CHAPTER 7
Temple
The temple courtyard was covered with the faint scent of incense and marigolds. Mishti adjusted her dupatta over her head, her trembling hands joining before the idol of Lord Shiva as her eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in days, she allowed her tears to fall freely.
Her phone, kept inside her purse, vibrated endlessly, but she didn’t hear it. All she could hear was the echo of Karan’s cruel words last night.
“I married you to watch you walk on thorns, every single day.”
Her eyes flew open with the memory. How could someone be so heartless? She had thought marriage meant companionship, love, even if one-sided, but Karan Wadhwa had reduced it into something darker and more painful.
She didn’t know how long she had stood there. The priest called her softly, taking her thali and returning it with sindoor and prasad as blessings. Mishti accepted them reverently and touched the thali to her forehead, praying again.
“I don’t know why he wants to see me live through pain.
But that doesn’t stop me from wishing him well.
He is my husband. Karan may forget the vows we took before the holy fire, but I won’t.
Until we remain bound by those sacred promises, I’ll keep praying for him, for his peace, for his heart to heal, even if it never beats for me.
Just give me a sign, God. One sign… to tell me that whatever faith I’ve placed in this marriage and Karan… isn’t a mistake.”
With that, she stepped out of the temple, the stone floor still cool under her bare feet.
Birds cooed from the trees, and for a fleeting moment, she felt calm here.
Deciding to call up Divya and check with her if she had done her Teej puja too, she reached for her phone in the bag. The screen lit up with 12 missed calls.
“Karan was calling me?” Her brows knit together.
Why was he calling so many times? What did he want now? To scold her that she had still not returned, or to confirm she was still breathing? She sighed, shaking her head. “Of course, that’s what he wants to know. If I’m still alive.”
Before she could decide whether to call him, her phone vibrated again, and his name flashed across the screen. Mishti hesitated, then swiped to answer.
“Hello—”
“Don’t you ever do that again, Mishti!” His voice roared through the speaker. “Do you think by ignoring my calls, you can keep me away from you? You’re wrong. You’ll have to answer when I call. Always.”
She flinched, gripping the phone tighter. “Why? Why should I answer your calls when you don’t even care for me?”
“Don’t test me,” he snapped. “Where the hell are you now?”
“And why should I tell you that?”
“M-I-S-H-T-I,” he said, stressing every syllable.
She sighed, her dupatta fluttering as she walked down the temple steps, balancing the puja thali.
“I’m still at the Shiv temple.”
Just then, her piercing scream tore through the line.
“Mishti!” Karan’s tone changed in an instant. He panicked. “Mishti, what the hell happened?”
The line went dead.
Blood drained from his face as he pulled the phone away, staring at the dark screen. For the first time since he had married her, his heart slammed against his ribs in real paralysing fear. Nothing had ever made his world stop like the sound of Mishti’s scream just had.
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Karan drove like a madman. The engine roared down the empty road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, eyes darting between the road and the phone screen that still flashed Call Failed.
He’d tried calling her again. But her number wasn’t reachable.
“F*ck,” he slammed his hand on the wheel.
Why did she scream like that? Did she fall? Was she hurt? Or worse, had someone dared to touch her? Abduct her? No!! The thought alone sent a violent rage crawling under his skin.
He’d made countless enemies in his life. The idea that one of them could have used her as leverage boiled his blood.
“Damn it,” he muttered, flooring the accelerator.
For a man who’d always prided himself on control, this loss of calm was foreign. He wasn’t supposed to care. Especially for Mishti. Yet every nerve in his body screamed otherwise.
When he finally reached the temple, he parked haphazardly and jumped out, storming up the steps, scanning faces, searching for her. But she was nowhere.
“Have you seen a woman in a pink churidaar?” he demanded from two startled women lighting diyas near the entrance. “She came here a few hours ago.”
They shook their heads. “No, we haven’t, beta.”
The words did nothing to calm the pounding in his chest. He turned, eyes wild, looking around for no idea how long in the temple vicinity, until he finally saw the edge of her dupatta fluttering behind the side stairs.
Without a thought, he rushed toward it.
