ISHQ IBAADAT 💗

18. MARRIAGE PROPOSAL✨

Author POV

After 14 days…

A quiet stillness hung in the air of the quaint little café tucked away from the city’s chaos. The soft hum of the ceiling fan blended with the ticking clock on the wall, each second echoing louder in the silence between two people who hadn’t spoken like this in a long time.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cardamom tea lingered, but the mood at the corner tea table was far from light.

Adhya and Vidhyut sat opposite each other. The world outside moved fast—cars honking, people hurrying—but inside, time had slowed to a delicate crawl.

Vidhyut leaned slightly forward, his fingers gently wrapping around the ceramic cup, but his grip was firmer than usual. The steam rose between them, curling into the air like a ghost of unspoken words. His gaze, however, was fixed—not on the cup—but on the woman sitting across from him.

She wore a light cotton kurta, her hair tied in a loose braid over her shoulder. But her eyes—those eyes held storms. They flickered with pain, hesitation, and fatigue she was trying hard to hide.

“Adhya ji… aapko is café ko bachana hai na?”
Vidhyut asked softly, his voice a strange mix of firmness and vulnerability. There was no mockery. Just concern—raw, and honest.

Adhya’s eyes widened for a second—like someone had just cracked open a page of her diary she had never meant to show.

She looked down immediately, blinking rapidly. Her fingers twisted the edge of her dupatta with a nervous rhythm, almost as if it could anchor her.

“Haan... Vidhyut. Par… Shridha aur Adhrika ko mat batayiyega…”
Her voice broke slightly as she said it. It wasn’t a request—it was a plea.

Her throat burned. Her heart was thudding painfully in her chest. She hated showing her weakness, but today… she was tired. Tired of holding it all together.

A single tear betrayed her strength and rolled down her cheek before she could stop it.

Vidhyut noticed.

He didn’t speak immediately. Instead, his expression hardened—not in anger, but in helplessness. His hand slowly reached forward across the table and landed over hers. Warm. Protective. Gentle.

She flinched just slightly, surprised by the contact. But she didn’t pull away.

“Adhya ji…” he said in a quiet whisper, “Aap befikar rahiye. Main kisi ko kuch nahi bataunga. Not a word.”

His thumb moved slowly, soothingly, over her trembling knuckles. He didn’t know what else to do—but he knew she didn’t deserve to face this alone.

Adhya finally lifted her head, her tear-rimmed eyes meeting his. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something—but words failed her. There was just silence between them. A silence that screamed louder than a thousand words.

Outside, a breeze stirred. The wind chime hanging by the café door gave a faint, delicate jingle, as if reminding them they were still part of the real world.

Adhya inhaled sharply and sat straighter, brushing the back of her hand across her cheek. She didn’t want pity. Just understanding.

“Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible.

Vidhyut smiled faintly. But it wasn’t a happy smile. It was heavy, burdened. Because seeing her like this—this strong woman he had always admired—so fragile and broken—it pierced him somewhere deep.

He raised his hand slowly, catching the waiter’s attention.

“Do adrak wali chai… thodi si kadak.”
Then he glanced back at her and gave her a soft smile.