"I could make you a mistress too... but I'm giving you the first chance to be a bride."<br /> So Arya had no other choice left.<br /> <br /> Will a relationship that began with a deal survive the storm of hatred?<br /> Is there a beating heart hidden... "I could make you a mistress too... but I'm giving you the first chance to be a bride."<br /> So Arya had no other choice left.<br /> <br /> Will a relationship that began with a deal survive the storm of hatred?<br /> Is there a beating heart hidden somewhere within the stone-hearted emperor?<br /> And will Arya be able to become his destiny from being a bride of a deal?<br /> <br /> "A mystery, an enchantment, a longing... where every heartbeat rebels against the deal."<br /> Read this story of scorching ego and breaking hearts, where the first bid of love is placed in hatred.<br /> Stone-Hearted Emperor and Bride of Compulsion – A Love of a Deal"<br /> <br /> When deals are made between hearts, is there any room left for love?<br /> <br /> He is a cruel emperor – he rules not by status, but by dominance. There is neither love nor mercy in his eyes... only power, revenge and passion.<br /> And she is Arya – innocent, naive, ready to go to any extent to save her father's life.<br /> <br /> When the Emperor presented such a proposal that shook her to the core –<br />
Page 1 of 16
In the basement-like space, swaying between light and darkness, only one thing shone – the cage, and inside it, the girl. A silken red lehenga clung to her waist, and her fear was deeper than the kohl in her eyes. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, but her lips were still adorned – as if she had been taught to smile under duress.
He stood before her – emerging from the shadows, like a shade that even light rejected. Beneath his black blazer, his fingers were unbuttoning – slowly, deliberately so. There was neither desire nor infatuation in his eyes – only a cold claim, which he wanted with every right.
"You know," his voice was icy, "I hate flowers… but when you’re dressed like this, I feel like plucking you."
He took a step forward. He held the bars of the cage as if he were gripping a tool – not for a game, but to win a war.
The girl trembled. Strands of hair falling to her waist scattered across her face. She tried to retreat, but the cage was small, and her breaths were large.
"Why did you bring me here?" she asked softly, her voice so gentle that it bounced off the walls of the cage.
He opens the door—slowly, with a cracking sound. The girl retreats, but he is already very close to her.
His hands come up to her face. Fingers slid across her cheeks, like cold stones touching a warm butterfly. "If the heart doesn't race even after seeing you, understand that the heart is dead," he said, as if reading the last line of a book.
The girl's eyes were moist, but her lips didn't tremble. She just kept looking at him, searching for an old storm in the depths of his eyes.
"Don’t touch me…" she whispered.
"I'm not touching you," he smiled, "I'm just feeling you. There's a difference."
He slowly leans close to her shoulder. His breaths played near her neck, and she shivers—a mixed tremor of hate and desire.
"I have locked you up, but it's not you who's in the cage... maybe it's me," he muttered.
And then, at that moment… when his fingers touched the pendant near her throat, the girl looked into his eyes. Something was breaking there — perhaps that hardened heart, or perhaps just an old wall.
His fingers were now slipping down from the pendant—into the hollow of her neck, where the vibration of her heartbeats could be heard most clearly.
"These heartbeats…" he whispered softly, "they quicken every time I come near. From fear or desire?"
She doesn't answer. Maybe she doesn't know herself.
He grabbed her wrist—quickly, as if prey had fallen into the hunter's grasp. The girl's eyes widened, but she didn't scream. She just kept watching—that strange, blind passion reflected in his eyes.
"Don't you think that a face like yours in this world needs someone’s captivity more than freedom?" he said slowly, as if not a lover, but a witness was speaking.
The girl tried to free her wrist, but he leaned closer to her, slowly.
His breaths were now on her temple, and his palm began to touch her back—as cold as his eyes were.
"You know, you look most beautiful in this cage. Like a rose trapped in thorns… and I am that thorn, which wants to prick you every time…"
He leaned in, and she felt the dampness of his lips on her neck—light, but heavy.
She doesn't fight.
She remained silent, but a mute scream trickled from her eyes.
"Don’t touch me…" this time she spoke in a trembling voice.
"Why not?" He tilted her face upwards, pressing her chin with his fingers.
"Because I have seen your fear… and now I want to see your love too. Just once, just once you tremble for me… with desire, with hatred, it doesn't matter."
He laughed, but there was no warmth in that laughter. He slowly backed away, but his grip was still on her waist.
Then he took a key out of his pocket—the same one that fit in the lock of the cage.
"Want freedom?" He looked into her eyes.
The girl nodded—slowly.
"Then there's a condition…"
He leaned in, and whispered:
"Look into my eyes… and tell me if you ever desired me… even a little. Lying is fine, but don't blink."
Tears froze in the girl's eyes.
She was about to say something when…
A shadow moved outside the door.
The feeling of someone else's presence came between them like melting air.
The boy became alert, but a slight glimmer came into the girl's eyes—as if a crack of hope had opened even in the cage.
Who was it? A mystery? A rescue? Or another game?
Then the girl thinks, where and when did this begin?
The Jaipur haveli seemed like a dream that evening. Strings of colourful lights twinkled in every corner of the haveli, as if every wall, every pillar wanted to witness a special moment. Water droplets coming out of the fountains and the light falling on them were creating a kind of magic. Slow waves of music, the fragrance of roses and jasmine, and the laughter of guests—everything together had turned that evening into a fairy tale.
The engagement ceremony was at its peak. Above the stage, Mayank, adorned in a silken sherwani, put the diamond ring on his future fiancé's finger with his trembling hands, and the echo of applause filled the entire courtyard. Arya, in a golden lehenga, was smiling as she looked at the ring. There was a slight blush on her cheeks, perhaps of happiness...or something else?
There, in a corner of the haveli, Samrat stood trying to read that smile. His eyes were fixed on Arya. There were creases on his face, restlessness in his eyes. As if every smile, every applause was pricking him. He had clenched his fists. Even his breathing had become heavy.
"Samrat yaar, what are you standing there for? Come here!"
A loud voice pulled Samrat back to the present. It was the voice of his friend Mayank—the same boy who was getting engaged today.
Samrat's eyes moved away from Arya, but his mind remained stuck there. He took a step slowly. There was a pause in his gait, a strange dilemma.
"Yaar, this is Arya...you are meeting her for the first time," Mayank said with a smile.
Samrat first shook hands with Mayank and congratulated him. "Congratulations bhai, many congratulations."
Then he extended his hand towards Arya.
Arya shook hands with a slight nod, but there was a strangeness in her eyes.
"You are so beautiful," Samrat's words came out like an incomplete emotion flowing with his breath.
His eyes slipped from Arya's face to her shoulder, neck, and then to the pleats of her lehenga. Not just glances, as if they had become touches.
Arya hesitantly pulled her hand away, but Samrat's grip was strong.
"Thanks," she said in a cold voice, but there was nervousness running inside. Samrat's eyes were fixed on her, as if a forgotten past had come to stand before her.
People in the hall were laughing, engrossed in tea and sweets. No one was watching Arya becoming uncomfortable.
"Hey mister, it's getting too much. Leave my hand,"
Arya said, gritting her teeth, tightening her lips.
This time there was a warning in her voice. But Samrat's eyes were still the same—still, crazy, and somewhat scary.
After a moment, as if he had come to his senses, Samrat left her hand. His fingers moved away with a slight tremor. But his eyes were still on Arya. So deeply as if he wanted to get into her eyes.
Then without saying anything, without looking at anyone, he started taking slow steps back. As if someone had lost a war, or was going to play some other game.
Arya turned her face to the other side in a jerk, her breaths were running fast.
"Psycho somewhere," she whispered with anger and hatred.
Her words were slow, but their intensity had become ice cold in that corner of the haveli.
That moment was short, but it had left its mark in Arya's mind. That gaze of Samrat, that touch, and that silence...everything seemed to float in the air.
And that night of engagement, which was full of laughter and applause, had knocked on the door of silence in a corner.
An opulent sofa was adorned in the soft yellow light of the stage. The blue curtain behind seemed to be waving, as if some mysterious silence of the night was hidden inside it. Arya and Mayank were sitting face to face on that sofa, both with coffee mugs in their hands.
Arya pointed to the person standing in front with a slight smile.
"Who is this psycho? Strange man... look at him," Arya said in a low voice, raising her eyebrows, there was a slight playfulness in her eyes.
Mayank laughed loudly.
"You won't improve...he is my closest friend, Samrat Oberoi...billionaire business tycoon."
Arya asked with wide eyes in surprise,
"He...oh...the one you are PA to?"
Mayank smiled,
"Yes! But more than that, he is my brother. When he found out that I wanted to marry a girl of my choice, he was the happiest. The entire engagement was planned in Jaipur by him...he saw everything himself."
Arya's gaze now went to Samrat again. He was standing in a corner of the stage—in a black suit, with a deep red tie. His eyes were fixed, as if fixed on a single point. And that point was—Arya.
Arya said slowly,
"I think he is crazy...look how he is standing apart from everyone...as if he has cut himself off from the crowd."
Mayank nodded taking a deep breath,
"Yes...he is different, very much. But he is loyal. And...scary too sometimes."
Then both got busy in their talks. Memories of college days, pranks, and wedding preparations...time passed between laughter and light teasing.
But Samrat's eyes were still there. Fixed. Cold. Full of fire.
He slowly started clenching his fists. And when he saw Mayank holding Arya's hand—a friendly touch, an innocent gesture—something ignited inside Samrat.
He slowly extended his hand towards the vase kept nearby. Picked up the rose in it. And as if that flower was not some soft emotion but an enemy, he crushed it with his fingers. His eyes were now on Mayank's face—but even from that dense fog of fire, only Arya was being reflected.
Then slowly, almost in a whisper in the ear...but so sharp that even the air trembled...
"Your laughter is very lovely...and it is only for me,"
He said.
Arya suddenly looked at him. Samrat was now slowly moving towards the stage. His gait was like that of a hunter—slow, controlled and terrifying.
Mayank said laughing,
"Samrat! Come on yaar, you are standing alone!"
Samrat's smile emerged—but it was not warm. That smile was like someone showing his teeth before hunting prey.
"I have been watching since when," Samrat said, then his gaze rested on Arya. "Lost in so lovely talks...I thought I might miss something...special…"
Arya said with a slight smile,
"It is difficult to miss anything with eyes like yours."
"Absolutely," Samrat said tilting his head slightly, "I don't let anything go, which is mine...or should be."
His voice had now deepened.
Arya became a little uncomfortable. Mayank turned the conversation to handle the situation,
"Yaar Samrat, now stop delivering dialogues and come and sit. Today we all have to be happy—for Arya, for me...and for you too."
Samrat looked at Mayank for a moment...then his eyes returned to the same place—on Arya.
Arya's face was now serious. For the first time she felt that there was something unusual in this person's eyes...some strange yearning...some right...which he has not yet got, but he has assumed her to be his.
Then Samrat extended a rose petal towards Arya.
"This...for you. But keep it carefully...it is full of thorns. Like me."
Arya said nothing. She took that petal and quietly kept it in her palm. Mayank lightened the mood with laughter, but some heaviness had descended in the air.
Music was playing slowly on the stage.
But some fast instrument was playing inside Samrat—of jealousy, of right, of passion.
The flame was still burning.
And that fire was not only inside him now...it was slowly spreading around that stage.
Light drops were falling outside, but the atmosphere inside the hall was like a festival. Arya's laughter was illuminating the entire room—she was laughing, carefree, as if some innocent memory of childhood had suddenly returned. Samrat was standing in front, drowning in that laughter. Every time Arya smiled, Samrat's heart would start taking a new beat. His eyes were not moving away from Arya's face at all.
"Have we ever met before?" Samrat asked himself.
But suddenly, as if the sky also recognized his restlessness. A loud lightning struck and then with thundering clouds the rain intensified. The patter of drops was hitting the windows, and a light cool breeze had started knocking inside.
Arya went to the window and started feeling the rain by spreading her hands—in that moment she was looking like a fairy. It was no longer possible for Samrat to stop now.
There was a different impatience in his gait. As if some unspoken call was pulling him towards Arya. He reached near her, without saying anything, just looked into her eyes. Arya hesitated a little, her breaths became a little deeper.
"Samrat?" There was a question in her voice and some tenderness too.
But in response Samrat just held her hand, and pulled her towards himself. So suddenly that Arya's steps flowed with him on their own.
All the people sitting in the hall were shocked to see that scene—Samrat was holding Arya's hand and taking her out in the rain.
Arya's breaths had stopped, her heart was beating fast. But she could not resist, her fingers had got tangled in Samrat's fingers.
As soon as they reached outside, Samrat looked at her for a moment—the rain had intensified even more now. Their wet hair was falling on each other's faces. There was an unknown fear in Arya's eyes, but more than that there was a restless wait.
And then…
Samrat took her in his arms and without saying anything, put his lips on her lips.
Time stopped for a moment.
The air changed its course, the clouds stopped, and the heartbeats intensified.
All the guests, friends, and Mayank who had come out of the hall—all stood there. No one could believe that Samrat, who lived in a royal style, could be so reckless, so crazy.
Mayank's eyes widened. His face was expressionless, as if someone had pulled the ground away. He could not even move from that place.
Arya…
It was as if she had forgotten to breathe. Her body was trembling—not from the rain, but from that sudden shower of emotions given by Samrat. But she found herself melting in Samrat's arms.
"You are mine...only mine." There was passion in Samrat's eyes, love, and a declaration.
And then someone turned on the music on the hall's speaker—as if the universe itself had tuned the notes for that moment.
"You are mine...only mine are mine..."
Every drop of rain had now become music. Samrat had hugged Arya in his arms, his eyes had become wet—now not only from the rain, but from that feeling which he had felt for the first time.
Samrat's fingers were sliding on Arya's back, feeling her heartbeats. Arya closed her eyes for a moment, and then the expressions in her eyes—were of surrender, were of acceptance.
The wet saree was sticking to her skin. Samrat's shirt was wrapped in water, highlighting his toned body.
The air took another gust and the remaining distance between the two also disappeared.
There was silence all around, but what was happening between Samrat and Arya—the entire universe was watching.
Arya did not free herself from his arms, just kept drowning in his eyes.
"Samrat, all this…" Her voice was trembling.
"Shhh...don't say anything. Just feel…" Samrat silenced her lips with his finger.
Amidst the rain, their souls were meeting. The noise around was no longer a part of them. Everything was blurred, just those two bodies—one soul.
Someone saw them, someone didn't—but in that moment Samrat had left the entire world behind. And Arya...for the first time she had felt Samrat's madness from within.
The external scene was still the same—drops of rain were hitting the windows, there was a shiver in the air, and inside, the music was still flowing in a slow rhythm. But suddenly, Samrat's grip loosened. Arya was not in his arms. His palm was now empty.
He was shocked.
That kiss of rain...Arya's eyes...that trembling voice...all that...everything disappeared like fog.
"What is this…" Samrat looked around himself.
No one was in his arms.
Arya was not in front.
The wet saree, that wet face, and the surrender in her eyes—nothing was there.
He was alone…on stage.
He was alone… on stage.
The words died before they could escape his lips.
Slowly, his eyes wandered over the crowd filling the room. People were standing, applauding—likely at the end of some program.
Aarya… she was there—in the front row, cloaked in simplicity, completely silent, seated in her place. There was neither hesitation nor shyness on her face. And the emperor?
Drops were streaming down his forehead, but they were sweat… not rain.
The entire scene—which he had just lived, felt, in which his soul had drowned—was a dream.
An illusion so vivid that it had shattered the wall of reality.
The emperor's breaths were uncontrolled. His heart was still pounding at the same rate, as if that kiss still lingered on his skin.
"Did I really do nothing?" he asked himself, and then anxiously looked at his hands… they were dry.
His fingers, which had been gliding over Aarya's back moments ago, were now trembling in the air.
His throat was parched, but there wasn't a drop of water to be found. Only emptiness.
"I'm on stage…" he told himself, as if trying to come out of a trance.
Just then, the organizer from the corner of the stage extended the microphone towards him.
"Samrat ji, please begin your poem…"
Poem?
He had completely forgotten why he was there.
Now he understood—what had just happened was a storm of his emotions, an illusion he had woven in his eyes before reciting the poem.
That moment when Aarya had laughed, when she had walked to the window—that was all true. But everything else…?
"It was all a rainbow of my mind…"
He slowly approached the microphone. His steps were heavy, as if some dream was pulling him back.
"I…" His voice was trembling. But now he had to say something.
The crowd was silent.
Aarya was still quiet, but her eyes were now on Samrat—steady, gentle, yet filled with depth.
Samrat closed his eyes. That kiss, that embrace, those raindrops—they all returned. But this time he knew that it wasn't his truth, but his yearning.
He grasped the microphone and began to speak in a soft voice:
"That first touch of rain…
Sometimes our illusions,
become so vivid with our emotions,
that we forget reality.
What I saw, did not happen—
but that moment was within me,
a desire, a longing, a dream,
that remains unfulfilled even in our eyelids…"
The words of the poem seemed to be bidding farewell to his dream one by one. With each line, he found himself closer to reality.
The crowd was applauding, but for Samrat it was just noise—Aarya was still there, but she was no longer a dream.
She was a reality—unobtained, only felt.
"I lived you, Aarya," he said to himself, "in a moment, in an illusion… but perhaps without you."
And that evening, that illusion soaked in rain… became the most beautiful solitude of his life.
The evening of the engagement brought with it the fragrance of sandalwood and the sweetness of roses. Every corner shimmering with light was telling a story—of love, of union, and of the relationship that, from this day on, belonged to Aarya and Mayank.
All the guests, adorned in beautiful attire, were engrossed in conversation over tea and fritters.
"Oh, look at that, doesn't Aarya and Mayank make such a lovely couple? As if made by God," someone said.
"Look at how Mayank is looking at her… as if he can only see that one face in the crowd of the world," another guest added.
All the guests were talking about the same couple.
"May God always keep their pair safe," an elderly woman looked up, joining her hands. There was the truth of prayer in her eyes.
Meanwhile, there was a corner where these conversations were unsettling someone deeply.
That was—Samrat.
His face was calm, but a storm was brewing in his eyes. He had first met Aarya here and had felt a desire, a longing, which he had never told anyone.
And today?
Today, the same Aarya was getting engaged to Mayank.
His closest friend.
"As if it was your own dream," Samrat's heart was screaming, but there was a smile on his face—frozen, fake.
"You should smile, sadness doesn't suit you."
Aarya, in a light pink lehenga, with a smile like pearls, was standing on the stage.
At that moment, someone in the crowd said again—
"May God always bless their couple… they are so lost in each other, like soul and body."
Mayank's eyes suddenly fell on Samrat. He smiled,
"Samrat! Why are you standing alone here? Come, let's take a photo together!" he called out.
He stood silent for a few moments, then smiled.
"Coming, buddy."
But there was more distance in that "buddy" today than there had ever been before.
He walked towards the stage… as if with every step his heart was saying to itself—Aarya, now you are mine.
The photographer gathered everyone together.
"Smile, please!"
And the camera captured that moment…
in which two people were making a new beginning,
The Edge Behind the Smile
The engagement evening was at its peak. On stage, the pair of Aarya and Mayank remained the center of everyone's attention. Cameras were flashing, the fragrance of flowers was in the air, and every face was bathed in light.
"Did you see how Aarya and Mayank were looking at each other? Like two souls residing in the same spirit," a middle-aged man, whose name was Rakesh, was saying to the people standing near him with great affection.
"I say, God doesn't create such a couple every day," he added another line, and everyone nodded, as if putting a stamp of approval on it.
But in this crowd there was a face—Samrat—who was as if dissolving in these words. There was that stirring in his eyes, which can only give the silence before the storm.
Rakesh said with a smile, "Mayank is very lucky. One doesn't find a girl like Aarya every day… she is a light, who turns a house into a temple."
As soon as he said this, Samrat's eyes pierced Rakesh like arrows. His jaw tightened, his fists clenched.
But he said nothing—not yet.
The ceremony was in its final stages. People were slowly beginning to leave. Aarya, with a tired smile, was talking to the guests sitting with Mayank.
Meanwhile, Rakesh, who was an acquaintance, headed towards the washroom.
As soon as he came out, his steps stopped.
Samrat was standing in front of him.
There was no longer that smile on his face.
Nor any hesitation.
Just an empty, cold, and extremely dangerous silence.
"You?" Rakesh said, startled.
Samrat took a slow step towards him.
"You talk too much," he muttered.
Rakesh wanted to step back, but the wall arrived.
"Hey… are you okay, buddy?" he said nervously. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Samrat took something out of his pocket—a small knife.
The yellow light of the bathroom was shining on the edge of the metal.
"Joke?" Samrat's voice was steeped in a whisper. "Do you think it's a joke when someone repeatedly says that Mayank is lucky? That Aarya is made for him? That she is a light… his light?"
Rakesh's breaths became rapid. "Look… I don't know what you're understanding but… what are you going to do? This… this is not right."
Samrat came even closer to him.
Now there was just a breath's distance between them.
"What is right, Rakesh?"
"To desire someone, but to see them with someone else?"
"Or… to not be able to say anything even after desiring and everyone keeps applauding on your dreams?"
Rakesh was now almost trembling.
"You… you are a psycho…" he said in a panic.
A slight smile appeared on Samrat's face.
"Maybe I am.
But you praised those who snatched Aarya away from me…
You snatched my solace, Rakesh."
"I… what?" Rakesh began to slide back, gasping.
"You said what I can't bear to hear the most… that Mayank and Aarya are made for each other."
Samrat raised the knife, but then—
A door creaked.
The sound of someone's laughter came from outside.
Rakesh's eyes were fixed there.
Samrat paused for a moment and listened to that sound… then put the knife back into his jacket.
The Edge Behind the Smile
Someone's laughter echoed outside the door. Samrat's hand paused for a moment.
A stillness came into his eyes—like a ray of light suddenly descends into a deep darkness, but that light brings not comfort, but a sting. Thinking something, he stepped back. Rakesh's heartbeats were out of control, beads of sweat were rolling down his temples. He had accepted… he had been saved.
"Look," he said in a trembling voice, "Whatever you are thinking… maybe that's a misunderstanding. I don't even know you properly…"
Samrat tilted his neck slightly, as if weighing the weight of Rakesh's words.
