CHAPTER 39! MERE PATI HAI #2
Within an hour, the hall fell into a heavy, comfortable silence. Bodies were sprawled across blankets and cushions, the quiet rhythm of their breathing mirroring the storm outside.
Only three people remained awake.
The old woman sat quietly in a wooden rocking chair near the fire, her needles clicking softly as she knitted.
Aryav remained in his corner by the door. His eyes were closed, his head resting back against the wall, but his posture lacked the loose vulnerability of sleep.
He sat like a man expecting trouble, even in a room full of sleeping people.
Beneath the edge of his damp shirt, his hand rested naturally near the inner lining of his jacket—a silent, deeply ingrained instinct. Still, silent, but entirely aware.
And Aadhira.
She stared at the sleeping group for several minutes before her gaze drifted toward their host.
A familiar, stubborn weight of guilt had been pressing against her chest since they arrived.
This woman had opened her door to absolute strangers, given them shelter, and shared her tea.
And they had repaid her hospitality with a ridiculous lie.
Rising carefully so as not to disturb the others, Aadhira crossed the room and sat down on the low stool beside the rocking chair.
The woman looked up from her yarn, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Need nahi aa rahi beta?"
Aadhira offered a sheepish smile.
"Nahi dadiji."
The old woman nodded knowingly, returning to her clicking needles. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet safety of the room wrapped around them.
Aadhira cleared her throat quietly. "Dadi..."
"Hmm?"
"About earlier," Aadhira began, rubbing the back of her neck.
"Arush was lying. I’m not pregnant. We just desperately needed a way out of the rain, and before I could stop him, he just—"
The old woman burst into a soft, wheezing laugh.
Aadhira blinked, entirely caught off guard. The woman laughed so hard she had to stop her needles and wipe a tear from her eye.
"Of course he was lying," the woman murmured.
Aadhira stared. "You knew?"
"Beta, the moment the words left his mouth, every single person in your family looked absolutely horrified." The old woman smiled, her eyes dancing.
"One girl nearly dropped her umbrella in the mud. Another looked like she was choking on her own tongue. Ek ladka toh peeche hat gaya tha. Jaise keh raha ho—'Main isko jaanta hi nahi.'"
Aadhira covered her face with her hands, a flush rising on her cheeks.
"Was it really that obvious?"
"Bahut bura."
Despite herself, a small laugh escaped Aadhira.
The old woman smiled warmly, her expression softening.
"I have lived a very long life in these mountains. People assume old age makes your eyes fail you."
"It doesn't?"
"It makes you an expert on people."
"Then... why did you let us stay?" Aadhira asked quietly.
The woman’s gaze drifted over the sleeping family. She looked at Arush, who was currently monopolizing three distinct blankets.
She looked at Reyansh, whose arm hung dramatically off the edge of the cushions. Finally, her eyes settled on the corner by the door. On Aryav.
Even surrounded by sleeping family and warm firelight, Aryav somehow remained separate from it all.
As though the room belonged to everyone else, and the shadows belonged to him.
The old woman's gaze lingered on him. "That one has seen difficult things."
Aadhira looked up.
"What makes you say that?"
"His eyes." The old woman resumed knitting. "Jo aadmi chain se jeeta hai na... woh darwaze par peeth karke baith leta hai."
Aadhira swallowed hard, the truth of the observation striking a chord.
"Besides," the old woman added softly, "none of you looked dangerous."
Aadhira raised an eyebrow, thinking of the dark reputation that usually followed the man in the corner. "None of us?"
"Tum log toh poori baraat lag rahe the," the woman corrected gently. "People who are pretending to be good can fool an old woman for a few minutes. But they cannot fake the way you all guard those children. They cannot fake the way you bicker like you breathe."
For a brief second, Aadhira found her throat tightening.
The old woman reached out, her wrinkled hand patting Aadhira’s knee. "You have good people around you, beta."
Aadhira followed her gaze back to the family. Then, almost against her will, her eyes pulled toward the door.
Toward Aryav.
The old woman didn't miss the direction of her gaze.
Her smile faded slightly.
"Ha vo bala todha alag hai."
Aadhira's pulse jumped.
"You barely know him."
"Dhoop main todhi safed kiye hai maine apne baal beta." Her needles clicked softly. "Pyar karti ho usse."
Aadhira snapped her eyes back to her lap, her throat suddenly dry.
"Aisa... aisa kuch nahi hai dadiji."
" Acha fir itna Sharma kyu rahi ho."
Aadhira groaned softly.
"Main ...main kaha Sharma rahi vo gharmi jada hai todhi."
"Acha?"
"Dadi..."
"Theek hai mat batao par vo bala sunder bhi hai acha lagega tumhare sath, sach batao pyar karti ho na usse?"
Aadhira immediately looked away.
"Ha... Matlb nahi , matlab mujhe nahi pata."
The old woman's smile widened.
"Who is he to you, then?"
Aadhira hesitated, her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper.
"Laga hi tha mujhe ," the old woman said, her gaze drifting toward Aryav. "Jab se aaya hai tumse Nazar hi nahi hati uski mujhe laga aashiq hoga."
The words hit Aadhira like a physical weight. Her breath hitched in her throat, her defensive walls fracturing instantly under the sheer truth of it.
"That's not normal, beta." The old woman's smile softened. "It's beautiful. And a little frightening."
Aadhira looked away first. Her shoulders loosened; she hadn't realized how tightly she'd been holding herself together.
Outside, the storm continued to rage against the mountainside, but the crackling hearth finally slowed her running thoughts.
Across the room, Aryav hadn't shifted an inch. His even, measured breathing hadn't changed once since he sat down.
Then, a familiar, deep voice cut through the silence.
"Careful."
Aadhira froze.
Aryav’s eyes remained closed. His head was still resting against the wall, his expression completely relaxed.
"She’s already decided you're staying," he murmured quietly.
The old woman laughed softly, a delighted grin breaking across her face.
Aadhira blinked, her heart doing another erratic flip. "Aap soye nahi?"
One eye opened, locking onto her in the dim firelight with unsettling clarity.
"For two people trying to keep secrets...
you're remarkably loud."
A brief, heavy pause settled over the space.
Then he closed his eye again, slipping effortlessly back into the shadows.
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