Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -
‼️4.1k votes and 2.8k comments on this chapter.‼️

Please read my last message on my message board.
________________________________________

मेरी साँसों की झनकार हो तुम
मेरा सोलह श्रृंगार हो तुम
मेरी आँखों का इंतज़ार हो तुम
मेरा ईमान मेरी शान
मेरा मान हो तुम
थोड़े बेईमान हो तुम
थोड़े शैतान हो तुम
हाँ थोड़े बेईमान हो तुम
थोड़े शैतान हो तुम
हाँ मगर ये सच है
मेरे भगवान हो तुम
थोड़े हम्म
हम्म नादान हो तुम

हम्म हम्म हा हा हा हा
हम्म बदमाश
_

_______________________________________

The car moved steadily, its tires humming softly against the uneven road. The faint scent of earth after rain seeped through the slightly open window. I glanced to my side, where my Noor sat, her head tilted against the seat, her delicate features softened in sleep. For a moment, my grip on the steering wheel faltered as a smile curved my lips.

She didn't belong to this quiet world of mine, yet here she was, tucked into it as if she always had been and I was too selfish to let her go now.

We were nearing the market area now-just ten minutes away from the cottage where we were to stay, a place owned by my family for generations. The air outside was thick with the smell of ripe mangoes and fried snacks, a telltale sign we were passing through the heart of the village.

My eyes caught the shimmer of colors outside-a small bangle shop, the glass shelves stacked with every hue imaginable.

She loves bangles.

My gaze drifted back to my Noor, her wrist adorned by bangles, My smile deepened as I let the image form in my head-her hands adorned in those jingling colors given by me, moving as gracefully as she did, each motion drawing attention as if they had life of their own.

Instinctively, I lowered my gaze to our intertwined hands. Her warmth seeped into me, an anchor in the storm I could never name. I lifted her hand gently, mindful not to wake her, and pressed a soft kiss on the back of it. Her skin, so smooth and fragile, felt like the only thing in the world I wanted to hold onto.

I couldn't explain this-this pull toward her. It was more than an obligation, more than the vows we exchanged. It was raw, untamed, something that twisted my chest and made me desperate to keep her close.

Her voice played in my mind then, the way she asked me why.

I had no answer to give her then. I still didn't. Perhaps I didn't need one.

Her head shifted slightly, and my fingers instinctively tightened around hers. She stirred but didn't wake. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my heart strangely at peace with the silence that lingered between us.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
The car came to a gentle halt in front of the cottage, its white walls glowing faintly under the soft light of the setting sun. I let my hands rest on the steering wheel for a moment, my gaze turning toward Noor. She was still asleep, her face serene and untouched by the weight of the world.

A small smile tugged at my lips again, unbidden but irresistible. The way her eyes lit up when she shared about her love for teaching, gardening, the soft curve of her lips when she described the joy of planting something and sharing knowledge -it was etched in my mind like a song I wanted to replay endlessly.

I found myself smiling at the memory, shaking my head slightly. She made me feel things I couldn't name, things I never thought I'd crave. The sound of her voice, the way her words carried a mix of innocence and depth-it wasn't enough. I wanted more. I wanted to know everything about her.

What made her laugh. What made her sad. What made her glow like she did when she spoke about the things she loved.

And then there was that smile. That smile she gave me, the one that felt like a reward, as though I'd done something right for the first time in my life. It made my heart flutter in a way I didn't know it could. It made me feel... complete.

As though, for that moment, I had done something worth remembering.

I looked back at her sleeping face. Peaceful. It was so peaceful that I didn't have the heart to wake her, not yet. I stepped out of the car, the cool evening air brushing against me, and walked to her side. As I opened the door, I looked at her sleeping face, and then my eyes fell on her wrist again.

The thought came quietly, but with certainty-I'd bring her some bangles. Not because it was expected or necessary, but because I wanted to see her wear them. I wanted to see her smile when she noticed them on her wrists, her smile because of me.

I opened the door slowly, careful not to disturb her. My gaze lingered on her once more-I wanted to be the reason she smiled every single day. That feeling, that indescribable warmth, was enough to remind me why I wanted her close.

Bending down, I slid one arm beneath her legs and the other around her back. She shifted slightly, murmuring something incoherent in her sleep, but her head rested naturally against my chest as though it belonged there. Holding her this close, feeling the faint rise and fall of her breaths, I felt it again-that quiet, consuming obsession.

She was my world now. And I'd make sure she never regretted it.

The door creaked softly as I pushed it open, careful not to disturb her peace. I had already informed Shyam chacha, the caretaker, to prepare the house before our arrival. True to his word, everything was spotless. The air inside carried the faint scent of earth and aged wood, mingling with the sharp chill of the hilly breeze that seeped through the windows.

The cottage stood still, untouched by the chaos of the outside world-a sanctuary. A home where she could breathe freely and where I could finally claim these moments for myself, away from prying eyes and unwanted noise.

I stepped into the room that was now ours. A small lamp illuminated the space, casting a soft glow over the bed and the wooden walls. It was simple, but it was perfect for her-just as I wanted it to be.

My cherry was still cradled in my arms, her head tucked against my chest, her breaths steady and warm. I lowered her onto the bed with deliberate care, her body sinking into the soft mattress. For a moment, I remained there, bent over her, my eyes devouring every detail of her Noorani face. Her skin gleamed like moonlight, her lips slightly parted in her sleep.

The urge was immediate, unstoppable. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as the faint scent of sandalwood and jasmine enveloped me. That scent-it did something to me. Everyt-fucking-time

It wrapped around my soul, tightening like a cord, pulling me deeper into her. My heart, restless and wild, found its rhythm again.

I pulled back slightly, but not enough to break away. My thumb brushed against her cheek, tracing the soft curve of her face. Her skin was warm under my touch, a reminder that she was here, that she was mine. I had seen beauty before, but nothing, no one, compared to her.

