The mahogany door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Meera stood frozen in the center of the room. This wasn't a bedroom; it was a museum of wealth. Every piece of furniture was heavy, dark, and expensive—much like the man currently standing on the balcony with his back turned to her.
Meera felt the weight of the day pressing down on her. The heavy silk saree, the pounds of gold, and the crushing realization that she was now "property" of the Thakurs.
Abhiraj finally turned. His grey eyes were like flint in the dim light. He looked at her—not with the love a groom looks at a bride, but with the cold calculation of a master looking at a new servant.
"The wedding is over," he said, his voice flat. "You can stop acting like a terrified doll."
Meera flinched, her fingers instinctively flying to the heavy gold necklace that felt like it was choking her. "I... I wasn't acting," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Abhiraj walked toward her. He was a foot taller than her, and his presence seemed to suck the air out of the room. He saw her struggling with the clasp of her jewelry, her small, fair hands trembling so violently that she was nearly scratching her own skin.
With a heavy sigh of irritation, he stepped into her space. "Stop," he commanded. "You'll bleed if you keep clawing at it."
Before she could protest, his large, warm hands replaced hers. Meera went deathly still. She could feel the heat radiating from his well-built chest. His fingers were calloused from work and prayer, but as he unhooked the necklace, his touch was unexpectedly steady.
He moved to the heavy earrings next. As he leaned in, his breath fanned over her ear, sending a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with fear. For a split second, his grey eyes softened as they caught the reflection of the moonlight in her dark ones.
She is too fragile for this house, he thought, his jaw tightening.
He stepped back abruptly, the jewelry dangling from his hand. He dropped it onto the vanity table with a loud clatter.
"The bathroom is through those doors," he pointed toward the left, his voice returning to its cold, distant tone. "You will find fresh clothes there. Change. I don't want the smell of the wedding fire in my room."
Meera looked toward the doors, then back at him. "Where... where will you sleep?"
Abhiraj grabbed a thin blanket from the chest. "I have a lot of work to look over. I’ll be on the balcony. Don't wait up, and don't expect me to play the part of a husband just because we shared a few vows."
He started to walk away, but paused at the glass doors. "And Meera?"
She looked up, hope flickering in her eyes.
"Lock the door from the inside when you go to sleep. This house is full of people who see you as a transaction. I am the only one who sees you as a responsibility. Don't make that responsibility harder for me."
He stepped out into the night, leaving her alone with the luxury she never wanted and the man she didn't understand.
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Thankyou 🧿🩷
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