16. His protector 🦋

Happy reading ✨

As he stepped into the palace, his strides were firm and purposeful. The corridors echoed with his footsteps as he headed straight for Siya's room-the one she had claimed as her own, like a force that couldn't be reckoned with. He knew what lay behind that door, knew the challenge that awaited him. And yet, even as a man who had faced countless adversities, he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

She lay there, fragile and unconscious, her breaths soft but steady. His heart clenched in ways he didn't expect. He had always seen himself as a man immune to such vulnerabilities, but seeing her like this... it shook him.

He lowered himself onto the bed beside her, moving with a gentle care that felt foreign to him. His hand reached out, tracing a delicate line across her cheek, hoping, almost pleading, for her to wake up. His other hand was busy dialing the doctor's number, the urgency bubbling inside him as he considered her frail state. She wasn't fully recovered, and he knew one misstep could worsen things. He couldn't afford to take any chances with her health.

Just as his thumb hovered over the call button, he felt a soft touch-a warmth encircling his wrist. His heart skipped a beat as he looked down to see Siya's fingers wrapping around him, delicate but intentional. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and in that moment, he realized she was awake. And more than that, she was okay.

The weight that had settled over his chest lifted slightly. A silent conversation passed between them through the mere exchange of a touch.

"Sukar hai, rani sa, aap thik hai... aapne to humein dara hi diya tha" (Thank goodness, my queen, you are okay... you had really scared me), the words escaped his lips before he could control them. He hadn't meant to let that vulnerability show, hadn't meant to reveal how deeply her condition had affected him. But the relief of seeing her fully awake, her eyes consciously meeting his, had broken down his carefully built walls. A part of him immediately regretted it, thinking it might have been a mistake to show such emotion. Yet his face betrayed him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, silently conveying that everything was finally okay.

She said nothing at first, simply watching him, still holding onto his wrist as if grounding herself through his touch. Slowly, she began to sit up, folding her legs under her and shifting her weight onto the headboard for support. Instinctively, he moved to steady her, his hand halfway to her shoulder before she managed to do it herself, her strength surprising him yet again.

When she was settled, she looked him straight in the eye, her gaze piercing through the silence between them. Her voice was steady, firm, and yet filled with unspoken questions as she asked, "Kyun kiya?" (Why did you do it?)

The simplicity of her words struck him, but it was the depth behind them that left him momentarily speechless. It wasn't just a question-it was a challenge, an invitation to explain actions that even he hadn't fully come to terms with yet.

He looked at her with questions in his eyes, as if silently asking, "Kya? Kyun kiya?" (What? Why did you do it?)

She offered him a faint smile, but the small gesture only deepened his confusion. Her expressions, her actions-they seemed to hold meanings he couldn't grasp.

With a slow roll of her eyes, she began to speak, "Bh..." Her voice faltered, and she hesitated. The word "bhai" (brother) lingered on her lips, but it hurt her too much to say it. How could she call him *bhai*, the man who had tried to kill her, sell her, and destroy everything she held dear?

Despite the pain, she managed to softly say, "Bhai ke saath kyun kiya?" (Why did you do it with my brother?) Her tone was soft, but the question carried the weight of a final plea-perhaps the last time she would ever speak of him. Her face revealed the deep hurt her brother had caused, so much so that even mentioning him brought a fresh wave of agony. She had been betrayed by someone she once trusted, and now, even speaking of him tore her apart.

He reached for a glass of water, his movements slow and deliberate. Holding it out toward her, he locked eyes with her and said softly, "Rakshaso ke saath toh aisa hi hona chahiye na?" (This is how it should be with demons, right?) As the words left his mouth, there was a visible relief in his eyes, as if saying them had unburdened him. She drank the water in one go, her throat parched from the strain of her thoughts. Yet, even as she drank, her hand remained on his wrist-a touch that neither of them seemed ready to let go of.

Her gaze remained fixed on his face as she asked, "Kyun kar rahe hain yeh sab humare liye?" (Why are you doing all this for me?)

He gently took the glass from her and set it on the side table. His eyes drifted to her hand still clasping his wrist, and with a faint smile, he said, "Hum chhodna nahi chahte." (I don't want you to let go.)

As Siya processed the meaning behind his words, she instinctively pulled her hand away. But the moment she did, his expression changed ever so slightly-confused, almost disappointed. His eyes seemed to ask, *Abhi kaha na, nahi chhodna hai, phir chhoda kyun?* (I just said, don't let go, so why did you?)

