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There are over 2k views, but only 180 votes. I mean, there should be at least 250 votes. It's very disappointing, but I love each and every one of my readers. However, please don't be a silent reader.

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Aaravi's pov:

I sat quietly with Mom and Dadi, their warmth wrapping around me like an old, comforting shawl. They were flipping through an album filled with memories—photos of Aahana, Aarav Bhaiya, and him.

They all looked so adorable, their smiles frozen in time. But my eyes stopped on one particular photo—him, laughing freely, his eyes crinkled in genuine joy as Aahana clung to his back. That carefree smile… so different from the man I know now.

A soft smile tugged at my lips.

“You know, Aaravi beta,” Mom began with a nostalgic sigh, “Nikshant troubled me the most. He was such a mischievous child.”

I turned to look at her, giving a small, genuine smile.

“He never let go of my pallu when he was little. Wherever I was, he had to be right there, clutching onto it. His father used to get jealous, thinking I gave more love to Nikshant than to him,” she chuckled, but her eyes betrayed a deep sadness.

Her voice faltered slightly, like a note in a song that almost cracked.

Why does God always take the good ones away first? I thought bitterly. Don’t they see how much pain a single absence can cause a family?

I reached out and gently placed my hand over hers, offering quiet support.

She smiled, but that pain didn’t hide—it shimmered just beneath the surface.

“Hey... don’t worry, Mom,” I said softly. “Wherever Papa is, I’m sure he’s still here, watching over you. Right by your side.”

She gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Aaravi beta,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly.

Then, as if wanting to lighten the mood, she added with a small smirk, “And listen, if Nikshant ever says anything to trouble you, just let us know. Mummy ji and I will scold him properly.”

I laughed. She didn’t know how much I needed that moment of lightness.

If only she knew… what he’s already done, I thought, the smile on my face fading for a second. But I could never tell her. She loves him too much—she believes he’s incapable of hurting anyone.

“Yes, Mom,” I said instead, nodding with another practiced smile.

Just then, Dadi leaned forward with interest. “Aaravi beta, why don’t you tell us something about yourself?”

“Yes,” Mom chimed in. “We’d love to know more about you.”

I blinked, momentarily stunned. No one had ever asked me that before.

“I’m a medical student,” I began, my voice soft but steady. “I love classical dance… and I really enjoy cooking.”

They both smiled warmly.

“Oh, we knew you were studying medicine—that’s one of the reasons we sent the proposal,” Dadi said, chuckling. “You see, I’m getting old. Now I have a doctor in the house who won’t charge me a single rupee for a check-up!”

My smile faltered a bit.

Was that… a joke?

Mom quickly intervened, gently tapping Dadi’s arm. “Mummy ji loves to joke around. Don’t take her seriously, beta.”

I let out a small breath of relief and nodded.

After a few seconds of silence, I decided to ask something that had been quietly bothering me.

“By the way, Maa… can I ask you something?”

“Of course, beta,” Mom said immediately, taking my hand in hers and stroking it softly. “You don’t have to hesitate.”

“Where did you see me? And… why did you send the marriage proposal?” I asked, twisting my fingers together nervously.

Mom gave me a smile and glanced at Dadi. “Well, Mummy ji should be the one to answer that.”

I turned to look at Dadi, and she was already smiling at me—fond, almost maternal.

“Yes, tell her, Mom,” Mom urged. “Tell Aaravi where you saw her and what made you choose her for Nikshant.”

Dadi chuckled. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.”

She leaned back a little, folding her hands in her lap.

“It was at the orphanage,” she began. “You were laughing and playing with the kids, speaking to each of them with such kindness. I was watching from a little distance, and you didn’t notice me.”

My eyes widened slightly.

“You don’t even remember, do you? I almost fell that day—and you caught me. Then you even scolded me,” she laughed. “Told me I should be more careful because I could have sprained my ankle.”

A soft laugh escaped me. That did sound like something I’d do.

“When you saw I was okay, you let me go. But from that moment, I knew—you were the one for my Nikshant. I asked the orphanage owner about you. She was hesitant at first, didn’t want to share your details. But after I insisted—and offered a small donation—she finally told me your name and where you lived. I met your Chachi ji… and now, here you are. The Lakshmi of our home.”

