I have decided something for you
Hiiiii mayawiyans....
Enjoy the update
It didn't just reach me.It stopped me.
Completely.My words died before they could even form, my breath catching somewhere in my chest as I stared at her.
For a second, I couldn't move.
Couldn't think.
I just looked at her, trying to understand what she had just asked me.
And then it hit.Hard.Brutal.Her fear.
Not new.
Not something I created today.
But something I had just touched without realizing.
And now she was looking at me like I could hurt her.Me.
Something twisted inside my chest so sharply it almost knocked the air out of me.
No.Never.Not her.Never her.
The anger that had been running through me vanished instantly, like it had no place here anymore. All that remained was this heavy, suffocating ache spreading through my chest.
And beneath it
Something fierce.
Something raw.
A protectiveness so strong it made my hands tremble.
I let go of her immediately, almost like I was afraid even that touch had been too much for her.
But the moment I did, I couldn't keep my hands away.
They moved back to her.
Slower this time.
Careful.
Gentle in a way that felt almost desperate.
I cupped her face, my palms resting against her soft, tear soaked skin, feeling the warmth of her tears under my thumbs.
I tilted her face up.
Not forcing.
Just guiding.
I needed her to look at me.
Needed her to see me.
Not the fear she was imagining.
Not the past she was reliving.
Me.
Her eyes met mine.
And for the first time, I didn't try to hide anything.
The regret.
The guilt.
The pain.
It was all there.
Clear.
Unfiltered.
My voice broke.
I felt it.
Heard it.
And didn't try to fix it.
My thumbs moved under her eyes, wiping away the tears that kept falling, even when I wished they would stop.
The words felt heavier than anything I had said before.
All the control I was holding onto.
All the firmness.
All the distance I was trying to create.
It didn't matter anymore.
Because the only thing that mattered was this.
Her.
The fear in her eyes.
And the fact that I had put it there.
And that was something I would never forgive myself for.
Never allow again.
I forced myself to push the anger aside.
It didn't disappear completely. It stayed there, low and restless, like embers that refused to die. But I couldn't hold onto it the same way anymore. Not when she was sitting in front of me like this.
Shattered.
Trembling.
Breaking under the weight of my own words.
My chest tightened at the sight of her, her small frame struggling to hold itself together, her tears falling endlessly, her breathing uneven and fragile. It did something to me that I couldn't ignore.
And yet, I knew I couldn't just let it go.
What she did was not small.
It was not harmless.
It was naive in a way that could hurt her.
She didn't understand the weight of it, the consequences, the way the world would look at something like that. And if I softened now, if I let her tears decide everything, then she would never learn.
That thought alone forced me to stay steady.
Even when it hurt.
Even when every part of me wanted to do the opposite.
Her tears kept falling, tracing warm paths down her flushed cheeks, and I knew if this continued, I would lose whatever control I had left. I would give in, pull her close, tell her none of it mattered, and undo everything I was trying to make her understand.
I exhaled slowly, the breath heavy with everything I was holding back.
Then I reached for her.
My hands were gentle, far gentler than the emotions running through me. I held her carefully, as if she might fall apart if I wasn't careful enough, and pulled her toward me.
She didn't resist.
She didn't even react.
She just came.
Soft.
Quiet.
Broken.
I sat back and settled her in my lap, guiding her against my chest. Her body fit there like it always did, like it had found its place long before either of us understood it.
She belonged there.
With me.
In my arms.
That truth hit deeper than anything else.
My arms wrapped around her instinctively, holding her close, feeling the slight tremble that still ran through her. My hand moved to her back, slow, steady, trying to calm her without saying the words I was still holding inside.
This was where I wanted to keep her.
Safe.
Untouched by everything outside.
But I couldn't.
Not completely.
Not forever.
And that was why this moment hurt as much as it did.
Because even while holding her like this, even while feeling her against me, I knew this wasn't just about comfort.
It was about drawing a line.
Teaching her.
Preparing her.
Even if it meant being the one who made her cry.
My jaw tightened slightly, my chin resting lightly against her head as I closed my eyes for a brief second.
I wanted to erase this moment.
Take back every tear.
Every fear.
But I couldn't.
So instead, I held her closer.
