Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -
Next chapter on Saturday.
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Hey everyone,

I know I've been away for a bit, and I'm sorry about that. I want to explain why. If you're in India, you know the situation we were facing. In times like these, I felt it was more important to stand with my country than to focus on writing or uploading books. We are Indians first-before being writers, readers, or anything else.

Along with that, my Wattpad wasn't working properly, and there were warnings about not using VPN, so I decided to take a pause.

But now things are back on track, and I'm ready to get back to uploading. I hope to see the same love and support from you all.

Thank you for understanding.
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दुआ भी लगे ना मुझे
दवा भी लगे ना मुझे
जब से दिल को मेरे तू लगा है

नींद रातों की मेरी
चाहत बातों को मेरी
चैन को मेरे तूने
यूँ ठगा है

जब साँसे भरूं मैं
बंद आँखें करूँ मैं
नज़र तू यार आया

दिल को करार आया
तुझपे है प्यार आया
पहली पहली बार आया ओ यारा

दिल को करार आया
तुझपे है प्यार आया
पहली पहली बार आया ओ यारा

हर रोज पूछे ये हवाएं
हम तो बता के हारे
क्यूँ जिक्र तेरा करते हैं हमसे तेरे

हर रोज पूछे ये हवाएं
हम तो बता के हारे
क्यूँ जिक्र तेरा करते हैं हमसे तेरे

अब फिर से हैं तेरे
इन होठों पे मेरे
इज़हार आया यारा

दिल को करार आया
तुझपे है प्यार आया
पहली पहली बार आया ओ यारा

दिल को करार आया
तुझपे है प्यार आया
पहली पहली बार आया ओ यारा
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"I don't want to marry that girl," Abhimanyu muttered, the sharp edge of irritation curling at the end of his voice.

Sidharth didn't reply immediately. He simply raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady on his friend as he leaned back slightly in the chair. It wasn't the first time he had heard Abhimanyu complain like this - frustrated, overwhelmed, caught in something he didn't choose. Siddharth had known him long enough to read between the lines.

"She-she is not my type," Abhimanyu added, this time with a little more force, but Sidharth caught the irritation in his tone. He was listening, really listening, his forefinger resting thoughtfully over his lips.

The silence lingered for a beat too long.

Then Sidharth finally broke it - not with sympathy, but with his signature dry sarcasm that had once pulled Abhimanyu out of his darkest days.

"Is there any girl alive that's your type?" he said, his tone light but meaningful, eyebrows arching just a bit higher as he leaned forward, looking straight into Abhimanyu's eyes.

Abhimanyu opened his mouth to respond, a half-defensive "That's not-" already escaping, but Siddharth didn't let him finish.

"One minute." He held up a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence. His eyes, now softening, flicked toward the bookshelf.

Noor was still standing there quietly, her fingers brushing the spines of the books but not really choosing one. She looked so patient, so unnoticed, that it tugged at something in Siddharth's chest, a small smile came to his lips.

His voice gentled, low and familiar.

"Noor, aake baith jaiye aur mujhe batayiye konsi book chahiye. khade khade thak jaayengi aap."

(Noor, come sit down and tell me which book you need. You'll get tired standing like this.)

Noor looked up at his voice. Her hand paused on the shelf, but she didn't move right away. There was a conversation going on-between two friends-and she didn't want to step into it. For a second, she stayed where she was, unsure.

But Sidharth was already moving. He stood up slowly and walked toward her, not with urgency, just ease-like always.

She glanced at him, quietly questioning if she should really come now. He didn't say anything else. Just extended his hand.

Without a word, she placed hers in his. That simple.

He led her to the chair-His original one-and gently made her sit, and adjusted her pallu on her lap. Noor's eyes lowered at his actions, still not saying much. Then Siddharth turned around and went back to where he was.

Abhimanyu watched it all without a word. He looked at the scene in front of him with warmth settling in his chest. His friend... was finally living.

It felt strange in a good way.He had seen Sidharth in his darkest days, locked in silence, surviving more than living. And now-he looked at Noor with that softness in his eyes, the kind Abhimanyu had never seen in him before.

A small smile tugged at Abhimanyu's lips, but he quickly brushed it off when Siddharth came back and settled on the visitor's chair again. Siddharth raised an eyebrow, as if silently asking, "Kya soch raha hai?"

"Ab bol," Siddharth said, voice casual like always.

Abhimanyu blinked out of his thoughts, face tightening as the soft moment faded. His shoulders tensed, the smile gone.

"I don't like her," he said flatly, like he was reminding himself more than anyone else.

Sidharth sighed, not looking directly at him this time. His gaze drifted to Noor, who was still sitting there quietly, lost in a book. Her fingers brushed the edge of the page like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

"You don't have to but remember don't say or do things you will regret, Abhi even if you don't like her," Sidharth said, eyes still on her, and then with the last part, his eyes again flicked to Abhimanyu, telling a secret message.

"Rajvardhan, you don't understand."

Abhimanyu threw his head back with a groan, falling against the chair like a child throwing a tantrum. "Why does nobody get it?" he mumbled, half dramatic.

Sidharth turned to him now, calm as ever, but there was something deeper behind his eyes - like he had lived through this exact storm before and made it out alive.

"I do, Abhi. And that's why I'm saying-

Sometimes we think we don't need anyone anymore. We believe they're not for us. We say or do things we'll regret forever. But not understanding that... that person... she ends up being the biggest blessing of your life."

He paused, and Abhimanyu noticed the slight change in his voice - the softness.

"That even breathing without her feels like a burden," he continued, "and then you realise... it's the real reward of all the things that happened, all the tests you gave - in the bestest way possible."

And he said all this while still looking at Noor.

The words weren't just advice - they were his truth.

And somehow, as if she heard the part, Noor looked up from her book. Her eyes met his just for a second... then she looked away, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks, her lips curling into a shy smile.

Abhimanyu blinked at him. "You and Vikram, you both have lost it completely," he muttered under his breath.

Siddharth didn't even deny it. He just gave a soft, proud smile.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Abhimanyu finally stood up from his chair. He stretched a little, pretending to be tired. He turned towards Noor and gave her a small smile.

"Okay, bhabhi... it was nice meeting you," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

There was a slight awkwardness in his voice, like he was thinking about how they first met... how weird it must've looked when he stormed into the room like a tornado.

He chuckled a little.

"I swear, I'm a better person than I looked today. Thoda zyada hi dramatic entry ho gaya."

Noor looked up at him with a soft smile and shook her head gently.

"It's okay," she said, and Abhimanyu gave her a relieved smile.

He turned around, ready to leave... but after two steps, he paused.