"Do you know what the most interesting thing is?" There was now a strange softness in his voice… or perhaps a conspiracy. Cold and slow. A wave that is moving under some deep water.
Rakesh slowly tried to step back, but the narrow corridor of the washroom had now taken him into its grip.
"That moment… when a person thinks that he has been saved. That breath… in which life returns," Samrat took a few steps forward. "And then…"
He became silent.
Nothing happened. No sound, no scream.
Just a moment… very heavy… very cold.
Rakesh was as if rooted in the air. His face numb, eyes wide open… and then—
Slowly the light began to slip from his eyes.
His body began to slump backwards, as if some invisible force had gathered him up. Samrat held him, like a tired artist neatly dismisses his character from the stage before the curtain falls.
He bent down and looked at Rakesh's face. There was something incomplete there—perhaps a question… or regret… or something that cannot be bound in words.
Samrat whispered near his ear, "Therefore… because every silence has an edge… and you didn't learn to recognize it."
Another smile was on his lips—the same light, sweet, and absolutely dangerous.
Now everything was very quiet.
A few minutes later—Samrat straightened his jacket, carefully looked at his hands, then went to the washbasin. There water continued to flow—like a slow tune of an old song, which no one remembers now.
There was a small storage area behind the bathroom. Dilapidated, dusty.
There was a wooden trunk lying there—old, heavy, almost forgotten.
Samrat slowly lifted the lid… peeked inside… then moved towards it.
Rakesh's body was now like a light shadow. Samrat carefully dragged him—taking care that there was no noise. As if someone is burying a memory. Put a cloth over his face. Folded his hands. Put some torn old mattresses and curtains on top.
Then closed the lid… and took a deep breath.
Now he returned to the bathroom. Combed his hair, cleaned his face, straightened his tie and looked in the mirror—
A smile.
The same smile… which everyone called "humble".
Opened the door… and came out.
The lights in the hall had now dimmed. The DJ had played the last track. Aarya and Mayank were getting off the stage. People were taking their leave.
"Oh Samrat brother! You here?" Mayank asked, laughing.
"Yes, my head was a bit heavy… thought I'd be alone for a while." Samrat's smile was still the same—sweet, slow, but filled with some strange coldness.
Aarya looked at him closely—a little too closely.
"Everything okay?" she asked slowly.
Samrat took a long breath.
"Now everything… is very okay."
Aarya's eyes were fixed on his smile… and for the first time, she felt something scary in that smile.
Because that smile… was not saying anything. Was hiding something.
The Night of the Mansion – Where Something Heavy is Hidden Underneath the Laughter
Outside, a cold wind was blowing, the branches of the trees were rustling against each other… as if whispering something unheard. There was a deep silence inside the mansion, but also that slight tremor that comes when someone is hiding something inside themselves.
In the dim light of the drawing room, now only Mayank's parents, Aarya's mom and dad, some close relatives, and employees were present. Aarya was sitting next to her mother, and Samrat was standing in a corner with his back against the wall, a cup of coffee in his hand, and the same polite smile on his face.
As soon as Mayank entered the room, he clapped his hands and said in a light-hearted manner,
"So friends, today's day doesn't end here! Now for the next two days, all of us will stay here in this mansion, in full royal style!"
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Arya's mother asked with a smile, "So, you've made such a big plan... and didn't even tell us?"
Mayank replied, laughing,
"If I had told you, how would it be a surprise, Aunty! Look, there's the mansion, an open courtyard, forest trails nearby, and above all, Samrat is with us – two days just to relax!"
He turned to Samrat for a moment—
"Isn't that right, Samrat?"
Samrat nodded slightly,
"Absolutely... Sometimes old mansions provide the best break. Especially when the outside world is a little... noisy."
His smile was still there—but Arya looked at that smile a bit longer once again. There was something in it… like a thin layer of ice—a cold shimmer before melting.
"Anyway," Mayank said, regaining his enthusiasm, "tomorrow we'll wake up late, have breakfast on the lawn, then we'll all go for a short trek, and a bonfire at night... and no one is allowed to talk about work or use their mobiles! Two days, no emails, no meetings... just fun and peace!"
Everyone applauded. Light laughter scattered in the air. But the temperature in the room remained cold—perhaps because of Samrat's presence… or some invisible shadow behind him.
The staff slowly picked up the bags. Arya's mother asked,
"The rooms are all set, right, Mayank?"
"Yes, Aunty," Mayank said with a smile, "everything is set. Samrat has been given the room in the upper wing—where the window opens near the mansion's old library."
The corner of Samrat's lips turned up slightly.
"Near old places... there are old stories," he said softly, as if to himself.
Arya looked at him with slight suspicion—there was something there, like a heat rising without a fire.
Everyone else began to get up. The light chatter in the room resumed. But Samrat remained standing there—his eyes still lost in the steam rising from the coffee cup.
In that steam… a half-finished voice was floating somewhere.
The mansion was now almost silent. The shadows of the old paintings on the walls were slowly shifting, as if they too were getting ready to sleep. The staff had returned to their quarters, tired, and the guests' rooms began to close one by one.
Arya escorted her mother to her room, tucked the quilt properly on her bed, and said with a smile,
"You sleep comfortably, I'm going too."
Her mother lovingly stroked her forehead,
"You must be very tired… go on, go now."
Arya gently closed the door and took a long breath. A strange weariness sat on her shoulders, but there was also a slight tension within her… perhaps stemming from Samrat's smile, which lingered in her mind like a puzzle all night.
She was now heading towards her room in the mansion's old corridors—slowly, as if thinking with every step. The sound of her slippers echoed on the old wooden floor, then faded away.
And right there—leaning against the wall, hidden by the stairs, stood Samrat.
Still holding the empty coffee cup in his hand, his eyes were fixed on Arya. But he wasn't just looking at her—as if he was sensing her.
Something was stirring within him. It wasn't the restlessness that arises from fear—it was a different kind of unease.
Arya's face—tired, yet serene. A few strands of hair still fell on her shoulders, a slight doubt in her eyes, as if she had seen something… but couldn't name it. Her gait was slow, but deliberate. As if she was shielding herself from a question, but moving in the direction of the answer.
Something began to melt in Samrat's eyes. He didn't smile—not this time. The sharpness beneath that smile was now quietly gathering itself.
He wanted her to just turn once, to look at him.
Just once…
But Arya didn't turn.
Her back slowly receded. A line inside Samrat began to stretch—like wax melting in the sun.
He ran his fingers along the edge of the cup. The cup was now cold, just like his palms.
Was this the same feeling… that he had once absorbed?
Or was he just living for this moment—where he could do nothing but watch Arya's back recede?
He knew this wasn't comfort.
This was something else—
Something that was quietly, slowly, descending into his veins.
A fear? A desire? A recognition?
He shook his head, as if stopping himself.
But his eyes… were still there, where Arya hadn't turned back for the last time.
The sound of the room's door came—closing softly.
And Samrat took a deep breath.
Something was pounding in his chest—but it wasn't his heart. It was another shadow… that was now slowly coming alive.
A shadow… that only awoke from Arya's reflection.
When Arya opened the door to her room, the soft light inside melted on her face. The cold was a bit much today, or perhaps it was just her breath that was heavy. As she entered, she turned to close the door—but then, her gaze went to the window.
There, standing in the darkness, was Mayank.
His face was half in the light, and half lost in thought.
He was silent, but his eyes were speaking—as if holding the answers to every question that Arya wanted to ask… but couldn't.
"Mayank?" There was weariness in her voice, but no surprise.
"I know, you'll find my presence here strange," Mayank said softly, "but today… I couldn't leave without saying something."
Arya took a deep breath. "What's the matter?"
Mayank was silent for a moment, then, pointing to the chair near the bed, he said, "Can you sit down?"
Arya hesitated a little, but sat down. Mayank was now in front of her—there was only a small distance between them, but crossing it was like leaping across a chasm.
"You look okay, just tired," Mayank said, reading her face.
The night had now deepened. The moonlight filtered through the window panes, spreading a golden sheet in the room. The soft rustling of the curtains with the light breeze was making that moment seem like a dream. A light rose fragrance filled the room—just the way Arya liked it.
As soon as Mayank caught a glimpse of her, a smile floated on his lips. "Did you see how everyone was talking today?" Mayank said, looking at Arya, as if hiding something.
Arya gazed into his eyes and smiled, "What were they talking about?"
Mayank came a little closer, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes, "About how special our pairing is. So… what's your secret?"
Arya looked away from his eyes and said, "What can I say… except that there's only one person like you in the world, and that's… you."
A silence of a few moments lingered between them, which was like a sweet melody. Mayank gently took Arya's hands. His fingers, touching Arya's palms, began to say something that was clearer than words. He slowly, very gently, kissed them — as if the wind had touched a flower.
Arya immediately pulled her hands away, a slight hesitation in her eyes and a blush of modesty on her cheeks. "We're only engaged right now, Mayank... wait until the wedding…" she said, lowering her gaze, but that sweet shyness and closeness was clearly visible in her voice.
Mayank, with a slight smile, gently brushed the strands of hair falling on her face behind her ear. His fingers moved so affectionately that Arya's eyes closed on their own.
"That's good," Mayank said, "but will even a little conversation only happen after the wedding... or can I get permission for that?"
Arya's smile deepened even more. She looked into Mayank's eyes with her own and said, "Why are you so worried? Conversations can happen... there's no need to wait for the wedding for that."
Mayank said in a funny way, "So, I'm allowed to look at you, talk to you, praise you, but… can't touch you?"
Arya couldn't stop laughing. "Exactly! You can look, you can talk, you can give compliments… but you'll have to wait a little longer to touch me."
Mayank bowed his head and said in a dramatic tone, "This is tyranny, Arya… there's love, there's engagement, yet there's distance?"
Arya came closer to him, took his arm and said, "There's something special about the taste of waiting in love, Mayank. When everything is available without stopping, where does its importance remain?"
Mayank looked at her and said, "There's magic in your words. And maybe that's why I fall a little more in love every day."
She looked into his eyes—depth, truth and that something that was perhaps not in words, only felt.
Arya intertwined her fingers with his, "Sometimes… it feels like you were made just for me. An incomplete part of a past life that has now been completed."
Mayank said softly, "And I will find you in every life, Arya. No matter the circumstances… you will be mine."
A deep silence settled between the two.
In the cold night air, soft music was flowing like an old dream. There was soft light all around—no neon lights, no dazzle, just the quiet spreading light of the moon and the soft flame of a few lamps kept in the corners of the room. The atmosphere was as if it was wrapped in an emotion itself.
There was a slight weariness in her eyes, but a slight smile still remained on her face. When Mayank looked at her, that mischievous glint returned to his eyes once again.
"Let's dance a little," he said suddenly.
Arya turned around, looked at him and said with a smile and slight annoyance, "Not now… I'm tired."
Mayank found her refusal a little endearing. But he didn't give up. He came closer to her, and without saying much, just took her hand. His touch was slow, but there was a pull in it, a pull that doesn't listen to refusal. Arya was about to say something when Mayank gently pulled her.
"Just a moment… then you can scold me if you want," there was a sweet stubbornness in his voice.
In the slow rhythm of the music, they both now began to sway gently. Arya's head was close to his shoulder, and Mayank's fingers were like playing an instrument with her hands. Arya didn't make eye contact, but her soul was now like harmonizing with Mayank's heartbeats.
For a few moments, both of them just floated in the music without saying a word. Arya's weariness was like dissolving and flying away in Mayank's touch. Her breaths were getting deeper, as if she was feeling that moment with her whole body.
Mayank slowly took her other hand as well, and now they both stood facing each other, looking into each other's eyes, without knowing any rhythm, just dancing to the tune of their feelings.
"Were you tired?" Mayank whispered.
There was now a different spark in Arya's eyes. "I don't feel tired anymore," she said softly.
Mayank smiled, then placed her hand on his chest—right above his heart. "Listen here, this that's beating… is only for you."
Arya's fingers began to feel that heartbeat. She wanted to say something, but the words had fallen from her lips beforehand. Mayank now came even closer, so much so that their breaths were feeling each other's warmth.
He gently held Arya's waist, and his gaze lingered on her face. There was hesitation in Arya's eyelids, but there was still a light, timid smile on her lips. She was like getting lost in his arms.
Mayank gently brushed her curls behind her ears, and said softly, "When you're close, it's like everything becomes right."
Arya looked into his eyes—there was mischief there, desire there and an unspoken promise as well. She slowly took Mayank's fingers and smiled as she said, "Every night… and every morning too."
Suddenly a strong gust of wind blew the window curtain, and the moonlight began to fall on their faces. In that light, Arya's face looked like a poem—silent but effective. Leaning towards her for a moment, Mayank asked, "Can I feel you… more deeply?"
If you liked this novel of mine, then here is a small request... ❤️
The rest of the stories written by me are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access my other creations.
In every novel, you will definitely find something new, something of your own, and something that will connect with your heart.
It is only with your love and support that this journey becomes so beautiful.
So definitely read them, and encourage me with your opinions, ratings and comments.
Keep reading, keep connecting… because somewhere in every story, you are there too. ❤️📖
Arya didn't say anything, just closed her eyes and brought her forehead close to his lips. Mayank gave her a long, soft kiss on her forehead—like a prayer, or weaving vows. That moment stood still.
Now there was a strange feeling in the atmosphere—a touch, a sensation, and a romance that was saying everything without saying anything. The rhythm of their breaths was now the same, as if they had merged into one heartbeat.
The music was still playing softly. But now it wasn't just a tune, it had become their story.
The light evening breeze gently brushed against the window pane, lightly swaying the curtains. In the soft light of the room, Arya's face looked like a calm lake—still on the outside, turbulent within.
Mayank was smiling, his gaze was on Arya's face, but Arya's eyes were fixed on some unknown place. She was saying something, but the words lacked the ease that was part of her nature. As soon as she closed one eye—that face appeared before her.
Samrat.
His eyes… the same intensity, the same depth—as if peering into Arya's soul. His face, for a moment, was as if sitting in front of her. Those glances that said nothing, but made you feel so much. Arya's breath stopped for a moment.
That day, when Samrat's eyes first saw Arya—Arya felt as if time had stopped. Those eyes, filled with unspoken pain, an unexpressed desire, and an indelible attraction—brought her back to that same darkness today.
She was startled... and gathering herself, she moved a little away from Mayank.
Mayank frowned and said, "What happened, Arya? Why did you suddenly fall silent? Is everything okay?"
Arya immediately composed herself, drawing a light smile on her lips, and said, "Nothing, just… maybe I'm tired."
But how could she stop her heartbeats?
"In the shadow of a burning identity"
The room didn't feel like an ordinary place—it was a state of mind, a canvas of melting passion. Soft yellow light was dripping from the bulb hanging from the ceiling of the room, but Samrat standing beneath it... he wasn't in the light. He was as if immersed in the darkness within him.
His eyes were fixed straight ahead—neither moving nor blinking. There was a strange stillness in that unwavering gaze, like the moment before the silence of a volcano.
His lips were pressed together, but a storm was raging inside. He suddenly took a deep breath, as if filling his lungs with the bitter dust of some memory.
His fingers were cracking one after another. Repeatedly rubbing the ring finger of his left hand with his thumb, he moved forward—slowly, as if every step on the ground was leaving a document behind.
Then he stopped.
In front of him was a banner hanging on the wall—a declaration of new love, a fresh wound stuck on old pain.
“Mayank weds Arya”
The golden letters were shining on the white surface, as if someone's happiness had filled Samrat's eyes with fire.
He tilted his head slightly, as if reading the words not directly, but with the eyes of his heart.
"You are mine, Arya…"
His voice was a whisper, but every word seemed to collide with the walls and dissolve back into his soul.
"Now I can't see you with anyone else... My Sweet Heart…"
A smile emerged on his lips. No, this wasn't a smile of love—it was the identity of his psycho soul.
He smiled as if he found relief in cutting a dream with a knife.
He went to the banner, held its lower edge with one hand and put the other hand in his jacket pocket.
A glittering silver lighter came into his palm, and the very next moment—
A blue flame emerged.
Without hesitation, he touched the flame of the lighter to the edge of the banner.
Slowly, like waves rising, the fire began to climb on the cloth. First, the 'M' of "Mayank" started to burn—the letters smoldering from one corner as if scorched by the flames of Samrat's hatred.
The glow of the flames now fell on Samrat's face.
His pupils dilated, and there was a strange kind of peace in them—as if he were considering this burning as an offering of worship.
"Look…"
His tone was now a little louder, but cold… very cold.
He was leaning and looking at the banner, like a rebellious artist watching his creation sink into the fire.
"He can only get you, Arya… can't understand you. I know what the fatigue behind your laughter is. How many screams are beneath your silence."
Now the name "Mayank" was completely ashes.
"Arya"... was still clearly visible on the half-burnt surface. The fire was moving towards her, but just then—
Samrat rushed forward in a panic.
There was a frightening drama in the rapid movement of his hands.
"No!"
He pressed the fire with his burning palms. The flames clung to his hands, but he did not back down.
"You won't burn, Arya… no."
There was a tremor in his voice—not of fear, but of madness of love.
When the fire went out, he stood there for a few moments. Then slowly sat down, as if his body had given up.
There was now a thin layer of sweat on his face, but in his eyes… a desolate thirst.
He ran his burnt fingers over the half-burnt surface of the banner—touched the name 'Arya', as if calling out to a ghostly soul.
"Have you ever looked at me, Arya?"
His whisper was so soft that if there wasn't smoke in the room, the words would have been lost in the air.
"Do you know that every smile of yours was creating a new crack in my chest?"
Now there was only the smell of smoke in the room—the smoldering cloth, the blackness of the burnt wall, and Samrat's ash-covered fingers.
He leaned his head against the wall, took a tired breath and then muttered—
"I can leave everything for you, Arya…
But if you become someone else's…"
His eyes were now slowly closing,
"Then I will not remain the same… as I was before you."
Now there was a quiet psycho smile on his face. That smile wasn't scary… but it was necessary to be afraid of it.
The walls of the room were witnesses—to an obsessive love, which had turned to ashes… and an identity that was now burning only in the shadow of fire.
"In the shadow of a burning identity"
The room smelled of ash, and the smoke was still silently rising towards the ceiling.
The burnt lines on the wall were trembling like incomplete clues to a name.
Samrat, sitting on the ground, seemed to be swinging between the peace and the storm within him.
His eyes were still looking at the name, which he had first seen in a mere engagement ceremony—"Arya".
For him, that engagement was not an occasion of happiness, but an inspiration.
It was there that he first realized what love is—and how it feels when seeing someone makes your entire existence stop in that moment.
"I had seen you… just once…"
There was a tremor in his voice, as if an incomplete couplet was fighting with itself.
"You were smiling, and I was serving a sentence in that smile, which I could never even ask for."
He got up and reached the corner of the room. Where a picture of Arya from her engagement was kept—he quietly picked it up.
In the picture, Arya's face had a slight shyness and innocent happiness. But for Samrat, that picture had now become his most precious reality.
"I wasn't yours… could never have been.
But in that one glance, I became yours, Arya… completely."
He hugged the picture to his chest, as if that one sight had made a home in his soul.
"I had seen you in a lehenga, with light henna on your hands, and someone else's dream in your eyes…"
His eyelids began to get wet, but no tears came out. Only the sob was suppressed beneath his breaths.
"There was no desire to get you, I just wanted to cherish that glance in which I had lost myself."
He lay down on the bed, keeping the picture on his chest. His body was calm, but his heart—it was still immersed in that dream.
"A morning of roses"
The soft rays of the sun were filtering through the curtain of the window and spreading in the room, as if a golden secret was slowly knocking on Arya's eyelids. Removing the soft blanket of sleep, Arya slowly opened her eyes. For a moment, everything was blurred, but as soon as her gaze went to the corner of the room—her breaths stopped.
Everywhere in the room was filled with roses.
White, pink, and deep red roses. There was a large glass vase on the table near the wall, in which fresh, wet roses were smiling, spreading their petals. Rose plants were hanging in small pots on the window sill, as if playing a delicate tune in the morning air. There was a small heart-shaped bouquet on the bedside table, in which layers of red and white roses were intertwined in such a way as if love and innocence were breathing together.
Arya remained staring into the void for a moment. A slow smile came on her lips, as if some unseen sweetness had touched her heart. She pinched herself, "Am I dreaming?" Then smiling, she said slowly, "No… this can't be a dream."
She got up slowly from the bed, a line of coldness ran down her spine as soon as her bare feet stepped on the carpet, but the warmth of her eyes was now only on those roses. She took the first step towards the corner of the room, where a bouquet filled with dozens of roses was kept on a round table. She bent down, and gently touched one of the red roses with her fingers—as if holding the palm of a lover.
"Wow…" She closed her eyes and felt the fragrance of the rose, "Such a sweet fragrance… like your presence, Mayank."
The petals of the rose trembled slightly with the touch of her fingers. Arya's heart was filled. There was a sparkle in her eyes—the same sparkle that someone had understood her choice so closely. She smiled, and whispered softly, “I like roses… even mom and dad don't know this… and you know, Mayank… only you.”
Her face was now very close to the roses. She was looking at each rose as if she were reading an old letter—in which every petal was saying a word. Her fingers would sometimes caress a rose, and sometimes open the petals to see how much moisture was hidden in their layers. As if Mayank's "I love you" was hidden in every flower.
She moved towards the window, where a small pink pot was kept. Light pink colored roses were blooming in it—so delicate that it seemed as if they would shatter if the wind blew strongly.
Arya said slowly, "You are so romantic, Mayank… it's you, I know. Only you can do something like this…" Her voice trembled, but there was a sweet gratitude in it, a peace.
She started circling the whole room—sometimes picking up the petals lying on the ground, sometimes admiring the color of the roses. Every flower was as if sowing a new feeling in her heart. She picked up a rose and placed it on her palm and smiled, "How do you know which color I like the most?" Then she picked up a white rose and pressed it against her cheek, "You read my mind like a book, Mayank…"
Now she was standing in front of the mirror. She had three roses in her hand—red, pink and white. She put them close to her heart and saw her own smile in the mirror. The sparkle in her eyes seen in the mirror, as if a girl was receiving the first expression of her first love.
