You guys are insane for sure!!

First of all, you guys are crazy! You hit the targets so fast, and I love that energy. I'm really happy with the response, so thank you! But let's clear a few things up:

1. About Updates
When I say I'll update after 7 p.m., I mean it. No exceptions. It's not about arrogance or rudeness-it's just the rule I set for this book. If the target is met before 7 p.m., you get the update the same day. If it's even 7:02 p.m., the update moves to the next day. That's how it works, and that's how it will stay.

2. About Spamming Comments
I see how excited you all get, and I love that, but constant spamming of "vote, vote, vote" or one-word comments just to hit the target is getting a bit too much. A little excitement is fun, but let's keep the comments meaningful, okay?

3. About Silent Readers
I know some of you remind silent readers to vote, and I get that your intentions are good. But some readers feel uncomfortable when they see warnings or harsh words about it. What seems normal to us might not feel the same to them. So, let's keep it respectful and not make anyone feel bad, yeah?

That's it!

Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -
‼️NEXT UPDATE ON WEDNESDAY‼️
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सर्फिरा सा मैं मुसाफ़िर,
पाँव कहीं ठहरे ना मेरे।
फिर मेरी आवारगी को,
आने लगे ख्वाब तेरे।

ये प्यार भी क्या क़ैद है,
कोई होना ना चाहे रिहा।
दिल में हो तुम,
आँखों में तुम,
पहली नज़र से ही यारा।

ओ... ये इश्क़ की हैं साज़िशें,
लो आ मिले हम दोबारा।
दिल में हो तुम,
आँखों में तुम,
पहली नज़र से ही यारा।

तेरे बिन ये सारे मौसम,
बेरंग थे, बेमज़ा थे।
शामिल नहीं थी तू जिनमें,
वो सारे पल बेमकसद थे।

वो ज़िंदगी है ही नहीं,
जो मैं तेरे बिना जी लिया।
दिल में हो तुम,
आँखों में तुम,
पहली नज़र से ही यारा।

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I woke slowly, my body stirring before my eyes fully opened. The warmth against my skin made me freeze. My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I couldn't even move. Something soft, something... familiar. My heart skipped a beat.

His mouth.

I felt it, hot and firm, on my breast

Hey Bhagwan.

My chest tightened, heat spreading all over my body like wildfire. My mind blanked, unable to process what I was feeling. My heart was pounding so loud it felt like the whole room could hear it.

I couldn't even bring myself to look down. The thought alone made my cheeks burn furiously, and I squeezed my eyes shut instead, wishing I could somehow disappear. But the weight of him, the heat of his lips-it was all too real. My breath stuttered, uneven and shaky, and I could feel my body trembling under his touch.

I didn't dare move. My shyness was paralyzing. I felt exposed in every sense of the word, my skin bare, his presence overwhelming me.

My upper body-hey Bhagwan-I was completely bare. The realization hit me like a jolt, and my face grew impossibly hotter.

And then I saw it-the blouse and bra discarded on the floor. My stomach twisted, my fingers trembling as I clutched at the saree pallu beside me, pulling it up to my chest in a desperate attempt to cover myself. My breaths came shallow and rapid, my entire body heating with embarrassment.

I couldn't look at him. I couldn't look at myself. My heart was racing so fast it hurt, my chest rising and falling unevenly as I sat frozen in place. My skin burned where his lips touched me, and I felt the urge to hide, to run-but I couldn't move.

After a moment, I gathered every ounce of courage I had. With shaky hands, I reached down and gently pulled myself away from him, his lips leaving my skin. My body trembled as I sat up, clutching my pallu tighter against me. I couldn't think beyond the overwhelming heat coursing through me.

I draped my saree properly but hastily around my bare waist, the fabric feeling like a shield against my vulnerability. My fingers fumbled as I picked up my blouse and bra from the floor, cheeks burning so hot I thought they might never cool down.

I glanced at him once, just once. His face was calm, his breathing steady, and his eyes closed. He looked peaceful, unaware of the storm raging inside me. I turned away quickly, afraid to linger too long, and hurried to the bathroom.

Once inside, I leaned against the door, my chest heaving as I tried to calm my racing heart. My hands were trembling, my entire body felt warm, and my cheeks refused to cool down. I pressed my palms to my face, trying to steady myself.

I didn't know how long I stood there, but even as I tried to collect myself, the feel of his mouth lingered, a reminder of how close I had been to losing my composure entirely.

Hey Bhagwan, how am I going to face him now?
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The warm water cascaded over my skin, washing away the remnants of the night, but my thoughts clung to me like an unshakable weight. I finished my shower in hurried motions, desperate to calm the erratic pounding of my heart. The steam filled the small bathroom, fogging up the mirror, but when I stepped out and caught my reflection, my breath hitched.

