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Advika's pov

I was still lost in my thoughts...

The ring resting in my trembling hands. The question refusing to leave my mind.

Should I give it to him... or not?

Before I could decide-

The soft sound of the door opening echoed behind me. My heart stopped.

Then raced.

I turned and saw him.

He stepped inside, closing the door with a quiet click that somehow sounded far louder in the silence of the room.

Ekansh.

Tall.

Broad.

Commanding without even trying. He was still in his sherwani, though the once-perfect fabric now bore faint creases, subtle signs of a long, exhausting day. His sleeves were rolled halfway up, revealing strong forearms where veins ran like rivers beneath his skin.

A few strands of hair had fallen loose over his forehead.

Messy.

Unfiltered.

Real.

And somehow...

That made him look even more dangerous.

Even more powerful.

My breath faltered.

For a brief moment, he didn't move.

His gaze wandered across the room- slow, deliberate as if searching for something.

Or more specifically...

Someone.

Then his eyes found mine.

Dark.

Unreadable.

Calm like a still sea hiding unknown depths.

My breath hitched.

There was something terrifyingly intense about the way he looked at me.

Not curious. Not casual.

Focused.

Unwavering.

The kind of gaze that didn't just see you...

It reached inside you.

And suddenly-

I became painfully aware of everything.

The night. The silence. The ring still clutched in my hand. And the man who was now my husband standing only a few steps away.

The silence between us pressed heavy.

All I could hear was the frantic thudding of my own heart- loud, restless, betraying me.

I stayed where I was.

I didn't move.

I didn't speak.

My eyes were on him...

Yet not.

Because looking at him felt dangerously close to feeling something I wasn't ready to name. The silence stretched.

Too long.

Too full.

Too intimate.

It wasn't uncomfortable.

No...

It was the kind of silence weighted with unsaid words, cautious boundaries, and a strange, fragile respect neither of us dared to break too quickly.

And then-

His voice cut through it.

Low. Rough. Deep.

"I'll get changed."

The words weren't loud, yet they echoed inside me. I blinked, nodding faintly- unsure if he even noticed before turning my face toward the open sky beyond the balcony.

Moments later...

The soft click of the door locking reached my ears. Only then did I realise I had been holding my breath.

I exhaled slowly.

Relief... confusion... something unnamed slipping out with it.

My fingers tightened slightly around the small velvet box still in my hand.

And under my breath, barely a whisper-

"Shivji... ye inki aankhein hai..."

I swallowed.

"...ya aisa lagta hai jaise poora brahmand samaya ho unmein."

.

I was pretending to read. The book lay open in my hands, but the words had long blurred into meaningless lines. My mind wasn't on the pages. It was on the closed bathroom door.

And then-

The handle turned.

My breath stilled.

He stepped out, casually rubbing a towel through his damp hair. Gone was the regal sherwani.

Now he stood there in a simple black T-shirt, the fabric clinging lightly to his chest, paired with charcoal joggers.

Effortless. Unfiltered.

And somehow...

Far more dangerous to my heartbeat.

I looked up.

Just for a second.

But his eyes met mine.

And I immediately dropped my gaze back to the book, nerves fluttering wildly in my stomach.

Why was I suddenly so aware of him?

Of the room?

Of everything?

He didn't say anything dramatic. Didn't stare. Didn't make it awkward. He simply walked over and sat on the opposite side of the bed.

A careful distance.

A silent courtesy.

When I finally dared to glance at him again, he tilted his head slightly, his voice gentle, unexpectedly warm.

"Raat bahut ho gayi hai... aap thak bhi gayi hongi. So jaaiye."

I blinked.

Surprised.

Because this...

This was not what I had imagined.

I had expected arrogance. Coldness. Authority dripping from every word.

But he was- Soft-spoken. Considerate.

Disarmingly calm.

Something inside me shifted quietly.

I closed my book, sliding a bookmark between the pages before placing it on the nightstand.

My fingers hesitated over the small blue velvet box lying beside it. The ring. My heartbeat quickened again. Before I could lose my courage, I picked it up, turning slightly toward him.

My face burned.