Her breaths became faster. She took a deep breath, and said to herself, "I have never felt so connected to anyone… Mayank, you touch the most tender corner of my heart…"
Then her gaze went towards the door—as if she was waiting for the door to open and Mayank to stand in front of her, smiling. But the door was closed, and the fragrance of roses in her breaths was now resonating like a love song.
Arya put a rose in her hair, then looked at herself in the mirror. There was a smile on her lips, but there was a shadow of moisture in her eyes—a sweet feeling, which is spoken not by words, but only by silence.
"Mayank… you have made not only my day, but my soul beautiful," she whispered.
The roses were still blooming in the room, but now Arya's face had also bloomed among them—as if an incomplete poem had found its end.
And in this way, that morning of roses permanently settled the soft layers of love in Arya's soul.
"Painting herself in his color"
"If you liked this novel of mine, then there is a small request... ❤️"
The rest of my stories are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access the rest of my creations.
In every novel, you will definitely find something new, something of your own, and something that will connect with your heart.
It is only with your love and support that this journey becomes so beautiful.
So do read, and encourage me with your opinions, ratings and comments.
Keep reading, keep connecting… because somewhere in every story, you are also there. ❤️📖
## Dressed in His Colors
Aarya stood in front of the dressing table, a soft smile gracing her lips as she gazed at herself in the mirror. There was a sparkle in her eyes—a sparkle that was there for a reason. "Mayank..." The name escaped her lips, and the corners of her mouth curved upward even more.
"Why shouldn't I wear Mayank's favorite colors?" she whispered to herself. "If he's the reason for the smile on my face, then I should do something for him too..."
She turned towards the wardrobe, her steps slow and deliberate, as if each one drew her closer to him. When she opened the closet, it revealed a jumble of colors, as confused as she felt. There was a blue one-shoulder gown that reminded her of Mayank's words—
"Blue is lost in your eyes..."
Another was a simple but body-hugging off-white satin dress that would melt into her skin like milk. And the third—a red silk dress that could unleash the hidden feminine fire within her.
"Should I wear this?" she asked herself, holding up the blue gown. Then she immediately picked up the satin dress—
"But in this..."
And then she fell silent, looking at the red dress. Her gaze lingered on the dress for a few moments, as if she could see another image in the fabric—another Aarya.
She took all three dresses and scattered them on the bed, taking a deep breath and saying to herself, "I'll take a shower first... then I'll decide."
She took a white towel from the wardrobe—light, soft, just the way it would gently glide over her damp hair. She lightly gathered her hair and clipped it up, then headed towards the bathroom.
As soon as the bathroom door closed, a light mist of steam filled the air. Aarya slowly took off her T-shirt. The light cotton fabric slipped down her neck, and her heart beat a little faster. She also took off her shorts—now only her breath and her increasingly warm skin reflected in the mirror remained on her body.
She adjusted the water temperature to lukewarm and turned on the shower.
Drops of water flowed from her neck down her back—each drop like a lullaby. Her eyes closed. Her skin glowed in the steamy atmosphere—wet, soft, and turning pink.
She took the shampoo and ran her fingers through her long hair—foam-covered hair swayed on her back. Then she took the body wash—a lightly scented jasmine shower gel—and rubbed it on her neck, shoulders, and collarbone with her hands. Her body felt awakened by every touch.
Every curve of her shoulder, every wave of her waist, seemed to speak for themselves. When she spread the foam on her thighs, her breaths became even slower and heavier. She looked at herself in the mirror—drops were gliding over her washed body, as if a painter was dropping colors on her skin.
"Mayank... what would you like?" she asked herself, and in that question there was desire, and helplessness.
She gently picked up the towel and began to dry herself—from shoulder to navel, then from navel to thighs. The towel kissed every part of her. Now she felt soft, clean, and even more radiant.
While drying her hair, she once again looked at the three dresses lying on the bed. This time there was less confusion and more confidence in her eyes. She picked up the red silk dress and said to herself, "Today... not only me, but my skin is also changing color for you, Mayank."
She smiled and held the dress against her body, looking at herself in the mirror—it was not just an outfit, it was her heart's desire... the call of her consciousness.
A strange silence had fallen in the room, as if every wall held a secret within it. The air coming from the window gently moved the curtains, and there she stood—Aarya. There were fine lines of tension on her face, a few drops of sweat on her forehead, and her eyes were fixed on the door.
Just then...
There was a faint sound—very light, like silky steps on the floor. Aarya's heart stopped for a moment. Her breathing suddenly quickened. She looked up in surprise, at the doorknob...
"Oh no!" she muttered. She had forgotten to lock the room.
Her fingers involuntarily went to the locket around her neck—a habit that gave her comfort in fear. Every corner of the room now seemed like an unknown shadow to her. And she was in the tower... the highest and most secluded part of the mansion. Why would anyone come there without a purpose?
On the other side – Mayank's room
Mayank was in his room at this time. The door was open. He was sitting in the dim light of the room, talking to an old friend on the phone.
"Brother... you didn't come at all," Mayank said with a smile, "I called you after so many years, at least for one night..."
Laughter came from the other end of the phone, "You know, Mayank, Mom's health suddenly deteriorated... otherwise your engagement is no less than a festival. I heard you're all the bride sees in her eyes?"
Mayank laughed, but his gaze involuntarily went to the tower that was visible from the mansion's balcony. There was something in that silence... as if the answer to an unspoken question was floating in the air.
"Yes... she's very different, man. Sometimes I feel like I know her... and sometimes it feels like she has hidden herself behind a layer," Mayank's voice suddenly softened.
"Looks like you're trapped, Professor Sahib," his friend teased.
"Maybe," Mayank took a deep breath, "but sometimes it feels... like we're both characters in an incomplete story that's being rewritten."
At the same time, a slight tremor went through Mayank's heart—as if the echo of someone else's heartbeat had collided with his own.
Again, Tower Room
The door handle moved.
Aarya looked back with a jolt. A shadow? Some kind of shadow? Or was it her imagination?
Her hands were still clutching the locket, and there was a fear in her eyes that had risen from an old experience.
She moved... very slowly... every step telling a story on the floor.
She looked towards the door.
Her breath was held.
"Who's there?" Her voice was soft but firm.
And then... another sound from outside...
...another sound from outside.
Anxiety settled on the corners of Aarya's eyelids, but her eyes were now steady—strong, alert. She took two steps forward and reached the door, putting her ear to it. The sound of a faint breath—as if someone was standing on the other side. Then... nothing. A heavy silence covered everything.
"Who's there?" she asked again, this time with a slight tremor.
There was silence on the other side.
And suddenly, as if time had stopped—only one word came from beyond the door...
"Me."
Aarya's body froze for a moment. That voice... calm, soft, but recognizable.
"Mayank?" She didn't dare to open the door, but her breathing had slowed down a little.
At the same time – Mayank's room
His friend was saying something on the phone, but Mayank was no longer paying attention. His gaze was fixed on the tower from the mansion's balcony. In the light coming from the garden, the colors of the flowers and the rustling of the leaves had made the atmosphere like a dream.
"...are you listening?" his friend asked.
"Yes, I'm listening," Mayank said softly, "Have you ever thought that someone stays away from someone else only because of their fear?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean... Aarya. It's as if there's an incomplete piece inside her that could never be put back together. She speaks very little... but her eyes—as if they want to say everything. And I... I just want to be the page on which she can rewrite herself."
His friend was silent for a few moments, then said, "Don't just understand her, feel her... she seems lost in her own layers. Maybe you are the mirror that can introduce her to herself."
Mayank's breath caught for a moment. That window of the tower reappeared before his eyes, where Aarya would probably still be standing... scared, confused.
"I'll call you back," Mayank said, and hung up the phone.
He got up and, placing his hand on the balcony railing, looked towards the garden. The moisture and the fragrance of the flowers were saying something as they collided with the old walls of the mansion—like a forgotten song. Every rose, every bougainvillea, every jasmine was filling the air with its fragrance. And with that same air, a feeling, a heartbeat, moved towards the stairs.
Tower Room – on this side of the door
Aarya was still standing. Her fingers were clutching the locket as if it were binding some old wound hidden within her. The word "Me" had confused her, but the tremor in that voice was not false.
Mustering her courage, she opened the door.
There was no one there.
Aarya breathed a sigh of relief, and then this time there was only one decision in her eyes.
Aarya picked up the red silk dress—the dress that created a new image of herself in her eyes. She gently put the dress against her skin and looked at herself in the mirror. A slight smile floated on her lips, but this time there was mischief in it... and perhaps a little fire too.
"If Mayank has composed a morning of roses for me... then why shouldn't I draw him to me with my own color..."
The dress fell on her body like a waterfall—hugging her waist, stopping on her shoulders, and filling her gait with a slow, but definite excitement. She left her hair open—a few strands of wet hair were playing with her cheeks, and some were falling on her back, weaving a different story.
She applied pink lip balm on her lips—just enough so that nothing felt too much, but everything could be felt. Then she looked at the roses, and chose one red rose from them. She gently tied that flower near her wrist, as if an unspoken promise had begun to flow through her veins.
The sunlight had now fully entered the room through the window. And now that sunlight was not only awakening the room, but also Aarya. She looked at herself in the mirror—a slight blush on her cheeks, a moist glow in her eyes, and a smile on her lips that was connected to someone's name.
She turned around and sat down near the bed. Her fingers were slowly running over the bedsheet—as if they were dancing to the rhythm of a heartbeat. Her eyes were towards the door... the wait was still there, but now that wait had become beauty, not restlessness.
One thing was echoing in her heart—
"When someone gives you a morning of roses... you can make them the moon of your evening."
Aarya was now ready—not just to meet, but to make him feel... that she not only accepts love, but also creates it.
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My other stories are also waiting for you.
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This journey becomes so beautiful only with your love and support.
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Keep reading, keep connecting… because you too are somewhere in every story. ❤️📖
She left the room. The light in the corridor of the mansion was dim; the light golden lamps on the walls were spreading their tired light. Arya's heels echoed softly on the wooden floor—tap... tap... tap... as if each step was carrying the entanglements of her mind along with it.
Arya checked herself one last time by looking in the mirror. Her hair was open, flowing to her shoulders, like threads of silk floating in the light air. But the tiredness in her eyes was not hidden. Still, she was ready.
As she turned, she suddenly came face to face with someone at the bend of the corridor—or rather, barely avoided colliding with someone.
"Oh..." Arya uttered, and her hands instinctively went to Samrat's chest.
Samrat's eyes widened, but he steadied himself. Arya quickly pulled her hands back and gave a slight smile, which was more formal; soft, but just as distant.
"Sorry... I was in a bit of a hurry," Arya said in a soft voice, as if trying to hold back time.
But Samrat... he stood as if beyond time.
Before him was Arya—until a few moments ago, just a name, a face, but in this moment... she was not a picture, she was a whole poem. Her voice sounded like a sweet melody to Samrat; those slowly moving lips, and the peace flowing with that voice, as if the whole corridor had suddenly become silent.
When Arya felt that Samrat was lost somewhere in her eyes, she raised her eyebrows and said, "Hello, Mr...? Where are you lost?"
Samrat suddenly came out of some kind of trance; he blinked and breathed a light sigh.
"Y...you are looking very beautiful," these words escaped his lips very clearly, but a little slowly.
Arya was startled. There was a slight hesitation on her face, as if she had not expected this reaction.
"Thanks..." she said hesitantly and lowered her eyes.
Samrat stood there; one hand was still in his pocket and the other was trembling slightly, as if still feeling Arya's touch.
Arya tried to calm herself, but there was a stir in her mind. "Oh God, why is he praising me?"
She gently pushed her hair back, and put on a slight smile again—this time a little less formal, a little softer.
"You also... look decent," Arya said, her eyes still fixed on the wall next to her.
Samrat felt as if he had received a reward. He was both so steady and so restless in front of a girl for the first time. There was a depth in Arya's eyes that was drowning him, and a strange warmth in her smile, which was saying a lot while saying nothing.
"Are you in a hurry?" Samrat asked slowly, as if he wanted this conversation to just keep going.
"Yes...", Arya said, but her voice had become a little softer now. She had felt that there was no cunning in Samrat's eyes—just a strange, true attraction.
"Shall I walk with you?" Samrat asked with a slight smile, but his tone was very polite.
Arya looked at him for a while—as if a question was seeking an answer from within her. Then she shook her head slightly, "No, I'll go."
Then she took a step forward. Samrat stepped back a little, giving way. But as Arya passed him, the fragrance of her perfume touched Samrat—a scent of roses and some wet soil... which Samrat unconsciously felt.
Arya turned back and said, "Bye,"
Samrat bowed his head and said, "Bye... Arya."
And she moved on—not fast, but with steadiness. As if her walk was also telling a story.
Behind, Samrat stood still for a few moments—leaning against the wall, reliving that touch, cherishing that slight smile in his eyes. There was a madness, a craziness in Samrat's eyes, along with a passion, and also a slight frenzy.
"Only mine—Samrat's madness"
The light in the corridor seemed even dimmer, as if there was no reason for light to remain after Arya had left.
Samrat stood there—his back leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on the bend from where Arya had just passed. Her walk... her perfume... that smile of hers—everything seemed to be suspended in the air. Samrat closed his eyes and inhaled, as if he wanted to grasp something—perhaps that moment... or that feeling.
"You are only mine..." the voice within him whispered.
This was not an infatuation that could be bound in words. It was a madness rising from somewhere deep, very deep within—a fire that was not going to be extinguished now.
"Arya..." he took her name slowly, as if it were a mantra. "Those eyes of yours... so tired, yet so alive. That 'Thanks' of yours... so small, yet stopping me."
He put his hand on his chest—where Arya's fingertips were still felt. "No one has ever touched me like this... and you? Just a second... and I went somewhere else..."
He opened his eyes. The corridor was empty now, but for Samrat it was still full of her.
"You refused... for me to walk with you... okay Arya, not now... but one day, you will walk everywhere with me. Only with me."
His fists clenched. His breaths were fast, but his voice was soft.
"Do you even know who you are to me? Maybe not. You just gave me a moment, and I drowned in it. And now... now I won't let you go."
"You don't know, Arya, but I know—what love at first sight is. The one that changes everything."
He took out his phone from his pocket, but not to make a call—just his fingers were searching for a name on the screen. "Arya..." he muttered. Samrat wrote 'Arya' in large letters on the phone. A strange smile came to his lips. The beginning of madness often happens this way—when a person cannot even recognize himself.
"I could keep watching you, Arya," he whispered, "Your walk, your hair, that slight hesitation... everything is sinking into me."
"For the first time, I felt that I cannot lose something. Cannot lose you."
For a moment, his eyes welled up—but they were not tears, they were passion. A silent battle of a restless soul.
"Only you... only mine. Cannot be anyone else's." There was now a claim in his words, a right.
"I know, I am a little different. Everyone says—Samrat is very fast, very cruel in business... but no one knows that when Samrat wants someone, he doesn't let them go. And you..."
He punched the wall lightly, "I haven't even touched you properly, but still it feels... like I have always known you."
"I know, Arya... you will be afraid of me. I will not bother you. Not yet... but I will wait. In my own way, in my own time."
"You avoided my eyes... but that moment—when you praised me..."
He touched his lips, "I have captured that moment. Now you go, wherever you want to go—but know this..."
There was a sparkle in his eyes—the one that arises from passion.
"I am everywhere, Arya. Around you, in your shadow... in your heartbeats. When you close your eyes—I will be standing there. And one day... one day you will say yourself..."
He said softly to himself, "Samrat... it's you."
He sat there cherishing her images—which were still only in memories—in his eyes.
"This is just the beginning..."
Hope Residing in the Silence of the Morning
The morning in the mansion's garden was very peaceful. The sunlight had just knocked on the leaves; the dewdrops were still shining on the grass, and the Gulmohar tree in the corner of the garden had dropped some flowers for the first time. A long table was decorated with a white tablecloth, on which tea, coffee, toast, aloo paratha, homemade butter patties and cut fruits were kept. The morning breakfast was decorated with great love, as if every item wanted to be a part of a special moment.
Arya's mother, Varsha, was sitting in a light pink suit. Her face was full of peace; there were lingering waves of sleep in her eyes, but her smile was fully awake. Opposite, Mayank's father, Mr. Shekhawat, was sitting—in a royal blue kurta, with a coffee mug in his hand and contentment in his eyes.
"Have you noticed, how calm Arya has become now?" Varsha said, applying butter to the toast.
Shekhawat smiled, "Yes... and Mayank too. I am surprised—that boy who was always on his phone, now mentions Arya in everything."
Varsha's laughter was light, but there was a lot hidden in it. "Yesterday when they both were sitting together... it felt as if they were not two characters, but two pages of the same story."
"You are right," Shekhawat agreed, "Yesterday many guests said to me—'Your son's choice is very beautiful.' And I was thinking... that Arya is not only beautiful, but also intelligent."
"She is," Varsha said proudly, "But Mayank has also become very mature. He was a bit fickle before, but with Arya he seems completely steady."
A steaming teapot was kept on the table. It seemed as if the warmth of relationships was also dissolved in that steam. From behind, Arya's aunt brought hot parathas in two plates and said with a smile, "Today's breakfast seems extra special."
"Why shouldn't it be," Varsha continued the conversation, "Yesterday evening filled everyone's hearts."
Shekhawat took a sip of tea, then took a deep breath and said, "When Mayank looked into Arya's eyes... I understood, now it's not just a matter of liking, now this relationship is living on its own."
Varsha became silent—her eyes fixed on the rosebud kept on the table. "What can be more comforting for a mother... than when her daughter says with a smile—'Mom, I like living here.'"
A small gust of wind came in the garden, the aroma of parathas spread further in the air. Everyone ate silently for a while. But that silence was not heavy—it was peace, of acceptance.
"Our Mayank, is a bit stubborn, a bit emotional... but when he considers someone his own, he doesn't back down." Shekhawat said his words in a very slow, but confident voice.
"And Arya," Varsha replied slowly, "She is a girl who understands the world, but takes time to open herself to someone. If Mayank can wait... then it means, he is true."
Both accepted each other's words without any extra words. This was the conversation that happens not between two families, but between two hearts—where words are less and emotions speak more.
"Yesterday my sister was saying," Varsha recalled, "That when Mayank's hand was in Arya's hand, the color of her face was different. As if there was no fear at all."
"Sometimes someone's company... introduces us to ourselves," Shekhawat said deeply.
Arya's aunt came again, serving idli with sweet chutney and said, "Now should we consider the relationship fixed?"
Varsha looked at Shekhawat with her eyes. He nodded slightly, gave a smile, "Now only one formality is left—to fix the date."
Now children were running in the garden, sunlight was dancing on the leaves, and the foundation of a new relationship between two families was becoming even stronger.
The aroma of parathas, the steam of coffee and the acceptance of two hearts... this morning was not just of breakfast, but of a new beginning.
"That Moment When Eyes Recognized Love"
The curtains were swaying softly, as if the air was also smiling after touching that moment. Mayank was sitting in the room packing his books, but his mind was filled with a strange restlessness today.
Just then the door opened slowly. Its slight creaking sound caught Mayank's attention. He raised his eyes, and everything stopped for a moment.
"If you liked this novel of mine, then there is a small request... ❤️"
My other stories are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access my other works.
In every novel you will definitely find something new, something of your own, and something that connects with your heart.
This journey becomes so beautiful only with your love and support.
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Keep reading, keep connecting... because somewhere in every story, you are also there. ❤️📖
Aarya stood there—hair open, a light line of kohl in her eyes, and that familiar smile on her lips. Her presence seemed to make every wall in the room hum quietly.
Mayank's eyes were fixed on her alone. He didn't even realize when the book fell from his hand.
Aarya smiled gently and said,
"Tell me... how do I look?"
Mayank seemed to be searching for words. He said softly,
"The most beautiful girl in the world... very beautiful. Like the moon has descended to Earth."
Aarya's smile deepened. She moved forward, slowly towards him.
"If you praise me so much, I'll get used to it..." she said mischievously.
Mayank looked at her—seriously, deeply.
"Then get used to it. I want you to come before me like this every day, and I want to keep looking at you every time."
In the room, there was only the silent conversation of their eyes. Time seemed to have stopped on a romantic tune.
But on the other side of the door—there was another heart beating.
Samrat. He stood there—glued to the door. His breathing was becoming rapid, as if every word was hitting his chest like a hammer. His eyes had turned red, and his lips were pressed tightly together.
Samrat's heart felt like it was slowly bursting.
Inside, Mayank and Aarya's conversation was getting even closer. Aarya took Mayank's hand and gently intertwined her fingers with his.
"Coming to you makes everything seem easy. It's like you understand my problems without me even saying them," she said.
Mayank held her hand,
"Because your every feeling is connected to my breath, Aarya."
Hearing this, tears welled up in Samrat's eyes. But he didn't cry. Only the corners of his eyes became wet, and that bitterness settled on his face that belongs to a broken heart.
He quietly took a step back, then another. And then he quickly left the corridor. But as he left, his eyes turned back one last time—towards the closing door, inside which Aarya was laughing. A laughter that Samrat had once imagined for himself.
He went down the stairs, but there was no destination in his mind now. His steps were heavy, and a bitter laughter was coming out of his soul.
"You are only mine," he muttered softly.
There was now a soft silence in the room. Aarya sat next to Mayank, and Mayank's eyes were still looking at her.
"Aarya?" Mayank said softly.
"Yes?" She lowered her eyelids.
"I want to... hold on to this moment... just like this... forever."
Aarya raised her head, there was moisture in her eyes, but peace on her lips.
"Then hold on... maybe this is what love is called."
Outside, Samrat sat down on a deserted bench. The winds were blowing fast. But now it was not the coldness of the wind, but the emptiness of his heart that was hurting him more.
"Seeing you smile for someone else... this is the biggest defeat of my love."
Sitting on the bench, Samrat was staring straight ahead. The wind was even stronger now, but the cold was not even touching him. The turmoil inside him, his melting self-respect, and his uncontrollable anger—all this had burned him from within like fire.
His fists clenched. His breathing was not fast now, but felt heavy.
"Why?" he whispered to himself.
"Why Mayank? Why you?"
