[59]MELTED
The room was bathed in soft winter sunlight, the kind that made everything look golden and warm.
The naming ceremony was only hours away, and the haveli was already buzzing downstairs (servants arranging flowers, family preparing sweets, the faint sound of laughter and instructions drifting up the stairs).
Amisha stood in front of the full-length mirror, determined to get ready on her own today.
She had chosen a rich, shining brown silk saree (deep bronze with intricate gold zari work that caught the light beautifully).
It was heavy, elegant, perfect for the occasion.
But her hands were clumsy.
It had been months since she had draped a saree herself (Abhiraj had taken over the task in late pregnancy, his fingers always steady and sure).
Now, standing in just her petticoat and blouse, she started.
Tuck the end at the waist.
Pull.
Pleat.
Her fingers fumbled.
One pleat uneven.
She undid it, tried again.
"Really... main itni gadhi hoon?" she muttered to her reflection, frustrated.
"Itne din mein hi bhool gayi?"
She shook her head.
"Nahi nahi... main bhool nahi sakti.
Main teacher hoon... ab toh mummy bhi.
Main khud bachhi hoon... bachche ki maa kaise ban gayi?"
A small, self-mocking laugh escaped.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"Haan... unki hi galti hai."
Memory flashed (her pleading with him months ago, "Mujhe pyar karo na...").
She shook her head sharply.
"Nahi... Abhiraj ki hi galti hai."
She continued, hands steadier now.
The saree fell into place (beautifully, hugging her curves perfectly-the fuller hips, the soft waist, the gentle roundness that pregnancy had left behind).
She looked at herself.
The fabric shimmered, clinging in all the right places.
She added the beautiful gold necklace (heavy, traditional, resting perfectly in the hollow of her throat).
No choti today (he was going to burn, why tie her hair?).
She let her long hair fall loose (thicker, shinier, more beautiful after pregnancy, waves cascading down her back like dark silk).
Makeup (she rarely used it, usually dependent on lip balms).
But today?
Today she was going to make him regret everything.
She started with rose water (spritzing her face, the fresh scent calming her).
Then blush (soft pink on cheeks and the bridge of her nose).
Highlighter on cheekbones and brow bones (subtle glow).
Eyeliner (thin wing, careful).
Slight kohl on lower eyes (smudged lightly, not too much).
Kajal on the outer corners (she thought kajal didn't suit her big eyes, but today she tried anyway).
Mascara (long lashes fluttering).
Then lali (bright red on her lips).
Too bold.
She wiped most of it off, leaving a soft tint, smudged naturally.
Overlined slightly for that pouty look.
Finished with her favourite strawberry lip balm (glossy, cute).
Kamarband on her waist (gold chain accentuating her curves).
Payal on her ankles (soft tinkling).
Matching heavy gold earrings.
Gold bangles on her wrists.
She stepped back.
Looked at herself.
No heavy makeup (not a makeup box face).
Just enhanced (natural beauty amplified).
She didn't look like a mother who had given birth weeks ago.
She looked like a new bride (glowing, sensual, dangerous).
"Mujhe toh sundar hi hoon," she whispered to her reflection.
"Maine socha tha Aviraj ke baad thik nahi dikhti...
par ab toh aur achhi dikhti hoon.
Thodi zyada moti ho gayi hoon... par chalta hai."
She smiled (slow, confident, a little wicked).
"Aaj toh jala ke rakh dungi unko."
She adjusted her pallu one last time, let her hair fall forward over one shoulder.
Ready.
The naming ceremony awaited.
And Amisha Shekhawat was going to walk in looking like fire wrapped in silk.
Her husband wouldn't know what hit him.
?(?￣?︶?￣?)?↗
The haveli courtyard and living room were alive with guests-over a hundred villagers, relatives, and friends from nearby areas had come to bless the new Shekhawat heir.
The air smelled of fresh marigolds, incense, and the sweets being passed around on silver trays.
Soft Rajasthani folk music played in the background, and the pandit's chants drifted from the small mandap set up for the ceremony.
Abhiraj stood near the entrance of the living room, surrounded by a group of men-mostly village elders, a few business associates, and his closest friends.
Among them was Vedant Rathore (his best friend since childhood, co-sarpanch of the neighboring village, tall and broad like Abhiraj, with that same quiet intensity).
They were talking (casual banter about land disputes, monsoon crops, and the usual village politics).
Vedant clapped Abhiraj on the back.
"Ab toh tu poora gharwala ban gaya, bhai.
Beta bhi ho gaya.
Ab koi shaitani nahi?"
Abhiraj smirked.
"Shaitani toh abhi bhi hai... bas direction badal gaya."
The men laughed.
But Abhiraj's eyes kept drifting to the stairs.
Where was she?
Amisha hadn't come down yet.
He knew she was getting ready, but the wait was killing him.
His mind flashed to this morning (how he had lifted her sleeping form, carried her to the bathroom, splashed water to wake her).
A small, guilty chuckle escaped him.
Vedant noticed.
"Kya yaad aa gaya?"
Abhiraj shook his head, smiling.
"Kuch nahi."
He was about to excuse himself to check on her when-
The room quieted.
Conversations paused.
Heads turned.
Amisha had appeared at the top of the stairs.
And descended slowly.
Every step deliberate, saree shimmering.
Abhiraj's world stopped.
She was... devastating.
The shining brown silk saree hugged her curves like it was made for her (the fabric clinging to her fuller hips, her soft waist, the gentle swell of her post-pregnancy figure in all the right ways).
Her milky skin glowed (like moonlight on fresh cream, flawless and radiant).
The beautiful gold necklace rested perfectly in the hollow of her throat, drawing the eye to the soft rise of her chest.
Her long hair was open (thick, glossy waves falling like dark clouds down her back, moving with every step).
Kamarband at her waist (gold chain accentuating the curve).
Payal tinkling softly on her ankles.
Gold bangles on her wrists.
Earrings matching the necklace, catching the light.
Makeup subtle but lethal (blush on her chubby cheeks, highlighter making her glow like she was lit from within, eyes big and lined with kohl, lashes curled and dark, kajal smudged just enough to make them smoky).
Lips (pouty, tinted soft brown with gloss from her lip balm, looking like they were begging to be kissed).
Dimples peeking when she smiled at someone.
And the nosepin (small, gold, the cherry on top).
She didn't look like a woman who had given birth weeks ago.
She looked like a new bride (sensual, confident, dangerous).
She walked to the sofa where the women sat, Aviraj already in her arms (passed to her by Minakshi Ma), and settled gracefully.
The women cooed, murmuring.
"Arre Amisha... kitni sundar lag rahi ho!"
"Bilku dulhan jaisi!"
Even the men whispered among themselves.
Vedant leaned to Abhiraj, grinning.
"Bhai... teri biwi ne toh aaj sabko maar dala."
Abhiraj didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Everything blurred (Vedant, the guests, even Aviraj for a moment).
Only her.
His heart melted, dropped straight to his stomach.
He felt like time had stopped.
She was his.
Every inch of her (curves he knew by heart, skin he had kissed a thousand times, hair he loved tangled in his fingers).
And today, she had dressed to ruin him.
He stood there, frozen.
Until she looked up.
Met his eyes across the room.
And smiled (slow, knowing, victorious).
He swallowed hard.
The naming ceremony could wait.
Right now, all he wanted was to drag her back upstairs and show her exactly what she did to him.
But he stayed rooted.
Because even a king knew when his queen had won the battle.
And today, Amisha Shekhawat had won everything.