My voice came out softer than intended. "Ye... humari taraf se." I extended the box toward him. "For you... agar acha lage toh pehen lijiyega."

For a moment, he simply looked at me.

Not at the box. At me. Then, without a word, he took it.

Carefully.

As if it held something fragile.

He opened it.

The platinum ring sat there- simple, understated, almost painfully ordinary against the quiet luxury of the room.

For half a second, doubt stabbed through me.

Too simple.

Too plain.

Too... not his world.

But then-

With a quiet grace, he took the ring.

And slid it onto his finger. Perfect fit.

My lips twitched faintly- thank you, Yug bhaiya.

He turned toward me. And there it was again... that calm gaze, that unreadable softness.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"For this wonderful gift."

A pause.

"It's... great."

And I swear-

My heart forgot how to beat properly.

His gaze held mine with an intensity that made my pulse stumble. Then, quietly... he spoke.

"I know this marriage happened suddenly."

His voice was calm, but there was weight beneath it. "We barely know each other."

A pause.

"But know this..."

Something shifted in his eyes. Something firm. Unyielding.

"I respect this marriage."

My breath slowed.

"And I take very seriously..." he continued, "these sacred rituals..." Each word landed with unsettling sincerity.

No arrogance.

No indifference.

Only conviction.

I listened carefully, silently, without allowing a single emotion to surface because if I did...

I wasn't sure what might spill out. So I answered calmly. Measured. Controlled.

"I can give this marriage my loyalty."

His gaze sharpened.

"Honesty."

"Respect."

Silence thickened.

"And everything that comes with it..." My fingers curled subconsciously.

"But don't expect love from me."

The air changed.

Instantly. Visibly. His expression stilled.

Then darkened. Not anger. Something colder. Far more dangerous.

His eyes locked onto mine and when he spoke, his voice was low. Quiet. Deadly.

"Do you love someone else?"

My heart skipped. Not from guilt.

But from the storm hidden beneath that question.

I turned fully toward him. Met his gaze without flinching and answered with steady seriousness.

"No."

A flicker crossed his face. Barely there.

But I saw it.

"I have never loved anyone."

The silence that followed was sharp.

Tense. Fragile.

"It's just..."

The words caught unexpectedly in my throat. Because how do you explain something that even you don't fully understand?

I looked away briefly. Then back at him.

"It's just that love..." I whispered, "...is not something I believe in."

His eyes didn't leave my face. Not even for a second.

"As far as I've seen," I continued softly,

"It only makes people weak."

A beat.

"Vulnerable."

Another.

"And eventually..."

My voice almost betrayed me.

"...broken."

Something unreadable flickered across his features. Not disagreement. Not acceptance. Something deeper.

He straightened slowly. His gaze now darker. Heavier.

"And what," he asked quietly, "made you believe that?"

My chest tightened because that question... that question was not casual curiosity. It was personal.

And suddenly, this conversation didn't feel safe anymore.

"I... I think we should sleep now. It's getting late."

The words tumbled out too quickly,

too breathless, as if I was trying to outrun something. Maybe him. Maybe my own heartbeat.

I didn't wait for his response. I turned almost instantly, pulling the comforter around myself like a shield.

A fragile barrier of fabric against the unfamiliar storm inside me. My eyes squeezed shut. But sleep was nowhere close.

Because my heart-

God

it was thundering. Wild. Restless. Loud enough that I was certain he could hear it.

Feel it.

Sense it.

The silence behind me stretched. No movement. No voice. Just that heavy awareness of him still being there.

Still watching.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, I heard the soft click. The lamp went off.

Darkness folded around the room,

thick and intimate.

The mattress shifted slightly and he lay down. A careful distance.

My pulse refused to calm. I lay there,

eyes closed, body stiff, pretending to drift into sleep.

Listening to the quiet rhythm of his breathing. Slow. Even. Dangerously soothing.

And somewhere between my racing thoughts and the steady rise and fall of his chest, my body began to betray me.

Tension loosened.

Breath softened.

Consciousness blurred.

Until finally, sleep claimed me, not gently, but like exhaustion pulling me under.