And there she was. Sitting on the temple steps, hunched forward, her hands clutching her bare foot. For a moment, he was relieved that she was safe, but soon that relief twisted into fury.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he scolded, storming towards her. “I’ve been looking for you like a maniac for the last half hour, and you’re sitting here playing with your feet? What did you scream for, damn it?”
He didn’t realise how harsh he sounded until she lifted her tear-brimmed eyes to him. And that innocent and shaken look was enough to disarm him instantly.
His gaze dropped to her foot. Blood trickled down her heel, glistening in the sunlight. He saw a small shard of glass pierced into her heel. So that’s why she screamed. Wordlessly, he knelt in front of her.
“Karan…” she whispered, unsure what to say as his fingers brushed her ankle, tracing the edge of the wound.
He looked up when she flinched, meeting her eyes with a glare. “Don’t move.”
“But—”
“Don’t,” he said again, lower this time. “This is what happens when people walk barefoot. Now shut your eyes and don’t open them until I’m done.”
Her breath hitched, but she obeyed, trying to focus only on the sting in her foot and not on the man crouched before her. She wanted the glass piece out as much as he did, but what left her bewildered was his sudden concern. Why was he bothered?
Didn’t he make it painfully clear that he didn’t care for her? Hadn’t he said to her that her life with him would be a walk on thorns? Then why was he here now? Why had he called her so many times? Why did he come here looking for her desperately to know why she had screamed?
And now that he knew it was only a small wound, why was he still kneeling before her, carefully trying to take the glass out as if her pain were his own?
Her lashes fluttered, her fingers clutched her dupatta tight as Karan carefully extracted the shard with surprising gentleness.
He didn’t know what possessed him to do this…
to touch her, to care…but when she winced, his thumb instinctively soothed the spot, rubbing into slow circles that stilled her trembling.
“It’s done,” he said finally in a gruff voice.
She opened her eyes slowly, looking down at him. He was still crouched before her, the afternoon sun glinting off his hair, his hand stained faintly with her blood.
The shard was gone, and Karan had neatly tied his white handkerchief around the wound. She blinked, astonished as she hadn’t felt a thing.
He rose, brushing the dust off his trousers, still looking tense. For the first time, his eyes were shadowed not with anger but with concern for her, with empathy, and that’s when Mishti saw what she’d been praying for.
A sign.
Her heart tightened painfully in her chest. Maybe this was God’s answer. That beneath all his rage and cruelty, there was still a man capable of feeling. A man who could rush across the city because she screamed. A man who could hold her pain in his hands and try to take it away.
For the first time since their marriage, she smiled faintly through her tears. This was her sign. Maybe her faith in this marriage wasn’t misplaced after all.
Karan didn’t see that smile, though. He only stood, wiping his hands. “Next time you plan to go barefoot, inform me first. I’ll send you with a first-aid box.”
Her lips curved just a little more. He cared! And he definitely had some sense of humour too. She held onto the pillar and tried to stand, but the moment she put pressure on her foot, she wobbled again, trying to balance herself.
He exhaled in frustration before bending down and sweeping Mishti into his arms.
She gasped. Mishti clutched his shoulder instinctively. Was this really happening? She in Karan’s arms?
Even Karan was surprised by his actions. But he didn’t look at her, not once. His eyes stayed forward, as if carrying her was nothing more than a duty. But the tension in his throat, the way his hold on her tightened every time she moved, betrayed him.
People in the temple vicinity stopped and looked at them with surprise. But he didn’t care what they thought. To him, she was his wife, and no one had the right to question what he did with her.
When he placed her gently inside the car, he checked her leg again, making sure it rested comfortably. Then, without a word, he started the engine.
Mishti stayed quiet the whole way, her hands folded over her lap, watching him from the corner of her eye.
The car sped through the streets, fast enough to make her grip the side handle.
She’d always been afraid of speed. It reminded her how fragile life could be…
one wrong turn, and everything could end.
When Karan noticed her hand clenching the seat handle as if holding on for dear life, he didn’t say anything, but his foot eased off the accelerator. When the car’s pace slowed, another faint smile tugged at her lips as she looked at him. So he did notice. He did care.
She didn’t say a word, though, but inside her heart she whispered a quiet thank-you to him, to the universe, to the divine she had just prayed to because for the first time in a long while, that silence didn’t feel suffocating. It felt…safe.
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