4.

AUTHOR’S POV

Atharva left the house, but his own words followed him like a shadow. With every step, a question weighed heavily on him—why did he do this to a girl who had just become his wife?

Ishani now belonged to him, yet he had pushed her away as if she meant nothing.

What troubled him more than anything was her silence. It stayed with him, sharp and accusing. The more he thought about her, the heavier his chest felt, a quiet pity settling deep within him.

But he forced his heart to remain cold. He could not give Ishani the place she deserved. His heart already belonged to another woman—someone he had loved deeply, someone who had once promised him forever, and then walked away. That wound was still open, still bleeding. And because of it, he refused to let himself feel anything again, even if it meant breaking someone innocent in the process.

Inside the house, Ishani’s world had completely fallen apart. She could barely breathe as she rushed into the bathroom and locked the door behind her. Turning on the shower, she stood under the cold water, letting the sharp drops hit her skin. It felt like punishment—something she deserved.

With every second, the truth became clearer. She was never a choice, only an option. A girl everyone decided for, a marriage forced upon her without asking her heart.

Tears slipped from her eyes, mixing with the water as her heart raced and her breath trembled. Love was never meant for her.

She didn’t deserve it—at least that’s what life kept teaching her. Her chest hurt, her body shook, and all she could hear were Atharva’s words, cold and unkind, echoing again and again in her ears, refusing to leave her in peace.

ISHANI’S POV

When my tears finally ran dry, it wasn’t because the pain had ended—it was because my body had no strength left to cry. I turned off the shower and changed into a simple kurti. Standing in front of the mirror, I stared at my reflection, searching for the girl I used to be. She was gone. In her place stood a woman who was never meant to be chosen, only accepted when there was no other option.

My chest tightened as I took a deep breath. I made myself a promise right then. I would expect nothing from this marriage. Nothing from him. Hope was a luxury I could no longer afford. I would survive on my own, the way I always had. He would never know the pure part of me—the part that could love deeply—because he had never earned it.

A sudden knock on the door pulled me out of my thoughts. Panic rushed through me. I wiped my face quickly, swallowing the sob stuck in my throat, and stepped out of the bathroom.

Maa was standing there.

“Why are you standing outside, Maa? Please come in,” I said, forcing my voice to sound normal.

She looked at me closely, her eyes softening.

“Ishani… why are your eyes so red?” she asked gently.

“Nothing, Maa,” I said too quickly. “Soap went into my eyes.”

The lie tasted bitter, but it was easier than the truth.

She nodded, then said, “Your mother called. She wants you to come home for some rituals. That’s why I came to tell you. You should go now and return in the evening.”

“Okay, Maa. I’ll book a taxi,” I replied

without thinking.

The idea of seeing his face again made my stomach twist.

“Why taxi?” she said. “You’ll go in our car. Get ready fast. Advik is waiting for you.”

At the sound of Advik bhai’s name, my shoulders relaxed just a little. At least I wouldn’t have to face him.

“Okay, Maa. Just two minutes,” I said quietly.

For now, escape was enough. Even if it was only for a few hours.

AUTHOR'S POV

Evening had settled over the house, yet the warmth inside the hall felt distant.

Atharva stepped in, the morning’s memories clinging to him like a shadow he couldn’t escape. Every word, every silence, every look from earlier played on repeat in his mind. Without acknowledging anyone, he went straight to his room, convinced Ishani would be in the hall—far away from him.

He changed into loose sweatpants and a T-shirt and opened his laptop. The screen glowed, files opened and closed, but his focus never stayed. The silence of the room only made the chaos inside him louder.

The more he tried to work, the more Ishani occupied his thoughts.

Her quiet presence.

Her lowered eyes.

The hurt he had chosen not to see in the morning.

Why was she affecting him like this?

The question irritated him. He had never allowed anyone this much space in his mind—especially not someone he barely knew. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t push her away.

Frustrated, he shut the laptop and stood up. He needed air. Distance. Anything to silence his thoughts.

As he moved toward the garden, his mother’s voice stopped him midway.

“Atharva, when did you come?” she asked, unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

“Just a few minutes ago, maa,” he replied, forcing calm into his voice.

“Where are you going now?” she asked

“Just for a walk.” he replied

“No walking. Come and sit with the family,” she said, leaving no room for refusal.

He didn’t argue. He never did.

Yet today, sitting with his family felt heavier than walking alone. This house—his house—had never felt this strange. The morning incident weighed on him, a quiet guilt tightening his chest.

Maintaining his cold mask, he entered the hall. His eyes betrayed him immediately, searching—needing—to find Ishani.

She wasn’t there.

A strange unease crept in. He told himself she must be in the kitchen, busy as always. He sat on the sofa, his posture stiff, his mind restless.

When the clock struck seven, Advik stood up, straightening his clothes and fixing his hair. As he picked up the car keys, Atharva spoke without thinking.

“Where are you going?”

“Bhai, don’t you know?” Advik replied.

Atharva looked up sharply. “Know what?”

“Bhabhi went to her parents’ house for a ritual. She said she’d return by seven, so I’m going to pick her up.”

Something twisted painfully inside Atharva.

She went… without telling me?

The realization hit harder than it should have.

She was his wife.

She should have told him.

