Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -
(no target till wattpad fix himself)
NEXT CHAPTER ON FRIDAY.
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क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम
क्या जान लोगे हमारी, सनम?
क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम

हमारे दिल की तुम थोड़ी सी क़दर कर लो
हम तुम पे मरते हैं, थोड़ी सी फ़िक्र कर लो
फ़िक्र कर लो

क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम
क्या जान लोगे हमारी, सनम?
क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम

तूने, ओ जाना, दीवाना किया है
दीवाना किया इस क़दर, दीवाना किया इस क़दर
चाहत में तेरी भुलाया जहाँ को
ना दिल को किसी की ख़बर, ना दिल को किसी की ख़बर
रगों में मोहब्बत का एहसास ज़रा भर लो
हम तुम पे मरते हैं, थोड़ी सी फ़िक्र कर लो
फ़िक्र कर लो
क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम
क्या जान लोगे हमारी, सनम?
क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम

तुम से हैं साँसें, तुम ही से है धड़कन
तुम ही से है दीवानगी, तुम ही से है दीवानगी
रब ने हमें दी है, जाने-तमन्ना
तुम्हारे लिए ज़िंदगी, तुम्हारे लिए ज़िंदगी
वादा संग जीने का तुम, जाने-जिगर, कर लो
हम तुम पे मरते हैं, थोड़ी सी फ़िक्र कर लो
फ़िक्र कर लो
क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम
क्या जान लोगे हमारी, सनम?
क्योंकि इतना प्यार तुमको करते हैं हम

________________________

A shrill ring sliced through the quiet of the room. My brow twitched. The sound was distant, muffled by sleep, but persistent. It pulled me from the depth of slumber.

The fucking alarm.

My fingers twitched against the sheet. The air was cold where it touched my bare arms, the faint morning breeze sneaking through the gaps in the curtains. I exhaled, slow, heavy, my chest rising and falling in a reluctant rhythm. My limbs weighed like stone, refusing to obey the call of the world outside this bed.

Still, the ringing wouldn't stop.

A deep inhale. My lashes lifted, eyes cracking open just enough to meet the soft glow of the room. And then-her.

Noor.

My Noor

Curled beside me, her breath steady, undisturbed. Strands of her dark hair sprawled across the pillow, a few tendrils brushing against her cheek. The early morning light cast a golden hue over her skin, delicate and untouched by wakefulness.

My throat tightened. The weight of sleep still pressed on my body, but my fingers moved before I could think, before I could register the need to touch her. The tips of my fingers ghosted over her cheek, brushing away a stray strand of hair. My chest ached, something deep and warm spreading through my veins, a quiet devotion that left me breathless.

My love

I shifted closer. My nose barely brushed against her temple before I pressed a lingering kiss there-slow, reverent. Then another, lower this time, against the soft curve of her cheek. The warmth of her skin seeped into my lips, and my body hummed in response.

I couldn't stop.

The distance between us ceased to exist. My lips found hers, pressing against them without hesitation, without restraint. It wasn't soft. It wasn't patient. It was a kiss that stole the air from my lungs, a claim, a silent confession. My fingers tightened around the sheet as I pressed my lips more on her, tasting the faint remnants of sleep on her lips.

When I pulled back, I dragged my tongue over my lower lip, catching the taste of her, savoring it. A slow exhale left me, chest rising, falling.

The alarm rang again.

I turned my head, exhaling through my nose before reaching out to silence the damned thing. The numbers blinked at me. 5:00 AM.

I had to leave. The duty wouldn't wait.

But nothing-not the lack of sleep, not the hours of travel ahead-felt like a loss when I had this. When I had her.

She was still in my arms, wrapped around me like she belonged there. And she did. This was exactly where she was meant to be.

I pushed myself up, slow, careful not to stir her. My glasses rested on the nightstand, and I slid them on with a practiced motion. My eyes flickered back to her-how the morning chill had painted her cheeks a soft shade of pink, how she burrowed further into the sheets as if seeking warmth, as if she already felt my absence before I was even gone.

Beautiful.

My heart clenched, a strange mix of possessiveness and admiration coiling in my chest. Every little detail-her fluttering lashes, the faint part of her lips, the way her fingers curled against the pillow-it was all too much. Too much and never enough.

I forced myself to move. My shoes were waiting at the bedside, but even as I bent down to slip them on, my gaze refused to leave her. I was studying her, memorizing her. The way her lips were slightly swollen from my kiss, the way her breath hitched just a little when the fabric of the blanket shifted against her skin.

Obsession. Devotion. Love.

Whatever it was, it was consuming.

I straightened, walking toward the chair where my coat lay draped. My fingers slipped into the pocket, pulling out the small diary I always carried. I flipped it open, tearing out a page. The pen glided over the paper in swift, fluid strokes, the words forming before I could second-guess them.

"Good morning, Cherry.
I have to leave early today, but I'll be back to pick you up in the Afternoon. Take care of yourself for me.Be ready.
-Aapka bawala Aarth."

A small smirk tugged at my lips. Bawala. Yes, that's exactly what I was when it came to her.

I folded the note neatly and walked back to the bed, placing it carefully over her phone. My fingers itched to touch her again, to steal another moment.

The stray tendril that had fallen over her face earlier had returned, hiding her from me. I wouldn't allow it. My fingers brushed against her skin as I tucked it back, revealing her face to me again. A slow, deliberate movement. A quiet act of possession.

I leaned down, pressing another kiss-this time against her forehead, then her temple, and then lower, to the soft curve of her cheek.

She murmured something in her sleep. A small, barely audible sound, but enough to make my lips twitch. Adorable.

I moved lower. Kneeling at the edge of the bed, I lifted the hem of her pajama, just enough to reveal her ankle. My breath hitched. The silver anklet glinted in the faint morning light, delicate against her skin.

Perfect.

I dipped my head, pressing a kiss against the anklet. A lingering touch, deep enough to brand the moment into my memory.

My fingers traced over the cool metal before I pulled back. My lips still tingled, my body still humming from the stolen intimacy.

I knew my day would be good. How could it not be when it started with her? When I got to have this-her warmth, her presence, her silent trust?

But still-I wanted more.

A slow smirk curled on my lips.

I couldn't wait to kiss her again. The way I truly wanted to.

I stepped away, inhaling deep, steadying myself. Later.

At the doorway, I turned back one last time. Noor, still lost in sleep, still untouched by the world beyond this room. And yet, even in slumber, she owned me.

She completely changed me.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head at my own thoughts. My fingers twitched at my sides, resisting the urge to turn back, to crawl into bed again, to wake her with my lips, my hands, my presence.

But I had to leave.

For now.

I walked out, but even as I shut the door behind me, I knew-I would count every second until I could have her again.
.
.
.
.
While walking out, my smile vanishes. The cold mask slips into place, instinctive, practiced. The house is silent-the kind of silence that lingers after a storm. My footsteps are steady, but my grip on the keys tightens, the sharp metal pressing into my palm.

