Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -.
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‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️IMPORTANT‼️‼️‼️‼️

To My Readers, My People,

Wattpad has deleted my book. A book that was once under their contract, a book that carried my years of labor. They replied to my complaint once-and then silence. No explanation. No response. Nothing.

This is not just an inconvenience. This is injustice. And I do not stand for injustice.

I was sure-I was leaving. Those who follow me closely, who saw my announcement on Wattpad, know that I made my decision. I was done. I had no reason to stay on a platform that does not value its writers, that does not protect the work we build with our sweat and time.

For a moment, I thought-Why continue? It is disheartening to watch something I built, something that is a part of me, be wiped away as if it meant nothing. I considered stepping back, closing this chapter forever.

But then, you spoke. My readers. My people. The ones who made Roy what she is today. You reminded me why I started, why I write, why I refuse to be silenced. And I listen when my people speak.

So I will not let you suffer for their actions. I will continue to write, continue to update-but hear me well, this fight is not over. I am still on Wattpad and Scrollstack for now, but things will change. After my exams, I will decide where this journey leads next. If Wattpad continues this pattern of injustice, I will not hesitate to leave forever.

And to those who think they can erase my work, silence my voice, or diminish what I have built-you are mistaken. Roy does not break. Roy does not bow.

To my readers, my people-you have my word. No one can take away what we have created. But if this continues, I will decide what's best for me and my books. And when I do, you will know.

-Roy
______________________________________

जब से जुडा तुझसे जिया
चैनो क़रार दिल को मिला
जब भी रहूं संग तेरे
भूलूं हर ग़म शिकवा गिला
तेरे इश्क़ का ही नशा है
मेरी रूह तक में बसा है
तूने आँखों से जो छुआ
सुकून मिला सुकून मिला हंम हंम
मिला हूँ अब जो तुम से
है दिल को मेरे कसम से
सुकून मिला सुकून मिला

_______________________________________

Noor was trembling, her breath uneven, the rise and fall of her chest betraying the storm within. The room was silent, save for the soft whisper of the night wind slipping through the open window, stirring the air between us. Her lashes fluttered, her lips parted just enough to let the warmth of her breath ghost against my skin. She was caught in the moment, fragile yet unyielding, her body speaking a language she did not yet understand.

I lifted my hand, brushing my knuckles along her flushed cheek, a featherlight touch meant to ground her, to remind her that she was safe-here, with me. Her skin burned under my fingertips, the heat seeping into my veins, igniting something deeper, something reverent.

She had always been like this-silent in her resistance, but helpless against the pull. Noor thought she could hide it, but I had long since learned to see through them.

I tipped her chin upward, my thumb tracing the delicate curve of her jaw. The pulse at her throat thrummed wildly beneath my touch, a quiet confession she did not need to speak aloud. She was waiting-always waiting-for me to decide the distance between us, to dictate the pace, to take what she could not yet offer on her own.

She needn't wait. Not for me. Not for this.

My lips brushed against her forehead first, a lingering press of warmth and something deeper-something I could never quite name. Then lower, the tip of my nose skimming her cheek, breathing her in, letting the scent of jasmine and something softer settle in my lungs.

She shivered, her fingers twitching where they rested against my chest.

A slow, reverent path-down to her jaw, her throat, where the beat of her heart whispered secrets against my lips. My hands, firm but measured, spanned the curve of her waist, mapping the softness, the warmth, the quiet surrender of her frame beneath my touch.

Noor tensed for a breath, but then, like the tide giving in to the pull of the moon, she yielded.

Her body swayed, uncertain but willing, her weight settling into mine, trusting. It was a quiet kind of surrender-not one of submission, but of acceptance. And that... that was what I had been waiting for.

I exhaled against her skin, my fingers trailing upward, tracing reverence into the fabric of her dress. A pause. A moment stretched thin with anticipation. My palm cupped the curve of her shoulder, then drifted lower, settling at the small of her back, pulling her closer.

No hesitation now.

I pressed my lips to the delicate hollow of her throat, feeling the sharp inhale that followed the way her pulse leaped against me. She clung to the fabric of my shirt, breathless, trembling, the warmth of her skin burning into mine.

She was fire and silk, resistant and surrender, all in one.

And I worshipped her as such.

Her breath was still warm against my lips, her body still melting into mine. She was here-soft, willing, responding in the way I had learned to crave. But then... just for a second, something changed.

It was brief. A flicker in her gaze, a breath that wasn't as steady, a shift that wasn't about desire. A fraction of hesitation, so small that anyone else would have missed it. But I didn't.

Noor's fingers were still gripping my shirt, but her hold loosened-just a little. Her lashes fluttered, her eyes moving-just for a moment. Not away from me, but around. Not out of shyness, not in surrender. She was looking.

The realization settled in my chest like a slow tide.

The kitchen.

I had her pressed against the countertop, my body caging her in, the heat of the moment wrapping around us like something untamed. But we weren't in our room. We weren't where she could let go completely. That was it. That was what made her hesitate, even for a fraction of a second.

She wouldn't say it. Noor never voiced these things, never asked for space or distance-she never had to. Because I knew.

I always knew.

A slow exhale left me, steadying, grounding. My fingers, which had been gripping her waist, slid up-slow, reverent, my touch never losing its claim but shifting into something softer. My thumb brushed the edge of her jaw, coaxing her to look at me again.

And when she did-when those hesitant eyes finally settled back on mine-I leaned in, pressing a single, lingering kiss against her lips. Slow, deep, deliberate. Not to take, not to demand, but to tell her that I had understood.

One more. Just because I couldn't help myself. A soft brush of my lips against hers, savoring the warmth. And then, I pulled back.

Not fully. Not far.

Just enough to see her clearly-to watch the tension that barely existed dissolve like it had never been there.