And stayed.
She didn't melt into me the way she usually did.
She sat stiffly in my lap, her back straight, almost rigid, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed to relax. Her hands stayed folded tightly in her lap, fingers locked together, unmoving.
It felt wrong.
Too distant.
Too unlike her.
I could feel the tension in her body, the way it traveled through her shoulders, down her arms, settling heavy between us. Even her breathing wasn't steady. It came in small, uneven pulls, breaking every few seconds like she was still trying to hold back sobs that refused to fully leave her.
Something twisted inside me at that.
She was hurt.
Of course she was.
Confused too.
Caught in something she didn't understand, trying to make sense of a storm I had brought down on her without warning.
My fingers moved on their own, tracing slow, gentle circles on her back, trying to calm her, trying to bring her back to me without undoing what I had to say.
But my mind didn't slow.
It kept going back.
To the table.
To the way every head had turned.
The silence that followed.
The weight of it.
Not everything can be said like that.
Not everything belongs in front of everyone.
Some things needed to be protected.
Hidden.
Held close.
Privacy wasn't just a habit.
It was a shield.
And she didn't know how to hold it yet.
That thought sat heavy in my chest.
Because I had seen it.
The way they looked at her.
The shock.
The curiosity.
The unspoken questions.
It wasn't just embarrassing for me.
It exposed her.
Left her open to a world that didn't handle innocence gently.
My arms tightened around her before I even realized it, instinct taking over.
A quiet, fierce protectiveness rose inside me again, stronger than anything else.
I wanted to shield her from all of it.
From every stare.
Every judgment.
Every thought that didn't deserve to touch her.
I lowered my chin slightly, my hold firm but careful, grounding her against me.
And that was what scared me.
Her gaze never lifted.
It stayed fixed on the floor, unmoving, as if looking at me would only make things worse. As if I were someone to be feared, someone unpredictable.
Like I might hurt her.
The thought sat wrong in my chest.
Heavy.
Unwanted.
For a brief second, something almost ironic crossed my mind, a dark flicker of humor that didn't belong in this moment. The idea that she saw me like a threat when all I had ever wanted was to claim her in a way that made her feel safe, wanted, cherished.
Not like this.
Never like this.
Not with fear in her eyes.
Not with her shrinking away from me.
The memory of how she usually responded to me tried to surface, the softness, the way she trusted me completely, the way she gave herself without hesitation.
But I pushed it away.
This wasn't the time for that.
Those thoughts only tangled things further, mixing desire with guilt, with regret, with something far more urgent.
The need to protect her.
To keep her untouched by anything that could break her like this again.
My gaze stayed on her lowered face, my jaw tightening slightly as I exhaled.
Because more than anything else in that moment, I didn't want her to look at me and see fear.
I wanted her to see what I had always been for her.
Safe.
She began to fidget in my hold, small restless movements that didn't match the stillness she had forced on herself before.
Her fingers found the button on my sleeve, delicate and uncertain, twisting it again and again like it was something she could hold onto.
A distraction.
A quiet escape from everything happening inside her.
I stilled, watching her.
Every little movement.
Every tremble she tried to hide.
The thought alone made something inside me sink.
She didn't deserve this kind of confusion.
Didn't deserve to feel small like this.
Too pure for it.
Too soft.
My hand moved on its own, slow and careful, rising to her chin. I hesitated for the smallest second before touching her, as if asking for permission without words.
Then I cupped her chin gently.
My fingers warm against her skin.
I tilted her face upward, just enough for me to see her.
For her to see me.
But she resisted.
Not forcefully.
Just a quiet hesitation.
Her lashes fluttered rapidly, like she was trying to keep her eyes down, like looking at me would make everything spill over again.
Like she was afraid of what she might see.
Or what she might feel.
"Kitten... listen to me," I said quietly, my voice lowering into something softer, something closer to what she knew, even though the weight of the moment still lingered between us.
My fingers stayed under her chin, steady, gentle, holding her just enough so she wouldn't hide again.
Her eyes flickered, uncertain.
Saying it out loud felt strange, complicated, like trying to explain a world she had never truly been allowed to understand.
Frustration brushed against my chest again, but it was softer now, tangled with something else.
