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"देख के मुझे क्यों तुम देखते नहीं
यारा ऐसी बेरुखी हां सही तो नहीं

रात दिन जिसे मांगा था दुआओं में
देखो गौर से कहीं मैं वही तो नहीं

मैं वह रंग हूं जो चढ़ के
कभी छूटे न..
मैं वह रंग हूं जो चढ़ के
कभी छूटे न दामन से

तुम्हें प्यार से प्यार होने लगेगा
तुम्हें प्यार से प्यार होने लगेगा
मेरे साथ शामें बिताकर तो देखो"
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"Sote hue toh bade shareef lagte hain aap."

(The way you look while sleeping, you seem so innocent.)

My sleep broke hearing a soft voice, the voice that now-a-days was getting inside my head.

Her voice broke the quiet of the room, slipping in like it belonged there, and for some reason, I didn't move.

She thought I was asleep. Again.

The corner of my lips twitched upward, an unfamiliar tug. A smile-foreign, uncontrollable, yet strangely there. I let it fade as quickly as it came.

I kept my breathing steady, my face turned slightly into the pillow, but inside, something shifted. Amused. That was the word for it-quietly, curiously amused.

"Aur asal mein hain bhi ki nahi, yeh toh mujhe bhi nahi pata," she continued, her voice low but carrying the weight of her thoughts

(And whether you're really innocent or not, I don't even know that.)

She spoke like this often, her words running freely in the morning calmness as if she couldn't stop herself. Like I wasn't here at all. Or maybe, like I was.

Her words carried a quiet complaint, a hint of frustration she barely tried to mask. She kept speaking, her voice low but steady.

"Aapke jaise aadmi ko hamare gaon mein ghamandi bolte hain. But aap ghamandi toh nahi hain."

(Men like you are called arrogant in our village. But you're not arrogant, are you?)

Her words came in a rhythm, soft yet deliberate. The edge of her frustration was unmistakable, but there was something else.

I stayed still, watching her in my own way through her voice, through the pauses between her sentences, through the sigh she let out afterward.

Then she sighed, a sound so tired it felt like it carried her entire day's weight. It caught me off guard. Normally, by now, she would have tried to slip out of my grip, her movements quick and clumsy, eager to escape.

But this morning, she stayed.

My grip around her hadn't loosened, and for once, she didn't try to escape it. She simply stayed there, speaking her mind to the silence she thought I was part of.

This wasn't the first time she had whispered like this, but this morning, there was a steadiness to her voice. She was talking more than she had before, not just murmuring fleeting thoughts but letting herself speak longer, free.

I didn't open my eyes, but I felt her every breath, warm and soft against my arm. She was close, yet still distant in ways I couldn't quite place.

I didn't stop her. I wanted to see how far she'd go, how many words she'd say before she ran out of them or how many complains she has from me.

For some reason, the moment felt lighter than it should've. And for some reason, I didn't want it to end.

But just as I thought it wouldn't end this soon, she surprised me again.

Her hand reached for mine, the one resting on her bare waist. Her fingers brushed against my skin-soft, hesitant, yet deliberate. The warmth there, the kind I'd been introduced to only recently, left me strangely aware of every small movement she made.

She didn't push my hand away; no, it wasn't forceful. It was... gentle. Careful. Like she was handling something fragile.

And then, as if she'd made up her mind, she placed my hand aside.

The absence of her warmth hit me immediately, and I could feel the shift in the air as she moved, her weight lifting from the bed.

Now I couldn't breathe in her.

It was quiet, the kind of silence that made every sound-her sigh, the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of the mattress-louder than it should have been.

My hands were now cold, the type of cold I was habitual off, but now it feels foreign. For some reason, I didn't like it.

Get a fucking grip Sidharth.

I didn't open my eyes, but I felt it all. The sudden emptiness next to me. The faint scent of her lingering in the space she'd left behind.

I stayed still, eyes shut, pretending to sleep as she slipped off the bed. The warmth of her presence faded, leaving a cold space beside me. But I didn't move.

Not yet.

Finally, what feels like an hours she stepped out.

