[12]HEAVEN
Morning,
The long teak table gleamed under the morning sun, steel thalis scraped clean, the air thick with ghee and cardamom.
Abhiraj sat at the head, black suit crisp, sleeves rolled, Rolex glinting as he sipped lassi.
Amisha, in a simple peach saree, rose to leave for school, anklets chiming.
Minakshi’s voice cut through the chatter, calm but firm.
“Aaj tum nahi jaogi.”
Every head turned.
Dadi paused mid-bite.
Satish raised a brow.
Mihir smirked.
Amisha blinked, plate still in hand.
“Kyun, Maa?”
Minakshi folded her hands, eyes soft but unyielding.
“Aaj tum dono mandir chalo.
Pooja rakhwayi hai, sukhi sansar ke liye.
Itne dinon baad mile ho… bhagwan se aashirwad lena chahiye.”
Amisha’s cheeks flushed, voice small.
“Par Maa… principal bohot daantti hai. Chhutti karoon toh—”
Abhiraj set his glass down, voice low, final.
“Nahi daantengi woh.”
No room for doubt.
The table fell silent.
Minakshi smiled, satisfied.
“Main tumhare liye kapde bhejwaati hoon. Woh pehenna.”
Amisha nodded,
fingers twisting the edge of her dupatta,
eyes darting to Abhiraj—
who watched her,
dark,
possessive,
a silent promise in his gaze.
Dadi chuckled.
“Jaldi karo, beta. Mandir mein late mat hona.”
Amisha slipped away to change.
Abhiraj leaned back,
smirking into his lassi.
Principal daantengi?
Not anymore.
The white Rolls-Royce Phantom waited under the neem, polished to a mirror.
Abhiraj leaned against the hood, arms crossed, white cotton kurta open at the throat, sleeves rolled high, dhoti crisp and falling perfectly.
Sunlight carved sharp lines across his cheekbones, the Rolex glinting every time he moved.
He looked like a young king waiting for his queen.
Two black Scorpios rolled up.
Four men in plain clothes stepped out, heads bowed.
“Tight security around the temple. No one inside except Pandit ji and the staff I cleared. Roads blocked from all four sides. Media, villagers, anyone—no entry.”
“Ji, Hukum.”
They vanished as quickly as they came.
Then—
chhan-chhan… chhan-chhan…
Silver payals on marble.
He looked up.
And froze.
Amisha descended the stairs like moonlight made flesh.
Lavender poshak—softest georgette, heavy gotta-patti borders shimmering with every step.
Matching odhni veiled her head, yet the kohl-lined eyes peeked through, huge, luminous.
A long, thick braid swung down to her waist, tipped with parandi and tiny pearls.
Heavy gold jadau—kundan polki haar, jhumke that kissed her jaw, nath, kangans, bangles stacked high.
Lips glossy with nothing but balm.
No sindoor yet.
She looked like an angel who had accidentally stepped into the mortal world.
She stopped two feet away, fingers nervously clutching the odhni.
“Chaliye?”
Voice barely above a whisper.
He opened the door for her without a word, eyes never leaving her face.
As he circled to the driver’s side, he spoke, low and rough.
“Bahut sundar lag rahi ho.”
She was halfway into the seat—
froze.
Cheeks flooded crimson.
Eyes dropped instantly.
He slid in, started the car.
She sat rigid, staring hard out the window, braid swinging with every breath.
Silence.
Then, so softly he almost missed it—
“Aap bhi… bahut achhe lag rahe ho.”
His fingers tightened on the wheel.
A slow, dangerous smirk curved his mouth.
She didn’t see it—she was still pretending the scenery was fascinating.
The car rolled through the village.
She blinked at the unusual quiet.
“Itni saari security kyun?”
He glanced sideways.
“Bahar jo hai, ghar ke.”
She turned, confused.
“Waise toh main school bhi jaati hoon… wahan itni security nahi hoti.”
Smirk deepened.
“Hoti hai. Bas tumhe pata nahi chalta.”
Her eyes widened—
realisation, shock, then a tiny embarrassed smile.
He parked right at the temple steps.
The entire courtyard was empty.
Not a soul.
Only marigold garlands, bells, and the faint scent of incense.
She stepped out, odhni slipping slightly.
“Yeh itna sannata kyun hai… bhaiya?”
The word slipped out in nervous flow.
The air turned to ice.
Abhiraj turned slowly—
robot-stiff,
eyes dark,
jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped.
“Bhaiya?”
Voice deadly quiet.
Amisha’s hand flew to her mouth.
“Arre nahi-nahi! Aise hi… flow mein nikal gaya!”
She thought in her mind,sabko bhaiya bulati hu to pati ko bhi bold diya bhaiya.me pagal hu.
He stepped closer, towering.
“Flow ko control karo, Mrs. Shekhawat.”
She gulped, nodded frantically.
“Ji…”
He exhaled, the storm passing, and offered his arm.
She took it, fingers trembling against his sleeve.
Inside the Temple
Pandit ji waited, smiling wide.
The sanctum was dressed like a wedding—
marigold torans, rose petals scattered thick, silver thaalis gleaming.
They sat side by side on the velvet asana.
Kanyadaan (again).
Hasta-milap—his large hand engulfing her small hennaed one.