My trembling hands wiped the fog away, and my eyes fell on the marks scattered across my chest, neck, and collarbone. Hickeys. Dark and vivid, standing out starkly against my skin. My heart skipped a beat, then another, before racing uncontrollably.

Hey Bhagwan.

My lips parted in shock as my gaze flitted over each mark, my cheeks heating furiously. A shiver ran down my spine, the kind that wasn't caused by the cold. My fingers hovered hesitantly over the darkest mark on my collarbone, brushing it lightly, and I felt my knees weaken at the memory it brought back.

I tore my eyes away from the mirror, unable to look any longer. My breaths were shallow, my chest rising and falling in uneven rhythms. My skin felt hot, and my hands trembled as I clutched the edge of the sink for support.

How could I even look at myself? The sight was too overwhelming. My eyelids felt heavy with the weight of my shyness, and I squeezed my eyes shut, turning away from the mirror completely. I couldn't do it. I couldn't face the image staring back at me.

I hurriedly grabbed the red saree I had brought with me, my fingers fumbling to drape it over myself. The fabric felt cool against my heated skin, and I wrapped it tightly around me, almost as if it could shield me from my own embarrassment. My cheeks were still burning, and my heart refused to slow down.

Once I was dressed, I took a deep breath and walked toward the bathroom door. My hand hesitated on the knob as my heart skipped another beat. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside me.

With one final deep breath, I pushed the door open and stepped out, my heartbeat echoing in my ears as I faced whatever awaited me outside.

As I stepped out of the bathroom, my eyes instinctively moved to the bed, but he wasn't there. My gaze scanned the room, taking in every corner, but there was no sign of him. The thought of being alone for a moment made me let out a small sigh, though my heart still fluttered with the lingering emotions from earlier.

I turned toward the dresser and opened the small drawer, pulling out my makeup box. My fingers lightly grazed over its surface as I took out the concealer. A memory flashed in my mind-the teasing smile on Bhabhi's face when she handed it to me.

"You'll need this after your wedding," she had said with a playful wink. At that moment, I hadn't understood her meaning, but now...now I did.

A sudden warmth crept up my neck, and I gulped, clutching the concealer tightly in my hand. The memory of her words and my innocence then made my cheeks burn. I lowered my gaze, too shy to even think about it anymore, and quickly started applying the concealer over the marks scattered across my neck and collarbone.

The cool touch of the applicator against my heated skin sent a shiver through me, and I caught a faint smile on my lips. My fingers worked quickly, but my mind wandered, pulling me back to last night. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me-it had been overwhelming, but he had been so careful, so considerate. Even in the storm of emotions, he had made me feel...safe.

That thought made my smile grow a little. My chest felt warm, not just from the blush that refused to leave my cheeks, but from the way he made me feel-special, cherished. My fingers slowed as I dabbed concealer over the deepest mark on my collarbone. It still hurt a little when I touched it, and I bit my lip, remembering the intensity of his passion. The memory made me shy all over again, and I quickly averted my gaze from the mirror.

I was almost done when the sound of the door opening made my heart leap in my chest. My hands froze mid-motion as I turned slowly, my breath catching at the sight before me.

There he was, standing at the door, dressed in nothing but his boxers, his upper body bare and still slightly damp, as if he'd just splashed water on himself. His gaze met mine, and for a moment, I couldn't breathe. My cheeks burned hotter, and my fingers clutched the concealer tightly, unsure of what to do.

I felt so exposed, so shy under his eyes, but I couldn't look away. My heart raced as he took a step inside, and I quickly turned back to the mirror, pretending to finish what I was doing, though my hands trembled slightly.

I was still in front of the mirror, gently pressing the concealer over the faint marks on my neck, when I suddenly felt him. A presence, so quiet yet overwhelming, filled the room. My fingers froze mid-motion, and my breath caught. I didn't need to turn around to know it was him.

My chest tightened, and I tried to steady my hands, but they wouldn't stop trembling. I lowered the concealer onto the counter carefully, afraid I'd drop it. He was closer now-I could feel it. The air around me felt heavier, warmer. My heart began to pound, and my cheeks, already warm, burned brighter.

I dared to glance into the mirror, and there he was, stepping beside me with an ease that made my breath hitch. My eyes darted away instantly, unable to hold his gaze. I lowered my lashes, staring down at the dresser as though it was the most fascinating thing in the world. But my body betrayed me. My pulse quickened, my throat felt dry, and the warmth in my cheeks spread all the way to my ears.