Turning back again, his eyes met Noor's.

"One more thing, bhabhi..." he said, voice softer now, "you are really very beautiful."

Noor blinked, her eyes wide. Then a sudden blush crept up her cheeks, and before she could stop herself, a small laugh escaped her lips.

Abhimanyu grinned like he won a secret game.

Then he turned to Sidharth.

Their eyes met.

Abhimanyu didn't say a word this time - just raised one eyebrow and winked at him, like he passed a message only the two of them could understand.

Siddharth's jaw tigtened. He looked annoyed now, but he still gave a small, slow nod.

Whatever that silent talk was - it wasn't meant for anyone else to know.

Abhimanyu smirked, gave one last look at Sidharth and walked out of the room.

Ahimanyu had just left. The sound of the door closing should've been small, but it stayed longer in my ears. Like an unwanted word whispered too close. My feet didn't move, not right away. My eyes were already locked on her.

Noor.

My Noor

She was still standing where he left her. And the blush on her cheeks-God. It was still there. Soft. Delicate. Sitting on her skin like it belonged to the words he said.

Beautiful. He had called her beautiful.

Who the hell gave him that right?

Even if he meant it casually, even if it came from a friendly place-I didn't care. He didn't get to say that. That word wasn't his to offer her. That blush... wasn't his to earn.

My jaw clenched without thinking. Quietly. But tightly.

Because it's only me. It has to be only me. I'm the one who gets to make her smile like that. I'm the one who watches the way her lashes drop when she's shy. I know how her voice softens when she's flustered, how her breath changes when someone compliments her. I know all of it. And I want to be the only one who gets to know it.

My steps were slow but sure as I moved toward her. My hand found her waist-not to stop her, not to pull her in too fast. Just to remind her & me. Just to feel what's already mine & what's already her.

And then I kissed her.

Not roughly. Not in anger. I didn't say a single word, but I knew she'd understand. It wasn't about punishment. I just didn't want anyone else's words sitting on her skin. That compliment, that blush-it should've come from me. Only me.

She gasped softly against my lips, her fingers brushing my shirt, but she didn't pull away. She never really does. She doesn't need to. She knows I'd never hurt her. But I would hold her a little tighter when something inside me burns like this.

My hands slid down to her hips, slow and sure. And then I picked her up.

She made a soft sound in surprise, tried to break the kiss, but I didn't let her. I kissed her like I was making a point. Like her silence was an answer. Like her body already knew I was the only man she belonged to.

I walked toward the table and sat her on it, gently. Only then did I pull away.

She was breathing fast. Her eyes stayed low. Her cheeks were pink, deeper now, and I watched her closely. Her lips were soft and parted, her breath unsteady. Her saree shimmered under the light, and I could hear the soft sound of her anklet moving when she shifted slightly. Everything about her was too much. And yet, never enough.

I slowly moved my hands again, gently parting her legs, just a little-just enough. Her eyes met mine then, unsure, but not scared. I stepped in between, my hands finding her waist again, pulling her closer until there was no space left between us.

I leaned in. Almost kissed her again. But stopped.

Just for a second.

Then, with slow fingers, I took off my glasses and placed them on the table beside her-carelessly, without looking.

Her lips were right there-close enough to taste, yet I waited. Not because I didn't want her, but because I wanted to remember this. The way her lashes trembled. The way her breath hitched, like her chest didn't know whether to rise or fall. My fingers moved up slowly, brushing against her sides, feeling the curve of her waist beneath the fabric. She shivered. God, even her shiver made me weak.

And then I kissed her again.

Our lips met like they'd been waiting years. Her lips were soft. Warm. A little unsure at first, but when she responded... I lost myself. My tongue slid into her mouth like I already knew the rhythm, like I belonged there. Her taste-sweet, delicate, just a hint of something I couldn't name-it drove me mad. I kissed her deep, like I was trying to mix my soul within her.

My hands held her tighter, not rough, but desperate. My mouth moved against hers, and then slowed, just so I could bite gently on her bottom lip. She gasped into me, and that sound made my skin burn with need.

I felt her tremble against me, her fingers tightening over the fabric of my shirt. She was soft. So incredibly soft. I kissed her harder. Deeper. My lips dragged against hers with a need I didn't even try to hide. I nibbled her bottom lip and felt her gasp melt into my mouth. She was the only addiction I would ever allow myself to keep.

I didn't stop kissing her until her nails dig in my skin.

And when I pulled away, both of us were panting.

Her lips were red and slightly parted. Her cheeks flushed. And her eyes... they didn't meet mine right away. She looked down, like she wasn't sure what to do with everything we'd just shared.

Our foreheads touched for a moment. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips red from my mouth, and her chest rose and fell like she'd run a marathon. I didn't look away from her face. I couldn't.

I held her face in my palm, grounding her. "Theek hai aap?" I asked softly, my thumb brushing her cheekbone, a small smile came to my lips.

(Are you okay?)

She didn't speak. Just nodded, slow and shy, her eyes not meeting mine. And it did something to me. It broke me in a way that made me feel more whole.

My heart twisted. She was so beautiful, so beautiful like this-blushing because of my nearness.I pressed my forehead against hers, letting her feel my breath.

"I was dying to kiss you cherry," I told her. Not a hint of shame.

Because that was the truth. If I was desperate, it was for her. If I was weak, it was only in front of her. She had that power. And I wanted her to know it. I didn't want to hide anything anymore.

I leaned in again, my lips brushing her temple, then her cheek. Just soft kisses this time-short, calming, loving. I didn't want to overwhelm her. I wanted her to feel safe in my arms. I wanted her to know she was mine to be worshipped.

Then, slowly, I went down on my knees.

Right there, between her legs, I lowered myself like a man who knew he didn't deserve her but still wanted to love her like he did.

Still holding her hand in mine, I knelt between her legs, not just as a man in love-but as a man who knew this moment wasn't about taking-it was about worshipping. The soft drape of her saree fell around me like a curtain, and slowly, I slid the fabric up, revealing her stomach inch by inch. Her skin was golden under the light, smooth, and it trembled slightly as the cool air kissed it. The same stomach that was teasing me since we were in mall.

I leaned forward.

My lips touched the curve of her navel-slow, lingering. The warmth of her body met the heat of my mouth. I kissed her navel again, this time deeper, pressing my lips flat against it. Her fingers gripped my shoulders gently, and I looked up for a second. Her eyes were wide, filled with something between shock and softness, like she didn't know whether to stop me or hold me forever.

I didn't stop.