I cupped her cheek, tilting her face up to me, my fingers tracing her skin like she was something fragile and precious. And she was. She always would be.

"It was such a long day," I murmured, my voice dipping into something softer, something only meant for her. "Thak gayi hongi aap."
(You must be tired)

Her lashes fluttered again, but this time, there was no hesitation.

Her lips parted, a quiet exhale slipping out, but she didn't pull away. She didn't search the room. She was here again-fully, entirely. With me.

A small satisfaction curled in my chest, warm and undeniable.

Before she could process, I shifted. One smooth motion-effortless, like she weighed nothing at all-I lifted her into my arms.

A soft gasp, barely audible, escaped her lips. Her fingers clutched my shirt, not out of hesitation, but out of surprise. I felt the way her breath stilled against my neck, the way her body tensed for a second before sinking into my hold.

A slow smirk tugged at my lips.

Noor, so easily flustered. So entirely mine.

I adjusted my grip, holding her closer, letting her warmth settle against me as if I had every right to it. And I did.

She stared at me now, wide-eyed, cheeks burning, and for a brief moment, I only watched her-watching me.

Then, without a word, I turned, carrying her toward our room.
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I stepped into the room, my hold on her still firm, reluctant to let go even when we had already arrived. The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in a space that was only ours.

The air between us was thick-warm with something unspoken, something that had been growing since the moment we returned from the haveli. She had stood by my side, unwavering, her presence a silent strength that had settled deep into my chest. And now, as I finally placed her down, my hands unwillingly left her.

Noor's feet touched the floor, but before she could step away, I guided her gently-just enough for her back to meet the edge of the bed. My fingers lingered at her waist for a breath longer than necessary, absorbing the way her body still held traces of our closeness.

She looked up at me, eyes still wide, cheeks painted in the softest shade of red. It was a sight I had memorized, but one I would never tire of.

"Pehle aap change kar lijiye."
(You change first.)

A pause. Just a second of silence, where she blinked up at me as if trying to process the simple request. Then, she nodded, her gaze flickering downward.

But I noticed.

The red in her cheeks deepened, darkened like the first blush of dawn, and my chest tightened at the sight. She wasn't flustered out of shyness alone. It was because she knew I was watching her. Because she felt the weight of my gaze, the weight of my devotion.

She turned away, not in haste, not in nervousness-just in quiet acknowledgment. And I let her go.

I let her go, but I did not stop looking.

My eyes followed her every step, the way her hair cascaded down her back, the way her hands clutched the fabric of her pallu for no reason other than to steady herself. Noor had always carried herself with grace, with a quiet dignity that spoke louder than words. But tonight...

Tonight, she carried something else, too.

A warmth-something delicate, something unguarded.

And as she moved away, as she walked toward the wardrobe, I stood where I was, unmoving. Watching. Feeling.

My love for her had always been there-deep, unwavering. But tonight, with every breath she took, every quiet flicker of emotion she unknowingly revealed, it grew.

More.

And more.
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NOOR'S POV-

"Where did I keep it..." I muttered under my breath, rummaging through the pile of clothes in front of me. My hands moved through the fabric, searching for my night kurti, the one I always wear to sleep. But it was nowhere to be found. A long sigh escaped my lips.

Did I leave it at the haveli?

The thought made me pause. No, that couldn't be. I clearly remember packing it before we left. Still, I glanced at the bags again, hoping I had somehow missed it. One, two, three... wait. The red bag.

Hey bhagwan!!

I placed a hand over my forehead, realization sinking in. I had forgotten the small red bag-the one that held all my night kurtis. A groan left my lips as I mentally scolded myself for my carelessness. Now what? What was I supposed to wear to bed? A saree? Bilkul nahi.

It wasn't as if those were the only kurtis I owned. I had others... but none that fit me anymore. My gaze drifted toward my reflection in the mirror, and I huffed, poking at my slightly fuller cheeks. I had gained weight. And it was all because of Sidharth ji.

This is all his fault.

I pouted, crossing my arms in frustration. Ever since we got married, I had been eating more than usual. How could I not? He never let me skip a meal, always making sure I ate properly. Even when I wasn't hungry, he'd place food in front of me with that serious expression of his, not taking no for an answer.

And now, because of all that extra care, my old clothes didn't fit me anymore.

I sighed again, this time softer, less annoyed. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing... but still, what was I going to wear now?

I looked at myself in the mirror, my gaze fixed on my reflection. My lips were slightly pursed, my hands resting on my hips as I examined myself. The weight gain was noticeable-not too much, but enough for my clothes to betray me.

I sighed. This was not fair.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, I heard his voice from behind.

"Kya hua? Change kyu nahi kar rhi aap?"

(What happened? Why aren't you changing?)

I turned around, narrowing my eyes at him. Sidharth ji stood near the bed, watching me with his usual composed expression, but I was not in the mood for his calmness right now.

"Mere kurti wale bag waha chut gye aur ye kurti mujhe fit ni aayge. Sab aapki wajah se ho rha."

(My bag with all my night kurtis got left behind, and now none of the ones here fit me. It's all because of you.)

His brows raised slightly, as if he hadn't expected that accusation, but then... he frowned. That slight tilt of his head, the amused flicker in his eyes-it was subtle, but I caught it. And before I could react, he took a step toward me.

I didn't move. Instead, I folded my arms tightly over my chest, my stance firm.

"Mere wajah se?"

(Because of me?)

His voice held the slightest teasing lilt as if daring me to elaborate. And then it happened-the small, almost imperceptible curve of his lips. A smile.

I blinked. Just once. Just enough to register how unfair that was.

"Haan, aapki wajah se! Aapko mere khane se dikkat thi aur ab khila khila ke mota kar diya!"

(Yes, because of you! First, you had a problem with me skipping meals, and now, after feeding me so much, you've made me fat!)

