15
SHIVANI
“I think you should change. I don’t want my bride to suffocate in that lehenga,” Rudraksh says as he pulls away from me. I let out a small laugh.
“It’s not that bad,” I say, even though it’s a lie. It’s horrible. It's heavy and itchy, and I can barely breathe in it. But I don’t want to seem whiny.
“You can change in the closet—you’ll need plenty of space. I’ll go change in my office.” Before I can argue, he places a finger gently on my lips and shakes his head. “Don’t. I wasn’t asking,” he says, his voice firm and steady.
I turn toward the closet, but before I can walk away, Rudraksh takes hold of my hand. I turn to face him, confused by the sudden gesture. “Can I take a picture of you?” he asks. I blink at him, caught off guard by his sudden request.
“Um… The photographer must’ve taken plenty. Why do you need my picture?” I ask hesitantly.
“I need one for myself. Those photos are for everyone—but this one, it’s just for me.” He pauses for a beat, then lets go of my hand.
“It’s okay. You can go change. Leave it.”
Just as he turns to leave, I find myself calling out, “Wait.”
He turns around, his eyes scanning me slowly from head to toe. I shy away under his gaze. “You can take a picture,” I whisper.
“No, not if it makes you uncomfortable—”
I cut him off, “It doesn’t. But… it’s just for you, okay?
Please don’t show it to anyone else.” He nods and walks toward me, pulling out his phone from his pocket.
I don’t know how to pose—I’m awkward in front of cameras—so I just stand there, smiling stiffly.
He takes the picture, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at me.
“Now give me a twirl,” he says. I look at him, confused.
“Just one video. No one else will ever see it. I promise.” There’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes me believe—just for a moment—that I might actually be beautiful.
Am I really? But then, my mother’s voice echoes in my mind, her words piercing my happiness and stealing my smile.
‘You shouldn't have eaten that cake.’
‘You look so fat.’
I ignore the words that send a chill to my spine and twirl for him with a small, hesitant smile. He’s trying so hard to make me feel comfortable. I can give him this much, at least.
“Show it to me?” I ask once he’s done.
“Nope,” he replies with a small grin.
“These are just for me, sweetheart. No one else gets to see them.” Then he bops my nose playfully and walks out.
Wow. A month ago, if someone had told me that I’d be in Rudraksh Malhotra’s house—watching him smile and laugh like a normal person—I would’ve laughed in their face.
It’s still hard to believe how cocky and intimidating he is to everyone else.
I walk into the closet. If it took me two hours to get ready, it’s probably going to take all night to undo everything—wipe off the makeup, take down my hair, and get out of this ridiculously heavy dress.
I remove the dupatta first, then start working through the jewelry.
I don’t even remember wearing this many pieces, but as they come off one by one, my body starts to feel lighter.
I start taking off my makeup when I hear a knock.
“Shivani, are you alright?” It’s Rudraksh.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I reply. I’m tired, sleepy—but I think I’m okay.
“You’re taking a while. Do you need help?” I freeze. I can’t let him see me like this. I glance at my reflection in the mirror—no makeup, hair a little out of place. Is it okay to let him see me like this? But… he’s my husband—he’s going to see me eventually.
Still, I’m very self-conscious. What if he sees me and regrets everything? He’s the first guy I’ve ever been close to, the first I actually like. I want him to admire me, but I’d be so embarrassed if he doesn’t.
“Shivani?” he asks again, a note of concern in his voice. His voice breaking through the train of my thoughts.
I take a deep breath and walk slowly to the door. I pull open the door just a little. “Could you help me with my hair?” I ask quietly, avoiding his eyes. I hear him inhale sharply.
“Wow. You just keep getting more beautiful.” He pauses, his eyes lingering on my form, and I wait for him to finish his words. “I don’t know how,” he murmurs. Our eyes meet, and I see nothing but honesty shining in his gaze.
He actually finds me beautiful like this.
He finds me beautiful like this.
But that’s probably just the lehenga. Pajamas won’t have the same effect… right? I smile softly at my thoughts.
“Please don’t… I don’t know how to respond to such comments.” A shaky breath heaves out from my lips as I commit to my vulnerability.