I moved to the side, kissing lower, then up again-trailing soft, reverent kisses across her stomach. I let my lips linger between each one, and my hands settled over her hips, not pushing, just holding. I could feel every breath she took beneath my mouth. Every rise and fall. Every flutter under her skin. I was completely, utterly lost in her.

I whispered her name against her skin like it was a prayer. Like it could cleanse me.

And then I moved higher.

My kisses reached her ribs, the bottom edge of her blouse, the center of her chest over his blouse. I didn't rush. My lips pressed into her swell of her breast slowly, gently, not missing an inch. I kissed the dip of her collarbone, then moved up to her neck. God, the moment I reached her neck, she tilted her head, just a little, and I lost it. I kissed there-deeper, firmer. My tongue tasted the warm skin there, and I felt her body react before she even said a word.

Her breathing was loud now. Irregular.

But I wasn't done.

I moved up to her jaw, kissed the line with soft, trailing touches, and then reached her temple. A kiss there. One on her cheek. One more on the edge of her lips.

I looked at her again.

She looked like she was drowning in emotion-her chest rising fast, her hands still trembling, but her body wasn't pulling away. She was here. With me.

"You don't know what you do to me," I murmured. "Aap samajh bhi nahi sakti... ke aap mujhe sirf chhoo bhi lein, toh main sab bhool jaata hoon."

My voice cracked a little.

But I meant every word.

I stayed there, still kneeling, holding her like she was something sacred. Not something I wanted to possess-but someone I wanted to hold onto for life.

She smelled like everything I'd ever dreamed of.

I wasn't in a hurry. There was no rush. This wasn't about claiming her.

This was about loving her.

And I was going to take my time doing it.

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The door opened quietly.

Noor stepped in first, her hand held firmly by Sidharth's. The house was filled with warm light. Clicking sound coming softly from the dining area, where the family sat, almost ready for dinner.

As soon as she saw them, Noor's eyes dropped. She gently tried to pull her hand back, nervous under so many eyes.

But Sidharth didn't let go.

His grip grew tighter-not rough, but sure. His message was clear. He wasn't letting go just because people were watching.

"Are betwa, aao, bhojan kar lo," his grandmother called out, her voice warm and strong from across the table.

Sidharth gave a small nod. He didn't speak. Instead, he looked down at his wristwatch.

The soft movement of his arm made his forearm flex under the rolled sleeve of his shirt. The watch sat tight on his wrist. His muscles moved without effort-strong, silent, in control. He looked calm, unreadable. But he was always like that. His face never showed much, but his presence filled the room.

Then his eyes shifted to Noor. Blue. Still.

She didn't look up.

He still didn't let her hand go.

Without a word, he walked her towards the table. Noor followed, nervous, but she didn't resist.

He pulled the chair out with one hand, the other still wrapped around hers. She sat down slowly. He didn't rush her. Her cheeks were warm, her fingers soft in his grip. She was shy, but she didn't pull away now.

Siddharth sat beside her. Then, he reached out for a clean plate and began to fill it-only hers. A little rice. A little sabzi. The things she liked. His movements were quiet, focused, steady.

He placed the plate gently in front of her.

Then, he picked up his empty plate and looked at her-quietly, patiently, without saying a word. But Noor understood. This was their little ritual. Their quiet habit. He served her first. She served him after.

Noor felt her cheeks turn warm. Her heart skipped as her hand reached forward. She took the rice bowl and gave him three spoons instead of two. She always did that. Then, the vegetables-just a little more than what he asked for. Always extra. Always careful. Always him.

She could feel eyes on her. Family watching. Silent curiosity, maybe even judgment. But she didn't stop.

Because she knew he felt it too. She knew he could sense every pair of eyes. But he didn't look up, didn't react. He just let her serve him, the same way he always let her feel safe in his silence.

Noor's heart was soft, always had been. She was quiet, shy, full of little storms inside. But she wasn't weak. She knew what to do when it mattered. She knew when to speak without words.

And Sidharth, with all his silence, all his stillness, was slowly building a world around her where her softness didn't feel like a burden.

A world where her quietness was heard.

A world where he was always holding her hand-even when no one could see.

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The evening light was soft-half gold, half silver. The wind was gentle, brushing softly against Noor's hair as she walked barefoot in the tulip garden. Her soft cotton dupatta moved slowly behind her like a quiet shadow.

She stopped in front of a single pink tulip.

It wasn't fully open yet. Its petals were still holding back, like a secret waiting to be told.

She leaned in just a little.

Her eyes studied it carefully.

"Will it bloom tonight... or tomorrow morning?"

She had been waiting for it since days-checking it morning and night, as if her heart bloomed a little with it too.

Suddenly, she heard a voice behind her. Deep. Gentle. With a small complaint hidden in its warmth.

"Mujhe akela chhod ke aa gayi aap?"
(You left me alone and came here?)

She turned around slowly.

There he stood-Sidharth.

Wearing a soft grey t-shirt and loose pyjama. A warm shawl wrapped around his shoulders, and another one in his hand-folded neatly, like it was meant just for her.

His hair was a little messy from sleep. His eyes sleepy, but smiling. A soft smile broke across Noor's lips.

She shook her head with a tiny smile and started walking toward him. Her anklet made a soft chhan chhan sound. Her hair danced in the wind. The tulips swayed with her steps, as if greeting her.

When she reached him, Sidharth didn't speak. He quietly unfolded the shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling it close to her chest. Then, gently, he fixed the sides-his fingers slow, careful.

He made sure no wind could touch her skin.

He looked into her eyes for a moment-and then, still holding the edge of the shawl, he leaned down and softly pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Noor's cheek turned warm like the sky at sunset.

He smiled again, teasing.

"Badmaash hoti ja rahi hain aap."
(You're getting naughtier day by day.)

Noor looked up at him through her eyelashes, eyes full of something quiet and soft. Her lips curved into a playful smile.

"Aapke saath rehne ka asar hai."
(It's the effect of staying with you.)

Sidharth blinked once, as if surprised-and then gave a small, helpless nod, like she had won again.

She narrowed her eyes at him, a small warning in her stare.

And he laughed.

His laugh-deep, full, beautiful. Noor kept looking at him, her heart filled with light. His laugh always made the world quieter. Even the wind seemed to pause to listen.

"Jab aapke pyaare pyaare hoth, teekhe jawaab dete hain..."
(When your sweet little lips give sharp answers...)

"...ji to karta hai ki bas tang karta rahun aapko."
(my heart just wants to keep teasing you forever.)

She laughed under her breath and gave him a soft slap on his arm.

He laughed again, still looking at her. Then he gently took her hand in his. Noor didn't pull away. She liked how his big hand covered hers-warm and protective.

He was still smiling. And so was she.

