𝐌𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊
In a world where love can be both. Beautiful or destructive force, the Raghuvanshi brothers hide behind the cold facade guarding their heart from the pain of love.
"Just because you are my wife and we share a bed d...
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• Y U V I K A •
After a month.
A month can change a lot. A lot.
I've seen these brothers since the day I married into this house. I've seen them shouting, slamming doors, cursing each other like strangers. I've seen them breaking shattering into pieces they thought could never fit again. And I've seen them standing again, side by side, like storms always knew they'd find the calm in one another.
But this month... this silence is louder than all those fights combined. No one yells anymore. No one even raises their eyes. The corridors that once echoed with rivalry, pride, and reckless laughter now breathe like a graveyard cold, still, untouched.
Viraj hasn't spoken more than a few words in weeks. Rivaan forces his smiles, Meher keeps hiding her tears, and Avyaana... she lingers in corners, of the mahal her presence like a question no one has the courage to answer.
It's a strange grief doesn't come crashing like thunder. It seeps in like water under a locked door, slow, patient, soaking everything before you realize you're drowning.
And right now... we all are.
Shivaansh isn't responding to any medication. The doctors keep repeating the same words, "There's hope... but not certainty." Hope feels like a cruel rope these days dangling just far enough to keep us from collapsing, but never close enough to hold.
Viraj... Viraj carries his grief like a cloak, silent and heavy. He doesn't rage, doesn't command, doesn't even argue anymore. He is too quiet. And that quiet frightens me more than his anger ever did. Because it is the quiet he wore when I first married him the quiet of a man who locked his heart away and threw the key into darkness. I fear he is becoming that man again.
It was 12:30 when I found myself in the living room, waiting. The lamp threw soft golden light across the silence, and I sat with a pen and diary, scribbling words I couldn't say out loud. I didn't even hear the door open, didn't notice the faint shift in air until his shadow spilled over me.
"When did you come?" I asked, startled, shutting the diary too late.
"When you were busy in your thoughts," he said, voice low, tired. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his cuff, and sank onto the edge of the sofa as though the weight of the day had followed him home.
His eyes fell on the diary, on the loose sheets scattered across the floor. "What were you doing?" he asked.
"Nothing," I shrugged, but the nervousness in my tone betrayed me.
He bent forward, long fingers plucking one page from the carpet. My heart jumped. "Don't read that," I blurted.
But he already had. His eyes moved across the lines, steady, unreadable. I sat frozen, the room too still, my breath too loud in my own ears.