I heard the faint rustle of her saree, the soft creak of the cupboard door, and the quiet clinking of bangles. Curiosity tugged at me, so I cracked my eyes open just a little.

Like I have been doing from the day we got married.

Watching her secretly getting ready.

She stood by the mirror, her back to me, the soft light of dawn highlighting her every move. The orange and red saree clung to her form perfectly, as if it had been tailored for her alone. I couldn't help but watch, my eyes drawn to the way the fabric fell around her waist, the smooth curve of her back catching my attention.

Her hands worked steadily as she adjusted the pleats, each motion measured, almost like she took pleasure in it. The way she tucked the saree into place, the gentle pull of the fabric-everything about her - was deliberate, graceful, and unhurried.

I noticed the faint traces of henna on her hands, still visible despite the passing days.They reminded me of the night she had them done so dark - so vivid. Now, they were softer, but the designs still held a quiet elegance.

Her fingers moved to fasten her waist chain, the subtle motion pulling my gaze to her waist again. She didn't seem to notice, but I couldn't pull my eyes away.

My hands itched as if I could feel the smoothness of her skin even from where I stood. She reached for her bangles, their soft sound filling the room, but my focus stayed on her. The tiny smile on her lips when she was wearing her bangles was what caught my attention next.

She adjusted her hair, a slight smile touching her lips, and I found myself wanting to trace every detail of her, even without touching.

I watched her move, my eyes lingering just a bit longer than they should have. Every little gesture, the way she adjusted her saree, the careful way she fastened her waist chain-it all drew me in, pulling my focus like a magnet.

I told myself to look away, but something about her presence made it hard to breathe. There was a quiet tug in my chest, something tightening, something I couldn't quite name.

My eyes flickered back to her waist, to the way the fabric hugged her, how everything about her seemed to fit so perfectly in place. It wasn't just her beauty-it was how she wore it, like it belonged to her. I could feel my hand itch at my side, the urge to reach out, but I clenched my fist, trying to push the thought away.

Her flawless skin skin, her small self, was now all dolled up, she smiled at herself like loving it.

She loves getting ready.

She loves bangles and jewelleries.

Her eyes shine when she looks at them.

I didn't know how much time had passed, but for once, I didn't feel the urge to speak. I just watched, letting her be in her space, and for a moment, it felt right to stay silent.

At first, it was peaceful. Strange, but peaceful. A quiet satisfaction settled in my chest, the kind that felt new and unfamiliar. She was just getting ready, and yet it felt like something worth noticing, worth remembering.

But then she walked away.

And just like that, the peace turned into anger.

I clenched my jaw, the feeling creeping in like it always did.

What the hell is wrong with me? Watching her like this, like a fool, every single day? It was starting to piss me off.

"fuck!" I muttered under my breath, running a hand over my face. I sat up on the bed, the cool air hitting me as reality set back in. "What are you even doing, Sidharth?"

The anger wasn't at her-it was at myself. This wasn't me. Or at least, it wasn't supposed to be.

I stood up, stretching my arms above my head before walking to the balcony. The sun was up, and it was time to get rid of this... this strange tension. Exercise always helped, even if it didn't fix things completely.

The floor felt cold under my feet as I made my way to the room's corner, where I'd set up my weights and mat. It wasn't much just enough to get by. The mansion had a fully equipped gym, of course, but I hadn't stepped foot in it since the wedding.

"Too busy," I mumbled sarcastically, grabbing a pair of dumbbells. Busy doing what, though?

Adjusting to this new life? Trying to understand a wife who whispered complaints while thinking I couldn't hear her?

Or just avoiding things I didn't want to face?

Or watching her getting ready like a creep every day?

I let out a short laugh, bitter and sharp. "Yeah, real busy."

I started lifting, the weight grounding me, giving my hands something to do other than clenching into fists. But even as I focused on each rep, her face lingered in my mind. Her quiet voice.

That damn saree.

The way she smiled faintly when she thought no one was watching.

And it annoyed me even more.

After a few minutes, I knew I couldn't focus on anything else, so I decided to take a shower.

It will clear my mind.

I stepped out of the shower, feeling the cool air against my skin. My thoughts were clearer now, but something inside me felt... off.