I step into the garden, the air crisp against my skin. The early morning quiet is unnerving. Then, just as I take another step forward, a voice stops me.

"Sidharth beta."

I halt. My fingers flex before curling into a fist, then unclench just as quickly. When I turn around, Noor's father is standing there, his expression calm, a small smile on his lips.

"Aap kab aaye? Aur ja bhi rahe hain?"
(When did you come? And you're already leaving?)

His tone is casual, but something about his words makes my mind flicker back to last night-Aditya's knowing smirk when he caught me. My jaw tightens for a second in embarrassment before I clear my throat.

"Woh, raat ko hi. File chut gayi thi, bas. Phir Aditya ne insist kiya ki yahi ruk jaun."
(I came last night. I forgot a file, that's all. Then Aditya insisted I stay.)

His smile doesn't fade. "File chut gyi thi?oh. Acha, Naste tak ruk jao beta"

A knowing smile formed on his lips, making me more embarrassed. He knows me too well. I shake my head slightly, choosing not to answer. Instead, I exhale slowly, shifting my weight.

He opens his mouth, but I cut in before he can speak. "Nahi, uncle. Ek appointment hai."
(No, uncle. I have an appointment.)

A brief nod of understanding. No unnecessary questions, no insistence. That's something I have always respected about him.

I turn away, taking a step toward my car, but something holds me back. My mind circles around the accident, a thread of unease weaving through my thoughts.

I turn back.

"Uncle... accident. Kuch yaad hai kaise hua?"
(Uncle... the accident. Do you remember how it happened?)

For a second, his face darkens. He takes a deep breath before shaking his head.

"Nahi beta, mai morning walk pe tha tab, aur achanak se hua. Driver bhi bhaag gaya. Wo toh Noor ki mummy se kheench liya, warna wo toh marne ko hi aayi thi jaise."
(No, son, I was on my morning walk when it suddenly happened. The driver ran away. If Noor's mother hadn't pulled her back, she would've thrown herself under the car.)

He chuckles lightly, as if trying to ease the mood. But I don't laugh. My jaw clenches, a sharp breath leaving my nose. My fingers flex before curling into a fist.

Something about this... isn't right.

A driver running away. My stomach tightens, a familiar weight settling in my chest. This isn't a coincidence.

I nod slowly, my voice quieter but firm. "Mai dekhta hoon." (I'll look into it.)

He doesn't question me, just watches as I turn away. But my mind is already racing. My footsteps are steady, but my body is tense.

It's not right.

The past stirs, pressing against my ribs. The weight of memories I don't want to remember. A voice. A touch. The scent of something faint but unforgettable. A woman. The echoes of something unfinished.

My head pounds. The pressure builds, an ache at the back of my skull. I don't want to think about this. I don't want to remember.

Then, my eyes lift-toward her window.

And everything in my mind goes blank.

Not a single thought. Not a single sound.

Just... her.

My fingers loosen around the keys, breath catching in my throat. It's as if my body forgets the tension, the weight, the thoughts clawing at my mind. Noor. Even from here, even without seeing her, she silences everything.

I exhale, a slow, controlled breath. The moment lasts only a few seconds, but it's enough. Enough to steady something inside me.

I turn back toward my car, slipping into the driver's seat. The door clicks shut, sealing me in.

The engine roars to life, drowning out everything else.

And just like that-I leave.
.
.
.
.
.

Something warm lingers against my skin-the last trace of sleep wrapping around me like a soft cocoon. My fingers twitch against the blanket, curling slightly as I shift. The world feels quiet, still wrapped in the hazy slowness of morning.

Then-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The sharp chime of my alarm cuts through the silence. I blink, my lashes fluttering as the weight of sleep slowly lifts. A deep breath. My head tilts slightly, eyes drifting toward the small screen glowing beside me.

7:00 AM.

A soft sigh escapes my lips. My hands lift, rubbing my eyes, the warmth of sleep still lingering in my bones. The morning light peeks through the curtains, painting the room in golden hues. Everything feels soft, slow.

And then, my gaze lands on it.

A small note.

Placed gently over my phone, right where I'd see it the moment I woke up. My heart skips. My fingers reach out, delicate and careful, as if the paper is something precious.

It is.

Because I already know who it's from.

I pull the note closer, unfolding it with quiet anticipation. The familiar handwriting makes my chest feel warm.

Good morning, Cherry.
I have to leave early today, but I'll be back to pick you up in the Afternoon. Take care of yourself for me.Be ready.
-Aapka bawala Aarth."

A small smile tugs at my lips. My fingers tighten around the note, holding it closer. My eyes trace each letter, every curve of ink, as if memorizing the way his words feel.

Sidharth ji

My Aarth.

The one who speaks little but says everything in the smallest ways.

A quiet giggle escapes me. I fold the paper gently, pressing it against my heart, my fingers curling around it as if holding onto something delicate. My cheeks warm, my heart swelling with something so soft, so deep.

"Mere bawale Aarth."

My voice is barely above a whisper, but the words carry all the love in my heart.

For a moment, I sit there, still wrapped in the warmth of my blanket, holding onto his words like they are the most precious thing in the world.

Because to me, they are.
.
.
.
.
.

Noor was dressed and ready, but a strange discomfort settled in her lower stomach. It wasn't sharp, just a dull ache that made her shift her weight from one foot to another. She already knew what it was. Her periods were near.

A small sigh left her lips. She hated them-the aching legs, the heaviness, the irritation. She pressed her lips together, ignoring the discomfort as she walked into the room where her bhabhi was sitting.

Her bhabhi was eating an apple, a soft glow on her face. Noor's heart warmed at the sight. Just a few days ago, she had learned that her bhabhi was pregnant, and since then, an excited buzz had settled in her chest.

She sat beside her, eyes twinkling.

"Bhabhi, beti hui to naam hum rakhenge." Noor said excitedly.
(Bhabhi, if it's a girl, we'll name her!)

Her bhabhi chuckled, taking another bite of her apple.

"Beta hua to bhi aap hi rakhiye ga. Eklauti bua hai aap." She smiled warmly.
(Even if it's a boy, you'll name him too. You're the only bua.)

Noor giggled, feeling an overwhelming joy fill her chest. She loved this little family moment. But the discomfort in her stomach returned, making her press a hand lightly to her tummy as she stood up.

She moved to the side, folding her clothes neatly. A small bag sat open next to her-she was packing.

The room grew quiet for a moment until she heard her bhabhi's voice again.

"Noor."

She looked up.

Her bhabhi watched her with a knowing look before saying in a casual tone-

"Aap abhi bacha-wacha ke chakkar me mat padna. Abhi koi zaroorat nahi hai."
(Don't get into the whole baby thing just yet. There's no need right now.)