“Well, too bad, darling,” he says, his voice deeper than before. He steps inside the closet, gently backing me up. He closes the door behind him with one hand.
“You’ll have to get used to it.” He murmurs, his gruff voice low and steady. I stare into his black eyes—dark as the night.
“Rud… Rudraksh, my hair,” I stammer, breath catching. He takes my hand and leads me to the chair in front of the mirror, silently gesturing for me to sit.
He stands behind me, our eyes meeting through our reflection in the mirror.
Then he bends down and kisses the top of my head.
He frowns slightly, unsure where to begin with undoing the hairstyle.
Then he starts removing the pins, helping me with such care.
It may have taken us twenty minutes—if I’d done it alone, it would’ve taken an hour.
He keeps running his fingers through my hair, soothingly.
His movements make me feel safe and relaxed.
“I need to change, Rudraksh,” I remind him gently.
He nods and leaves, giving me one last lingering look before walking out.
No one has ever given me their undivided attention like this before.
It feels… good. Like I’m the only thing that matters to him right now.
I change into my nightsuit and step out of the closet to find him sitting on the bed, scrolling through his phone.
As soon as he sees me, he puts it away. “Come on, let’s sleep,” he says.
I nod. I’m nervous—sharing a bed with him—but he’s promised he won’t do anything, and I trust him.
More than I want to. He moves to the right side of the bed like it’s second nature—maybe that’s the side he always sleeps on.
I walk over to the empty side and lie down after adjusting the pillow.
“Rudraksh?” I whisper.
“Yes?” he responds.
“Do you have an extra pillow?” He props himself up on one elbow, facing me.
“Why do you need an extra pillow, sweetheart?” he asks, confused.
I hesitate. I don’t know how to explain that I just like hugging something while I sleep.
But before I can speak, his expression changes.
The gentleness disappears. His jaw tightens.
“I told you, Shivani—I won’t do anything without your permission,” he says, his voice low and measured.
Oh no. He thinks I want to keep it between us. No, I don't want to do that; I trust his words. I shake my head quickly.
“No, that’s not what I meant, Rudraksh—”
“Then what do you mean, darling?” He asks, still intense.
“I just… I just have this habit of hugging a pillow while I sleep. I can’t fall asleep otherwise.” His eyebrow rises. Then he lets out a soft chuckle. He shifts closer to me, his fingers grazing the side of my neck. My skin erupts in goosebumps. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and neck.
“How about you replace that pillow with me, Shivani?” he asks, his voice husky and low.
My heartbeat accelerates on. I close my eyes, tilting my head instinctively to give him more space as his fingers roam.
But then he pulls his hand away, and I feel disappointed.
I open my eyes to see him smirking. That’s not fair—he shouldn’t be allowed to do things like this so effortlessly.
I let out a quiet huff. “We don’t have an extra pillow.
Do you want mine?” he offers. I shake my head.
“I’ll take your offer then,” I say softly.
“What offer are we talking about, Shivani?” He teases, the smirk still on his lips. He wants me to say it. Of course he does.
“Can I…” I pause, heart racing. “Can I use you as my pillow?” He’s my husband. If I want to build something real with him, I need to start speaking my mind. That’s what he always says—it takes effort to build confidence.
“You can use me however you want, my wife,” he replies, leaning in close, hovering just above my face before kissing the tip of my nose. I inhale sharply.
God, he smells amazing. Rudraksh’s scent is this irresistible blend of clean clothes, masculine cologne, and something warm and spicy that’s just… him.
It’s comforting, like an embrace I never want to leave. He kisses my forehead gently, then lies back on the bed. He stretches out one arm and gestures for me to come closer. I hesitate. I don’t think this is a good idea. I’m heavy—by morning, his arm will be numb. He gives me a questioning look.
“I want to sleep on the pillow,” I say, and he nods, turning to his side to share it with me. I lie down beside him. He’s so close. My heart is pounding. Then he places his hand on my waist and pulls me in, closing the small gap between us.
The warmth of his touch sends shivers down my spine, and something flutters in my chest. With our bodies pressed together, I can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat syncing with mine, and finally, I feel my eyes flutter closed.