Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -
‼️2k votes & 350 comments on this chapter.‼️
(Next chapter is also from doctor
sahab's pov *wink wink*)

खामोशियाँ आवाज़ हैं
तुम सुनने तो आओ कभी
छूकर तुम्हें खिल जाएंगी
घर इनको बुलाओ कभी
बेकरार हैं बात करने को
कहने दो इनको ज़रा।

खामोशियाँ... तेरी मेरी खामोशियाँ
खामोशियाँ... लिपटी हुई खामोशियाँ

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The sharp scent of disinfectant clung to me as I stepped out of the operation theatre. The surgery had been long, and my legs felt the weight of the hours I'd spent standing. But the patient was stable. That was all that mattered.

I stopped near the observation window, letting my eyes rest on the man lying in the bed. Machines did the work his body couldn't. His family would be grateful, but for me, it was just another day. Fixing hearts wasn't about emotions-it was about precision, skill, and making decisions quickly.

The senior nurse waited a few steps away, silent but alert. Without looking at her, I said, "Shift him to the ICU. Keep an eye on his vitals. Call me if anything changes." My tone was even, direct. She nodded and walked away without a word.

As I moved down the corridor, the quiet murmurs of staff filled the air. Some greeted me with quick greetings, and others moved aside instinctively. I didn't slow down. There wasn't time for small talk, and even if there was, I wouldn't indulge in it. My mind was already on the next step.

My cabin welcomed me with silence, the kind that pressed against the noise in my head. I closed the door softly, letting out a breath. The room reflected me-clean, simple, and uncluttered. A dark wooden desk sat at the center, papers neatly stacked. Shelves lined one wall, filled with books on cardiology and a few that had nothing to do with medicine, though they were untouched for months.

I caught my reflection in the mirror above the small sink in the corner. My jaw was sharp, and the faint stubble along my face darker under the light. My eyes looked the same as always-calm, unreadable, carrying the weight of too much but revealing nothing.

I pulled off my scrub cap, smoothing my hair back into place. The white coat I wore was spotless, but I still felt the need to wash my hands. The cold water ran over my fingers, carrying away the faint traces of blood and the day's exhaustion. It was routine, but there was something grounding about it.

Once done, I grabbed a towel, drying my hands with slow, deliberate movements. My eyes flickered to the coffee machine on the counter. I turned it on, the hum filling the quiet. Soon, the sharp, bitter aroma of coffee filled the room. I poured it into a black mug-plain, like everything else I owned-and took a slow sip.

I sank into the leather chair behind my desk, the mug warm in my hands. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly, but my mind refused to quiet. There was always more to do, more to think about. Relaxing wasn't something I allowed myself to do often.

A knock at the door broke the silence. I set the mug down on the desk and glanced at the clock on the wall.

"Come in," I said, my voice low but firm.

The door opened, and my driver stepped inside. He held a tiffin box in his hands, his posture respectful.

"Sahab, Bahurani ne bheja hai," he said, his tone almost hesitant.

I looked at the tiffin, my face giving nothing away. My fingers tapped lightly on the desk. She had sent it. I didn't say anything, but my thoughts lingered there for a moment, tracing the name in my mind.

Noor.

My wife.

The girl I married but haven't truly looked at. Not yet.

Marriage was never in my plans. I had no time for it, no patience for the mess of emotions it comes with. No heart to bear it. But life has a way of tying knots you can't undo, and here I am-her husband.

It wasn't my choice. Or maybe it was.

I saw Noor's father outside my father's office that day. Thin. Tired. Beaten. He wasn't the man I remembered from my childhood-the man who once stood tall and steady, the man I owed my life to.

His shoulders had slumped, and his eyes... they were desperate. He looked at me as if I was the answer to a question he couldn't bring himself to ask.

I didn't need to ask why he was there. The truth was already in the air, heavy and suffocating. Cancer. A man like him doesn't beg, but his silence was louder than any words. He didn't ask me to marry his daughter. He didn't have to.

I agreed. Not for love. Not for her. For him.

He has done something for me that I can never pay off. Whatever I'll do will be for him. Even though I know I was doing wrong. I couldn't get away when he needed that too when he did that much for me.

I don't regret it. Regret is a waste of energy, and I have no time for that. But this marriage-it's not what people think. Noor isn't what people think. She's quiet, too quiet. Always in the background, always small, like she's trying not to exist.

But I noticed her.

Unknowingly, unwanted-ly

I notice how she lowers her gaze when I walk into the room. How her hands tremble just a little when she thinks no one's looking. How she tries to make herself invisible, but her presence... it lingers.

And me? I don't know what to feel about her. I don't know how to feel. I told myself respect would be enough. That I didn't need anything more. But respect doesn't explain the way my eyes follow her without meaning to. It doesn't explain why the thought of someone else noticing her makes my jaw tighten.

But the mess of emotions I'm having right now is my fault. I have issues with me, which I accept. Not in front of her but to me. I can't trust anybody.