Noor froze.

Her hands stilled over the cloth she was folding. Her mind blanked for a second before warmth rushed up her neck, blooming over her cheeks.

She didn't know what to say.

A nervous hum slipped past her lips as she quickly looked down, trying to act busy. But her bhabhi wasn't done.

Taking another bite of her apple, she continued,

"Maa zid kare na phir bhi, aur Doctor Sahab? Unko toh samjha dena. Nayi nayi shaadi hai bhai."
(Even if Maa insists, and Doctor Sahab? Make him understand too. It's a new marriage, after all.)

Noor's breath caught.

She looked up, eyes wide.

Her bhabhi was serious. There was no teasing in her expression. She took another bite of her apple, chewing slowly before speaking again.

"Doctor Sahab ne kabhi bache ki baat ki hai?"
(Has Doctor Sahab ever mentioned having kids?)

Noor's entire body stiffened.

Her cheeks, already warm, went up in flames. A strange panic bubbled in her chest, and before she could stop herself, she blurted out-

"Bhabhi!"

It was a soft, muffled exclamation, as if she didn't want anyone else to hear. Her hands clutched the fabric in her lap as she peeked toward the door, making sure no one was around.

But her bhabhi only laughed.

She stood up, walking toward Noor with a teasing smile.

"Arre, sachhi bol rahe hain. Aapke bhaiya toh bhale manus hain, waise Doctor Sahab bhi bhale manus lagte hain."
(Oh, I'm serious. Your brother is a good man, and Doctor Sahab seems like one too.)

Noor's lips parted, and before she could stop herself, the words slipped out in a dreamy whisper-

"Woh bhale manus hi hain."
(He is a good man.)

Her bhabhi smirked.

"Haan bhai, pyaar mein toh 'woh' bahut acche lagte hi hain."
(Oh yes, in love, 'he' must be even better.)

Noor's heart skipped.

Her hands flew to her face, pressing her smile into the soft fabric of the clothes she was folding, trying-failing-to hide the blush burning her cheeks.

Her bhabhi's laughter filled the room.
.
.
.
.
.

The car door shut with a soft thud, sealing them inside the quiet space. Noor turned her head, her eyes lingering on her family standing at the doorstep. Her bhabhi waved at her with a gentle smile, her mother's lips moved in a silent prayer, and her Father-as usual-stood with his arms crossed, showing her was strong.

She lifted her hand and gave one last wave before the car started moving. The house slowly faded into the distance, and with it, a familiar warmth.

A sigh left her lips.

She turned to look at Sidharth, still sniffing slightly. But as her gaze settled on him, a new feeling rose in her chest.

He looked tired.

His sharp features were softer than usual, weighed down by exhaustion. Tiny droplets of sweat glistened on his forehead, trailing down to his cheek.

Noor's heart squeezed.

Without thinking, she lifted the edge of her pallu and, with the lightest touch, wiped away the sweat from his skin. First his forehead, then his cheek-slow and careful.

The moment felt delicate, like something she didn't want to break.

Sidharth, who had been focused on driving, turned at her touch. His deep eyes met hers, and for a second, neither of them spoke.

A small, knowing smile curved his lips.

He loved when Noor did this-when she silently took care of him, without hesitation, without barriers.

His fingers reached for her hand, holding it softly, like she was something precious.

Noor blinked at the warmth of his touch, at the way his thumb brushed against her skin as if memorizing it.

"Ek chai ke liye bhi nahi ruke aap." Noor said, her voice soft.
(You didn't even stop for tea.)

Sidharth chuckled.

Without a word, he turned her hand in his grasp and pressed a slow, warm kiss to the back of her palm.

A soft smile touched Noor's lips.

Heat crawled up her neck, settling on her cheeks as she quickly looked away, her heart skipping a beat.

"Sorry cherry, but bilkul time nahi hai." He murmured against her skin, his voice calm, deep.
(Sorry cherry, but there's absolutely no time.)

Hearing this, Noor frowned slightly, her brows pulling together.

"To aap lene kyun aaye? Aur thak jayenge?"
(Then why did you come to pick me up? You'll get tired.)

Sidharth turned back to the road, the smile never leaving his face.

"To kaun lata aapko?" He asked simply.
(Then who else would bring you?)

Noor pressed her lips together, not knowing how to answer that.

She looked out the window again, sniffing lightly-not crying, just adjusting to the sudden change.

"Bhaiya chhod dete." She mumbled.
(Bhaiya would have dropped me.)

At this, Sidharth sighed.

For a second, it seemed like he wouldn't respond. But then, in that same casual, effortless tone of his, he said-

"Jab bacha tha tab Maa kehti thi ki ladki ki mayke me kitni izzat milti hai usse wo apne pati ko kitni pyari hai, uska andaza lagaya ja sakta hai. Jab mai aapki izzat thodi zyada karunga, to duniya ka koi aadmi aapki izzat thodi kam karne se pehle hazar baar sochega."
(When I was a child, Maa used to say-how much respect a girl receives in her parents' home shows how precious she is to her husband. So if I respect you a little more, the world will think a hundred times before respecting you any less.)

Noor turned to him, her breath catching.

Something inside her stilled.

For a long second, she just watched him-taking in the curve of his lips, the ease in his expression, the way his hand still held hers, warm and firm.

Something so simple, yet it felt like he had reached inside her chest and wrapped his fingers around her heart.

Love.

The word whispered through her mind, settling into every corner of her being.

It wasn't the grand kind of love, the type written in poetry and sung in old songs. It was quiet. Steady. The kind that existed in the way he wiped away her tears without a word, in the way he remembered the smallest things about her, in the way he respected her-not just in front of people but even in the silences between them.

She had spent her whole life hearing about love, but this... this felt like something else.

A soft, fluttering smile played on her lips.

Her stomach still ached, her body still felt heavy from the discomfort, but somehow-just for this moment-she forgot all about it.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

The car rolled to a stop in front of Rajvardhan Bhawan. The air outside carried the scent of jasmine, the warm glow of the mansion's lights spilling onto the driveway. Noor reached for the door handle, ready to step out, but before she could, Sidharth's deep voice stopped her.

"Aap chaliye, mai hospital se aata hu."
(You go ahead, I'll come from the hospital.)

Noor blinked, frowning. Her fingers curled slightly around the fabric of her dupatta.

"Rukiye... Aakriti ja rahi hai na?"
(Wait... Akriti is leaving, right?)

Her voice was small, questioning. She had hurried back for this. She had dropped everything because he said his sister was leaving today But instead of answering right away, Siddharth simply smiled.

A slow, guilty, mischievous smile.

Noor's frown deepened. She knew that smile. That was the smile of her man when he had done something wrong and was enjoying it.

He lifted her hand, his thumb running over her fingers in slow, lazy circles, and then, before she could pull away, he pressed a featherlight kiss on the back of her palm.