He leaned in slightly, his face coming parallel to mine. He didn't touch me, but I could feel the weight of his presence beside me, his nearness making my chest tighten further. His posture was so casual, his hands clasped behind his back, but I felt anything but casual.

I peeked at him through my lashes, only for a fleeting second, and my heart skipped again. His blue eyes were on me, watching, steady, and calm. A faint smile tugged at his lips, a small, teasing curve that made my breath falter. My fingers fidgeted nervously, unable to stay still.

And then, I felt it. His hand, warm and deliberate, brushed against my bare wrist. My whole body froze, my heart stuttering before racing wildly. His touch was soft, yet it felt like it had seared itself into my skin. His fingers trailed upward, slow and sure, before resting lightly on my stomach.

I gasped softly, my breath shaky, as my body stiffened. My eyes went wide, and I could feel the warmth creeping up my neck and flooding my cheeks. My hands clutched the edge of the dresser as though it was my anchor.

In the mirror, he remained composed, his face angled toward mine, his expression calm, almost playful.

"Nind achi aayi aapko?" His voice was a soft murmur, the deep timbre of it making my knees feel weak.

("Did you sleep well?")

I couldn't answer. My voice felt stuck in my throat, and my cheeks burned like fire. I looked down quickly, my lashes lowering as I tried to hide my face. But I knew he could see the blush spreading across my skin.

He hummed softly, a sound so casual yet so intimate that it made my pulse quicken even more. "Hmm?"

Tentatively, I raised my eyes to the mirror again, only to find him still watching me. His gaze held mine, warm and steady, and I felt like I couldn't breathe. My head lowered again, but this time, I nodded slightly, the motion shy and uncertain.

I couldn't help but notice how his blue eyes looked so different today. They weren't just filled with emotions but-they were warm, soft, and more inviting. It felt like they were holding me in a quiet embrace, like they were silently reassuring me.

The emotions in his eyes weren't ones I could name, but they made my chest feel full. They made me feel... safe. Loved.

My hands trembled slightly as I clung to the dresser, but my heart, which had been racing moments ago, felt like it was slowing down under the weight of his gaze. His faint smile, his nearness, his warmth-it was all too much, and yet, it was everything.

The soft rustle of fabric was the only sound in the room, apart from the faint rhythm of my heartbeat, which felt louder with every second. Sidharth Ji was standing behind me-I could feel his presence without turning. He wasn't saying anything, but his silence was heavier than words. My breath quickened as I tried to focus on adjusting my bangles, but my hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"Shyam chacha aaye the, puchne hum kab nikal rahe hai," his voice broke the silence, low and quiet, but so close it felt as if he was speaking directly into my soul.

(Shyam uncle came, asking when we're leaving.)

Startled, my eyes shot up to the mirror. His face was calm, his gaze steady and locked on me. My own reflection betrayed me-my wide eyes and flushed cheeks gave away every feeling I tried so hard to hide. I nodded hurriedly, a shaky acknowledgment of his words, before lowering my gaze again. The mirror suddenly felt too dangerous to look into.

But he wasn't done. He leaned closer, his face parallel to mine, his hands still clasped behind his back. His voice, now softer, almost teasing, made the air between us feel warmer, heavier.

"Aapko accha lagta hai na, jab main apni nazrein aapse nahi hata pata, Cherry? Aapko pasand hai na, jab mai aage piche ghumta hu?"

(You like it, don't you, when I can't take my eyes off you, Cherry? You enjoy driving me crazy, don't you?)

My heart skipped a beat, then stumbled into a wild rhythm. My cheeks flamed as his words sank in, making me freeze completely. I clutched the saree tighter, my knuckles brushing against my waist as I tried to steady myself. My lips parted, but no sound came out. I didn't know how to react-his words, his gaze, his closeness-they all felt like too much, yet I couldn't pull away.

"Aapne yeh laal saree pehni hai. mujhe pagal karne ka irada hai? Yeh dikhane ke liye ki ,I'm a lucky bastard because i have such a breathtaking wife?"

he added, his tone carrying a playful edge that made my breath hitch.

(You wore this red saree to drive me mad, didn't you? To remind me, what a lucky bastard I ambecause i have such a breathtaking wife?.)

I blinked rapidly, feeling the weight of his words settle over me. My cheeks burned brighter, and my fingers fumbled with the fabric of my saree near my waist. I shook my head quickly, trying to deny it, though I couldn't form the words.

"No... woh... aisa kuch nahi..." I stammered, my voice barely audible.
(No... it's nothing like that...)

But my reaction only seemed to amuse him more. He sighed softly, the sound making my skin prickle with awareness. I expected him to step back, to let me catch my breath. Instead, he moved closer, his hand brushing against my wrist. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through me, and I froze as his fingers slid gently over my skin.