Her Noorani face was a vision that consumed me, left me breathless.

(Bright)

A smile broke through my resolve as I gazed at her. She looked... peaceful. Innocent. Fragile, in a way that made me want to shield her from the world. I didn't have the heart to disturb her, not when she looked so endearing, so utterly innocent.

I straightened, my chest tightening with the thought of leaving her even for a moment. But it was better to go now, while she slept. I didn't want to miss a single second of her wakeful moments. I wanted to be there when she opened her eyes, when she smiled, when she spoke. I wanted to be the reason behind every one of those moments.

I turned away, forcing myself to step out of the room but noy before stealing one bangle from her wrist. My footsteps were deliberate, slow, as though some invisible force was pulling me back to her. But I pushed forward, my mind set on the thought of those bangles.

I'd bring her the finest ones, ones that would glint and dance on her wrists. I wanted to see the way her smile would brighten the world when she saw them.

The thought alone made my chest swell. She had that power over me, an unspoken command that tethered me to her in ways I couldn't explain. As I stepped outside, the chilly wind met my skin, but it was nothing compared to the fire that burned within me.

"Malik saab!" Shyam chacha's voice pulled me from my thoughts, the elderly man hurrying toward me. His footsteps hurried but respectful.

I turned slowly, my eyes landing on Shyam chacha. The man, now in his early sixties, moved toward me with an ease that belied his age. He still carried that unshaken loyalty in his gait, the kind that spoke of decades of devotion to my family. His face was etched with lines that only time and hard work could carve, yet his smile remained warm-unchanged.

"Kaise hain aap, Sidharth Saab?"
("How are you, Siddharth Saab?")

I let a small smile touch my lips, nodding slightly.

"Theek hoon, Chacha. Aap kaise hain?"
("I'm fine, Chacha. How are you?")

"Achha hoon, Siddharth Saab. Bohot achha hoon," he replied, his voice carrying a satisfaction that seemed to come from the simple joy of seeing me.
("I am good, Siddharth Saab. Very good.")

I glanced ahead, letting my eyes sweep over the garden stretched before us. The air carried a chill, sharp and crisp, laced with the faint, earthy scent of dew settling into the soil. For a brief moment, I let myself linger in the memory of running barefoot through this very patch of earth, under the same cold sky.

But the past was just that-the past.

I turned back to Shyam Chacha, meeting his gaze.

"Chacha, main zara bazaar hoke aata hoon. Andar maalkin so rahi hai, unka dhyaan rakhiyega aur disturb na ho wo"
("Chacha, I'll be going to the market for a bit. The maalkin is asleep inside-take care of her & don'tdisturb her.")

He nodded, his face solemn, his hands clasped respectfully in front of him.

"Ji, Saab."
("Yes, Saab.")

I gave him a curt nod and began to walk toward the gate, the gravel crunching softly under my shoes. But just as I reached the edge of the garden, a thought stopped me in my tracks.

"Chacha!" I called, my voice firm.
(Uncle)

Shyam Chacha, who had already begun making his way toward the house, turned immediately, his steps quickening as he came back to me.

"Ji, Ji Saab?"
("Yes, yes, Saab?")

I looked at him, my gaze steady, as if measuring him for an answer.

"Chacha, kya yahan aas-paas kisi mehndi lagane wali ko jaante hain?"
("Chacha, do you know anyone around here who applies mehndi?")

His brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of thought crossing his face. For a moment, he looked unsure.

"Nahi, Saab, main toh nahi jaanta..."
("No, Saab, I don't know anyone...")

I nodded, letting out a quiet breath. "Theek hai," I said, turning to leave.
("Alright.")

But before I could take more than a step, his voice came again, hurried and laced with a hint of hesitation. "Sidharth Saab! Sidharth Saab!"

I turned back, and one brow raised in question.

He approached me again, this time his expression carrying a mix of uncertainty and suggestion.

"Main jaanta toh nahi kisi ko, Saab... par meri beti bhi mehndi lagati hai."

(I don't know anyone, Saab... but my daughter applies mehndi as well.)

I turned to Shyam Chacha, my voice calm yet commanding, carrying the weight of something I wouldn't compromise on.

"Tu zara ghar bula denge unko."
("Call her to the house.")

Shyam Chacha nodded immediately, a quiet obedience in his expression.

"Ji, Saab."
("Yes, Saab.")

Without another word, I turned back toward the gate, my steps resolute, gravel crunching beneath me as I walked. The cold air brushed against my face, but the thought of her warmth, her smile, her presence, wrapped around me like a second skin.

In the quiet solitude of the road, I found myself lost in her once more. Her voice in the car, soft and wistful, as she mentioned how she hadn't found the time to apply mehndi. She had wanted it then-something so simple - so fleeting. Yet, it had stayed with me, lodged in the corners of my mind, stubborn and unrelenting, like her smile.

She wanted to apply henna.

She would.

She would get everything she wanted, even the things she didn't know she desired yet. Every wish, every whim-fulfilled. If it mattered to her, it mattered to me. If it made her happy, I would move the world itself to make it happen.

My devotion to her wasn't soft, wasn't tender. It was raw, sharp-edged, and consuming, like a fire that refused to burn out. She loved mehndi. She loved bangles. She love anything. And she would have them all.

As I reached the market, my eyes found the familiar stall. The sight of it tugged at something deep within me, a memory that refused to fade. I pulled the bangle from my pocket-the one I had taken before.

Holding it now, it felt like I was holding a piece of her. The small, delicate circle of glass reminded me of her hands, adorned in shimmering colors, every bangle amplifying the softness of her wrists. I could almost see her-her laughter, her happiness, the way her eyes would crinkle when she smiled.

I stopped in front of the stall, the vendor immediately straightening up at my presence. Without a word, I placed the bangle in my palm and held it out.

"Mujhe is size ke choodiyan chahiye," I said, my tone steady, dominant, leaving no room for questions.
("I need bangles in this size.")