"Majburi thi," (It was a compulsion) she said softly, her eyes fixed on his face, searching for an understanding.

"Magar hai na," (But you're here now) he replied gently, his voice filled with assurance.

"Hum bahut chhote hain," (I'm too small) she said, a slight pout forming on her lips as she tried to downplay her significance, her innocence showing in that brief moment.

He responded with a small smile, "Waqt hai na," (We have time) as if to say that they could grow together, no matter how small she felt now.

She fell silent, her thoughts swirling for what seemed like an eternity, pondering over her next words. After several long minutes, she finally spoke, her voice hesitant, "Agar... agar humne chhod diya..." (If... if I let go...)

He looked at her, his expression soft but resolute, and said, "Aap khud ko chhod sakti hain... hume chhodne ki ijaazat to aapko bhi nahi hai na." (You might be able to let go of yourself... but even you don't have permission to let go of me, right?) A small smile lingered on his lips, the warmth in his words wrapping around her like a promise.

He slowly took her wrist in his hands, his touch gentle yet intentional. She felt a wave of confusion wash over her-why was he doing this? What was going through his mind? But he remained focused, his gaze fixed on her wrist, particularly on the bangles she wore.

They weren't just any bangles; they were *chuda*-the Rajasthani chuda he had designed himself, more special to him than perhaps she could ever know. The moment she had asked for Rajasthani attire, he had set to work, and in just 10 hours, he had crafted the entire set. Its monetary value was in crores, but to him, money had nothing to do with it. In her hands, these bangles were far more precious than any wealth could measure. No one could buy them, no amount of money could take them from her-they were a symbol of something far deeper.

As he looked at her, this girl who had just claimed to be small, he couldn't help but marvel at the irony. She was unaware, completely oblivious to the fact that in her small, delicate hands, she was holding his entire world.

( By yrra's 😭😭I am gonna die ye bhot standards bda Rahe ji )

As she noticed how intensely he was staring at her wrist, her gaze shifted to his hands. That's when she saw it-his palms were injured, faint red marks left behind by his own nails digging into his skin. Concern immediately flooded her face, and without thinking, she reached for his other hand, only to find that it too was injured in the same way.

With worry in her voice, she asked, "Yeh kya hai, Hukkum sa?" (What is this, my lord?)

He quickly tried to pull his hands away, fearing the change in her mood. His voice was unsteady as he replied, "Nothing, I'm fine."

She looked at him, her worry deepening. "Aisa bhi kya ho gaya tha ki aapko khudko chot pahunchani padi?" (What could have happened that you had to hurt yourself?) she asked softly, blowing gently on his palm as if trying to soothe the pain.

He didn't answer right away, his gaze fixated on her as she tended to his wounds with such tenderness. In that moment, her care and concern touched him deeply. He wasn't used to being the one cared for, but here she was, not only holding his hands but unknowingly holding a part of his heart too.

For her, it was just two people-two individuals sharing a moment. But for him, it was something entirely different, something deeper, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words. It was as though his emotions were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't gather them all together to explain what this moment truly meant to him. And perhaps she, too, couldn't fully grasp the depth of what was happening between them.

She continued to blow gently on his palms for what seemed like an eternity, her care and tenderness soothing not just his physical pain but something deeper inside him. When she finished, she reached for the first aid box on the side table. With a gentleness that made his heart ache, she wiped his hands slowly, as if they were the most precious things in the world. Her touch was deliberate, careful, as though she was handling something irreplaceable.

Once she had bandaged his hands, she looked up at him, her voice soft yet firm. "Infection ho sakta hai, toh bandage remove nahi karna," (It could get infected, so don't remove the bandage) she instructed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she added, "Aur koi kaam bhi nahi karna, Hukkum sa." (And no work either, my lord.) Her eyes had that playful sternness, almost as if she were giving him a command, yet hoping he would listen.

He could feel her concern in every word, and despite everything, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his mouth. In her own unique way, she had become his protector for that moment.

He stood up from his place, unable to bear the depth of emotion and the connection he felt in that moment. Without making eye contact, he moved toward the door, his mind overwhelmed by what had transpired. He locked the door behind him, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, "Good night."

She watched him leave, a puzzled expression on her face. She repeated, "Good night?" but then added with a playful pout, "Lekin, yeh toh dopahar hai na..." (But it's afternoon, isn't it?) Her words hung in the air, a mix of confusion and amusement, as she couldn't help but smile at the oddity of the situation.

SUkriya ji 😌

Love you all 💗

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