"Woh Aakriti toh kal ja rahi hai."
(Akriti is leaving tomorrow.)

Noor's eyes widened.

"Kya?!"

Her lips parted in shock.

He tricked her.

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest as realization hit her. He was telling her his sister wasn't even leaving today?!

Noor sucked in a breath, ready to scold him, but before she could, Siddharth tightened his hold on her fingers and-

"Aap gussa kare isse pehle hi mai sorry hu."
(Before you get angry, I'm already sorry.)

And just like that, he started pressing quick, soft kisses on the back of her palm. One after another. Again and again. Noor's entire face burned.

"Hey Bhagwaan...!"

Her breath hitched. She tried to tug her hand back, but he only held it firmer, his lips still brushing against her skin, completely unbothered by her weak protests.

Her anger? Gone. Just like that. Melted into something warm and fluttery, spreading through her chest like soft, golden sunlight.

But she wasn't about to let him know that.

She narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed in an attempt to look mad, but Sidharth-he saw through her.

His blue eyes twinkled, his lips curving in that familiar, teasing way before he murmured-

"Mai chudiyaan launga, aur mehndi wali bhi bulwa dunga. Ab maan jaiye... please?"
(I'll bring bangles and even call the mehndi artist. Please, forgive me?)

Noor's breath caught.

Chudiyaan...? Mehndi...?

Her husband is cutest person she has ever seen. A small part of her melted at the thought.

She was still staring at him when, suddenly, he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper-

"Bas ek baar muskura dijiye, Meri Noor "
(Just smile once, My Noor)

Her heart did a little somersault.

For a moment, she tried-really tried-to hold onto her frown. But then, against her own will, her lips curved ever so slightly.

Sidharth's entire face lit up.

And Noor-she forgot how to breathe.

Because his smile... it was rare, but when it came, it was beautiful.

Before she could look away, he took her hand again. This time, he turned it over and pressed a firm, lingering kiss against her palm.

Noor felt her stomach flip.

A soft gasp escaped her lips. Her fingers curled instinctively, as if trying to capture the warmth of his lips against her skin.

Her ears burned. She quickly turned to step out of the car, but before she could, she felt a gentle but firm grip around her wrist.

In one swift motion, Sidharth pulled her back. Noor barely had time to react before she stumbled slightly, her palm landing against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath her touch.

And then-before she could even blink-his lips brushed against her.

Soft. Fleeting. Just a whisper of a kiss.

It was over before she could fully process it, before her mind could catch up with the way her heart was racing.

Sidharth leaned back, his forehead almost touching hers, his voice low and filled with something tender, something that made her stomach feel all... fluttery.

"Thank you, maaf karne ke liye."
(Thank you for forgiving me.)

Noor's face heated up so fast she thought she might faint.

She quickly turned away, practically jumping out of the car.

But before she stepped inside the mansion, she paused, took a deep breath, and turned over her shoulder, her voice small but firm-

"Par chudiyaan laani hongi."
(But you still have to bring the bangles.)

Siddharth let out a deep laugh, shaking his head.

"Arey Noor ji, aapke liye factory lagwa denge!"
(Oh Noor ji, I'll get an entire factory for you!)

Noor bit her lip to hide her smile, shaking her head at his antics.

"Bawale"

She turned and walked toward the mansion, but before she could step inside, she felt something...

A shift.

A heavy gaze on her back.

She paused. Then, hesitantly, she turned again-just slightly.

And that's when she saw him.

Sidharth wasn't laughing anymore.

His brows were slightly furrowed, his lips pressed together in thought.

Noor's heart skipped.

"Kya hua?"
(What happened?)

She followed his gaze, but before she could ask, Sidharth suddenly pushed open the car door and stepped out, his strides purposeful, his eyes locked onto her.

Noor's breath hitched.

Now what...?

Noor's breath caught as Sidharth took slow, deliberate steps toward her. His gaze was steady, unreadable, yet there was something in the way he looked at her that made her feel small, delicate.

Before she could even take a step back, she felt strong arms around her.

Her feet barely touched the ground before she was lifted effortlessly into his embrace.

"A-ap kya kar rahe hain?!"
(W-what are you doing?!)

Her hands instinctively clutched at his shoulders, her wide eyes darting around in panic. The open driveway. The mansion. The staff. The servants.

People were watching.

Noor's face burned as she squirmed slightly in his arms, her voice barely above a whisper, nervous and urgent-

"Chhodiye! Koi dekh lega!"
(Put me down! Someone will see!)

Sidharth's grip didn't falter. His hold on her remained steady, firm, as if she weighed nothing in his arms.

And then, he smiled.

Not his usual smirk. Not something teasing. But a soft, knowing smile-the kind that reached his eyes, melting away the tension in her body before she even realized it.

His voice was low, gentle-meant just for her.

"Shh... Trust me, Cherry."

Noor stilled.

Her protests died on her lips.

Her heartbeat stuttered.

Just those three words were enough to make her stop resisting. Enough to make her trust him blindly, without question.

Her fingers curled against his shirt, and, unable to bear the weight of all the eyes on her, she did the only thing she could think of.

She buried her face in his chest.

Her heart pounded furiously. The scent of him-warm, musky, familiar-filled her senses, making her even more flustered. She wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or something else entirely, but all she knew was that she couldn't bring herself to look up.

Especially not when she could feel the weight of every gaze around them.

Sidharth didn't stop. He walked past the mansion doors, his hold on her unwavering, but unlike Noor, he seemed completely unaffected by the attention.

His face was blank. His usual sharp, unreadable expression was back-serious, composed. As if carrying her inside like this was the most natural thing in the world.

But Noor?

Noor could feel her entire existence turning into a puddle of embarrassment.

Her mortification only doubled when a familiar, concerned voice called out-

"Kya hua beta? Ye aise?"
(What happened, dear? Why like this?)

Noor squeezed her eyes shut.

Oh no...

Her mother-in-law.

She gripped Sidharth's shirt tighter, refusing to pull her face out of his chest.

Her entire face burned.

This was officially the most embarrassing moment of her life.

But before she could even think of a response, Sidharth spoke, his voice calm, smooth, without the slightest hesitation-

"Woh, inke pair mein chot lag gayi hai. Gate se."
(She hurt her foot. At the gate.)

Noor's eyes snapped open.

What...?

Her fingers twitched against his shirt.

Why was he lying?

She knew she hadn't tripped anywhere. She knew her foot was perfectly fine.

So then... why?

Her mind buzzed with confusion, but before she could question him, his mother simply hummed in acknowledgment.

Noor couldn't tell if she believed him or not, but one thing was for sure-she had no intention of pulling her face out to check.
Her mother in law said something to Sidharth which she didn't heard completely.

