•𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐔𝐧𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐰!•

43. Stand!!

N A K S H A T R A

Holi at Oberoi Mansion had been filled with laughter, colors, and mischief—until now.

The air turned heavy the moment his mother stepped forward, a small plate of gulaal in her hands. The synthetic kind. The kind that made my skin burn, blister, and itch for hours.

I took a step back.

“Nakshatra,” she said softly, “let me apply color on you, beta.”

A respectful daughter-in-law would have lowered her head, allowed the blessing, accepted the gesture.

But I wasn’t just someone’s bahu.

I was his wife.

And I had already made this very clear.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, maa ji. I can’t allow that.”

A heavy silence fell over the crowd.

Her hand froze midair, the gulaal slipping slightly between her fingers. The shock in her eyes was instant.

Then, her lips pressed into a thin line. “What did you say?”

I exhaled, my voice calm but unwavering. “I have a severe allergy to synthetic colors. I told everyone this before Holi started.” My fingers curled at my sides. “If you use organic color, I’d be happy to accept your blessing, but—”

“How convenient,” she scoffed, eyes narrowing. “You’ve played with colors all day, but now, when it’s me, suddenly you have allergies?”

Adhwit’s father, who had been quiet all this time, finally spoke. His voice was sharp like a blade. “You have brought a disrespectful wife, Adhwit.” His cold gaze swept over me. “This is what you chose?”

Adhwit had been silent. Still. But at those words—

Something in him snapped.

In an instant, he moved forward, stepping between me and them. His hand gripped my wrist, pulling me closer, his body shielding mine. His voice was low, dangerous.

“Biwi hai vo meri,” he growled, his eyes burning with rage. “Uske khilaf ek shabd bhi bardasht nahi karunga main.”

His mother flinched. His father’s expression darkened.

“Adhwit—”

“Enough.” His voice was final. “She told you about her allergy. You ignored it. And now you’re calling her disrespectful?” His jaw clenched. “You don’t get to accuse my wife. Not when you’re the reason I stayed away from this house for years.”

A tense silence followed.

His father’s face hardened. “We are your parents.”

“And she is my wife.” His grip on me tightened. “So remember that before you speak another word against her.”

His mother looked at me again, her voice trembling with controlled anger. “She insulted me in front of everyone.”

I exhaled, forcing myself to stay composed. “I did not insult you. I have an allergy, maa ji. You can apply color on me—just not the one that will make my skin burn.” My voice softened slightly. “If it was anyone else, would you still insist?”

Even Isha—who always stayed out of family drama—sighed. “I don’t know much about sanskaars and all, but if my husband took a stand for me like this, I wouldn’t let anyone question it.”

The shift in the room was palpable.

His mother’s lips trembled, her pride warring with the reality in front of her. His father was fuming but silent.

And Adhwit?

His grip on me was unwavering. His stance, unshakable.

I had seen him fight the world before. But this?

This was different.

Because this time, he wasn’t just fighting.

He was protecting me.

I found him in our room, shoving clothes into a suitcase with sharp, deliberate movements. His jaw was locked, his expression unreadable—but I knew him well enough to recognize the storm raging inside him.

“Adhwit?” My voice was hesitant as I stepped closer. “What are you doing?”

“Packing.” His tone was clipped, final.

I blinked. “Packing for what?”

He didn’t stop. “We’re leaving.”

I stilled. “Leaving?”

His fingers tightened around a shirt before shoving it into the bag. “You think I’d stay after what happened?” He turned to look at me, his dark eyes burning with anger. “You think I’d let you stay in a house where you’re insulted? Where you have to explain why you won’t let someone put you in pain?”

“Adhwit…” I swallowed, watching the rise and fall of his chest. “It’s your family—”

“They stopped being my family the day they decided I didn’t matter unless I did what they wanted.” His voice was sharp, unforgiving. “I won’t let them do the same to you.”

A lump formed in my throat.

I stepped forward, gently placing my hand over his. His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away. “Where are we going?”

His gaze softened—just a little. “Home.”

Something inside me warmed at that word.

“Just us?” I asked.

For the first time since the argument, his lips curled into a smirk. “Not exactly.”

Confused, I followed him outside.

And the moment I stepped into the driveway, my eyes widened.

Aishwarya stood beside the car, her suitcase propped up against the door.

Shreesh was next to her, his own bag slung over his shoulder, an exasperated expression on his face.

And Isha—who I was sure had been a neutral party until now—was rolling her suitcase toward them with a huff. “This wasn’t in my plans for today, but fine. Whatever.”

I stared at them. Then at their luggage. Then at Adhwit.

“What—?”

“We’re all leaving,” Aishwarya declared, flipping her hair back. “We’ve decided that Holi will be celebrated at your home.”

My home.

My throat tightened.

“You’re serious?” I whispered.

Shreesh grinned. “Come on, Bhabhi maa. Did you really think we’d stay here after that disaster? No way.”

Isha sighed dramatically. “I was supposed to be at a spa today, relaxing, but nooo. Now I have to be part of this rebellion.”

I pressed my lips together, fighting the urge to laugh.

And then I felt it—Adhwit’s hand slipping into mine.

I looked up at him, my heart thudding when I saw the quiet warmth in his eyes.

“I told you,” he murmured, squeezing my fingers. “You’re not alone in this.”

I exhaled.

And for the first time that day—despite the chaos, despite everything—

I smiled.