But neither of them were laughing loudly now. There was peace in their silence-like two hearts standing still, together.

Sidharth turned slowly and started walking further into the tulip garden, still holding her hand. Noor walked beside him, her head leaning against his upper arm.

The tulips around them swayed softly in the wind, like they were listening to a poem that wasn't written in words.

Noor didn't say anything.

She just walked like that, close to him.

And Siddharth didn't say anything either.

But his hand was still holding hers. His body warm beside her. And when she leaned her head against him, he moved a little closer, like even that small space between them felt too much.

Just the sound of the wind.

The soft crush of grass under their feet.

And a garden full of tulips who knew-without ever being told-that this was what it meant to be loved.

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.

"Raat bohot ho chuki hai, chalein andar?"

("It's very late now, shall we go inside?")

Sidharth said softly, turning his eyes to her with a small smile that touched more than just his lips-it touched her heart.

Noor nodded slowly. Her fingers played with the edge of the shawl he had wrapped around her, and together, they started walking back toward the haveli.

The wind had softened now. The garden was slowly giving in to the night's calm silence, but it still smelled of tulips and quiet dreams.

Inside the house, it was peaceful. Too peaceful.

The only sound was Noor's gentle chan-chan-the soft rhythm of her payal kissing the marble with each step.

The hall was long, quiet, and dimly lit. As they crossed halfway through it, Noor suddenly felt her feet leave the ground.

"Ah-!" she gasped softly, eyes widening.

Sidharth had lifted her in his arms without warning.

She clutched the shawl and blinked at him, her eyes full of that soft surprise she always had around him.

"Sidharth ji...!" she whispered.

He looked at her with the calmest, most boyish blink. Like he had done nothing unusual.

She immediately glanced around, her heart doing little flips, checking if anyone was watching.

But no one was there. Just them. Just this quiet, private little world.

Noor, still in his arms, tried to scold him in a hushed voice as they climbed the stairs,

"Ye aap hume baar baar utha kyu lete hai?"
("Why do you keep picking me up again and again?")

She narrowed her eyes at him, pretending to be angry, though her voice gave her away. She wasn't angry. She was just soft, just shy, just Noor.

Sidharth looked down at her, the smirk playing lazily on his lips. His voice was warm and low when he replied,

"Kyunki aap jitni kareeb hoti hain, utna mujhe sukoon aata hai."
("Because the closer you are to me, the more peace I feel.")

Noor couldn't say anything after that.

She just stared at him. Her cheeks turned warm, and she looked away quickly, shaking her head. She bit her lip gently, hiding the smile that was blooming like the tulip she had been admiring earlier.

Sidharth didn't say more. He just looked ahead and carried her up the remaining stairs, as if this moment belonged only to them.

They reached the room.

Siddharth opened the door with one hand, holding her carefully with the other. He stepped inside and kicked the door softly shut behind them.

The room welcomed them with a kind silence.

Without saying anything, Siddharth walked toward the bathroom. He opened the door gently and stepped in, still holding her.

Inside, the warm lights glowed.

He turned, and without rush, made her sit on the countertop-like placing something precious where it would be safe.

Noor sat quietly, looking at him. His care wasn't loud. It was in his hands, in his eyes, in the silence between them.

He leaned in slowly and pressed a soft kiss over the tip of her nose. Just one second. Just enough to make her heartbeat skip.

Then, without a word, he turned and walked into the closet.

A moment later, he returned-holding her night suit. A soft satin shirt and pant, folded carefully in his hand. It looked light, but not lighter than how he held her-with softness, with quiet love.

He handed her the nightwear and leaned forward once again.

This time, his lips touched hers.

Soft. Gentle. No rush.

Just one kiss that left warmth on her lips and blush on her cheeks.

Noor didn't say a word.

She just looked at him, her eyes glassy with something she couldn't describe-something that lived between peace and poetry.

Sidharth smiled a little and said,

"Jaldi aayega."
("I'll be back soon.")

And then, he stepped back, letting the door close softly behind him-leaving the room warmer than it was before he walked in.

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Noor stepped out of the bathroom, her steps slow, her hand gently resting on her lower stomach. It was the last day of her cycle. The pain wasn't much, but enough to make her move carefully. She yawned softly, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand like a sleepy child.

As she walked, the soft lights of the room wrapped her in warmth. Sidharth's eyes slowly lifted from the bed, where he was sitting - shirtless, his broad shoulders relaxed, but his gaze alert. He noticed the way she was walking. Something about it told him she wasn't okay.

He got up without saying a word.

Noor, who was near the bed now, looked up at him, surprised. But before she could ask anything, Sidharth gently held her hand, the warmth of his touch already soothing. His fingers closed around hers as he guided her to sit on the bed.

"Let jaaiye," he said softly, voice deep but calm.

("Lie down.")

Noor didn't ask why. She simply nodded and lay down without a word. The blanket was pulled over her, right up to her neck. Her small hands held the edge of it, her eyes watching Siddharth as he moved around quietly.

He turned off the main bulb, dimming the room with only a soft glow left from a small side lamp. Then, he walked to the AC and increased the temperature a little - he knew her body needed warmth tonight.

She kept watching him. Her stomach hurt, a soft sting now and then. But she was used to it. Still, tonight, she felt tired.

Sidharth came back to the bed and quietly got in. He didn't pull her into his arms like usual. Instead, he lay beside her. His hand slowly reached for her stomach, placing his palm gently over it. Noor's breath hitched a little, but she didn't say anything.

His hand began to move slowly in circles, comforting her - a silent way of saying he cared.

He noticed the small lines on her forehead relax as his touch soothed her pain. His other hand then moved to her waist, slipping under the edge of her shirt where her waistband sat. Gently, with care, he lowered it just enough to uncover her stomach, never rushing, always slow, always gentle - as if every movement carried his full heart in it.

Noor turned her face slightly to look at him.

He was already looking at her, his eyes calm, a soft smile on his lips. There was no teasing in that smile - only care.

He leaned in a little closer and whispered, "Thoda aaram milega."

("You'll feel a little better.")

She nodded faintly, her eyes softening.

His warm fingers started to massage her lower stomach, slow, deep, but light enough not to hurt. Her muscles relaxed under his touch. Her breathing evened out. Her fingers, once tightly holding the blanket, now loosened.

He noticed the way her body was responding - the ease, the quiet trust. With his other hand, he slowly moved to her shirt. Gently, he opened the top few buttons. She wasn't wearing a bra, and the fabric of her shirt now loosely hung over her chest.

His touch was not hurried. His fingers rested lightly over her breast, rubbing softly, easing the sensitivity that came during this time. He could feel how swollen she was. He had noticed it before too - how her shirt hugged her a little tighter today. He knew. He always knew.