Unaware that beside me, in the darkness, Ekansh Agnihotri's eyes were still open.

.

I woke to the faintest glow of morning.

Soft, golden, still.

For a few disoriented seconds, I simply lay there, staring at nothing, my mind wrapped in a sleepy haze. Then memory stirred. Slow. Gentle.

And suddenly-

sharp.

I blinked harder.

I'm married.

The realization didn't crash into me. It seeped in. Quiet... yet overwhelming.

My fingers twitched against the sheet, curling into the fabric as if grounding myself in something real, something solid, something that wasn't a dream.

I turned my head ever so slightly.

And there he was.

My husband.

Asleep.

Not too far.

Not too close.

A strange shiver slipped through me-

not fear, not discomfort, but something unfamiliar... something dangerously intimate.

It moved beneath my skin like a secret I didn't yet understand. Because I had never been this close to anyone before.

Not like this.

Not in the quiet vulnerability of shared sleep.

Not in the fragile softness of morning.

Not even- a kiss.

The thought settled over me like a confession I hadn't meant to make.

Cold.

And burning all at once.

I had lived untouched.

Always guarded.

Always tense.

My skin had only known restraint, my body had only ever been mine.

And now... there was this.

This silent closeness.

This shared space.

This man.

A man I now called husband.

A soft breath escaped my lips, trembling at the edges. My gaze drifted back to him. Still asleep.

His body had turned slightly toward mine, one arm folded beneath his head. The subtle shift pulled at the muscles along his bicep, tightening and relaxing in effortless rhythm.

It was such a small thing.

Such an ordinary thing.

Yet my eyes refused to look away.

Morning light traced along his skin, gliding over quiet strength, catching on the faint creases of his black T-shirt stretched across his chest.

My pulse stumbled.

Just once.

Then again.

Before my mind could stop it, a thought whispered, he's strong.

Not just the visible kind, not just the strength carved into muscle and form but something deeper.

Quieter.

The kind of strength that made you believe without promises, without words

that nothing could touch you... as long as he was near.

I blinked, slow and dazed, my breath catching faintly in my throat. The air in the room shifted- subtle, almost imperceptible, yet enough to feel like something fragile had been disturbed.

As if a silent trance had been broken.

I exhaled softly, forcing my gaze away from him.

Away from the dangerous stillness of that moment. Turning slightly, I reached for my phone on the nightstand.

The screen lit up.

5:00 AM

Still early.

Too early.

Yet sleep no longer lingered near my eyes. My mind was awake... restless... too aware.

I lay there for another second, staring at the pale morning light spilling quietly across the ceiling. Then, with a small sigh, I pushed the comforter aside.

If I was awake...

I might as well begin. My first morning.

My first day, in this house as their bahu.

The thought settled strangely in my chest.

Heavy... and unfamiliar.

I slipped down from the bed, slow... careful... as though even the faintest sound might fracture the delicate stillness wrapped around us.

My bare feet met the cold floor.

A tiny shiver ran up my spine.

I turned toward the closet, but not before my eyes betrayed me, drifting back to him one last time.

Still asleep.

Still impossibly calm.

For a brief second, I simply stood there... watching. Then I forced myself to move.

Inside the walk-in closet, the air felt different. Quieter. Almost intimidatingly perfect.

I crouched near my suitcase and opened it gently. The zipper slid back with a soft whisper. My clothes stared back at me.

Familiar.

Comfortable.

And completely wrong.

Simple kurtis.

Casual dresses.

A few jeans.

Things chosen for my old life- not for this one. Not for a newly wedded bride.

Not for this house.

My fingers hovered uncertainly over the fabric.

Too plain.

Too casual.

Too... me.

A faint sigh escaped my lips.

Of course.

How could I have planned for something I never imagined?

This marriage had arrived like a storm-

sudden, unannounced, inescapable.

And I...

I hadn't prepared for mornings like this.

For roles like this.

For expectations stitched invisibly into every glance, every step, every piece of clothing.

I pressed my lips together.

Hey Shivji.... ab kya kare hum, itni subeh kisse help maange?

°•••••••••••••••••••°

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