Diya sat still for a few seconds after he stepped back. Her neck felt light, her shoulders no longer burdened by the weight of the day — or perhaps, by the silent pressure of being someone’s new bride. She traced the line of the necklace on the table with her fingers, her eyes lingering on the reflection of Agni in the mirror behind her.
He looked like he was about to step away — respectful, always measured, always mindful of her space.
But before he could, she said softly, almost like a thread of air:
“Aap hamesha itni sambhal ke baat karte hain… jaise main toot jaungi.”
He paused.
Then turned toward her, his brows lifting slightly — not defensively, but in quiet curiosity.
She looked up, met his gaze in the mirror. Her voice was clearer now.
“Mujhe lagta tha shaadi ke baad… sab kuch badal jaata hai. Log… apne haq dikhane lagte hain. Par aap…” She hesitated, then continued. “Aapne ek baar bhi nahi dikhaya ki… aapko koi haq lena hai.”
Agni didn’t respond immediately. He stepped forward again, slowly, and this time, crouched down a little so they were eye to eye in the mirror. His voice, when it came, was deep, steady — and honest.
“Mujhe jo kuch bhi chahiye… wo jabardasti lene se nahi milta, Diya. Samay dene se milta hai. Samajhne se. Aur agar aapke kareeb aane ke liye… mujhe har roz thoda aur samay chahiye, toh main poori zindagi le lunga.”
She didn’t blink. Her breath caught for a moment.
And then… something inside her softened.
She turned on the stool to face him directly now. Her eyes searched his face — as if seeing him not as her husband, not as the IPS officer, not as the carefully polite man she’d married — but as someone real. Earnest. Constant.
“Kabhi laga nehi tha,” she whispered, “ki main kisi ko itna apna keh paaungi…”
He looked at her, and then… lowered his gaze for a brief second, the edges of his lips lifting.
“Shayad aapko kehne ki zarurat hi nahi padhegi. Main samajhta rahunga.”
Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty. It was full — of unspoken understanding, of something blooming slowly, like the first monsoon after a harsh summer.
Diya reached toward the table and picked up the red sindoor box. Her fingers trembled a little — not from fear, but the weight of everything this meant.
Without looking at him, she said quietly,
“Rakh dijiyega… aapke drawer mein. Kal subah aap lagayiye ga. Par sirf tab… jab aapko lage main aapki ho chuki hoon.”
Agni looked at her — not in shock, not in pride — but in a kind of reverence. As if she had handed him something sacred.
He didn’t answer.
He simply took the box from her hand, held it carefully — and nodded.
“Kal subah,” he promised.
Then stepped back.
Letting her have her night.
Letting her heart decide the pace.
And maybe, just maybe — a love story had begun… not with fireworks, but with a whisper of trust.
___________________________________________
Reception Night (Diya’s New Look)
The banquet hall shimmered like a dream — golden chandeliers casting a soft, honeyed glow over the sea of maroon and ivory drapes. Delicate jasmine strings hung from the ceiling, their scent mingling with sandalwood incense. Soft instrumental sitar and tabla music flowed in the background, creating an atmosphere that was both regal and intimate.
YOU ARE READING
"Ehsaas"~ A Story Of Falling In Love
Romance"For all the girls who crave a love that's gentle in the daylight yet consuming in the dark. The kind of man who holds your hand with warmth, speaks with quiet devotion, and protects you like his own heart-until the door closes. Then, he's all fire...