Noor's eyes met his again.

She didn't look away. Her cheeks were a light shade of red now, but her eyes didn't leave his.

This wasn't new for them. It was something that happened when needed. Quiet care, without awkwardness, without shame. Just them - together.

Her eyes closed slowly, her lips parting as she let out a quiet moan of relief. Siddharth leaned in, kissing her cheek gently. His lips were warm, soft. A second later, he lightly bit her cheek, making her smile weakly through her relief.

Her pain was still there, but less now. Her chest felt lighter too. Her breathing slowed as her body relaxed under his touch.

Sidharth kept massaging slowly, his hand moving with devotion. He didn't stop, not even when her hands dropped to her sides, her body now soft, relaxed. Her face was calm, eyes closed, lips parted gently as she drifted off in his care.

He looked at her for a long moment, his hand still on her stomach, giving her warmth, giving her peace.

This was not about desire tonight. It was about love - the kind that speaks without words, the kind that touches without taking.

He whispered near her ear, his voice low, almost like a breath, "Aaram aaya?"

("Do you feel better?")

Noor, without opening her eyes, nodded faintly and whispered, "Haan..."

("Yes...")

That small word, her soft voice, the way her lips curved slightly after saying it - all of it made Sidharth smile.

He leaned in, pressing another kiss on her temple, his hand still gently moving over her stomach.

Moments later, Noor fell asleep.

And Sidharth didn't move.

He just stayed there, eyes on her peaceful face, his hand still offering warmth - like a silent promise that he would always be there, like this... soft, close, and hers.

.

.

.

.

.

"Aapki wajah se late hue hai hum."

(It's because of you that I'm late.)

My lips almost curled into a smile. Almost.

She thinks I'm asleep. Like always. She thinks I don't hear her sweet little morning complaints.

She woke up late today. An hour late. Her voice held that tiny pout I've memorized too well. I didn't see her face yet, but I can imagine the way her eyes must have narrowed at me, like I'm the reason the sun rose early today.

I can see her in my mind - brows drawn together, lips pushed out, hands resting on her hips. Cute anger. She doesn't even know what she does to me with that.

She was murmuring. To herself. To me. To no one. Her anklet makes that soft sound as she walks across the room, and I listen - like I always do. I know she's rushing now. I can hear her opening the cupboard, pulling her saree. I know every move without looking.

Then silence.

She's gone.

The sound of her anklets fade. And I know she left the room.

My face slowly turns toward the bathroom door. I open my eyes.

And I smile.

A full, open, helpless smile. The kind that comes when you're no longer in control of your heart - not even a little. I run a hand through my hair, stare at the door, and whisper into the air:

"Aap kisi din mujhe poora bawala hi bana dengi, Noor."

(One day, you'll drive me completely crazy, Noor.)

God, I love her.

I close my eyes again, like a fool trying to stop time. But the universe never listens when it's about her. And ten minutes later, the door opens again.

I don't move.

Her anklets again. Quick steps. She's half-ready. My eyes stay closed, but I see her.

The soft sound of the saree brushing her skin. That green colour - her favourite. Her hair tied in a loose bun, only the blouse and petticoat on, and the saree clumsily wrapped as she stands in front of the mirror. She's fast today. In a hurry. But even in this rush, she looks like art in motion.

She picks up lotion. Applies it on her arms. The scent reaches me. Light, sweet, hers.

Her bangles slide on her wrists, making soft music. She puts on her jhumkas - the gold ones I love. Her fingers pause for a second near her ear. I don't know if she's fixing them or thinking about something. But I know I'm thinking about her.

Then that mole. Just near her lips. A tiny black spot. I see it every time, and every time, it pulls something wild out of me. I want to kiss it. Not now. Every day. Always.

She's beautiful.

But today... she's too fast. No slow glances at the mirror. No checking her bindi twice. No last look at me.

I almost frown.

Then she walks to the cupboard. Picks out my shirt. Ironed. Perfect. She presses it gently like it's something delicate.

She does this every day. She never says it's love. But I know it is.

I want to sit up. Pull her to me. Hold her face and kiss her like I'm dying without it. But I don't move.

She turns to leave. My breath catches.

Is she not going to say good morning?

But then - she stops.

Turns.

Walks back. Slowly.

My heart beats loud now. Like it's waiting for a signal.

She leans in.

"Good morning, Aarth."

And then - a soft kiss. Just a small one on my cheek. A touch. But it hits my soul.

She runs out. Again.

And I open my eyes.

"Now," I whisper, my voice low, "now, it's a good morning."

She was gone.

Again.

But she left behind something I couldn't explain in words.

I stayed in bed for a few more minutes. Eyes closed. Breathing slow.

It was not because I was tired.

It was because I could still feel her kiss on my cheek. That soft touch she gave me before running off. Every morning, she did it. Like a habit. Like a secret between us. Like her heart whispering "I'm here."

I finally sat up.

The room was quiet now. Sunlight touched the curtains, and I let it in. My body moved on its own. I stretched, got down, and started doing some push-ups. My usual routine. I didn't count. I never do.

But halfway through, my mind drifted.

To her.

Again.

I saw her face in my mind. That small frown. That sleepy complaint. The way she said "Aapki wajah se late hue hain hum," and made it sound like a sin I was proud to commit.

I laughed. Quietly. To myself.

She complains every morning, and every morning, I fall in love with her all over again.

It was strange.

Strange how love feels when you've never tasted it before. Strange how soft it feels when your life was made of harsh edges.

As I did another push-up, something inside me moved.

Not my muscles.

Something deeper.

Something like a child.

Yes. That child. The one no one saw. The one people never cared of. The one who was left one. That one who was tortured.

That child.

I had buried him long ago.

I didn't even realise when he started breathing again.

But now... he laughs. He smiles when she kisses me. He listens when she talks to herself in the room. He hides behind my calm face and watches her every move.

And the best part?

He's safe now.

Because she's here.

She brought him back to life without even trying. She held the broken pieces without knowing they were sharp. And somehow, she didn't bleed. She just... stayed.

I never told her any of this.

One day, she'll know that she did something no one else ever could.

I got up and went into the bathroom. The water was cold, but I didn't mind. I made it quick. Always did. I wasn't the kind of man to stand under the shower for too long, thinking of poetry.

But even in that short time, I thought of her again.

Her laugh.

Her hands.

That little kiss.

When I came out, a towel wrapped around my waist, I saw it.

She had already picked my clothes.

As always.

I didn't ask her to. She just did.