The moment the words left my mouth, Sidharth ji let out a laugh-deep and rich. He threw his head back, hands resting on his waist, his entire body shaking with amusement.

I glared at him. Narrowed my eyes even more, trying to hold onto my anger, but-

His laughter.

It filled the room, warm and unrestrained, echoing through the silence I had created with my frustration. And in that moment, I dislike that he had this effect on me at this moment.Because no matter how annoyed I was, no matter how much I wanted to pout and blame him-his laughter was a sight.

A sight I had never been able to resist.

And just like that, my irritation melted, dissolving like sugar in chai. I was still frowning, but my heart? My heart had already forgiven him.

Sidharth ji's laughter finally slowed, but the amusement still lingered in his eyes. Before I could react, his hands found their way to my waist, firm and steady, pulling me closer in one smooth motion.

A small gasp left my lips at the sudden proximity, my folded arms loosening in surprise. My hands, which had been stubbornly crossed over my chest, now rested against his.

I looked up, only to find him already looking down at me. His laughter had stopped, but the smile remained, bright and teasing, his teeth showing just enough to make him look...

Unfairly charming.

"Hmm, galti hui hai, uske liye..."
(Hmm, a mistake has been made, and for that...)

His voice was soft now, quieter, but still carrying that playful edge. And before I could ask what he meant, he leaned in.

A gentle press of lips against the tip of my nose. Warm, feather-light.

"I'm sorry."

The words came out in a tone so unreasonably sweet that I had no choice but to betray myself. The corners of my lips twitched-just a little, just enough to be noticed.

He pulled back, watching me as if waiting for a reaction, but he didn't push. Instead, after a moment, he let go, stepping away.

I stood there, still feeling the ghost of his touch on my waist as I watched him walk toward the closet. My brows furrowed slightly.

"Kya kar rahe hai?"
(What are you doing?)

He didn't turn around. He simply continued looking through the shelves, his movements slow, deliberate.

"Galti maine ki hai toh solution bhi mai hi dunga."
(If I made the mistake, then I'll also find the solution.)

I blinked at his words, slightly taken aback by his confidence. What was he up to now?

And then, before I could ask again, he walked out of the closet-holding one of his shirts in his hand. A cream-colored one.

My eyes flickered from the shirt to him.

"Ye pehen lijiye."

(Wear this.)

His voice was steady as he held out the shirt, his gaze briefly sweeping up and down my figure. But then, something shifted. His teasing faded, replaced by something softer-understanding.

"Agar aap comfortable hai to..."

(Only if you're comfortable...)

I looked at the shirt, then at him. I had no problem wearing a shirt to sleep. Back in my house, before marriage, I always slept in a shirt and pajama. It wasn't new to me.

But... this was his shirt.

A sudden, small nervousness bubbled in my chest.

"Aapki shirt?"
(Your shirt?)

"Hmm..." He hummed, nodding. Then, as if sensing my hesitation, he added, "Lekin agar aap comfortable nahi hai to thik hai-"

(But if you're not comfortable, then it's okay-)

Before he could finish, I quickly shook my head. Taking a step forward, I reached out and took the shirt from his hands.

"Aisi baat nahi hai. Wo... hum shaadi se pehle raat ko shirt aur pajame me hi sote the. Wo to shaadi ke baad-"

(It's not like that. Before marriage, I used to sleep in a shirt and pajama. But after marriage-)

I was looking down at the fabric in my hands when I felt it again. That presence.

His warmth, his nearness.

And then, before I could react, his hands-nowhere near me just a moment ago-slid onto my bare waist. His touch was slow, deliberate. The sudden contact made my head snapped up.

Sidharth ji was already looking at me. His brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. But when he spoke, his voice held something new-not complaining, not questioning ... but something in between.

"Aapne kabhi bataya nahi."
(You never told me.)

For a moment, I just blinked at him. Then, unable to stop myself, I chuckled. Raising my hand, I flicked his nose lightly with my finger.

"Ye jaan kar kya karte aap? Ye bhi koi batane wali baat hai?"

(What would you have done knowing this? Is this even something worth telling?)

I thought he would smile. Maybe roll his eyes. Maybe say something sarcastic.

But instead, his frown only deepened.

And then, tightening his hold, he pulled me closer-enough that I had to tilt my head up just to meet his eyes properly.

"Aapse juri har baat mere jaane wali hi hoti hai. Mujhe aapse juri har baat important lagti hai. Cherry"

(Every little thing about you is something I should know. Everything related to you is important to me, cherry.)

I looked at him. His face was serious, but the situation... the way he held me, the slight crease in his forehead, the way he truly meant what he said-

It was cute.

A soft smile played on my lips. I didn't say anything, just kept looking at him, at the way he was holding onto me as if this tiny piece of information mattered more than anything else in the world.

"Mai serious hi, Cherry."

(I'm serious, Cherry.)

His voice was steady, but his eyes-those deep, dark eyes that always seemed to hold a thousand unsaid words-were locked onto mine with something softer. Something that made my stomach flutter before I even realized why.

I couldn't help it.

A breath of laughter slipped past my lips before it turned into a full-bodied laugh. It was one of those unguarded, sudden bursts-the kind that made my head tilt back, my shoulders shake, and my chest rise with the sheer force of it.

I felt his grip on my waist tighten, his fingers pressing into my sides like he was grounding himself, like my laughter did something to him.

He didn't say a word. He just watched me, letting me laugh freely, his hold firm but warm.

When the laughter finally faded into a lingering smile, I let my gaze drift back to him. And that's when I saw it-

His eyes.

There was something there. Something deep. Something warm. It wasn't just amusement; it was admiration.

Like he loved seeing me like this. Like I was something precious to him.

The weight of it made my heart skip.

Still smiling, I said softly, "Sab sach hi kehte hai, bawale hai aap."

(Everyone's right. You're crazy.)

