As I walked toward my room in the stillness of midnight, the quiet corridor suddenly wasn't so quiet.

Right at the turn, Vedant and Vihaan appeared — blocking my path like they were waiting.

I raised an eyebrow, already suspicious.

“What now?” I asked dryly.

It wasn’t hard to tell that Vedant had practically dragged Vihaan along by force — the guilt was written all over Vihaan’s awkward posture.

Vedant grinned, not even trying to hide it. “Bhai... Vihaan bhaiya wanted to tell you something important.”

I turned my gaze toward Vihaan, who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“M-me? Oh… yeah, right!” Vihaan stammered. “I-I just came to say… all the best!”

I sighed internally, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Seriously, are all the monkeys in the universe staying in my house?

Just as I was about to leave, Vedant jumped in again — as expected.

“Bhai, I was just saying... wouldn’t it be nice if, say, by next year… a little nephew arrives?”

I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned, glaring at him. “What the hell? Is this some kind of project report that needs submission next year?”

Vedant held up his hands, mock-defensive. “I was just saying! And come on, bhabhi is so adorable — imagine a little girl just like her… with the same smile, same eyes…”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

Before I could say anything more, both of them took off down the hall like cowards who knew they’d crossed the line.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. What a headache.

But then... their words lingered.

She really is cute.

Before I could stop myself, a smile crept onto my face — slow and uninvited.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I smiling like an idiot?

I shook my head.

“I need to stay away from those idiots,” I muttered, walking faster toward my room — but even as I did, that unexpected smile refused to leave.

As Viyansh turned the knob to his room, the door creaked open with a soft thud. The scene that greeted him was unexpectedly tender.

Saanvi sat cross-legged on the bed, nervously biting her nails, lost in a swirl of thoughts. Her brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted, eyes blankly staring ahead as if searching for answers in the air. She didn’t even register him entering the room.

He stepped in, slow and deliberate, and shut the door behind him. The firm click of the lock echoed in the silence.

The sound jolted her out of her trance. Her head snapped up and her eyes widened as they met his. He stood there, casually leaning against the door, arms crossed, a wicked smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“Are you ready for tonight, baby?” he asked, voice deep and velvety.

Her breath caught. “Huh?” she blinked, unsure she heard him right.

He pushed off the door and took a slow, teasing step forward. “I asked, are you ready, darling?”

She scrambled to her knees on the bed, utterly shocked. Her heart thudded in her chest.

“Wait—wait a second. You’re talking? Are you… Are you not mute?”

“Nope,” he said, lips curving into a playful grin as he moved closer with calm yet predatory grace.

Her brain refused to process what was happening. Was this a dream? Was he messing with her?

He was now standing right in front of her. In one swift motion, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her toward him. She gasped, stumbling forward until she collided with his solid chest.

“Ow!” she winced, rubbing her forehead. “Yeah deewar kaha se aa gayi yahan?”

He chuckled, his voice low and amused. “You seem quite fond of this wall, hmm?” His smirk deepened.

She tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his arms only tightened.

“Stop wiggling like a squirrel,” he warned playfully.

“Chhodo mujhe!” she protested.

“Stop moving,” he said again, this time more serious. “You're just making this more difficult for both of us.”

In the midst of her struggle, her heavy lehenga betrayed her. Her feet tangled beneath her, and the next moment—

THUD.

Both of them went crashing onto the bed. A loud crack split the air as the bed collapsed under their weight.

Saanvi landed right on top of him.

Silence. Thick, awkward silence. Only their erratic breathing filled the air.

Her eyes were squeezed shut from the fall, but Viyansh? He couldn’t tear his gaze away. This was the first time he saw her this closely.

Her chubby, flushed cheeks. The little mole near her lip. Her lashes that kissed her cheekbones. Her nose—button-like and adorable. Her lips—soft and inviting.

And then, slowly, she opened her eyes.

Their gazes locked.

Those eyes—big, innocent, doe-like—looked straight into his ocean-blue ones. Both stared, caught in a moment that didn’t feel real. For a second, the world melted away. It was just the two of them. Her breath hitched. He looked unreal, like someone who walked straight out of a fairytale. His sharp jawline, his sculpted face, those deep eyes—everything screamed Prince Charming.

But the trance didn’t last long.