And every time, her choice was better than mine.

she had kept out a deep blue shirt with golden buttons. She had placed khaki trousers with it - strong contrast, but perfect.

I smirked.

I wore the clothes, button by button, and fixed the collar.

I didn't look into the mirror much. Just enough to make sure I didn't look like a mess. But even if I did - I knew she'd fix it with her eyes. Like she always does.

I took my phone and keys. Stood near the bedroom door for a second. Thought of calling her upstairs.

Then changed my mind.

I knew where she was.

Kitchen.

Of course.

I smiled again. Just a little.

I had told the staff clearly My voice was cold that day, but clear. "She is not with you. She is above you." They understood. Or maybe they didn't.

But they listened. And I made sure they followed. She never demanded respect - but I demanded it for her. Because I can't keep breathing after knowing my wife is not respected enought.

They understood.

Still, I never stopped her. She wanted to work in the kitchen? She could. But only because she wanted to. Not because someone said it was her job. Not because anyone made her feel like it was her place. This was her home.

And she could do whatever she wanted. I would never bind her to roles. Her freedom mattered more than tradition. She could burn the kitchen if she felt like it - and I'd stand beside her, holding the match.

I stopped in front of the kitchen door. I didn't need to push it. It was open. And she was there. Standing. Her back facing me. Her pallu falling off little, loose. She didn't fix it. She was too focused. Her hands moved with such calmness - stirring, pouring, measuring. The tea was almost done. I could smell it from here. That same fragrance she makes every morning. A little cardamom. Not too strong. Just enough. She always remembers the little things.

I just stood there. Watching her. Watching the woman who turned a house into home. Who filled my silent world with soft noises - her voice, her bangles, her small footsteps. There was a time I used to live alone and thought I liked it. But now I realize I wasn't living. I was just breathing. Just getting by. Now, when she's around, the silence doesn't feel empty. It feels full. Like it's holding something. Like it's holding her.

And in that moment, standing at the door, I felt something shift in me. A kind of peace. A kind of warmth that didn't need words. Her presence did that. Her routine did that. And even though I already knew all her patterns, all her little movements... I still watched like it was the first time. Like I was discovering her again. Maybe that's what love does when it's real - it keeps making you fall for the same person in new ways, without trying.

And then I took a step forward.

Not fast. Not loud.

Just close enough to feel her presence better.

And when I reached her, I didn't call her name. I didn't say a word. I simply moved behind her and slid my hand around her waist - slow, soft, careful. Like she was something I was still afraid to break. My fingers rested there, just above her hipbone, where the fabric was warm and her skin waited just under it.

She gasped, just like she always does when I come close from behind. That tiny sound-so soft, so hers-it hits me every time. I tightened my hold on her waist gently, not too firm, just enough to remind her I'm here. Mine.

I bent my head down slowly, burying my face in her hair, letting the scent take over me. Sandalwood and jasmine. It was so her. Calming... like home. My nose brushed against her neck, and I closed my eyes for a second.

Her hand slowly moved to cover mine, still resting on her waist. That touch-her soft fingers over mine-it made something in my chest ache and smile at the same time. I heard her voice, low and breathy.

"C-Chai le ke aa hi rhe the hum..."
("I-I was just bringing the tea...")

I smirked. Her words, her tone-trying to sound normal, failing miserably. I stayed right where I was, smiled against her neck and replied softly, teasingly-

"Koi baat nahi cherry, aap aa rahi thi, mai aagya."
("No problem, cherry, you were coming... so I came instead.")

I pulled back just enough to look at her, and in one swift move, I turned her toward me and picked her up to sit on the counter. Her eyes widened a little, but she didn't stop me. She never does.

I gave her a boyish smile-the kind that she says makes me look younger, dumber, and dangerously cute-and turned toward the stove. The tea was boiling now. I picked the spoon and started mixing the leaves slowly, watching the color change, feeling her eyes on me.

Then came her voice-her panic was adorable.

"Sidharth ji! Kya kar rahe hai?! Hatiye! Koi dekhega to kya kahega!"
("Sidharth ji! What are you doing?! Move! What if someone sees us, what will they say!")

I couldn't help it. I laughed softly at first, then louder. Her worry, her innocence-it only made me want to tease her more. I cleared my throat, turned to her with a fake serious face and a scared tone, and said-

"Yhi kahega ki dekho nayi bahurani ne Sidharth betwa ko gulam bana rakha hai. Bechara betwa."
("They'll say-look, the new bride has turned poor Sidharth into a slave. Poor guy.")

She froze for a second, probably ready to nod to my teasing, then suddenly gasped at my words and lightly hit my bicep. Her fingers barely had force in them, but it made me laugh again.

She narrowed her eyes at me, but I didn't miss the small smile tugging at her lips when she said-

"Bahut tang karte hai aap hume."
("You trouble me a lot.")

Her voice was soft, not complaining, more like a truth she's used to now. I looked at her, my smile fading just a little, replaced with something warmer.

"Bigar gya hu na... aapne bigar diya hai."
("I've gone bad, right? You've spoiled me.")

I leaned in and pressed a kiss on the top of her nose. Her eyes narrowed more, playful now, like she was ready to scold me again.

"Acha, sorry."
("Alright, sorry.")

I smiled, not moving too far this time, just enough to start pouring tea into two cups. One for me. One for her.

She was still sitting on the counter, still looking at me. And I? I was just breathing in the moment.

Like loving her was as normal as breathing.
And being loved by her... that was my favorite miracle.

Sidharth ji had already left for the hospital. I stood outside with all the family members, saying my goodbyes as they were getting ready to leave for the satsangh. I touched Maa's feet for her blessings before she left. She smiled at me warmly, giving me that familiar sense of comfort.

"Take care of yourself, Noor beta," she said, her voice soft but strong.

"I will, Maa," I replied, my lips curving into a small, tender smile.

Once they were all gone, I stood there for a moment, the house feeling quiet without the usual hustle and bustle. It was just me now, and the silence that followed felt peaceful in its own way.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly four in the afternoon. The time felt still, like I had all the space I needed now to focus on myself.

With a sigh, I walked back inside, my steps slow and deliberate. The silence of the house surrounded me, almost making me feel like the whole world had paused for a moment. I made my way to our room and stood before the mirror.

I looked at myself closely. My reflection stared back at me, and for a moment, I didn't recognize the woman I saw. I wasn't wearing any makeup, my hair was pulled back into a messy bun, and I was dressed simply. Just... me.

But today, I wanted to look different. I wanted to feel beautiful, for myself and for him. I wanted him to come home and look at me like he always does-with admiration in his eyes. I couldn't help but blush at the thought. The way he looks at me, like I'm the only one in the world. It always makes me feel special.

