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Mihir's POV

Something was wrong.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't obvious.

But it was there.

A shift in rhythm. A gap where she should have been.

Aayat had been gone too long.

Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Enough for me.

My eyes moved across the courtyard again, faces, exits, movement, mapping everything out of habit.

She wasn't there.

I didn't think twice.

I moved.

The music faded behind me as I stepped into the corridor, the noise dulling into something distant, irrelevant. The further I walked, the quieter it got.

And then...

A sound.

Sharp.

Cut short.

Like breath being forced out.

I stopped.

Just for a second.

Then pushed the door open.

Hard.

The world inside that room narrowed instantly.

Aayat.

Held.

Not by her arm. Not restrained casually.

His hand...tight around her throat.

Her head slightly tilted back, fingers gripping his wrist.

held.

And him...

Standing too close.

Too sure.

Too used to this.

Everything inside me went still.

Not rage.

Not yet.

Just... clarity.

"Leave her."

My voice didn't rise.

It didn't need to.

Omkar turned, irritation already forming, like he'd been interrupted mid-sentence instead of mid-violence.

"Who the hell are—"

He didn't finish.

I crossed the space between us in two steps.

My hand closed around his wrist.

Twisted.

Fast.

Precise.

The pressure shifted instantly.

His grip loosened.

Aayat pulled back the second she could breathe again, stepping away without hesitation.

Good.

She didn't need help moving.

She never did.

Omkar reacted late.

Tried to pull his hand back.

Too late.

I didn't let go.

"You don't get to touch her."

Simple.

Flat.

Final.

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

A mistake.

"Touch?" he scoffed. "You have no idea who you're talking to—"

I hit him.

Not wild.

Not uncontrolled.

Clean.

Straight to the jaw.

His head snapped to the side, body staggering back a step.

Silence followed.

Heavy.

Shocked.

But I didn't stop.

Because this wasn't about anger.

This was correction.

He swung back.

Predictable.

I blocked it easily.

Then hit him again.

Harder.

This time he lost balance completely, crashing against the edge of the table before dropping to the floor.

The sound echoed.

The room didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

I stepped forward slowly.

No rush.

No urgency.

He was already where I needed him to be.

On the ground.

Looking up.

Confused.

Angry.

And now...

afraid.

"Get up," I said.

He didn't.

So I reached down, grabbed his collar, and pulled him up just enough to meet my eyes.

"You think this is power?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer.

Didn't even try.

Good.

"Hurting someone who can't fight back," I continued, my grip tightening slightly, "doesn't make you strong."

A pause.

"It makes you small."

Something shifted in his expression then.

Recognition?

No.

Not of me.

Of the situation.

Of the fact that this...

was no longer under his control.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice unsteady now.

I held his gaze.

Let the silence sit.

Then...

"Someone you wished you've never met."

I let go.

He stumbled back.

Didn't fall this time.

But didn't stand straight either.

Behind me, I heard movement.

Aayat.

Steady.

Breathing normal again.

Good.

I didn't turn immediately.

"Aayat," I said.

Just her name.

A check.

A grounding point.

"I'm fine," she replied.

Of course she was.

I turned then.

The girl in the corner hadn't moved.

Still curled into herself.

Still watching like this wasn't real.

Aayat was already near her.

Of course she was.

That was her instinct.

I let it happen.

Then shifted my attention back to him.

This didn't end here.

Not inside a closed room.

"Go outside," I said.

He frowned, still trying to gather what was left of his authority.

"What—"

"Call everyone."

My tone didn't change.

Didn't rise.

But something in it...

made him listen.

He hesitated.

I took one step forward.

That was enough.

He left.

Fast.

Within minutes, the music outside faltered.

Then stopped.

Voices rose.

Confusion spread.

I walked out after him.

Aayat beside me.

The girl close to her.

And the moment we stepped into the courtyard...

everything shifted.

Eyes turned.

Whispers started.

The groom stood there.

Disheveled.

Shaken.

Not in control anymore.

Good.

"Wedding is cancelled."

I didn't raise my voice.

I didn't need to.

The words carried anyway.

Because certainty travels further than sound.

Shock rippled through the crowd.

"What—?"

"Why—?"

"How—?"

He tried to speak.

Tried to recover.

"Yeh...yeh jhooth..."

(He's...he's lying...)

I looked at him.

Just looked.

And he stopped.

Mid-sentence.

Silence fell again.

He understood now.

Not who I was.

But what I was capable of doing next.

"Call the police," I added calmly.

That broke the room.

Panic spread instantly.

Because this wasn't just embarrassment anymore.

This was exposure.

Truth.

Consequences.

I didn't look at him again.

Didn't need to.

Because whatever power he thought he had...

ended the moment he put his hand around her throat.

And tonight...

nothing was going to stay hidden.

.....