His throat was choked, but there were no tears in his eyes, only a blazing question.
"Is it because you are simple? That you listen to her words?"
He shook his head, pushing his hair back with both hands.
"I considered you my friend, Mayank... and you stole my world?"
There was now a redness of anger in his eyes. His lips began to tremble, and his voice seemed to be coming from a dark well.
"For you, she is a 'girlfriend'... for me, she is my 'identity'."
He laughed—a hollow, pain-filled laugh that rose straight from the wounds of his soul.
"I wanted her at a time when she herself didn't know that anyone would want her."
He stood up. His breathing was becoming rapid. The laughter of Aarya and Mayank was echoing in his mind—every moment that he had heard just a while ago standing at the door of Mayank's room. Aarya's smile, her holding Mayank's fingers, that peace in her eyes—everything was no less than a slap for Samrat.
"Fate?" he said sarcastically.
"If this is fate, then I will now write fate with my own hands... with fire!"
He moved quickly towards the corridor. There was no pain in his gait now, but intention. There was a storm in his mind that was just struggling to come out.
The garden, fragrant in the soft morning sunlight, and in the middle, two hearts... Mayank and Aarya. There was the fragrance of flowers on the table and the simplicity of the breakfast being served, but there was something different in the air—a slight playfulness, and also a touch of romance.
Mayank picked up a bite, spread butter smoothly on it, and gently extended it towards Aarya. Aarya smiled with a little hesitation, then slowly looked into Mayank's eyes and ate the bite.
"You're becoming very romantic these days, Mayank," Aarya said, mixing a mischievous laugh in her voice, "There was nothing like this before."
Mayank slightly tilted his eyes, and a calm smile spread across his lips, "It's nothing like that... I have always been romantic. But maybe you just didn't notice."
Aarya tilted her neck slightly, pushed her hair back and said, "Or maybe... my mind wasn't ready to see these parts of you then."
"Is it now?" Mayank's voice became soft, as if whispering through the air.
Aarya softly said 'Hmm' and lowered her eyes.
There was now silence on the table apart from the breakfast, in which there were only the talks of eyes. The steam rising from the tea cup seemed to be warming the feelings between them.
Mayank then picked up a toast and extended it towards Aarya—"Now it's my turn to persuade you."
"Persuade?" Aarya asked, surprised.
"Yes... I have to make up for all the past dryness," Mayank said laughingly and took the toast near her lips.
Aarya slowly bit the toast, but just then *tring tring…* the mobile ring broke the magic of the table.
Mayank's face fell immediately. He said irritably, "This is wrong! You should have switched off your phone. Now see, people are bothering you."
Aarya picked up the phone in embarrassment and looked at the screen, "Oh! I did... switch it off... I don't know how it got switched on."
"Okay, so switch it off now," Mayank said angrily.
Aarya paused a little and said, "Oh... it's Mom's phone. Let me talk once... maybe she has something important to talk about."
Mayank frowned and said, "What important thing can there be? She must just want to talk."
Aarya looked at him—there was anger in that tone, but there was also some depth hidden somewhere. She moved closer to him, and said in a soft voice, "Mayank... it's Mom. Mom's call is never 'just like that'."
Mayank was silent for a few moments. Then he sat back a little from the chair. His eyes were on that rose in the garden, which had just been drenched by the morning freshness.
"When you talk to Mom... you are not just a daughter... I feel like I lose you for some time."
Aarya stopped. Her fingers were on the phone, but her eyes were now on Mayank.
"What do you mean?" she asked softly.
"I mean... when we are together, I want only us to be in this moment. Mom, friends, the world... everyone outside. There should just be a small world—me and you."
Aarya smiled. "You know, Mayank? What you said... that's 'romance'. This is the Mayank who wasn't there before."
Mayank lowered his head and said, "No, I was... but maybe there was a fear, that if I revealed everything, then maybe you..."
"...then maybe I would become silent?" Aarya completed the sentence.
He picked up the phone, looked at Mom's call once, then silenced it and put it back on the table.
"What are you doing?" Mayank asked, surprised.
"You were right, this moment is only ours," Aarya said softly and took his hand.
"But Mom?" There was a little concern in Mayank's voice.
"Mom will understand. I'll call her later. But in this moment, if I'm with you... I want to be completely with you."
Mayank took a long breath. The corners of his eyes became a little moist—someone had chosen him for the first time, only him. Without any condition, without any 'but'.
Aarya tightened the fingers of his hand in her hand, "Now feed me something... I was hungry but your words were tasting sweeter."
Mayank laughed and picked up the toast, "Okay, now I'll take care of both your hunger and your feelings."
That peace returned to the garden once again. The light shine of the sun on the leaves, the soft fragrance of the flowers and the talk of two hearts—a small breakfast table had added a new flavor to their relationship today.
And the phone... it was lying there silently, perhaps understanding that some moments of silence are the most important conversations.
The garden was still bathed in that soft sunlight. The fragrance of tea and flowers in the air had now settled as an intimate peace. The breakfast was incomplete on Aarya and Mayank's table, but both their stomachs and hearts were full with their talks. When silence descended between their smiles, it felt like a song.
Aarya had just taken a bite of the toast when suddenly a soft, innocent voice of "Woof woof!" came from behind the bushes.
Both Mayank and Aarya were startled. Aarya looked with wide eyes and then said laughingly,
"Looks like there's a little guest!"
And then a small, snow-white dog jumped out of the bushes—its tail was wagging, and both mischief and innocence were floating in its eyes. There was a blue collar around its neck, on which the slanting sunlight was playing. It ran straight to Mayank and stood close to his leg.
"Oh! Where did this come from?" Mayank said in surprise and bent down to caress its head.
Aarya blossomed completely.
"It's so cute! Look... it's like a cotton ball!"
The dog looked at her, then as if it too had fallen in love with Aarya—it ran towards her and climbed straight into her lap. Aarya laughed and moved back,
"Oh ho! You're very agile!"
Mayank looked at Aarya with a smile—that childlike innocence had returned to her face, which is often lost in the complications of life. He was just about to say something when the dog suddenly looked at the toast kept on the table and jumped up saying "Woof!".
"Oh no!" Mayank said laughingly, "Look, now it's also hungry!"
Aarya picked up a piece of toast and extended it towards him,
"Come on, a small breakfast for our little guest too."
The dog understood as if, lovingly took the piece of toast in its mouth and sat down in a corner. Its small tail was now wagging faster.
"What do you think, Mayank? Whose dog would this be?" Aarya asked.
"Maybe someone living nearby. But looking at the collar, it seems like it's a pet raised at home."
Aarya said lovingly,
"If it's lost, we should help it."
"Yes," Mayank nodded, "But for now, it seems like it likes our company very much."
Just then, the dog once again pushed its little snout into Mayank's hand, as if wanting to say—"Will I get some more toast?"
Aarya burst out laughing.
"Mayank, look, it's getting more love from you than me!"
"Oh no, I think it likes you more. Look, it just climbed into your lap!" Mayank teased.
Then both of them together poured a little milk-tea into a small bowl for it and broke and fed it another toast. Now there were three people in the garden—two with hearts and one with an innocent mind.
Aarya named the dog—"Saffu!"
"Saffu?" Mayank asked laughingly, "What kind of name is this?"
"It's cute, isn't it? White and cute... just like Saffu," Aarya said, winking her eyes.
Saffu was now running on the grass, sometimes sniffing in the bushes, sometimes coming back and pulling Mayank's shoes.
Mayank now left the chair and sat down on the ground, and started playing with it. Aarya also sat down there after a while—the pleats of her skirt were a little tangled, but who cared when the moment was so lovely?
Saffu jumped in the middle, then ran between Mayank and Aarya. There was a childish mischief in its innocent acts, and an unspoken gift—as if the universe had sent it to make the beauty of that morning even brighter.
"Sometimes," Aarya said softly, "small moments, small guests... give the most memories."
Mayank looked at her—her eyes were now not only looking at Saffu, but also feeling the depth of that moment within her.
"And when that moment is with you..." Mayank left the sentence incomplete.
Aarya said with a smile,
"Then it becomes complete."
Gradually the sun started rising even higher. The tea had now become cold, but the warmth in the hearts was getting deeper.
Saffu had now curled up and lay down near their table—stomach full, mind satisfied, and eyes fixed on Aarya.
"Looks like it likes our small world," Mayank said.
Aarya nodded,
"Yes... and I am also liking this new member."
"If you liked my novel, there is a small request... ❤️"
The rest of my stories are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access the rest of my creations.
In every novel you will surely find something new, something of your own, and something that connects with your heart.
It is only with your love and support that this journey becomes so beautiful.
So do read, and encourage me with your opinions, ratings and comments.
Keep reading, keep connecting... because somewhere in every story, you are also there. ❤️📖
That morning's breakfast in the garden hadn't just satisfied hunger, it had deepened a connection—between two hearts, and now...with a tiny friend.
And there was another soft fragrance in the air now—of trust and belonging.
Pale light filled the room in the mansion. The curtains were swaying, and the cool air from the window was touching Samrat's face, but it was insufficient to cool the burning anger within him. The servant stood in the corner of the room, looking frightened, a wad of notes in his hand.
"The work is done, right?" Samrat asked without looking him in the eye.
The servant bowed his head and said, "Yes, sir. I left my dog there...now madam is playing with it. She isn't spending time with Mayank."
"Good," a faint smile appeared on Samrat's lips, but the madness in his eyes remained. "You can go now."
The servant immediately left without turning, stuffing the wad of notes into his pocket.
Samrat moved towards the window and slightly pulled back the curtain. Below, in the mansion's garden, Arya and Mayank could be seen sitting on the grass, laughing and playing with the dog. Arya's laughter was echoing in his ears like the victory of someone else's name.
"Arya...my love..." Samrat murmured softly, "...your time is mine by right."
Down in the garden...
Arya was laughing loudly. The dog was in her lap and Mayank was sitting beside her.
"Mr. Mayank, I know you're the one who brought this dog," Arya said in a playful tone.
"No, it's nothing like that," Mayank stammered slightly.
"Oh, come on...I know it's you. Look how much I like it," she was affectionately stroking the dog.
Mayank smiled, "If you liked it, then why should I lie...yes, I brought it."
Arya looked at him; seeing the innocence and affection in his eyes, Mayank forgot everything for a moment. Arya smiled, and the dog continued to play near her feet.
At that very moment, Samrat, watching from the window above, felt his blood boil.
"What I thought would happen and what is happening down there..." It was as if several voices echoed in his mind at once.
In anger, he slammed the window curtain shut and began pacing the room.
"You're mine, Arya...this is wrong. All of this...this Mayank...that dog...it was all part of my plan. I wanted you to stay away from Mayank, for your attention to be diverted. But you've lost yourself in it...you're laughing looking at him, and I...I'm suffering here."
He punched the wall forcefully. His hand turned red on the wall.
"I sent that dog...and you're praising Mayank?" His voice seemed to echo off the walls of the room.
Down in the garden...
Arya looked at Mayank, "You...you always do something new. Sometimes you quietly give me books, sometimes a special coffee, and now this dog! What do you think, I don't understand anything?"
Mayank felt a little embarrassed, "I just want to see a smile on your face."
Arya smiled and picked up the dog, placing it in her lap, "Your efforts...make me feel very special."
Amidst these words, Samrat came out of his room. His pace was fast, his eyes filled with madness, and a different kind of fire burning in his heart.
He thought—"Arya is only mine. I can't see her laughing with someone else. She is my share of happiness, I have a right to her. And Mayank...I won't let Mayank do all this so easily."
He came from the mansion's corridor to the stairs, his anger intensifying with each step. Arya's laughter was heard again from a distance. He stopped. Peeking from behind the wall, he saw—Arya picked up the dog and leaned towards Mayank, saying something. The closeness between the two stunned Samrat.
"No!" he whispered, "Not anymore...I can't see her close to anyone else."
At the same time, Mayank picked up the dog and extended it towards Arya. When Arya's fingers brushed against Mayank's palm, Samrat's mind seemed to completely ignite.
He turned back and went to his room. His hands were trembling, but his face wore a strange coolness.
He said to himself, "Now something big has to be done. This is no longer a trivial game. If anyone tries to take her away from me, I will remove them from the world itself."
In the garden, Arya and Mayank were now throwing a ball for the dog. Every time the dog ran, Arya would clap, and Mayank would smile.
But again, that face appeared in the mansion's window...Samrat's face...which had now become that of not just a lover but a mad obsessive.
As Arya and Mayank reached the mansion's large gate, their pace slowed down slightly. In their arms was the adorable dog, whose innocent eyes were capable of winning anyone's heart. The dog repeatedly struggled to look out from Arya's lap, as if it had recognized someone.
As the two moved towards the inner part of the mansion, a servant standing in front came into view. The same one whom Samrat had given wads of notes to last time. Arya's steps came to a standstill. The dog suddenly jumped and ran towards the servant.
"Oh...what is this?" Arya was surprised.
Mayank also looked in surprise. The dog had reached the servant and was now wagging its tail, clinging to his legs.
Arya asked in astonishment, "Does it know you?"
The servant stammered a little. A slight nervousness flickered in his eyes, but then he composed himself.
"Yes...yes. It's mine. I've been looking for it for many days. Don't know where it had gone." There was hesitation in his voice, as if he was hiding something.
"Really?" Arya asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Yes, madam...I was very worried. I couldn't sleep without it." He bent down and picked up the dog in his arms. The dog also rested its head against his chest, as if it had met its loved ones after a long time.
Arya was still watching him carefully, but without saying anything, she just nodded.
"Go, and take care of it," she said softly.
The servant said 'yes' and turned around, heading towards the back of the mansion with the dog.
The two stood there for a while. Mayank looked at Arya. There was confusion on her face, but some relief too.
"So, do you accept now that I didn't bring the dog?" Mayank asked with a smile.
Arya took a long breath. "Yes...it seems so. You were telling the truth."
Mayank said, laughing a little, "So, you won't like it now because you were happy thinking that I had brought it."
Arya looked at him, then smiled after being silent for a while. "It's nothing like that."
"So, will you not love me anymore?" There was mischief in Mayank's voice, but also a slight innocence in his eyes.
Arya laughed. "Absolutely not...it doesn't happen like that!" she said teasingly. "You take so much care of my every word, every preference...I know everything, Mayank."
She took Mayank's hand. "Sometimes it happens, but trust also needs time to prove itself."
Mayank held her hand tightly. "And I will always keep doing this. Every time, I will prove that I am genuine with you, whatever I do."
At that moment, there was an echo within the walls of the mansion—silent but deep. As if the old mansion was also listening to their words, and these words were having an effect like balm on an old wound.
Both laughed. The mansion's stairs now felt lighter, as if they weren't bearing a burden. Both looked at each other and moved forward.
While walking, Arya said, "By the way, that servant...there was something strange about him."
Mayank also nodded, "Yes, there was something. But now that the dog is gone..."
As Arya and Mayank moved forward, they saw both of their families standing in front of them. Varsha ji—Arya's mother—was standing in front, and behind her was Mayank's mother, Rani ji. Both had different expressions on their faces. Varsha ji seemed a little worried, while Rani ji's face had the same subtle taunt and question hidden as always.
"Son, I have been calling you for so long. Why didn't you pick up?" Varsha ji asked with slight anger, but there was concern in her tone.
Arya said hesitantly, "Mom, we were having breakfast. We thought that you all are coming anyway, so we'll sit and talk comfortably."
Varsha ji nodded, "Yes, that's fine, but next time, pick up the phone, son. Understand your mother's worry."
At that moment, Rani ji jumped in, in her steady, measured voice, "It's okay, Varsha ji, it's alright if your phone wasn't picked up, after all, you are the mother. But Arya beta," she glanced at Arya, who was standing silently until now, "My phone could have been picked up, right? I am your future mother-in-law after all. And I don't like all these habits."
Arya didn't understand what to answer. She tried to give a slight smile, but Rani ji's eyes were speaking very clearly—she did not approve of this relationship.
Varsha ji tried to smooth things over, "Oh, Rani ji, she is a child...it will take some time to understand everything."
Rani ji shook her head, "How much time does it take to understand, Varsha ji? A woman should have an idea of her responsibilities even before marriage. My son is very simple, this relationship was fixed only on his trust, otherwise…"
She left the sentence incomplete, but the entire room understood what she wanted to say.
Mayank didn't like all this at all. He stepped forward and said, "Mom, why do you always lecture Arya like this? She is also a human being, she also has feelings."
Rani ji looked at Mayank, "I am just saying what is right. If there is so much carelessness from today, what will happen tomorrow?"
Arya's eyes filled with tears, but she composed herself. She lowered her head and stood silently. Varsha ji couldn't bear to see her daughter's condition.
"Look, Rani ji, I understand your point, but my daughter has never been rude to anyone. She is just a little emotional, and you know, nowadays girls take some time to adjust to new relationships."
Rani ji didn't respond, just rolled her eyes and surveyed the room. Perhaps everything was bothering her.
Mayank came near and took Arya's hand, and said softly, "Arya, let's sit. Let's talk together."
Arya took a deep breath and walked towards the sofa. A lot was going on in her mind—would Mayank's mother ever accept her? Would she have any existence in this house?
Everyone sat down. Tea was made again. This time, Rani ji pointed out without being asked that there was less sugar in the tea, and she didn't give any reaction to the savory snack made by Arya. When Varsha ji praised, "You made good tea, son," Rani ji just said lightly, "Yes, it's okay. It's a little strong but…"
Mayank said, exasperated, "Mom, please. Sometimes say something nice too. You know that Arya tries her best to make you happy."
Rani ji took a long breath, "I just want my son to be happy. And your future wife should live up to my expectations. This is the lesson I have given to the daughters-in-law of my house, and the same I want from Arya as well."
Arya didn't remain silent now. She looked straight into Rani ji's eyes and said softly, "I am trying, aunty...but perhaps a little bigger heart is needed to understand every effort as well."
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Rani ji said nothing. Then she stood up and said, "And Mayank, please explain to her how to run a household. Relationships are not just maintained by picking up the phone, but also from the heart."
Arya said nothing. She knew this was just the beginning.
Varsha ji put her hand on her daughter's shoulder and smiled lightly, as if saying—"You are right, just have a little patience."
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The mansion's opulent dining room – night
It was half past eight in the evening. Arya and Mayank were sitting at the grand dining table of the mansion with their families. Arya and Mayank were serving themselves food in their plates. They were sitting next to each other, with faint smiles and sweet mischief in their eyes. Samrat was sitting across from them – jealousy was clearly visible in his eyes. On one side was Mayank's mother, whose face looked as if she had tasted a sour lemon, while on the other side was Mayank's father, who was quietly sipping his soup and seemed to be in the mood to watch the drama.
As soon as Arya quietly placed a roti on Mayank's plate, Samrat's fist clenched and Mayank's mother's temper reached seventh heaven.
Mayank's mother (in a loud voice, putting her spoon down):
"Wow! Nowadays, kids are crossing all limits. They aren't even married and they're sitting together like this... in front of their parents... eating food!"
Arya's face fell for a moment, but Mayank gently squeezed her hand under the table. A gesture – 'I'm here for you' – and Arya smiled and focused her gaze on her plate.
Mayank's mother (in a sarcastic tone):
"In our time, girls had respect. No one could even dare to look at them before marriage. And now look... the times have changed. There's no shame, no decency left."
Samrat (muttering to himself):
"This old woman can't see how her son is clinging to Arya."
Mayank looked up at Samrat, as if he had heard something, but said nothing. Just then, Mayank's father slowly put down his plate and said:
Mayank's father (smiling slightly):
"Oh madam, times haven't changed... we just need to update ourselves a little. By the way, when our relationship was finalized, you and I used to meet secretly, didn't we?"
Mayank's mother was completely stunned. Everyone's eyes were now fixed on her.
Mayank's mother (laughing a fake laugh):
"That was just a one-time thing... and that too out of compulsion. You always try to contradict me. It's been so many years of marriage, but your habits are still the same. Do you have to make me look bad in everything?"
Arya had been sitting quietly until now, but Mayank served her raita, as if saying – 'Eat peacefully, Mom's special drama is a daily occurrence'.
Mayank's mother (now arguing with her husband):
"I just don't understand why you always see my fault everywhere. We were different in those days, these girls are something else. And you seem to think everything they do is right."
Mayank's father (slightly irritated):
"Because you always think negatively. She's not our daughter-in-law yet, but she's like a daughter of the house. Show some affection. What will the children think, what will Samrat think?"
Samrat bowed his head and hid his face, but inside he was seething with anger. He knew that what was going on between Mayank and Arya was deep – and that's what bothered him the most.
Mayank's mother (shouting angrily):
"Don't teach me how to respect elders! I understand everything, I'm not a part of your new generation support club!"
Now the whole atmosphere had become heated. The servants were quietly hiding in the corners. No one dared to offer roti.
Arya whispered softly in Mayank's ear,
Arya:
"Let's go, let's have dessert somewhere outside... there's no question of sweetness here."
Mayank nodded slightly, but there was also worry in his eyes. He knew that if there was anything most difficult in this house, it was calming his mother down.
Mayank:
"Mom... can I ask you something?"
Mayank's mother (glaring):
"What?"
Mayank:
"If Dad is right... that you used to meet him before marriage, then do you also come under this 'new generation'?"
Silence descended. Arya suppressed her laughter, and Mayank's father clapped as if saying – 'Well done, son!'
Mayank's mother (picking up her plate):
"You've all ganged up to tease me. No one values me anymore. I'm getting up."
And she adjusted her sari and walked out. From behind, Mayank's father said with a smile,
Mayank's father:
"Well, it's good... at least the argument stopped."
Arya and Mayank looked at each other and a faint smile was exchanged – a silent promise that no matter what happens, they would maintain the sweetness of this house... even if dessert had to be eaten outside sometimes.
Moments when the night is soaked in breaths – behind the mansion...
The night had deepened. Arya was sitting alone by the swimming pool at the back of the mansion. The moon in the sky was incomplete, but its light was shimmering on the water in such a way that it seemed as if a piece of the sky had been dissolved in the water. The cool breeze was playing with Arya's open hair, and her bare feet were gently touching the surface of the water, creating a melodious music. Everything was silent—a mute, yet beautiful silence.