She felt her mother-in-law's gaze lingering for a moment longer before the sound of Sidharth's footsteps resumed, steady and purposeful, as he carried her up the grand staircase.

Her heart was still racing.

Not just from the embarrassment.

But because, despite everything-despite the confusion, despite the questions-she wasn't scared.

Because she trusted him.

Noor finally peeked up, just slightly, only to realize something that made her heartbeat stutter all over again.

Siddharth was already looking down at her.

His gaze never left her, not even for a second.

She could feel it-the way his eyes traced over her face, as if memorizing every expression, every reaction.

And then-before she could even process it-

His grip shifted slightly.

In one smooth motion, he adjusted his hold on her, lifting her just a little higher in his arms.

Noor gasped softly, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter in reflex.

And then-

He leaned down.

Still holding her effortlessly in his arms.

Still walking forward without hesitation.

Noor barely had time to react before she felt it.

A soft, featherlight kiss pressed against her lips.

It was brief. Gentle. A whisper of warmth.

And yet, it stole the breath from her lungs.

She felt herself freeze, her mind going blank, her body reacting before her thoughts could catch up.

By the time her senses returned, Sidharth had already stepped inside their room, closing the door behind them.

And just like that, she was placed down, right in the center of the room.

Her feet touched the floor, but her heart-her heart still felt weightless.

Her lips tingled where he had kissed her, and she stared at him, her breath uneven, her mind still spinning.

Before she could say anything-before she could even ask why-

Sidharth's hand cupped her cheek.

Her breath hitched.

His fingers were warm against her skin, his touch gentle yet firm, as if grounding her in place.

And then, in a voice low, calm, yet filled with something unreadable, he murmured-

"There was a blood stain on your saree."

Noor's heart stopped.

And then-it started beating wildly, erratically, faster than ever before.

Her entire body stiffened.

Her breath hitched sharply as mortification crashed over her like a tidal wave.

Blood stain.

Her saree.

Her periods.

Oh. Oh, God.

Noor's face burned so hot she thought she might actually faint.

She looked down immediately, unable to meet his eyes, her hands clutching at the fabric of her saree as if she could somehow erase the humiliation.

How had she not noticed?!

Why hadn't she realized her cycle was near?!

This-this was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her. Ever.

She couldn't even speak. Couldn't even form a response.

She wanted to disappear.

But before she could retreat, before she could step away, Sidharth's other hand came up.

His palms cradled both her cheeks now, tilting her face back up, forcing her to look at him.

Her lips parted in protest, but before she could say anything-

He leaned down.

Their faces were so close, she could see her own reflection in his glasses.

And then, softly, firmly, he whispered-

"They are just periods, Cherry. They are a part of your life. Nothing to get embarrassed ... hmm? Now go. Change."

Noor's breath hitched.

She could only stare at him, speechless, her mind reeling, her face burning hotter than ever.

She had no idea how to respond to that.

No idea how to react to the way he was looking at her, as if this wasn't a big deal.

As if she wasn't supposed to be embarrassed.

Her throat tightened.

Without another word, she quickly turned on her heel and rushed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Her heart was still pounding.

And somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, she felt something... unfamiliar.

Something warm.

Something safe.

.
.
.
.

The moment I stepped inside the bathroom, I covered my face with both hands. Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I wished I could disappear. How could this happen? My first time-my very first time-someone caught it. And not just anyone. Sidharth ji.

I wanted to stomp my foot, but that would be too childish. It's just him. It's okay. It's Sidharth ji. It shouldn't be embarrassing, right? But my face was still burning, and my hands curled into fists as I pressed them against my chest.

I took a deep breath, trying to push away the embarrassment, but then-a sharp cramp twisted in my stomach. I sucked in a breath and closed my eyes tightly, pressing my palm over my abdomen as if that could ease the pain. The embarrassment was gone in an instant. There was no time to think about that now.

I hurriedly changed, my hands shaking slightly from both the pain and the rush. It hurt too much to care about anything else.

Once I was undressed, I turned on the shower, stepping under the warm stream of water. The heat helped a little, soothing my aching muscles, but the itch inside me only grew stronger. I stayed there for fifteen minutes, letting the water run over me, taking my sweet time because I didn't want to move.

But eventually, I had to.

When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I frowned at my own stupidity. I forgot to bring my shirt and pajamas. My kurti and plazo were there, neatly folded, but now I didn't want to wear them.

They felt restricting, annoying, the fabric pressing against my skin in a way that made me regret every choice I made today.

I sighed, rubbing my forehead. Why am I like this?

And then, my eyes landed on it.

Sidharth ji's shirt.

It hung there, so perfectly, so effortlessly tempting. I remembered the last time I wore it, how loose it had been, how comfortable, how perfect. My fingers itched to take it.

He wouldn't mind. He never did.

Without hesitation, I pulled it off the hanger and slipped into it, the familiar scent wrapping around me. It was standoffish, maybe, taking his things without asking, but I knew him. He wouldn't say anything.

A sharp cramp hit as soon as I opened the door. I paused, pressing my hand to my stomach, exhaling slowly before stepping out.

And then, I saw it. Or rather, I didn't.

He wasn't there.

My chest tightened instantly, my breath catching as something heavy settled inside me. The room felt emptier, colder. My feet moved on their own, my eyes scanning for any sign of him.

Why wasn't he here?

The logical part of my brain whispered that he must have gone out for something. That he wouldn't leave just like that. That Sidharth ji wasn't someone who would walk away.

But my heart-my poor, aching, irrational heart-screamed otherwise.

He left.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

No, he wouldn't. He wouldn't do that.

Another tear.

He wasn't there.

I pressed my lips together, blinking rapidly, but the tears still came. I didn't want to cry. I knew I was being ridiculous. I knew it was just the side effects of my period. But my chest ached, and my heart whispered, He left. He left.

I sniffed, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. But the tears wouldn't stop. They just kept falling, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the bed, hugging my knees, hiccupping between quiet sobs.

I knew I was overthinking. I knew he must have gone somewhere for a reason. But no matter how much I told myself that, my stupid, poor heart refused to listen.

And then-the door opened.

I lifted my head quickly, and there he was.

Sidharth ji stood at the door, arms full of bags.

I should have felt relieved. I should have stopped crying. But instead-I frowned, my lips pushing into a pout, my tears still falling.

He looked at me.

His eyes widened.

And then, in a second, he dropped everything to the floor and rushed forward, kneeling in front of me.

His hands reached for my face, cupping my cheeks gently, urgency written all over his face.

"Kya hua? Bahut dard ho raha hai?" (What happened? Are you in a lot of pain?)

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. Instead, I turned my face away, refusing to look at him.

"Aap bahut bure hain."
(You are very bad.)

He stilled.

I could feel his hands tense against my skin. I could see the way he froze for just a second, trying to understand.

"Bahut bura hu?"
(I'm very bad?)

His voice was careful, as if he didn't know how to respond.

