•| TWENTY THREE |•
Arching your body lazily, you stretched your arms high above your head, your back curving slightly as a soft, content hum escaped your lips—the kind that only came after deep, uninterrupted sleep.
A small smile tugged at your face as the early morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, falling gently across the bed and warming your skin.
“Good morning, Samira,” you whispered to yourself in a playful tone, your voice still husky with sleep as you pushed the duvet aside and slipped your feet onto the cold floor. For a brief moment you simply sat there, absorbing the unfamiliar silence of the grand room around you.
Then memories of last night returned in fragments—the wedding, the exhaustion, the awkwardness… and Krish.
You remembered how he hadn’t slept beside you, choosing instead to go to Kiaan’s room, probably more comfortable there—and strangely, you didn’t mind. In fact, you felt relieved; the space had given your racing thoughts time to settle.
Slowly standing up, you walked toward the large mirror, your reflection making you pause.
For a second, you simply stared—at the sindoor faintly resting in your hairline, the mangalsutra around your neck, the subtle marks of a bride that still felt surreal to you.
You blinked, momentarily forgetting that you were married now…
that this mansion, this life, these people—were your reality.
A quiet sigh left your lips as the weight of it settled gently on your shoulders—not suffocating, just… heavy.
Shaking yourself out of the trance, you turned toward the closet, opening the large wooden doors to reveal rows of neatly arranged clothes—far more luxurious than what you were used to.
After scanning through them for a while, you finally picked a simple yet elegant outfit, something comfortable enough to start the day.
Holding the dress carefully, you walked into the bathroom.
Meanwhile, Krish had just finished his morning workout, and the faint sheen of sweat still clung to his skin as he pushed open the bedroom door with a tired huff.
His breathing was slightly heavy, chest rising and falling as he grabbed the towel lying on the chair and began roughly patting it against his face and neck, drying the sweat absentmindedly.
His hair was slightly damp, curls messy from exertion, and without sparing a glance around the room, he walked toward the dressing table, fully convinced that he was alone.
With casual ease, he pulled his sweatshirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his toned back and shoulders as he reached for another towel, completely unaware that the bathroom door had just opened behind him.
You stepped out at that exact moment, still busy rubbing your wet hair with your towel, your gaze lowered as you tried to squeeze out the excess water.
You were humming softly to yourself, too distracted to notice him—until your eyes accidentally lifted toward the mirror.
And that’s when you froze. Your reflection showed his reflection. Half-naked. Standing. Right there.
Your eyes widened so fast they almost hurt. “AHH—W-WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!” you shrieked, instantly turning around as if your life depended on it, your back snapping toward him while you clutched your towel dramatically like you were the one underdressed.
Krish blinked, glancing down at himself as if only now realizing his state. “And why are you shouting?” he asked calmly, almost bored, as though this was the most normal situation in the world.
“BECAUSE YOU’RE NAKED, YOU IDIOT UNCLE—what do you think?!” you snapped, eyes tightly shut while one hand waved frantically in the air, gesturing for him to cover himself. “Can you PLEASE wear your clothes?!”
He scoffed softly, rolling his eyes at your overreaction, clearly unimpressed. Without even bothering to argue further, he simply picked up his clothes and walked past you toward the bathroom again, shutting the door behind him.
You, however, remained exactly where you were—eyes still squeezed shut, body stiff as a statue.
A few seconds passed.
Then more.
“Did you wear it?” you called out cautiously.
Silence.
“Shall I open my eyes?” you asked again, voice softer this time but still suspicious.
More silence.
Suddenly, you felt a hand wrap around your waist from behind, making your entire body stiffen in shock. Your breath hitched as your mind instantly jumped to the worst conclusion.
“Krish ji stop—” you blurted out hurriedly, eyes still shut tight, face heating up in embarrassment at the thought that he had come close again without warning.
A tiny giggle interrupted your panic.
“But mummy… it’s not Dad, it’s Kiaan.”
Your eyes flew open at the familiar innocent voice. You looked down quickly only to find the little boy hugging your waist, his small face pressed against you, smiling sleepily as if this was the most natural place for him to be.
Your heart melted instantly.
“Aww… it’s my Kiaan,” you mumbled softly, your tone completely changing as you bent down and scooped him into your arms. Without thinking twice, you pressed a warm kiss to his chubby cheek, inhaling his baby scent that somehow calmed every nerve in your body.
He giggled, squirming slightly in your hold but wrapping his tiny arms around your neck in return.
You slowly turned your head toward the room, scanning it cautiously.
When you confirmed Krish wasn’t there, you let out a silent sigh of relief.
Thank God he’s not here, you thought, your shoulders finally relaxing.
“Mummy… Kiaan is hungry,” he said cutely, pouting his lips in the most dramatic way possible, his sleepy eyes blinking up at you.
Your lips curved into a fond smile at his adorable expression. You gently squeezed his cheeks between your fingers, making him whine playfully.
“My baby is hungry?” you cooed, nodding your head as you adjusted him properly in your arms. “Okay, let’s go… mummy will feed you.”
He rested his head on your shoulder instantly, trusting you completely—as if you had always belonged in that place.
As you carefully walked down the grand staircase with Kiaan resting comfortably in your arms, his tiny fingers still clutching the fabric of your dupatta, your eyes scanned the spacious living hall.
The early morning sunlight was filtering in through the tall glass windows, making the marble floors gleam softly.
Your gaze landed on Mrs. Mehra, who was seated elegantly on the sofa, reading the morning newspaper with her glasses perched low on her nose. She looked so composed, so homely—yet there was authority in her aura that reminded you this was now her house… and your new world.
You adjusted Kiaan slightly in your arms before speaking politely.
“Good morning, Mom.”
She lowered the newspaper immediately, her face lighting up at your voice.
“Oh, good morning, dear… good morning, Kiaan beta,” she said warmly, folding the newspaper aside.
“Good morning, Dadi ji,” Kiaan chirped sweetly, waving his tiny hand lazily, his voice still thick with sleep.
Mrs. Mehra chuckled softly at his cuteness. “Did my baby sleep well?”
He nodded, rubbing his eyes before resting his head back on your shoulder as if he had found his permanent place there.
You smiled faintly at their bond before excusing yourself. “I’ll take him to the kitchen… he’s hungry.”
“Of course, dear. Go ahead,” she said gently, watching you with a soft, approving gaze—one that carried silent satisfaction seeing you already taking responsibility.
You walked toward the kitchen, your steps slightly hesitant but determined. As you entered, the warm aroma of freshly cooked breakfast wrapped around you instantly—parathas, poha, boiled eggs, fresh juice… everything neatly arranged.
Before you could even move further, the maids noticed you and straightened respectfully.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mehra,” they greeted with polite smiles.
You blinked for a second, realizing they were addressing you. A small awkward smile appeared on your lips as you nodded back.
“Good morning…”
“We’ve prepared everything already,” one of them said warmly. “You can rest, Mrs. Mehra. We’ll serve breakfast.”
For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. Being taken care of like this felt… new. Back at your parents’ house, you were always the one running around the kitchen.
But you smiled politely nonetheless.
“Thank you… but I’ll feed Kiaan first,” you said softly.
They nodded respectfully, stepping aside.
You placed Kiaan gently on the kitchen counter stool, standing between his tiny legs so he wouldn’t fall. Taking a small plate, you began breaking the paratha into tiny bite-sized pieces, blowing on them lightly before feeding him.
He opened his mouth obediently like a baby bird.
Between bites, he kept staring at you—smiling randomly, as if simply being fed by you made him happy.
And unknowingly… it made your heart feel full too.