Arya wrapped her arms around her knees and bowed her head. Something was breaking inside, everything was still outside.
She was immersed in this calm atmosphere when suddenly she lost her balance while trying to get up. Her foot slipped and the weight of her body leaned towards the pool in a jerk. The next moment, Arya's light scream echoed with the sharp splashes of water—"H-help!"
The water was cold, and her breath was held.
She didn't know how to swim. Her arms were flailing wildly in the air, and broken sounds were coming from her throat. Her body was sinking and rising in the water, making her realize her failure every moment.
"Is anyone there? Please!" Her voice seemed to echo off the walls of the mansion.
There was a stir somewhere in the dark. And then...
A loud splash broke the silence.
There was someone there.
Samrat.
He had jumped into the pool.
In the deep blue water, his arms reached out towards Arya. The next moment he was holding her. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, like a wall. Arya's body was trembling, her breath was rapid and her eyes were frightened.
But now she wasn't drowning.
Now she was in Samrat's arms.
"Are you okay?" His heavy voice, which often used to scare people, sounded like an old lullaby at this moment.
Arya looked into his eyes. She couldn't say anything, just nodded slightly. Her lips were turning blue, her hair was sticking to her from the water, but there was something else in her eyes—more than fear, something unsaid.
Wet Sensations – When Water Melted Every Distance
It was the silence of the night and the silence of the stars in the sky. The reflection of the moon in the blue water of the swimming pool was trembling as if waves were being formed by the warmth of someone's breath.
She was wearing a white top and blue shorts, her hair was open and some drops of water were shining like pearls on her cheeks. Samrat's gaze stopped – there was a simplicity in Arya, but a charm hidden in that simplicity, which was attracting him again and again.
Samrat closed his eyes, as if that drop had touched something inside him.
Arya kept looking at him for a few moments. There was a strange glow in her eyes, as if she wanted to say something, but not with words, only with her eyes.
His white shirt was wet and sticking to his body. His strong body was clearly visible under that wet cloth. Both were now face to face, inside the water, where only their hearts could hear each other's heartbeat.
Arya's foot slipped slightly and she leaned towards Samrat. Panicked, she grabbed Samrat's arms. Her breath had become rapid and her body was trembling. Without saying anything, Samrat held her waist – firmly, but with a soft feeling.
"Arya..." he said softly.
Her name seemed to float in the air after leaving Samrat's lips. Arya raised her head, her face was now very close to Samrat's face. Their breaths were colliding with each other, and their eyes... as if they were reading the deepest layers of their hearts.
There was hesitation in Arya's eyes, but also a hidden desire. Samrat removed her wet strand from her cheek with his thumb. That moment stood still.
"You know... when you are near, I can't think of anything," said Samrat, his voice was very soft, like a raga that was only for Arya.
Arya's breathing became faster. She found herself even closer to Samrat, as if she had automatically leaned against his chest. Samrat tightened his grip on her waist even more. Now there was no distance between their lips, just an unspoken promise.
"Samrat..." Arya wanted to say something, but the words got stuck in her throat.
Samrat gently kissed her forehead, then stopped near her nose. His warm breath was touching Arya's skin, and Arya's eyes were still wet – not just with water, but with that feeling, which was deeper than words.
Arya said nothing. She just closed her eyes, as if she had given permission.
Samrat gently touched her lips – lightly, slowly, like a poem was being written on paper for the first time. Arya placed her palms on Samrat's chest, feeling his heartbeat. The waves had become even faster now, as if the water was also embracing the emotions flowing between them.
The kiss was not long, but it was so deep that in that one moment they both forgot all their past, fears, questions and unspoken things. Then Arya realized what Samrat had just done with her. Startled, Arya pushed Samrat, only to start drowning again after being released from Samrat's arms. Then Samrat grabbed her again.
Mayank's parents' room –
The room's lighting was dim. Between the ticking of the clock on the wall and the creaking of the mansion's old furniture coming from somewhere far away, the atmosphere was heavy. Mayank's mother was pacing in the room, while Mayank's father, wearing his old steel glasses, was pretending to open a book quietly – but his attention was certainly not on the words.
Mayank's mother (in a loud voice):
"Did you see what a spectacle happened at the dining table today? This Mayank... and that girl... and most importantly, your son didn't even have any shame!"
Mayank's father (in a soft voice, closing the book):
"What spectacle? Two young people were eating together... and that too in front of everyone. Is there any objection to that too?"
Mayank's mother (raising her eyebrows):
"Yes, there is! And why shouldn't there be? First this Arya... and then Mayank's obscenity. She was putting roti on his plate as if they were married. And you? You have become like her advocate!"
Mayank's father:
"You too, the children have grown up. If their hearts have met, then we should show some understanding. Nagging in everything... this is..."
Mayank's mother (interrupting):
"It's not nagging, it's called discipline! And there's no need to explain to me how the house is run. When I managed the house, you were busy with your job. Now don't think that I don't understand anything."
Mayank's father (losing his temper a little):
"You don't understand. That's the problem. It's not a sin to understand today's generation. We were also young once, remember? When I used to drop you off at the station... without telling the family."
Mayank's mother's face turned red, but now she couldn't hide her shame in anger. Something else was boiling inside her.
Mayank's mother:
"Don't remind me of those days. I've forgotten. And yes, you never put roti on my plate like that."
Mayank's father (with a slight smile):
"Mayank has that courage, and Arya has that sense of belonging... which allows relationships to form. Why should we poison their relationship?"
Mayank's mother (pausing a little, but still in a sharp tone):
"So now I'm poisoning? Is that what you want to say?"
Mayank's father (in a slightly exasperated tone):
"I'm just saying that... show a little gentleness. Don't make everything a matter of prestige. Let the children breathe."
Mayank's mother (with tears in her eyes, but sarcasm in her tone):
"Breathe? And me? I've spent my whole life holding my breath in the house. Sometimes your temper, sometimes the eyes of my mother-in-law, now supporting the daughter-in-law even before she comes?"
Mayank's father was silent for a few moments. A heaviness spread in the room. He took off his glasses and placed them on the table and stood up from his chair.
Mayank's father (in a slow but firm tone):
"Whatever you say, but looking at Mayank's face, I can say one thing – that girl understands him. And that's what we wanted, didn't we? That our son should find someone who understands him?"
Mayank's mother (in a subdued voice, as if she was losing ground):
"So now I'm wrong? I'm his mother... if I see something wrong, I'll speak up, won't I?"
Mayank's father (with some tenderness):
"Speak up, definitely speak up... but don't shout. Maintain your authority, Mayank should have respect in his eyes, not fear. And that will happen when you understand him, not when you embarrass him."
Mayank's mother said nothing. She just sat down silently. Her eyes were now of confusion, not of fighting. A mother's confusion, who is afraid that her son might drift away from her.
Mayank's father opened the window of the room. Outside was the silence of the night – but the echo of whatever had happened in every corner of the mansion was still spreading.
Mayank's father (sighing):
"I hope tomorrow morning is a little calmer... and sweeter too."
Mayank's mother gave a slight smile for the first time.
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It was a wet night, with two hearts pounding in the soft glow of the moonlight – a feeling that had paused in a moment of time.
Aarya's cheeks were still flushed. The warmth of that suddenly stolen kiss still lingered on her face. Her heart was racing, fast... yes, very fast, as if someone had ignited a volcano within. Samrat's emotion-filled gaze was reading her soul.
Aarya composed herself a little and said in a soft voice,
"I... I need to go outside..."
Her voice was trembling, but Samrat didn't miss the hesitation in it. Samrat stood right in front of her, as if this moment was the most precious part of his life.
There was a different glow in Samrat's eyes—as if every desire had been fulfilled, he only needed Aarya's company and nothing else.
"But I want to stay here... just like this... with you," Samrat said very gently.
Aarya looked at him in surprise. Her eyes widened, both anger and nervousness present on her face.
"Look... you... please... don't talk like that. I don't like it," she said, pulling herself back, but there was less firmness and more restlessness in her voice.
But Samrat acted as if he hadn't heard her. He slowly came closer to her and, touching her cheeks with his fingers, whispered,
"Then what do you like? Tell me, Aarya... whatever you say... I will fulfill everything..."
His touch ran through Aarya's veins like electricity. Aarya looked into his eyes—eyes that were not like those of an emperor, but bowed before her like those of a lover.
"How... how can you do this?" Aarya's eyes were about to overflow.
"Just a while ago you... you kissed me... and now..."
"And now I am looking at you... just want to look... like this... every day, every night..." Samrat's voice was full of depth. There was passion in every word, but no coercion—only the thirst for love.
Aarya turned and faced the side where the moonlight was spreading. There were tears in her eyes, but a slight tremor on her lips.
Samrat said softly from behind her,
"Are you afraid of me?"
Aarya remained silent.
"Or of yourself? Of that feeling that is slowly making its home inside you?"
Aarya took a deep breath. Samrat's words had shaken her.
It was Aarya's room.
"Where are you, Aarya?"
Amidst the dim light and closed windows of the room, Mayank's gaze fell on an empty bed. He had pushed the door open, but Aarya was nowhere to be seen. For a moment, he thought maybe she was in the bathroom.
"Aarya... are you in the bathroom?"
His voice was soft, but there were waves of mischief in his eyes.
He smiled, as if a small prank was on his mind, and tiptoed to the bathroom. Gently pushed the door, but there was no one inside. The bathroom was empty. His eyebrows furrowed.
"Where did this girl go?"
He started to feel a little uneasy. He called Aarya. The phone kept near the bed suddenly started ringing—the same tune that Aarya often used. He was shocked.
"This sound is coming from somewhere here..."
He started looking around, picked up the pillow and Aarya's phone came out from underneath.
"The phone is here... then where did she go?"
Something was strange. Aarya never went anywhere without her phone.
Without wasting any time, he went outside. A strange silence had spread in the corridors of the mansion—as if even the walls had become silent. The sound of his shoes was echoing on the wooden floor. He was calling Aarya's name softly... but there was no reply in the mansion.
He turned towards the back corridor, from where a slight glimpse of the village path was visible. The wind was blowing fast there and the old peepal leaves were rustling, creating a melancholic music.
At the same turn, he saw a familiar face—his mother.
"Mom?" Mayank was a little surprised.
Mother—sharp-eyed, dignified and always decisive. She looked at her son, but there was no sign of a smile.
"Who are you looking for?"
There was sternness in her voice.
Mayank hesitated a little, but then said, "Aarya... she is not in the room, the phone is here... so I was thinking—"
Mother interrupted him in the middle.
"Aarya?"
She laughed a cold laugh.
"This is your choice? That girl who can't even understand your shadow?"
Before Mayank could say anything, that familiar hatred appeared in his mother's eyes.
"You don't understand Mayank... that girl is just spending time with you. Such girls turn their faces away on the wedding day. She will leave you. And then you will be left standing alone."
Tears welled up in Mayank's eyes, but lines of anger and reason began to appear on his face.
"Mom, how can you say all this? How much do you even know her?"
"I know," Mother said, "I know enough that she is not worthy of you. She doesn't understand your roots. She has nothing to do with our heritage. She is just drawn to your name, your money, the shine on your face."
Mayank took a deep breath, as if trying to stop the storm raging within him.
"Why do you always measure everyone by your standards, Mom? If someone didn't meet your expectations, it doesn't mean that everyone is deceitful. Aarya... she is different."
Mother narrowed her eyes.
"Different? The day you will be standing with your engagement ring and she will be gone, remember my words then."
There was such poison in her words that it created a ringing in Mayank's ears. He remained silent... didn't say a word, but the hope that had settled in his eyes began to shake.
He turned back and walked away with quick steps. Towards the back of the mansion, where the stairs of the old temple were. Maybe Aarya was there... maybe some of her words were left in the caresses of the wind... maybe Aarya would really leave him one day... or maybe not.
He looked at the sky one last time—the evening had faded, but a star was quietly twinkling.
"Aarya... where are you?"
His tone was no longer innocent, but full of deepening conviction and concern.
And at that moment, there was a slight rustle on the roof of the mansion—the sound of someone's anklet... or perhaps of a breaking faith.
Wet Night – In the Witness of the Moon
The moonlight was now shimmering all over the swimming pool. The reflection of the moon in the water looked like a dream floating. There was moisture in the air... and a restless depth in Samrat's breaths.
Aarya was repeatedly looking back at Samrat—sometimes with fear, sometimes with confusion, and sometimes with that unspoken feeling that she couldn't even name herself.
Samrat didn't say anything, he just slowly came closer to Aarya, turning her towards himself again. And Aarya's breath seemed to stop.
"You want to go..." There was moisture in Samrat's voice, "but you can't swim yourself, can you?"
Aarya turned her neck and said with a slight irritation, "Yes... that's why I'm saying you should come out... I'm scared here..."
Samrat smiled, a deep, soft smile. "Fear? Of me or of this water?"
"Of you," Aarya replied immediately, but her voice was very soft, as if it trembled while coming from her heart to her lips.
Samrat was now right in front of her, his face as close as a light breath. He gently lifted Aarya's chin with his fingers. His touch was not cold, but warm, like an old feeling that makes the soul tremble upon touching it.
"I will never scare you, Aarya," he said very slowly, "but yes... I won't be able to keep myself away from you."
Aarya's eyes started to get wet. She wanted to gather herself, wanted to run away, but she couldn't go. She could neither swim, nor fight her feelings.
"I'm trapped here," she said in a trembling voice, "you don't understand... I can't go out. I don't know how to swim, and you..."
"I'm here, right?" Samrat interrupted her. His palm was now on Aarya's hand, and he held it very gently—as if asking, will you let me hold you?
"Just once..." Samrat's voice now had that intensity that Aarya had never felt before, "just once leave this fear behind. I will never let go of your hand."
Aarya looked into his eyes for a few moments. Those eyes were no longer those of an emperor, they were like those of a wounded lover—honest, restless, and calling out.
Slowly, very slowly, she gave her hand to Samrat's palm.
Without saying anything, Samrat pulled her closer to himself. Now there were only those soft waves of water between them, which were lightly trembling around their feet.
"Would you like to walk in the water?" Samrat asked.
Aarya looked at him with fear for a moment, then, fighting a battle with herself, shook her head.
"Okay..." Samrat put his arms around her waist and tightened them. Aarya was startled, but didn't resist. Her heart was now out of control, and her eyes were closed.
Slowly they both started moving forward from the edge of the swimming pool. The water was now up to their knees... and Samrat's grip was strong, but very gentle.
Aarya's heart was pounding, her lips were trembling. "I will fall..."
"You won't fall, I am with you," Samrat whispered near her ears.
His breath touched Aarya's neck, and she trembled—but this time not with fear, but for some other reason... from some deep, unknown feeling.
The water was now up to their waists. Aarya's clothes were wet, and her hair was sticking to her cheeks. Samrat was now holding her completely.
"You are very beautiful..." he said suddenly.
Aarya looked at him. "In this condition?" she said with self-consciousness.
"Yes. Just like this. Wet, scared, and still so true," Samrat gently touched the tip of her nose. Aarya's eyes automatically lowered.
Now they were both in the middle of the water. Samrat slowly took her face in his palms, and very slowly, left a kiss on her forehead—slow, soothing, as if making a promise.
Something wet flowed on Aarya's eyelids—maybe tears... maybe water... maybe some such feeling that had now melted.
"Please don't do this, I don't like it..." Aarya said slowly, "but she was not able to get away from it herself..."
"But I like it," Samrat's voice now had that love that was slowly forming. "I like touching you. I want to see you like this every day. I want to feel that innocent girl hidden behind your fear... who maybe only I can see now."
Aarya's eyes were wet. She couldn't say anything... just slowly rested her hand on Samrat's chest. Maybe she wanted to push him away from herself.
The water was now above their waists... but the fear was nowhere to be found now.
There was only silence between them now—and in that silence, the moonlight was a witness, the rhythm of the hearts beating and perhaps the beginning of a new relationship...
Wet Night – In the Witness of the Moon
The water had now reached Aarya's chest, and her body was trembling—not from the cold, but from that internal turmoil, which was feeling safe in Samrat's arms, but the mind was still entangled somewhere.
"Just two more steps..." Samrat's voice came very close, as if his every breath was landing on Aarya's skin. "We have reached the shore..."
Aarya nodded, but her body was now tired. The weight of the water, the wetness of the clothes, and the storm of emotions... everything was beyond her control. Just then Samrat lifted her in his arms—very slowly, very easily, like a feather that has to be saved from a storm.
Aarya panicked. "No... put me down on the ground... people will see..."
"There is no one here, Aarya," there was assurance in Samrat's voice, "and even if there is, what does it matter? I can't see you trembling now."
"If you liked this novel, then there is a small request... ❤️"
My other stories are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access my other works.
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It is only with your love and support that this journey becomes so beautiful.
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Keep reading, keep connecting… because somewhere in every story, you are also there. ❤️📖
By the swimming pool,
They were now out of the pool. The moonlight was even clearer now—as if there was only whiteness, dampness, and silence around them. Samrat wrapped Arya in a towel and sat her on a nearby lounger.
He placed a dry towel on her hair and began to gently pat her locks. Arya just kept looking at him—his fingers, his face, those eyes of his that were no longer the same. They no longer held just authority, but affection and a restlessness.
"I know," Samrat said, looking at her wet eyelids, "you're afraid of me. But is that fear still the same?"
Arya said nothing. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Samrat took her hand in his—this time not forcefully, but as if gently holding a broken toy.
"You don't know how to swim, so you don't go into the pool… I don't know how to love, so I just keep looking at you. We're both incomplete, aren't we?"
Arya's eyes welled up. She looked away, but Samrat turned her face back towards him.
"But we don't want to remain incomplete." There was now a truth in Samrat's voice that was greater than any testimony. "I want to see you with all my heart, Arya—past your fear, your tears, your silences…"
A tear fell from Arya's eyes—Samrat's finger touched it and trapped it in his palm.
"Don't think this moment is just one night," Samrat whispered softly, "it's the beginning… of that journey where I will hide all your fears in my embrace."
Arya still said nothing, but her fingers instinctively slipped between Samrat's fingers and rested there.
Samrat held her hand and sat down next to her. "Are you cold?"
Arya shook her head. Samrat took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders.
"Is it okay now?" he asked.
This time Arya nodded with a slight smile. For the first time, there was no fear in her smile—only belonging.
A few moments passed like this—the moonlight was now caressing their damp breaths. Then Samrat looked at her, "Arya… if you say so, we can leave tonight here. I'll drop you to your room, and we can forget everything from tomorrow…"
Arya said in a firm tone, "I can go by myself."
Samrat did not reply to her—he simply placed her palm on his chest, where his heart was beating very fast.
The moon bore witness… the night soaked on… and something melted between the two—a cold feeling, a tangled closeness, and a relationship that was now based not only on words, but on the rhythm of touch and silence.
Now perhaps the story had taken its first step towards its next turn…
The old stairs of the mansion were trembling with Mayank's rapid footsteps. His eyes were searching every corner where Arya's shadow might be hiding. But at that time, only silence was running through the veins of the mansion.
He headed towards the temple—where the ravages of the weather were reflected on the stones.
The steps of the temple were frozen, the moon sitting on them was as if melting and carving its moonlight on every stone.
"Arya…"
His voice was no longer a call, as if questioning himself—"Have I been able to know her?"
The doors of the temple were open, but inside there was only the faint flame of a lamp. A diya was flickering like slow breaths… and in the shadow of that flame there were some papers—scattered like leaves.
He bent down, picked up those papers with trembling hands. It was Arya's handwriting on it—a familiar one, a little slanted but soaked with emotions:
"Mayank,
Sometimes love is done not by telling someone but by understanding them."
The lights in the room were dim, a soft yellow light was scattered on the wall, and in the air coming from behind the curtains, the moonlight was swaying softly. Arya was lying on the bed, her eyes closed but sleep was far away from her. She still had a glimpse of the swimming pool in her mind—that moment in Samrat's eyes, when everything seemed to have stopped. The warmth of that touch, that closeness, had shaken Arya to her core. But behind that feeling, there was also a guilt hidden—Mayank.
Just then the door of the room opened slowly. Mayank came inside. Concern was clearly visible on his face. He paused for a moment and looked at Arya—she was lying down, as if pretending to sleep. But Mayank had understood, she was still awake.
He walked slowly to her bedside and sat down. His breaths were deep, as if he was composing himself before saying something.
"Where did you go, Arya?" His voice was soft, but it had a mixed feeling of slight irritation and worry. "I was looking for you... for so long."
Arya slowly opened her eyes and turned to look at Mayank. There was a fatigue in her eyes, and perhaps a question too.
Mayank looked into her eyes and said, "You haven't taken Mom's words to heart, have you? Look, she's like that. Her nature is a bit bitter, she judges everyone quickly. She doesn't get along well with Dad either… but do you know why she accepted you? Because she loves me very much. She said yes to you for me."
Arya sat up slightly. Her fingers began to play with the wrinkles on the sheet. She was silent, but a storm was raging inside. Would Mayank be able to understand everything she was feeling? Would it be right to tell him about that moment with Samrat? Would the truth, which had settled in her mind as a pang, break the relationship that had just begun to flourish?
"What happened, Arya?" Mayank asked, leaning towards her. "You're thinking about something… you look very worried."
He was looking into her eyes, as if he wanted to read her soul.
"Look… forget Mom's words. We often don't take them seriously either. She has her own way of showing love—a little sharp, a little rough. But she doesn't think badly from the heart. I know, what she said today must have hurt you… but we know how to ignore it."
Arya's eyes were still on his face, but now there was a moisture in them—perhaps of remorse, perhaps of fear.
"Mayank…" she said softly. Her voice was trembling. "Sometimes we have to ask ourselves… whether what we are doing is right or not. Today I was just… running away from myself."
"From yourself?" Mayank asked, a little surprised.
Arya gave a faint smile, which was full of pain. "Yes… sometimes there comes a moment when we feel like we are standing at a crossroads… where we are afraid to move forward and also to go back. Today perhaps I was at that same crossroads."
Mayank took her hand, her fingers were trembling.
"Arya, are you hiding something from me?" he asked directly.
Arya looked into his eyes for a moment in silence. Then, as if gathering courage, she said, "Will you believe everything I tell you? If I ever say that I have made a mistake… unknowingly, what will you do?"
