Chapter 22
Day Five
Meera walked toward the gate, phone in hand, her thoughts refusing to settle.
She had a plan for the day. A clear one. The farms, the cooperative, the full scope of what the Haveli stood for beyond its walls.
That part worked.
The rest of her mind did not.
It kept returning to Thakur Abhinav Kumar Anand.
His hand on the wall. The moment he found his father’s name. The tightening in his throat, held in place by force.
She had wanted to go to him. Close the distance. Hold his face. Rest her forehead against his and tell him, without words, that this place had known grief before. That it could carry his too.
Instead, she had placed her lamp beside his. It was most likely the right choice. It had made the pull worse.
This morning, she had sat before the Kul Devi and tried to meditate. Five full minutes. Eyes closed. Breath steady.
Her thoughts had gone straight to his breath near her temple.
She had tried again. Properly this time. Focused on the flame. On the goddess. On irrigation cycles. Crop rotation.
His hand in hers as she led him up the stairs.
Her eyes had opened.
“I am trying,” she had informed the goddess with full sincerity. “You saw that. A little help would be appreciated.”
The goddess had remained unhelpful.
The real problem was consistency.
Every time she chose professionalism, her mind betrayed her. Very inconveniently, memories would surface. His hands around her face in the office. His voice in the stairwell. The courtyard. The archive room. His presence close enough to feel without touch.
She was in love with him.
The thought arrived quietly, factually.
Meera Chauhan, estate manager’s daughter, caretaker of Anand Mahal, was in love with the Thakur of Anand Mahal.
Abhinav Kumar Anand. The man who had come to sell the Haveli. The man who had made himself impossible to ignore.
She adjusted her dupatta and kept walking.
“Maa,” she muttered under her breath, “this is at least partly your fault.”
Abhinav stood at the main gate.
Her heart reacted before she could stop it. She steadied herself, tightening her hold on the phone.
“We’re going outside. The extended estate. Beyond the walls.”
He nodded.
A plain shirt, trousers, casual shoes. She glanced once at his footwear and gave a small approving nod.
They stepped out together.
The green fields opened ahead. Workers moved through rows.
She let him absorb it all.
Then, “Fourteen families work these fields directly. Another twenty through the outer parcels. The Haveli trains them, equips them, invests in what they need to build on their own. It has done so for fifty years.”
He didn’t answer. But he was observing.
She noticed.
A group of farmers approached.
“Meera Baisa,” the oldest greeted, hands joined. His gaze moved to Abhinav. “Thakur Sa. It has been a long time since a Thakur Sa walked these fields.”
“Too long,” Abhinav replied.
The man began to bow.
Abhinav’s hand rested briefly on his shoulder, stopping him. “You’re my grandfather’s age. Don’t.”
The man straightened, hands still joined. “Ji, Thakur Sa.”
Meera turned her face slightly away, the warmth in her chest rising too quickly.
They moved ahead. Conversation flowed around them. Seasons. Families. Those who had left. Those who had returned.
Abhinav asked about people. Not numbers. Whether the older workers managed the days. Whether the younger ones planned to stay.
One man, silent until then, spoke up. “My son is in Delhi, Thakur Sa. First in our family to attend university.” Pride sat clear in his voice. “On scholarship from the Haveli. We don’t forget such things.”
Abhinav looked at him. “What is he studying?”
“Crops for dry conditions. He wants to come back.”
“Tell him to meet me when he does.”
The man blinked, then bowed before he could stop himself.
When the others fell behind, Meera continued, “Part of their income goes into a reserve. For emergencies. Medical needs. Bad seasons. Rebuilding. Babuji manages it. The families track it. It’s not charity. It’s a system.”
Abhinav walked in silence for a moment. “My family built this.”
“Yes. This is what the Haveli does when it is being a Haveli. Not just a structure.”
He understood the rest.
The cooperative stood near the eastern boundary. Colour greeted them at the entrance.
Saris, dupattas, lengths of fabric stretched across the space. Indigo, yellow, reds that seemed to glow. Women worked at looms, spinning wheels, dyeing vats, hands moving with practiced ease.
They saw Meera. “Meera Bai Sa!”
She moved among them naturally. A hand on a shoulder. A glance at a half-finished piece. A word here. A nod there.
“Hukum,” she introduced, drawing Abhinav forward. “He wanted to see the work.”
They welcomed him. Showed him threads, patterns, dye. Brought him close to the looms.
He observed everything. The same way he had all week, fully, completely.
