CHAPTER 49
ABHIMAAN
The thing about love is—it doesn’t come to you with fireworks and brass bands. Sometimes, it just settles into your bones, slow and deep, like a song you didn’t know you’d memorised.
That’s what last night felt like.
Aditi said I love you .
And I forgot how to breathe.
I’ve always thought I was the composed one between us.
The one who keeps his head, plans ahead, never shows too much, never feels too much.
But with her, all my systems crash—every time.
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it hit me like a punch to the chest. Because she meant it.
And she said it without expecting anything in return.
“I just felt you deserved to know,” she’d said.
And I—I fumbled. Not because I didn’t feel it. I feel too much when it comes to her. It’s just… I don’t have the language for love. Not the kind she deserves.
But I told her what I could. The only truth I know: She’s it for me.
I haven't slept much since. Not in the restless, haunted way—but in the way your chest feels too full and your mind keeps running laps around the same thought: This is real. She loves me.
And now, this morning, she said she wants to tell her family.
It shouldn’t mean this much. But it does. It means everything. Because Aditi’s world—her people—they matter to her in ways I can’t even measure. And the fact that she wants them to know about us ... that she wants to tie me into the roots of her life...
I’m not someone easily accepted. I know that.
My name comes with a certain weight, and my presence, a certain discomfort.
But stepping into her living room today, the warmth hits me before I have barely taken the last step.
Her mom calls me beta without hesitation.
Aarav jokes about how I look too serious for someone dating his sister.
Shivani hands me a glass of juice, and Anika insists I sit in the dining room; there’s no formality here—we’re all family.
Family.
It's a loud word. A big word. But it fits in this house.
Except for one pair of eyes burning holes into me.
Rudraksh.
He hasn’t said a word to me. Not directly. But he’s watching. Every blink. Every breath. Every glance I give his sister.
I’m not surprised.
She talks about him often. With irritation, with affection, with that exasperated sort of love reserved only for people you can’t live with but wouldn’t dream of living without.
I’ve never had a sibling, but I understand possessiveness now, after I met Aditi.
I understand protectiveness. I understand wanting to keep someone safe, even if you don’t know how.
Eventually, the room thins out. Her mother goes to check on lunch, Aditi disappears with her bhabhi, and Rudrani runs after the cat—leaving just the two of us. I don’t flinch when he walks toward me.
He doesn’t speak until he sits next to me. Arms folded, jaw tight. Like he’s still deciding whether to punch me or not.
“You break her heart,” he says quietly, too calm for comfort, “I’ll ruin you.”
His voice isn’t threatening. It’s a statement of fact. The way someone might say , “It’s going to rain.” Not personal. Just inevitable.
I keep my eyes on him. I owe him honesty, if nothing else.
“I’m not afraid of you ruining me,” I say calmly. “I think Aditi already did that when she walked into my life and turned everything upside down.”
His brows twitch slightly.
“But I’m not here to break her. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. All I want is her. And I will spend every single day making sure she’s happy. You have my word.”
His gaze doesn’t soften, but I see something shift. Maybe the tiniest crack in the wall.
“I’ll be watching,” he says eventually, getting up.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Before he can leave, there’s a tug on my hand. Small fingers curl around mine.
I look down to see Rudrani standing there in her little pink frock with sparkles on the sleeves and a question in her eyes.
“I have already given you my blessing for the wedding, but I have some questions,” she asks, deadly serious, head tilted like she’s conducting an interview.
I bite back a smile.
“Thank you. What are the questions?” I say, crouching to her level.
She narrows her eyes. “Do you like Simbu?”
“I guess so.” I look at the cat beside her, glaring at me.
“Do you know how to braid hair?”
“...I can learn.”
“Okay,” she nods with great gravity. “Then you may stay.”
“Also, Mumma is calling you both in the dining hall.” She pats my shoulder like she’s blessing me again with a knighthood and runs off again. I glance up just in time to see Rudraksh trying—and failing—not to laugh.
And for the first time since I entered this house, I feel it. Not just acceptance.
Belonging.
I get up and follow Rudraksh to the dining hall.
I still don’t know what love really looks like.
But this? This feels damn close. I’ve never had a family, not in the way people talk about it over dinner tables or in old stories.
I don’t know what it’s like to be someone’s first call, to be missed when I’m not around, to be part of traditions or loud living rooms or unspoken understandings passed through looks across a room.
I take a seat next to Aditi and Rudrani on the other side.
But sitting here now, with her hand brushing against mine, her niece clinging to my arm like I’m some sort of hero, laughter echoing from the kitchen, and the warm smell of something homemade filling the air… I feel full.
Full in a way I didn’t think I was allowed to be.
This feels like the kind of dream I might’ve had as a kid—on nights I couldn’t sleep, in the orphanage, supposedly my home that never felt like mine. A blurry, impossible dream of being seen. Of being wanted. Of belonging.
And for the first time, I’m not on the outside looking in.
I’m here.
And I think maybe—just maybe—this is what love looks like after all.