Where is bride mr. Mehra his father asked?
There parents are looking down they don't have words to say to them that there daughter run away from her own marriage...
Sorry Raghuvanshi sahab mai aapke hath judta ho mujhe maaf karde .
Ab kuch nhi ho sa...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ABHIMANYU POV-
I wake up to the soft rustle of the bedsheet. The morning sunlight is still lazy, slipping in through the cream-colored curtains in golden lines. I blink the sleep from my eyes and turn to my side—only to find the space beside me empty.
She’s not there.
I sit up slowly, rubbing the back of my neck, and my eyes land on her small frame curled up at the study table. Anika. She’s sitting cross-legged on the chair, books open in front of her, glasses perched low on her nose, and her head tilted slightly like she’s trying to focus through the fog in her mind.
But what draws my eyes instantly is the way one of her hands is rubbing her forehead slowly—while the other presses against her lower abdomen. A soft crease sits between her brows, her lips pressed together tightly. I don't need to be a doctor to know what’s happening.
“Have you got your period?” I ask gently as I walk toward her.
She looks up, startled at first, and then nods with a faint sigh. “Yes…”
Her voice is small, a little hoarse, like she didn’t sleep well.
“Then why are you not resting?” I ask again, my tone firmer now, concern curling around each word.
She closes her eyes for a second, then looks at me, determination in her tired gaze. “Tomorrow is my exam, Abhimanyu. I can’t rest. It’s my final.”
I exhale, frustrated—but not with her. With the damn system, with her pain, with the fact that I can’t take it away from her. She turns back to her book, but I can see her lips tremble slightly as she tries to focus. It hurts me to watch her force herself when her body is clearly asking for rest.
I step back quietly and walk out of the room.
She needs me.
More than my office needs me right now.
The next place I find myself is in the kitchen. My tie still hangs loose around my neck, and I haven’t even changed out of my night t-shirt. But I don’t care. My Anika needs comfort, and I know exactly how to give it.
Chole Bhature.
Her favorite.
It brings a soft smile to my lips as I roll up my sleeves. Growing up abroad taught me many things—how to handle boardrooms, how to survive alone, and yes, how to cook. And right now, nothing makes me prouder than the fact that I know how to make her favorite dish.
I begin mixing the dough, carefully measuring the ingredients. The aroma of boiled chickpeas and the soft sizzle of the masala in the pan fills the kitchen. My hands move fast, but my heart feels heavier with each second.
She shouldn't have to do this alone. She shouldn't be in pain and studying at the same time. It makes me feel helpless—and I hate feeling helpless.
