The Second Bloom • 18+

13. Varun's desires (Varun's POV)

The faint light of dawn filtered into the room, and my eyes slowly fluttered open.

At first, I felt a warmth against me, soft and delicate. It took me a moment to realize it was my wife, Malini, her face nestled against my chest, her arms gently draped around my torso, as if she belonged there, as if this was where she was meant to be.

Her breathing was steady, peaceful, and the world felt far away for me, watching her sleep.

Her face, untouched by the day's harshness, was the picture of serenity.

Strands of her hair fell loosely across her forehead, framing her soft features like a painting—natural, effortless.

Her eyelashes rested gently on her cheeks, casting the faintest shadow.

Her lips, slightly parted, were pink and full, tempting me to lean down and kiss her, but I didn't want to wake her.

There was something about the way she slept, so trusting, so unaware of the storm that had raged inside me last night and the previous few nights.

I'd never seen her like this before.

The daylight always hid her vulnerability, but here she was, in my arms, looking so fragile, yet so strong.

Her skin, warm and smooth against me, seemed to glow in the early morning light, as if it held the promise of something I wasn't sure I deserved.

The saree she'd worn last night had shifted, leaving just enough skin exposed for me to notice the curve of her shoulder, the delicate line of her neck, and slight cleavage.

She was beautiful—achingly so.

But when I looked at her, last night came rushing back.

The closeness we had shared, the way our bodies had fit together, the way she had softened in my arms.

For the first time, I had let myself feel what had always been there, hidden beneath layers of confusion and pain. And in that moment, I had loved her, desperately, with every fiber of my being.

But then, the truth had surfaced, unbidden, like a shadow creeping in at the edges of a perfect moment.

The baby.

Bhaiya's and MY WIFE'S child.

It had hit me like a punch to the gut, even though I had tried so hard to forget it.

The emotions related to it sat heavy in my chest, twisting my emotions in ways I couldn't untangle.

I felt jealous—angry, even—that another man, my brother, had left this mark on her life, a mark that would soon be impossible to ignore.

I wasn't ready to be a father, not like this.

Not when I had only just begun to understand what it meant to be a husband.

And yet, in the midst of all this, there was love.

I had fallen in love with her, despite everything.

Maybe because of everything. She had been through so much—losing Bhaiya, marrying me, a man she barely knew, and now carrying a child that wasn't mine. And still, she had let me in. She had trusted me, had given me a piece of herself, and it had overwhelmed me.

But how could I be what she needed?

How could I love her completely, knowing there would always be this shadow between us, this reminder of bhaiya, this child who wasn't mine?

My mind was a mess of emotions—love, jealousy, guilt, frustration.

I wanted to protect her, to hold her like this forever, but I also wanted to push her away, to shield myself from the hurt I knew was coming.