The vendor nodded quickly, bringing out an array of bangles-greens, reds, golds, and blues. They shimmered in the light, each one seeming to echo a piece of her.

As I looked at them, my mind conjured her image again-her hands adorned with these very bangles, her fingers tracing their edges, her laughter ringing out softly as she admired them. I could almost feel the shiver that ran through me in that moment, the way her joy wrapped itself around me like a warm embrace.

A small smile tugged at my lips, unbidden. The vendor noticed but didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

"Pack kar do sab," I said, my voice cutting through the silence.
("Pack everything.")

"Sab, Saab? 48 dabbe hai?" he asked, hesitant, glancing at the bangles laid out.
("Everything, Saab? Its 48 packs?")

I looked at him sharply, my smile gone, replaced by the weight of my gaze.

"Sab," I repeated, the word heavy with finality.
("Everything.")

Because she would have them all. Every bangle, every color, every piece that might catch her eye or make her smile. She would have them-not because she asked, but because I needed her to have them.

The shopkeeper was carefully packing the bangles when he paused, a sly smile spreading across his face.

"Sahab, biwi ke liye le rahe ho?"
("Sahab, are you buying this for your wife?")

I raised one eyebrow at the question, the weight of my gaze enough to silence most men. But he didn't falter, his smile only growing. After a brief pause, I gave a small nod, not bothering to say anything.

The vendor chuckled, pleased with his deduction, and then reached under the counter, pulling out a small box of sindoor and a packet of bindis.

"Sahab, ye bhi le jao saath mein. Biwiyo ko bada pasand aata hai. Bahut khush ho jaati hai jab unka marad ye le ke aata hai. Meri wali toh nachne lagti hai!" He laughed, the sound echoing off the walls of the market stall.

("Sahab, take this too. Wives love these things. They get very happy when their man brings these home. My wife starts dancing with joy!")

I frowned, the lines on my forehead deepening, but I didn't respond. His laughter grated at me for a moment, but then my eyes fell on the packet of bindis. Small, delicate, in shades of red and maroon-the kind she wore every day.

For a second, I stared at them, the memory of her face flashing vividly in my mind. That small dot on her forehead that she placed with precision every morning, as if it were a ritual meant to complete her. It wasn't just a bindi; it was her. It adorned her, made her look even more hers.

Without a word, I picked up one packet of bindis and the small box of sindoor. The shopkeeper grinned, thinking he had won some victory in his silly chatter, but I didn't care. I slipped both items into the pocket of my coat, the weight of them strangely grounding.

As I stood there, my fingers brushed against the packet in my pocket, and I couldn't stop the thought that came unbidden, rising like a wave I couldn't control. She's everywhere in me. In my thoughts, my breaths, my blood. She runs through me, over and over again, like a song I can't stop humming. And yet, I don't want it to stop. I don't want her to go away-not now, not ever.

I let out a low laugh, the sound surprising even me. How had I become this man? A man who once believed emotions were nothing but distractions, who once thought love made a man weak. And yet, here I was, buying bangles, bindis, and sindoor because she liked them.

I stepped away from the stall, shaking my head at myself. What a fool I had become. But even as I laughed at my own foolishness, the thought of her-her smile, her voice, the way she'd look at me when she saw these things-made my chest tighten in a way that no amount of power or control could undo.

Dominating? Yes. Obsessive? Absolutely. But for her? For her, I would bend, I would fall, and I would never regret it.
.
.
.
.
.
.

I woke up slowly, the soft rays of sunlight slipping through the curtains, casting gentle patterns on the walls. The warmth of the morning sun kissed my face, pulling me from the sleep that had wrapped me in its comforting embrace. For a moment, I lay there, blinking at the unfamiliar ceiling, trying to make sense of the space around me. The soft rustling of the sheets beneath me, the stillness of the room, and the faint scent of flowers in the air-it all felt new, yet somehow comforting in its own way.

My eyes roamed the room, taking in the soft colors of the walls, the simple yet elegant furniture, and the way the light danced on the floor. Everything was calm and peaceful, but still... something felt different. My heart started to beat faster, a flutter of unease stirring deep within me. I could feel the weight of the silence around me, and as I tried to sit up, my body felt a little stiffer than usual.

Where was I? The bed felt different. The air smelled different. My heart began to beat faster, the sound loud in my ears.

I sat up slowly, the quilt slipping off my shoulders. My hands clutched it tightly for a moment as I looked around the room. It was big, beautifully decorated, but it wasn't mine. My breathing grew uneven. Where am I?

Kuldevi Mandir.

Cottage

And then, like a reflex, his name came to me. Sidharth ji. My eyes darted to the door, searching for him. He had to be here. He was always here. But the room was empty.

I got off the bed, my steps hesitant as my bare feet touched the cold floor. Wrapping my arms around myself, I glanced at every corner of the room, hoping to see him walk in with his usual calm demeanor, but he didn't.

"Sidharth ji?" I called softly, almost a whisper. My voice trembled, and so did my hands.

When no answer came, I moved towards the door, opening it carefully. The hallway stretched ahead, quiet and empty. I stepped out, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Suniye?" I called again, louder this time. My voice echoed slightly, but still, no response.

I bit my lip, feeling a lump form in my throat. Panic started to rise inside me. My steps quickened as I walked down the hallway, peeking into rooms. Each one was just as quiet, as empty. The house felt too big, too silent, and too unfamiliar.

"Sidharth ji!" I called once more, louder now, my voice shaking. Tears pricked my eyes as I moved faster, almost running. My feet carried me to the garden outside, but even there, he was nowhere to be found.

I turned back inside, my chest tightening with every passing second. My hands were trembling as I rushed back into the bedroom, grabbing my phone from the bedside table. My fingers fumbled as I dialed his number.

The phone rang, each beep like a drum in my ears. I clutched the phone tightly, whispering,

"Pick up, Sidharth ji, please..." But he didn't.