The moment I walked out, my gaze went straight to the cloth placed on the bed. I didn't need to look twice to know who left it there. It was her.

I walked over, my fingers brushing against the fabric. As I touched it, a hard feeling spread through me. No, I couldn't let myself feel anything about this. I couldn't give her false hope. I couldn't allow myself to think there could be anything more than what this marriage was.

I'd been through too much to let my guard down now.

I'd hardened myself over the years, after everything that happened-so much so that nothing, not even her, could crack through.

I knew the cost of getting soft. I had learned that the hard way.

I stepped back, shaking my head, pushing the thought away. I grabbed different clothes, ones that suited the man I was: a doctor, a powerful man in control, someone who didn't let emotions dictate his actions.

As I walked out, I saw the cloth on the bed again, but this time, I ignored it.

I knew I was hurting her. But what else could I do? I couldn't change what I had to be. I couldn't let myself break. I had to remain the way I was was-unshakable.

I told myself it was for the best. Even if it didn't feel like it.

I moved downstairs, the steps heavy under my feet. My mind still clouded from everything earlier. But then, my eyes searched without even thinking. And there she was.

Ma.

A smile pulled at my lips before I could stop it. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to notice. Her face softened when she saw me, and I nodded slightly, acknowledging her silently.

A small smile played on her lips when she noticed me. "Good morning," she said warmly, placing a plate in front of me.

"Good morning, Ma," I replied, sitting down and letting the familiar comfort of home surround me.

I sat at the breakfast table, the rich aroma of food filling the air, but I wasn't focused on that. Ma set the plate in front of me, the conversation flowing smoothly between us.

"Did you talk to your grandfather and grandmother?" she asked, a calm tone in her voice.

I looked up, my mind flicking to them. "How are they?"

Ma smiled, her eyes warm, and for a moment, I felt that old sense of comfort. "They're fine. Your grandfather asked about you. He said you should visit them. They're waiting for you to come for the post-ritual."

"Your grandfather said he's waiting for you. Everyone is. Your uncle and aunt are helping with the arrangements, too. Everything is ready; they just need you to come for the ritual."

I knew she was talking about the traditional ceremony that had to be done after the marriage. But hearing her words, I felt that familiar tightness in my chest.

My grand parents & younger uncle & aunt were at our ancestors place to perform a ritual after my wedding. They left just after my wedding and were still there.

"I don't want to go," I said, the words coming out sharper than I intended.

She looked at me for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. "Siddharth," she said softly, "why?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Please, Ma. You know why."

Ma didn't miss the shift in my tone. She leaned in slightly, her voice soft but firm. "Sidharth, you need to let go of the past. You can't keep holding onto it forever. You've changed. It's time for you to move on."

Her words felt like a weight on my shoulders, like I could never escape it.

I shook my head, my gaze going to the window, my mind swirling. "I'm not ready, Ma," I said softly, under my breath. "My past isn't ready to leave me behind."

I wasn't ready to face it all-the memories, the childhood, everything I had buried inside. It wasn't just about the village or the rituals; it was about something deeper. Something I couldn't explain, even to myself.

I had hardened myself for a reason. Because I had to. And I wasn't sure if I could ever go back there. To that place, to that feeling... to the boy I was before everything changed.

But I knew Ma, and I knew she wouldn't let it go.

She didn't push further, but her silence spoke volumes. And as much as I hated it, I knew she was right. But knowing and doing were two different things.

I finished my breakfast, my thoughts were still heavy, and I stood up to leave. As I walked away, her words echoed in my mind, challenging the walls I had built.

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The hospital felt quieter than usual today. I sat at my desk, flipping through patient files, the fluorescent light casting a cold glow over the room. My mind worked methodically, sorting through names, conditions, and upcoming procedures, but something about the silence gnawed at me.

The knock on the door broke through my thoughts. I didn't look up immediately, instead allowing the nurse to guide Aryan inside. The soft patter of his footsteps was unmistakable.

Aryan.

I didn't need to check the schedule to know it was him.

I glanced up, my eyes settling on the boy. The same hoodie, the same scrawny frame, the same chipped toy car in his hand. He gripped it like it was his lifeline, the only piece of security he had.