Trust is a luxury I can't afford. I've seen what it does to men who give it too easily. I've lived the consequences of trusting the wrong person.

But Noor...she's different. Innocent, maybe. Or maybe she's just good at hiding the things I don't want to see.

And that thought alone? It's dangerous.

I don't know about her, and nor I'm interested. I have clogged my heart from feeling any emotion & I don't want my brain to make it function again.

The first time I saw her, Noor was at the engagement. She didn't look at me directly, but I couldn't stop looking at her. Her eyes-too innocent for someone stepping into a world that could swallow her whole. They held something I couldn't name, something that made me pause, made me look longer than I should. Then there was the mole, just above her upper lip. Small, simple, but it shouldn't have stood out the way it did.

I told myself it didn't matter.

She didn't matter. This wasn't love; it wasn't even a choice. It was duty, and I had made peace with it -

or so, I thought.

Those eyes haunted me a bit, all the time until my marriage. But I have trained my brain enough to not fall for pretty & kind eyes. You never know when they'll change color.

The wedding night came and went, and I played my part. Barely. She sat on the bed, dressed in red, her hands nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta. I didn't acknowledge her.

I wanted to, but I couldn't. I grabbed my clothes, walked to the bathroom, and stayed under the cold water longer than necessary. When I came out, she was still sitting there, frozen in place like she didn't know what to do next.

I knew I was being rude, maybe even cruel, but I didn't care. I wasn't ready for this, for her. So, I lay down, turned my back to her, and pretended to sleep. She didn't say a word, and neither did I.

The next morning, I woke up before her. She was standing by the mirror, fixing her saree, her hair falling to one side. Her hands worked with calm precision as she adjusted her jewelry and placed her payals on her ankles. I should've looked away. Instead, I watched, quietly, from the bed.

It wasn't just the way she moved-it was her. The way her eyes lit up when she looked at her reflection. The way her earrings swayed as she tilted her head. And those payals-damn those payals.

Later, I handed her the ones I bought before the wedding. My mother had told me to give them to her, and I had almost forgotten. When I placed the small box in her hands, her eyes lit up again.

Just a night with her & she was already getting into my brain.

I didn't respond. Couldn't. Because even as I walked away, one thought burned in my mind:

how would her legs look, with those same payals on her ankles, as they dangled over my shoulder?

Fuck!

The image hit me like a jolt, sharp and unwanted.

The thought shouldn't have entered in my mind.

This wasn't me. I didn't think like this. It had to be Abhimanyu's fault. That bastard had poisoned my mind with his filthy jokes, for he passed on me before my wedding night.

"What I'm supposed to feel? I never wanted this, but now I'm married. And it's my wedding night and"

It was a moment of breakdown when I said all this to them. I know I was going to regret it, but I still said. Only to regret the second later when I heard him saying -

"Horny mere bhai, you are supposed to feel horny,"

The thought, it's definitely its fault.

By this, though, I remember I have to talk to Abhimanyu & Vikram. My only friends in this whole world.

Abhimanyu is on a trip with my younger brother Veer, while Vikram is busy in his royal affairs.

But it wasn't his voice I heard when I imagined such a situation.

It was mine.

I shook the thought off. Noor wasn't someone I could allow myself to think about-not like that. She was my wife, but that word meant nothing to me.

This marriage was a decision made out of duty, nothing more. I wasn't ready for it. I would never be ready for it. And yet, here I was, pretending like it didn't matter, like I hadn't just ruined her life along with mine.

But I couldn't stop looking at her. Couldn't stop thinking about the way she moved, the way her eyes seemed to pull me in even when I didn't want to be pulled. This wasn't love-it couldn't be.

I wasn't built for love, for trust, for anything that tied me to someone else.

I knew I was doing wrong by her. Ignoring her, keeping her at arm's length. I told myself it was for her own good, that I was too broken to be anything she needed.

But deep down, I knew the truth. I wasn't doing it for her. I was doing it for me.

Because Noor wasn't safe with me.

And yet, I couldn't let her go.

Not after I have touched her, not after I have looked in her eyes. Not after I know the feeling of her having in my arms.

I know I'm fucked. For someone who is always so in controlled. She's messing it up & it's not even a week of our marriage.

I still remember as we sat at the breakfast table for her first rasoi, my chachi's words cut through the air about the nuptial chain. It was an insult, and I didn't let it slide.

I didn't need to explain. My actions spoke louder than any words could.

I knelt down without hesitation and made her wear the payal again. It wasn't just for her. It was for everyone around us. I wasn't going to let anyone disrespect her-not today, not ever. I didn't need to say a word.

The message was clear. No one would question her place. She's what I'm. With me where I stood.

I moved with purpose. The quiet strength I carried wasn't for show; it was how I lived. I didn't speak much. I never did. But when it came to protecting what mattered, I didn't need to.

No words were exchanged. I reached down, picked up the fallen payal, and made her wear it once more. My silence said everything.

She was my wife. Not matter the dynamic of our relationship, no one would disrespect her. Not even my family.