For a moment...

no one reacted.

Then the murmuring began.

Low. Uneasy. Spreading fast.

"What is happening...?"

"How can the wedding be cancelled...?"

"There must be some misunderstanding..."

The noise grew, voices overlapping, turning into a restless wave of confusion.

Eyes shifted...from me... to Omkar... to the girl standing beside Aayat.

And slowly...

the tone changed.

From confusion...

to suspicion.

Omkar tried to regain control.

"Don't listen to him!" he snapped, his voice louder now, desperate. "He's lying...he just walked in here and..."

"Enough."

One word.

Calm.

But absolute.

It cut through everything.

The noise dropped instantly.

Not gone.

But controlled.

I stepped forward, my gaze moving across the crowd...not rushing, not forcing, just observing who reacted... and how.

Because truth reveals itself when people panic.

"The wedding is cancelled," I said again, steady. "And everyone here deserves to know why."

A ripple passed through them.

This time...

it wasn't confusion.

It was tension.

Omkar laughed, but it didn't sound convincing. "There is no reason. He's creating a scene..."

"You should stop talking."

My tone didn't rise.

But it hardened.

And that was enough.

He stopped.

Again.

Behind me, I could feel Aayat.

Still.

Alert.

Good.

I glanced at the older men standing ahead, the ones who held influence here.

They were no longer dismissing this.

They were listening.

"Police are on their way," I added calmly.

That word changed everything.

Police.

Fear spread instantly.

A few people stepped back.

Some exchanged worried looks.

Others went silent.

Because now...

this wasn't a family matter anymore.

This was exposure.

Omkar's father stepped forward quickly, trying to contain the damage.

"This is not necessary," he said, forcing a polite tone. "We can sit and discuss this privately..."

"No."

Flat.

Final.

"No private discussions."

A pause.

"This will happen in front of everyone."

Silence.

Heavy.

Unavoidable.

And then...

a voice from the crowd.

Soft.

Hesitant.

"But... that girl..."

Heads turned.

All at once.

Toward Aayat.

Toward the girl beside her.

The girl shrank slightly, fear returning.

Aayat's hand moved instantly...steadying her.

Grounding her.

And that...

that was the moment everything shifted.

Because now...

it wasn't just my word.

The truth had a witness.

And this time...

no one could ignore it.

....

The silence didn't hold.

It shattered.

A woman pushed through the crowd, fast, breath uneven, eyes searching like she already knew something was wrong.

"Radhika..."

The name broke out of her.

Not loud.

But desperate enough to cut through everything.

The girl beside Aayat flinched.

And that was enough.

The woman saw her.

Really saw her.

And whatever hope she had carried into this courtyard...

collapsed.

She rushed forward, dropping to her knees, hands trembling as they reached for her daughter's face, her shoulders, her arms...checking, searching, as if afraid something worse would confirm itself under her touch.

"Look at me... beta... look at me..."

No response.

The girl didn't speak.

Didn't cry loudly.

Didn't move much at all.

Just... looked.

And that silence...

was unbearable.

The woman's hands stilled.

For a moment.

Then slowly...

she stood.

And turned.

There was no hesitation left in her.

No fear.

Only something raw.

Something burning.

She walked toward Omkar.

One step.

Two.

Three...

And then...

slap.

The sound rang across the courtyard.

Sharp enough to silence even the whispers.

Omkar's head snapped to the side, his body going still...not from strength, but from shock.

Because this...

this wasn't supposed to happen to him.

Not here.

Not in front of everyone.

But she didn't stop.

"You did this?" her voice shook, but it didn't break. "You did this to a child?"

Another step closer.

Her eyes didn't leave his.

"Do you even know how filthy you are?"

The word landed hard.

Filthy.

anger.

insulting.

Condemning.

"Look at her," she continued, her voice rising now, cracking under the weight of it. "Just look at her condition!"

A breath.

Shaky.

Broken.

And then...

"I feel disgusted even looking at you."

The courtyard shifted.

Not physically.

But something inside it changed.

People stepped back.

Not from her.

From him.

Because now...

it had a voice.

A name.

A face.

Truth.

And truth, once spoken, doesn't go back.

Omkar didn't speak.

Didn't argue.

Didn't deny.

Because this wasn't something he could twist into his favor.

Not anymore.

The woman turned away from him like he didn't exist.

Went back to her daughter.

Gathered her into her arms.

Held her close.

Too close.

Like she was trying to erase everything that had just happened by holding her tighter.

"It's okay," she whispered, even though nothing about this was okay. "I'm here... I'm here..."

The girl didn't cry out.

Didn't scream.

Just trembled.

Silent tears slipping down her face.

And somehow...

that silence was louder than anything else tonight.

I stood where I was.

Watching.

Not interfering.

Because this moment...

wasn't mine to control.