His lips twitched.

And then, just like that, his expression shifted. The warmth didn't disappear, but a teasing glint crept into his eyes-mischief, amusement, something that sent a shiver of anticipation down my spine.

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something lower, smoother.

"To maine kab mana kiya? Mai to bolta hu ki mai hi, Noor ji ka bawala pati."

(When did I ever deny it? I always say that I'm Noor ji's crazy husband.)

Before I could react, before I could even fully process his words, he did something that completely disarmed me.

He bumped his nose against mine.

A soft, fleeting touch, but the warmth of it spread through me like a slow-burning ember.

My breath hitched.

And as if my body reacted before my mind could catch up, my gaze dropped immediately, my fingers twisting the shirt still clutched in my hands. My heart was racing. And I blushed.

He didn't pull away.

I could feel him watching me.

And then-

The softest press of lips against my hair.

My fingers clenched around the fabric in my hands, tightening around the sensation around the moment.

That's when I realized.

Lifting my head slightly, I looked at him.

"Pajama bhi to dijiye."
(Give me the pajama, too.)

He blinked, tilting his head. "Pajama?"

I narrowed my eyes. "Sirf shirt thodi pehnenge?"

(I can't just wear the shirt.)

There was a pause.

And then-his lips curled. Not a full smile, but something teasing, something that sent a flicker of nervousness through me.

His gaze traveled over me, calculating something.

Then, with an almost lazy amusement, he said,

"Choti si hai aap, Noor. Meri shirt hi aapko ghutne tak aaygi. Pajama ka kya karegi aap?"
(You're tiny, Noor. My shirt will reach your knees. What will you do with the pajama?)

My mouth parted slightly.

Hey bhagwan

Heat rushed to my face.

He called me short!

Without thinking, I placed both hands on his chest and shoved him, hard enough to make him stumble back two steps. His grip on my waist loosened, but even as he moved away, his laughter rang through the air.

"Itne bhi chote nahi hai hum!"

(I'm not that small!)

I crossed my arms over my chest, my scowl deepening.

He was still laughing. His whole body shaking slightly, his dimples deep, his eyes twinkling with pure amusement.

And then, stepping closer again, still laughing, he said-"Haan, balki kaafi chotu hai."

(Actually, you're very tiny.)

I let out an indignant huff before smacking his chest lightly.

"Bachon jaisi harkate ho gayi hai aapki, bigar gaye hai aap!"

(You've started acting like a child. You're spoiled now!)

Saying this, I turned sharply, ready to head toward the bathroom before he could say anything else.

But I barely took a step.

A sudden tug on my wrist stopped me.

And before I could even breathe, I was pulled back-my back colliding with his chest, a sharp gasp escaping me.

His arms wrapped around me instantly. One hand pressing firmly over my stomach, the other slipping just above it, resting where he could feel the erratic beat of my heart.

A warm shiver spread through me.

I didn't move.

Couldn't move.

His voice came next, deep and low, brushing right against my ear-

"Ab biwi itna pyar karti hai mujhse, banda bigre bina kaise reh sakta hai, hmm?"

(When a wife loves her husband this much, how can the man not get spoiled, hmm?)

A slow, deliberate kiss pressed against the shell of my ear.

A shudder ran down my spine.

My breath was uneven. My heart was thumping, and I was sure he could feel it against his palm.

I needed to get out of here before I lost all my senses.

So, I did the only thing I could.

I pushed against him lightly with my back, breaking free from his hold, and before he could catch me again-I ran inside the bathroom.

Behind me, I heard his laughter, rich and deep, wrapping around me like something I didn't know how to escape.
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The bathroom was warm, the air still carrying the faint scent of my shampoo. Standing in front of the mirror, I ran the wooden comb through my damp hair, watching my reflection. The oversized white shirt-Sidharth ji's shirt-hung loosely over my frame, barely reaching my mid-thighs. The fabric was soft, comfortable, but the way it draped over me felt... unfamiliar.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the comb. It wasn't like I was wearing anything improper, just a shirt, and yet, my skin prickled with nervousness.

In the village, we wore long kurtis, dupattas, clothes that covered us fully. The village had its ways. Girls were never allowed to wear anything that showed too much, not even in childhood. As soon as we grew up, our wardrobe was decided for us-long kurtis, salwar suits, always covering, always proper.

And it wasn't something bad, or something we hate. Instead it's the idea. It's the way the concept was forced on us. It's wasn't for our choice but as a decision.

But this was different. This wasn't about modesty. The faint scent of him clung to the fabric, warm and musky, and with every breath, it made my chest tighten in a way I was sure I liked.

I signed, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My body felt sensitive, achy. My period was nearing, and the soreness in my chest made it unbearable to wear a bra. The thought made me self-conscious, and I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. It's just Sidharth ji. And it's not like he hasn't seen my legs before.

I glanced at my bare legs in the mirror, a strange heat rising in my cheeks. It felt odd, foreign, almost like I was doing something I shouldn't. But then, my gaze lifted to my reflection again, and a thought whispered in my mind.

It's just Siddharth ji.

My lips curled into a small smile. The thought was oddly reassuring. It was just him.

A knock on the door startled me.

"Noor, jaldi bahar aayiye na."
(Noor, come out quickly).

I couldn't help but smile, shaking my head at his impatience. There was an innocence in his voice that made my heart ache in a way I couldn't explain. A small part of my mind wandered to his childhood, the little pieces of his past that he had shared with me. The pain he carried, the wounds time had not healed. I wished, just for a moment, that I could take them all away. But I knew better. Some things could never be erased.

I can't take away his past, but I can help him make new memories.

With that thought firm in my heart, I stepped out of the bathroom.

The room was empty.

I blinked, then heard a faint voice coming from the balcony. He was on a call.

I exhaled, relieved. Good. That meant I could sneak into bed without him noticing... this.