Sorrow.
Because she didn't know.
How could she?
Her world had been small.
Sheltered.
Confined in ways that stole from her the understanding most people took for granted.
And now I was asking her to grasp something she had never been taught.
Her lips parted slightly, and when she spoke, her voice was so faint it almost disappeared into the space between us.
"But..."
She hesitated.
Her fingers tightened slightly on my sleeve.
The innocence in her words hit harder than anything else.
There was no shame in her tone.
No hesitation beyond confusion.
Just a simple truth, spoken the way she understood it.
And it made my chest tighten all over again.
Because to her, that was enough to believe.
And now I had to be the one to tell her it wasn't.
I closed my eyes for a moment, a sharp ache cutting through my chest at her words.
They were so simple.
So honest.
So full of trust that it almost hurt to hear them.
The nights we had spent together flashed through my mind in fragments, soft and intimate, filled with care, with patience, with a slow unfolding of something she had never known before.
I had been careful with her, guiding without overwhelming, holding back where it mattered, letting her learn in ways that wouldn't break her.
But now...
Now I had to explain what she couldn't yet understand.
And it felt like walking over something fragile, something that could shatter if I wasn't careful enough.
I opened my eyes again, meeting hers, still glassy with tears, still searching for answers I hadn't given her properly.
My thumb lifted, brushing away the fresh tear that slipped down her cheek, the gesture instinctive, gentle despite everything else.
Her fingers tightened slightly in my shirt, like she was holding onto every word.
"But that..." I exhaled slowly, choosing each word with care, "that was just the beginning."
Her brows knit faintly, confusion still lingering.
The sentence felt heavy as it left me, like it carried more than just meaning, like it carried everything she had missed learning before this.
My voice faltered slightly at the end, not because of her, but because of everything behind her.
Her past.
The years she had been kept away from the world.
From knowledge.
From the simplest things most people grew up knowing without question.
Frustration flickered again, but it wasn't directed at her.
Never her.
It was at the invisible walls that had shaped her into this moment, left her piecing together truths from fragments, from assumptions, from things no one had properly explained to her.
And now she stood in front of me, trying to understand a world that had been kept from her for far too long.
Her voice came out small.
Fragile.
Breaking in places she couldn't hold together anymore.
"How?" she whispered, and the word alone carried so much helplessness that it hit straight through me. "Nobody explains me anything... not deeply. How could I understand?"
Her lower lip trembled, her words stumbling over each other as if they had been waiting too long to come out.
My chest tightened painfully.
The apology shouldn't have been there.
Not from her.
Never from her.
The words rushed out of her in one breath, uneven and desperate, like she was finally letting everything spill out before she lost the courage to say it.
Then she went quiet.
Her head dropped again, chin almost touching her chest, cheeks flushed deep with embarrassment. Her shoulders curled inward, shrinking into herself like she could disappear if she tried hard enough.
And I saw it.
Not just the confusion.
Not just the innocence.
The humiliation.
Being stopped.
Pulled away.
Spoken to like she had done something wrong in front of everyone.
Exposed.
Judged without understanding.
It must have felt suffocating.
Like the walls were closing in around her all over again.
My chest ached.
Heavy, relentless, each one stronger than the last, mixing with the love that had never left, that burned just as steady beneath everything else. My chest tightened as I looked at her, small in my arms, trying so hard to hold herself together.
She was embarrassed.
Because of me.
I exhaled slowly, pulling her closer despite the stiffness still lingering in her body. She didn't resist, but she didn't melt either, and that distance cut deeper than any words.
"It's okay..." I murmured, my voice softer now, stripped of everything except what I truly meant.
My hand moved to her hair, stroking it gently, slowly, trying to soothe what I had shaken.
My fingers continued their steady motion, grounding both her and me.
The words came quieter, but they still carried weight.
It wasn't anger.
It was fear.
Fear of a world that wasn't kind.
A world that didn't pause to understand innocence before taking advantage of it.
My hold around her tightened slightly, protective without being forceful.
My voice thickened, emotion creeping in despite my effort to keep it steady.
Because the truth was simple.
I would stand against anything for her.
Anyone.
I would fight the world itself if it meant keeping her safe.