Hey bhagwan. Kidar hai ye..

The tears that had been pooling in my eyes finally spilled over. They rolled down my cheeks, warm and unstoppable. I wiped them away quickly, but they kept falling, blurring my vision. I stood there, helpless, unsure of what to do.

Gathering myself, I ran back towards the main door, my legs feelingheavy, but my heart desperate. As I stepped outside again, I stopped abruptly.

There he was. Sidharth ji.

He was walking towards me, his hands full of bags, looking completely unbothered, as if he hadn't just sent my world spinning. He stopped when he saw me, tilting his head slightly, his sharp eyes noticing my tear-streaked face.

For a second, he just looked at me. And then, as if to ease the storm inside me, he gave me a small smile.

But that smile-it wasn't enough to stop the chaos inside my chest.

I ran towards him without even thinking. My feet were moving faster than my heart, and before I knew it, I was in his arms, pressing myself to him. My head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, a sound I knew so well.

It was my safe place, where I felt whole. But tears, they just... kept coming. They fell because, for a split second, I feared he might leave me. I don't know why, but that thought, that stupid, unnecessary thought, found its way into my mind, and it hurt more than I could explain.

I pulled back for a second, still feeling his warmth wrap around me, but my heart was unsettled. My voice trembled when I spoke, the hurt clear, and I didn't even try to hide it.

"Kaha chale jaate hain aap, Sidharth? Hume bina bataye?"

(Where did you go, Siddharth? Without telling me?)

I saw him open his mouth to say something, but my emotions were too much for me to handle. I didn't wait for his answer, I couldn't. With a slight turn of my heel, I walked away, heading for the stairs. I sat down on the upper step, unable to stop the tears from falling. The emptiness was so strong, so consuming. I didn't know why I felt so abandoned, but I couldn't ignore it.

And then, I felt him. His presence is so strong and reassuring, even from a distance. I looked up, and there he was-kneeling in front of me, his hand reaching out to me. My heart skipped a beat, but my anger... it kept me from reaching out to him.

"Thodi bhi fikar nahi hai aapko hamari, pata bhi kitna dar gaye the hum," I said, my voice a little sharp, a little hurt, a little angry.

(You don't care for me even a little? Don't you know how scared I was?)

Before I could stand, his hand tugged at mine gently, pulling me back. I sat down again, the pull so soft yet strong enough to keep me in place.

I didn't know what to do, how to feel. But the truth was, I was so in love with him.

Before I could even make sense of everything, I felt him pull me close again. The sudden warmth surrounded me, so familiar, so comforting. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me tighter, and I melted into him, unable to resist the solace of his embrace. My head found its way back to his chest, and there it was again-the steady, rapid beat of his heart. Thud-thud, thud-thud.

It was like it was matching the pace of my own heartbeat, as if it was his way of telling me that everything would be okay, even though the storm in my chest hadn't quieted yet.

His chin rested gently on the top of my head, and then I felt it-a soft, tender kiss placed on my head. My breath caught, and I closed my eyes, letting the kiss fill me with a warmth I couldn't put into words.

"I'm sorry, Noor. Aap so rahi thi, isliye bina bataya chala gaya. I'm so sorry."
(I'm sorry, Noor. You were sleeping, so I left without telling you. I'm so sorry.)

His words were like a balm to the ache I was feeling, but they only made my tears fall harder. The dam inside me had already broken, and now the tears just flowed, unstoppable.

"Bahut bure hain aap, bahut bure," I said, my voice breaking as I lightly hit his chest with the palm of my hand.
(You are very bad, very bad.)

I didn't know why I did it, but it was like my heart was confused. It wanted him to feel the pain I was feeling, even if it was unreasonable. But when my hand landed on him, it felt almost like I was reassuring myself, needing to feel him there in that moment.

He pulled back a little, just enough for me to look up at him. His eyes were filled with something-guilt? Worry? But mostly, they were full of tenderness, and I couldn't help but melt under his gaze.

"Please, mujhe maaf kar dijiye mujhe mar lijea. Par rohiye mat aap," he said quietly, his hand gently brushing away my tears.
(Please, forgive me, hit me. But please don't cry.)

His touch was so soft, so gentle. I could feel my heart slowing down, my anger evaporating into thin air. All that was left was the overwhelming love I had for him, and I could feel it rushing back in waves. I looked into his eyes, and it was like everything faded away-his eyes were so honest, so full of remorse. It was as if he was truly sorry, and that was all I needed.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, still trying to regain some composure. But just as I was about to look away, I felt something cool slide into my hand. I looked down in confusion and saw... orange glass bangles. My heart skipped a beat as I looked up at him. He was watching me, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

"Aapne kaha tha na, aapko churiya bahut pasand hai? Wahi laane gaya tha."

(You said you liked bangles a lot, didn't you? I went to get these for you.)

I stared at the bangles, then back at him, and then at the bangles again. My heart swelled with love for him so much that it felt like it might burst.

And then he did something that made my chest tighten with emotion. He met my gaze, and in that moment, everything else in the world faded. He didn't need to say anything more. His eyes, his smile, the way he cared for me... it was enough.

I was in love with him, completely. And right in that instant, all the anger, the hurt, and the fear were gone. All that was left was the overwhelming certainty that I couldn't live without him.

As he finished slipping the bangles onto my wrist, I could feel my heart race. I wasn't sure whether it was because of the bangles or the way his touch lingered. I slowly lifted my eyes to meet his, but the intensity in his gaze left me breathless. He didn't say a word, just held my gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

Then, before I could process what was happening, I felt the softest pressure against the palm of my hand. His lips, warm and gentle, pressed a kiss there. The sensation shot through my body like a jolt of electricity, and I froze, feeling my heart skip a beat. The kiss was soft, yet possessive, and it made my chest tighten.