Mangal pheras—four slow circles around the sacred fire, her odhni tied to his angvastra.
With every circle, the bells rang louder, the fire flared higher.
Sindoor.
He took a pinch, eyes locked on hers.
She lowered her gaze, parting the veil with shaking fingers.
He drew a long, perfect line in her maang—
thick,
claiming.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Mangalsutra.
He fastened the black-beaded chain around her neck, fingers brushing her nape.
The clasp clicked shut like a vow.
She looked up—
eyes shining,
lips trembling into a shy, radiant smile.
Pandit ji pronounced them married—
again.
Abhiraj leaned in, voice for her ears alone.
“Ab flow mein bhi galti nahi hogi, biwi.”
She bit her lip, cheeks on fire.
“Pakka.”
He smirked,
thumb brushing away her tear.
Outside, the sun blazed.
Inside, two hearts—
finally,
completely—
one.
The pooja ended with the final ringing of the bells.
Abhiraj slipped a thick bundle of notes into Pandit ji’s hands.
“Garibon ko bhojan karwa dena. Poora prasadam baant dena.”
Pandit ji’s eyes shone with gratitude as he pressed the money to his forehead.
They stepped out of the sanctum.
The temple courtyard was still empty, sunlight pouring over ancient stones.
Behind the main shrine lay the khet—a secret stretch of green framed by marigolds, sunflowers, and wild roses.
Tiny brown-and-white goats skipped between the rows, bells around their necks tinkling.
Amisha’s eyes lit up like a child’s.
She spun to him, hands clasped.
“Chaliye na, wahan jaate hain!”
He opened his mouth—
“Amisha, garmi hai—”
She pouted.
Puppy eyes.
Lower lip trembling on purpose.
He exhaled through his nose, defeated in half a second.
“Theek hai.”
Before the words fully left him, she was already running—
lavender poshak flaring, heavy jhumkas dancing, braid whipping behind her like a comet’s tail.
The odhni slipped from her shoulders, flying free like a violet flag.
“Dheere, moti!”
he called, voice half-laugh, half-worry.
She turned mid-run to catch the dupatta—
but he was already there, snatching it from the air.
He shook his head, eyes soft.
Main pakad loonga.
She understood instantly.
Toothy grin.
And bolted deeper into the khet, barefoot now, payals singing.
He followed, slow, deliberate, her lavender odhni draped over his forearm like a trophy.
Without the veil she was breathtaking—
lavender clinging to every curve,
kundan haar glinting against her collarbones,
thick braid swinging,
fresh red sindoor blazing in her parting like a war flag.
She knelt, scooped a baby goat into her arms, laughed when it nibbled her jhumka.
Marigolds tangled in her hair.
He stopped a few feet away,
leaning against a sunflower stalk,
watching her in absolute silence.
Heaven had come down to earth,
and it was wearing lavender.
She turned, saw him staring, and her smile softened—
shy, radiant, his.
She ran back, caught his free hand, tugged.
“Aaiye na!”
He let her drag him deeper,
her small fingers wrapped tight around his.
They reached the talab at the far end—
still water, lotus pads floating, kingfishers flashing blue.
Dragonflies hovered like living jewels.
She spun in a slow circle, arms wide.
“Yeh kiska khet hai? Itna sundar…”
He looked at the land,
then at her—
sindoor bright,
cheeks sun-kissed,
lavender fluttering against green.
A single thought, quiet and final, settled in his chest.
From today, yours.
I’ll sign the papers by evening.
She noticed the dupatta still in his hand.
With a shy laugh she reached for it,
draped it messily across her chest,
ends fluttering.
Then she looked up—
toothy, breathless smile,
sindoor glowing like fire,
eyes shining with the whole sky.
Beautiful.
His.
He stepped forward,
tucked a stray marigold behind her ear,
thumb brushing the fresh sindoor.
“Mine.”
The word left him like a vow.
She blushed crimson,
but didn’t look away.
The goats bleated.
The talab rippled.
And in that moment,
the whole world narrowed to just the two of them—
lavender and white,
sindoor and possession,
forever.
Sunlight poured molten gold over the marigolds.
Amisha stood barefoot in the soft earth, a tiny brown goat cradled against her chest, its little hooves dangling, ears twitching.
Lavender poshak shimmered around her legs, braid swinging, sindoor blazing like a fresh wound of love.
Abhiraj watched for one heartbeat longer,
then closed the distance in three silent strides.
His hands found her waist,
large, warm, possessive,
fingers curling over the delicate gotta border,
pulling her gently back against him.
The goat bleated in surprise, but she only laughed, soft, breathless.
He leaned down,
slow enough for her to feel the heat of him before contact,
and pressed the first kiss to her cheek,
right at the corner of her smile.
Soft.
Reverent.
She closed one eye instinctively, lashes fluttering.
He didn’t stop.
Lower,
just beneath the first,
another kiss,
feather-light,
lingering,
cute and deliberate,
like he was tasting sunlight on her skin.
Her breath hitched.
The goat wriggled, but she held it tighter, cheeks burning brighter than the sindoor in her parting.
He stayed there,
forehead resting against her temple for a second,
voice a low rumble only she could hear.
“Meri ho tum,sirf meri.”
The little goat bleated again, as if in agreement.
She turned her face,and smiled so wide the sun itself seemed dimmer.