I could see the concern in his eyes, the desperate way he searched my face for an answer.

"Bahut bura hu, par aap ro kyun rahi hain?"
(I'm very bad, but why are you crying?)

My breath hitched. My chest still ached, and even though I knew I was being unreasonable, I still blurted out the words.

A fresh tear slid down my cheek as I whispered, "Aap kaha gaye the? Hume chhod ke?"

("Where did you go? Leaving me?")

This time, my voice came out louder than I intended.

His expression crumbled.

I saw the panic in his eyes, the way his brows furrowed, his hands moving instantly to wipe my tears. He was still kneeling, still at my level, his gaze searching mine as if trying to understand.

And then, he stood, picking up the bags he had dropped earlier. He placed them near my legs, his voice softer this time.

"Yeh laane gaya tha."
(I went to get these.)

His voice was gentle. Too gentle.

"Mujhe laga aapke paas hai ki nahi."
(I thought you might need them.)

I blinked down at the bags, and realization sank in.

Sanitary pads. Chocolate. A hot water bottle. A bottle of oil. So many little things. Things to make me feel better.

I looked back up at him. His desperate face. The slight crease in his forehead. The tension in his shoulders.

My anger melted.

Something inside me melted.

I looked at him again, my anger slipping away with each second, replaced by something else. Something warmer.

I wiped my own cheeks quickly, sniffling, looking away. I was still upset.

"Aap bata ke bhi ja sakte the."
(You could have told me before going.)

It was such a small thing to say, but at this moment, it was everything.

Because at this moment, I only wanted him.

I needed him.

The cramps still twisted inside me, but my heart was heavier. There was confusion, misplaced emotions, exhaustion. And Sidharth ji, a man who usually carried himself with such calmness, was looking at me with nothing but desperation.

His thumb brushed over my cheek, but I caught his wrist, holding onto it. My fingers curled around both of his wrists, my grip weak yet firm. Another tear slipped out, my lips trembling.

"Bahut bure hain aap."
(You are very bad.)

And the moment he saw the tear fall, he moved.

Sidharth ji, suddenly straightened on his knees with urgency. His voice was almost pleading..

"Bahut bura hu. Bahut zyada bura hu, Noor."
(I'm very bad. Very, very bad, Noor.)

He spoke fast, urgent.
"Aap maar lijiye. Roiyega mat, please."
(You can beat me, just please don't cry.)

I stared at him, still sniffling.

And then, despite everything-despite my tears, despite my aching stomach-I let out a small chuckle.

Because he looked so serious. So desperate.

So cute.

And for a moment, just a moment, I forgot about everything else.

Sidharth watched Noor closely, his eyes tracing the softness in her face as she slowly stopped crying. Her lips trembled slightly, and then, almost as if she didn't realize it herself, a small, fragile smile appeared. Relief washed over him.

Without thinking, he reached for her feet, his touch firm yet gentle, as if afraid she might break under his hands. He raised them slowly and placed them on the bed, adjusting her posture with care. His fingers lingered over her ankle for a brief moment before he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss over the metal of her paayal.
(anklet).

Noor sucked in a sharp breath. The warmth of his lips against her skin, even through the fabric, sent a shiver down her spine. She watched him, her heart swelling painfully. How foolish had she been to cry? How stupid was she to feel abandoned when he had gone out to buy things for her?

She had let her emotions take over, but now, seeing Sidharth kneeling in front of her, tending to her like she was the most precious thing in his life, she felt an ache in her chest-an ache of love, of devotion, of realizing just how much this man cherished her.

Sidharth moved with quiet determination, arranging the pillows behind her and gently guiding her to lay back. His fingers brushed against her shoulders as he eased her into comfort, his touch lingering for a second longer than necessary. He pulled the blanket up to her legs, covering her with careful precision, and then sat beside her.

His eyes searched her face.

Then, without a word, he reached for the bag he had brought. Noor's brows furrowed slightly as he pulled out a handful of chocolates, unwrapping one before holding it up to her.

"Ye, ye kha lijea"
(Here, eat this.)

Noor blinked at him.

Sidharth tilted his head, waiting patiently.

She hesitated for a moment before taking the chocolate from his fingers. As she brought it to her lips, Sidharth's gaze softened. A small smile played on his lips as he watched her take a bite, her lips pressing against the sweetness.

Then, with no warning, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose.

Noor's eyes fluttered shut. Her breath hitched-

-And then, a sharp cramp tore through her stomach.

A painful gasp escaped her lips, her eyes flying open, now brimming with tears. Her body tensed as the wave of pain crashed over her, leaving her breathless.

Sidharth noticed immediately. His expression darkened, brows furrowing as he took in her pained face. He didn't speak, didn't panic, didn't ask unnecessary questions. He simply wiped the tear that slipped from her eye, his own face tightening as if he could feel her pain himself.

And then, without saying anything, he pulled her into his arms.

Noor buried herself into him, pressing her face into the warmth of his chest. His arms encircled her, strong and steady, his hands moving in slow, soothing strokes down her back.

"Bas, Noor. Bas. Main yahi hoon."
(Enough, Noor. I am right here.)

His voice was a whisper, a soft promise against her hair. His hands moved from her hair to her lower back, pressing down lightly, massaging her muscles in slow, rhythmic circles.

Noor clutched onto his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if holding onto him would ease her pain. And maybe, it did.

Slowly, slowly, the intensity of the cramp lessened.

Her grip on him loosened, her body melting into his warmth. Sidharth felt the change and sighed, brushing his fingers through her hair in long, soothing strokes.

After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his palm cradling her cheek.

"Main do minute baahar se aata hoon."
(I will be back in two minutes.)

Noor, still sniffling softly, blinked up at him. Her lashes were damp, her lips parted slightly, but she nodded.

Sidharth pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead before rising to his feet.

Noor watched as he walked out of the room, the warmth of his presence still clinging to her skin.

And then, just a few minutes later, he returned-this time, holding a small bowl in his hands.

The bowl in his hand didn't make sense to her at first-why had he brought oil? But Sidharth knew.

He placed the bowl gently on the nightstand. She paused mid-bite, watching him, her fingers still holding the chocolate as she swallowed. There was something different about him tonight-not that he wasn't always gentle with her, but this time, there was something more. A softness that felt like devotion. A tenderness that didn't just care for her-it worshiped her.

Sidharth pulled a chair close to the bed, setting it near her legs. He sat down, the dim light catching the sharp lines of his face, the quiet determination in his eyes. Reaching for the blanket, he hesitated, glancing up at her. His voice was quiet, intimate.

"Can I?"

The simple words carried weight, a request wrapped in something deeper. Noor stilled, her fingers tightening around the chocolate as she felt her heartbeat quicken. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty-just the quiet shyness that always came with his touch.

She nodded. "Yes."