But as I looked around...

at the decorations still hanging, at the lights still glowing, at the people who had come here for celebration...

I saw it clearly.

This wasn't a wedding anymore.

It was a reckoning.

And it had only just begun.

The silence stretched.

Tight.

Unforgiving.

The bride came, observing every detail of her surroundings, looking at the little girl and then looking back at Omkar with rage.

Omkar opened his mouth, ready to speak, to twist, to recover...

But she didn't let him.

The bride stepped forward.

Slowly.

Her eyes didn't leave his face.

Not once.

"Say it again," she said quietly. "Say it's not about any girl."

Her voice wasn't loud.

But it carried.

Because there was something in it now....

something steady.

Something breaking through.

Omkar forced a breath, trying to regain control. "I already told you, this is all a misunderstanding..."

Slap.

This one was different.

Not desperate.

Not shaking.

Precise.

Her hand struck his face cleanly, the sound cutting through the courtyard like a final verdict.

Omkar froze.

Completely.

The crowd didn't even whisper this time.

They just watched.

Because something had shifted again.

The bride lowered her hand slowly, her expression no longer confused.

No longer uncertain.

Just... clear.

"Don't," she said.

One word.

But it stopped him from speaking again.

"Don't lie to me."

A breath.

Her voice tightened, but didn't break.

"I saw her."

Her eyes flicked toward the girl, still clinging to her mother.

"I don't need anyone else to explain what happened."

Omkar's jaw clenched, anger rising again, but this time, it had nowhere to go.

Because the one person he needed on his side...

was stepping away.

"You think this is politics?" she continued, her voice sharper now. "You think this is about power?"

A bitter laugh escaped her.

"This is about what kind of man you are."

That landed harder than anything else tonight.

She took another step back.

Distance.

Deliberate.

Final.

"I'm not marrying you."

Silence.

Absolute.

Final.

For a moment...

even the air felt still.

Omkar stared at her, disbelief cracking through the arrogance he had been holding onto all evening.

"You can't..." he started.

"I just did."

Calm.

Unshaken.

She didn't look at him again.

Didn't give him the chance to argue, to manipulate, to pull her back into whatever illusion he had created.

Instead...

she turned away.

And in that one movement...

everything ended. The wedding. The control. The image. All of it.

this was the outcome truth creates when it's finally seen.

Not forced.

Not argued.

Just... undeniable.

And as Omkar stood there, alone now in the center of what used to be his celebration...

it was clear.

Power doesn't protect you...

when the truth walks into the room.

For a moment...

it felt over.

Like the truth had done its job.

Like the silence meant acceptance.

But then...

a voice from the crowd.

Loud.

Careless.

"Let the marriage happen."

Everything stilled again.

My gaze shifted slowly toward the man who spoke.

Middle-aged.

Unbothered.

Like this was just... inconvenience.

"Omkar made a mistake," he continued, shrugging slightly. "He'll be punished later. Why ruin everything now?"

A few murmurs followed.

Not agreement.

Not fully.

But hesitation.

Doubt creeping back in.

"Shaadi ho jaane do," someone else added quietly. "It's already arranged..."

(Let the marriage take place)

My jaw tightened.

A mistake.

That's what they called it.

A mistake.

My hand clenched at my side.

Slowly.

Controlled.

But the control...

was thinning.

I took a step forward.

Then another.

The crowd instinctively parted.

Not because I pushed.

Because something in my presence...

shifted.

"Say that again."

My voice was low.

Too low.

The man hesitated.

But then...

still foolish enough...

"Shaadi ho jaane do," he repeated, weaker this time. "It's just..."

"Just what?"

I cut him off.

Sharp.

This time, my voice rose.

Not loud...

but enough.

Enough to shake.

"Just a mistake?" I asked, stepping closer, my eyes locking onto his. "That's what you saw?"

Silence.

He didn't answer.

Didn't dare to.

Good.

"Say it clearly," I continued, my voice tightening, anger no longer hidden. "A man forces himself on a girl..." I paused, correcting myself instantly, more precise, more cutting... "puts his hands around a woman's throat, and you call it a mistake?"

The word burned coming out.

Mistake.

I took another step forward.

He stepped back.

Instinctively.

"You want the wedding to continue?" I asked, my voice dropping again, colder now. "Then stand there..."

I pointed toward the girl.

Still shaking.

Still silent.

"...and tell her that."

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Because now...

they couldn't pretend they didn't see.

Couldn't hide behind customs or convenience.

"This," I said, my gaze sweeping across the crowd now, every word deliberate, "is why it continues."

A pause.

"Because people like you decide it's easier to ignore."

The weight of it settled.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Unavoidable.

I looked back at him one last time.

"Say it again," I repeated quietly. "Go on."

He didn't.

Couldn't.

His eyes dropped.

And just like that...

the argument died.

Not with force.