Or… did she not feel the need to?

The thought unsettled him more than he expected.

“Stop,” Atharva said suddenly. “I’ll go.”

Advik blinked. “Will you, bhai? You just came back from the office. You must be tired.”

Atharva’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened—not with anger at Advik, but with something far more dangerous.

“Advik,” he said quietly, the sharpness in his voice unmistakable,

“if I say -I’ll do it, I will.”

The finality in his tone silenced the room.

He walked away quickly, as if staying any longer would force him to confront emotions he wasn’t ready to face. In his room, he changed his clothes in haste, grabbed his car keys, and headed straight for the parking.

As he sat in the driver’s seat, his grip tightened on the steering wheel.

Why did it bother him so much?

Why did her absence feel heavier than her presence?

He started the car.

Because somewhere between duty and distance, anger and guilt—

Ishani had begun to matter him.

ISHANI’S POV

I walked slowly in the garden, waiting for Advik bhai to come and pick me up. The soft evening breeze brushed past me, yet it did nothing to calm the storm inside my heart.

My thoughts kept drifting back to the morning.

Atharva’s cold words still echoed in my ears, each one throbbing painfully in my chest. I didn’t know how I would face him again if he spoke to me like that. Would I stay quiet, as always? Or would my heart finally break under the weight of his indifference?

My mind turned into a whirlpool of fear, confusion, and helpless longing.

Suddenly, the sharp honk of a car snapped me out of my thoughts.

I looked toward the gate, expecting to see Advik bhai. Instead, a black Thar stood there—bold, unfamiliar, and intimidating. For a second, I told myself it must belong to someone else.

The headlights switched off.

A tall figure stepped out, dressed in black.

As the dim lights fell on his face, my breath hitched painfully.

It was my husband—Atharva Yaduvanshi.

My heart skipped a beat.

Why was he here?

Why hadn’t Advik bhai come instead?

Before I could steady my thoughts, he was standing right in front of me. His presence was overwhelming—tall, composed, and wrapped in a dark calm that made the air around us feel heavier.

When our eyes met, something twisted tightly in my stomach.

It wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t fear.

It was a strange, uncomfortable pull that left me breathless.

The silence between us was thick, charged with words left unsaid and emotions neither of us dared to acknowledge. His piercing gaze held mine for a moment too long, making my heart race for reasons I didn’t understand.

Before either of us could speak, a familiar voice echoed through the garden.

“Atharva beta.”

It was my mother.

He moves forward immediately, bent down and touched her feet with respect, as if the cold man from the morning had vanished. Watching him like this confused me even more.

“Why are you standing outside? Come inside,” she said warmly.

Then she turned to me and lightly tapped my shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me my son-in-law was coming?”

“Maa, why are you hitting me?” I said softly, forcing a small smile. “He just arrived.”

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a faint smirk tug at his lips as my mother tapped my shoulder. That small expression stirred something in my chest—something I didn’t want to feel, yet couldn’t ignore.

“Come inside. Don’t stand here,” maa said, leading us in.

We followed her into the house.

But my heart remained behind in the garden—

caught between the pain of his words, the weight of his presence, and the emotions I was trying so hard to bury.

I was in the kitchen, making tea for him, while he sat in the hall with maa and papa. The flame on the stove burned high—just like my thoughts, scattered and restless because of him.

The gentle clink of a glass pulled me out of my haze.

When I turned, I saw Atharva standing there, a glass in his hand.

His face was calm, unreadable as always. But his eyes… they lingered on me.

Not cold. Not distant. Just quiet—yet intense, as if they were saying things his lips refused to speak.

I wanted to understand them, to read what he was hiding there, but my heart faltered.

Before I could gather myself, he moved.

His steps were slow, deliberate—each one closing the distance between us. Instinctively, I stepped back, my back almost brushing the counter.

He came closer.

Too close.

I could feel his presence without him touching me—the warmth of him, the faint scent that wrapped around me, the steady calm of his breathing so close to mine. My pulse raced, loud in my ears.

Then he bent slightly, his hands lowering near my waist.

Not touching.

Yet close enough to steal my breath.

With a smooth, effortless movement, he turned off the stove.

Before I could even understand what had just happened,

his voice reached my ear—low, controlled, and dangerously gentle.

“Don’t get distracted while working, Mrs. Yaduvanshi.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine. My stomach tightened, my heart stumbling over its own rhythm. Something warm, unfamiliar, and frightening bloomed quietly inside me.

I stood frozen.

And just like that—he stepped back.

The air felt suddenly empty.

He walked out of the kitchen as if nothing had happened, leaving me behind with trembling hands, flushed cheeks, and a heart that refused to calm down.

I poured the tea, my movements slow and careful, trying to steady myself. I placed the cups on the tray and walked into the hall.

He stood near the window, talking on the phone, his posture relaxed, as if he hadn’t just undone me moments ago.

I set the tray down and sat on the sofa, keeping my eyes lowered.

When the call ended, he came and sat beside me—the only space left.

His arm brushed mine.

Just slightly.

It was nothing… yet it felt like everything.

I silently served the tea, my fingers brushin

g the cup carefully, afraid that even the smallest mistake would betray the chaos inside me.

And yet, despite everything…

his nearness felt dangerously impossible to ignore.