Her eyes glowed with affection.

I was stunned—completely speechless. My lips parted slightly as I tried to process everything she’d said.

Whenever they call me the Lakshmi of their house, something within me trembles. My eyes sting with unshed tears because, in those moments, I truly feel like the luckiest person alive. For the first time in my life, I have people who call me theirs. A family… one that feels like home.

“At first, I didn’t agree with what Mummy ji said,” Mom said with a soft laugh, her fingers gently brushing mine. “But she insisted I meet you. I finally gave in—even though I was hesitant. But the moment I saw you… I knew she was right. You were perfect to become the Lakshmi of our house.”

She brought my hand to her lips and kissed it lovingly.

I blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling, but they slipped through anyway, painting silent streaks on my cheeks.

Thank you, Nikshant ji… I whispered in my heart, for saying yes to this marriage. If you hadn’t, I may have never found this family… never known this kind of love.

“Hey, dear… we didn’t say all this to make you cry,” Mom said quickly, her voice filled with concern as she reached out to wipe my tears. “Please don’t cry. We feel bad when we see you like this.”

She pulled me into a warm hug, and I melted into her arms. My own wrapped tightly around her waist, as if afraid she might disappear.

“Now, now,” Dadi chimed in with a smile, her voice light but loving. “We don’t like it when the Lakshmi of our house cries. Give us a beautiful smile, hmm?”

I sniffled, wiping my cheeks and nodding with a small smile. I did feel lucky—so incredibly blessed to have found them.

We spent the next hour talking about random things, laughter occasionally slipping into the conversation. For a while, it felt like all my worries were far, far away. Then I glanced at the wall clock.

“Mom, Dadi, would you like some tea?” I asked, standing up.

“Yes, please. Time just flew while talking to you,” Dadi said, stretching her arms a little.

“Make one for me too,” Mom added. “It’s almost time for Aahana and Nikshant to get home.”

“You both sit down,” I said warmly. “I’ll make it.”

I walked to the kitchen and busied myself preparing the tea, letting the rhythm of it calm me. The soft clinks of the cups, the simmering boil of the tea—it was oddly soothing. I poured it into three cups and carried them back to the living room.

“Here you go,” I said, placing the cups on the table.

“Aaravi beta, where’s your tea?” Dadi asked, frowning slightly.

“Dadi, I don’t drink tea in the evening,” I said, taking my seat beside them with a smile.

Just then, my phone rang.

I excused myself and stepped aside to answer.

“Hello, Bhaiya,” I said, instantly smiling at the name flashing on the screen.

“Hello, Princess,” came Veer Bhaiya’s familiar, protective voice. “Is everything okay over there? You’re not facing any problems, are you? If there is, you’ll tell me, right?”

I chuckled softly, blinking away the fresh sting in my eyes. “Bhaiya, you’ve asked me this ten times today.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But I can’t help it. I’ve never left you alone before. I just keep thinking… did you eat? Are you smiling? Are they treating you well?”

Tears began to form again, his words tugging at every thread of my heart.

“I’m okay, Bhaiya,” I said softly, trying to sound strong. “They’re really kind to me. Mom and Dadi… they make me feel like I belong.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said with a hint of relief. “But I’ll still keep checking in. Because you’ll always be my little Princess.”

And just like that, I was reminded of the two worlds I now carried in my heart—the one I left behind, and the one I’m slowly growing into.

"You don’t need to worry, Bhaiya. Everything is fine here, and everyone treats me like their family," I said, forcing a smile, hoping he’d feel reassured.

But his voice, filled with concern, cut through the calm I was trying to create. "And what about Nikshant? Is he treating you well?"

My smile faltered, and my heart tightened. His words felt like a weight in the air between us.

There was a long, suffocating silence as I struggled to find the right words.

I cleared my throat, trying to sound convincing. "Nikshant ji treats me very well. You don’t need to worry," I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

"How can I not worry when it’s about you, Princess?" Bhaiya’s voice was soft but firm, filled with all the care he’s always shown me.

I felt my chest tighten as the words sunk in. I couldn’t stand the idea of him worrying about me, of him carrying this weight, when he should be living his own life, free from the burden of my pain.

"Bhaiya, I’m not a fragile doll anymore," I said, trying to sound stronger than I felt. But the truth is, part of me still felt like that fragile doll, waiting to be protected.