It's funny, but I realized how much I missed that. When I wasn't feeling my best-like during my periods-I hadn't felt the need to get ready, to put on that extra care. But today, after they ended, It felt like the right time to be beautiful again.

I smiled softly, running my hand over my face, as if reassuring myself that I was still here, still me. But now, I needed to feel like me in the way I loved the most.

I walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the sound of the water fill the quiet space around me. The cool water hit my skin, and I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the simple sensation. I let the water flow through my hair, and for the first time in days, I felt light, fresh, and alive again.

I shampooed my hair, taking extra time to massage my scalp, feeling the small bubbles of the shampoo as they lathered up. The smell of jasmine and lemon filled the air, and for a moment, I imagined Siddharth ji's reaction when he smelled this same scent later.

I couldn't help but smile at the thought.

After the shower, I wrapped my hair in a towel and stepped out, feeling the soft warmth of the towel against my skin. I looked at myself in the mirror again. The water had brightened my skin, and I could feel the small excitement inside me building. Today, I was going to get ready in the way I used to love, the way I hadn't in a while.

I went to the wardrobe and picked out the red saree. It was simple, but the color made me feel powerful, confident. I loved how it felt on my skin. As I began to pleat it, I noticed how each movement was slower, more deliberate. I was savoring the process. The feel of the fabric, the quiet of the room, the joy of dressing up just for myself, for him.

The saree's fabric was soft under my fingers, and I pinned the pallu over my shoulder carefully. I loved these little details-the way the fabric brushed against me as I moved, how everything seemed to come together. My hands moved with care, like I was crafting something beautiful, just for the moment.

I then looked through my jewelry box. I chose a pair of simple gold earrings, just the right size. Not too flashy, but enough to catch the light. I put on my bangles, just two, one on each wrist. I liked them simple. Not too much.

Next, I applied a little bit of makeup-just enough to brighten my face. A thin line of eyeliner, a little blush to bring some color back to my cheeks, and a soft pink lipstick. It was subtle, but it made me feel good. I finished with a small dot of perfume behind my ears, the fragrance light and sweet. The same one I always used, the one that he liked.

I stood back and looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were slightly flushed, my hair falling in soft waves around my face, the red saree resting perfectly on my body. I looked... beautiful. Not in the way others might see me, but in the way I felt about myself.

I felt confident. I felt like me.

And I couldn't wait for Sidharth ji to come home and see me. To see the woman he had married. To see the woman he loved.

It was as though my heart was full of warmth, like a fire that was burning softly inside me. I was smiling, and I couldn't stop. Today, I was not just Noor. I was the Noor who loved herself, who loved getting ready, and who loved the quiet moments like this-when I could simply be me.

The feeling of excitement lingered, and I knew that when he came home, his eyes would find me, and it would be like nothing else mattered.

I stood in front of the mirror, my eyes locked onto my reflection. The soft red of my saree, the way it clung to my body, and how my hair cascaded in soft waves made me feel... different. I didn't look like the tired, unpolished version of myself I had become over the past few days. No, today, I looked like me-the Noor who used to get ready with joy, the Noor who loved to look beautiful for herself and him.

I smiled softly, feeling my cheeks warm. I couldn't help it; it was like a little spark inside me was lighting up. I looked beautiful. I felt beautiful.

His love did this to me. His presence, even when he wasn't here, made me want to be the best version of myself. I wanted to shine, not because anyone expected it, but because it made me feel alive. It made me feel like I was worth something, and that was his gift to me. Siddharth ji... he always made me feel happy, never low. His love had this magic, like it could heal everything, even the little things I hadn't even noticed about myself.

I smiled again, my fingers touching the delicate fabric of my saree. I felt a rush of excitement bubble inside me. What would he think when he came home? Would his eyes light up like they always did when he saw me? I couldn't wait. I felt my heart beat faster just imagining his reaction.

I stepped back, taking a deep breath. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I was so ready to see him again, to see how he would look at me. I couldn't help but feel a little shy, a little nervous, but mostly excited. It was strange how much I wanted to look good for him.

I stood there for a moment, looking at myself once more. I was still smiling, a little lost in the thoughts of him. I knew he would like this. He always made me feel like I was the only one in the room. Even if he didn't say it, his eyes spoke for him. His love never failed to make me feel special.

And then, without even thinking, I hummed a little song to myself. It was soft at first, a little melody I liked. It felt right, like the rhythm matched my heartbeat. I started moving a little-slow at first. It wasn't a dance, not really. Just me, moving with the happiness that was bubbling up inside me.

I swayed gently, feeling the fabric of my saree brush against my legs, the soft fabric moving with me. I let my body follow the music in my head, the song that seemed to make everything feel light and full of hope. A soft giggle escaped my lips as I twirled slowly. It felt so natural. So simple. So... me.

The excitement was growing, the joy of just being myself again, of having the freedom to feel happy, was overwhelming. I wasn't worried about anything else in that moment-only how good it felt to dance in this small, private happiness I had created for myself.

I kept moving, my smile wide, my heart full of warmth. I felt my feet tap lightly to the imaginary beat in my head, my arms floating as if in their own world. It wasn't a grand dance, just little movements that reflected how I felt inside-carefree, happy, beautiful, and most of all... loved.

As I twirled again, I imagined Siddharth ji walking through the door, his eyes landing on me. I couldn't help but blush, my heart skipping a beat at the thought of him seeing me like this-happy, glowing, and full of love.

I paused, looking at myself one last time in the mirror. I couldn't help but smile again, my heart full.

Siddharth's POV

I parked the car slowly, not in a rush to go inside... yet not patient enough to stay away. I came early today. Ma had texted that they were leaving for satsangh & I couldn't live their know my noor is alone at home.

Home.

It was no longer the walls. No longer the room.

It was her.

I stepped in, half expecting to see Noor in the hall-waiting for me. Too quiet. Not even the faint sound of her voice or anklet. I looked towards the kitchen, hoping to find her there, maybe cooking something, humming like she does when she's in a good mood. But no, it was empty too.

I don't know why, but my heart suddenly felt restless. It's not like anything was wrong, but when she's not in front of me, a strange silence fills the air. I walked towards the stairs, slowly, and just when I reached the top-

chan chan...

And then I heard it.

That sound.

Her payal.

So soft... so familiar... like the universe reminding me where home truly is.

That little jingle-it was my favorite sound. It always meant she was near. Always meant I could find her. The soft sound of silver hitting the floor, floating like music in the quiet house.

My lips curved. A smile came without me even knowing. That sound-it was hers. So hers. The kind of sound I never noticed before marriage, but now... now it's the only sound that calms something wild inside me.

