Chapter 15: Chapter 10: Her Grace, His Struggle

Hi everyone,

I’ve decided to upload this chapter earlier than planned, even though the target for votes and comments hasn’t been reached. It’s a bit disheartening to see the lack of support, especially when other writers often wait until their targets are met before uploading new chapters.🥺🥺🥺

I’m still choosing to share this with you because I value your readership and hope you’ll show your support by helping me reach the target:

Target: 18+ votes and 10+ comments.

Your engagement motivates me to keep writing and sharing these stories with you. So, please take a moment to vote and comment—it means the world to me!

Happy reading, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts.

Best regards,

Yuna

Ananya

The soft rays of the morning sun filtered  through the curtains, and the gentle chirping of birds filled the air. For once, I had a restful sleep -- a sleep untouched by nightmares.

As I stirred, on the verge of waking, I felt something heavydraped around my waist. My groggy mind struggled to comprehend the sensation.  Fighting off the remnants of sleep,  I forced my eyes open, only to met with the sight of a large, veiny hand resting possessively around my waist.

My breath hitched, and my eyes widened.

Arjun.

It was Arjun's hand.

How had this happened? Somehow in the night, we must have gravitated toward each other. The realization sent a wave of questions coursing through me. Was it him? Was it because of him that the nightmares stayed away? Because he was holding me? Did I fall asleep safe in his arms-- protected, even?

The thought lingered, unsettling yet oddly comforting, as I lay still, my heart racing against the warmth of his touch.

It took me a moment to piece together the events of last night, and then it struck me—I got married to Arjun. I remembered how honest he had been with me about his thoughts and feelings. I appreciated his candor; it was a rare trait I deeply valued.

I wanted to reciprocate his honesty, to open up to him about the shadows of my past. But the words refused to form, the courage slipping through my fingers like sand. I might consider myself strong, but not strong enough to share that part of me—not with anyone, specially Arjun.

Perhaps that’s why I asked him for time, to wait until I could gather the strength to bare my soul. What surprised me, though, was his response. He agreed without hesitation, without demanding explanations. It was a gesture I hadn’t expected but one that quietly reassured me.

My back rested against his front, his large, veiny hands wrapped securely around my small wrist. His touch felt possessive,  yet oddly comforting. His hands were so big that nearly enveloped me completely. To my surprise, I didn't feel nauseous or uncomfortable— a reaction I half-expected from someone like me.

Curious, I turned slightly to steal a glance at his face. And oh, what a sight he was. Pretty, beautiful, handsome—how could a man embody all these qualities at once?

He slept so peacefully, his features relaxed and angelic in slumber. Butterflies stirred in my stomach as I stared at his hands, still resting on my wrist. It felt like something out of a dream— a scene I once imagined countless times while lost in the pages of a book. But I never thought I would be able to enjoy it again after what happened and how I am so used to panic at the slightest touch from a man. But Arjun proved me wrong.

His hands were heavy. Not uncomfortably so, but heavy enough to remind me of his presence. Still, I didn't mind.

I needed to get up and get ready for the day. Gently, I tried to remove his hands without waking him. But as I moved, he stirred, shifting slightly before pulling me closer to him. My heart skipped a beat at the sudden intimacy, the warmth of his body seeping into mine.

I tried again, but it was no use—I had no choice but to wake him up. Gently tapping on Arjun's hand, I whispered, "Arjun?" My voice was as soft as I could manage. "Arjun, can you please lift your hand so I can get down?"

He stirred awake, his eyes fluttering open. The moment he realized he was holding me, his arms shot back, releasing me from the cocoon of his warmth.

"I'm... I'm really sorry, Ananya," he stammered, sitting upright on the bed. "I... I don’t even know how this happened. I swear, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. I couldn’t help but smile, just a little. He was endearing in ways I hadn’t expected.

"It's okay," I said softly. "You don’t have to apologize."

Pausing at the bathroom door, I turned back to look at him, my tone warm and reassuring. "And for the record, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. I’m fine with it."

With that, I stepped into the bathroom, leaving him to process my words.

I stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my damp hair, and saw Arjun heading in for his turn. With a deep breath, I turned my attention to getting ready.

Opening my luggage, I carefully pulled out a saree. It’s not something I wear often—honestly, I’m neither a fan of sarees nor particularly skilled at draping them. But today is special. It’s my first day as a married woman, with my Pehli Rasoi and several other rituals lined up. Tradition calls for it, and so I chose this saree.

The fabric is a soft peachy-pink, its delicate golden shimmer catching the light in the most enchanting way. There’s a quiet elegance to it, a richness in its delicate weave and the faint border of intricate embellishments. It feels perfect for an auspicious day like this—graceful, understated, and full of promise.

I ran my fingers over the fabric, steeling myself. “Alright, Ananya,” I murmured, “you can do this.” After all, some things are worth the effort.

Somehow, I managed to drape the saree—barely. Thankfully, Arjun didn’t come out before I could cover myself. But now, the real challenge: setting the pleats.

No matter how hard I tried, they just wouldn’t fall right. I’ve lost count of how many frustrated sighs I’ve let out. My patience was wearing thin, and I was so engrossed in fixing the saree that I didn’t even notice when Arjun stepped out of the bathroom.

It wasn’t until I heard his voice behind me that I realized he was there. “Do you need any help?” he asked, his tone careful, almost hesitant. I looked up in surprise and caught his reflection in the mirror—he was standing right behind me. Well he was fully clothed.

“I can help you, if you’re okay with it,” he added, his awkwardness evident.

For a moment, I froze. I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of a man helping me with my clothes, but this was Arjun. I really mean it when I said I trust him. He’s been nothing but considerate since the day we met. And honestly, I didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

“Yes, please,” I said reluctantly. “I’m struggling with the pleats... I’m not good at wearing sarees,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. What kind of woman doesn’t know how to drape a saree properly? He must be thinking I’m a fool.

But if he was judging me, he didn’t show it. Instead, he stepped forward, calm and composed, ready to help.

As Arjun stepped closer, I felt my heart race—not from fear, but from the unfamiliarity of the situation. He met my eyes in the mirror and gave me a small, reassuring smile.

“It’s okay, Ananya,” he said gently, his voice calm and steady. “Not everyone knows how to wear a saree perfectly. It doesn’t make you any less capable or graceful.”

I looked at him, unsure how to respond. He didn’t seem to think it was strange at all, which somehow made me feel less embarrassed.

“I’ve seen my mom struggle with sarees too,” he added with a light chuckle, carefully reaching for the pleats. “She always used to say that it’s not about how perfectly you drape it—it’s about how you carry it. And I know you’ll look beautiful no matter what.”

His words were simple, but they held a kindness that made me feel at ease. He worked carefully, his movements respectful and precise, as though he understood how delicate this moment was for me.

“See?” he said after a few moments, stepping back. “All done. Now you just need to pin it, and you’re ready.”

I glanced at the mirror, surprised at how neatly the pleats were arranged. “Thank you,” I said softly, meeting his gaze.

He shrugged lightly, his expression warm. “You don’t have to thank me, Ananya. You’ve got this.”

"Let’s head downstairs; everyone must be waiting for us," he said with a warm smile.

Arjun

As Ananya disappeared into the bathroom, I sat frozen on the bed, staring at the space where she’d just stood. My mind raced, replaying the moment I woke up and found her in my arms. Her warmth, her presence—it lingered like an echo, both startling and... comforting.

How did this even happen? I never sleep so deeply. I’ve struggled with restless nights for years—turning, twisting, staring at the ceiling until exhaustion finally dragged me under. But last night was different. Last night, with her beside me, I slept. Not just slept—I slept well.

I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to make sense of it. It wasn’t just the comfort of her being there. It was something about her—her. She has this quiet energy, like she belongs, even when she doesn’t try.

And when I held her, it felt... right. I hadn’t meant to, of course. It must’ve happened in my sleep. But waking up and finding her there, so close... I liked it. That’s what unsettled me the most. I liked it.