In the chaos, her dupatta had slipped, revealing the curve of her cleavage. A soft mole on her left breast caught his eye—and his gaze helplessly lingered.

“Saanvi…” he whispered, almost breathless.

She followed his eyes, then realized what he was staring at.

Her face went pale before turning a deep crimson. Embarrassed, she yanked her dupatta back in place and whispered sharply, “Tharki…”

His spell broke instantly. He blinked, looked away, clearly flustered. “What the hell… am I behaving like some… creep?”

She stared at him, flustered herself. “Lo, aapko hi toh wedding night banana tha na… bana lo fir.”

“Chup raho zara. Ek toh mera bed tod diya… thodi toh sharam honi chahiye,” he said, rubbing his lower back with a grimace.

“Oh hello, Mr.! Agar aapka bed do second mein toot jaaye toh it’s not my fault. With all that money you have, couldn’t you buy something better?”

“And by the way,” she added, poking his chest, “you were the one who grabbed me!”

“Oh really, Mrs.? First, this bed is made from premium sheesham wood. Second—you were the one wiggling like a wild rabbit on sugar!”

“Haww! That’s like ulta chor kotwal to daate !”

What the hell is this kotwal now?

“Huhhh… khadoos!” she muttered.

He chuckled . “Are you seriously planning to lie on top of me all night? ‘Cause if that’s the case, I really have no complaints.”

Only then did she become aware of their position again. Her eyes widened. She quickly tried to push herself up—but her lehenga made it almost impossible.

In one of her attempts, her elbow accidentally jabbed into his chest.

“Aghh! Are you planning to murder your husband on the first night itself?”

“Nahi! Itni jaldi white sari pehn ne ka shock nahi hai mujhe,” she snapped.

“Haiii?!”

“I’m trying, okay?! This lehenga weighs like a truck. Uff, sab is lehenga ki galti hai. Batameez kapda!”

“Alright, stop. Just stay still,” he said through clenched teeth. “Let me get up first.”

After a bit of struggle—and a lot of awkwardness—he finally got to his feet. He extended a hand and helped her up.

She stood up, her eyes shifting from the bed to Viyansh, anxiety written all over her face.

“Ab kya karein? Kal sab kya sochenge?” she asked, biting her lower lip nervously.

“What will they think?” he said with a carefree tone, shrugging. “Bas yahi ki jo ek husband-wife ke beech hota hai, wahi hua hoga.”

“Aapko sharam nahi aati? Aisi abhdra baatein krte hua?” she snapped, clearly embarrassed.

He leaned back against the wall, unfazed. “Abhi toh besharmi dikhai kaha maine? Tum kaho toh — floor bhi khaali hai,” he teased with a wink.

Her mouth dropped open in shock. He walked over to the sofa, sat comfortably with one leg resting over the other, and casually added, “Waise yeh couch bhi kuch bura option nahi hai.”

She turned red. “Basss! Chup ho jaiye. Aapko toh bilkul bhi sharam nahi aati, lekin mujhe aati hai.”

He chuckled softly, enjoying her flustered state.

Under her breath, she muttered, “Kaise buddhihin insaan se shaadi ho gayi meri... Log sahi kehte hain, ek number ka khadoos hai, besharm bhi.”

“I heard that, darling,” he called out casually, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

She looked at him in disbelief. He was sitting there like nothing happened, completely at ease.

“Kuch toh kariye aap!” she said in frustration.

He gave her a look. “Aao idhar. Phir sab kuch main hi karuga.”

Her cheeks flushed again, but she ignored him.

---

She sighed in defeat and walked toward the bathroom. The weight of her bridal lehenga — easily 30 kilos — made every step feel heavier. Inside, she began removing her jewelry. But while trying to take off her necklace, it got stuck in the strings at the back of her blouse. No matter how many times she tried, it wouldn’t come off.

She couldn’t go out like this — dressed only in a heavy lehenga and tight blouse. The blouse already clung to her chest uncomfortably, her ample curves pressing against the fabric. She needed help.

After some thought, she wrapped a dupatta around herself securely and stepped out hesitantly.

He was still on his phone.

“Suniye…” she said softly.

“Boliye.”

“Voh… aap kisi ko bula denge kya?”

“Voh… mera necklace blouse ke doriyon mein fas gaya hai. Bohot baar koshish ki, par nikal hi nahi raha. Blouse bhi tight hai aur bina help ke ho hi nahi raha… Isiliye kisi ko bulana padta.”

