She pouts and turns to Veeraj, who’s been unusually quiet—probably strategizing ways to escape this conversation. “And I wish you were married, too.”
He laughs. Actually laughs. And it’s so rare that all of us stare at him like he just grew a second head.
“I don’t need to be married to give gifts to my sister,” he says, shaking his head.
Her face lights up instantly. “Really?”
“What do you want, Rajkumari?” he asks, and there’s actual amusement in his tone now.
“A favor,” she says, smug like a cat who just got the cream.
He narrows his eyes. “And what favor is that?”
“I’ll use it later.” She shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but the sparkle in her eyes screams otherwise.
Veeraj groans but extends his hand anyway. She slaps her smaller one into his, and they shake on it like it’s a legally binding contract.
It’s something they’ve done since childhood—a silent pact of trust that never broke, no matter how much they fought. I watch them with a small smile, shaking my head. For a moment, the tension eases, laughter lingers, and the weight of Maasi sa and Ranbir fades into the background.
But only for a moment.
Because deep down, I know this calm is temporary. And whatever storm they’re bringing with them? I’ll do whatever it takes to shield Poorvi from it.
Even if it means stepping into the storm myself.
CHAPTER 13
Only You
POORVI
The room is dark except for the faint light spilling in through the curtains, soft shadows stretching across the floor like quiet secrets. I’m lying on the bed, hugging a pillow close to my chest, staring in the general direction of the couch where Vihaan is sleeping—or at least, I think he is.
My specs are off, which means I can barely make out the shape of him, just a blur of someone tall and steady even at rest. Still, my eyes stay there like they have a mind of their own. There’s something oddly comforting about knowing he’s here. Close.
“Don’t you want to start your psychology classes?”
The deep rumble of his voice cuts through the silence, and I gasp so loudly that the pillow almost slips from my grip. My heart stumbles in my chest like it’s trying to catch up.
“You’re awake,” I whisper, half in shock, half in embarrassment.
A quiet chuckle floats across the room, warm and amused. “Yes, Kunwarani-sa, I’m awake.”
I frown instinctively, wishing I could see his expression. “Just… call me Poorvi,” I mumble, a little sharper than intended. The silence that follows feels heavier than the night itself, and immediately my stomach twists. Did I just offend him?
His voice comes again, low, deliberate, almost like a whisper meant only for me. “You are my wife. You will always be related to me, Poorvi.”
For some reason, that simple sentence knocks the breath out of me. There’s no weight of formality in his tone—just certainty, like an anchor dropping deep.
“I don’t mind that,” I say softly, clutching the pillow tighter. My words sound too small for what I feel in that moment. “Being related to you, I mean.” He chuckles.
“I didn’t ask you because I thought you might need some time to settle in,” he continues, his voice calm, steady, like he’s been thinking about this for a while. “Whenever you’re ready for the course, let me know. I’ll help you find colleges and apply.”
I blink rapidly, the edges of my vision swimming a little. He remembers. Not only remembers, but he’sactingon it without me saying a word. When I’d mentioned it to him before the wedding, I thought it was a passing conversation for him. I never expected him, or anyone, to hold on to it. And yet… here he is, bringing it up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A smile tugs at my lips even though he can’t see it. My chest feels tight, but not in the way it used to when people judged me or reminded me of what I lacked. This feels different. Softer.
“I already have a university in mind,” I confess after a beat, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s online though… and foreign.” I hesitate, biting down on my lower lip before adding, “Although… it might be a bit cost—”
