"Happy Married Life, Shivya Pathak" I weakly smiled seeing my condition, mangalsutra dangling in my neck, vermilion in hair and both hands filled with gold bangles.
"Come out quickly or do you want me to break the gate," my husband knocked again...
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"Badi bahurani, why did you come downstairs? If you wanted something, you could have called me," said Sita, one of the house staff and Devi's mother, her tone a mixture of concern and reverence.
"Malik ordered us not to let you do a single thing." Shivya smiled faintly, her fingers absently picking a few peas from the silver plate placed on the kitchen counter.
"I was getting bored sitting in the room," she said simply, her voice soft but clear. She thought about going to sleep after dinner but she changed the plan "Where is everyone?" she asked, noting the unusual emptiness of the living room.
"Dadi is in her room, and I think the other women are resting too," Sita replied. Shivya nodded slowly, scooping more peas into her palm as she wandered off toward the back of the haveli.
Her brows furrowed slightly when she noticed soft pools of light illuminating the usually dark corridor leading to the rear courtyard. That area had always felt dark after sunset, a shadowed part of the haveli where silence lingered thickly and light hesitated to reach.
It had once become a quiet refuge for her—a place where she can sit in peace and without anyone's presence, the wind here feels like calmness.
Now, the darkness had been softened by small, warm bulbs strung thoughtfully, subtly, as if someone had wanted to offer her peace without her ever needing to ask.
She sat down on the old wooden bench, its surface cold but familiar beneath her, and leaned her head back.
Closing her eyes, she let the cool breeze skim across her skin. It was the only thing that touched her without asking for anything in return.
Sometimes, silence was kinder than voices.
She sat still, not moving, as though the bench and the air were holding her together more firmly than people ever could.
Her gaze lifted to the sky, and when her eyes landed on the moon, she offered it a broken smile—fragile but honest. Then she looked away, not wanting to burden even the night with the weight she carried.
Unseen by her, Vedant stood several feet behind, his arms folded behind his back, posture still as stone. His gaze didn’t waver.
He knew he should ask her to go back inside—her health was still tender, and he’d given strict instructions for her rest—but he couldn't find it in himself to shatter the tranquility she had wrapped around her.
Yesterday Shaurya had told him that Shivya often sits here, in this quiet corner and that too alone. That had been enough for him to ensure the darkness was chased away, not too harshly, but just enough. He had seen to the lights himself.
He didn’t disturb her. Instead, he turned around, quietly retracing his steps back into the haveli. With each step, he turned once more to look back at her—just to be sure. Just to see.