Taking the opportunity, I hurried toward the bed, my hands instinctively pulling down the hem of the shirt, as if it would somehow grow longer. But just as I reached the edge of the bed, my eyes caught something.

My cherry pillow.

It sat on the sofa exactly where I had left it that day before leaving.

For a second, I didn't move.

A strange wave of emotions hit me all at once-memories of my father, my childhood, my mother's gentle hands tucking me in. This pillow had been with me for years, a silly, childish thing, but... it was a piece of home.

My father. My mother. My childhood.

It was soft, warm, just like the past it reminded me of.

I need to meet Baba.

It had been too long.

I took a slow step toward it, fingers reaching out, when-

"Noor?"

I turned sharply, my breath catching in my throat.

Sidharth ji stood near the balcony door, his sharp gaze locked onto me.

Something unreadable flickered in his expression. His brows furrowed slightly.

"Kya hua?"
(What happened?)

I blinked, startled by his question.

"Ji?"

His gaze flickered toward the pillow in my hands.

"Apne isko phir kyu pakra hua hai?"
(Why are you holding it again?)

I blinked, not understanding. "heh??"

Something shifted in his expression. The seriousness melted away, replaced by something softer, playful. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, suddenly.

"Matlab raat ko to aap isko phir phek dengi, to isko abhi kyu pakra hua hai?"
(I mean, you're going to throw it away again at night, so why are you holding it now?)

My mouth fell open in disbelief.
"Nahi bas, aise hi."
(No, just like that.)

Before I could say anything more, he moved.

I gasped as he bent down and lifted me effortlessly into his arms. My hands flew around his neck in reflex, my heart skipping a beat.

"To rakh dijiye isko. Mujhe bahut neend aa rahi hai."
(Then put it down. I'm feeling very sleepy.)

His tone, his expression-so casual - so adorably demanding-it made me laugh. Smiling at him, I pressed a soft kiss against the pillow before setting it down on the sofa again.

Gently, he placed me down, and just as I was about to pull the blanket over myself, I felt it-his gaze.

Lingering.

Slow.

My breath hitched.

I knew what he was seeing. The way his shirt hung off my shoulders, exposing the delicate curve of my collarbone. The way the hem barely covered my thighs. The way my bare legs stretched out beneath him as he knelt between them.

A different kind of heat curled in my stomach.

I swallowed, trying to shift, but before I could, his hand caught my wrist.

I looked up, my heart hammering against my ribs.

He put his his knees on the bed now, shifting forward between my legs. My knees were raised, folded halfway, and he-he parted them with a gentle yet deliberate touch, settling himself in between.

A shiver ran down my spine.

His fingers traced over my bare skin, slow, unhurried, like he was memorizing every inch. My breath stuttered. My lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

I didn't stop him.

I couldn't.

I was shy-yes. Nervous-yes. But there was no hesitation, no resistance. It was just an overwhelming warmth that curled deep within me, making me hyper-aware of every small movement, every brush of his fingers.

His touch trailed upward, over my thigh, stopping just at the hem of the shirt. His gaze flickered up to meet mine, dark, intense, unreadable.

My breath caught. I couldn't hold his stare.

He leaned in, his face now inches from mine, our breaths mingling. His fingers lifted, brushing my hair aside, tucking a stray strand behind my ear. My eyes fluttered shut for a brief second, my entire body humming with awareness.

And then, he kissed me.

Soft.

Barely there.

A whisper of a touch, yet it sent a sharp jolt through me.

I opened my eyes, just slightly, catching the way he looked at me-like I was the only thing he saw, the only thing he needed.

"N-Nind aa rahi thi na aapko?"
(Y-You were feeling sleepy, right?)

His lips quirked, something deep and knowing flashing in his gaze. He lifted his hands, cupping my face entirely. His palms were big, warm, covering most of my cheeks.

And then, he kissed me again.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Each one longer than the last, each one pulling me deeper, making my heart race in a way I had never felt before. His blue eyes darkened, locked solely on me, trapping me in their intensity. I couldn't look away. I couldn't breathe.

His voice was lower this time, rougher.

"Aapke aise dekhne se udd gayi."
(After seeing you like this, my sleep is gone.)

Before I could react, he leaned down again.

This time, his lips didn't find mine.

They pressed against my heart.

My fingers curled into his shirt, my breath uneven as he trailed soft kisses lower-against my jaw, my neck, the skin just above my racing heart.

I didn't stop him.

Didn't want to.

Because in that moment, in the warmth of his touch, in the way he held me, all I could think was-

I want to stay like this.

A soft gasp escapes my lips. My fingers clutch at his wrist instinctively, but he simply tilts his head, watching me, waiting. My face burns, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I should protest. I should stop him. But my hands, traitorous and trembling, remain frozen against his skin.

One button.

Then another.

The air between us thickens as the fabric loosens, slipping just enough to expose my skin to the cool night air. It prickles against me, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his fingers when they ghost over my ribs. I shiver. He notices.

His lips brush my neck, and I forget how to breathe.

Soft at first. Testing. A tease of warmth and pressure, the barest hint of possession. But then he moves lower, lips skimming along my collarbone, the sensation sending a deep, aching tremor down my spine. My hands, once gripping his wrist, curl into the sheets instead.

And then I feel it-the heat of his mouth against the swell of my breast.

A sound rises in my throat, strangled, involuntary. The coolness of his breath, the warmth of his lips-contradictions that unravel me, make me curl my toes against the mattress, and make my fingers dig into the sheets.

A shudder wracks through me.

I can't think. I can't breathe.

A strangled whimper escapes before I can swallow it back, and his response is immediate-a low hum against my skin, the vibrations sending an unbearable wave of heat curling through my stomach His fingers tighten on my waist, grounding me even

His lips move lower, dragging heat and something unbearable in their wake. Slow. Unhurried. As if savoring the way my body reacts, the way my breath stutters and my fingers clench the sheets, helpless against him.