"Cherry" he said, his voice calm but tinged with something that made my heart race. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders, turning me around to face him. I couldn't bring myself to look up. My gaze was fixed on the floor, my cheeks burning hotter than ever.

He guided me to sit on the chair near the dressing table, his movements slow and deliberate. I felt the softness of the cushion beneath me and the brush of his fingers against my wrist as he knelt in front of me. My breath hitched as he picked up the red bangles from the table.

For a moment, he was quiet. I could see him examining my wrist, his brows furrowing slightly when he noticed the small cut left from last night by my broken bangles.

I tried to pull my hand away, embarrassed, but he held it gently, his touch firm yet tender.

His lips brushed lightly over the cut-a fleeting, delicate touch that left me stunned. My eyes widened, and I could feel my heart pounding harder than ever. He didn't say anything, just slipped the bangles onto my wrist one by one, his movements careful and precise.

I couldn't stop looking at him now. His expression had softened, his blue eyes holding a warmth I was used to seeing. There was no teasing now, no intensity-just something that felt comforting, reassuring. A small, shy smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.

When he looked up, our eyes met, and for a moment, the world felt still. I could see so many emotions in his gaze-emotions I didn't know how to name.

His voice broke the silence once again, low and serious

"Aapko mujh se darne ki jarurat nahi hai."
(You don't need to be scared of me.)

My breath caught, and I couldn't look away this time. My fingers curled into the fabric of my saree, my entire body trembling under the weight of his words and his gaze. He smiled, just a little, and I felt that warmth settle in my chest again-comforting, overwhelming, and utterly impossible to ignore.

His voice was serious, but the way his voice softened, yet still held that command, made my heart flutter in a way I couldn't control. I clutched my saree tighter, my fingers trembling slightly, but I couldn't let him see how his closeness made me feel. I had to say something.

But was I scared of him?

No. I wasn't.

"Hume apse dar nahi lagta," I finally managed, my voice quiet but steady. (I'm not afraid anymore.)

The moment the words left my lips, I dared to look at him. He was watching me, his expression unreadable for a second before his lips curved into a small smile. It wasn't just any smile-it was the kind that could undo me completely. My heart skipped a beat. That smile... it had a power over me I didn't understand. It made me weak and made me feel things I wasn't ready to admit.

"Aapko lagna bhi nahi chahiye"
His voice was low, but there was a certainty in it that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

(You shouldn't be afraid at all.)

I felt my lips twitch into a small, hesitant smile of my own. It wasn't something I could control. His words, his presence, the way he looked at me-it all made me feel safe, like nothing in the world could ever hurt me.

"Aur rahi baat aapki sharmane ki..." he started, his tone shifting to something playful, something that sent a shiver down my spine. (And about your shyness...)

Before I could even react, he leaned in closer, rising slightly on his knees so we were face to face. My breath hitched. He was so close now, his sharp features, his strong jawline, his broad shoulders-all of it overwhelming. My eyes widened, and I couldn't bring myself to look away. I froze when his hands came up, gently cupping my cheeks. His hands were warm, rough, and so much larger than mine, making me feel small and delicate in a way I never had before.

"To Cherry," he murmured, his deep voice making my heart pound.

(So cherry)

"Mujhe aapke gaal laal hi pasand hai, jab main aapke paas hota hu."

(I like how your cheeks turn red when I'm near you.)

I blinked at him, completely stunned, my cheeks growing even hotter. Before I could form a single thought, let alone a reply, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to my cheek. It was so quick, so soft, yet it left me breathless. My heart felt like it might burst out of my chest. I stared at him, my lips parted in shock, but he only smiled down at me, teasing yet so tender.

Straightening up, he stood tall again, and I felt so small under his gaze. I swallowed hard, my fingers still clutching the edge of my saree like it could ground me somehow. He reached out and ruffled my hair lightly, and the simple gesture made me blink in surprise.

"Main abhi naha ke aata hoon," he said, his tone casual but still playful.

(I'll go take a bath now.)

And then he walked away, just like that, leaving me to deal with the mess of emotions he'd stirred inside me. I watched him go, my eyes following his every step until he disappeared into the bathroom. My heart was still racing, but there was a new feeling now-a warmth spreading through me, something that made me feel lighter.

I turned back to the mirror, my reflection staring back at me, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. My wrists caught my attention, the red glass bangles sparkling softly under the light. They were beautiful, and the thought of him carefully putting them on me made my cheeks heat up all over again.

Shaking my head, I let out a small laugh, the corners of my lips curling into a shy smile. "Bawale," I whispered to myself, feeling my heart swell with a warmth I couldn't quite name.

(Crazy.)