Mayank listened to her carefully, then taking a deep breath, he said, "Look Arya… people make mistakes, and sometimes admitting them is the greatest courage. I don't say that everything can be forgiven… but when there is love, we try to understand… and also to forgive."
A tear fell from Arya's eyes. She moved closer to Mayank and, holding his hand, said, "I am trying to understand myself, Mayank. Perhaps there are some things that I have not yet understood myself. But one thing is true… your presence gives me peace. Looking into your eyes, it feels like maybe I am not wrong…"
Mayank wiped away her tears. "Don't say anything until it is half, incomplete. Say it when you are completely sure that you have something to say to me. I am here… and I will always be here."
Arya took a deep breath. At that moment, time seemed to stand still in the room. Outside, the wind was still playing with the trees, but inside, the roots of a relationship had become a little deeper. Whatever the truth, it was now resting in a secret place in Arya's heart.
But Mayank's faith, his waiting… perhaps that would give her the strength she needed to bring out any truth.
A strange dampness was floating in the air of the room. The faint light had become even fainter, as if the walls were also feeling the fatigue of Arya's heart. Mayank's hand was still holding her fingers, but Arya's fingers were limp. There was no reaction in that touch, no warmth. There was only a silence—deep, full of confusion.
Mayank tried to smile a little. "Do you remember when we first met? You had that thick book in your hand and you didn't even look at me. I stopped right there… thinking, 'Does this girl talk to books?'"
Arya glanced at him. There was no shine in her eyes, just a stillness like a stagnant lake.
"I thought that day," Mayank continued, "if someone has so much patience that they can completely immerse themselves in a book even in such a crowd, then they must be something special."
Arya's eyes were still in the same place where the line of moonlight was moving on the wall. Her lips were slightly open, as if she wanted to say something, but her voice was lost somewhere.
"Arya…" Mayank's voice became a little softer and gentler now. "I know you are not okay right now. I can see, you are here but somewhere else. But can I pull you back from that place where you are running away from yourself?"
Arya slowly pulled her fingers out of his hand. She said softly, "You speak very well, Mayank… perhaps so well that I never want to hurt you. But right now… in this moment… I am not feeling anything."
Her tone was so flat that a slight twinge ran through Mayank's heart.
"I… what can I do to make you feel better?" Mayank asked. "Should I bring you something? Let's go out somewhere, get some fresh air… your mood will change. Or should I just sit here, until you start feeling something?"
Arya shook her head and closed her eyes. "I don't want anything, Mayank. Neither to go out, nor to talk to anyone… just a little time. Perhaps with myself."
Mayank looked at her for a while. There was a deep layer of fatigue on her face. As if someone had taken out all the emotions from inside her, and now she was just a shell.
"You know I love you, don't you?" Mayank said softly. "Perhaps you are not able to feel this love right now, but for me, this moment is as true as that moment when you first said my name."
Arya's eyelids trembled, but she gave no reply.
"Your silence scares me, Arya," Mayank said. "Because when you fight with me, argue… you are still you. But when you become so silent, it feels like I am losing you—without any sound."
Two tears flowed from Arya's eyes. She let them flow without wiping them. She didn't feel the need to hide her emotions at this time—because she herself didn't know what was right, what was wrong.
"I know I am troubling you," she said in a trembling voice. "But Mayank… I can't lie to you. I don't know what is going on inside me. I am just… confused."
"With whom?" Mayank asked, there was still a tenderness in his voice. "With me? With yourself? Or with someone else?"
Arya gave no reply. Her silence had now become even heavier. For a few moments, only the ticking of the clock could be heard in the room.
Then Mayank slowly moved closer to her. He put his hand on her back, very gently. "I am here, Arya. For as long as you need me. I won't ask for any answers. But just promise one thing… don't run away from yourself."
"If you liked this novel, I have a small request... ❤️"
My other stories are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access my other works.
In every novel you will surely find something new, something of your own, and something that will connect with your heart.
It is your love and support that makes this journey so beautiful.
So do read, and encourage me with your opinions, ratings and comments.
Keep reading, keep connecting… because somewhere in every story, you are also there. ❤️📖
Then Mayank quietly slid closer to her. He placed his hand on her back, very lightly. "I'm here, Arya. For as long as you need me. I won't ask for any answers. But just promise me... don't run away from yourself."
Arya took a deep breath. Her face was towards Mayank, but her gaze was still far away. A very faint smile appeared on her lips—so light it seemed to dissolve in the air.
"Maybe I'll try," she said. "But right now... just stay here. Don't say anything. Just for a little while... let it be silent."
Mayank nodded slowly and gently took her into his arms. Arya let herself relax into the embrace. The warmth was comforting, but the truth inside remained the same—a secret pain that had settled in someone else's eyes... and perhaps one day would speak.
But not now.
At this moment, there was just this corner of silence, that space between two heartbeats, where relationships are both made... and broken.
The night's dampness was deepening by the side of the swimming pool. Soft yellow light was playing with the waves sliding on the surface of the water. There was silence all around, only the sound of the water's movement and Samrat's breathing. He was alone, but there was no loneliness in his eyes—there was passion, pain, and a storm of Arya's memories.
In wet clothes, he stood in the same place where Arya had been sitting a little while ago. His eyes were fixed on the bench where he and Arya had sat together. His trembling fingers began to touch that spot.
"Arya, my love…" his voice trembled, like an instrument vibrating with its own notes.
"You were sitting right here with me just a while ago… droplets falling from your wet hair onto my hands. There were lakes in your eyes… and I was drowning in those lakes."
A painful smile came to his face, and then suddenly, in an impulse, he took a long breath and jumped straight into the water.
Splash!
The surface of the water broke, and Samrat went into the depths as if trying to fill some emptiness within himself. When he came up, his face was wet—not only with water, but with the memories that were still breathing.
He stopped swimming right at the spot where he had first kissed Arya a few days ago.
He gently moved his hand in the water, as if trying to relive the vibration of that night.
"Here…," he said softly, "this is where we learned to get close to each other. For the first time, your face was so close… so close that my breaths became entangled with yours."
He was now floating in the water with his eyes closed, very slowly… as if singing a raga—a raga that only Arya could hear.
His movements in the water had now subsided. He stood there, at that very point, motionless—as if time had stopped.
"This was the place where you intertwined your fingers with mine. In that one moment, it was as if the world had stopped. And then… your lips met my lips… lightly, trembling. That first touch awakened my soul."
He was talking to himself, but every word contained Arya's presence.
His palms spread out on the surface of the water, as if he wanted to capture a scene.
"You looked into my eyes fearfully, and I drowned there… your soft breaths, your shivers… everything has settled in this water, Arya."
Samrat was now slowly circling, circling the same spot where their first love had knocked.
He looked up at the sky, the night had deepened, and the stars were now slowly beginning to glimmer.
"But now… now I am alone, Arya. Without you, this water is cold, lifeless. Without you, these lips are lonely, these breaths are incomplete."
He dives again, as if lost in a musical tune. Each time he comes up, something else breaks on his face—another memory washes away.
"This was the place where I placed my fingers on your shoulder, trembling… and you had closed your eyes. I kissed your forehead… and then, that first kiss… it wasn't just a touch, Arya, it was a promise that I had become yours. Completely."
The surface of the water was now at peace, but a storm was brewing in Samrat's eyes. Exhausted, he sat down by the stairs of the bridge, wet from his body, broken from his soul.
"Today I am here, again… and you are somewhere there, stopped at some unknown turn. But this water is a witness to our love, it has touched the sweetness of your lips… and the same taste is still in my breath."
He runs his fingers over his lips, as if feeling Arya's touch again.
"Until this water repeats my name, until these waves show your face."
Shivering in his wet clothes, he entered the water again, very slowly… and stopped at the same spot.
The night was deepening… but the light of love was still trembling in the water of that swimming pool… like a passion, which floated in Samrat's breaths as a memory of Arya.
The room was lit with a soft blue light. The curtains were moving slowly with the wind coming from the window. This moment of solitude was sinking very deep within Arya. She was sitting on the bed, with her knees pulled up to her chest.
"He's still there… maybe in the swimming pool."
Arya slowly closed her eyes, and the same moment surfaced before her—her fingers intertwined with Samrat's, that warm feeling of his breaths that had sunk into her soul even in that cold night.
She looked at herself in the mirror—her eyes were red, but not wet. Perhaps she couldn't cry anymore. Now she could only think… constantly, without stopping.
"Should I tell him what happened to me tonight?"
The morning in the haveli was special. Rays of sunlight filtered through the rafters, like strands of gold suspended in the air. Silverware was laid out on the heavy mahogany dining table, from which the aroma of hot breakfast wafted. The mingled scents of sandalwood and kewra permeated the entire hall.
At one end of the dining table sat Bua Ji—in a light pink silk sari, a red bindi on her forehead, and questions in her eyes. Beside her sat Mayank—a little flustered, but with the same faint smile he often wore as a facade when he didn't have an answer to a question.
"Mayank, son," Bua Ji said, placing her spoon down, "where is Arya? Didn't you bring her for breakfast?"
Mayank looked up at Bua, then smiled faintly, "When I went to the room, she was getting ready. She said, 'You all go ahead, I'm coming.'"
Bua Ji raised her eyebrows, "What kind of talk is that? She said so, and you came? Why didn't you bring her along?"
Now, hesitation clouded Mayank's face. He was wondering what to say. On one hand, there was Arya's slow smile as she looked at herself in the mirror, and on the other hand, there were Bua's traditional customs—where the daughters and daughters-in-law of the house walk together, eat together.
"I don't know, Bua..." was all he could manage to say.
The rest were having breakfast—amid the soft chatter of the haveli's members, the clinking of spoons, and the voices of the serving maids.
On one side of the table sat Chachi—in a white blouse and a blue Kanjeevaram sari, serving something or the other to someone after every bite. "Here, son, you haven't taken these aloo parathas, they're your favorite."
On the other side sat Akash—Mayank's younger brother, who, while buttering his toast, said laughingly, "Bhaiya, Bhabhi must be taking her time to get ready, the atmosphere has changed now!"
Everyone laughed, but Mayank only smiled faintly. His gaze kept drifting towards the door.
Arya hadn't come. Her breakfast plate was still laid out, as if everyone was sure she would arrive.
The meal was proceeding with all the customary rituals. The dishes were silver, water was served in a copper jug. Each dish was infused with the tradition and love of the house. Hot puris, besan kadhi, aloo-tomato sabzi, dahi-bhujia, and a light chutney—everything was being served as if it were not a routine, but a ritual.
Paro Bua, the old serving woman who had raised the children of the haveli and now herself become a grandmother, came to Mayank and said, "Babu, didn't the girl eat anything today? When the bed tea went up this morning, she sent it back untouched."
Mayank avoided her gaze, "I'll see."
But he didn't get up. His gaze was now fixed on the old painting on the wall—in which the haveli's grandmothers were sitting with children in their laps, surrounded by a lavish meal. The same atmosphere was here today, but incomplete.
Arya's empty chair was bothering everyone, but no one was saying anything.
Amid the silences, Bua Ji again dipped a piece of roti in the chutney, and with a long sigh, said, "This time it's a wedding atmosphere, son. Now Arya is our responsibility—it's your duty to explain and teach her."
This time, Mayank said nothing, just bowed his head and broke off a piece of paratha from the plate in front of him. But the hunger of his heart seemed to be searching for another taste—Arya's presence.
At that moment, the faint tinkling of someone's anklets was heard from the haveli's veranda.
Everyone's gaze went in that direction, but it was not Arya, it was a servant of the haveli.
Arya was walking quickly through the long and silent corridor formed between the haveli's gleaming walls. Outside, the sun was slowly setting, but the turmoil within her was deepening. Her mind seemed to be stuck in the depths of that night—the night that had taken a strange turn and changed her life.
"It's my fault..." she muttered, clenching her lips, "I shouldn't have gone near the swimming pool."
The sound of her shoes echoed repeatedly on the corridor tiles. With each step, her mind wandered in a new direction—one moment cursing herself, the next, the image of Samrat's face flashed in her mind.
"If I hadn't gone there... hadn't fallen into the pool... and Samrat hadn't had to jump into the water to save me."
Her eyes filled with a slight moisture, but she blinked them away forcefully. The soul within her seemed to be hearing its own scream—a scream that the world could not hear.
But then...
As she reached a turn in the corridor, her steps slowed down on their own. The old paintings on the walls passed before her eyes and descended into her mind—a painting in which a king jumps into the river to save his queen. She stirred inside.
"So... is it all Samrat's fault?" her mind questioned.
"No, this could have happened to anyone. Anyone would have jumped to save me... but..." her heart pounded, "but would anyone else... at that moment... kiss me the way Samrat did...?"
Her cheeks suddenly began to burn. There was no one in the corridor, yet she looked around, as if her thoughts could be caught.
"Does everyone kiss like that after saving someone...?"
Her mind began to frighten her on its own. And in this fear, her body trembled unknowingly. She continued to walk, but now there was a confusion in her gait—her feet were heavy, and a train of questions was running through her heart.
At the end of the corridor was a window, from where the yellow light of the sun was peeking in. Arya stopped there. She placed both her hands on the stone railing of the balcony and took a deep breath.
There was the scent of the palace's old walls in the air—a scent in which history was hidden, and perhaps now some incomplete story of her own as well.
"Why did Samrat kiss me?" her lips fluttered.
She tried to explain to herself—"It was just an emotional moment, I wasn't conscious... maybe he was flustered... maybe..."
But her mind interrupted again—"Does someone touch lips like that in fear?"
A jolt went through her heart. Arya turned around, then took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. The lamps in the corridor were lighting up one by one. Their yellow light was casting strange shadows on her face.
She stood with her head leaning against the wall. Her fingers were still trembling.
"There was something else in that moment... something beyond words..."
Arya closed her eyes. The image of Samrat's wet eyelids reappeared in her closed eyes—when he had pulled her out of the water and taken her in his arms, when her breaths were not moving... and when...
His lips had collided with her lips.
"Did he do it deliberately?" Arya's throat tightened. "Or... was there something else in that moment, which even he didn't understand?"
She was now tired of her own questions. This corridor was not just a path—it had become a journey of the dilemmas going on within her.
"Could it be that I myself... am starting to feel something?" Her eyes filled with tears.
She placed her hand on her chest—her heartbeat was fast, very fast.
There was no one coming or going in the corridor now. The long walls of the palace had become her witness—to her confusions, her hopes, and the questions that had arisen after that one kiss.
Arya slowly touched the wall—her fingers were feeling the cold stone, and her soul was searching for an answer that was perhaps hidden somewhere in Samrat's eyes.
"I don't have the courage to meet his eyes now..." she said softly.
But her mind whispered in response—"Perhaps now is the time to meet eyes."
Arya was walking down the stairs towards the dining room with light steps. With each step, there was a slight nervousness in her mind. There was no particular expression on her face, but there was a storm raging inside. As she reached the door, she slowly turned her neck and cast a fleeting glance at the breakfast table.
"Let me see... is Samrat here?"
Her eyes touched every corner of the table like a radar. The people sitting on the chairs—Mayank, her Bua, Chachi, and cousins—were all busy with their meals, but Samrat was not there.
Arya took a long sigh of relief inwardly.
"Thank goodness," she said to herself.
"He's not here. I won't be able to meet his eyes... he's a very strange person... and he looks in a strange way."
She was lost in her own thoughts, there was a worried smile on her lips and her eyes were lost somewhere far away.
"Uff... and that night... that moment in the swimming pool..."
Her face turned a light pink.
"He kissed me... without saying anything... as if everything had stopped in that moment..."
Arya's fingers unknowingly touched her neck, as if she was still feeling that sensation.
She was also angry at herself.
"Why didn't I say something at that time? Why couldn't I stop that moment?"
She kept fighting with herself. Even now her heartbeats were running at an unknown speed.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't realize that Mayank's eyes had been fixed on her.
"Arya!"
Bua's voice echoed, and with it, the eyes of the entire hall turned towards Arya.
Arya's gait suddenly stopped. She stood there for a moment, a few steps away from the dining table, as if someone had pressed the 'pause' button.
She slowly turned her gaze towards everyone. And then she realized that everyone's attention was on her clothes.
A white spaghetti top, whose straps were playing on her shoulders, and blue denim shorts, which ended above her knees.
Arya's eyes widened for a moment.
"Oh God!"
Her face turned red with embarrassment. She immediately adjusted the strap of her top on her shoulder, and lowered her eyes.
Mayank's eyes were as if frozen. His aunt cleared her throat softly, but no one said anything. There was just a long moment, which was bound in a strange silence.
Arya tried to smile with courage,
"Good morning,"
She said softly, and slowly moved towards the table.
"Hey Arya, what's the matter this morning! Looks like someone has returned from a vacation in Goa!"
Bua said jokingly, but there was a slight sting hidden in it.
"Oh... no Bua, just wore night clothes in a hurry..."
She lied and turned her face away.
As she was about to sit on the chair, the sound of slow footsteps came from the door. A wave of cool air dissolved into the room.
He had come.
Samrat.
In deep blue track pants and a black vest, as if he had stepped straight off a runway. His eyes were tired, but they had the same intensity that shook Arya to the core every time.
Arya's eyes involuntarily rose, and both of their eyes met.
For a moment, time stopped again.
There was a slight smile in Samrat's eyes, which did not reach his lips. He just kept looking at Arya... in the same way... with the same depth... as if someone was rereading the book that he himself had written.
Arya's heart started beating fast again.
"No... I don't want to look at him. That night... that kiss... Oh God!"
She quickly lowered her eyes, but Samrat's eyes were still fixed there.
"Good morning, everyone."
His voice came echoing, and Arya's ears felt like some music was playing.
"Are you late, Samrat?" Mayank asked.
"A little... I was having a good sleep,"
He replied, but his eyes were still fixed on Arya.
He walked slowly, and pulled out the chair next to Arya and sat down.
Arya was feeling as if her breaths had quickened. Her fingers were trembling. She picked up a glass of juice, but before she could bring it to her lips, she felt—Samrat was still looking at her.
"Was the night good, wasn't it?"
Samrat whispered softly, only enough for Arya, who was sitting next to him, to hear.
Arya looked at him in shock. Her eyes widened, her lips remained open.
Samrat's smile had now reached his lips.
"You look pretty in white..."
He said and slowly began to break a piece of bread.
Arya's face became hot. She got up without saying anything, put some toast on the plate, Samrat's gaze was still following her from behind.
And only one thing was echoing in Arya's heart—
"This person... is taking my life to some other world..."
Arya's breaths were getting heavy. Every step was like being scorched in the heat of Samrat's gaze. There was warmth on her cheeks, and her heart was bound in a strange restlessness. From behind, a harsh, sharp voice stopped her.
"Arya!"
It was Mayank's mother, with sharp eyes.
Arya looked back slowly. There were questions in her eyes, and the innocence on her face, which was forcing her to lower her eyes.
"Will the daughter-in-law of our house wear such clothes?" Mayank's mother's tone was not sweet, it had the sword of taunt in it.
Arya opened her lips to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in her throat.
"If this is the situation before marriage... then who knows what all we will have to see after marriage!" She said, getting up from the chair, as if a judge was delivering his verdict.
The entire dining hall was stunned. Samrat was still sitting on the chair, but his eyes were now on his mother—deep, calm, but unwavering.
Mayank's father, who had been pretending to read the newspaper silently until now, finally came forward.
"Mayank's father, speak after thinking a little. The girl is new, she has grown up in the atmosphere of her own home. And besides, Arya and Mayank are only engaged right now."
"So does that mean she has the freedom to do anything?" Mayank's mother's voice began to rise. "Becoming the daughter-in-law of our house means—tradition, values, and dignity. What is this? Our daughter-in-law will sit at the table in a top and shorts? What will the relatives say when they come?"
"More important than the thinking of the relatives is the girl's heart." Mayank's father said a little sternly for the first time. "Arya's attire may seem strange to you, but have you ever looked into her eyes? She is scared, nervous... and perhaps still looking for belonging."
There was harshness in Mayank's mother's eyes. "I have no problem with her innocence, but seeing such clothes makes me scared. Tomorrow she will tell Mayank that she wants freedom. And then what—parties, drinks, a crowd of friends?"
"You have thought too much," Mayank's father said, "Arya does not seem like an irresponsible girl to me. Yes, what she has worn today may be inappropriate according to you, but let's give her a sense of belonging first... then explain our views."
"I have no interest in explaining to anyone," Mayank's mother said in a sharp tone. "Whoever comes to this house will have to adopt the rules of the house. Otherwise, the doors are open..."
Her words were incomplete, but they had the full effect of a threat.
Arya's foot, which was going towards the balcony, had stopped. She had heard everything. Her back had become stiff, and a slight moisture had descended into her eyes.
But Samrat now got up from the chair, took a deep breath, and stood directly in front of Mayank's mother.
"Mrs. Shikhawat," his tone was restrained, but there was no hesitation in his eyes, "If you have so much trouble with Arya's clothes, then why can't you show a little tolerance by looking at her feelings?"
"Don't you speak in between, Samrat," Mayank's mother said, glaring, "This is a matter between Mayank and Arya, and I am his mother."
"Then let Mayank speak," Samrat said in a cold but steady voice.
Mayank was about to say something, but perhaps he could not muster the courage. His face was bowed, and his hands were quietly holding a cup of coffee.
Mayank's mother looked angrily, then looked once again at Arya, who was still standing at the balcony door.
"What I have said is clear. Now Arya has to decide—whether she wants to adopt the values of this house or not."
Her eyes were fixed directly on Arya.
Arya remained silent for a few moments. Then slowly she took steps forward and stood near the dining table. Her voice was soft, but clear.
"I'm sorry, Mamiji... I didn't deliberately wear anything that would offend you. But if clothes become the measure of my character, then perhaps I will have to rethink whether I even want to be a part of this house or not."
Everyone was silent. There was a slight shine in Samrat's eyes. Mayank's father shook his head slightly.
Mayank's mother was stunned for a moment. Perhaps she didn't expect Arya to say anything.
Then she turned and walked towards the balcony—not with quick steps, but with full dignity and confidence.
And Samrat was still smiling... as if he had truly known Arya for the first time.