I stood there, too stunned to speak, as his kiss lingered on my hand, and warmth spread through my entire body. The air felt thick, like something was about to happen-something I couldn't control.

But then, the moment broke. I quickly tried to stand up, feeling a sudden rush of heat in my cheeks. My mind screamed to pull away, to escape, but before I could take a step, I felt a strong hand grasp my wrist, pulling me back.

Before I knew it, my back collided with his chest. His body was so firm against mine, his warmth radiating like a furnace. My breath hitched as I felt his hand slide up the curve of my waist, slipping beneath my sari, and a shiver ran down my spine. The touch was commanding, yet gentle in its own way.

A soft breath fanned over my ear, making my heart flutter. Then, a lip brushed against my ear, sending a wave of desire pulsing through me.

"Bura hu, par ye kabhi mat boliyega ki mujhe aapke fikar nahi hai."

(I'm bad but don't ever say again that I don't care about you.)

His words were a low whisper, but the intensity in them sent shockwaves through me. His breath brushed against my ear, and the proximity of his lips made my heart race faster than I thought possible.

The words hit me like a wave crashing against the shore. The tone was dark, filled with something deeper, something raw. He wasn't just angry-he was possessive and protective, and there was something about the way he spoke that made it clear he was not going to let me forget this. His words sunk deep into my skin, seeping into my heart, and I was paralyzed in place.

I turned to face him, my body frozen in a moment of conflict. The air was thick, charged with the tension between us. His eyes, once filled with regret and worry, now shifted into something darker. Something I couldn't name. They were intense, filled with emotions so deep, so raw, they sent a tremor through me. His gaze burned into mine.

"S-Sidharth...ji" I whispered, my voice breaking.

Then, with a gentleness that didn't match the intensity of his eyes, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that sent another shiver through my body. His eyes dropped to my lips for just a second, then returned to my eyes with an intensity that almost took my breath away.

The touch was so gentle it was almost painful. His fingers lingered, brushing against my skin as if testing the boundary between us. My breath hitched, and I looked away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.

He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, his body so near that I could feel the heat radiating off him. I swallowed hard as his words cut through the tension between us.

"Is duniya mein agar mujhe kisi cheez ki fikar hai to wo aapki hai Cherry, khud ki jaan ki bhi nahi."

(In this whole world, if there's anything I care about you, Cherry. Not even my own life. )

His tone was hard now, and the dominance in his voice was undeniable. It was like he was marking his territory, making sure I knew just how deep his feelings ran. His words made my heart race in a way that both frightened and thrilled me. The possessiveness in his voice sent my thoughts spinning.

The weight of his words crushed whatever anger I had left. I stared at him, my heart caught between disbelief and something far more dangerous.

The way he looked at me, the dominance in his voice-it was like he had carved a place for me in his heart and refused to let me forget it.

I could feel the weight of his words, the force behind them, and for the first time, I realized just how much he truly cared for me. The emotions were so raw, so real, that I couldn't look away. His presence consumed me, his dominance wrapped around me like a shadow.

It was overwhelming-this moment, this intensity, the care. All of it.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

"Bhabhi, mandir kab jaana?" Kavita's lively voice broke the stillness of the moment, pulling me out of my thoughts. She's the younger daughter of our caretaker, Shyam chacha.

"Kal," I replied softly, trying not to smile too much as I glanced at her.

She sat cross-legged in front of me, her vibrant Pahadi attire reflecting the glow of the evening sun. The deep red sindoor on her parted hairline stood out against her fair skin, and she looked so carefree, talking a mile a minute. Her bangles jingled with every move as she expertly applied intricate mehendi patterns on her palm, her fingers moving with a rhythm that matched her cheerful energy.

I lowered my gaze to my own palm, where the fresh designs of mehendi were slowly drying. My cheeks warmed as I traced the delicate swirls and loops with my eyes. Every curve of the henna seemed like a whisper of his care. My Aarth... he had done this for me.

The thought sent a rush of warmth through my chest. I couldn't stop myself from glancing at my wrists, where the orange glass bangles shimmered under the light. They caught the faint rays of the sun and glinted like tiny flames. I couldn't help but run my fingers over them, feeling their smooth, cool surface against my skin.

He remembered. I had only mentioned once, that I loved glass bangles. And yet, he made sure to bring them for me, slipping them onto my wrist with a gentleness that still made my heart flutter. And now, he had arranged for someone to apply mehendi too-just because I liked it.

Oh Aarth

I bit my lip to stop a smile from spreading across my face, but it was no use. The butterflies in my stomach wouldn't let me stay composed. How could someone like him-reserved, serious, always keeping his emotions tucked away-do all this for me? It felt like a quiet promise, a silent declaration that I mattered to him.

"Bhabhi, dekh lijiye na! Yeh, design kaisa hai?" Her voice jolted me again, and I looked up, startled.

"It's... beautiful," I said, my words barely above a whisper.

And it truly was. The patterns on her hands were intricate and stunning, but somehow, I couldn't focus on them for long. My eyes kept drifting back to my own hands, my own bangles, and the thought of him.

I looked down quickly, hoping the girl hadn't noticed the blush creeping up my cheeks. But even as I tried to control my expressions, my heart kept whispering the same thing over and over-he cares for me.

Before I could pull myself out of my thoughts completely, I saw him again. For the third time in last half hour now.

My Aarth stepped into the room, his sharp features pulled into an expression I couldn't quite place. He looked restless, his eyes darting around the space like he was searching for something he couldn't find.

I frowned. He never acts like this... What could possibly be wrong?

Before I could gather the courage to ask, his eyes finally found me. Just for a second, his gaze softened as they moved to my hand-my hand adorned with the fresh henna and the glass bangles he had gifted me. It felt like time stopped in that moment, the way his eyes locked with mine. My heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to my cheeks, but before I could say a word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving me staring at the door he had just disappeared through.

"Bhabhi," Kavita's teasing voice broke the silence. I blinked, looking at her with wide eyes as she chuckled.

