Abhimanyu's POV
The hall was brimming with guests-some congratulating me with pride in their eyes, others whispering judgments wrapped in politeness.
I was busy entertaining them, when it's my turn..nodding at their shallow compliments and responding to their predictable questions-until my gaze lifted, and everything around me paused for a second.
There she was.
Descending the grand staircase in a wine-colored saree, Samayra Kapoor-no, Samayra Ranawat now-moved with a grace that didn't belong to someone her age.
My fake smile disappeared..
Did I just ruin her life marrying her when she is 12 years younger than me.
A certain poise, a composed elegance lit her aura. Young, yes. But not naive. She carried herself like she had always belonged here.
My wife.
A word that still felt foreign on my tongue, yet clung tightly to my fate.
I had seen her once before the wedding-in that party, from afar-but we had never exchanged words, never shared a moment. And today, she stood beside me like she had always been mine. Just like that, fate had inked our names together.
Throughout the reception, she held her ground. Smiling softly, conversing wisely-she introduced herself with quiet pride, "I'm Mrs. Samayra Abhimanyu Ranawat."
Her words didn't tremble.
Her eyes didn't flicker.
She didn't just play the part. She embodied it.
And I stood there, watching her, a silent spectator to a girl too young to be burdened with a life like mine, yet brave enough to wear the crown I gave her.
The party went on till midnight. And once the last guest had left, the three of us-me, Samayra, and my elder sister Neeta-sat down for a late dinner.
I couldn't help but notice how little Samayra ate. Just a few bites, some sips of water, and she was done. Neeta, being herself, noticed too and softly asked her to go rest. Samayra left quietly, not out of submission, but as if she knew the space didn't belong to her anymore.
Now it was just me and Neeta at the table.
As I reached for the bowl of dal, Neeta spoke, her tone as casual as it was piercing.
"Bhai... you're almost 40. When are you planning to have kids?"
I paused for a second, kept the spoon down, and inhaled deeply.
"Relax, Neeta. She's still too young to think of all that. She must have her own dreams, ambitions... I can't trample them just to fulfill societal timelines. We'll plan when she is ready."
She scoffed under her breath, clearly unimpressed.
"Then why marry a girl so young if she can't even give an heir to this family? Bhai, this is the right time for her-physically and mentally. A younger mother raises a healthier child. And what future are you even talking about? She's your wife now. Isn't that enough of a purpose?"
That was it.
My calm shattered, slowly but steadily.
"Enough, Neeta," I said, voice no longer soft. "You're a woman too. How can you even suggest I ruin someone's life like that? Samayra will become a mother only when she wants to, not a second before. This marriage was my decision, not hers. Don't try to justify control in the name of tradition."
She looked hurt-angry maybe. But I didn't care.
I stood up, leaving my half-eaten dinner behind. "It's better you leave tomorrow morning. And next time, don't try to interfere in matters that don't belong to you."
I walked away before my guilt could soften my anger.
Because deep down, I knew...
She wasn't entirely wrong.
And yet, she wasn't right either.
How do I explain this burden?
This conflict that claws inside me every time I glance at Samayra?
Yes, she's my wife. Legally. Socially. Even emotionally now, perhaps. But physically?
How do I cross that line without trembling?
She's 12 years younger. She could've been living her dreams, dating someone her age, laughing through youth, not sitting quietly beside an older man she barely knows.
I can't even touch her. Not out of hesitation, but guilt.
And still tonight, I have to walk into that room.
Our room.
Where a husband and wife are expected to be together... like one.
But what do I even say to her?
How do I pretend I belong in her world?
And what punishment have I given her by saying yes to this marriage?
Why the hell did I agree to this?
I don't know what tomorrow holds, but tonight- I need to talk to her..
When I walked back to my room, my fingers hovered over the door handle, trembling slightly.
What the hell is this hesitation?
I exhaled sharply and turned the knob, stepping into the dimly lit space that now belonged to us.
The silence was deafening-thick and heavy.
Only the sound of my footsteps echoed, as if reminding me I was the outsider here.
I scanned the room-it looked untouched, yet lived in. The curtains swayed gently with the breeze, and the faintest scent of her perfume lingered in the air... soft, feminine... unfamiliar, yet somehow calming.
I followed it.
And there she stood.
By the balcony, under the moonlight, the deep wine saree draped around her like poetry-elegant and quietly bold. Her back was to me, her long hair cascading like dark silk, swaying ever so gently with the wind.
God.
I've never looked at a woman this way before. Never paused to observe. But something about Samayra... she wasn't just beautiful. She was young. Untouched by the cynicism life had carved into people like me.
Too young... too delicate for a man like me.
Stop. Don't be a creep.
I cleared my throat softly, announcing my presence.
She turned slightly-not startled, just aware.
A pause settled. A silence that wasn't awkward but... expectant.
Then I spoke.
"Samayra..."
Her name left my lips like a prayer-soft, hesitant, reverent. As if uttering it wrong might shatter her.
I bit the inside of my cheek, suppressing the storm in my chest.
"I... I know this is all odd," I began, my voice low. "We're strangers under the same roof, tied by rituals we barely had time to understand. I don't expect anything from you... and I don't want you to feel any pressure. From anyone. Not even me."
She didn't speak. Just listened.
I kept going.
"This... this house is yours now. But don't feel trapped. You can live however you wish. Chase what you want, rest when you need, be who you are. I won't interfere."
A longer pause.
"I won't touch you, Samayra. Not unless you ever want me to. You don't owe me anything. You never did."
My throat tightened. I couldn't look at her any longer. I turned away before her silence could answer me.
"Good night," I murmured.
And just like that, I walked out-into the guest room. Into the solitude I had always known.
I didn't wait for a reply. I didn't dare.
Because tonight, my presence was punishment enough.
.
.
.
.
.
The next morning, I came down only to find Samayra standing quietly near the door, bidding goodbye to Neeta.
Draped in a simple pastel saree, her hair tied loosely, she looked... gentle. Untouched by drama. She didn't smile much-just a polite nod, a calm goodbye. And when Neeta finally left, she walked back inside without even glancing toward me.
Not that I blamed her.
A few moments later, I, too, left for the office. Like always.
From morning till late night, I drowned myself in files, numbers, strategies-anything that could anchor me back to routine. My schedule was packed, precise. Predictable.
But despite my efforts, she kept invading the silence between calls...
Haunting the pauses between meetings...
Lurking at the back of my mind like a soft melody I couldn't shut out.
Samayra.
She wasn't trying to do anything. She didn't even speak to me in the last three days. But still, I couldn't ignore the truth:
The world now called her Mrs. Samayra Abhimanyu Ranawat.
Not the Samayra Kapoor.
Not the girl with dreams in her eyes.
But my wife.
And what have I given her so far?
Distance. Silence. Boundaries I carved in the name of respect.
But did she ever ask for them?
Each morning when I left, her room's light was off. She slept late.
And each night when I returned, the room was dark, the bed untouched- we lived in different rooms. Ofcourse.
Three days into this marriage... and I barely saw her face. We barely talked.
And yet, I couldn't ask for more.
Because asking her to come closer meant asking her to surrender to a life she never chose.
That day, I sat in my office, files spread before me, pretending to read the same line over and over again when suddenly the door flung open.
My PA rushed in, face pale.
"Sir-Madam-I mean, Mrs. Samayra Ranawat-"
I stood up immediately, my voice sharper than I intended.
"What? What happened to her?"
My heart skipped a beat.
In that moment, every damn emotion I had locked inside for days surged to the surface.
God no... Not her.
Not the girl I promised to protect with distance. Not when she is my responsibility. My Wife..