Outside, the grass in the garden was still wet with the morning dew. The light rays of the sun were falling on the flowers, but a kind of awkward silence was floating in the atmosphere. Mayank's mother was sitting on the iron chair—with a completely straight posture, as if something had just broken inside her and she was trying to handle it.
Nearby, her sister-in-law and sister-in-law were sitting, both with cups of tea in their hands, but their eyes were on Mayank's mother's face.
"Didi, relax a little," the sister-in-law said in a soft voice, "Arya is a child, and it is a new place for her. If you remain angry like this, she will get scared."
The sister-in-law also nodded, "And she was not doing anything wrong... she was just going towards the balcony, perhaps to take the morning air. The clothes... yes, were a little modern, but the times have also changed, haven't they Bhabhi?"
Mayank's mother put the cup of tea on the table, but her fingers were resting on the handle of the cup as if they wanted to say something.
"You both won't understand," she said in a slow but harsh tone. "How I have run the house... how I have maintained dignity in the eyes of every relative, what do you know."
"Dignity comes from behavior, not from clothes, Didi," the sister-in-law said slowly.
"Don't teach me that," an old pain now spilled over in Mayank's mother's voice. "When I got married and came to this house, I had nothing for myself—no decent clothes, no opinion of my own. Just the orders of my mother-in-law and the eyes of society. I learned how a daughter-in-law should live. I crushed my desires, broke myself every day... so that the image of this house could be maintained."
"But should Arya repeat the same history?" the sister-in-law asked in a soft voice.
"That history is the foundation of this house!" Mayank's mother said quickly. "If I give freedom today, then every word of mine will be challenged tomorrow. Do you think girls like Arya bend with time? No. They consider your tolerance as weakness. Today she will roam around in shorts, tomorrow she will say—'Mamiji, I will return from the party late at night, don't worry'. And then?"
The sister-in-law had now become a little serious. "But have you ever thought that how long do the relationships that are built by scaring someone last? Mayank has never clashed with you on any matter because he has understood you. But Arya—she is not the shadow of your time. She has the courage to speak. Does that courage scare you?"
Something trembled in Mayank's mother's eyes. Perhaps that question had gone deeper than her thinking.
"I am not scared of her..." she said slowly, "I am scared of losing my son. Mayank, who had been following every rule of the house until now, is now starting to change by listening to Arya's words. And if Arya came to this house, Mayank's thinking and my grip... everything will be gone."
The sister-in-law put her cup on the table and held Mayank's mother's hand.
"Bhabhi, someone doesn't remain yours by stopping them... someone always becomes yours by adopting them. Perhaps Arya's courage is making you insecure, but if that same courage brings light into Mayank's life, then what's wrong with that?"
The sister-in-law took a deep breath, "And you saw, didn't you, she replied, but with manners. There was no rebellion in her eyes, just self-respect. Is that wrong?"
Mayank's mother was now silent. Her gaze was on the rose plant in front, whose bud was half-bloomed—like Arya, who was trying to understand her existence in this new environment.
After a moment of silence, she said, "If she really wants to become a bud of this house... then I will try not to cut her, but to nurture her. But it will take time for me... to change myself too and to adopt her too."
The sister-in-law smiled. "That's all we wanted, Bhabhi. The first step of change."
The sister-in-law gently placed her hand on her shoulder, "And the woman who understands her own pain, that woman doesn't give pain to anyone—she loves them."
The air in the garden was now a little lighter, as if the trees and plants were also breathing a sigh of relief.
And somewhere, Arya, standing in the balcony, was also realizing this... that perhaps the first rays of the sun had become a little warmer and a little softer for her too.
Arya was sitting quietly in her room. Rays of sunlight were peeking in from the window, but the atmosphere of the room was still heavy. She was sitting on one corner of the bed with her knees drawn to her chest, and all the things she had heard in the dining hall a little while ago were floating in her eyes. No sound, no noise—there was only the silence within that was pricking her.
Just then there was a knock on the door. There were two light knocks and then Mayank came inside.
"Arya..." His voice was soft, almost full of hesitation.
Arya did not look at him. She was still sitting with her head hidden in her knees.
Mayank closed the door and slowly came closer. "I know... whatever happened was not right. Mom sometimes says too much... but she doesn't mean anything bad."
Arya raised her head, her eyes were still a little wet. "She doesn't mean anything bad, but the effect is bad, Mayank. She judged me by my clothes... as if I am not a character, just a garment."
Mayank took a deep breath while sitting next to her. "She is a little old-school, yaar. But she can be explained slowly. You are so good... seeing you, she will also change one day."
Arya gave a slightly sarcastic smile. "Do you think I will change according to someone's expectations? Or will I have to prove every time that
"If you liked this novel of mine, then there is a small request... ❤️"
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The Mansion's Evening and Breaths
She didn't know that someone was feeling that smile and loneliness of hers for a few moments—from very close.
Suddenly, she felt the warmth of warm breaths near her neck. Arya's breaths stopped for a moment.
"How are you... my dear?"
It was the same voice... the same depth, the same pause... Samrat.
Arya looked up in shock—he was standing right next to her, so close that his breaths were touching her ear. Samrat's lips were so close to her ear that his warm breaths seemed to penetrate her soul.
"Samrat..." That's all she could say, her voice as if lost in her own heartbeats.
Her hand rose lightly in the air, as if to say something, but then Samrat's hand collided with hers. In that collision, there was neither accident nor haste—but a steady feeling, as if this moment had been waiting for both of them for years.
"Why are you standing here alone?" Samrat's voice was even closer now, there was a wave of a slight smile in his tone, but there was depth in his eyes.
Arya tried to adjust her shawl, but her hands were trembling. "Just... like that. It felt good to see everyone playing."
"Or say that you are keeping yourself away, so that no one notices the pain that you have hidden so skillfully."
Arya looked at him—he was the same Samrat, who spoke less, but when he spoke, he reached the soul.
"Do you know everything?" she asked slowly, there was no question in her eyes, but a trust.
Samrat leaned closer to her ear, from near her shoulder, and said, "Your silences speak to me more than you do, Arya."
Arya's soul trembled, her lips remained slightly open. These were not just words, they were the vibration that opens the doors of the soul.
A gust of cold wind came from behind the garden, some rose petals flew in the air and fell between them. And then some moments... there was only silence.
"Have you ever tried to see yourself with me?" Samrat asked softly, his fingers now stopping near Arya's palm.
"No," said Arya, with a slight moisture in her eyes. "I have only lost, not gained anything."
"You still don't know whose biggest victory you are," Samrat said, leaning towards her, and his breath collided with Arya's neck again. This time Arya did not avert her eyes. Her eyes were now looking into Samrat's eyes—deep, steady, and true.
"Samrat..." There was a tremor in her voice, but it was not fear, it was the threshold of trust.
"Yes..." Samrat gently took her hand. "If this is a dream, don't wake me up."
Samrat smiled and took her fingers into his palms. "This is the reality that we both have lived in our respective loneliness for years. Now is the time to live it together."
Somewhere far away children were still laughing, the game was going on, but near that rose bush a different story had taken birth—in silence, in breaths, and in a touch.
Soundless Expression
Arya jerked her hand away from Samrat's grip. There was anger in her eyes, but somewhere deep down there was also panic.
"You are starting to think too much," Arya said in a slightly louder tone. "I am very happy in my life, I don't need anyone."
There was confidence in her tone, but Samrat read the fear hidden in her eyes.
"That's not the case, Arya," he said deeply, "there is something in your heart... and I can see it clearly."
Arya's face turned pale for a moment. She turned back and looked; there was a rustle in the winds, as if someone was a witness.
"Please..." she said softly, "don't hold my hand, someone will see."
But Samrat ignored her. His hand was on Arya's palm again. The grip of his fingers was neither strong nor loose—exactly as someone holds on to their crumbling faith.
"Even if someone sees, so what? Nothing will happen to you, Arya."
"No!" she blurted out, "No one will say anything to you. You are Samrat! But I will be defamed... I..."
She hesitated, but Samrat stood his ground. His face was calm, but there was a flood of questions in his eyes.
"Are you afraid of me... or of yourself?"
Arya was about to say something when Manyal appeared, turning around from behind. His eyes fell on Samrat and Arya's joined hands. His eyebrows furrowed and his face filled with curiosity.
Arya turned back and saw—Manyal... and then her heartbeats struggled for a moment and stopped breathing. Her breaths got tangled, as if a mistake had been caught red-handed.
"What will happen now..." There was sweat on Arya's face.
Manyal was still standing far away, but his eyes were piercing like arrows, becoming questions.
At the same time, just as Arya was about to put her fear into words, someone diverted their attention.
"What is all this?" The voice was Manyak's, who had suddenly come close. His eyes were fixed on the closeness between Samrat and Arya.
Arya was about to say something in panic when Samrat, without blinking, put on a lie,
"Look, Arya had hurt her hand... I just saw it, I was just worried about that."
Arya was stunned. What kind of defense was this? How easy and how clean a lie!
"Oh!" Manyak actually looked at Arya's palm, "When did this happen?"
Samrat solidified his lie with a slight smile. His eyes were still fixed on Arya.
Arya slowly pulled her hand back. Her face was now full of surprise.
She said to herself—What a clever man! What was he saying just now... and now look, how he changed the story in an instant.
But the truth was that Samrat's lie had become a shield for her.
Manyak was still smiling carelessly,
"Arya, be a little careful, you get hurt and you don't even tell me anything."
Arya nodded slightly. Her eyes were no longer looking at Samrat, but there was the same glimpse in her eyelids—confusion and a desire to say something.
Arya walked away slowly, there was tiredness in her gait and an unspoken expression in her heart.
Standing behind, Samrat saw her departing shadow and decided something in his mind.
"Arya... I don't want to get close to you..."
The words were not said, but written in the eyes.
"If you liked my novel, then there is a small request... ❤️"
My other written stories are also waiting for you.
Just click on my profile icon, and you can access my other creations.
In every novel you will definitely find something new, something of your own, and something that will connect with your heart.
It is only with your love and support that this journey becomes so beautiful.
So do read, and encourage me with your opinions, ratings and comments.
Keep reading, keep connecting… because somewhere in every story there is also you. ❤️📖
A Mother's Lap and the Weariness of Truth
There was a slight warmth in the room. A patch of sunlight peeked through the edge of the curtain and lay spread on the floor. But today her face was tired, somewhat extinguished.
Arya's mother gently entered the room. In her hand was a small bowl of turmeric and coconut oil. She sat beside the bed and drew Arya's hand to her.
"Child, take care of yourself," she said with concern, "When did this happen? It looks fresh, like an injury from yesterday."
Arya looked away and said softly,
"I don't know, Mom... when it happened..."
An incomplete smile appeared on her lips and immediately disappeared.
Actually, Arya knew when the injury had occurred. She had slipped and fallen in the swimming pool last evening, but she hadn't told anyone. Neither the pain nor the injury was troubling her. What was troubling her was something else. Something that was slowly accumulating inside her.
Her mother looked closely at her face. There was a faint shadow of weariness on her cheek. She lovingly stroked Arya's cheek.
"Child, you seem very troubled. What is it? Do you want to say something?"
A long silence filled the room. The fan kept turning, a light breeze came in through the window bars, but Arya remained silent. Two minutes passed, then she took a deep breath and said in a soft voice—
"Mom, it's nothing much... but... Mayank's mother... why isn't she like you?"
Her mother looked at her with surprise, but there was no annoyance in her eyes—only understanding and affection.
"Child," she said with a smile, "not everyone is the same. If your grandmother were alive today, Mayank's mother would be nothing compared to her. She was very strict about principles, if something went wrong by mistake, it felt like the end of the world."
Arya asked in surprise,
"Really, Mom?"
"Yes, child," her mother said, gently applying turmeric to her palm, "I still remember, once I wore her slippers without asking. That was it, and she didn't talk to me for three days. Back then, I used to cry, thinking I wish my mother-in-law was someone else. But today I understand that every relationship takes time. It also has a kind of lesson hidden within it."
Arya rested her head on her mother's shoulder.
"But Mom, when she constantly criticizes everything, when I feel like I'll never be good enough for her... I feel very lonely."
Her mother stroked her head.
"You're not alone, Arya. Every girl who goes to a new home feels this way. Your mom has also endured all of this. But today I'm happy that you're able to tell me this. That's the most important thing, that you can speak your mind, without fear."
Arya's eyes became slightly moist.
"Sometimes I feel like I'm the one who's wrong, or... maybe I'm not good enough for anyone."
Her mother hugged her close.
"Not at all. You are very precious just the way you are. No relationship is perfect, but with effort and understanding, it can certainly be improved."
Arya silently rested her head in her mother's lap and closed her eyes. Her mother's palms seemed to absorb every wound, every weariness. A sense of peace spread through the room.
Her mother then said, "There's no need to think too much right now, child. When your heart feels heavy, give yourself time. And remember, you're not alone. I'm always with you."
That evening, Arya shared her confusions for the first time. It wasn't a solution, but it was certainly a beginning. And often, a beginning is enough… to take the first step on the path to healing.
Across the Window...
The evening twilight was spreading a soft blue and orange light in the room. Samrat was standing in front of the large window in his room, both hands clasped behind his back. The view outside—a calm lake, a row of hills across it, and shimmering lights—was taking him to another world.
The door opened gently, and Mayank entered, holding some files in his hand but with the same old friendly smile on his face.
"Not doing anything special?" Mayank said, teasingly.
Without turning around, Samrat replied in a deep voice,
"Yes, doing very special work."
Mayank looked a little surprised—Samrat was just facing the window, and beyond it was the same everyday world. He said laughing,
"But you're just looking outside!"
Samrat's voice became a little rough, as if hiding something,
"Looking at these beautiful views is also very important work for me."
Mayank shook his head,
"Dude, is everything work or a deal for you? Is there nothing that you look at with a different perspective... just with your heart?"
Samrat's eyelids fluttered. His eyes slowly closed, and as darkness fell, a face emerged—Arya's. Her smiling face, a strand of hair dangling from her braid, the innocent mischief in her eyes. For a moment, stillness settled on Samrat's face, the stillness that he hadn't allowed himself for years.
"There is one thing..." Samrat said in a whisper-like voice.
Mayank immediately came closer, his eyes brimming with curiosity,
"What? Please tell me! Surely I should also know, what else is there besides 'work' and 'deals' for a staunch businessman like you?"
Samrat remained silent. A slight smile appeared on his lips, but the answer didn't reach his tongue. The next moment, as if he had shrugged off that feeling, his voice became stern again.
"What's the update on the London deal?" he asked, as if he hadn't felt anything a moment ago.
Mayank was a little disappointed, but he knew Samrat. He knew that this man's silence often spoke louder than screams.
"The deal is closing. But tell me, this sudden interest in windows, views, and 'very important work'? There's someone who's forcing you to look at this... someone who's awakening that heart beneath your business mind?" Mayank said, his tone now a little softer.
Samrat took a deep breath and looked back towards the window.
"You know, Mayank," he said in a low voice, "there are some relationships... that don't start like a deal, but slowly become the biggest deal—of the heart. And that deal never closes... it remains incomplete... always."
Samrat looked out the window, as if his memory was sitting there in some corner.
"Wherever she is... she's smiling. Maybe she's remembering me... or maybe she's completely forgotten. But me? I see her in everything that people just 'look' at—light, clouds, or these hills visible from the window."
"The Crowd of the Fair and the Silence of the Mind"
Just a short distance from the mansion was a small village – nestled among lush green fields, filled with the fragrance of earth, and wrapped in simplicity. These days, the annual fair was taking place there. Decorated swings, colorful balloons, clay toys, the aroma of chaat-pakodi, and the echo of folk songs had brought the whole village to life. People had come from far and wide, and this fair had become special for Arya and Mayank's family today.
As the evening light filtered through the fading sun, the fair looked even more colorful. Girls were crowding around bangle shops; somewhere there were wooden toy shops for children. The sweetness of gulab jamun and jalebi floated in the air.
Arya stood with her mother near a chaat stall, holding a papdi chaat in her hand. Mayank approached and said with a smile,
"How did you like it, Arya?"
Arya looked at him; a slight smile on her lips and a sparkle in her eyes.
"The fair is very nice, Mayank. Feeling so light after so many days."
Mayank nodded in response and took out a toffee from his pocket and gave it to a small child who was being mischievous there. Just then Arya's mother moved towards them. Seeing Mayank, she smiled and said,
"Son, didn't Samrat come? You said everyone would go?"
Mayank replied with a laugh,
"I did say that, aunty. But he is a bit of a different kind of person. He said he had to talk to a client on the phone. It's a holiday in name only, but his mind is stuck in the office."
Arya's mother said with a little annoyance,
"Oh, so he always stays like this? Does he isolate himself on every occasion?"
"Yes, aunty," Mayank said, shrugging his shoulders, "he is a workaholic. A very strict and time-bound person. Even on vacation, it's phones, meetings, emails... That's all that goes on. For him, rest probably means another task list."
Nearby, rows of swings had been set up; children were running happily towards the "Chakravyuh Swing". There was joy, color, life in the atmosphere—but an unspoken thought was rising within Arya. Listening to Mayank's words, she began to think about Samrat's aloof nature.
In her mind, she kept thinking—
"Mayank, too... Every time he starts talking nonsense about him. Samrat is not that special. He is a strange person, doesn't talk much, is a bit mysterious, but... maybe that's all. Why pay attention to him unnecessarily?"
Some deep layer was shifting within her. She knew that Samrat left every time without saying anything, but why did her mind become silent every time his name was mentioned? Why did she feel a distance from herself as soon as she heard his name, and yet feel a pull?
Mayank had now moved towards the balloon stall, getting Arya's younger sister a red heart-shaped balloon. Arya stood there silently; the papdi she held in her hand had now turned cold.
Arya's mother held her hand and asked,
"What happened? Why did you go silent?"
"Nothing, Mom," she smiled, "just thinking about how many days it has been since we saw a fair like this. It feels good."
Her mother stroked her head and said,
"Yes, life doesn't run on work alone, son. Sometimes moments like these reunite us with ourselves."
Arya's eyes were lost somewhere far away—perhaps beyond the swings, perhaps towards the man who hadn't come again today, but whose mention was present everywhere.
Even amidst the noise, there was a silence within Arya. And in that silence, a space created by Samrat's absence was throbbing.
Amidst the hustle and bustle, laughter, children's giggles, and the sweet melody of folk songs, Arya's breaths were running slow. Her heart had stopped right there – at the place where Mayank had mentioned Samrat, and where her mind was once again thinking about that same confusing person.
A cold piece of papdi was still stuck to her fingers, but there was no sensation of taste left.
Separating herself from the hustle and bustle of the crowd, she slowly started moving in the opposite direction, where the light of the fair was fading, and solitude was increasing. On the way, the earthy fragrance of the soil was dissolved in the air, and some leaves were rustling under her feet.
In a short while, a small Shiva temple appeared behind an old banyan tree—ancient and peaceful. Layers of time were frozen on its stones, but there was a different kind of peace in it. In the dim light, the dome of the temple looked somewhat blue. There was no one else there—only silence, soil, and that Arya, who was tired of the turmoil within herself.
She sat on the steps of the temple, to gather her breath for a while. A burning diya was flickering nearby. Slowly she closed her eyes.
"Shiva…" her mind called out.
Arya went inside the temple and bowed her head in front of the Shivling, folded both her hands and closed her eyes. The face of Samrat emerged behind her eyelids—the face that always remained serious, in whose eyes there was as if some forgotten noise.
Arya's breaths were stopped. She didn't ask anything from Shiva, didn't say anything—just stood there, like a broken word that could not be put into words.
In her mind, she said,
"God... I don't know what is in my mind. I am just losing myself. Why does that person who never came close, repeatedly descend into the quietest part of my heart? Why is his absence also so heavy?"
The idol of Shiva was silent, but that silence was slowly absorbing the storm that had risen within Arya.
Just then a gust of wind came—the diya trembled for a moment, then burned even brighter.
A drop of tear fell from Arya's eyes, completely spontaneously. She lowered her head and murmured softly,
"Maybe I am not understanding myself..."
The beat of the dholak was heard from somewhere far behind. The sounds of the fair were reaching there dimly, but Arya's mind had now descended into more peace.
After a while, she sat on the steps of the temple and looked towards the sky. There was a different view in that starry night—there was no answer in the heights of the evening, but the questions did not seem so sharp now.
At the same time, the ding-dong of a small brass bell kept at the edge of the temple was heard. There was no one else there, yet it was as if some silence had risen from within and touched Arya.
She got up, went to the Shivling again, and said slowly,
"If this silence is the answer... then I want to listen to it."
Arya started going back, but now there was a balance in her gait. While leaving the temple, she turned back and looked at the idol of Shiva once again—and she felt as if there was also a glimpse of Samrat's soul, cast in silence, not giving answers... but her own.
Arya stepped back, her breath quickening with anxiety. But then her back collided not with a wall, but with someone's solid chest. Her soul trembled. She turned slowly—and her breath caught.
It was the Emperor.
He stood there, like a shadow emerging between darkness and light. His eyes—deep, dark, and seemingly speaking volumes—looked directly into Arya's eyes. Time stood still for a moment. Arya felt a strand of hair suddenly fall across her face with the wind. The Emperor's hand moved forward on its own accord, and he gently tucked the strand behind her ear.
"Don't step back," his voice was low but resonant.
But Arya's body instinctively took a step back to seek safety. However, the Emperor swiftly caught her hand—firmly, as if he never wanted to let go.
"What…what are you doing?" Arya's voice trembled, but she tried to pull herself free from his grip.
There was now a fire of passion in the Emperor's eyes. He tightened his grip on her wrist and, leaning closer to her, said softly, "Don't you dare try to get away from me…or you will regret it very much, my love…"
Arya's heart was no longer just beating fast, it was out of control. Her body was telling her to run, but some part of her eyes couldn't move away from the Emperor. The Emperor was even closer to her now, so close that his breaths were touching Arya's neck.
"What do you mean?" Arya tried to appear strong, but the Emperor felt the tremor in her voice.
"You know very well what I mean, darling," he whispered. "You know, I'm not the kind of man who can be left and stay silent."