But with truth.

And this time...

no one dared to bring it back.

The silence settled again...heavy, pressing down on everyone present. Then I spoke.

"You'll be punished."

Simple. Certain. Not a threat. A fact.

For a second, Omkar just stared at me.

And then...

he laughed.

Not nervous this time.

Not shaken.

Arrogant.

Loud enough for everyone to hear.

"You?" he said, wiping the corner of his lip with the back of his hand. "You'll punish me?"

Another laugh.

Mocking.

Disrespectful.

His eyes flicked briefly toward Aayat, standing beside the girl.

"Or what?" he added, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your teacher wife will?"

A few uneasy chuckles broke out in the crowd.

Wrong move.

Very wrong move.

"Do you even know who you're talking to?" Omkar continued, stepping forward now, regaining that false sense of control. "You think you can walk into my house, create a scene, and threaten me?"

He spread his arms slightly, gesturing around.

"This village?" he said. "These people? They know me."

A pause.

His smirk returned.

"Who are you?" he asked again, dismissively this time. "A worker? Some outsider trying to act important?"

I didn't respond immediately.

Didn't interrupt.

I let him speak.

Let him dig.

Let him show everyone exactly who he was.

Then...

I stepped forward. Closing the distance between us. Not aggressively. Not hurried. But deliberate. Every step measured. Every movement controlled.

The noise around us faded.

Not because it stopped...

but because no one dared to speak over what was about to happen.

I stopped right in front of him.

Close enough that he couldn't ignore me.

Close enough that he finally noticed...

this wasn't fear in my silence.

It was restraint.

"You're right," I said quietly.

His smirk widened slightly.

Of course it did.

Until...

"Right now," I continued, my voice calm, almost conversational, "I'm no one here."

A pause.

His expression flickered.

Just slightly.

"But punishment..." I added, holding his gaze steadily, "doesn't need introduction."

The smirk faltered.

Barely.

But it did.

Behind me, I could feel Aayat's stillness.

Watching.

Understanding.

I straightened slightly, my tone shifting...not louder, not harsher...

just... undeniable.

"You think power is people knowing your name," I said. "It's not."

A step closer.

Now there was no space between us.

"It's what happens," I continued quietly, "when no one is watching."

Silence.

Complete.

Total.

And for the first time since this started...

Omkar didn't have a response ready.

Didn't laugh.

Didn't interrupt.

Because something in my voice...

in my certainty...

told him this wasn't over.

Not even close.

"You asked who I am," I said finally.

A beat.

Then...

"You'll find out."

Not a reveal.

Not yet.

But enough.

Enough to plant doubt.

Fear.

And doubt...

was far more dangerous than truth.

Because it lingers.

And as I stepped back slightly, breaking the space between us..

I didn't need to say anything else.

Because soon...

very soon...

he was going to learn exactly who he had just challenged.

And by then...

it would already be too late.

The silence still hadn't broken properly.

It hung in the air...thick, unsettled, like the entire courtyard was holding its breath.

I looked at them.

One by one.

Not rushing.

Not softening anything.

"You think staying quiet makes you safe," I said finally. "It doesn't."

A pause.

My eyes shifted briefly toward the men standing in clusters.

"But it makes you responsible."

That word landed harder than the rest.

Responsible.

Because it removed the comfort of distance.

Of "not my problem."

I took a step forward.

"Today it was someone else's daughter," I said, voice steady. "And you still chose silence."

A beat.

My gaze hardened slightly.

"And five days ago," I continued, "a woman in labour was struggling right here."

Murmurs shifted immediately.

People looked at each other.

Some remembered.

Some looked away.

"She was in pain," I said, slower now, sharper in detail, not for drama, but for truth. "Real pain. The kind you can hear before you even see it."

A pause.

"And no one helped."

That sentence didn't need volume.

It needed weight.

I let it sit.

Then...

I turned slightly, addressing the group fully.

"Why?"

Silence.

Then a man from the side, uncertain, muttered—

"Kharab hota hai..."

(It's bad)

A few heads nodded again.

Habit.

Ignorance dressed as belief.

I exhaled once.

Short.

Controlled.

"No," I said immediately.

Firm.

Final.

"Absolutely wrong."

The courtyard went still again.

I looked directly at them now.

"That is not 'kharab'," I continued. "That is a woman bringing life into this world."

A beat.

"And you call it bad?"

My jaw tightened slightly.

"Think about that."

I paused, letting it settle.

"A woman in labour is not weak," I said. "She is not something to avoid."

Another step forward.

"She is carrying the future of your families. Your society. Everything."

Silence deepened.

"And you turned away," I said quietly.

Not accusing.

Stating.

That difference mattered.

My voice lowered slightly.

"Respect should come before fear or discomfort."

A pause.

Then I added, clearer now...

"No woman in that condition should ever be left alone."

