Chapter 13
That night, Meera pushed her food across the plate without tasting it. The dal she loved felt flat on her tongue.
Her parents ate in silence. Steel spoons touched plates, a thin sound that filled the room.
She had barely spoken since she sat down. Words would not come. Every thought circled back to him. To the office. To that moment when she had imagined his breath near her ear, and then stared at her notepad, mortified, through the rest of the call.
‘Ughhh.’
“You need to eat, beta.” Gauri reached across and touched her hand.
Meera nodded, lifted a spoonful, and set it back.
The house pressed in on her. Two rooms that had always felt enough now felt crowded. Even the walls closed in, as if they read the unrest she could not contain.
Her gaze went to the small window that opened into her quarters’ courtyard. Simple. Closed in. Nothing like the wide corridors of the Haveli where Abhinav moved through his days.
Her father had stopped eating.
When she looked up, his eyes were on her, concern set deep in his face. His plate remained half full. “Are you unwell?”
“Just tired.”
The lie sat heavy.
She wasn’t tired. She was haunted. By cedar.
By fingers that had gripped her wrist and not been quick to release.
By dark eyes that watched her and made her forget how to breathe.
By a man who was still trying to sell her home and had somehow become the person she looked for when she walked into any room.
This was a catastrophe.
The silence stretched. A nightbird called once outside.
Devendra cleared his throat and set his spoon down. “I received a call from the matchmaker today.
Meera looked up.
“A prospect. Lakshya Sampat. Thirty. Assistant Manager at Heritage Grand Hotel. MBA.” He paused. “Good family. Father retired from government service. Mother teaches at the girls’ college. They would like to meet you. Tomorrow, if you agree.”
Air filled her lungs.
“Yes.”
It came out too fast.
Her father blinked. Her mother’s hand stilled. Neither had expected that answer.
“You don’t want to know more?” Gauri watched her.
“You said he is from a good family.” Meera kept her voice even. “That is enough to meet him.”
Her parents exchanged a look.
“Of course,” Devendra began, slow. “But there is no rush, beta. You can take…”
“Tomorrow is fine.” Meera pushed her plate away. “The aarti begins at seven. They can come before.”
She heard the eagerness in her own voice. She couldn’t bring herself to sound casual because this wasn’t casual. It felt like a rope thrown to someone already sinking.
A man with no complications. No power over her home or her family. No gaze that unraveled her composure in seconds. A man who would be easy to understand. Predictable. Safe.
A man who was not Abhinav.
“I will tell them to come at six.” Devendra watched her carefully.
“Perfect.” Meera reached for her glass of water, her throat dry.
Gauri kept her eyes on her, seeing more than Meera wanted seen.
Meera looked at the framed image of Kuldevi on the opposite wall.
‘Maa, thank you for the way out.’
The flame burned steadily. Meera took that as a sign.
Next Evening
Abhinav checked his watch again. Irritation pressed sharp under his skin. Forty-five minutes gone. The tea beside him had gone cold.
He had been cornered.
Naina had walked into his office earlier with that bright, determined smile he knew too well. The one that left no room for refusal.
“Maa says you’re working too much. Tea in the courtyard. Family time. Non-negotiable.”
Now he sat here. Phone in hand. Emails open. His sister talking.
“You should have seen the block printing, Bhai,” Naina went on, her hands moving with her words. “The detailing is insane. They haven’t changed their methods in centuries. The colour alone…”
“Hmmm.”
He did not look up.
The Singapore numbers on his screen were still wrong. Red where they should have been green.
Across from him, Sarita watched in silence, her teacup resting in her hand, her attention on her son. “Your tea is getting cold.”
“It’s fine.”
He did not reach for it.
“I also found the most beautiful silver work,” Naina continued, untouched by his disinterest. “One craftsman, seven generations, Bhai. Seven. I bought three pieces just for design reference…”
The crunch of tyres on gravel cut through her words.
Abhinav’s attention shifted.
A white hatchback rolled to a stop at the gate. Not flashy, but well kept. A young man stepped out, circled the car, opened the rear door, helping an older couple out.
Abhinav’s gaze fixed on the younger man.
Neatly pressed shirt. Polished shoes. Clean shave. He stood straight. Confident.
Devendra reached the gate faster than usual, greeting them with folded hands and a bow that went deeper than politeness.
Not routine visitors.
“Who are they?” Abhinav asked, reaching for the fresh cup a servant had placed beside him, though his eyes stayed on the scene.
Sarita took her time with a sip. “They’ve come to meet Meera.”
“For what purpose?”
She set her cup down with care. “Marriage, I think. Devendra ji mentioned someone would be coming.”
His hand stopped mid-air.
‘Marriage.’
The word hung in place, refusing to settle.
He looked at his mother. She did not correct it.
His gaze returned to the gate.
The young man stood straighter now, smiling at something Devendra said. The careful dressing, the composure, none of it felt neutral anymore.
He was here for Meera.
That thought struck clean.
Abhinav stalled. Then something tightened low in his chest, quick and possessive, like his instincts had stepped in and decided this situation was already unacceptable.
“Marriage?” he repeated, his voice flat.
“Mm.” Sarita nodded, watching him with open interest. “Devendra ji has been looking for a match. The boy works in hotel management. Good position.”
Abhinav’s fingers closed around his cup. He did not drink. His eyes stayed on the man at the gate.
Naina leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her tone deliberately bright. “He looks decent enough. Don’t you think, Bhai?”
Abhinav did not answer. His jaw locked, the muscle there pulled tight.
Across the table, Sarita and Naina exchanged a look.
A very specific look.
Naina bit the inside of her cheek, barely containing a smile, and reached for her tea with exaggerated calm. Sarita lowered her gaze to her cup, amused.