Arya felt as if she had been locked behind a closed door. The Emperor gently lifted her chin, and looking into her eyes, said, "You are mine. And if the world doesn't understand that we belong together, I don't care."
Arya's lips were trembling. But the Emperor's touch…it wasn't just forceful. There was a strange tenderness in it—as if he were stone but with melting wax somewhere inside.
His hands were now gently caressing Arya's cheek. As if he were touching a dream he didn't want to lose.
"Why don't you understand, Arya," there was a hint of pain in his voice now, "I want you…to the point where desire turns into madness…"
Arya's eyes started to fill with tears. She was still trying to free herself, but inside, a part of her had begun to feel the Emperor's touch as well.
The Emperor cupped her face in both hands and came very close to her.
"Your every breath, every heartbeat…is now mine. I won't let it become a part of anyone else."
Arya took a deep breath. There was fear in her eyes.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" The Emperor gently touched her forehead.
"Yes…" Arya's voice was broken. "You're crazy…and I'm afraid of that."
"Fear comes when the heart starts speaking the truth," the Emperor left a light touch on her neck with his fingers, sending a shiver down Arya's entire body.
She paused for a moment. Her eyes were now locked with the Emperor's. There was passion there, but it wasn't alone. There was a longing—like an incomplete story that wanted to be completed by this touch.
"I can't lose you, Arya," his voice was now heavy. "You don't know where your leaving takes me. I can't be alone…I'm not the man who knows how to let go."
Arya relaxed in his grip, as if she had surrendered for a few moments. His breaths were now felt on the Emperor's shoulder.
"I don't even know what all this means…" she said softly. "But your eyes…they stop me every time…"
The Emperor took her palms in his, and gently placed his lips on her fingers.
"You are mine, Arya. And as long as my heart beats…this will remain true."
The moonlight of the night, trickling through the cluster of trees, was scattered on the ground. The sound of an owl in the distance and the rustling of leaves were making the moment even more mysterious. Arya was still in the Emperor's arms, but a different kind of peace had descended into that embrace. Like a deep silence after a storm.
The Emperor looked at her face from a short distance, as if he wanted to see if Arya's eyes were still in the same battle—the battle of fear and desire. But what he saw made him pull her closer.
"Let's go," he said softly.
"Where?" Arya's lips quivered.
"Where there is nothing but the voice of our hearts."
He gently led her towards the trees, under an old mahogany tree—where a round patch of moonlight was spread on the ground, as if fate had chosen that very place.
The tree's thick, straight roots formed a natural bench. The Emperor gently seated Arya on it. He himself sat on the ground in front of her, like a devotee sitting before his god.
"What do you think?" the Emperor asked, holding her hand, "Is this just madness…or the effect of some unfulfilled prayer?"
The Emperor smiled, and then came close to her in a moment. His hand had wrapped around Arya's waist. She was now sitting with her back against the trunk of the tree, and the Emperor had come so close to her that their breaths had become one.
"Don't come so close to me like this,"
There was a tremor on Arya's eyelids. The Emperor's hand was now behind her neck, and his fingers had gone into her hair. He gently pulled her head towards him, and placed his lips on her eyelids.
A light, shivering kiss—that had no respect wrapped in it, but was full of desire.
Then he kissed the tip of her nose, and finally—stopped at those trembling lips.
Arya closed her eyes.
The Emperor seemed to have stopped time itself. His first kiss was slow, soft—as if he were kissing a dream. But then Arya's fingers began to tighten around the collar of the Emperor's shirt, as if she herself had now drowned in this moment.
That kiss was no longer just of lips. It was a thirst, a longing—that had been suppressed for years. When Arya pulled the Emperor even closer, the Emperor wrapped his arms around her waist. She was now pressed against the trunk of the tree, and the Emperor was leaning over her.
Every breath between them was now speaking. Fingers were getting entangled in hair, palms were touching cheeks, and lips…were now not taking the name of stopping.
"You know," the Emperor whispered near her lips, "I used to dream this every day…but now it's a reality."
Lost Shadows
The fair was in full swing—colorful swings, the beat of drums, the light scent of chaat, and the laughing, chattering noise of the crowd were scattered all around. But in the midst of this crowd, Mayank's heart was beating to a different rhythm. His eyes were searching for one face—Aarya.
Even in the light evening chill, there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He was repeatedly turning his neck, looking among the people for that color of dupatta, that smile, or that slow way of walking—but each time, disappointed.
"Did you see anything? Aarya was here a little while ago, right?" he asked Saurabh, whose eyes were still on the golgappa stall.
"Brother, maybe she went to some stall... or to see the swing. It's a fair, girls get lost for a while like that," Saurabh said, laughing.
But Mayank felt stung by that laughter.
"No man, it was... something strange on her face. Like she wanted to say something, but held back..."
Just then, Chachi came rushing up,
"Shivani, did you see Aarya anywhere? I went to get tea, where did she go?"
Shivani looked around in surprise,
"I just went to buy paan. She was just here... near this swing."
Now the atmosphere began to fill with whispers instead of laughter. In one corner, children were still insisting on buying balloons, but some people's eyes were now following Mayank's restless pace in search of Aarya.
"Mayank!" his mother's voice came, sharp and curt.
"I kept saying, that girl is not right for you. Today you've seen it—came to the fair and got lost. What kind of culture is this?"
"Mom, nothing's been found out yet and you're—" Mayank interrupted angrily.
"I understand everything, son," Mom said in an even louder voice, "Maybe she never wanted this relationship. Now she's left the fair in front of everyone—smeared our reputation in the dirt."
The crowd was now slowly moving away from the swings and stalls, drawn to them. Everyone's eyes were now on this family's internal tension, instead of being on the queue for jalebi.
"Chachi, please don't say anything right now," Shivani interjected, "It's a fair, maybe there's no network... the phone might not be connecting... I'll go look."
At that moment, a child said,
"Didi went towards the park after leaving the swing line."
Mayank's heart pounded. He immediately ran towards the park.
But now there was silence there.
Just a thin dupatta was caught on the iron of the swing, fluttering in the air. That same turquoise blue color. Aarya's favorite.
Mayank gently touched it and took it off. It was warm—as if it had just been released from someone's grasp.
He returned, his eyes were filled with tears, but his face was stern.
"Look at this..." he showed everyone.
Mom was about to say something, but Bua caught her hand.
"Nandini, be quiet now. This is not the time to make accusations."
Saurabh said softly,
"Should we make an announcement? Like they do for children—draw attention..."
"No," Mayank said sternly, "Aarya is not a child. And she hasn't gotten lost by mistake."
A long silence spread. Somewhere in the distance the band's tune started playing again—"May your and my togetherness last..."—but now those notes were stinging.
Mayank's sister came close,
"Bhaiya... maybe she felt something. Some fear, some pressure. You're the one who used to say she's very sensitive..."
Mayank said nothing.
His mother was still squirming, but could say nothing. Because this time there weren't just questions in Mayank's eyes—there was regret, love, and a deep fear.
Far away, the crowd had once again gathered at the bangle shop. The smell of sweetness was again coming from the jalebi stove. But that silence still lingered in this area—where someone was standing holding only a dupatta, and the crowd... unable to say anything despite seeing everything.
In the dense shade of the jungle, Aarya and Samrat's breaths were beating in the same rhythm. The moonlight filtering through the leaves was shimmering on their faces, and at that moment... time seemed to stand still.
Samrat's eyes were fixed on the trembling of Aarya's eyelids. The distance between them was now negligible. But just then, as if Aarya's consciousness returned—as if she had come out of some enchantment—she abruptly pulled herself away from Samrat.
"No… this is wrong…" her breaths were rapid, her heart was beating erratically.
But Samrat, who wanted to seize that moment, leaned towards her and became insistent—he pulled Aarya close to him again. And this time... his kiss was even more impatient, even deeper. Aarya's breaths seemed to stop. Her palms kept pushing against Samrat's chest, but Samrat didn't stop until the storm within him had calmed down for a while.
Quietly, slowly, he broke the kiss... and began to run his palm over Aarya's warm face, as if wanting to touch her and believe that it was not a dream, but reality.
"My love…" Samrat's voice held passion and possessiveness, "You are mine… only mine."
Aarya tried to gather herself and get up from the bench, with restlessness in her eyes and agitation in her steps. But Samrat grabbed her wrist and suddenly pulled her into his arms.
"Don't try to go away from me," his voice was now soft, but beneath that softness was a hidden madness, "I am your soul... and how can anyone go away from the soul?"
Aarya's face became stern. There was fear, there was anger... and the struggle for her freedom.
"Look, Samrat," her voice was trembling but her eyes were strong, "You have no right to touch me... this is not right."
Samrat's grip tightened even more.
"Right and wrong... I don't know, Aarya. I only know that when you are in my arms, the world feels complete..."
And then... in a moment, as if his grip loosened. He set Aarya free. Aarya murmured something, as if saying to herself—"Just... tonight, then we'll go back home."
But Samrat heard it. That torment awoke in his eyes again.
"No..." his voice became stern, "That will absolutely not happen."
Aarya stopped. Her face filled with questions.
"What did you say...? What do you mean?"
There was fear in her tone, and challenge as well.
Samrat wanted to fix her tangled hair, but Aarya jerked his hand away. The fire of anger had flared up in her eyes.
"Tell me... what does that mean?"
Samrat didn't remain silent anymore. A decision was shining in his eyes.
"It means that... no one will leave this mansion until I want them to. And I don't want you to go anywhere."
Aarya didn't stay any longer.
"You can do whatever you want, Samrat, but I am not your prisoner... and I won't become one."
Samrat now looked directly at her... drinking in every expression on her face, and then said—"Okay... then listen, Aarya, I have a challenge."
"Challenge?" Aarya raised her eyebrows.
"Yes," Samrat had a crooked smile on his lips, "If I win... then you will do what I say."
Aarya's eyes lingered on that one sentence... the beating of her heart seemed to be echoing through the silence of the jungle.
That night, the winds of the mansion were strong... and in Aarya's heart, Samrat's challenge had created such a turmoil that would perhaps never subside.
Amidst scattered breaths, the color of night deepened in the air. In the dim light, when Arya's footsteps were seen returning from the unpaved path, a mixture of relief and questions surged in the eyes of the entire family. Mayank was the first to step forward; his face bore a mingled shadow of worry and anger.
"Where had you gone?" he asked in a rough voice.
Arya, averting her gaze, said, "I heard from someone that there's a Shiva temple nearby... I just went there. Forgive me, I left without telling anyone."
It was difficult to hide the lie in her voice, but she tried to keep herself composed.
Mayank's mother, who had been holding her heart until now, interjected quickly, "Such an irresponsible girl! I don't know what kind of upbringing she's had. No fear at all!"
Mayank immediately interrupted, "Mom, let's talk after we get to the haveli. Anyway, it's time to return."
An awkward silence descended on the atmosphere. The car was ready, and everyone started getting into it one by one. Mayank sat in the driver's seat, while Arya sat next to him. The others were in the back—but behind them all was Arya's mind, still entangled in the embrace of that forest.
As soon as the car hit the road, the cold night air and dense silence made every word even heavier. No one spoke for a few minutes.
Then suddenly Mayank looked at her and said, "How did your lipstick get so light?"
Arya's face turned white in an instant. That moment flashed beneath her eyelids—Samrat's sharp eyes, the dense shadows of the forest, and that moment... when her breaths had become entangled in Samrat's fingers. That kiss… both intoxicating and dangerous.
She quickly composed herself and said in a low voice, "I don't know… maybe I sweated in the temple… or it just faded."
Mayank gave a faint smile, which was incomplete. "It's okay," he said, but his eyes were not fixed on the road; he wanted to look at Arya, as if trying to catch some unseen truth.
Arya turned her face towards the window. Outside was the night, and a night had descended within her as well. Samrat's face was echoing within her—that mysterious smile, which stole something every time. But this time... he had stolen Arya's innocence.
'What will he do now?' A storm of questions was raging in her mind.
'What if Mayank finds out everything?' Her heart started beating fast.
The silence of the car and the depth of the night seemed to be exposing her guilt even more. She remembered Samrat's words—“If you go back from the haveli, I will do something that will make sure you never return.”
Those words were no longer literal, they had become a reality. Samrat had done something—with her mind, her emotions, her control.
Everything seemed normal to the family sitting in the back, but in the front of this car, an invisible storm was raging between two faces. Mayank was thinking—why do Arya's eyes seem so unfamiliar? Is she hiding something from me?
Meanwhile, Arya was getting entangled in her own created confusions.
The car had now entered the long gate of the haveli. The cleanliness of the driveway and the lights seemed too bright today. Perhaps the haveli knew that everything would not remain the same here now.
Getting out of the car, Arya looked at the haveli once again—the secrets hidden behind it seemed even deeper now.
"Arya," Mayank's voice broke her thoughts. "If you ever want to say anything, say it. I'm always here to listen."
Arya looked at him—he was sincere, he was clear. But perhaps it was too late.
"Thanks Mayank," she said, and went inside.
Behind was left Mayank… and echoing in the darkness of the haveli was Samrat's name—as if he was still hidden there, smiling… ready to make the next move.
A Crack in Passion
It was as if it was a picture of the emotions surging within Samrat. His car was racing down the long road leading to the haveli, but his mind was wandering elsewhere – there, on the edge of the lake in that dense forest, on that silent bench where time had stood still for a moment.
Arya's eyes, her voice, that faint smile – everything was running like a film in Samrat's mind. As soon as he reached a place where there was an old turn, he suddenly slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt, and Samrat parked the car on the side.
He closed his eyes.
"Why don't you understand, Arya?" He felt that sentence echoing within him again.
A cold wind was blowing on the lake, and Arya was sitting right next to him; her eyes were on the water, and Samrat's eyes were on her.
"I want to go," she had said softly.
"Why?" Samrat's voice was soft but full of pain.
He held her face and said. And the next moment—that kiss. A deep, agonizing, union of two broken moments—as if their souls had become one for a while.
"No!" Suddenly getting out of the car, Samrat screamed.
His face was drenched in sweat. His hair was scattered in the wind. The road was deserted, and Samrat seemed to be trapped in a circle of his own madness.
"You can't leave me... I won't let you go." He moved away from the car and started wandering to one side, as if searching for a path in restlessness.
"You are mine, Arya... you have to stay here. With me." His voice was now talking to himself. Madness in his eyes, the fire of possession on his tongue.
He sat down on a large stone by the side of the road, holding his head in his hands.
His chest began to tighten at the very thought of Arya leaving.
"I had lost myself... in childhood too, in youth too... but when I met you, Arya, then it felt like life had returned something to me for the first time..."
His breathing became rapid. He got up and started punching the hood of the car.
"You are not my weakness, you are my need, Arya... why don't you understand?"
The cold had now started dissolving in the air, and Samrat's eyes had filled up. But tears did not fall – he was not ready to melt.
"I will stop you... no matter what. You can't go anywhere..."
For a moment he hesitated, then, as if making a decision, gradually became steady in his place. He took out his mobile, dialed Arya's number.
The phone was ringing.
One... two... three...
But there was no answer.
He looked at the mobile, then at the distant, dark forest, and muttered—
"Now I can do anything..."
The passion within him was now slowly turning into a silence—the silence that comes before a storm.
And in that same silence, Samrat's car started again, and he turned back towards the same lake... where everything had started... perhaps where everything was about to end as well.
The shadows of the mansion seemed to tell a different story that evening. There were mixed sighs of exhaustion and contentment from people returning from the fair. The streaks of light falling on the walls of the mansion looked as if layers of an old mystery were quietly beginning to unfold.
When everyone had gone to their rooms, Mayank and Arya were sitting together in Arya's room near the old wooden swing. The sweetness of the fair and a faint smell of earth still lingered in the air.
Arya pushed her hair back and said softly,
"Would you like coffee?"
"Yes," Mayank smiled.
Soon they both had cups in their hands, and the yellow light of the mansion's garden peeked through the window. They sat in silence for a while. It was the kind of silence that brings comfort—when two people understand each other even without words.
Arya, looking out the window, asked,
"This friend of yours... Samrat... he seems strange. How long have you known him?"
Mayank took a light breath, as if the shadow of a forgotten moment had touched him. Then, placing the cup on the table, he said,
"It's been many years... since college days. He comes from a rich family, and I'm middle class. But still, I don't know how, we became good friends. Maybe we needed each other at that time."
Arya looked into his eyes,
"Do you think he's genuine? I mean... from the inside?"
Mayank paused for a moment. Then he said,
"He's a bit mysterious, yes. Sometimes it seems like he has everything, but still, something is missing in him. He is rude, outspoken, but there's something inside him... some brokenness, some incomplete story."
Arya's fingers stopped on the handle of the cup. A pang arose in her heart. She thought to herself - the way Mayank talks about Samrat, if I say something, will he believe me? Will he understand me, or will his friendship with Samrat be judged by my words?
Mayank looked at her and said,
"Why have you gone silent?"
Arya gave a slight smile,
"Nothing... just thinking. Friendship is a strange thing, isn't it. Sometimes we trust even those people whose faces we don't see behind the layers."
Mayank looked deeply into her eyes,
"Are you hiding something? Did you feel something about Samrat?"
Arya's heart started beating fast. She knew that this was the moment when she could say everything—that strange uneasiness she felt in Samrat's eyes, that mysterious pull, and an unknown suffocation that remained around her when Samrat was near.
But then she remembered the warmth of Mayank's words—"We are good friends...", "There is something inside him..."—would he misunderstand her words?
Arya took a deep breath, and said slowly,
"Sometimes a person is so entangled that they don't even know what they are afraid of, what they are running away from."
Mayank nodded,
"Exactly. Samrat is also like that. Strong from the outside, but perhaps broken from the inside. I don't know why, but I never wanted to leave him alone... it always felt like, if I left him, he would go far away. Maybe forever."
Arya's heart was filled with emotion. The fear she had for Samrat was now deepening. On one side was Mayank's friendship, on the other her own uneasiness, and somewhere in between was Samrat—a puzzle.
The coffee was finished, but there was a new kind of stirring in the room—silence, in which there were questions; and answers, which perhaps no one had.
Arya asked softly,
"Have you ever asked him about his past?"
Mayank lowered his eyes,
"Once... he only said—"Everyone has a past, but some people still live in that past today."—after that, I never asked again."
Outside, the old clock of the mansion struck 9. Arya nodded slightly and looked out the window.
She decided in her heart—whether I say something or not, I will be careful. I trust Mayank's friendship, but the shadow in Samrat's eyes cannot be ignored.
The wind started blowing again. Silence filled the room, but in that silence now there was a noise of both their thoughts—a depth of friendship, a slight sigh of fear, and an unspoken truth that perhaps could change everything in the coming days.
After a moment of silence in the room, Mayank said laughing,
"By the way, your coffee turned out better than expected. I thought you would put suspense even in boiling milk."
Arya glared,
"Oh, you've become very funny. Be thankful that I didn't put salt in the coffee."
"Looking at your style, it sometimes feels like there is a secret spy hidden inside you," Mayank smiled.
Arya raised her eyebrows in a mischievous manner,
"Maybe! Maybe I have come here to solve the mysteries of the mansion."
"And I thought you came to wander around at the fair," Mayank said with mock disappointment.
"Both things are true," Arya said, getting up from the table, "I am an expert in both wandering and extracting secrets."
Mayank said joining his hands,
"Then I should be careful, lest I become the next victim."
"You already have," Arya said looking at him with a smile, "Now it's difficult to get out."
Mayank's smile deepened slightly, but he kept the conversation light,
"Oh my god! I'm not afraid of this mansion, but I've started to be a little afraid of you."
Arya said laughing heartily,
"Fear is good, a little fear keeps a person alive."
"And too much fear?" Mayank looked at her with a slight sparkle in his eyes.
"It forces a person to think something new," Arya replied, then smiled slightly, "Or to run out of a room."
Mayank also laughed,
"Your coffee-drinking style is also like a thriller movie. First deep talks, then light flirting... and now a little fear!"
"I am suspense myself," Arya said in a dramatic manner, narrowing her eyes.
Then both laughed together. The air coming from the window had become slightly cold, and the faint sound of the temple bell could be heard in the distance.
Arya sat on the swing, and swinging her legs slightly, said,
"This swing... reminds me of my grandmother's house. There was a similar wooden swing there too, where all the siblings used to sit and chat."
Mayank came and stood leaning against the wall,
"I used to love swinging in childhood... but once I swung so hard that I fell. Since then, I have started looking at the swing with a little respect."
"Respect?" Arya asked smiling,
"Or fear?"
"Fearful respect... the kind that is between a mother's slap and a swing's jolt," Mayank said winking.
Arya laughed again. Now the atmosphere had become light. Both had left their coffee cups on the table, but the conversation continued.
"By the way," Mayank asked, breaking the silence,
"What did you like the most at the fair?"
Arya thought for a while,
"The sweet shops... and that little boy who was walking holding his father's hand. The sparkle in his eyes... just touched me."
Mayank gave a slight smile,
"Yes, that innocence... maybe we also had it once."
"Didn't have," Arya said,
"It is still there somewhere. Just buried under everyday life."
"Looking at you, it seems like that sparkle of yours is still intact," Mayank said without getting too emotional.
Arya looked at him, there was no trick in his smile—just a simplicity, which gave strange comfort.
"Your words also sound good sometimes," Arya said slowly.
"Sometimes?" Mayank expressed mock annoyance.
"Yes, when you don't get too philosophical," Arya said smiling.
"Oh! So what was my rating today?" Mayank quipped.
"5.5 out of 7. The remaining one and a half, you will get after the next coffee," Arya said and gave the swing a slight push.
"Then I will have to get coffee made in tomorrow's shift as well," Mayank said,
"But on one condition—you will not have to leave the swing."
"Deal accepted," Arya said looking at him.
Just then Samrat's voice was heard from somewhere in the distance—he was probably talking to someone in the lawn below.
Arya's face froze for a moment, but she immediately composed herself.
Mayank didn't notice, he still spoke in the same light humorous manner,
"Samrat also seems tired, but still keeps planning something or the other. I don't know where his energy comes from."
"Maybe... he has less sleep and more thoughts," Arya said softly.
"Exactly like you," Mayank said teasingly.
"Maybe," Arya said smiling at him.
