He laughs. Actually laughs. A low, warm sound that makes something flip inside me.
“I would love to spend all my wealth on you, Poorvi,” he says, and I canhearthe smile in his voice, if that’s even possible.
My eyes widen. My throat goes dry. “I don’t want that—”
“You don’t have to want it,” he cuts me off gently but firmly. “Whatever I earn, I earn for my family. And you are my family, Poorvi.”
For a second, I can’t breathe. The words echo inside me like they’ve been waiting for a home.You are my family.
“I am?” I manage to whisper, unsure how to even process what that does to me.
“You are,” he says again, softer this time, yet every syllable feels like a vow. Then, after a pause that seems to stretch like an eternity, he adds, “Only you.”
I frown without meaning to, the old insecurities creeping in like uninvited shadows. “But… Bhai-sa, Sitara—”
“They’re my family,” he interrupts gently, his tone patient, certain. “But you are my immediate family. You are my wife. I will build my whole life with you, Poorvi. So everything I do… is for you.”
My chest aches. A lump forms in my throat, thick and unmoving. No one has ever said words like that to me—never with such quiet conviction that leaves no space for doubt.I am his family.The thought loops in my head like a song I don’t want to end.
“Start your classes,” he says after a moment, as if sealing the promise. “You don’t need to ask anyone. I have a credit card with no limits made for you. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”
I hum softly because words feel impossible right now. My voice would probably crack if I tried.
“And, Poorvi,” he adds, and this time his tone is lighter, but there’s still that undertone of sincerity that never seems to leave him.
“Hmm?”
“Please don’t hesitate in using it.”
My fingers clutch the pillow tighter as I bury my face in it, not because I’m upset, but because if I don’t, the tears threatening to fall actually might. No one has ever made me feel like I wasn’t a burden. No one has ever saidI earn for you.
And now, here he is. My husband. On the couch across the room, sounding so calm, so certain, while my entire world feels like it’s shifting on its axis.
I think, after my mother’s death, this is the first time I don’t feel like I’m taking up space that doesn’t belong to me. I feel… wanted.
And all I can think as sleep slowly tugs at me is that maybe—just maybe—this marriage isn’t a gilded cage like I feared. Maybe… it’s the beginning of a life I never believed I could have.
CHAPTER 14
Where she belongs
VIHAAN
The air in the hall is heavy even though the chandeliers cast their golden glow, trying to make everything look softer than it is. I can already feel it before she even speaks—Maasi-sa’s presence has always been like this, like a cold draft sneaking under the doors of a warm house. She sits, draped in silk saree that screams more than it needs to, a smile on her lips that isn’t a smile at all.
“So,” she begins, her tone syrupy sweet but her eyes sharp as blades, “two of my nephews get married, and not once did I receive an invitation. Tell me, Devraj, Vihaan, is there a reason your maasi is not worthy of such courtesy?”
I see Bhai-sa’s jaw tighten, though his face remains calm, practiced. He’s used to masks. I’ve never been good at them.
Before either of us can speak, she tilts her head, her bangles clinking softly as if the sound punctuates her taunts. “Or is it that you both were in such a hurry to ruin the family’s image that you forgot? One marries a commoner”—her eyes flicker to me with deliberate insult—“and the other an illegitimate princess?Are you two in competition now? Who will drag the Shekhawat name lower, faster?” She tsks dramatically, shaking her head.
My hand curls into a fist under the table, nails pressing into my palm. The wordcommonerburns, but the way she saysillegitimate princess—I see Poorvi stiffen in her seat, and that’s enough for my blood to boil.
“Enough, Maasi-sa,” Bhai sa says first, his tone even but his eyes steely. “You will not speak against my wife.”
“And certainly not against mine,” I add, sharper, my voice rising before I can stop it. “If you think you can stand here and belittle the women we married, you are mistaken.”
Her eyebrows shoot up, and she clutches her pearls like a performer in a bad play. “Oh my, don’t get so offended. I was only making an observation.”