"Bhaiya ko bolo yahi aake baith jaayein. Yeh baar baar ghoom ke jaa rahe. Bechain ho gaye hain."
("Sister-in-law, ask brother to sit down here. He's roaming around back and forth like this. He's grown restless.")

Her words made my cheeks burn instantly, and I looked away, glancing back at my hand nervously.

"N-Nahi... a-aisa nahi hai..." I stammered, my voice barely audible.
("N-No... i-it's nothing like that...")

Kavita laughed again, louder this time, clearly enjoying my flustered state. "Arey, rehne do, bhabhi. Bhaiya bawale ho gaye hain aapke peeche."

("Oh, come on, sister-in-law. Brother has gone crazy for you.")

Her words sent my heart racing so fast I thought it might leap out of my chest. I looked back at my henna-stained hand, trying to hide my embarrassment, but it was no use. My face burned as if all the blood in my body had rushed to it at once.

"Bawale..." I whispered to myself, her words echoing in my ears. He's gone crazy for me?

The thought made my chest feel tight, but not in a bad way. It was overwhelming-the way he looked at me, the way Kavita teased me. My fingers trembled slightly as I traced the swirls of mehendi on my palm, the bangles on my wrist jingling softly with the movement.

But as the heat continued to rise in my cheeks, a fleeting thought crossed my mind, making me pause.

Inhe sab bawala hi kyun bolte hain?

(Why does everyone call him crazy?)

Kavita's voice broke through my silent thoughts as she gently shifted my hand to complete the final touches of the design.

"Bhabhi, mehndi na, ab siddha kal dhona," she said, her tone firm but playful, like she was sharing some great secret with me.

("Sister-in-law, don't wash the henna now, wait until tomorrow.")

I nodded obediently, watching the intricate designs come to life on my palm. I knew the longer I kept it, the darker the color would become. A small blush crept onto my cheeks at the thought-dark mehndi was said to hold meaning.

Kavita chuckled softly, her hands moving expertly as she added the final strokes to the henna.

"Pata hai, bhabhi. Humare gaon mein kehte hain..." she started, looking up at me with a smile that reached her eyes.
("You know, sister-in-law. In our village, we say...")

Her sentence hung in the air for a moment as her fingers stopped, the design finally complete. She placed her henna cone aside and tilted her head, studying the patterns she had drawn before looking directly at me.

"Mehndi ka rang utna gehra aata hai jitna pati biwi se pyar karta hai."

("The darker the color of the mehndi, the more the husband loves his wife.")

My breath hitched at her words, and my heart gave a sudden jolt as her playful statement sank in. My cheeks burned with warmth again, and I quickly glanced down at my hand, unable to meet her teasing gaze. My fingers trembled slightly as I admired the delicate swirls, imagining how dark it might turn by tomorrow.

I stole a glance at Kavita, who stood before me, her bright smile lighting up the room. Her bubbly, talkative nature filled every corner of the space, a stark contrast to my quiet, reserved self. She was so full of life, effortlessly saying things I could never bring myself to say aloud.

With a quick motion, Kavita rose to her feet, dusting her hands against her suit. "Bhabhi, main chalti hoon," she said cheerfully, her tone so casual yet filled with warmth.

("Sister-in-law, I'll take my leave now.")

I opened my mouth to reply but found no words. I simply nodded again, feeling suddenly self-conscious under her knowing gaze.

She smiled, bending slightly to pick up her things.

"Kal aaungi mehndi dekhne," she added with a playful wink before heading toward the door.
("I'll come tomorrow to see how dark the mehndi turns out.")

I sat there quietly as she left, her laughter still echoing faintly in the air. My hand trembled slightly as I turned my gaze back to the designs, my heart fluttering with thoughts I couldn't quite put into words.

Kavita adjusted the end of her dupatta, stretching her arms a little before stepping toward the door. But after two steps, she stopped abruptly and spun back around, her brows furrowed in playful realization.

"Are bhabhi, bhaiya ka naam toh likha hi nahi!" she exclaimed, her voice full of mock surprise.

("Oh sister-in-law, we haven't written your husband's name!")

My head snapped up, and I felt my cheeks grow impossibly warmer. Her words echoed in my ears, making my chest feel tight. I opened my mouth to respond, but the words were stuck in my throat. Finally, in a trembling voice, barely audible even to myself, I managed to whisper,

"A-Aarth likh de..."
("Write Arth...")

The blush spreading across my face betrayed the shyness in my heart. Kavita caught on instantly, a teasing smile curling her lips as she looked at me. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and she bent down, picking up the cone of henna she had just set aside.

"Aap toh badi sharma rahi hain, bhabhi," she teased, giving a light laugh that made me avert my gaze.

("Oh, you're blushing so much, sister-in-law.")

I avoided her gaze entirely, focusing on the swirls of my mehndi and pretending to admire them. My heart raced as Kavita carefully took my hand in hers, steadying it as she began to write. Her delicate strokes worked between the intricate designs she had already created, almost as though hiding a secret within the artwork.

"Ho gaya!" Kavita announced with satisfaction, pulling back to inspect her handiwork. I peeked at my hand, my heart skipping when I noticed his name-Aarth-woven so discreetly between the henna patterns. It was small, nearly unnoticeable unless someone looked closely, but it was there, clear and deliberate.

(It's done)

Kavita picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

"Ab mein chalti hoon, bhabhi. Kal aaungi dekhne kitna kaala aata hai," she said with a wink before heading for the door.
("I'll leave now, sister-in-law. I'll come tomorrow to see how dark it gets.")

I nodded in response, murmuring a soft goodbye as the door closed behind her. My eyes returned to my palm, now unable to look away. There it was-Aarth-etched so delicately into the henna, as though it belonged there all along. My breath hitched, and a wave of emotion crashed over me, overwhelming and unexplainable.

