[33] BRA CHOR
Amisha let out a tiny, embarrassed sigh against his lips.
“Haan… thoda tight hai,” she whispered, cheeks flaming. “Par blouse nahi… blouse ke andar wala.”
Abhiraj’s eyes darkened instantly.
No hesitation.
No permission asked.
His hand slipped inside the loosened blouse in one smooth motion, warm palm sliding over her skin, fingers finding the clasp of her bra at the back.
Click.
The clasp opened.
He dragged the straps down her shoulders, pulled the bra completely out from under the blouse in one swift tug, and held the soft pink lace in his fist.
Amisha’s mouth fell open, eyes wide with shock and shyness, hands flying to cover her now-free, sensitive chest through the thin blouse fabric.
“Abhiraj!!”
He didn’t even blink, just looked at the bra in his hand like a victory flag, then calmly tucked it into the inside pocket of his red velvet jacket.
“Ab comfortable hai na?” he
murmured, voice low and satisfied.
Before she could scold him, he gently adjusted the blouse cups with careful fingers, making sure the fabric sat softly over her breasts, then pulled her pallu securely across her chest, tucking it neatly so nothing showed.
Perfect decency on the outside.
Only they knew what was missing underneath.
Amisha opened her mouth (half scandalised, half speechless).
From the courtyard came Minakshi Ma’s voice:
“Abhiraj! Amisha! Karishma aur uski family ja rahi hai, chalo bye karne!”
Abhiraj immediately lowered Amisha to the ground, steadying her.
Minakshi Ma turned the corner, saw them, smiled.
“Arey, main hi dhoond rahi thi. Chalo beta.”
Both nodded obediently.
Minakshi Ma walked off ahead.
Amisha’s eyes darted to Abhiraj’s jacket pocket (the faint outline of her bra clearly visible).
She opened her mouth again, horrified whisper starting—
He casually patted the pocket once, gave her the smuggest, most innocent smile, then placed a hand on her lower back and gently pushed her forward.
“Chalo, biwi. Bye karne chalte hain.”
She tried to protest, but he was already steering her out, palm firm and warm against her bare waist under the pallu.
No chance to argue.
No chance to demand her bra back.
Just wide-eyed, blushing Amisha being walked back to the crowd by her husband who now, quite literally, held all the cards… and her underwear… in his pocket.
Game, set, and very much match: Abhiraj Singh Shekhawat.
The engagement chaos had quieted down to soft music and the rustle of silk.
Karishma’s family car was parked under the arched gateway, engine humming, boot already half-filled with gift boxes.
Karishma stood in the centre of the farewell circle, still in her heavy peach-pink lehenga, the diamond ring on her finger catching every diya flame.
Her eyes were red from happy tears, nose a little pink, but the smile wouldn’t leave her face.
Mihir hovered beside her like a lost puppy who’d finally found home, one hand nervously holding hers, the other scratching the back of his neck.
Minakshi Ma and Rajveer Papa were doing the final aarti, circling the thali around the couple, showering rice and flowers.
Dadi pressed a small velvet pouch (gold coin and dried coconut) into Karishma’s palm and pulled her into a tight hug.
“Ab se tu humari beti hai, samjhi? Har Sunday khana yahin khaane aana.”
Karishma laughed through fresh tears.
“Pakka, Dadi.”
Megha was openly crying, clinging to Karishma’s dupatta.
“Tune history padhate-padhate mera bhai patta liya, haramzaadi!”
Everyone burst out laughing.
Amisha stepped forward last, eyes still a little red from the corridor episode, but glowing with genuine happiness.
She hugged Karishma tightly.
“Mrs. Shekhawat ban gayi meri best friend,” she whispered. “Ab school mein sirf main akeli rah jaungi tujhe chidhane wali.”
Karishma squeezed her back.
“Tu bhi jaldi aa jaana maternity leave se wapas, warna bacche bhool jayenge unki favourite Science ma’am ko.”
Both laughed, foreheads touching for a second.
Mihir finally pulled Karishma gently toward the car, but not before she turned and touched Minakshi Ma’s and Rajveer Papa’s feet one more time.
The mothers were crying, the fathers pretending they weren’t.