Teach her everything she didn't know.
Step by step.
With patience.
With care.
With all the time she needed.
That part was never the problem.
The problem was something else.
Something harder to face.
I drew in a breath, slow and heavy, my gaze unfocused for a moment as the thought pressed in again.
The question stayed there, unsettled, unanswered, stirring something restless deep inside me.
Because loving her felt easy.
Keeping her safe felt natural.
But teaching her to stand in a world that could hurt her...
That was the part that terrified me.
I tightened my hold on her hand, lacing our fingers together, grounding myself as much as her. Her skin was still cold, slightly damp from tears, and I held on a little firmer than necessary, as if letting go would let her slip into a world I couldn't reach.
"I just don't want you to depend on me, Devyani," I said quietly, my voice steady but heavy with everything I couldn't fully say. "Take a stand for yourself. Be brave enough."
The words felt right and wrong at the same time.
Because I don't want her to depend on me.
But I also wanted her to survive without me.
The contradiction sat bitter on my tongue.
"What if I die one day?" I continued, the sentence leaving before I could soften it. "Who will protect you?"
The moment it was said, it cut through me.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
The image alone was enough to send something cold spiraling through my chest, a fear I never allowed myself to dwell on, now standing right in front of me.
Leaving her alone.
In a world like this.
The thought was unbearable.
Her reaction was instant.
Her fingers tightened in mine, her body tensing as if the ground beneath her had shifted.
"Why would you die?" she asked, her voice rising, fragile but filled with sudden panic.
For a split second, her eyes lifted to mine, wide, searching, almost terrified.
My heart lurched at the fear in her voice, raw and unfiltered.
"No," I said quickly, the word coming out sharper than I intended, my thumb brushing over her knuckles as if to calm her. "No, I didn't mean that."
But the damage was already there.
The fear had already settled in her.
I exhaled, slower this time, trying to steady both of us.
"But what if it happened?" I added, softer now, though the weight of it didn't lessen.
The question hung between us.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Because it wasn't just about death.
It was about everything I couldn't control.
And everything she wasn't ready to face alone.
"No... you will be alive," she said, and this time there was something fierce in her voice, something stubborn that refused to bend even under tears.
I stilled.
A quiet breath left me, softer than before, and despite everything, a faint chuckle slipped through. It wasn't mockery. It was something warmer. Something almost helpless.
Her world didn't run on logic.
It ran on belief.
On rituals.
On love expressed in the simplest, purest ways.
In her mind, a fast could hold back death itself.
And for a fleeting second, I let that thought settle.
Let myself feel it.
Untouchable.
Protected by her faith alone.
But reality crept back in, slow and steady, and with it came that same sharp edge of protectiveness that refused to quiet down.
Then she spoke again.
"I have papa... Reyu bhaiyya... and Adi bhaiyya..." Her voice broke slightly in between, a hiccup slipping through, fragile enough to tighten something painfully in my chest.
"Don't... protect me. They will."
The words landed heavier than anything she had said before.
My fingers tightened around hers instinctively.
Something in me resisted that idea immediately.
Not out of arrogance.
Not out of distrust.
But something deeper.
Something that refused to hand her safety over to anyone else.
Because I had seen the world.
And I knew.
No one would watch her the way I did.
No one would understand the way her mind worked, the way her innocence needed to be handled carefully, not just protected but guided.
The thought of stepping back, of letting someone else take that place, sat wrong in my chest.
Almost unbearable.
My gaze stayed on her, softer now, but intense in a way she might not even fully understand.
Because she thought protection meant presence.
People around her.
Familiar names.
But what she didn't see was what I feared.
The moments when no one would be there.
The spaces in between.
The world outside those safe circles.
And in those moments...
She needed more than protection.
She needed strength of her own.
The urge hit me hard.
To pull her closer.
To wrap her completely in my arms, bury my face in her hair, and undo everything I had just done with a few soft words. To tell her she hadn't done anything wrong, that I didn't mean it like that, that she was safe.
With me.
Always.
But I didn't.
I forced myself to stay where I was, holding that thin line I had drawn, even when every instinct in me screamed to erase it.
They loved her.
I knew that.
Her father, her brothers, the people she trusted so easily.