"You are still a fragile doll to me, Princess," Bhaiya said, his tone gentle but unwavering.

A lump formed in my throat. I hated that he still saw me this way. I hated that he couldn’t see me as the woman I was trying so hard to become. I hated that I couldn’t convince him to let go of the past, of the girl who always needed his protection.

I sighed deeply, knowing that my brother, no matter how much I grew, would always see me as his little sister—his fragile little doll.

"Okay, enough of that. Bhaiya, tell me, when are you going to get married and give me a nephew or niece?" I tried to shift the conversation, desperate for a lighter topic.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and I could almost hear him frowning. "I’m not marrying anyone, Princess, so don’t ask me about that."

I couldn’t help but smile at his response. I could picture him pouting, his stubbornness in full force.

"Why don’t you want to get married, Bhaiya?" I asked, my voice softer now. "I’m not with you anymore, but I still care about you. If you get married, I won’t have to worry about you being alone."

His voice turned serious. "Okay, bye, Princess. I’m heading home now," he said, before quickly hanging up.

I laughed softly, a bittersweet sound. Every time I brought up marriage, he either ended the call or walked away. It was always the same. I knew he’d never change, and part of me was glad. I didn’t want him to change.

I walked back into the living room and sat beside Mom and Dadi, trying to push away the emotions that had been weighing on me.

"Who called, Aaravi beta?" Dadi asked, looking at me with curiosity.

"It was Bhaiya," I replied, forcing a smile.

"It seems Karanveer loves you very much," Mom said, her voice warm with affection.

"Yes, he loves me very much and treats me like his daughter," I said, my voice thick with emotion. My heart ached at the thought of him. No one had ever loved me the way he did.

Just then, we heard Aahana’s voice, loud and clear. "I’m thirsty! Who will get me water?"

She jumped onto the couch, her energy filling the room.

"I’ll get it for you. Wait, Aahana," I said, rising from the couch and heading toward the kitchen.

I walked into the kitchen, my mind still swirling with thoughts. I poured a glass of water, trying to ground myself in the present moment. As I carried the glass back to the hall, I tried to push away the unease I felt creeping in.

I handed Ahaana the water, my fingers brushing against hers as I passed it to her.

"Aren’t you hungry, Ahaana?" I asked, my voice soft, but my mind still preoccupied with him—Nikshant.

"Yes, Bhabi, I am hungry," Ahaana replied, her voice bright and innocent, her eyes twinkling as she gazed up at me.

I smiled, trying to focus on her.

"Tell me what you want to eat, and I’ll make it for you," I offered, genuinely wanting to please her.

"Don't spoil her more, Aaravi beta," Dadi said with a teasing tone, lightly smacking Ahaana’s head.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the exchange, the warmth in the room bringing me some comfort. But Ahaana was quick to defend herself.

"Dadi, I’m not a spoiled kid, okay?" she retorted, rubbing her head where Dadi had smacked it.

I chuckled, shaking my head. Ahaana’s energy always brought some lightness into the room.

She then turned to me with a hopeful look. "Bhabi, you can make anything for me, I’ll eat it," she said, her voice filled with affection.

I nodded, a smile tugging at my lips, but inside, I felt a small sense of calm as I thought about making something special for her. But what? After much thought, I decided on white sauce pasta. It was easy and quick, and I hoped she’d enjoy it.

I worked in the kitchen, my movements automatic, but my mind still wandering back to the moments I had shared with Nikshant—the confusion, the weight of everything unsaid between us.

Twenty minutes later, I served the pasta on a plate and headed to the dining hall. Ahaana was already seated, her legs bouncing with impatience.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at her eagerness.

"Here’s your white sauce pasta," I said as I set the plate in front of her.

"Thank you so much, Bhabhi!" Ahaana chirped, her eyes lighting up as she eagerly dived into the food.

I watched her for a moment, a wave of affection rushing over me. She was so full of life, so easy to please.

I turned to head back to the hall, but just then, the sound of the door opening caught my attention. I looked up, and there he was—Nikshant Ji.

My heart skipped a beat.

He walked in, his hair messy, tie loosened, and a few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of his exposed chest. There was something both disheveled and strangely captivating about him. My gaze lingered for a moment before I quickly looked away.