"Up on the table," I said, my voice steady. No pleasantries, no formality, just the instruction. He didn't need it, though-he knew the routine. Without hesitation, Aryan climbed onto the examination table, his legs dangling over the edge.

I walked over, the stethoscope cold in my hands. "Still holding on to that car, I see," I said, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at my lips. It wasn't forced.

Not with Aryan.

He nodded quickly, holding up the car. "It's really fast, Dr. Sidharth. The fastest!"

I raised an eyebrow, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. "Faster than me?"

His giggle was quiet but genuine. "Way faster!"

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. "Oh, is that so? Maybe I should borrow it and test it out myself."

Aryan laughed softly, a sound that felt strangely familiar and distant all at once. I placed the stethoscope against his chest, listening carefully. His heart wasn't where it needed to be, and it wasn't getting better. A surgery loomed ahead-a battle for him that he didn't even know he'd have to fight.

I stepped back, scribbling notes on his chart, but my eyes kept drifting to him. The way he fiddled with the car, the way he swung his legs absentmindedly-it reminded me too much of someone I used to know.

Me.

I pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand.

I pressed the stethoscope to his chest again, my focus sharpening as I listened. The rhythmic thud of his heart wasn't as strong as it should be, too. It never was. Each beat was a reminder of the reality this boy faced-a reality he didn't deserve. My jaw tightened, but I forced my expression to stay neutral.

Congenital heart defect.

The diagnosis was severe, requiring immediate surgery within months. My jaw tightened imperceptibly, but his face betrayed nothing.

When I pulled back, I noticed Aryan watching me, his wide eyes filled with something I couldn't quite place.

Trust, maybe. Or hope.

"Do you feel tired often?" I asked, my tone controlled.

Aryan hesitated, his small hands gripping the toy tighter. "Sometimes... but I'm okay."

Liar.

He wasn't okay. His thin frame, his pale skin, the way he clung to that toy-it all spoke of a loneliness I recognized too well.

"Who brought you today?" I asked, leaning back slightly and crossing my arms.

"My caretaker," he mumbled, looking down at the car. "Mom and Dad are busy."

My lips pressed into a thin line. Of course, they were busy. Important work, no doubt. The bitterness in my thoughts was sharp, but I buried it quickly.

"Must be important," I said, my voice clipped.

Aryan shrugged, saying nothing.

I crouched again, meeting his gaze. "Listen, Aryan. You're stronger than you think, but the road ahead isn't going to be easy. You'll have to fight. Can you do that?"

His nod was small but determined, his tiny fists tightening around the toy car.

"Good," I said, straightening up and brushing off my coat. "Keep that car safe. You'll drive it one day."

As he hopped off the table and walked toward the door, I watched him go, a faint ache settling in my chest. Aryan didn't know it, but he reminded me of myself-of a boy who had once been just as lonely, just as small, clutching at something fragile to feel secure.

I glanced back at his file, the harsh medical terms staring back at me. Surgery. Risks. Uncertainty.

Shaking my head, I closed the file and exhaled sharply. "Not your past, Sidharth. Not again."

With a deep breath, I pulled myself together and prepared for the next patient, the weight in my chest locked away where it couldn't be touched.

Once he was gone, the room felt emptier, and the silence settled back in. I leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly. Aryan's visits always left a strange weight in my chest-a mix of anger at the world and a faint ache for the boy I used to be.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the next file, forcing myself to focus. Aryan's life wasn't mine to live again, and I wouldn't let the past crawl back.

But still, a part of me lingered in that moment, where a little boy with a toy car reminded me of the battles I'd fought-and won-alone.

While sitting in my office, Aryan's file opened in front of me, the details staring back as if challenging me to falter.

I didn't falter-not in life, not in my work.

Emotions were distractions, and I had trained myself to strip them away, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but clarity. That's what made me good at what I did.

But with Aryan, it wasn't so simple. He wasn't just another patient; it felt like I owed him something.

Maybe it was because I saw a reflection of my own childhood in his silence, or maybe it was just the way he looked at me-with trust. Whatever it was, it was enough to unsettle me enough to make me question my own rules.

