minute. Main andar aa jaoonga. Jaldi karo.”

As I walked out, I caught a small smile tugging at her lips—half-mischievous, half-nervous. It did something strange in my chest, something I ignored immediately.

I stood in the corridor, praying no one saw me like this—especially Bhaiya.

“Aa jao,” her voice came softly from inside.

When I went in, the lehenga was folded neatly on the sofa. She was by the mirror, drowning in my white kurta. It hung loose on her frame, sleeves rolled over her palms. She was tugging at her jewellery, struggling with the pins in her hair.

Without thinking, I stepped closer. “Ruko,” I said, and reached to unhook the pins. Her hair fell forward in soft waves. The scent—fresh mehendi and attar—hit me before I could step back.

Our eyes met in the mirror. For a moment neither moved.

I couldn't resist any longer. I reached out, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her soft body close to mine.

Her breath caught as she felt my strength, her back molding perfectly against my chest. Slowly, I leaned in, my lips brushing the delicate skin of her neck, placing a soft kiss.

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she slipped from my embrace, darting to the bed. Drawing the blanket up to her chin, she closed her eyes, maybe trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. I circled once, trying to steady my breath, and then slid under the covers on my side, facing away.

“Pachaas saal ke ho gaye ho lekin tameez nahi ayi…” she muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear.

I opened one eye. “Kya kaha..?” I asked flatly.

She turned toward me, pointing her finger at me, eyes flashing. “Dobara bina permission ke touch kiya na... toh khane mein zeher daal dungi.”

Her tone was cold, too steady to be a joke.

“Dhamki de rahi ho?” I asked, turning slightly toward her.

“Haan,” she said, without blinking.

“Zyada mat—” I started, but before I could finish, she turned away and pulled the blanket over her head.

“DND!!,”

I exhaled, what is dnd???

For a while, I stared at the ceiling, the flickering candle shadows crawling across the wall. I wasn’t used to this sass and attitude. I'll soon teach her how to act like a women.

When I finally turned my back again, I could hear her breathing—slow, even, unbothered.

I closed my eyes, trying to do the same. But for some reason, her voice, her defiance, and that stupid blanket between us wouldn’t let me rest.

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