No one’s ever knelt for me—not at birthdays, not when I won school prizes, not when I cried quietly in my room. No one’s ever looked at me like I was something worth keeping. My hands are shaking.
“You don’t have to fear this anymore, Shivani. Not me, not this house, not this marriage. I’m yours—and whether it’s perfect or not, you’re mine too.” He says.
He opens the box, and inside is a ring that sparkles so brightly, it steals my breath away. He slips it onto my finger, holding my hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world.
His thumb grazes the back of my palm, sending a jolt through my entire body.
“This ring,” he says, “symbolizes our union. I promise to protect you, respect you, and stand by you. Always.”
The tears I was holding back finally spill. I try to smile through them, my vision blurry as I try to blink the tears away. Because for the first time in a very, very long time—I feel safe.
10
SHIVANI
“Wow, sweetheart, the color of your mehendi has come out so dark. It looks like Rudraksh is going to love you deeply." I remember Chachi’s words from earlier today, and just the thought of it makes my neck heat up. Heat crawls over me as if I am sitting on fire. I glance down, realizing my fingers have subconsciously started playing with the ring Rudraksh gave me today. My cheeks feel warm, and I shake my head to snap out of it.
Tonight was a rare kind of beautiful—full of music, laughter, and smiles that felt real. For once, I wasn’t just a puppet of my parents. I kept myself busy with my in-laws, finding comfort in conversations and genuine smiles. I even met Rudraksh’s childhood friends—Aryan ji and Siddhant ji. They were both incredibly sweet but also shameless when it came to teasing Rudraksh in front of me. It didn’t seem to affect him as much, but I found myself laughing more than I expected.
Just when I was about to leave to join Maa, they said something that nearly brought tears to my eyes. 'Bhabhi, if you ever feel like you can’t go to anyone... if you ever need help—any kind of help—you can count on us. Even if we have to go against Rudraksh for it'.
My chest had tightened at their words. I’ve never had a brother, not even a cousin close enough. And I have always felt the emptiness of not having any siblings. Because I’ve always wanted one—someone who’d watch over me, someone I could trust blindly. And now suddenly, I have three.
Aarav, Rudraksh’s younger cousin, has already grown on me in just two days. I’m not the best with social gatherings, especially when it comes to handling relatives from my side. Their questions are often shallow, and their remarks are infuriating. I’d just signal to Aarav when I felt cornered, and like clockwork, he’d show up with a reason to whisk me away. Honestly, it was his idea—and an excellent one. And now with Aryan ji and Siddhant ji... it feels like I’ve somehow stumbled into the family I’d always dreamed of.
My phone rings, breaking the loop of my thoughts. I glance at the screen and see Rudraksh’s name lighting up. My heart skips a beat, and I sit up straighter, fingers fumbling slightly as I accept the call.
“Hi Bhabhi!” a voice chirps from the other end, completely wrong and way too cheerful to be Rudraksh. “Siddhant here. Did you know Rudraksh is being extremely rude right now? I just want some momos, but he’s refusing to let me order.”
My face drops in disappointment.It's not him.
Also—why is Siddhant Ji calling me this late at night from Rudraksh’s phone?
“Okay, that’s enough, Sid. Give me the damn phone.” I hear Rudraksh chastising Siddhant Ji, and then there’s chaos on the other side. I hear bickering, laughter, and some rustling. It’s honestly adorable—these three grown men arguing like children.I can't help it—a laugh slips out of my mouth. Silence falls on the line, as if they heard it. And then finally, I hear his voice. “Hi,” Rudraksh says, low and raspy. My heart lurches in response as I try to steady my breath.
“Hi,” I breathe, suddenly very aware of how tightly I’m clutching my notebook against my chest. I don’t even know what else to say.
He sighs. “Those two idiots are drunk. They’ve already eaten pizza, noodles, waffles—God knows what else. And now they want momos. If they eat anything more, I’ll be the one cleaning up their vomit. That is not how I imagined tonight going.” He sounds tired but amused. And I’m smiling like a fool.
“I can’t believe they went through three entire cuisines,” I say, trying not to laugh again.
“I swear, I feel like I’m babysitting toddlers,” he mutters, scolding them again in the background about some file they apparently tried peeking into. “It’s confidential, and I swear if they mess it up—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. I can picture the scene, and it makes me laugh harder.
I’ve always hated alcohol. It turns my parents into monsters—louder, meaner, and more violent. But maybe it’s not always like that. Maybe, in other homes, it just leads to pizza and chaos. It’s strange. Nice, even.
“Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?” Rudraksh asks, his voice suddenly softer, teasing, sending shivers down my spine.
“N-no,” I stammer. “I was just—it’s just—”
“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You can laugh at me all you want, Shivani. You have a beautiful laugh.” And there it is again—that flutter in my chest, that warmth blooming under my skin.Why does he say these things so casually? Doesn’t he realize I’ll be thinking about this moment for hours?
He continues, his voice steady now. “Why are you still up? It’s past midnight. Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”
I freeze for a second, heart pounding for a whole different reason now. How do I explain that I’m sitting in bed, writing a mafia romance in a secret notebook? That the male lead is building a library for the female lead just because she loves books. That my parents have cloned my phone and laptop, and that I can't read ebooks or write freely. That writing is the only escape I have, but even that is done in the shadows.
What if he thinks it’s silly? Or worse, inappropriate? What if he feels having a wife who writes—smutty books, no less—might tarnish his reputation?
“Couldn’t sleep,” I lie, tucking the notebook back under my pillow like a secret lover.