I don't realize when his fingers find the third button-when the cool air meets my skin fully. But I do realize the moment his lips press there, the contrast sharp, cold lips meeting the warmth of my breast. A shiver runs through me, not from the cold but from the weight of his mouth-soft at first, then firm, pressing kisses that leave behind a trace of wet heat.

I press my lips together, eyes squeezing shut.

And then-

His lips part.

The warmth of his mouth replaces the coolness of the air, closing over my nipple. A gasp tears through my throat, sharp, desperate. The shift from cold to heat, from barely-there touches to something deeper, leaves me unraveling.

His tongue flicks against sensitive skin.

I jolt, thighs clenching instinctively, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't even falter. His mouth lingers, taking its time, teasing and tormenting with every slow, deliberate motion. A soft, wet pull follows, and my fingers fist into his hair, half in protest, half in surrender.

His lips trail lower before returning, shifting from the softness of my breast to the sharpness of my collarbone, as if mapping the contrast, memorizing the difference.

And then, before I can gather a single thought-he moves up.

His lips skim my throat, trailing fire before capturing mine. But it's not soft. Not gentle. It's heated, firm, demanding in the way it claims my breath, in the way it pulls me deeper into the haze he's weaving around me.

And just when I think I've caught up, when I think I can breathe-

He's gone.

Only to return, mouth against my chest once more, lips pressing against the valley between my breasts, tongue tracing heat against my skin. The air shifts between us, thick, electric, as his hands slide lower, anchoring me in place even as he takes apart every last piece of my resolve.

I can't think.

I don't want to.

All I know is the way he feels against me-hot, heavy, unrelenting.

His lips didn't leave my skin, moving with a slow, intoxicating rhythm. The heat of his mouth contrasted with the coolness of the night air, making my body shiver beneath him. I felt every shift, every breath he took against me, the way his lips molded over my skin, leaving traces of warmth that lingered long after he moved.

His mouth found the peak of my breast again, and I gasped-not out of pain, but relief. The dull ache I had been carrying, the sensitivity that made my body tender, seemed to ease under his touch. His lips closed around me, a slow, deliberate pull, as if he was drawing out every bit of tension inside me. I exhaled shakily, my fingers slipping into his hair before I could stop myself.

A sharp nip, just enough to make me gasp again, my body arching slightly at the sudden contrast between comfort and something sharper. And then-soothing, a flick of his tongue, as if to chase away the sting he had left behind. My fingers tightened against his scalp, helpless against the way he unraveled me so effortlessly.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His gaze was heavy, something unreadable simmering in the depths of his dark eyes. His hair had fallen over his forehead, his lips slightly parted, still carrying the warmth of my skin. And then, in that deep, steady voice that always held control, he murmured,

"So jayiye, Noor. Thak gayi hain aap."
(Sleep, Noor. You're tired.)

His words didn't match the way he was looking at me. But before I could even think of a response, he shifted, pulling me closer. A gentle touch, guiding me to rest against him.

His face lowered, pressing against my chest, his breath warm against my skin. My body still trembled from the lingering sensations, but his presence-his weight - his warmth-settled over me like something protective. My heart pounded against his cheek, and for a moment, I didn't know if I wanted to move at all.

A slow, lingering kiss was pressed to my chest, soft and reverent, and then-stillness. His breathing slowed, his body relaxed, his arms loose around me but still holding me close. My own eyes fluttered shut, drowning in the warmth, the quiet, the weight of him.

And then, silence.

.
.
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.
.

The house was silent. Not the kind of silence that felt empty, but the kind that held something unspoken, something thick in the air. It wrapped around them like a cocoon, isolating them in their own world, where only their heartbeats and slow breaths existed.

Noor lay still, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind floating on the edge of sleep. Sidharth was pressed against her, his face resting over her chest, his warmth seeping into her skin. But even as his body was still, his mind wasn't. It had been running ever since the morning-the way Noor had stood up for him, the way she had protected him, the way she had held his hand when no one else ever had.

A breath. A hesitation. And then, in a voice so slow and quiet it barely cut through the silence, he called her name.

"Noor."

Her eyes remained closed, her body still on the verge of sleep, but her lips parted just enough to let out a soft, drowsy hum.

"Aaj tak har kisi ne mujhe sant hi karwaya hai, chup karwaya hai, par kisi ne sath nahi diya."
(Till today, everyone has only silenced me, made me quiet, but no one ever stood by me.)

His voice was deep, a little rough, but there was something in it-something vulnerable, something raw. Noor's fingers, already buried in his hair, moved gently, stroking him in silent understanding. Sidharth tilted his head up, just enough to look at her, and Noor's eyes opened. Sleepy, soft, but holding the same quiet intensity that was between them.

His gaze flickered over her face, searching, as if memorizing her all over again.

"Koi mere liye khara nahi hua."
(No one ever stood for me.)

His voice was lower this time, thick with something heavier. He shifted, just slightly, until his face was in front of hers. Their breaths mixed in the small space between them, the air thick with something unspoken, something intense. Noor could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her, so fast, so strong, as if it had never beaten this way before.

Slowly, Sidharth lifted his hand, fingertips brushing against her cheek. Noor didn't look away. She couldn't. His eyes-dark, filled with something so overwhelming-held her there, trapped, hypnotized.

His heartbeat wasn't the only thing racing anymore.

"Ek 6 saal ke Siddharth ko bas itna chahiye tha ki koi uske liye ho. Uske sath ho. Haath pakad kar ladh le samne wale se, pyaar se bol de ki, 'Haan, main hoon.' Par koi nahi tha mera apna... aur woh khalipan ek 34 saal ke Siddharth ke dil mein bhi reh gayi thi."