Karishma looked at the entire family gathered under the fairy lights, then at Mihir, and said softly,
“Thank you… for making me yours.”
Mihir’s ears went scarlet.
He just nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.
Final hugs, final namastes, final waves.
The car door closed.
As the taillights disappeared down the long haveli driveway, the family stood waving till the last flicker vanished.
Megha sniffed dramatically.
“Ab ghar kitna khali-khali lag raha hai…”
Minakshi Ma wiped her eyes with the edge of her pallu and smiled.
“Ab sirf teen mahine baaki hain… phir ek aur nayi bahu aayegi.”
Everyone turned to look at Amisha instinctively.
Amisha’s cheeks went pink under all the teasing smiles.
Abhiraj, standing just behind her, slipped his arm around her waist (finally allowed), fingers brushing the bare skin the pallu didn’t cover.
He leaned down, lips near her ear, voice only for her.
“Ghar khali nahi hoga, Ma.
Jaldi hi ek chhota sa mehman aa raha hai.”
Soft gasps, then delighted laughter rippled through the family.
Amisha hid her face in his shoulder, mortified and happy at the same time.
Under the starlit gateway, the Shekhawat haveli waved goodbye to one daughter-in-law-to-be…
and quietly, joyfully, began waiting for the next little heartbeat that would soon fill every corner with new life.
The haveli had finally gone quiet.
Only the faint sound of a distant dholki lingered from the courtyard.
Amisha was already on the bed, still in the heavy red-gold Kanjeevaram, sprawled like a tired princess, eyes half-closed, jhumkas still dangling.
Abhiraj pulled off his red velvet jacket and kurta, changed into a soft white vest and cotton pyjama, then walked over to the bed.
He looked down at her, hands on hips.
“Amisha… utho. Change kar lo.”
She made a small, whiny sound and rolled onto her side.
“Nahi karna… bahut thak gayi hoon.”
He sighed, half fond, half exasperated.
“Yeh saree kitni heavy hai, irritate karegi raat bhar. Chalo, khadi ho jao.”
She didn’t budge.
Abhiraj shook his head, smiling despite himself.
“Itni lazy ho gayi ho, moti ho jaogi… moti ho hi pehle se hi.”
Amisha’s eyes snapped open.
She sat up a little, glaring.
“Koi problem?”
He instantly raised both hands in surrender, eyes soft.
“Nahi nahi, bilkul no problem, baby. Motapa bhi tumpe suit karta hai.”
She huffed, but let him pull her gently to sit properly.
He placed two cushions behind her back, then went to the almirah, took out her favourite soft cotton gagra and a light pink kurti.
Kneeling in front of her, he started unwrapping the saree (slow, careful tugs, letting the silk pool on the floor like liquid gold).
Pleat by pleat, pin by pin, pallu sliding off her shoulder.
When she was down to just the gagra and blouse, he reached for the kurti.
Amisha looked up at him, suddenly shy.
“Meri bra… mujhe pehnni hai.”
He didn’t even blink.
“No need. Uncomfortable hai.”
She blinked.
“Par… main aise kaise rahi ghar mein?”
He gave her that calm, possessive look.
“No worry. Ghar mein sirf family hai or tum vese bhi duppata se cover hi hoti ho. Aur maine pehle bhi dekha hai… sab kuchh.”
Her cheeks went scarlet.
He slipped the soft kurti over her head anyway (no bra, just the loose cotton falling gently over her fuller, unbound breasts).
Then he reached behind her, pulled the pins from her bun, let her hair tumble down in a dark wave.
The gajra he placed carefully on the side table.
Finally, he eased her back against the pillows, pulled the light blanket up to her waist, and climbed in beside her.
Amisha was already half-asleep, but her fingers found his hand under the blanket, lacing tightly, clutching like she never wanted to let go.
Abhiraj turned off the light, wrapped his arm around her, palm settling protectively over the tiny curve of her belly.
She nuzzled into his chest with a sleepy, contented hum.
He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
“Good night, meri lazy, moti, pregnant biwi,” he whispered into her hair.
From the depths of sleep, she mumbled back, voice thick and happy,
“Good night… bra chor.”
He laughed quietly into the dark, pulled her closer, and let her drift off clutching his hand like it was her whole world.
Because it was his too.