My gaze swept the crowd once more.

Firm.

Unyielding.

"This is not about tradition," I said. "Or belief."

A beat.

"This is about humanity."

And for this  time...

no one interrupted.

The silence didn't last long.

It never does.

First it was a whisper.

Then another.

Then a voice from the crowd...

uncertain, but louder than before.

"So what are we supposed to do then?" a man asked. "We are not doctors."

Another followed quickly.

"And if something happens in the village at night?"

A woman's voice this time.

"There are no facilities nearby... what can we even do?"

The questions started stacking.

One over another.

Not rebellion.

Confusion.

Fear trying to find logic.

I looked at them.

steady.

This was the part that mattered.

"I'm not asking you to become doctors," I said calmly.

A pause.

"Or experts."

More murmurs.

I raised my hand slightly.

"But I am asking you to not be absent."

Silence again.

A few heads lifted.

Listening harder now.

"Let me be clear," I continued. "When something happens, when a woman is in pain, when someone is being hurt, when help is needed, you don't walk away because you are unsure."

A beat.

"You call someone who knows. You get help. You don't decide it's not your problem."

A man frowned slightly.

"But sometimes people say it's not our matter," he said.

I nodded once.

"That is exactly the problem."

A pause.

My voice sharpened slightly.

"Because everything happening in your village is your matter."

That landed.

I could see it in their faces.

The discomfort.

The realization creeping in.

Another voice rose.

"But what if people blame us later?"

A fair question.

A common fear.

I didn't hesitate.

"Let them," I said simply.

A beat.

"Blame is better than silence."

That quieted even that corner.

The crowd shifted again.

Less resistance now.

More thinking.

Another man, older this time, spoke slowly.

"If we start helping like this... will it even change anything?"

A pause.

I looked at him directly.

"Yes," I said.

Simple.

Certain.

"It will."

Then I added...

"Not overnight. Not perfectly. But it will."

A soft murmur moved through the crowd.

Not disagreement.

Processing.

A woman near the front spoke hesitantly.

"What if we are wrong in judging situations... like before?"

I understood what she meant.

I nodded slightly.

"Then learn," I said. "Ask. Don't assume. Don't ignore."

A pause.

"And most importantly, don't justify harm because it's familiar."

That one hit deeper.

I could feel it.

Even Aayat, standing somewhere behind me, was silent.

Watching.

Listening.

The crowd was no longer arguing.

They were... absorbing.

One more man spoke, quieter now.

"So you're saying we should interfere in everything?"

I shook my head once.

"No."

A beat.

"I'm saying you should not ignore everything."

Silence followed again.

But this time...

it wasn't defensive.

It was reflective.

And for the first time since we entered this courtyard...

the questions weren't pushing me away.

They were pulling something out of them.

Understanding.

Slow.

Uneasy.

But real.

The questions had started to settle.

Not because they were satisfied...

but because they were trying to understand.

Then a man stepped forward.

Not aggressive.

Not loud.

Just direct.

"You speak well," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "But who are you really?"

A ripple moved through the crowd.

That question changed the air.

Curiosity sharpened.

Suspicion followed close behind it.

I held his gaze.

Didn't react immediately.

That was important.

Because this moment...

was always inevitable.

People don't follow words forever.

They eventually want a face behind them.

A name.

A position.

A reason.

I exhaled once.

Slow.

Controlled.

"I'm someone who came here to see what you don't show outsiders," I said calmly.

A pause.

"That's all you need to know right now."

The man frowned slightly.

"That's not an answer."

"No," I agreed. "It's not a comfortable one."

A few murmurs rose again.

Uncertainty returning.

The same man pressed further.

"You're acting like you have authority here," he said. "But you're speaking like someone who decides things for others."

A beat.

I nodded once.

"That's because I'm not here to be comfortable."

Silence.

My gaze shifted across the crowd.

"And I'm not here to be liked either."

That made some people shift.

Unnerved.

Because that kind of honesty doesn't fit easily into their expectations.

The man narrowed his eyes again.

"Then tell us," he said more firmly. "Who sent you? Are you from the government? Some NGO? What exactly are you?"

A pause.

The moment stretched.

I felt it.

Aayat somewhere behind me too.

Still.

Waiting.

I turned slightly.

Looked at all of them again.

And this time...

I decided not to hide behind vagueness.

"I didn't come here to speak as an outsider," I said quietly.

A beat.

I straightened.

"I came here because I am the system you are questioning."

Silence dropped instantly.

Thicker than before.

Eyes widened.

Confusion flashed across faces.

I didn't stop.

"I am the one responsible for what reaches you," I continued. "And what doesn't."

A pause.

"And I am the one who should have known this was happening here earlier."

The crowd froze.

Comprehension hit in waves.

Slow.

Uneven.

But real.

