“And she won’t ask for help.”
“I know.”
“So if she breaks,” Devraj continues, “it will be quietly. Where no one notices.”
I swallow.
“Then I’ll be the one paying attention.”
Devraj turns back to me.
“You take care of her,” he says.
I don’t say I will try.
I say the only thing that matters.
“I already am.”
For a moment, no one speaks.
Then Devraj nods once—sharp, final. “Good,” he says. “Because if you ever forget that—”
“I won’t,” I repeat gently.
He holds my gaze a second longer, then steps back.
Veeraj claps my shoulder once—not friendly, not hostile. Testing.
Vihaan smirks. “Welcome to the family.”
I release a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. As they turn to leave, Devraj pauses at the door. Without looking back, he says, “She deserves peace.”
I answer softly, “Then that’s what she’ll have.”
The door closes behind them.
I stand there alone for a moment, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the weight of what I’ve just accepted.
A marriage born from chaos. A woman who doesn’t yet know she’s already changed my life. A promise I intend to keep—even if it costs me everything. And for the first time since I stepped onto that mandap, I don’t feel like I’m filling a void.
I feel like I’ve chosen a path.
And I will walk it—steadily, fiercely, and with her safety above my own.
Always.
The Morning I Leave, and the Hands That Hold Me
SITARA
Morning arrives without asking if I’m ready.
It slips in through the curtains, pale and tentative, as if even the sun knows this is not a gentle day. The room smells faintly of flowers that have already begun to wilt—roses crushed under ritual, jasmine losing its fight against time. My head throbs, not from lack of sleep but from the weight of everything I have not yet allowed myself to feel.
The pheras are done.
The words feel strange in my head. Final. Heavy. Like a door that has closed softly but firmly behind me.