And yet, for the first time in a long while, I didn't feel nervous. I felt... happy.

Oh I love my Aarth.
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I turned on the stove, the small flame flickering to life as I placed the milk on it to boil. The kitchen was quiet, except for the faint bubbling of the milk. I brushed a stray hair out of my face, letting out a small sigh, when suddenly, I felt it-a presence behind me.

Before I could turn, strong arms circled my waist, pulling me into a warm embrace. My breath hitched slightly, but the familiar touch immediately eased me. His body pressed against my back, firm and solid, and I could feel the chilled fabric of his Shirt brushing against my bare skin where my saree left my back, uncovered.

A soft smile crept onto my lips as I tilted my head slightly, catching sight of his face as he rested his chin on my shoulder. My Aarth

His hands, warm and steady, slipped beneath my saree, settling on my stomach. The coolness of his touch sent a shiver down my spine, but I didn't flinch. This wasn't new; it was him, and it felt... normal. Comfortable. Right.

I stirred the milk gently, trying to focus, but my cheeks betrayed me, turning a light shade of pink at his closeness. It was impossible not to react, even though I tried to act unaffected.

"Chai ke saath kya lenge? Parathe ya bread?" I asked softly, turning my head just enough to glance at him from the corner of my eye.

(What will you have with tea? Paratha or bread?)

He didn't reply immediately, his silence making me glance at him more fully. That's when I noticed the way he was looking at me. His eyes were soft yet intense, and before I could process what was happening, he moved. Our faces were so close now that I could feel his breath on my lips. And then, he leaned in, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss on my lips. It was so quick, yet it left me startled, my cheeks burning. I blinked up at him, my lips parting slightly in surprise, but he only smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Aapko lunga" he said, his voice low and teasing, his words making my heart flutter wildly.

(I'll have you.)

I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. My cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, and I quickly turned back to the stove, trying to hide the smile that threatened to spill across my lips.

He always knew how to leave me speechless.

And then I heard Sidharth Ji's deep laugh behind me, I couldn't stop myself from glancing back. He looked so carefree, so full of mischief.

Din-ba-din aur badmash hote ja rahe hain.

(He's getting more mischievous day by day.)

I wanted to say it out loud, but I didn't. I couldn't. It was safer to keep such thoughts to myself, especially when he had this way of making me lose every ounce of composure with just his one look.

I was just about to add the tea leaves to the boiling milk when I felt Sidharth Ji pull back from me. Curious, I turned to see what he was doing, only to find him reaching for my waist.

Before I could react, his hands wrapped around me, and I let out a soft gasp as he lifted me effortlessly, just like one would pick up a child. "S-Sidharth Ji," I stammered, holding on to his shoulders as he placed me on the kitchen counter.

His hands stayed on my waist for a moment, steadying me, before he leaned back slightly and planted his palms on either side of my thighs on the cold marble slab. My breath hitched as he looked at me, his dark eyes holding a glint of mischief that always left me flustered.

He leaned closer, and before I could turn my face away, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch gentle but firm.

"Ab aap yahan baithiye aur mujhe chai banane dijiye, cherry," he said, his voice smooth, playful, and dangerously casual.
("Now you sit here and let me make tea for you, cherry.")

That word-cherry. My cheeks turned hot instantly. He knew exactly what he was doing to me, didn't he?

I watched, stunned, as he turned back to the stove, his movements calm and confident.

"Ab bataiye, cherry, paratha lengi ya bread?" he asked, flipping the tea with practiced ease.

("Now tell me, cherry, will you have paratha or bread?")

My throat felt dry, and it took me a second to process his question because of the way he was looking at me.

"B-bread," I managed to whisper, my voice almost inaudible.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. I watched him from behind, how easily he moved, how effortlessly he took over, and how he somehow left me completely speechless every time.

Instead, I sat there quietly, feeling my heart race as the smell of boiling tea filled the room and his soft humming surrounded me.

The tea simmered on the stove, the soft bubbling sound filling the air as Sidharth Ji lowered the flame. His movements were unhurried and deliberate. I should have focused on the task at hand, but something about the way he turned toward me made my heart beat faster.

There was a glint in his eyes-a look that promised trouble. I could sense it before he even moved.

I felt his hands before I saw them, his palms resting firmly on my thighs. My breath caught in my throat as he gently parted them, just enough to make my cheeks flush and my mind spin. Butterflies erupted in my stomach, and without meaning to, my thoughts darted to last night. Heat rose to my face as I remembered the way he had...

No! I shook my head internally, trying to clear my thoughts. But his hand was already moving, trailing upward until it cupped the back of my neck. The touch was warm and firm, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

I realized what he was about to do, and my heart skipped a beat. Before he could lean in, I raised my palm and covered his lips, my voice shaky as I blurted out, "Hum... hum kitchen mein hain!"