Sidharth lifted the blanket carefully, revealing her bare legs beneath the oversized shirt of his she wore. A warmthness filled his chest watching her using his things as her own.

This wasn't just an act of care. It was devotion. A quiet, unspoken understanding that she would never have to ask for comfort because he would always know when she needed it.

He took a little oil in his palm, rubbing it between his hands. The warmth of it mixed with the warmth of his touch as his large hands enveloped her ankle. His thumb pressed into the sore muscles, slow, deliberate. Noor exhaled, her eyelids fluttering shut as the tension began to dissolve beneath his hands.

His jaw clenched slightly, his focus entirely on her comfort. The oil glided smoothly, his fingers working carefully, tracing along the shape of her ankle before moving upward. The faint sound of her breath hitching, the way her chest rose and fell steadily-it didn't go unnoticed by him.

He moved to her lower leg, his thumbs pressing in just enough to ease the ache. Noor felt the warmth of his hands seep into her skin, the slow, rhythmic motion lulling her into something close to peace. It felt so good. She hadn't realized how much her legs ached until the pain began to fade under his touch.

Then he reached her thighs.

A deeper relief spread through her, her body instinctively relaxing further. It was different-intimate in a way that wasn't unhinged but was undeniably personal. A soft, barely audible moan of relief slipped past her lips before she could stop it.

Sidharth's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing, his fingers working with quiet precision. He wasn't affected in the way another man might be. He wasn't distracted. He was focused, devoted, completely present in this moment of giving her comfort.

Noor opened her eyes, her gaze meeting his. There was no embarrassment, no nervousness-just the quiet acceptance of what he was offering. And he gave without question. Without expectation.

Because love, in its purest form, was devotion. And Siddharth knew no other way to love her.

She is in pain. And I can feel it.

It is in the way her fingers tighten around the chocolate, in the way she shifts ever so slightly under the covers, in the way her breath sometimes hitches when she thinks I am not listening. But I am always listening. Always watching. Always knowing.

That is why I return with the oil.

Her eyes flicker to the bowl on the nightstand, uncertain. She does not ask, but she does not need to. I pull a chair close to the bed, sit near her legs, and lift the blanket just a little. She stills, chocolate forgotten between her fingers.

"Can I?" My voice is softer than usual, a quiet request that holds more weight than just a question.

She swallows. Nods. "Yes."

The permission is mine, but the moment belongs to her.

I take the oil, warming it between my palms before pressing them to her ankle. The first touch is met with a quiet exhale. A relief so subtle yet so consuming that her eyelids flutter shut as if surrendering to it. I move slowly, deliberately, tracing the arch of her foot, the curve of her ankle. The oil glides effortlessly, my fingers pressing gently into her muscles, feeling the tension dissolve beneath my touch.

Her body remembers me, yet every time, she reacts as if it is the first. As if she has never felt this kind of care before.

I move up her leg, pressing into the ache in slow, deliberate strokes. My hands are steady, my focus singular. This is not about me. It is not about desire, nor about anything physical. It is about her. About the way her breath deepens, the way her body gives in to comfort.

By the time I reach her thighs, she releases a soft sound-barely a moan, more a sigh of relief. My hands still for a moment. Her lashes flutter, a light pink dusting her cheeks, but she does not stop me. She does not resist.

Because she knows.

Knows that I am not touching her to take, but to give. Knows that I would never overstep, never assume, never claim what she does not offer first.

I move carefully, working away the knots, the dull aches that settle too deep. Her body softens under my touch, growing heavier with each passing moment. The pleasure is not the kind that ignites-it is the kind that soothes, the kind that lulls, the kind that makes her forget everything except the warmth of my hands.

I let my gaze lift to her face.

Her eyes are half-lidded, heavy with relaxation. Her breathing is slower now, her lips parted slightly. There is a peace here, a trust so absolute it makes my chest ache.

I reach for the hem of her shirt.

Her eyes flicker open, hazy, questioning.

"Can I?" My voice is a whisper now, asking not just to lift the fabric, but for permission to continue-to offer more, to ease more, to care for her in the way I know she needs.

She blinks, her cheeks turning the softest shade of red. But the pleasure-the pure relief-is too much, too consuming.

She nods.

The nod is all I need. A small, almost shy movement, yet it carries more weight than any word ever could.

And I proceed with the gentleness she deserves.

Carefully, deliberately, I lift her shirt higher, my fingers brushing against her skin-soft, warm, familiar. Noor exhales sharply, the cool air meeting her bare skin, but she does not pull away. She does not resist. She trusts me. That trust is sacred.

She is not wearing a bra.

I do not let my gaze linger-not in a way that would break the sanctity of this moment. This is not about hunger, not about claiming, not about anything but her.

My hands are warm as I take more oil, rubbing it between my palms before placing them gently over her ribs to cupping her breasts. She shivers, not from discomfort, but from the contrast-the cold oil, the warmth of my skin, the way my touch is careful but firm, pressing away the tension, the weight of the ache she has been carrying.

Her breath hitches as my hands move higher.

Slowly. Reverently.

Her skin is so soft beneath my fingers, her body yielding to my touch as I knead away the tightness, the soreness. I press my thumbs in slow, circular motions on her breast, feeling the tension dissolve, feeling her exhale deeper, her body becoming heavier beneath my hands.

Then, a sound.

A soft moan, barely above a breath, escaping her parted lips.

Her head tilts back, lashes fluttering, cheeks tinged with a faint, helpless blush. It is not a moan of desire-it is relief, pure and absolute. A release of all the discomfort she has been holding in.

I do not stop.

My hands move with patience, with a quiet sort of devotion that has nothing to do with need and everything to do with her.

The oil glistens on her skin, highlighting the gentle rise and fall of her breath. I press deeper, feeling the knots beneath my fingertips, feeling the way she melts beneath my touch, the way her body surrenders to the care she so rarely allows herself to receive.

She shifts slightly, her body instinctively seeking more, chasing the warmth, the comfort, the relief.

I do not rush.

I let my fingers move in slow, rhythmic motions, massaging away every last trace of pain. I pinched her nipple slowly, a gasp left her mouth. But then I messaged it in between my fingers.

Half an hour passes, maybe more.

Noor's body is completely relaxed now, her breathing slow, steady. Her eyes flutter open just long enough to meet mine-heavy, hazy, and full of something I cannot name. Then, just as quickly, they close again.

And this time, she does not open them again.

She is asleep.

Completely at peace. Completely safe.

And I do nothing but watch her-my hands still resting against her skin, my breath perfectly in sync with hers.

Because this-this moment, this quiet intimacy, this undeniable proof that she trusts me enough to fall asleep beneath my touch-means more to me than anything else ever could.
.
.
.
.

A soft vibration hums through the silence, pulling me back to the world beyond this room.

I know what it means.

Duty calls.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, exhaling as if I can will the call away. But I can't.