Her smile flashed in my mind—the soft curve of her lips when she told me it was okay, that I didn’t make her uncomfortable. It was like she knew I needed to hear it, like she understood. And then, the way she looked back at me before walking into the bathroom...

I shook my head, exhaling deeply. What is happening to me? I barely know her. This was supposed to be just an obligation, a marriage of convenience. But now, I’m sitting here, trying to hold onto the memory of holding her.

This isn’t good. This isn’t supposed to happen.

But for the first time in years, I felt peace—real peace. And it terrifies me that the reason for it might just be her.

After she came back I went in to freshen up and get ready. When I stepped out of the bathroom, dressed and ready, I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me.

Ananya stood in front of the mirror, draped in a soft peachy-pink saree with a golden shimmer that seemed to dance under the light. The saree clung to her in a way that was both elegant and alluring, accentuating her figure while exuding a quiet grace. Her slightly wet hair cascaded over her shoulders, tiny droplets still clinging to a few strands. She looked ethereal, almost like she didn’t belong to this world but to some dreamscape.

For a moment, I froze. I’d seen countless women wear sarees before, but there was something about the way Ananya wore hers—tentative yet stunning—that struck me. She wasn’t confident in it, but that vulnerability only made her seem more real, more breathtaking.

And then I noticed her struggling, sighing in frustration as she tried to set the pleats. I couldn’t help but smile faintly. She looked so determined, so lost in the task that she hadn’t even noticed me.

Part of me hesitated. I knew I should maintain some distance; the more I tried to stay detached, the more drawn I felt to her. It was confusing, unsettling even, how much she affected me without trying. But seeing her struggle made me want to step in—to help her, to ease her frustration.

I walked over quietly and stood behind her, our eyes meeting in the mirror. “Do you need any help?” I asked gently, careful not to startle her.

Her eyes widened slightly as she turned to notice me. “I... I’m not good at wearing sarees,” she admitted awkwardly, her voice soft. “I’m struggling with the pleats.”

I could see the hint of embarrassment on her face, as if she expected me to judge her. But how could I? I found it endearing.

“It’s okay, Ananya,” I said, keeping my tone calm and reassuring. “Not everyone knows how to wear a saree perfectly. It doesn’t mean anything. Besides, you’re trying, and that’s what matters.”

I hesitated for a moment, then added, “I can help you, if you’re okay with it.”

Her lips parted, and for a second, she seemed unsure. But then she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, please.”

Stepping closer, I reached for the pleats, working carefully to arrange them. Her hair, still slightly damp, carried the faintest scent of her shampoo—a subtle, floral fragrance that only made it harder to focus. The delicate fabric of the saree was cool under my fingers, contrasting with the warmth of her presence.

“There,” I said after a few moments, stepping back slightly. “All done. You just need to pin it now.”

She looked at the mirror, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t need to thank me,” I replied with a shrug, though I couldn’t ignore the way my heart skipped a beat seeing her smile. “You look... you look perfect.”

I quickly turned away, suddenly aware of how much I’d been staring. This was dangerous—letting myself feel this way. But no matter how much I tried to build walls between us, they seemed to crumble the moment she was near.

After a beat, I cleared my throat and gestured toward the door. “Let’s head downstairs. Everyone must be waiting for us.”

And with that, I silently vowed to keep my emotions in check, even as every part of me longed to stay close to her.

As we walked downstairs together, I could feel everyone’s eyes on us. Their smiles were wide, their laughter filling the air. The kind of warmth that should’ve made me feel at ease—but didn’t.

We stopped to take blessings from Mom and Dad, and as we straightened, Mom’s gaze softened as she looked at Ananya.

"You’re looking so beautiful, beta," she said warmly. Then, with a teasing grin, she added, "Now come, both of you sit here. We’re going to play the ring-finding game."

A ring-finding game? Of course. Another one of Mom’s ways to pull everyone together. I could already feel the corner of my mouth twitching in protest, but I said nothing. Ananya and I sat down, opposite each other, with a large bowl of water placed between us.

