AKSHAT SINGHANIA - A literature professor in Singania Institute of Arts and Commerce. He is soft and caring person
with a tough exterior, who doesn't believe in love or marriage because of his parent's broken relationship and his ex wife's betrayal...
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[I just want to say that, this chapter is above 22k words..do you realise that? And yet I ask for votes which are lesser than views, and don't tell me ki baar baar dekhene se views badhte hain. It's a false information. So if I increase 100 votes in every chapters, I don't think that is wrong in any way.]
The early morning light filtered softly through the sheer curtains of the Singhania mansion’s bedroom, casting a gentle warmth across the marble floor. Amrit, having woken up before Akshat, decided to freshen up. She headed into the washroom, her kurti halfway unzipped as she muttered under her breath.
“Ye ameeron ke ghar ke darwazon ko kya ho gaya... itna bada mahal hai, par washroom ka lock toh theek kara lo!” she grumbled, attempting once again to lock the door. The bolt clicked halfway and jammed. She sighed, giving up, and instead walked out, locking the bedroom door from inside for safety.
Convinced no one would come in, she stepped back into the washroom, unaware that destiny, yet again, had some drama planned.
Meanwhile, Akshat came out of his study, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, stretching a little as he searched for his wife.
“Kahan gayab ho gayi subah-subah?” he muttered to himself. He figured she might have gone to the terrace or the garden.
Shrugging, he grabbed a fresh shirt and towel to take a bath.
Without much thought, he strolled across to the washroom, turned the knob — and it opened.
On the other side, Amrit was mid-motion, her kurti half slipped off her shoulder. As she heard the door creak, her eyes widened in panic. She instinctively ducked behind the bathtub, clutching the loose fabric against her skin, heart thudding in her chest.
Akshat walked in casually, towel slung over his shoulder. His hand reached for the shower knob, but his eyes landed on a piece of clothing resting on the basin.
He frowned. “Kapde washroom mein chhod ke gayab ho gayi? Kya logic hai iska?” he muttered, confused.
Unbuttoning his shirt with lazy fingers, he turned slightly — and then he paused. Something caught his eye.
The mirror.
His gaze locked on the reflection — not his own — but the trembling figure crouched behind the bathtub. A flash of red fabric, hunched shoulders, and the soft rise and fall of breath. Her eyes were tightly shut, her body curled inward, trying to make herself invisible.
For a second, he was baffled. Then it hit him — this wasn’t the first time she had mistakenly walked in on him. And here they were again. Except this time, roles were reversed.