(A six-year-old Siddharth only wanted one thing-that someone would be there for him. That someone would stand with him, hold his hand, fight for him, and gently say, 'Yes, I'm here.' But I had no one of my own... and that emptiness remained in the heart of a thirty-four-year-old Siddharth too.)

His voice broke, just a little, like something was stuck in his throat, like the weight of his own words was too much to carry. But his eyes-his blue eyes weren't troubled. Not like this morning, when he had spoken of his past like a wound that refused to heal. Today, his eyes were calm. Like something was grounding him.

Like someone had finally become his home.

Noor didn't speak. She didn't need to. The way her fingers moved through his hair, slow and gentle, the way she looked at him with something so deep and understanding-it was enough.

Sidharth took a slow, shaky breath. Then, with his other hand, he clutched Noor's fingers tightly, holding them against his chest like they were the only thing keeping his heart together.

"Par aaj, jab aap mere liye khadi hui, boli mere liye, mere andar ke mar chuke bache ko pehli baar koi apna laga."
(But today, when you stood for me, spoke for me, the child inside me-who had been dead for so long-felt like he finally belonged to someone.)

His hold tightened, as if making sure she wouldn't slip away, as if she was something precious, something he never wanted to let go of. His lips parted again, the weight of his next words heavier than the ones before.

"Pehli baar koi, maangi hui muraad poori hui ho. Pehli baar koi bina maange apna sa laga... dil mein samaya, mere Noor."
(For the first time, a wish I had begged for came true. For the first time, someone felt like mine... without even asking for them, they filled my heart, my Noor.)

His voice was thick with emotion, deep, warm, filled with something so consuming, so overpowering, it could drown them both. His eyes burned into hers, not with desperation, not with need, but with something far more terrifying.

Devotion.

The kind that didn't fade. The kind that only grew.

Noor couldn't breathe. Not because she didn't want to, but because, in this moment, she wanted him to speak.

And yet, she didn't look away.

She couldn't.

Noor's lips curved into a small, tender smile as Sidharth's words reached her ears. But her heart... her heart ached.

There was something in the way he spoke-like he wasn't just saying words, but offering her something, something raw, something untouched. His love, his soul, his vulnerability.

And then, his voice came again, deep, thick with emotions that even he couldn't hold back.

"Pehle bhi kaha tha aur aaj bhi keh raha hu, aapka pyar mujh pr karz hai, aisa karz jo mujhe khud me samaye ja raha hai... aur mujhe iss karz se riyah bhi nahi hona."
("I said it before, and I am saying it again-your love is a debt upon me, a debt that is consuming me, pulling me deeper... and I don't wish to be freed from it.")

Noor's sleep was now long gone. Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers clenched into the fabric of his kurta.

She could see it-his pain, his love, his surrender.

His throat tightened, his chest heaved, and his eyes... they were glassy, spilling unspoken emotions. It wasn't just love he was giving her-it was his heart, bare and open, waiting for her to either accept it or leave it bleeding.

And Noor... Noor accepted it with open arms, with the warmth of flowers in her palms.

Her fingers, which had been combing through his hair, slowly moved down. But she didn't raise them for him, didn't hesitate. Instead, she placed them on his cheek, her thumb tracing softly, grounding him. And then, she leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss there, wiping away the tears that hadn't even fallen.

Because she knew.

She knew he wanted to cry. To let go again.

Her voice was soft, yet steady, a promise etched in every word.

"Aur humne bhi pehle kaha hai, mera pyar karz nahi hai... haq hai aapka. Kamaya hai aapne."
("And I have also said before-my love is not a debt, it is your right. You have earned it.")

Saying this, she leaned in again, her lips touching his forehead-warm, lingering, sealing her words into his skin. Then, pulling back just slightly, she let their foreheads rest together once more.

"Aarth, aap mere pati tab nahi bane jab humari shaadi hui, balki tab bane jab aapne mujhe apni patni ki tarah dekha... jab aapne mujhe meri patni hone ka darja, samman diya."
("Aarth, you did not become my husband the day we got married. You became my husband the day you saw me as your wife... the day you gave me the place, the respect of being your wife.")

Her fingers traced over his cheek again, slowly, gently wiping away the silent grief he wasn't voicing.

And Sidharth... he was looking at her like a child seeing something wonderful, something he never thought he would have, something he was scared of losing.

Noor's voice came again, carrying the weight of a promise.

"Aur jis din dil se aapne mujhe apni patni maan liya tha... aur humne aapko apna pati maan liya tha... us din aapke saare dukh, dard, pareshaaniyan hamari ho gayi thi. Aap mere ho gaye the."
("And the day you accepted me as your wife from your heart... and I accepted you as my husband... that day, all your pain, all your worries became mine. You became mine.")

She kissed his forehead again, softly, as if sealing those words into his very being.

The moment was quiet, but in that quietness, something deeper spoke.

A whisper broke the silence, his voice barely there-fragile, vulnerable.

"Aur mai aapka hi ban ke rehna chahta hu."
("And I only want to remain yours.")

A small, knowing smile touched Noor's lips. But her eyes-her eyes held something fierce, something unshakable.

"Aap mere hi rahenge, Aarth. Mai apne Aarth ke liye dhal ban ke khadi rahungi. Aap tak pahunchne wali har wo cheez jo mere Aarth ko dukh degi, jo dard degi... waha ye Noor khadi milegi. Chahe koi bhi ho. Aapki Noor, aapke saath hai."
("You will always be mine, Aarth. I will stand as a shield for my Aarth. Whatever tries to reach you, whatever tries to hurt my Aarth... it will have to face me first. No matter who it is. Your Noor is with you.")

A silence fell again. A silence where words were no longer needed.

And then, unnoticed, unseen, a single tear slipped from Sidharth's eye.