The water shimmered with rose petals and flower strands floating on the surface. Mom dropped a small ring into the bowl and stirred the water gently, making the ring disappear beneath the petals. She looked at us with a glint of mischief. "Whoever wins, the other has to listen to them for their entire life!"

The room erupted in laughter. “I’m on Ananya’s team!” Mom declared, followed closely by Dad and Bhabhi.

Ananya’s lips curved into a small, hesitant smile. She looked so…genuine. A sharp pang of something unfamiliar twisted in my chest, but I pushed it down.

And then, the moment shattered.

"I’m also on my lovely Ananya’s team," a voice called from the entrance.

Karan.

What the—? My head snapped toward him as he strolled in, looking entirely too smug for my liking.

Lovely Ananya? His Ananya?

My jaw tightened. I knew Karan thought of her as a sister. Everyone knew it. But still… she’s not his. She’s mine.

Wait. Mine?

I could feel the heat rising to my face as I tried to rein in the absurd rush of possessiveness clawing at my chest. This made no sense. She was the woman I hadn’t wanted to marry, the one I’d told I didn’t believe in love.

And yet, here I was, watching Karan, my supposed best friend, talk about my wife like she belonged to him.

I wanted to strangle him.

What the hell was wrong with me?

Then Bhai's voice brought me back to reality.

"Well, I think I should at least support my little brother," he said with a teasing grin, earning laughter from everyone. "So, I'll be in Arjun's team." He clapped me on the shoulder, adding, "You’ve got this, Arjun."

"Alright then, let’s start!" Mom’s voice was cheerful as she gestured toward the large silver bowl filled with milky water. The game was simple yet symbolic—Ananya and I had to find a ring submerged in the water. Whoever found it first would be declared the winner.

I glanced at Ananya. She looked hesitant, her hands fidgeting in her lap. Her nervousness was palpable, and for a moment, I felt the strangest urge to reassure her. Instead, I reminded myself to keep my distance. This was just a game—a tradition.

As we knelt on opposite sides of the bowl, our hands hovered over the water. The coldness of the liquid hit me as we plunged our hands in, blindly searching for the ring.

Her fingers brushed against mine, and I froze. Her touch was soft, hesitant, and it sent an unexpected jolt through me. She quickly pulled back, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. She’s blushing. The thought made something stir within me, an unfamiliar warmth I hadn’t anticipated.

"Come on, Ananya! You can do it!" Mom cheered.

Bhai, on the other hand, teased, "Don’t let us down, Arjun!"

Despite myself, I found my focus shifting to her instead of the game. Her brows furrowed in determination as she carefully searched. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her concentration utterly captivating.

In the first round, I found the ring. The cheers on my side of the family were loud, but Ananya’s quiet disappointment tugged at me.

The second round began, and I noticed her tentative movements. She was trying so hard. When our hands touched again, I couldn’t help but linger for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Her gaze darted up to meet mine, her wide eyes filled with surprise. Her blush deepened, and she quickly looked away. This time Ananya won.

She had one last chance. Her nervousness was evident. Damn it. I sighed, knowing exactly what I was about to do.

By the final round, I decided I couldn’t win again—not when she looked so eager to succeed. I felt ridiculous for even thinking this way, but I deliberately slowed my movements, allowing her to reach the ring first.

Her gasp of delight when she pulled it out was worth every bit of restraint. The room erupted in cheers, and Mom clapped her hands together in excitement.

"Ananya won!" someone shouted, and her face lit up with a shy, radiant smile.

I couldn’t stop staring. She was breathtaking when she smiled like that—her joy so genuine, so unguarded.

Leaning closer, I murmured just loud enough for her to hear, "Well played."

Her eyes widened slightly before she looked down, her blush spreading to her ears. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

For a fleeting moment, I wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold her hand. Despite my resolve to stay distant, she was steadily breaking down the walls I’d built around myself.

And there it was again—that pull toward her, the magnetic urge to close the distance between us. No matter how much I wanted to keep my walls up, her innocence and warmth kept finding cracks in my resolve.

The teasing began the moment Ananya’s fingers emerged from the milk bowl, holding the ring triumphantly. A wave of laughter and cheers echoed through the hall as my relatives seized the opportunity to poke fun at me.