He looked up at her. “Itni raat ko? Aur iss kamre ka haal bhi dekha hai?”

She looked around and sighed again. “Hmm…” she pouted.

“Let me help you,” he offered.

“Rehne dijiye… main kar lungi,” she said, flustered.

“Phir toh rehne hi do. Iss janam mein toh nikalne se raha,” he replied, tapping the spot next to him on the couch. “Aao, yahan baitho.”

After hesitating for a few seconds, she quietly walked over and sat down beside him.

“Remove it,” he said calmly.

“Huh?” she looked confused.

“Dupatta… hataogi tabhi toh help kar pauga,” he replied, his tone softer now.

“Ohh… haan,” she whispered, slowly unwrapping the dupatta from her back but still holding it to cover her front, cheeks glowing red.

“It’s already been fifteen minutes… what on earth is he doing?” I murmured to myself, fidgeting anxiously. My blouse was still half tied, and I could feel his fingers struggling behind me.

“Kya hua?” I finally asked, trying to peek back.

“Kuch nahi. Shant baitho… thoda tough hai, kar raha hoon,” he replied, his tone focused yet clearly irritated.

I sighed heavily, trying to suppress my growing frustration.

“Aur abhi toh yeh bun bhi kholna hai,” I cried internally, feeling overwhelmed, the weight of the day finally pressing on me.

Just then, I felt a warm breath trailing over my back. My body stiffened.

What… what are you doing? I stammered, my voice faltering with sudden awareness.

He paused.

“Woh… blouse ka knot haath se nahi khul raha. Bhaut tight bandha hua hai. I thought maybe I can try… with my mouth,” he explained hesitantly.

I froze. Every nerve in my body screamed with confusion,  and something else I couldn’t name. But still, I nodded slightly, unable to find words.

When his lips grazed my skin, a sudden shiver shot down my spine. The air around us turned heavier, charged with an awkward silence.

Should I just cut it? he asked.

“No!” I replied instantly, louder than intended. The knot might’ve been tight, but the idea of it being cut—of surrendering that control—felt worse.

“Okay… okay,” he said calmly, then leaned forward again, carefully trying to untangle the stubborn knot using only his lips.

After a few moments, he exhaled softly.

“Lo… ho gaya.”

I gave a slight nod, still not turning around.

Gathering a little courage, I asked, “Can you… help me open this bun too?”

He stood up behind me, and without a word, began to work through the maze of pins in my hair.

One by one, he started discarding them.

“Ahh… dhire karo. Dard ho raha hai,” I flinched as one pin tugged sharply.

“Itni saari pins lagane ki zarurat kya thi phir?” he mumbled, clearly annoyed, and again tugged on my hair.

“Ahhh! Please... leave it. I’ll do it myself,” I said, the discomfort piling up.

“Ruko, kar raha hoon,” he said, this time gentler. He took his time, loosening each pin more carefully.

“Hmm… done.”

It felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off my scalp. Almost a hundred pins had held the bun together.

“Kitna bhaari bojh utra hai,” I muttered softly.

“Thank you,” I said, finally looking at him.

“Hmm,” he replied with a nod, already turning away.

I quietly went to the bathroom, changing out of my wedding attire. The moment the heavy lehenga slipped off, I felt like I could breathe again. I wore my soft cotton nightdress, tied my hair loosely, and glanced at my reflection—my eyes looked drained, my soul even more so.

When I returned to the room, he was still on his phone, scrolling as if I didn’t exist.

I stood there, unsure. Where was I supposed to sleep? On the couch? On the bed? I had no idea.

Then he suddenly spoke.

“I want to talk to you,” he said without looking up.

I turned toward him cautiously.

He stood up and walked toward me, closing the distance between us. His expression was unreadable—cold, detached, and firm.

Then his words came—each one like a dagger, deliberate and cruel.

---

“Listen to me carefully,” he began.

“For the world, we may wear the label of husband and wife. But behind these closed doors—we are strangers. Just two people bound by names, not hearts.”

“Don’t ever interfere in my personal life, or my space.”

“You are just a responsibility I was forced to carry—not someone I chose, not someone I desire.”

“When we shift to New York , you’ll have your own room. You won’t be living with me—not now, not ever.”

He took a step closer, voice icy.