I didn't think much of it. It was just a quiet promise I made to myself. I had made my vow to God. To protect her. To keep her safe. And that vow didn't change, no matter what.

I didn't need anyone else to understand. I wasn't doing this for them. It wasn't about showing off. It was simple. If anyone tried to cross that line, they would understand. I would make them understand.

She doesn't understand why I did that. She didn't need to know. Not yet. But I knew. I would never let anyone disrespect her again.

The phone rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. Maa

"Kab tak aayge aap bete?," she said, her voice warm, familiar.
(When will you come, son?")

"Not sure, Maa, may be around 6," I replied, my tone neutral. It wasn't like my father's calls.

With him, there was always something more to prove, but with my mother... there was no need for that. She understood me.

"Okay, try coming soon. Apki dulhan wait kar rahi hai"

(Your bride is waiting)

"Hmm,"

I ended the call and leaned back, the weight of my thoughts pressing down. A part of me felt restless, unsettled. But that was nothing new.

Meri dulhan

(My bride)

I shook my head again. This isn't what I should be thinking about. I didn't need distractions-especially not her. She wasn't here to become my problem.

Yet, my mind kept returning to her, and it irritated me. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. I couldn't let it affect me.

Fuck!

Focusing back on the work, I buried my thoughts in the tasks at hand. But my eyes again went to the lunch box which was on the table. For the very first time, someone sent lunch to the hospital to me.

It tugged me heart. My eyes stayed on the box. Simple but heavy. Not with food only but with more. Sighing I closed my files & pulled it closer.

I was hungry anyway & don't have any work, so it's better to eat rather than waste food.
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The hours drifted by, and by six in the evening, I was ready to wrap up. I grabbed my coat and walked out, determined not to let any thoughts of her linger.

But it wasn't easy. I need to focus. I won't let this derail me.

But just one thought of her brown eyes, which look like a golden cage for my soul under the sunlight, is enough for me to be consumed by her totally

Arriving home, the house felt quiet. Too quiet. I didn't bother checking in with anyone. No need. My mind was still elsewhere, but I knew better than to let it control me.

I didn't want to admit it, but something felt different tonight. Something I couldn't quite put into words.

I made my way up the stairs and into my room, eyes scanning the space as I moved. Searching. But I didn't want to be looking for her. I can't be. Yet, it was like my body was betraying me, moving on its own, seeking her presence, even though I knew better.

The door to my room closed behind me, and I stood still for a moment, taking in the emptiness. Something wasn't quite right. There was an unfamiliar weight to the air, like a lingering presence that hadn't been there before.

The smell of sandal wood & jasmine.

I walked over to the mirror across the room, studying my reflection. It was the same, but today, it felt different. I could see it clearly now.

The shirt I wore today. I knew it's not the one she took out for me, but I didn't care. I wanted to make sure she understood: this wasn't going to be easy for either of us. She didn't need to have any illusions.

I had done it on purpose. The shirt was a message-a clear one. I didn't want her getting any ideas. She wasn't my priority. But I had to keep the distance, keep the walls high. I wasn't going to let her think things were moving any faster than they were.

Last night had been a different kind of conversation. Nothing heated, nothing hostile. But still, I could feel the tension in the air. She had spoken, but I could tell she was holding back-guarded, like she didn't want to give anything away. But her eyes, those innocent eyes helf the hope I didn't want to grow.

I had to make sure she understood, though. I couldn't let her get her hopes up. Not yet.

It was my way of telling that there is no room for false hope. I wasn't here to make promises I couldn't keep. She seemed upset, I saw it in her eyes-her quiet disappointment. She had hoped for more, but I couldn't offer that.

Not now. Maybe not ever.

I turned from the mirror, my jaw tight, the reality of the situation settling deeper. I hurt her again. And it was intentional. But that doesn't help me from imagination, the eyes losing the spark. Those dark eyes.

I had done it to protect both of us from feelings we weren't ready to deal with yet. Still, my mind couldn't stop running over the details-the small things I noticed - things she thought I didn't see. The jhumkas carelessly left on the dresser, her makeup half-done, her phone abandoned on the table as if she'd left in a hurry. She thought I didn't notice.

But I saw everything.

Standing there, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was stirring inside me-something I didn't want to deal with.

She wasn't just a stranger. She was mine, in some way, and I couldn't let anyone disrespect her. It wasn't just about her. It was about me, my promise. A promise to her father.

I had made a vow to protect her, to keep her safe. That wasn't something I could forget, no matter what else was going on.

I wasn't ready to admit it, but maybe I was starting to care. Just a little. Enough to protect her.

Enough to make sure no one, not even my family, could treat her poorly.

I sighed, shaking my head. No. I wasn't going to think about it. Not tonight. I turned away from the mirror, the lingering thoughts of her still hanging in the back of my mind.

Turning around, my eyes fell on the pillow. Her pillow. That stupid cherry shaped pillow she hugs to sleep every night. My jaw clenched as I stormed to the closet to change.

May be I started caring, enough to want to just destroy that damn pillow.
_____________________________________

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