My heart swelled with a kind of love I hadn't thought I was capable of feeling. The thought of him, of how much he cared, how he quietly did things to make me feel special without saying a word, made my chest ache in the most beautiful way. My fingers trembled slightly as I traced the henna designs with my gaze, my heart skipping with every beat.

I couldn't help but smile-small, shy, and completely involuntary. My hand felt heavy with meaning now, every swirl and dot in the mehndi suddenly holding more significance than before. The sight of his name there, hidden yet present, felt like a promise, a reminder of the bond we shared.

I didn't need words to express it-this moment, this feeling, it was enough.

.
.
.
.
.
.
I sat for a while after Kavita left, still staring at my mehndi-covered hands. My heart hadn't stopped racing since she wrote his name-Aarth. The way it was hidden in the delicate patterns, almost as if it was a secret only for me to find, made my cheeks burn. I bit my lip, trying to calm the strange fluttering in my chest, but it wasn't working.

I looked at the door where she had walked out, and then at the empty space around me. Where is he? The thought came unbidden, and before I could stop myself, I stood up to look for him. My bangles jingled softly with every step, the sound filling the quiet house.

I wandered through the hallway, my eyes scanning every corner, but he was nowhere in sight. Then I heard something-a faint clatter, followed by a low hum of movement. My feet carried me toward the kitchen, and when I reached the door, I paused.

Through the small gap, I saw him. He was standing with his back toward me, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he worked on something. I tilted my head, trying to figure out what he was doing.

What is he up to now? I thought, frowning slightly. I stepped into the kitchen and softly called out, "Sidharth ji..."

He didn't turn, but I moved closer, and when I stood beside him, I saw it. He was chopping vegetables. My eyes widened in surprise, and I couldn't stop myself from asking,

"Aap yeh kya kar rahe hain?"

("What are you doing?")

"Sabzi kaat raha hoon," he said casually, not even looking up from the cutting board.
("I'm chopping vegetables.")

My brows furrowed further.

"Lekin kyun? Aap kyun kar rahe hain?" I asked, still trying to make sense of the sight in front of me.

("But why? Why are you doing this?")

He paused for a moment and turned his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Kyunki khaana banana hai," he replied simply.

("Because we need to cook.")

I blinked, still surprised.

"Aap chhodiye, main kar leti hoon," I said quickly, stepping forward to take over.
("Leave it, I'll do it.")

I turned toward the basin, lifting my hands instinctively to wash off the mehndi. But before my fingers could touch the tap, I felt something warm and firm wrap around my waist.

My breath caught.

His hand.

Before I could react, he pulled me back gently, his other hand resting lightly on my waist. A shiver ran down my spine as his chest brushed against my back.

"Aap mehndi nahi dhoenge, Noor," he whispered near my ear, his voice low and commanding, sending a tremor through me.

("You won't wash off your mehndi, Noor.")

My heart thudded in my chest, each beat louder than the last. Before I could say or do anything, he moved in front of me, his gaze meeting mine for just a moment. Then, without a word, he bent slightly and wrapped his hands around my waist.

I gasped as he lifted me effortlessly, my hands instinctively moved to grip his shoulders for support but then I stopped. He carried me like I weighed nothing, setting me down gently on the kitchen slab.

I stared at him, dumbfounded, as he turned away without a word, picking up the knife and resuming his task as if nothing had happened.

I sat there, my legs dangling over the edge of the slab, my heart still racing. My fingers trembled as they brushed against the edge of my saree. I didn't know what to say, what to do. He hadn't even looked at me again, yet my whole world felt like it had tilted.

What just happened?

I sat there, still perched on the kitchen slab, my heart refusing to settle as I watched Sidharth ji. He worked quietly, his focus unwavering as he chopped and prepared the vegetables. I didn't know what to say or do, so I just sat there, observing him.

Suddenly, without turning to me, he spoke in a playful tone,

"Now watch me cook, Cherry"

My heart skipped a beat at the way he said Cherry-so casually, yet it left me blushing furiously. My fingers tightened slightly on the edge of the slab, and I couldn't stop staring at him.

Does he actually know how to cook? I thought, confused and a little curious.

He moved effortlessly, as if this wasn't his first time. His hands worked with precision, almost like he'd done this a hundred times before. I watched as he heated oil in a karahi and added the chopped cauliflower into it. The sizzle filled the silent kitchen, the aroma spreading quickly.

For a moment, I couldn't believe my eyes. He wasn't just cooking; he was doing it with such ease, such confidence. It was almost... mesmerizing.

"Do you know how to cook?" I finally asked, my voice soft and a little unsure. I didn't even know why I was asking-it just slipped out.

He glanced at me briefly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Haan, aata hai," he said, his voice calm yet teasing.

("Yes, I do.")

I blinked at him, surprised. When did he learn? How did I not know this about him? I wanted to ask, but before I could, he started speaking, his tone casual as if he was sharing a memory.

"Jab main medical school mein tha, tab seekha tha," he said, still focused on the vegetables he was frying. "Mess ka khaana pasand nahi tha, toh khud hi banana shuru kar diya."

("When I was in medical school, I learned to cook. I didn't like the mess food, so I started cooking for myself.")

I sat there quietly, watching him, trying to process this new piece of information about him. He can cook. He knows how to do this so well, and I never even imagined it.

The smell of fried cauliflower filled the kitchen, mingling with the sound of oil crackling. I found myself wanting to say something, anything, but I couldn't find the words. Maybe it was the way he moved, so sure and steady, or maybe it was the quietness of the house that made this moment feel so intimate.

All I could do was sit there, my legs lightly swinging from the slab, and watch him, my heart swelling with a strange, overwhelming warmth.

Sidharth ji had moved on to frying the spices now, the aroma growing richer, filling the kitchen. I watched him stir them effortlessly in the karahi, his movements smooth and practiced. It was strange how natural this seemed to him, and I couldn't take my eyes off him.