“Stay away from me as much as you can. And don’t you dare expect anything from me—because all you’ll ever get in return is disappointment. That’s the truth.”

“To me, you’re just a stranger... someone I’m tied to for a lifetime because of circumstances—not love. Not choice.”

He paused, letting those cruel words hang in the air before continuing.

“But don’t worry—you’ll get all the luxuries you need. Money, freedom, lifestyle—you’re free to do what you want. I won’t stop you. I won’t be in your way.”

“But mark my words—never cross mine.”

---

His every word sliced into my heart. I didn’t know why it hurt so much, but it did. I felt small… unwanted. But I wouldn't let him see me break.

I straightened my shoulders, held my chin high, and replied—quietly but firmly.

“Let me make one thing clear, Mr. Singhania.”

“I don’t want your luxuries or your wealth. I’m perfectly capable of earning my own living.”

“I don’t need your protection either. I’ve fought battles alone before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

“And I hope… you won’t back down from your own words—because I surely won’t.”

"Fine, if you think it's good for you," he said coldly, his voice devoid of any warmth. "But the more you expect from me... the more you'll end up hurting." Without another glance, he turned and walked into the bathroom.

Saanvi stood frozen. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye, trailing silently down her cheek. She didn't wipe it.

“Maybe this is what fate had in store for me,” she whispered bitterly, a sarcastic smirk tugging at her lips. Destiny had never been kind.

After a few minutes, the bathroom door clicked open. He stepped out, now wearing a plain T-shirt and trousers, towel in hand, roughly drying his damp hair. His presence, as always, filled the room with a heavy tension.

Saanvi sat quietly on the couch, watching him. Her gaze followed the way he casually tossed the damp towel onto the neatly made bed. Instantly, her OCD flared up.

“Wait—what is this?” she asked, voice tight, eyes narrowed.

“What?” he raised a brow, clearly uninterested.

“Don’t you have any manners?” she said, her irritation slipping out before she could check it.

He stilled. Then, in a low, deliberate voice, he took a step closer.

“Say that again.”

Saanvi’s confidence faltered. “I-I just meant… what kind of behavior is that? You threw your towel like it’s nothing—”

“So what?” he snapped, voice sharp now. “This is my home. My room. I’ll do whatever I want. And haven’t I already told you not to interfere in my personal matters?”

His words struck like ice. Saanvi’s shoulders tensed.

“I’m sorry…” she murmured, barely audible, and without waiting for a response, walked away—seeking refuge in the balcony as the weight of his indifference settled on her chest like stone.

I glanced at her, saying nothing as she quietly walked to the balcony. I watched her silhouette against the dim light — the way her steps carried more weight than words ever could. That’s when I noticed it… a faint streak on her cheek.

A tear.

My brows drew together instinctively.

Was I too harsh?

But I shook the thought off almost immediately.

No — it was better this way. She shouldn’t hope for something that will never exist between us. I didn’t want to give her false dreams — dreams that would chain her to a lifelong struggle. It was kinder, in a way, to keep her grounded in the cold truth.

Still… why did her tear affect me?

Maybe it’s nothing, I told myself. Just a moment of weakness

I sank into the couch and picked up my phone, scrolling through emails — trying to distract myself, but failing miserably. My eyes drifted toward the balcony again. She was still there. Still standing silently.

Half an hour passed. Then another.

Nearly an hour and a half had gone by, and she hadn’t moved from her spot. The wind was colder now. If she stayed out any longer, she was definitely going to catch a chill.

Just as I was about to get up and call her in, she walked back inside on her own. She stood near the bed, eyes scanning the room, uncertain.

“Sleep here,” I said simply.

She hesitated.

“No.”

“Then where are you planning to sleep?”

She didn’t reply. Her silence was frustrating.

“Don’t argue. Just sleep here,” I said again, this time firmer.

She looked at me, her brows pulled together in thought.

“But… where will you sleep?” she asked softly — and then, almost unconsciously, pouted.

That pout caught me off guard.

"Cute…?" I frowned at my own thoughts. What the hell was that? I looked away quickly, collecting myself.

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m not worrying,” she said bluntly. “I just asked out of basic human decency.”

Her words stung more than they should’ve.

“If I told you I’m sleeping on top of you, would you?” I shot back sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath.