Ties don’t suit him, I thought, a fleeting, almost unintentional observation.

I hadn’t realized he had come so close until his voice cut through the air, sharp and almost teasing.

"If you're done checking me out, bring me a coffee to the room," he said, his tone laced with something I couldn’t quite place, before turning and heading up the stairs.

Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I stood there, frozen in place, feeling embarrassed. Was he serious? I couldn’t decide if he was being sarcastic or just... careless.

I quickly shook myself out of my thoughts and headed to the kitchen. I made the coffee, my hands a little shaky as I prepared it.

Walking toward the stairs, I stopped for a moment. Our room. The thought of that sent a small shiver down my spine. I had to remind myself—this wasn’t just his room anymore. It was ours now.

I opened the door to our room, feeling an inexplicable mix of emotions. He was sitting on the couch, his laptop open in front of him, working even after getting home.

He always did this—never fully allowing himself to unwind, always buried in his work.

I walked over to him, holding the coffee in both hands, my heart pounding in my chest.

"Here’s your coffee," I said, my voice steady despite the fluttering nerves in my stomach. I placed the coffee down on the table beside him.

I turned to leave, but something in the air made me hesitate. I stopped in my tracks, unsure whether to stay or go. But I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I needed to find my own space here too.

I walked toward the door, my thoughts swirling again, but this time, I couldn’t help but wonder—what was I really feeling?

"Mrs. Kapoor, wait," his voice called out just as I was about to step out.

God.
Every time he says Mrs. Kapoor, it does something to me. My heart skips, and I feel this silly flutter in my stomach. Like I’m some teenager with a crush. Ridiculous, right?

I turned around slowly, trying to keep my face neutral.
"Yes?" I asked, my voice softer than I intended.

He walked over and picked up a box from beside the couch.

"This is for you," he said, holding it out to me. His tone was casual, like it didn’t matter—but the way his eyes briefly met mine… it did.

I looked at him, then at the box. I didn’t ask what it was—what was the point? He wouldn’t tell me anyway. He’s not the type to explain feelings. Not out loud, at least.

So, I took the box. And when I opened it… my breath caught.

My eyes widened, and I instinctively looked up at him.
Bangles. Beautiful, delicate, golden bangles with a subtle shine that seemed to glow under the light. I gently touched them, caressing them like they were made of glass.

"Ahem,"he cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck like he was uncomfortable.

"Well… Mom said you're supposed to give a gift for the first rasoi," he said, avoiding eye contact, "and I’ve seen you wearing things like this, so I just…"
His voice trailed off.

And just like that, the warmth that bloomed in my chest wilted a little. I forced a smile, but inside… it stung.

He didn’t give them because he wanted to. It was just a formality.

Don’t expect anything from him, Aaravi.
Not affection. Not tenderness. Not love.

"Thank you," I said, my voice quieter now. "But… there was no need for this."

His jaw tightened a little. "If you don't like it, just say so. I'll give it to someone else."

"No!" I said, quickly clutching the box to my chest.
"I like it. I really like it. Don’t even think about giving it to anyone else."

Because I do love bangles.
And anklets.
And little things that make me feel like I matter. Even if it’s just a little.

He nodded, and I thought that was the end of it, but then he said,"And listen, pack your stuff. We’re leaving for Singapore tomorrow."

I blinked.

"Tomorrow?" I echoed, shocked.
I knew what he was talking about—our so-called honeymoon. But I didn’t think it would be this soon. And truthfully… a part of me didn’t want to go. Being close to him like this—it’s dangerous for my heart.

"Yesterday, you seemed excited about the honeymoon, so I thought we’d go tomorrow," he said, his voice teasing as he put extra emphasis on the word honeymoon.

I swallowed hard, my cheeks warming.

I had said I was excited. But that was before everything got tangled in this mess of feelings I didn’t want to have.

"And don’t be late tomorrow," he added casually.

"We’re not taking a plane."

I raised an eyebrow. "Then how are we going?"

He gave me a smug look, a playful spark in his eyes I rarely saw.

"That’s a secret, wifey," he said, and… winked.

He winked.And I stood there like a statue, my brain trying to reboot.

What just happened?

Why am I smiling like a fool?

I