The man who had spoken earlier took a step back instinctively.

"Wait..." someone muttered. "You mean..."

I didn't let it hang.

"I'm Mihir."

A pause.

Not loud.

Not dramatic.

Just final.

"The Chief Minister."

The words landed like a strike through silence.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

Even the air felt heavier.

And for the first time since we arrived...

the questions stopped being about what I was saying...

and started becoming about what it meant that I was standing there saying it.

The silence after my words wasn't just shock anymore.

It was recognition.

The kind that rewrites every conversation that came before it.

Then...

a voice from the crowd, hesitant, careful.

"And her?"

A few heads turned.

Eyes followed.

I knew exactly who they meant before they even finished.

Aayat.

She stood slightly behind me now, composed, but I could feel it...

the attention shifting toward her unsettled her more than she showed.

Another voice joined in.

"She's... Aayat Kapoor?"

A pause.

Whispers spread instantly.

Not loud.

But fast.

Names travel quicker than truth in places like this.

I turned my head slightly.

Looked at her.

Just for a second.

She didn't move.

But I knew she heard everything.

Every syllable.

Every assumption forming.

I faced the crowd again.

"Yes," I said simply.

A few murmurs deepened.

And then...

I added, quieter but clearer.

"I'm her husband."

The words landed differently this time.

Not confusion.

Not shock.

Something else.

Curiosity sharpened again, but softer now.

Less hostile.

More human.

I could feel Aayat's presence shift slightly beside me.

Not visible to the crowd...

but I noticed.

Of course I did.

I swallowed once.

Annoyingly aware of everything at once.

Her standing there.

The weight of what I just said.

The fact that I said it so easily.

I told myself not to react.

Not to look at her too long.

Not to let anything show.

Failing slightly at all three.

A man from the front spoke again, cautiously.

"Family?"

I nodded once.

"Yes, family. She is part of my life," I replied.

A beat.

Then added, almost instinctively...

"More than anything else here."

That one slipped out a little too honestly.

I felt it the moment it left my mouth.

My jaw tightened slightly.

Focus.

Control.

Don't react.

Don't..

I glanced sideways.

Aayat was still facing forward.

But I could see it.

The faintest change in her expression.

She heard that.

Of course she did.

I cleared my throat slightly, as if that could undo it.

It couldn't.

A small voice from the crowd, almost teasing now—

"So, Chief Minister ji... you came here with your wife secretly?"

A ripple of light laughter followed.

The tension eased just a fraction.

I exhaled slowly.

"Yes," I said. "Because if people know who I am, they show me a different version of reality."

A pause.

"And I didn't come here for that."

Silence returned...

but this time, it wasn't heavy.

It was thoughtful.

And beside me...

Aayat finally spoke, softly, almost under her breath.

"Stop making it worse for yourself," she muttered.

I didn't look at her.

But I answered anyway.

Equally quiet.

"I'm already in it."

And somehow...

that made it worse.

For both of us.

Morning light filtered weakly through the thin village curtains, softening the edges of the room but doing nothing for her mood.

I didn't even have to turn fully to know she was standing there.

I could hear it in her footsteps.

Controlled. Deliberate. Annoyed.

Then her voice cut through the quiet.

"You did a great job... terrible human."

I finally looked up from the file in my hand.

She was leaning near the doorway, arms crossed, expression perfectly composed, like she hadn't just walked in to insult a Chief Minister before breakfast.

I hummed once.

"Morning to you too."

She didn't smile.

Of course she didn't.

"The 'great job' was compulsory," she added. "Don't misinterpret it."

I nodded slowly.

"Noted."

A beat of silence.

Then I closed the file and leaned back slightly, studying her.

"You slept?" I asked.

Her eyes narrowed immediately.

"Don't start."

That meant no.

Expected.

I stood up, adjusting my sleeve.

"Observation confirms," I said calmly.

She rolled her eyes.

"Stop speaking like a report."

"I am a report," I replied.

That earned a faint, reluctant exhale from her.

Progress.

She stepped further inside now, stopping a comfortable distance away. Not too close. Not too far.

Familiar balance.

Then she tilted her head.

"So," she said, voice lighter now, "terrible human did well?"

I looked at her.

"You were there," I said simply. "You saw it."

She shrugged.

"I also saw you dramatically introducing yourself like a climax scene."

"I was correcting misinformation."

"Mm."

A pause.

Then she added, "Still dramatic."

I didn't argue.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Silence settled again, but it wasn't heavy.

It rarely was between us anymore.

Then I said, almost casually, "You handled it better than expected yesterday."

Her expression shifted instantly.

"Expected by whom?"

"Me."

That made her pause.

Just a fraction.

I continued, tone steady.

"You didn't interrupt. Didn't panic. Didn't turn it into noise."

A beat.

"You stayed."

She looked away slightly at that.