It wasn't duty anymore; it felt deeper, heavier, as if saving Aryan wasn't just my job but my right.

I shook my head, clenching my jaw. This isn't about emotions, I reminded myself. It's about doing what needs to be done. And I would do it-no matter what -

I will save him.
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After dinner, Sidharth retreated to his study, the remnants of a tense conversation with his grandparents still simmering beneath his calm exterior. The house was quieter now, save for the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. He rubbed his temple, trying to will the noise in his head to silence.

Work could usually drown out his personal frustrations, but tonight, it wasn't enough.

He found himself at the window again, a restless habit he had developed without realizing it. The garden stretched out below, bathed in soft moonlight, its serenity at odds with the storm inside him. And then, his eyes found her.

Noor.

She stood beside Aakriti, her figure framed by the silvery glow of the moon. Her laughter reached him faintly, a melodic sound that shouldn't have stirred anything in him but somehow did. She tilted her head slightly as she spoke, her bare waist glinting with the faint sparkle of her waist chain as it caught the light with every subtle movement.

Siddharth's gaze lingered longer than he intended, taking in every detail-the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the way her fingers brushed her hair behind her ear, the curve of her smile. It wasn't just a glance. It was an unspoken compulsion, an inability to look away.

He told himself it was nothing. He was nothing if not practical, a man who didn't indulge in feelings he couldn't control. But the truth sat heavier than he wanted to admit.

It wasn't just the way she looked under the moonlight; it was the way she seemed to exist-effortlessly, unapologetically.

She was a puzzle he had no intention of solving, yet couldn't stop piecing together.

His jaw tightened, and he forced his focus back to Aakriti, his protective instincts taking over as she rested her hand on her lower back. He noticed her pace slowing, a slight hitch in her step as she turned toward the pathway leading to the house.

And then it happened.

His focus shifted abruptly when Aakriti's laugh broke into a startled cry. She stumbled, her hand shooting out to grab Noor's arm. Noor reacted quickly, steadying her, but not without losing her own balance slightly.

Sidharth didn't wait. His protective instincts surged, and he rushed downstairs, his heart pounding with a mix of fear and anger. By the time he reached the garden, Aakriti was pale, clutching her stomach as tears streamed down her face.

"Aakriti!" he barked, his voice sharp and panicked. "What were you thinking, walking around like this?"

"I-I didn't see the stone," she stammered, her voice trembling. Tears filled her eyes, and she looked genuinely scared now.

"Didn't see?" Siddharth's anger flared as he crouched to check her. "You're pregnant, Aakriti! Do you even understand how careless this was?"

Their mother came running, her voice laced with panic. "What happened? Aakriti, are you okay?"

"She tripped," Siddharth said, his tone tight as he lifted Akriti into his arms. "We're going to the hospital. Call the driver."

"No, bhaiya," Akriti tried to protest weakly, but he silenced her with a glare.

"You're not arguing about this."

Noor stood frozen, her body stiff as she watched Siddharth carefully lift Akriti into his arms, his face etched with worry and urgency. Her mind raced, trying to comprehend the scene before her.

Akriti had fallen, and the panic in the air was suffocating. Noor hadn't known Akriti was pregnant. The revelation only made the moment feel even heavier. Her heart pounded as she felt frozen in place, her attempts to help overshadowed by the chaos unfolding around her.

She also wanted to help, but her feet refused to move, and her mind could only follow the hurried steps of Sidharth as he rushed his sister to the car.

"Noor, you have hurt yourself too," her mother-in-law's voice broke through her fog of confusion.

Noor's eyes drifted down to her hand, and she realized that in the process of saving her, she had hurt herself.

The cut was deeper than she realized. Her breath caught in her throat, but her gaze flicked back to Sidharth, still walking away. His back was turned, and he never looked at her-not even when her mother-in-law had pointed out her injury.

She remembered him stopping for a moment, but he never looked.

He was so focused on Aakriti, so consumed by the moment that he didn't even glance her way.

The sting in her chest was sharper than the pain in her hand as she watched him disappear, feeling more invisible than ever.

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