The hospital needs me. A patient is waiting, a life tethered to my hands. I've never hesitated before-not when the weight of responsibility pressed against my chest, not when the hours of sleep slipped away like sand through my fingers.

But this evening, for the first time, I hesitate.

Noor lies in front of me, her body finally at peace, wrapped in the comfort I gave her. Her breathing is slow, steady-no longer pained. Her face, soft in the dim light, looks untouched by the world's cruelty, as if she has found momentary refuge in my presence.

And I-God, I don't want to leave.

Carefully, I pull the blanket over her, tucking it around her like a silent promise that even in my absence, she will be safe, warm. My fingers linger against the fabric, reluctant, unwilling.

Then, I lean down, pressing my lips to her cheek, slow, deliberate, as if I can leave behind something of myself.

Straightening, I reach for my coat. My hand finds the familiar leather of the small diary I always carry, and without a second thought, I tear out a page. The pen feels heavier in my grasp as I let the words spill onto the paper.
___
Cherry,

The hospital called. I have to go. You know I wouldn't leave if it weren't important, When you wake up, I won't be here.

Don't wait for me. Sleep. Rest. When I come back, I'll find you right here.

Your Aarth.

-

I fold the paper neatly, placing it on the nightstand where I know she'll see it.

One last time, I let my gaze linger on her.

The world outside can wait another second.

Leaning down, I press a lingering kiss to her forehead, letting my lips hover, memorizing the warmth, the scent, the feeling of her so close.

Then, with the weight of a thousand unspoken things in my chest, I turn and leave.
.
.
.
.
.

The house is quiet when I step inside, save for the faint ticking of the clock in the hallway. It's strange. Usually, by this hour, the air hums with movement-footsteps, hushed conversations, the distant clang of utensils in the kitchen. But tonight, there is only silence.

My eyes roam, searching.

Noor hasn't come out.

Not a single trace of her.

My jaw tightens as I place my bag on the sofa, my fingers pressing into the leather for a moment longer than necessary.

I exhale sharply. She must be asleep till now. But she needs to get feed. And change. Overthinking isn't going to help.

Steady, controlled. That's how I function.

With a roll of my shoulders, I glance toward the hallway leading to our room. Still nothing. Instead of heading straight there, I turn toward the kitchen.

If she's still asleep, waking her up empty-handed doesn't feel right.

A cup of tea would be better. Something warm. Something to ease her.

I loosen the first button of my shirt as I step inside, sleeves already pushed up from the long hours at the hospital. The air is thick with the scent of old spices and something faintly sweet, remnants of an earlier meal.

Then, just as I reach for the kettle-

"Sidharth beta."

I go still.

The voice is too soft, too sweet.

A calculated kind of sweetness.

My fingers tighten around the handle before I turn. The call doesn't surprise me. Not in this house, where words are spoken not with affection, but with purpose. Where warmth is rarely without motive.

I straighten, bracing myself.

Because I know who she is.

And I know exactly what's coming next.

Sidharth didn't acknowledge his aunt right away. He stepped into the kitchen, his movements composed, precise, as if the words thrown at him had never reached his ears. He had learned long ago-some people didn't deserve a reaction. Some words didn't deserve a response.

His fingers worked on autopilot, reaching for the kettle, filling it with water. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Noor.

His eyes flickered toward the hallway again. A part of him itched to abandon this pointless conversation, to go to her immediately. But he knew her-knew she would still be curled up under the blanket, exhausted, warm. She had spent the entire day resting.

And she should.

His aunt's voice cut through the silence again, laced with false amusement.

"Aaj bahu rani dikhi hi nahi. Jab se tum gaye ho, woh neeche tak nahi aayi, matlab dekha hi nahi. Lagta hai din bhar aaram hi kar rahi hai."

("Your dear wife hasn't been seen all day. Since you left, she hasn't even come downstairs. Looks like she's been resting all day.")

Then she laughed, as if it were a joke. As if it wasn't a carefully planted seed, meant to make him angry, to make him demand answers.

Sidharth's grip tightened on the handle of the kettle. His blood ran hot, his patience thinning. He wanted to say something-no, he wanted to remind them of their place. He wanted them to know Noor wasn't someone they could talk about so carelessly.

But she was sick. And he wasn't about to create a scene when all he wanted was to go to her.

Let them talk. Let them twist their words, lace them with mockery, fill them with venom. He didn't care. Noor was his wife. The malkin of this house. She didn't need to lift a finger when an entire household thrived off his earnings.

Instead, he turned his head slightly, gaze sharp, voice low.

"To?"

("So?")

One word. But it was enough.

His aunt's laughter faltered for a fraction of a second, her eyes flickering with something between irritation and unease. She had expected anger. Expected a confrontation. But Sidharth wasn't giving her the satisfaction.

She pressed on, desperate to pull a reaction from him.

"Aur to... Ye kya kar rahe hain aap, Siddharth?"

("And... what are you doing, Siddharth?")

Sidharth, who had always kept his distance from the kitchen. Sidharth, who had never lifted a hand to help. Sidharth, who they all thought would never bend for this marriage.

Her voice carried disbelief, but Sidharth didn't stop. He lifted the cup, poured the tea with unhurried ease, the rich, warm scent filling the space. He stirred once, then turned toward her, lips curving into a small, knowing smile.

"Chai bana raha hoon. Apni biwi ke liye."

("I'm making tea. For my wife.")

He let the words sink in, let the weight of them settle in the room. He didn't need to elaborate. He didn't need to explain. The very idea of him in the kitchen for his wife-his Noor-was enough to shake them.

His aunt fell silent.

For the first time, she had nothing to say.

Sidharth took his time. He picked up both cups, steady hands betraying none of the simmering irritation underneath. Then, as if remembering something, he paused, glancing at her with a sharp gaze, voice laced with calm authority.

"Aapne hi kaha na, jab se gaya hoon, woh neeche tak nahi aayi? Matlab, khana bhi nahi khaya hoga. Ja raha hoon chai leke unko bulane. Aap khana lagayengi, ya abhi aur bhi kuch kehna hai?"

("Didn't you say yourself? She hasn't come downstairs since I left, which means she hasn't even eaten. I'm taking tea to her and waking her up. Will you set the table, or do you have more to say?")

He raised a brow, almost in challenge.

His aunt opened her mouth, then shut it. She could only watch as Sidharth turned on his heel, carrying both cups with effortless ease. He didn't wait for a reply. He had more important things to do.

Like going to his wife.

And his aunt-watching his retreating back, seeing the way his actions spoke louder than anything he could've said-felt something twist in her chest.

She had been so sure this marriage was doomed. That Siddharth would never care for the woman fate had tied him to. That his past had made him incapable of love.

But looking at him now, she wasn't so sure anymore.

And that uncertainty made her uneasy.

__________________________________

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