“Well, Arjun, looks like you’re going to have to listen to your wife now,” bhabi chirped with a sly grin.

"Yes, Arjun! Better start practicing saying 'Yes, Ananya,' from today!" Karan chimed in, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I shot him a glare, but it only fueled his amusement further. He leaned back, smirking like he’d just won some grand battle.

“She’s already making you look bad,” he added, shaking his head dramatically. The room erupted with laughter again, and, to my utter disbelief, even Ananya joined in, her soft laughter cutting through the chaos like music.

I couldn’t decide if I was more annoyed or intrigued by how effortlessly she fit into the scene.

The commotion eventually settled, and soon it was time for her pehli rasoi. The air buzzed with anticipation as Ananya tied an apron over her saree and disappeared into the kitchen.

As much as I feel relieved when she’s not around, I can’t deny a flicker of disappointment lingering in me. Maybe it’s nothing, or maybe it’s something I don’t want to acknowledge. I can’t believe I’m feeling this way. For the first time in my life, I’m confused—utterly torn. Do I want to keep my distance from her, or do I want her closer?

It’s all because of Ananya. She’s gotten under my skin in a way I never anticipated, and it frustrates me to no end. Yet, even with this turmoil, I can’t bring myself to act distant. How can I, when I was the one who promised her that I wouldn’t hurt her? Even if I can’t offer her love, I vowed to protect her.

But now, keeping that promise feels like a double-edged sword. The harder I try to hold back, the more I find myself drawn to her—more than I should be, more than I’m ready to admit.

Ananya

I stepped into the kitchen, ready to prepare my pehli rasoi. A nervous excitement bubbled within me as I tied my apron and began gathering the ingredients. I smiled unconsciously, the memory of Arjun letting me win our game earlier flashing in my mind. It was such a small gesture, yet it warmed my heart in ways I couldn’t explain.

Before I could dive into cooking, Mom and Bhabi entered the kitchen, their faces beaming with enthusiasm.

"Mom, Bhabi, I can manage! It’s my pehli rasoi; let me do it alone," I protested gently, but they waved off my words.

"Nonsense," Mom said, rolling up her sleeves. "We’re here to help you, not watch from the sidelines."

"Exactly," Bhabi added, grinning mischievously. "Besides, we can’t let you hide from us after last night."

I felt heat rush to my cheeks as Bhabi's words sank in. Mom chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with teasing mischief.

"So, Ananya," Bhabi continued, leaning closer, "tell us, did Arjun behave himself? Or should I have a word with him?"

"Bhabi!!" I exclaimed, utterly flustered.

Mom laughed lightly. "Leave her alone, Kavya. Let her cook in peace."

Changing the subject quickly, I turned to Mom. "What’s Arjun’s favorite food?"

She smiled knowingly. "He loves shahi paneer and gajar ka halwa. But he’s not picky; anything well-made wins him over."

With their help, I decided on a menu that included shahi paneer, jeera rice, butter naan, dal makhani, and gajar ka halwa. The aroma of spices soon filled the kitchen, making my nervousness fade as I focused on the task. Bhabi handled chopping, Mom kneaded the dough, and I poured my heart into every dish.

By the time the food was ready, the kitchen was a whirlwind of delicious smells and warm laughter. I set the table, carefully arranging everything, and called everyone to eat. One by one, they arrived—Karan bhai, Rohan bhai, Dad, and finally, Arjun.

As everyone settled down, I served each of them with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The room filled with the sound of clinking plates and appreciative murmurs.

“This shahi paneer is divine!” Dad said, taking another bite.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Ananya!” Rohan bhai added, reaching for more naan.

Even Karan bhai, who rarely gave compliments, said, "This dal makhani tastes better than Mom’s." Mom swatted his arm playfully, but her smile gave away her pride.

But my eyes kept drifting to Arjun. He ate in silence, his expression unreadable. My heart sank slightly as I wondered if he disliked the food. I didn’t dare ask, though.

Finally, Karan turned to Arjun. “What about you, Arjun? How’s the food? Or are you too lost in thought to notice?”