("We... we are in the kitchen!")

His eyebrow arched, one corner of his lips curling into a smirk. That smirk. It was always the prelude to mischief.

"To?" he asked, his voice low and teasing.

("So?")

I blinked, my mind racing. "To... to kitchen mein aap y-yeh sab nahi kar sakte," I stammered, struggling to sound stern.

("So... so you can't do all this in the kitchen.")

He tilted his head slightly as if amused by my attempt to reason with him. His hand moved to my wrist, gently lowering it from his lips. The teasing glint in his eyes was enough to make my stomach churn with nervous anticipation.

"Kitchen mein nahi?" he murmured, leaning closer. His tone was playful, but the proximity was overwhelming.
(Not in kitchen?)

My thoughts were a mess. This is a sacred place, I told myself. Food is made here, prasad is made here-how can he even think of...

But before I could finish the thought, his lips captured mine. It wasn't a soft kiss. It was firm, assertive, and far too short for the chaos it left in its wake. By the time he pulled back, I was gasping for breath, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He stepped back as if nothing had happened, wiping his lips casually with the back of his hand. The smirk on his face was infuriating.

"Sharam nahi aati aapko?" I asked glaring at him. ("Don't you feel ashamed?")

He was back at the stove, stirring the tea with practiced ease. But I didn't miss the way his lips twitched, fighting back a smile.

"Sharam?" he echoed, turning toward me with a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Kal ke baad-"

("After last night-")

My eyes widened, and I opened my mouth to protest, but the mention of last night had already done its damage. My cheeks flushed deeper, and I looked away, trying to compose myself.

Before I could respond, his hand found its way back to my thigh. This time, he didn't part them; instead, he leaned in closer, his face hovering near mine.

I instinctively tilted my head back, trying to create some distance. But he only smirked further, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

"Sharam ka to pata nahi, cherry, par aapko dekh ke besharmo wale khayal jarur aate hain."

("I don't know about shame, cherry, but looking at you certainly brings shameless thoughts to mind.")

My jaw dropped, my eyes going wide as his words sank in. My cheeks turn red & heart skipped a beat.

How could he say something so... so shameless? I wanted to yell at him, to scold him, but no words came out.

He chuckled softly at my stunned expression, standing up straight and turning back to the tea as if nothing had happened.

I sat there, arms crossed, my face scrunched into a pout. "Sharam nahi hai inhe," I muttered under my breath, glaring at his back.

("He has no shame.")

But deep down, I couldn't deny the flutter in my chest. He was acting impossible, infuriating, and utterly shameless. And yet, every little smirk, every teasing glance, made my heart race just a little faster.

What am I going to do with this man?

I thought, biting my lip to hide the small smile threatening to escape.
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We were supposed to leave today. The bags were packed, the plans set, yet here I was, fumbling with my sari pleats while the evening sun filtered softly through the curtains. Sidharth Ji had said we'd leave later-he wanted to take me somewhere before we departed. He hadn't said where, and I hadn't asked.

I smoothed the pleats again, fingers trembling slightly as the silk slid through them. The half-strapped sandal at my foot made me feel unbalanced, but I couldn't seem to do everything at once.

Then my phone buzzed on the bedside table, pulling my focus. I glanced at the screen-*Riya.*

Her name made me pause, and a faint smile tugged at my lips. It had been too long since we last spoke. Without thinking much, I grabbed the phone, holding it to my ear as I kept one hand on the pleats.

"Hello?" I whispered, my voice soft but uncertain, the way it always was when I wasn't entirely ready to talk.

"Noor!" Riya's voice burst through the line, cheerful and warm, like a gust of wind carrying forgotten laughter. "Finally! You remembered I exist!"

Her teasing made me laugh softly, almost shyly. "Nahi... I didn't forget. I've just been... busy."

(No)

"Busy? Oh, really? You're married now, so you've no time for your old friends, is that it?" she mocked dramatically, and I could picture the playful pout on her face.

"It's not like that," I murmured, my words fumbling in their usual nervous way. "I missed you too."

"Missed me, huh? Then why didn't you call me?"

I didn't have an answer to that. It wasn't intentional, but words and time always escaped me. I smiled faintly, biting my lip. "I'll call more often," I promised, my voice barely above a whisper.

"You better," she said, her tone softening. "Anyway, when are you coming to see me? I have so much to tell you. Even uncle was saying you haven't visited them."

"Soon," I replied quietly. "I'll come soon, Riya. I promise."

Her laughter filled the line again, comforting in a way that made me feel momentarily at ease. But then, the door opened, and I froze.