He suddenly turned to me, holding a spoon filled with the steaming masala toward me. "Taste this," he said casually, his voice calm but his eyes focused on me.

I blinked at the spoon, the steam curling up from it, making it look far too hot. My lips tingled just at the thought of trying it. I'd burned myself before tasting something directly from a spoon, and the idea made me hesitate.

I glanced down at my hands, noticing the mehndi. It was mostly dry now, but I still couldn't risk messing it up by washing it off so soon. Carefully, I reached out, lightly holding his wrist with just my fingertips.

"Ungli nikaale," I said softly, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest.

(Take your finger out.)

He raised a brow but did as I asked, dipping his finger into the masala on the spoon. I gently blew on it, cooling it down enough. Then, without thinking too much, I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around his finger, taking the masala off.

The taste hit me immediately-spicy, warm, and perfectly balanced. My tongue instinctively twisted around his finger, tasting every bit of the flavor. It wasn't intentional, but the sensation of his finger against my tongue felt oddly... different.

When I looked up, I froze. His gaze was locked on me, sharp and intense. His finger was still in my mouth as I slowly pulled it out, my lips brushing against it before I let go.

"Ha... sahi hai," I said innocently, nodding slightly. My voice was light, but my chest felt heavy with an unexplainable tension.

His reaction wasn't what I expected. His Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, his jaw visibly clenching. He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me as he cleared his throat.

"Kya hua?" I asked softly, tilting my head in genuine confusion.

"K-kuch nahi," he said quickly, his voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat again, still not meeting my eyes.

I watched him curiously, noticing how his other hand fidgeted by his side. There was something different about the way he looked now-like he was struggling to keep himself composed. I couldn't quite understand it, but the tension in the air was unmistakable.

He turned back to the karahi, his movements slightly stiffer than before. For some reason, my cheeks felt warmer than usual, and I couldn't shake the image of the way he'd looked at me just a moment ago.

I sat there quietly, watching Sidharth ji as he moved around the kitchen. There was something about the way he handled everything so effortlessly that made me feel a little amazed.

I couldn't help but think about the men back in my village, how they never stepped into the kitchen. Cooking was always the woman's job, and if a woman didn't cook, she was scolded, punished even. No matter how sick she was.

I shivered at the thought. But Sidharth ji He was nothing like them. He respected me-my man.

The man who always cared for me, the man who always did whatever he could to make me feel special and respected. I never knew love could feel like this, like it filled every corner of my heart. And right now, I felt it more than ever.

I loved him. I loved him so much it hurt in the best way.I smiled softly at him, and he noticed. He smiled back at me, his eyes soft and warm, his pride shining through his expression as he plated the food.

He placed the plate of rice and vegetables in front of me, and I couldn't help but smile shyly at him. I wanted to keep this moment, this feeling of him taking care of me.

"Spoon de de hume, hum usse kha lenge," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

(Give me spoon. I'll eat with it)

He raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "Mai hoon to, spoon kyun?"

(When I'm here so why spoon?)

I blinked, not quite getting what he meant. "Huh?"

With a playful grin, he said, "Open your mouth."

I didn't even think twice. I opened my mouth slightly, and he fed me a bite of the food. I was taken aback by how sweet it felt. I never expected something so simple could be so intimate. My heart raced as I chewed, feeling warmth spread through me.

After swallowing, I looked up at him. I could barely hold his gaze, but I did. "Aap bhi kha le," I said without thinking.

(You eat too)

He shook his head, that little smile still on his lips. "Aapke baad."

(Aftet you)

I shook my head quickly, my eyes filled with affection. "No, no, eat with me."

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. Then, with a gentle smile, he took a bite and fed it to me again & then he ate himself from the same place. The moment was so simple, yet so special. Each bite felt like a promise, like a little piece of love shared between us.

I looked at him, my heart full. We didn't need many words to express how we felt. Our hearts were speaking through every glance, every small touch, every little gesture.
.
.
.
.
.
.

"Bas mera ho gaya," I said softly, pushing the plate away. I wasn't used to eating so much, and this was already enough for me.
(I'm done.)

Sidharth ji frowned a little, looking at me as if I had said something strange. Then, without saying anything, he picked our plate and placed it aside too. "Mera bhi ho gaya," he said, his tone casual.

(I'm done too.)

I blinked at him, confused. He never ate such a small amount. My brows furrowed as I stared at his plate.

"Aapne kitna thoda hi to khaya hai," I said, my voice filled with concern.
(You've eaten so little.)

"Aapne bhi to thoda hi khaya hai," he replied simply, his tone calm like he wasn't saying anything unusual.
(You've also eaten so little.)

But his words frustrated me. How could he compare his eating to mine? I wasn't worried about myself! My nose scrunched up, and I blurted,

"H-Hum itna hi khate hai!"
(I-I eat this much only!)

Sidharth ji looked at me for a moment, then gave a small shrug.

"Aaj mai bhi itna hi khaunga," he said, and there was something in his tone-like it was final, like I couldn't argue with it.
(Today, I'll also eat only this much.)

I bit my lip, feeling helpless. Why wasn't he eating properly? He'd been eating less for days, and it worried me. I didn't know how to say it without sounding silly. My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my pallu as I looked at our plate again.

I wanted to say something-anything-to make him eat more, but his expression was calm, unreadable, like he didn't notice my frustration at all.

How could he not see how worried I was?

______________________________________

How was the chapter? Hope you'll
like it!

Thoughts about Sidharth?
Thoughts about noor?

Any favorite moments from this chapter? Do comment.

So, if you're curious to read further, the next 5 chapters are already up on ScrollStack! All you need to do is follow me there, and you'll always be a few chapters ahead as I have planned that this book will be 5 chapters ahead on scrollstack than on wattpad.

A little spoiler of chapter - 36 (It's already posted & is paid)

╰┈➤Follow me on Instagram & scrollstack for spolier and early updates.