Meera stepped beside him. “Ten years ago this did not exist. The Haveli funded training. The first two years ran at a loss. Now it sustains itself. And contributes to the reserve.”
He studied the loom before him. Deep blue. A geometric border with a familiar pattern he could not quite place.
“Naina would want to see this.”
Meera looked at him.
“She has been looking for work like this. Real technique. Not imitation.” He turned toward her. “Bring her when you can.”
A few of the women caught that. Their faces lit up.
“I will,” Meera nodded.
She watched him for a moment, still absorbed in the fabric, and wondered how she was meant to get through the rest of the day with this growing inside her.
No answer came.
She turned back to the women.
◆◆◆
They were on their way back when the sky changed. One moment it was blue. The next, grey, light draining out of the air.
Meera looked up, palm open. A drop hit her palm. Then another. Water pooled in her hand. She watched it, then at the sky again and then at him. A bright smile broke free across her face.
“It’s raining.”
The words dissolved into laughter.
The clouds opened. Rain fell in a rush, heavy, relentless, filling the space with sound and the deep scent of wet earth.
She ran into it.
Arms wide, face lifted, catching the rain as she had since childhood. Her hair clung within seconds, clothes followed, outlining every line.
The ground felt alive under her feet.
“Finally!” Her voice rang out as she spun, once, twice, laughing.
When she turned, Abhinav was coming toward her.
Water traced his face, ran along his jaw, soaked through his shirt, defining every line. His attention fixed on her, unguarded in a way she had not seen before. As if he had stopped holding something back.
Her pulse stumbled. She stayed where she was, because she couldn’t have moved if she had wanted to.
He stopped close enough that the rain between them felt like the only space left.
“Hukum?”
“I can’t remember,” he murmured, “the last time I stood in the rain.”
The honesty in it unraveled her.
She wanted to go to him. That was the first instinct. Close the distance, hold his face and stay there.
The tenderness of her own thoughts startled her.
And then the fear came.
Because at the end of seven days, whatever he decided about the Haveli, he would leave. Return to a life that had no place for this place, or for her. And she would remain here, with everything she had allowed herself to feel. And she knew she would not survive this.
He was still looking at her.
She needed to move. Needed to break the moment before it showed on her face.
She pointed toward the boundary wall. “Race you.”
It came out almost right. Almost light. Almost like herself.
His brows furrowed. “What?”
“To the wall.” She tilted her head. “Unless Hukum is afraid of a little mud.”
Before her face could betray her, she turned and ran.
The ground softened fast, turning to mud that clung to every step. She ran through it, laughter rising again, heart racing for reasons that had little to do with the running.
His footsteps followed. Heavier. Closing the distance far too fast.
She glanced back.
He was cutting through the mud with ease.
“You cheated!”
“Head start, Hukum!”
She pushed harder. It changed nothing. He was closer now, close enough to reach.
She turned to throw another line over her shoulder. Her foot slipped on the slick ground.
The world tilted.
Her arms flew out.
Balance gone.
Breath caught…
His hand caught her wrist.
The pull spun her back. Her dupatta whipped through the air, hair following. She collided with him, palms pressing against his chest, feeling the rhythm, the strength through the soaked shirt.
His arm came around her waist, keeping her upright.
“Careful,” his voice brushed past her ear.
Rain fell hard around them.
She looked up, breath uneven.
Water had pushed his hair back, exposing the sharp lines of his face, harsher now, more defined. It traced his brow, his nose, catching at his mouth before slipping away.
From this close, he looked less like a man holding control and more like a storm wrapped in it.
Her breath hitched.
She became aware, suddenly, completely aware of how close they were. Of how little space existed between them.
His shirt clung to him, outlining strength. Her own clothes did the same. She felt it now. The weight. The exposure. Heat rose to her face despite the cold rain.
She tried to look away.
Couldn’t.
His eyes stayed on her, intent, consuming, unraveling her. Her fingers curled further into his chest.
She should step back, speak, break this… she didn’t.
His hold tightened, closing the last inch between them.
A soft gasp left her.
His expression darkened.
He moved forward.
One step. Then another.
She stepped back, matching his steps until the wall met her back.
His hand stayed firm at her waist as he leaned closer, his breath brushing her forehead.
Her lips parted.
His other hand came up, resting beside her head against the wall.
He didn’t cage her. She could leave.
She didn’t.
He watched her, open and consuming. His hand left the wall, fingers brushing her cheek, pushing damp strands away with a tenderness that made her chest rise faster.