Subtle.

But I caught it.

Of course I did.

I picked up my watch from the table, fastening it slowly.

Then, like it meant nothing at all, I added...

"Still a witch though."

That did it.

Her head snapped back toward me.

"We already established that label is not acceptable."

I shrugged.

"You didn't object strongly enough when it first started."

"That was months ago."

"And?" I asked.

She narrowed her eyes.

"And people evolve."

I nodded thoughtfully.

"Witches evolve too."

Her glare sharpened.

"I regret every conversation we've ever had."

"No you don't," I said immediately.

That made her pause.

Again.

Small, but there.

I didn't let the silence stretch too long.

"Because if you did," I added, picking up the file, "you wouldn't still be here arguing."

She opened her mouth...

then stopped.

Smart.

For once.

A faint silence settled, but not uncomfortable.

More like... understood.

She exhaled sharply and adjusted her dress slightly.

"Work?" she asked finally.

I nodded once.

"Yes."

She walked past me toward the door, then paused just slightly.

Without turning back, she said...

"Try not to be a terrible human today."

I glanced at her.

A faint smirk forming despite myself.

"Try not to be a witch," I replied.

She didn't look back.

But I heard it.

The smallest sound of a laugh she tried to hide.

And somehow...

that was enough.

"Will we leave today?." She asked.

I looked up from the file I was holding, studying her for a moment.

She stood near the window, light catching the edge of her saree from yesterday, hair slightly loosened now, like the village had already started slipping off us even before we left it.

"Today," I repeated once.

She nodded.

"Yes."

A pause.

"Yes, We're done here." I replied.

Her gaze flicked toward me immediately.

Like she expected pushback.

Like she was prepared for it.

When it didn't come, she narrowed her eyes slightly.

"That's it?" she asked.

I shrugged once.

"We leave."

Silence.

Then, under her breath...

"Unbelievable."

I didn't respond.

I simply reached for my watch and fastened it.

She turned away first.

Of course she did.

"Pack," she said, walking toward the door. "We're leaving in an hour."

"I already did," I replied.

That made her pause mid-step.

She looked over her shoulder.

"You always do everything in advance?"

"Yes."

A beat.

She exhaled sharply.

"Terrible human," she muttered.

I glanced at her.

A faint pause.

"Witch," I replied automatically.

Her eyes flashed.

But there was no real anger in it anymore.

Just habit.

Familiarity.

She left the room.

I stood there for a moment longer, looking at the empty space she had just occupied.

Then I picked up my files.

And followed.

⸻

The drive back was quiet.

Not awkward.

Just... final.

The village slowly dissolved behind us, dust roads turning into highways, chaos turning into structure.

Aayat sat beside me, staring out the window.

Thinking.

She always got quieter after something ended.

Not sad.

Just processing.

I didn't interrupt.

At one point, she spoke.

"You know... they'll forget most of it."

I glanced at her briefly.

"Not what matters," I said.

She nodded slightly.

"That's enough then."

A pause.

Then...

"Good."

We didn't speak again after that.

⸻

By the time we reached the city, the air had already changed.

Louder.

Faster.

Cleaner in a different way.

The car stopped inside the gates of my residence.

Security moved automatically.

Protocol.

Distance.

Routine.

We stepped out.

The doors opened before we even reached the steps.

Like she was already waiting.

Of course she was.

Naina stood in the foyer, as if the house itself had decided to arrange her there, bright, composed, impossibly energetic for the hour. The kind of presence that made even silence feel like it was being gently corrected.

Her face lit up the moment she saw us.

"There they are!"

She walked toward us quickly, not rushing in a chaotic way, but in that steady, confident stride of someone who never doubted she belonged in any room she entered.

I stopped just inside the entrance.

Aayat slowed beside me.

Naina's gaze flicked between us, taking in everything in one sweep, dust from travel, the quietness we carried, the absence of anything dramatic on our faces despite everything that had happened.

Then she smiled wider.

"I heard the news."

A pause.

Her eyes sharpened slightly, not judgmental, just focused.

"And I am very, very proud of both of you."

Aayat blinked once.

"News travels fast," she muttered.

Naina laughed softly.

"In this house? In this city? In this country?" She tilted her head. "Try impossible things travel fast."

I exhaled lightly, stepping further inside.

"Which version did you hear?" I asked.

Naina folded her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels like she was about to deliver a report she had already memorized.

"The accurate one," she said. "For once."

Aayat glanced at me briefly at that.

I didn't react.

Naina continued, her tone softening just a fraction.

"That you didn't stay quiet."

A beat.

"That you didn't let it slide."

Her eyes moved to Aayat.

"And that you stood your ground too."

Aayat shifted her weight slightly, uncomfortable with praise being directed at her.

"I didn't do much," she said quickly.

Naina raised an eyebrow.

