The Rathore's Family

His Behavior

Drishti woke up feeling calm and refreshed, the remnants of a peaceful dream still lingering in her mind. But as she glanced at the clock and saw that it was already eight o'clock, a wave of terror washed over her. Dadi's strict rule about punctuality loomed large in her thoughts.

She jumped out of bed and quickly prepared herself, determined to avoid a reprimand. Wrapping herself in a red saree paired with a golden blouse, she carefully applied a black bindi on her forehead and adorned her hair partition with vermilion, completing her look.

As she descended the stairs, she noticed the hall was empty. Taking a deep breath, she relaxed slightly and headed towards the kitchen. There, she found Anjali already busy preparing breakfast. "I'm so sorry for being late," Drishti apologized, her voice filled with regret.

Anjali smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, beta. Ma hasn't arrived yet, so you can take a breath."

"Drishti, could you help me make a coffee?" Anjali asked, her tone light.

Just then, Riddhima entered the kitchen, cheerfully greeting everyone. "Good morning, Chachi!" Drishti responded, returning the warmth.

"Bhabhi, how is there so much peace?" Riddhima teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Why, Chachi?" Drishti asked, puzzled by her playful tone.

"Because the question naturally arises when there are two bombs at home, hai na sister-in-law?" Riddhima replied, her laughter filling the room.

Drishti looked at Anjali, confused by Riddhima's words. "What is she talking about?" she inquired, but Anjali merely waved her off.

"Ignore her, Drishti. Grab a coffee and take it to Advait; he should be in the hallway."

"M-me?" Drishti stammered, her eyes widening in surprise.

Riddhima chuckled at her reaction, clearly enjoying the moment.

Anjali approached Drishti, taking her hand gently. "Drishti, beta, he is your husband. Kab tak tum bhagti rahogi? If you think that by running away, you can avoid each other, you're mistaken. If he takes two steps forward, you take ten steps back. I've never seen you two even talk, and seeing you like this makes me feel I've made a mistake by complicating your lives." Their eyes filled with emotion.

"No, Ma. You are the best. I have you and this family because of your decision. It's not your fault," Drishti reassured her, embracing Anjali tightly.

"Areyy, areyy, bas bas, I'm getting jealous of your duo," Riddhima interjected, playfully trying to lighten the mood. They shared a smile and a warm hug before Anjali handed Drishti the coffee.

"Take this to Advait," Anjali encouraged as Drishti left the kitchen, the cup feeling heavy in her hands.

Drishti's POV

As I held the coffee, dread crept over me. I was afraid to approach Advait, especially since he often wore a cold expression that made him seem intimidating. I had heard so much about him from my mother, Vihaan, Chachi, and others, but their perspectives felt distant. I wanted to know him as his wife, yet I struggled to even speak to him.

I looked around the hall where my mother had said he would be, but only Vihaan and Dadu were present. Gathering my courage, I made my way to our room. The door was ajar, and as I stepped inside, my heart skipped a beat at the sight of Advait. He was wearing a partially open shirt that accentuated his well-built physique, looking undeniably attractive.

"Put the coffee on the table and come here," he commanded in a frosty tone that sent shivers down my spine.

I placed the cup on the table but remained rooted in my spot, unsure of what to do. Had I misheard him?

"Don't you hear my voice at once?" he asked, his gaze piercing through me.

"M-me?" I stammered, pointing to myself in disbelief.

"Why do you see someone else in the room?" he replied, his eyebrow raised.

Summoning my strength, I finally approached him. He handed me a button and said, "Help me tuck it in my shirt."

I was taken aback. Is this the only shirt he has? But I nodded and retrieved a sewing kit from the cupboard. As I took a needle and thread, I carefully placed the button against his shirt and started sewing.

Deep down, anxiety surged within me. My hands trembled under the pressure of his steady gaze, and I felt as if I were on the brink of an emotional breakdown.

"Why are your hands shaking?" he asked, observing me closely.

"N-no," I replied, avoiding eye contact, my voice barely a whisper.

"Okay..." he said, and I could sense his amusement.

"It's done!" I announced, as if I had just accomplished a great victory.

"Hmmm..." he replied, his expression inscrutable.

"What does that mean?" I thought to myself, feeling both relieved and utterly confused.