Sidharth Ji entered, his presence filling the room effortlessly. I looked up, startled, and the phone was still pressed to my ear. He stopped a few steps away, his gaze scanning me-the half-done sari pleats, the loose sandal strap, the phone in my hand.

I felt my cheeks burn under his silent scrutiny. My fingers tightened on the phone, unsure whether to cut the call or stay. His eyes met mine for a brief second, and then he lifted a hand, gesturing for me to continue.

My lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He didn't say anything, just nodded toward the phone, silently telling me to go on. So, I did.

"Riya, I'll... I'll come soon," I stammered, trying to sound normal, though my voice betrayed my nerves.

"Hmm? Are you okay? You sound distracted," Riya asked.

I glanced at Sidharth Ji as he moved closer. "I'm fine," I whispered, though my heart wasn't.

He knelt before me, and I almost forgot to breathe. My hand holding the phone trembled slightly as I watched him take the pleats from my fingers, his movements precise and deliberate.

"H-Hum kar rahe thi..." I whispered, but my voice was too soft, too unsure. He didn't look at me or reply, simply focused on straightening the fabric.

"Are you still there, Noor?" Riya's voice pulled me back, and I managed a weak, "Haan."

(Yes)

Sidharth Ji's hands brushed against my waist as he tucked the pleats into place, and I swallowed hard, my voice catching.

"I... I should go, Riya," I whispered into the phone, feeling too overwhelmed to continue.

"Wait, don't hang up! Noor, What's happening there? Jiju aagye kya?" she teased.

(Did Brother in law arrived?)

"N-nothing!" I blurted, my voice louder than intended. Sidharth Ji glanced up briefly.

Before I could say more, he shifted his focus to my sandal. His fingers reached for the strap, but I breath hitched, stepping back instinctively. He looked up, his gaze sharp but not harsh, and I froze under its weight.

His head snapped up, and for the first time since we'd married, I saw a flicker of something sharp in his eyes-a quiet reprimand that made my pulse race.

He didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, he reached for my foot again, his fingers brushing against my ankle as he secured the strap with a care that left me speechless.

I stared at him, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. How could he do this? How could he touch my feet with such ease with such respect?

It wasn't just the act itself-it was the way he did it, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it wasn't something that should make me question everything I thought I knew. Its not like he did it for the very first time but the that moment was different.

"Riya... I'll call you later," I managed, ending the call hurriedly. My hands were trembling, my cheeks flushed as I stared at him.

He straightened and stood, his expression calm as ever, as if none of this had any effect on him. But I could still feel his touch, light yet grounding, leaving a weight in my chest that I couldn't quite name.

My heart-my aarth-what will I do with you, Sidharth Ji?

"Why did you cut the call?" His voice was steady, almost gentle, but there was a firmness in it that made my fingers freeze where they rested on the edge of my sari.

I looked up at him, startled, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. My mind was still caught in the memory of him kneeling in front of me, fixing the sandal as though it was the most natural thing in the world. But it wasn't.

"hum... wo... baad mein baat lenge" I murmured, my voice so soft that even I could barely hear it.
("I... I'll talk later," I said softly.)

His gaze didn't waver, didn't ease. Instead, his brow furrowed ever so slightly, and he tilted his head, his silence pressing against me like a question I didn't know how to answer.

"Aap... humare pair mat chhua kariye," I managed to say, my voice trembling just enough to betray the turmoil in my chest.
("Y-you... you shouldn't touch my feet," I stammered, unsure if I even sounded convincing.)

His frown deepened, but not in frustration. "Kyun?" he asked simply, the single word so calm, so straightforward, that it left me momentarily speechless.
("Why?" he asked.)

I blinked at him, my heart racing as I tried to make sense of the question. Why? No one had ever asked me that before. No one had ever touched my feet-not like this-and then demanded an explanation.

"Kyunki... pati biwiyon ke pair nahi chhute hain," I finally said, the words coming out shakier than I'd intended.
("Because... husbands don't touch their wives' feet," I added softly, unsure of my own reasoning.)

For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at me, his gaze steady and searching, as if he was trying to see into the spaces in my mind that I didn't even know existed. The weight of his silence was unbearable, and I found myself looking down, unable to meet his eyes any longer.

"Woh galat hai," I added, hoping it would make sense to him, even though I wasn't sure it made sense to me.

("It's wrong," I said, though the words felt weak, even to me.)

When I dared to glance up at him again, I found him watching me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. There was no anger in his eyes, no trace of offense. If anything, he seemed... thoughtful. And that unsettled me more than anything else.

His silence stretched between us, but he didn't move, didn't argue. Instead, he just stood there, his presence as steady as the ground beneath my feet, and I felt the weight of it in my chest.