Arjun looked up, his gaze locking with mine for a brief moment before he spoke. “It’s perfect.”

The simple words sent a wave of relief washing over me. A small smile tugged at my lips, but I quickly busied myself with serving more food to hide it.

As the meal went on, the atmosphere grew even livelier, but my heart stayed warm from that one word. Perfect.

The day passed in a blur. Karan Bhai, Rohan Bhai, Dad, and Arjun left early for the office, leaving us women to ourselves. It was a surprisingly pleasant day, filled with chatter and laughter as we got to know each other better. Inevitably, the conversation shifted to Arjun.

"Tell me, Ananya," Aunty—Mom—asked with a warm smile, "how are you finding everything so far? I hope Arjun hasn’t scared you off with his silence."

I smiled politely, unsure how to respond. "No, Mom. He’s... different. He is nice. " obviously as how honest he was in our wedding night.

Bhabhi, leaned closer with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh, you'll see. Once you get to know him, Arjun isn't as serious as he seems."

I nodded, filing the thought away for later. But I'm sure there is more about him that he doesn't shows.

The conversation soon shifted to lighter topics, but a sense of unease lingered within me. My new family was welcoming. I couldn't help but feel the weight of his presence, even in his absence.

As the afternoon wore on, my thoughts drifted to my job. In just a few days, I’d be joining my new company. Mom had reassured me that there was no issue, but I I wanted  to discuss it with Arjun. It wasn’t just about permission—it was about communication and understanding where we stood.

Later that evening, as the men returned, the house filled with the sound of chatter and footsteps. I stood near the living room entrance, waiting for the right moment.

Arjun entered last, looking as composed and distant as ever. He glanced at me briefly, his expression unreadable.

“Arjun,” I called softly as he entered the room. He stopped mid-step, turning to face me with his usual composed expression, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

“Yes?” he asked, his tone polite yet distant.

“Can we talk? Just for a few minutes,” I said, trying to steady my voice despite the nervous flutter in my chest.

He studied me briefly before nodding. “Of course.”

“You can freshen up first,” I suggested, gesturing toward the bathroom. “We can talk after that.”

“Alright,” he replied simply, walking past me and closing the bathroom door behind him.

As I waited, I tried to organize my thoughts, smoothing the invisible wrinkles in my dupatta and pacing the room. When he came back, looking relaxed yet still composed, I took a deep breath.

“I wanted to talk about my job,” I began, my voice firmer than I expected. “I’ll be joining my new company in a few days.”

He raised an eyebrow, his silence encouraging me to elaborate.

“Mom is okay with it, but I thought it was important to let you know too,” I continued. “I want us to be clear about things from the start.”

Arjun leaned against the bedpost, crossing his arms as his expression turned thoughtful. “It’s your career, Ananya. I don’t have any problem with it. If this is something you’re passionate about, then you should do it.”

His words surprised me, though his tone remained neutral. I had expected resistance, or at least a hint of skepticism, but there was none.

“No, it’s not that I’m worried,” I admitted, feeling a little embarrassed now. “I just didn’t want there to be any misunderstandings later. I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”

He nodded, the faintest trace of a smile softening his features. “I understand. And I appreciate you letting me know. Communication is important.”

For a moment, the room felt lighter. His usual guarded demeanor seemed to falter, and I caught a flicker of something gentler in his eyes—understanding, maybe? But it disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving me uncertain if I had imagined it.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, my shoulders relaxing as a sense of relief washed over me.

He inclined his head, a subtle acknowledgment before he turned his attention to the wardrobe, likely preparing for the evening ahead.

As I stood there, watching him, a thought lingered in my mind: perhaps this was a small step toward understanding each other, a glimpse of what could be. But for now, I was content with the progress we had made in this quiet, unexpected moment.

Afterward, I headed to the bathroom to freshen up and prepare for bed.

Arjun

Ananya is trying from her side, just as she promised. And me? I don’t know how to react. Should I feel pleased that she considers it important to share things with me? Or worried because I’m trying to maintain my distance? The conflicting emotions churn within me, leaving me unsettled.