His thumb traced her cheekbone. Rough against soft skin. A touch that burned.
She couldn’t look at him and feel this at the same time. Her eyes closed.
“Meera.”
Her name came low, close enough to sink into her skin.
Her breath caught, caught too sharply to hide it.
His thumb moved to the corner of her mouth. Her head tilted, leaning into him on instinct.
His lips brushed her temple. Not a kiss. Not yet. Just heat.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt, nails dragging over muscle, pulling him closer.
“Hukum!”
He growled, the need to have her rising against the control he refused to lose.
His head dipped. His mouth found her cheek, tasting rain from her skin. His hand slid from her waist to her hip, pulling her fully against him.
She felt everything.
The solid planes of his chest. The taut muscles of his stomach. The unspoken need pressing into her.
A sound escaped her. Half breath, half plea.
His mouth moved along her jaw, slower this time, as if he meant to remember every inch.
She trembled under his touch, fighting herself, losing ground with each passing second.
He would leave. This, whatever this was between them, would not stay. A moment stolen in rain, gone just as quickly when the sun returned.
His mouth hovered near her ear, voice low enough to unravel her all over again. “You’re shaking.”
She should step back. Create distance. Protect herself from wanting a man who belonged somewhere she could never reach.
She was the estate manager. A caretaker’s daughter. Her family had served Anand Mahal for generations. Always at the edges. Always watching, never belonging.
He was Thakur. Owner. Heir.
That distance lived in every wall, every rule, every breath of this place.
She knew how such stories ended. Time had moved forward, but not enough to erase lines drawn this deep.
He belonged to a world that had no place for this Haveli. For her.
She knew all of it.
And yet… her heart had already chosen. Quietly. Completely.
Maybe it began with that first No, Boss. Maybe with the way he had stayed. The way he had begun to bend, without breaking.
Even if he walked away, she would have this. This moment. This memory of being held like this. Of being wanted.
Her eyes burned. Rain hid it.
His mouth found the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
His teeth pressed into her skin.
A gasp tore out of her.
The sound seemed to startle him as much as it did her. He went still. His arm tightened instinctively around her, as if steadying her, as if anchoring himself.
He exhaled, pressing his lips softly against her skin. He eased over the mark he had left. A slow, deliberate soothe that sent a different kind of shiver through her.
Her fingers twisted in his shirt. Thoughts blurred.
She leaned into him, into the heat of him, the way he held her as if letting go had stopped being simple.
And then… he pulled back.
The loss hit too fast. Too sharp. She blinked, disoriented. When her vision cleared, he was looking at her.
There was no restraint in it.
His eyes moved over her. Her flushed face. Her parted lips. The mark he had left. His attention lingered there.
Ownership. Absolute ownership.
It dropped lower. Rain-soaked clothes clung to her, revealing more than it hid
His jaw tightened. When his eyes returned to hers, the hunger had changed. Deeper. Darker. Not just desire.
Possession.
He stepped back. His hands went to his shirt. In one motion, he pulled it off.
The sight stole her breath.
Water traced every line of him, sliding over his chest, down the planes of his body.
He closed the distance again, draping the shirt over her shoulders, covering her.
“What are you…”
No answer came.
He bent and lifted her into his arms.
“Put me down,” she protested, breathless for an entirely different reason now. “Hukum, you can’t…”
He looked at her.
The protest died.
There was no doubt in him. No apology. Only decision.
Heat rose to her face. She pressed herself against his bare chest. His warmth cut through the rain.
He walked.
Across the field. Past workers who stopped mid-step. Past women under the shed who forgot their tasks. Through the gates where guards looked away.
No one spoke.
No one dared.
Meera stayed hidden against him, her breath uneven against his skin, his heartbeat steady under her cheek.
Each step brought them closer to the house. Closer to a line that could not be crossed back.
They entered the inner courtyard.
He stopped. His arms tightened around her.
She turned her head.
Lakshya stood at the entrance to her quarters. Immaculate. Composed. A silver-wrapped box in his hands.
Mithai.
A gesture meant for his bride-to-be's home.
His expressions changed.
Abhinav stood bare, rain-soaked. Meera in his arms, wrapped in his shirt, her hair clinging to her face, the mark at her neck impossible to miss.
Silence stretched.
Something dark settled in Abhinav’s eyes. He didn’t move. Didn’t lower her. If anything, he held her close deliberately.
An unmistakable declaration.
Meera Chauhan was his.