"Woh galat kaise hai?" he asked after a long moment, his tone soft but firm, as though he truly wanted to understand.
("How is it wrong?" he asked, his voice steady.)

I opened my mouth to reply but found myself faltering again.

(How is it wrong?)

It wasn't something I had ever thought about, something I had ever questioned. It was just... how it was.

"Bas... galat lagta hai," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper.
("It just... feels wrong," I whispered, my words weak.)

He sighed softly, the sound more resigned than anything else, and for a moment, I thought he would let it go, but-

She stood there, clutching the edge of her palku like it was her shield, her eyes darting between me and the ground. The way she spoke, the way her voice trembled as she told me not to touch her feet, made me pause. Not out of doubt-no, never doubt-but out of disbelief.

How could she think it was wrong? How could she, my wife, not see what she was to me?

Her words played over in my mind, and I couldn't help but feel an ache-a strange, hollow ache in my chest. Aap mere pair mat chhua kariye.

Why?

I straightened my posture, my arms falling loosely by my sides as I looked at her-really looked at her. Noor. My Noor. My wife, who stood before me trying to convince me that the respect I had for her, the reverence I felt, was something wrong.

I need to make her feel what she means to me.

"Aap meri dharm patni ho, Noor ," I said, my voice low but firm, carrying the weight of everything I couldn't explain to her with actions alone.

"Aur mere dharm mein biwiyon ko Lakshmi ka, shakti ka darja diya gaya hai. Mujhe apni Lakshmi, apni shakti, apni biwi ke pair chhune ya ghutne tikane mein sharam nahi aat Balki garv hota hai "

("You are my wife, Noor. In my belief, a wife is given the status of Lakshmi, of power and strength. I feel no shame in touching the feet of my Lakshmi, my strength, my wife. In fact, it fills me with pride.")

The words came easily, as though they had been waiting within me all along, and yet they felt heavy, like a confession I didn't know I needed to make. My eyes remained locked on hers, daring her to challenge me, to tell me I was wrong.

She didn't. She couldn't.

Her lips parted slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion. She looked at me like I'd said something forbidden, something impossible. Her silence screamed louder than her words ever could.

And still, I stood there, my chest tightening with every passing second. Let her understand, I thought. Let her see.

I wouldn't back down. Not on this. She was mine-not in the way men claim ownership over possessions, but in the way the earth belongs to the sky, in the way the sun belongs to the day. She was my strength, my purpose, my everything.

If touching her feet or kneeling before her was wrong I'd explain her it to her thousand times over. Let the world think what it would. Let her think what she would. She could argue, deny it, push me away, but the truth would remain unshaken.

Noor. My Noor. My cherry, my wife.

I stepped closer, watching her closely, daring her to find the words to counter me. She didn't. Instead, her eyes wavered, her cheeks tinting with a softness that only fueled my resolve.

I gently cupped her cheeks, letting my thumbs trace the softness of her skin. Her eyes, filled with disbelief, searched mine as if trying to understand what had just happened. I could feel her hesitation, her confusion, but I also knew-she was mine, my Noor, my everything.

"Because you only deserve the best app ke pair chhuna... ghutno par aana... yeh bohot chhoti baat hai jo main aap ke liye kar sakta hoon, Noor."
(Touching your feet... kneeling before you... this is the smallest thing I can do for you, Noor.)

Her tears brimmed, but they didn't fall. I stepped closer, my lips brushing her forehead with a kiss so soft it was almost like a prayer

"App mera sukoon hain. Meri zindagi mein jo jagah aapki hai, woh na kisi insaan ne li, na Bhagwan ne."
(You are my peace. The place you hold in my life is one that neither any human nor even God has ever held.)

I rested my forehead against hers, letting my breath steady her trembling frame. Our noses brushed, and for a moment, I closed my eyes, letting the closeness calm the storm raging inside me. She was everything-her presence, her scent, her silence. My Noor.

"App meri zindagi ki sabse keemti, sabse zaruri aur sabse chahi hui cheez hain."
(You are the most precious, most essential, and most desired thing in my life.)

I kissed the tip of her nose, my lips lingering just long enough to feel the warmth of her skin. Before I could even wipe away the tear that slipped down her cheek, she threw herself into my arms with a force that startled me. I stumbled back a step but caught her, holding her tightly against me as though letting go would shatter everything.

Her face pressed against my chest, and I felt her warm breath seep through my shirt, right where my heart was racing for her. Her voice was a whisper, muffled but clear. "I love you, Aarth"

The world around me disappeared. Nothing else mattered. It was just her, and her words, and the way they made my heart soar.

________________________________________

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