But not like this.
Not with this kind of intensity that sat heavy in my chest, that made me restless at the thought of anything even slightly hurting her.
Not with the kind of devotion that made me want to shield her from things she didn't even know existed.
I exhaled slowly, steadying myself, forcing the storm inside me to quiet just enough.
Her gaze stayed lowered, fixed somewhere far away from me, like there was an invisible wall between us now, built from hurt, embarrassment, and everything she didn't know how to process.
And I hated it.
Hated the distance.
Hated that she was sitting in my arms but still felt so far away.
My jaw tightened slightly, a breath slipping out before I spoke again, the edge of my frustration returning despite the softness in my touch.
My voice wasn't loud.
But it carried weight.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper, fragile and shaken, like every word had to push through the hurt sitting in her chest.
Her fingers paused on my sleeve for a second before moving again, slower this time, uncertain.
The words settled heavily between us, quiet but powerful, carrying years of silence I could never fully understand.
A faint tremble slipped into her voice, not from happiness this time, but from the fear of losing it.
My chest tightened.
That one line broke through everything.
Devu is hurt.
Simple.
Honest.
Devastating.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat sharp and unyielding, guilt rushing in so fast it almost made it hard to breathe. My fingers stilled against her for a moment before tightening slightly, like I needed to hold onto her to steady myself.
"I understand..." I said quietly, my voice softer now, stripped of its edge, filled instead with something heavier. "Devyani s hurt..."
The words felt inadequate the moment they left me.
"But Devyani should understand her husband... what he is trying to say..."
I tried to keep my tone gentle, careful, even as I struggled to balance everything inside me.
Her fingers stopped moving completely this time.
For a second, she didn't respond.
Then her voice came again, softer, but steadier in a way that made me pause.
"But he should understand..." she said, each word slow, deliberate despite the tremble that still lingered, "that Devu is learning slowly... slowly..."
Her grip on my sleeve loosened, but she didn't pull away.
"And it's rude... to scold Devu..."
The words weren't loud.
They weren't sharp.
But they landed.
Clear.
Honest.
And deserved.
Something in me went quiet after that.
Because she wasn't arguing.
She wasn't defying me.
She was just... telling the truth.
Her words didn't fade.
They stayed.
Soft, simple, but heavy enough to quiet everything inside me.
For a moment, I just looked at her, feeling the weight of what she had said settle deep, humbling me in a way anger never could. She wasn't wrong. Not even a little.
I had been impatient.
Too fast.
Too harsh for someone who was still learning how to take her first steps in a world she had never been allowed to see properly.
I exhaled slowly, the breath leaving me heavier than before, my hand pausing on her thigh before giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
"Okay... I understand," I said quietly, my voice calmer now, stripped of the earlier tension.
The silence that followed wasn't empty.
It was full.
Full of everything unspoken, everything shifting between us.
"Now... one thing you have to understand," I continued, my tone steady but careful, as if placing each word exactly where it needed to be. "I have decided something for you."
My fingers moved slightly against her, grounding both of us.
I paused for a second, watching her, even though she still wouldn't look at me.
She didn't respond.
Not a word.
Her silence settled heavily between us, and I felt it.
Because I knew.
This wasn't something small.
This decision... it wouldn't be easy for her.
About making sure she could stand in a world that wouldn't always be gentle with her.
I could protect her.
From people.
From harm.
From anything that tried to reach her.
But I couldn't protect her from everything.
Not from life itself.
And if I kept her shielded from even the smallest struggles, she would never learn how to face anything on her own.
She would stay safe.
But fragile.
And the moment I wasn't there...
That safety would shatter.
My jaw tightened slightly as the thought settled in, my grip on her unconsciously firming for a brief second before softening again.
I didn't want that for her.
I didn't want a life where she depended on someone else for every step, every decision, every moment.
I wanted her to see the world.
To walk through it.
To understand it.
Not through me.
But by herself.
To find her own strength.
To realize she wasn't as helpless as she believed.
The idea of her doing that without me right beside her made something inside me twist painfully.
It scared me.
More than anything else.
But loving her meant more than just keeping her safe.
It meant letting her grow.
Even if it hurt.
Even if it meant watching her struggle.