I walked towards our room, and the moment I reached the door, I paused. The door was slightly open, and I touched it lightly, pushing it just enough to peek inside.

And then... I forgot how to breathe.

Noor.

She stood in front of the mirror, dressed in red. Not just any red. The deep kind-the color of love, of warmth, of fire that doesn't burn but heals. Her saree wrapped around her like poetry. Her skin glowed like she'd swallowed sunlight. And her hair, still slightly wet, framed her face in the gentlest way.

And she was dancing.

Not the kind people practice. No steps. No rhythm to follow.

She was just... moving. Slowly. Freely. Like she had no weight in her heart. Like happiness had filled her body to the brim and was spilling out from her fingers, her smile, her swaying.

She didn't know I was watching.

And I didn't move.

My feet froze, but my heart didn't. It was racing-loud enough to echo in my ears. My hands, still on the door, felt weak. As if they'd forgotten their purpose.

I leaned against the frame, helpless.

What are you doing to me, Noor?

She looked like a dream. No-not a dream. She looked like the reason I had survived the storms. The answer to every prayer I never said out loud.

My eyes traveled to her hands, adjusting the pallu slightly. The way she looked at herself in the mirror with that shy, soft smile-as if she liked what she saw. And she should.

Because I did.

God, I did.

She looked beautiful.

No-she looked like she was born to make the word 'beautiful' mean something again.

And in that moment, I wasn't just in love.

I was obsessed.

Not the kind that hurts.

The kind that stays quiet.

The kind that kneels and thanks the stars.

The kind that could give up everything just to see her smile again like that.

Her smile-soft, proud, innocent. She looked like a girl and a goddess all at once. And I felt like the luckiest sinner alive.

My throat tightened. I wanted to say something. But I couldn't ruin this.

Because seeing her happy?

Like this?

That was my salvation.

She twirled once, slowly, almost like a child lost in her own rhythm.

God, she was beautiful. No, beyond it.

How can someone look so delicate and still burn me completely?

How does she do this-smile and take the weight off my entire day?

I have seen the world, but nothing feels more powerful than watching her like this... dancing in our room, free, soft, in red.

My throat felt dry, my chest felt tight, and yet I couldn't stop looking.

She wasn't just the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

She was the only thing I ever wanted to see.

Her smile-it lit up the entire room. Her eyes sparkled like they were hiding laughter, and the way her saree hugged her gently-like even the fabric knew how lucky it was.

My fingers curled lightly at my sides. Not in frustration. But in longing.

She has no idea, does she? How much power she holds.

One look from her and I could walk away from the world. One tear and I'd burn it down.

And right now?

Right now, watching her in that red saree, dancing like the world was kind-I felt something deep and dangerous.

I felt like I was made for her.

Not just to love her.

But to belong to her.

To breathe her in. To keep her safe. To make sure no sadness ever finds her again.

I smiled-small, helpless.

She's happy.

And that's all I ever wanted.

Because her happiness?

That's my prayer. My purpose. My obsession. My peace.

I wanted to walk to her, hold her from behind, whisper in her ear that she has no idea how she looks right now. That if anyone ever saw her like this, I'd lose my mind.

But I stayed where I was, holding the door, smiling like a fool.

Because this-this moment-was hers.

And I was lucky enough to see it.

Author's POV

Noor twirled once again, completely lost in herself, in the little world she had created just now with her own laughter, her own reflection, and the happiness dancing in her chest. She had no idea her steps had become music for someone else's heart. But as she turned one more time, her eyes suddenly caught him.

She stopped.

A soft gasp left her lips, a surprised smile forming the next second.

"Aap kab aaye?" she asked, her voice full of sweet shock, almost breathless, but still bubbling with joy.

Sidharth was still standing by the door, leaning on it, just the way he had been-quiet, still, and completely lost in her. He didn't move. His eyes, they stayed fixed on her like she was the only thing that existed. The room could've caught fire and he still wouldn't have blinked.

Noor took a few small steps back, standing right in front of him now, her smile growing wider, a little shy now, but glowing.

"Acha... kaise lag rahe hai hum?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice soft but full of that innocent excitement only love could bring.

Sidharth just looked at her.

And looked.

And kept looking.

His throat tightened. His hands were still resting on the doorframe, but his whole body felt heavy. He didn't want to move. He couldn't. She looked too beautiful. So soft. So light. Like a dream that had decided to stay.

He smiled-a small, quiet smile that touched only his lips, but his eyes... they were full. With so much feeling, it was hard to hold them all in.

And then, his voice came. Barely above a whisper.

"Maaf kariye... aaj mere paas shabd nahi hai... jo aapki sundarta ko bayan kar sake."

Noor's cheeks turned warm at his words. Her fingers brushed her saree lightly, almost nervously, and her eyes dropped for a second, but her smile didn't fade. She tugged a loose strand of hair behind her ear, trying to calm her racing heart.

He was still watching her.

And she knew, from the way he was looking at her, she didn't need to ask anything else.

His words had ended-but his gaze hadn't. It held everything. The admiration. The love. The respect. The disbelief that someone like her could be his.

Noor slowly lifted her eyes again, meeting his. That soft, silent smile still on her lips. Her body was still standing straight, but inside-her heart was swaying again. Not with music now, but with the feeling of being seen. Loved. Fully.

Sidharth's breathing was slow now, but deep. Like he was trying to store this moment inside him. Like he didn't want this image of her-dressed in red, smiling like the whole world was perfect-to ever fade.

He stayed there. Leaning on the door. Just watching.

No words. No need.

Because sometimes, when someone looks at you like that, you understand everything. And Noor did.

She stood in front of him with the same smile. Big, soft, glowing. She wasn't nervous anymore. He was seeing her the way she wanted to be seen. Through the eyes of someone who loved not just her beauty, but the way she bloomed in her own little joy.

Her fingers lightly brushed her pallu, holding it close. Her heart felt full.

He hadn't moved a step, but she had never felt closer to him.

There was so much silence between them, but not the empty kind. It was the kind that held two hearts in it-beating steady, beating slow, beating together.

She laughed softly under her breath, just a small breath of happiness slipping out, and Sidharth's eyes softened even more.

Noor stayed there, standing in front of him, swaying just slightly, her eyes glowing with love.

And he stayed there, not blinking, not moving, just...watching her.

As if the moment would break if he did.

And in that soft, golden silence, the chapter ended-

With her smile.

With his breathless gaze.

And with a love so quietly deep, even the walls of the room could feel it.

_________________

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A small spoiler from chapter-62 (It's already uploaded on stck & is paid)

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