Noor didn't say anything. She didn't react. Her small smile remained as she quietly wiped it away, her touch tender, understanding.

Sidharth didn't stop her. He didn't move, didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned in, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his face in her chest.

Noor held him close, her fingers moving over his back in slow, soothing circles.

She didn't speak.

She didn't need to.

Because in that quiet, in that warmth, in that embrace... their souls had already spoken.

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.
.

The temple smelled of fresh flowers and sandalwood, the scent wrapping around me like a warm embrace. The soft ringing of bells mixed with the murmured prayers of devotees, creating a peaceful hum in the air. The marble floor beneath my feet was cool, and the golden glow of diyas flickered gently, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

I had always loved temples. There was a kind of quiet strength here, a kind of peace that settled deep in the heart. Today, standing in front of the deity, I closed my eyes, joining my hands together. The warmth of the diya in front of me brushed against my fingers as I took the aarti thali in my hands, moving it in slow, graceful circles.

"Bhagwan, jitna bhi diya hai, uske liye shukriya. Par ek cheez aur maangte hai... Sidharth ji ke liye santi. Unke dil se har dukh mita dijea, jo bhi takleef unhone sahi hai, usse door kar dijea. Bas itna hi chahiye."
(God, thank you for everything you have given me. But there is one more thing I ask... happiness for Siddharth ji. Wipe away every pain from his heart, take away all the suffering he has endured. That's all I want.)

My fingers trembled slightly as I lifted them in prayer, the diya's flame glowing softly in my vision. I could almost see him-Sidharth ji, standing outside the crowd, waiting patiently for me to complete while he was already done, his hands clasped behind him, his posture strong, unwavering.

The priest completed the rituals, and I turned, my eyes automatically searching for my husband. And there he was, standing near a pillar, his gaze steady on me, silently waiting for my sercret prayer to complete. A small, barely-there smile touched his lips as he stepped forward.

"Ho gayi aapki private baate bhagwan ji se?"
(Are you done with your private talk with God?)

Saying he reached for my hand, his fingers closing over mine in a gentle squeeze, while I nodded at him.The warmth of his palm seeped into my skin, anchoring me, grounding me. His touch always felt like that-like a silent promise, a reassurance that he was there.

"Mai gaadi le ke aata hoon."
(I'll get the car.)

His voice was low, meant only for me. I nodded, my lips curling into a soft smile, and reluctantly let his hand go.

As he walked away, I stood still for a moment, breathing in the quiet peace of the temple. The soft rustling of sarees, the distant chanting, the fragrance of incense-all of it felt like a blanket of calm around me.

Absentmindedly, I lifted a hand to push back my hair-a habit, something I always did when lost in thought. My fingers brushed against my neck... and then stilled.

Empty.

My breath caught. My heart, steady a moment ago, skipped a beat before quickening its pace.

My mangalsutra.

Panic surged in slow waves, creeping into my bones. My fingers searched frantically, pressing against the skin of my collarbone, my neck-nothing.

I took a sharp breath and forced myself to stay calm.

It must have fallen nearby. I had to find it.

My eyes darted to the floor, scanning the marble tiles, searching between the moving feet of devotees. My heartbeat thudded loudly in my ears as I moved, my gaze sweeping over every inch of the ground.

A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

Where was it?

I was about to kneel down, my hands trembling, when something stopped me.

A shadow.

A pair of feet, clad in elegant sandals, stepped into my view.

Slowly, my gaze lifted, following the soft rustle of a saree, the glint of bangles catching the temple's golden light.

A woman stood in front of me.

She was tall, draped in a modern saree that looked effortless yet sharp, the fabric smooth against her slender frame. Her hair, shoulder-length and perfectly styled, was a mix of deep brown-a striking contrast against her fair skin.

She stood, perfectly still, almost calculated. The way she wore sunglasses even inside the temple, hiding her eyes. And yet, I could feel her gaze. I could feel her looking at me, deep and knowing, like she could read something I wasn't even saying.

Her lips parted slightly, and then-

She lifted her hand.

Uncurled her fingers.

And there, sitting in the middle of her open palm... was my mangalsutra.

"Mandir me gir gaya tha."
(It had fallen in the temple.)

A wave of relief crashed into me, so strong that I almost staggered forward.

I quickly took it from her hand, my fingers closing around it protectively.

Forgetting everything else, I carefully clasped it around my neck again, feeling a strange sense of completion settle in my chest.

Only then did I look up at her again.

She was still there. Still standing in the same place, watching me. A small smile curved her lips, but it wasn't warm, nor was it cold. It was... something in between. Something unreadable.

Even with the sunglasses shielding her eyes, I felt the weight of her stare.

I hesitated before speaking.

"Thank you... thank you so much."

The words felt incomplete, like they were missing something. And they were-because I didn't know her name.

I wet my lips, then asked carefully, "Aapka naam... kya hai?"
(What is your name?)

For a moment, she was quiet.

Then, with the same unreadable smile, she answered-

"Zeenat. Zeenat naam hai mera, par pyar se sab... zid bhi bulate hai."
(My name is Zeenat. But lovingly, people also call me... Zid.)

A strange feeling settled in my chest.

Something about the name felt... odd. Unfamiliar, yet oddly striking.

I gave a small, nervous smile, shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts. Maybe I was overthinking.

"Thank you, Zeenat ji... hum bohot der se khoj rahe the."
(Thank you, Zeenat ji... we had been searching for it for so long.)

Her smile widened just a fraction.

"Aap khoj rahi thi... aur ye mujhe mil gaya. What a coincidence."
(You were searching for it... and yet, I was the one who found it. What a coincidence.)

I didn't say anything.

I just smiled back, even as something deep in my gut twisted slightly.

Something about her words felt... heavier than they should have.

But before I could think too much, before I could analyze the odd weight of her voice-

She was already turning away.
________________________________

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