Even if it meant being the reason she cried today so she wouldn't break tomorrow.
My gaze softened as I looked at her lowered face, my hand moving again in slow, absent strokes.
This would hurt her.
I knew that.
And it would hurt me just as much.
But it was still the right thing to do.
Because I didn't just want to protect her.
The tension hadn't settled.
It lingered between them, heavy and fragile, like one wrong word could break everything all over again.
RIVAN exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself, trying to hold onto patience that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.
"Stop crying, kitten..." he said, his voice low, controlled, but not as soft as before. "No need to cry over small things. You should face everything. I don't want you to cry over small things."
The moment the words left him, they landed wrong.
Devyani's head jerked slightly, her breath hitching as if something inside her had snapped.
"Now..." her voice trembled, breaking under the weight of hurt, "...you have a problem with my crying too?"
Her eyes didn't lift, but the pain in her voice filled the entire space.
"No, that's not what I'm saying," he replied, frustration slipping through despite himself. "Fuck... why do you always think negative? I just want you to understand things, kitten."
The sharpness in his tone, even if unintentional, was enough.
She flinched.
A small, involuntary movement, but it hit him harder than anything else.
Her shoulders curled inward again, her hands clutching her saree tightly as if trying to hold herself together.
"Then tell na..." she whispered, her voice barely holding, "...you hate me now."
And then she broke.
Completely.
Her tears came harder, faster, her breathing uneven as sobs escaped despite her trying to suppress them. The sound filled the room, raw and aching, carrying every ounce of fear and insecurity she didn't know how to control.
RIVAN shut his eyes.
Tightly.
As if blocking it out would make it easier.
As if it would stop the guilt from crashing into him all over again.
But it didn't.
It only made it louder.
RIVAN was still trying to gather himself, his thoughts tangled between guilt and resolve, when the sharp vibration of his phone cut through the moment.
Once.
He ignored it.
His focus didn't leave her, his hand still resting against her, his mind still caught in her tears.
Then it buzzed again.
This time, more insistent.
More urgent.
A faint crease formed between his brows as he pulled the phone out, irritation flickering for a split second before he answered.
"Yeah."
His voice was low.
Controlled.
But whatever came from the other side...
It changed everything.
In an instant.
The calm on his face disappeared, replaced by something darker, sharper. His posture stiffened, his jaw tightening as the words sank in.
The single word came out harsher than intended.
His eyes shifted, no longer seeing the room, no longer seeing her.
Only the situation unfolding somewhere far beyond these walls.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The call ended just as abruptly.
For a fraction of a second, he stood still.
Caught between two worlds.
Then instinct took over.
Fast.
Decisive.
He pulled his hand away from Devyani, the warmth between them breaking without warning. His movements turned sharp, hurried, grabbing what he needed without a second thought.
He didn't explain.
Didn't soften it.
Didn't even look at her properly.
"I have to go," he muttered, already moving toward the door, his mind racing ahead of him.
And then he was gone.
The door shut behind him in a rush of motion, not as loud as before, but final enough to leave an echo.
And just like that...
He left.
Without realizing what he had done.
Without realizing what he had left behind.
Devyani stood there.
Still.
Silent.
The space he had occupied moments ago now empty, cold in a way that didn't match the warmth that had been there before.
Her fingers slowly loosened, falling back to her sides.
Her eyes remained fixed on the door for a second longer.
Then they blurred.
More tears welled up, slipping down quietly, one after another, as the silence wrapped around her again.
He left.
Without saying anything.
Without explaining.
And this time...
It hurt more.
She nodded simply.
And just like that
She reached for the door handle.
"OKAY OKAY WAIT—"
Aditya practically jumped, panic flooding through him as he leaned forward.
Her answer came without delay.
He blinked again.
"You... want alcohol?"
No hesitation.
No confusion.
Just quiet certainty.
Glimpse;":
"You think you can stroke me to the edge and then act innocent?"
His teeth grazed her neck, and she felt him smile against her pulse point.
She hesitated immediately.
Her brows furrowed adorably as she struggled to explain.
RIVAN's eyebrow lifted slowly.
Devyani became red instantly.
She gestured vaguely downward, completely flustered now.
_____________________
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