At the gate, the family moved inside. Devendra spoke. The younger man listened, nodding in attention.
“Devendra ji seems quite pleased,” Sarita added.
Abhinav’s gaze followed them until they turned the corner and disappeared toward the family quarters.
Toward Meera.
The courtyard did not feel the same after that.
He stared at the empty stretch of stone where they had stood, as if the turn they had taken could be undone if he stared long enough.
Naina resumed her chatter.
Abhinav barely heard a word. His body remained where it was. His mind, though, had already followed them inside.
◆◆◆
Twenty-three minutes.
Abhinav knew because he had checked his watch enough times, even if he would never admit to it.
Time had moved with insulting calm while he sat through tea and conversation, while somewhere inside his own Haveli a man he had never seen before was being given uninterrupted access to Meera.
Access.
The word sat wrong in his mind.
Movement at the backside of Meera’s home drew his gaze. Meera stepped out. Then him.
They walked side by side through the narrow passage that opened into the courtyard behind her home. Close enough that the space between them felt… lesser with every step.
Abhinav leaned back in his chair, slow, controlled, as if the angle might change the sight.
It didn’t.
The man walked beside her as though he belonged there.
His jaw tightened.
Meera wore a sky-blue kurta. Silver work caught the light with each step. Not her usual style. This had been chosen. Her hair lay in a neat braid over her shoulder, each strand in place.
She had taken time. For this. For him.
Abhinav’s gaze passed over her once, taking in every detail, before returning to the man.
He spoke. Meera laughed.
Not the polite curve she offered when she was around him. This was open, unfiltered. Her head tipped back a little, her face changing with it.
That sound always pulled him like gravity.
Now, she was giving it to someone else.
His fingers pressed into his thigh under the table.
Lakshya leaned closer as he spoke, ease settling into his posture, as though the situation was unfolding exactly as he had expected. Their shoulders nearly brushed.
Abhinav’s grip tightened around the teacup in his hand.
Crack!
He looked down. A thin line ran along the rim. Tea seeped onto his hand. He placed the cup down with care, as if it had nothing to do with him.
Across from him, Sarita and Naina watched the pair with open interest.
“They look comfortable together already,” Sarita observed.
Abhinav did not respond.
He watched Meera gesture toward the temple alcove, explaining. Lakshya listened with full attention, his body angled toward her as though nothing else mattered.
Of course he was interested.
Anyone would be.
“Naina, ask someone to bring Devendra ji here.”
Naina caught the intent at once. A word to a passing servant, and Devendra arrived within minutes, bowing. “Thakurain Sa, you called for me?”
“Yes. Bring the young man and his family over to meet us.”
“At once.”
As Devendra left, Abhinav’s gaze returned to them.
They turned toward the inner passage. The man’s hand lifted, hovering near the small of her back. Not touching. But close enough.
Abhinav’s fingers curled under the table, slow, tight.
Soon, Devendra returned with them. Lakshya walked beside Meera, close enough to appear natural.
Abhinav watched.
She moved easily at first, matching the conversation, her posture composed. Lakshya spoke, she answered, her attention where it was expected to be.
Then she looked up, saw him, and missed a step.
Barely noticeable. But enough.
A flicker crossed her face. Unguarded. Gone in the next breath, composure settling a touch too fast. Her hand rose, almost without thought, catching the edge of her dupatta. Twisting it once. Releasing it.
Abhinav leaned back in his chair.
Now this was worth watching.
Introductions began. Names exchanged. Polite voices filled the space. Sarita welcomed them with warmth. Naina added a remark at the right moment, charm balanced with curiosity.
Abhinav acknowledged what was required, his focus elsewhere.
“My son, Abhinav,” Sarita looked at her son.
“Hukum.” Lakshya joined his hands. “Your Haveli is magnificent.”
“Thank you,” Abhinav replied, tone even.
Lakshya turned to Meera. “I was telling Meera ji how impressive the arrangements of temple are.”
“Meera manages everything,” Sarita smiled proudly. “She is devoted.”
Meera did not respond. She did not look at him. But her fingers tightened again around her dupatta.
Abhinav’s gaze lingered there for a second longer than needed.
“Perhaps you both should take Thakurain Sa’s blessings before we leave,” Lakshya’s father suggested.
Lakshya nodded. He turned toward Sarita. His hand settled on Meera’s arm, fingers closing around her elbow.
Abhinav went very still.
The courtyard narrowed to that one point. His jaw set, a muscle ticking once.
Meera bent to receive Sarita’s blessing. As she rose, her eyes lifted and found his.
That flicker returned. Faster this time. Gone just as quickly. She looked away.
Abhinav stood.
The scrape of his chair cut through the voices, sharp enough to draw every gaze. “Excuse me. I have a business call.”
No one stopped him.
He did not wait. He did not look at her again. Because if he did, he might decide that removing a man’s hand from her arm in front of everyone was entirely reasonable.
He walked away instead, each step measured, control held in place with effort.
Behind him, conversation resumed. Courtesies followed. Gravel crunched as the car left.
Silence stretched after.
Naina turned to her mother. Sarita lifted the teacup Abhinav had set down earlier, turning it in her hand. The thin crack along the rim caught the light.
She placed it back on the table and looked at her daughter.
Naina’s shoulders shook first. She pressed her lips together. Failed.
Sarita turned toward the garden, one hand rising to her mouth as laughter escaped, soft but unstoppable.
Naina covered her face.
When they recovered, Naina lifted her hand. Sarita met it. Their palms connected in a deeply satisfied clap.
Sarita’s gaze drifted toward the corridor where her son had disappeared.
The laughter faded, replaced by warmth.
“Finally,” she murmured.