“Aap se toh kuch bolna hi bekaar hai.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

This girl…

“I’m going to the balcony. You sleep here.”

“No, you don’t need to—”

“Enough.” I cut her off. “You’ll sleep here peacefully. Otherwise, don’t blame me if I find creative ways to make sure you don’t sleep at all.”

She stared at me for a moment, weighing whether to challenge me — but thought better of it. She didn’t argue further.

I grabbed a pillow, quietly stepped outside, and let the cold night air wrap around me. I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping anyway. As I sat on the balcony’s cushioned bench, the breeze slapped my face — harsh, but oddly grounding.

A few moments later, I heard her voice behind me.

“Suniye…”

“Boliye,” I replied calmly, without turning.

There was a pause. Then her soft, melodic voice followed.

“Woh… yeh blanket le lijiye. Warna thand lag jaayegi…”

I looked at her then. She was standing in the doorway, holding a folded blanket in her arms, looking at me with those gentle, expressive eyes.

Something stirred in me — something inconvenient.

“Do you really think I’m that weak?” I asked flatly.

“Cold doesn’t care if you’re strong or weak,” she replied with quiet wisdom.

“I don’t need it,” I said stubbornly.

She didn’t push.

“I’ve kept it here anyway. The rest is up to you,” she said softly, laying the blanket beside me. Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked back inside.

I stared at the blanket. At her fading figure. And for a second, the cold didn’t seem to bite as much as the silence between us.

He didn’t remember when exactly sleep took over. One minute, he was skimming through emails on his phone, and the next — complete darkness.

When he stirred awake, the soft weight of a blanket draped over him made him pause. He hadn’t covered himself. Who had?

He glanced at the clock.

7:00 AM.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and stretched, his joints stiff from sleeping on the couch.

Silence hung in the air as he stepped quietly into the bedroom.

And there she was.

Curled up on the far edge of the couch, sleeping like a child — peaceful, undisturbed, and entirely unaware of how close she was to falling off. One more careless turn, and she’d be flat on the floor.

He moved instinctively.

Just as she began to shift again, rolling dangerously close to the edge — two strong arms shot out and caught her mid-turn.

She didn’t even flinch. Her breathing remained steady, soft. She was lost in her dreams.

He looked at her — really looked.

This girl.

"Always saying she doesn’t need anyone. ‘I can protect myself,’ she says. ‘I don’t rely on anyone,’ she says. Look at her now... tumbling off a couch like a reckless kitten."

A soft scoff escaped his lips. Gently, he eased her back onto the couch, adjusting her posture so she wouldn't slip again. Then he walked to the bed, grabbed two spare pillows, and created a barrier around her like a protective wall.

He turned to leave.

But just as he was about to stand, he felt a tug at his wrist.

His eyes snapped back.

She had caught his hand.

In her sleep.

And not just caught it — she tugged it under her head like it was her personal pillow.

He froze.

What the—

He tried pulling his hand back, slowly, careful not to wake her. But her grip tightened, like she was afraid he’d disappear.

“Hey… little troublemaker…” he whispered, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips.

“Let me go.”

She nuzzled her face into his palm.

And then, in a sleepy mumble, she murmured,

“Why are your hands so rough… Pepo…”

He blinked.

Pepo? What the hell is Pepo?

Annoyed and weirdly amused, he muttered under his breath,

“Who the hell is Pepo?”

He tried again to tug his hand free, but the moment he applied pressure, she made a soft sound — a whimper of protest.

Something inside him stilled.

He sighed.

Fine.

Let her hold his hand. If that’s what it took for her to sleep peacefully, then so be it.

Quietly, he sat down beside her again. His back ached. His hand was trapped. But his eyes stayed on her.

The fiery girl who argued with him, defied him, and claimed she needed no one...

Now fast asleep, clutching his hand like a lifeline.

He gazed at her the way a devotee gazes at his goddess — with something close to reverence and something dangerous close to affection.

Minutes turned into half an hour.

And then finally, she shifted.

Her hand slid off his. She rolled over, unaware of anything she’d done.

He looked down at his palm.

It was red. Very red.

A mark of her grip remained like an invisible thread between them.

He glanced at her again.

Still fast asleep. Completely at ease.

He shook his head softly, lips tugging in a quiet, tired smile.

“Troublemaker,” he whispered again, before finally heading to the bathroom to freshen up.