After our conversation, she quietly slipped into the bathroom to get ready for bed while I busied myself arranging the pillows and dimming the lights. When she stepped out, she was wearing a mint kurti—simple and comfortable. Yet, somehow, she managed to look effortlessly beautiful. It was ridiculous how every time I looked at her, I found her pretty.

She stood there in the soft glow of the room, dressed in the simplest of outfits—a pale mint kurta paired with white palazzos. The delicate embroidery on the fabric, barely noticeable, mirrored the understated elegance she carried effortlessly. Her hair fell loosely over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her look even more serene.

It wasn’t the kind of outfit that screamed for attention, yet somehow, it held mine. The pastel hues softened her presence, but the quiet confidence in her posture radiated something stronger. Her simplicity was disarming—no jewelry, no elaborate effort—just her, as she was.

In that moment, I realized beauty isn’t in the grandeur; it’s in the little things. The way her lips curved in a faint smile, the way the fabric moved with her, and the way she stood there, completely unaware of how stunning she looked even in something so unassuming.

As I tried to focus on anything else, she walked over to her luggage, pulling out a small box. My brows furrowed as she approached the bed and held it out to me.

“This is for you,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “Mamma mentioned that married couples exchange gifts on their wedding night. I couldn’t give you anything yesterday, so I thought I’d give it to you now.”

I took the box from her, curiosity prickling at the edges of my thoughts. As I opened it, a sleek watch glinted under the faint light.

The watch gleamed under the sunlight, its gold and silver accents catching my eye immediately. The deep blue dial, adorned with elegant diamond-like markers, gave it an air of sophistication, as if it was crafted for moments that mattered. The Roman numerals added a classic touch, a blend of timelessness and modernity.

I ran my fingers over the smooth surface of the glass, feeling its coolness. The words engraved beneath the logo, “Keep up with global fashion,” made me smirk a little—Ananya’s quiet way of telling me to lighten up, perhaps. The day and date window nestled at three o’clock was practical, yet somehow it added to the watch's charm.

As I slipped it onto my wrist, I couldn't help but glance at her. She stood there, biting her lip nervously, as if unsure I would like it. How could I not? It wasn't just a watch. It was a piece of her—her thoughtfulness, her effort, her... warmth.

"Perfect fit," I said, fastening the clasp, and her smile—though small—felt like the real gift.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” she added quickly, her tone slightly nervous. “So, I thought a watch would be a safe choice. I hope you like it.”

“It’s nice. Thank you,” I replied, running a finger over the elegant design. Then, with a faint twinge of guilt, I admitted, “I didn’t know about this tradition, so I didn’t get you anything.”

Her lips curved into a small smile. “It’s fine. You don’t have to. I just wanted to do this.”

Her sincerity caught me off guard, leaving me momentarily speechless. She wasn’t expecting anything in return, just trying to bridge the gap between us.

"Oh, one more thing..." she said, hesitating slightly. "Are you free tomorrow?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Uh...well, tomorrow is the pag phera ritual at my house." She glanced down briefly before meeting my eyes again. "My parents are expecting you to come. It won’t take long."

I paused, unsure. Saying no felt like an option, but something about her tone made it difficult. "Sure," I replied, keeping my voice neutral. It would be harmless, right? Just a formal visit. I could still maintain my distance. No big deal.

"Thank you," she said softly, her smile catching me off guard. It wasn’t just a smile; it carried a warmth that lingered longer than I expected.

I cleared my throat and nodded. "No problem." But even as I said it, a small part of me wondered if this was the start of something I wasn’t ready for.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she said softly, breaking the silence. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I murmured in response.

We both laid down, each staying firmly on our respective sides of the bed. Tonight, I’m determined not to wake up in the morning with my arm draped around her, as it had happened before. I need to keep my distance, no matter how many layers of effort she peels away from this wall I’m trying so hard to maintain.

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Hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Arjuna  is slowly starting to be obsessing over Ananya. Things are about to get even more exciting between Arjun and Ananya, so stay tuned for what’s coming next.

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