"You stayed," she corrected gently. "That's not nothing."

Silence settled for a moment.

Not heavy.

Just real.

Naina finally stepped closer, lowering her voice a little.

"I know what kind of pressure comes with things like this getting out," she said, glancing at me now. "Media will twist it. People will talk. Some will agree, some will pretend they didn't see anything at all."

Her expression softened.

"But what matters is what actually changed there."

She looked between us again.

"And you both did that."

Aayat exhaled quietly, looking away.

I didn't respond immediately.

Because there wasn't much to correct.

Or add.

Naina straightened, clapping her hands once like she was gently closing a topic before it got too heavy.

"Now," she said brightly, her energy returning in full. "You both look like you've been dragged through a storm and then politely asked to attend a meeting."

Aayat gave her a tired look.

"That's... oddly accurate."

Naina smiled.

"Good. Because I've arranged tea. And food. And absolutely zero discussions about politics for at least twenty minutes."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That sounds unrealistic."

"It's my house too," she replied immediately.

Aayat's lips twitched slightly...almost a smile.

Naina noticed.

"Ah," she said, pointing at her like she had just solved something important. "That's the first sign of recovery. She's almost smiling."

"I wasn't..." Aayat started.

Naina was already walking ahead.

"No denial," she said cheerfully. "That's progress too."

I followed them inside.

Watching the way Naina moved through the house like she belonged to its lighter corners...pulling us, whether we wanted it or not, out of what we had just lived through.

And for the first time since the village...

the silence didn't feel heavy anymore.

The door closed behind us with a soft click.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.The room felt... quieter than usual.

I set the file down on the table, loosening my watch, already shifting back into routine...

"Sit."

I paused.

Looked at her.

"Why?"

Aayat didn't answer immediately. She was already moving toward the cupboard, opening it like she had done it a hundred times before.

"Just sit," she said.

I stared at her for a second longer.

Then sat. Of course I did. Because she said it.

And apparently, that was enough now.

She didn't look at me as she searched inside, pulling something out before closing the cupboard again.

Then she turned.

And walked toward me.

That's when I saw it.

Ointment.

My brain took a second to process that.

Another second to understand why.

And then...Right. Omkar. The hits. My hand.

Before I could say anything, she was already in front of me.

Close.

Too close.

She reached for my hand.

And that's when everything inside my head went completely off track.

Don't react.

She's just holding your hand.

Idiot, don't die.

This is normal.

Why is your heart doing that? Stop it.

Stop blushing.

I stayed still.

Barely.

Her fingers wrapped around my wrist, steady, warm, completely unaware of the internal collapse happening in real time.

Or maybe she was aware.

Worse.

She lifted my hand slightly, inspecting it.

There was a faint bruise forming near my knuckles.

Nothing serious.

I've had worse.

Much worse.

But she frowned slightly anyway.

Of course she did.

Without saying anything, she opened the ointment and gently applied it.

Careful.

Precise.

Like it mattered.

My hand twitched. Just slightly.

Control.

Get control.

Her touch moved across my knuckles, light but firm enough to press the ointment in.

And my entire focus narrowed to that one point of contact.

Nothing else in the room existed.

Not the silence.

Not the world outside.

Just...

Her.

"This might sting," she said quietly.

It didn't.

Or maybe it did.

I wouldn't know.

My hand betrayed me first.

A slight shake.

Subtle.

But not enough.

Her fingers paused immediately.

She looked up at me.

"What happened?"

I blinked once.

Too fast.

"Nothing."

Smooth.

Useless.

Completely unconvincing.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"Your hand is shaking."

Great.

Observation skills. Excellent timing.

"It's... normal," I said.

What does that even mean?

Normal?

Of all the things I could've said...

"Normal?" she repeated.

I nodded once.

Yes.

Commit to the stupidity.

"Post-impact response," I added, like that would fix it. "Muscle reaction."

Why am I speaking like a medical pamphlet?

She stared at me.

Unimpressed.

"You're making that up."

"I'm not."

I absolutely was.

She didn't argue further.

But the look she gave me made it very clear she didn't believe a single word.

Still...

she didn't let go.

And that was the problem.

Her fingers steadied my hand again, continuing to apply the ointment like nothing had happened.

Like my brain hadn't just short-circuited.

Like my pulse wasn't doing something it absolutely should not be doing.

Contract wife.

Right.

Contract wife.

Focus.

This is normal.

This means nothing.

She's just...

Her thumb brushed lightly across my knuckles again.

Nope.

This is not normal.

I looked away slightly, forcing my expression back into something neutral.

Control.

You've handled worse situations.

Public confrontations.

Political crises.

Entire districts collapsing under pressure.

And this...

this...

is what's breaking your composure?

Pathetic.

"Done," she said finally.

Her hand slipped away from mine.

And just like that...

the room felt different again.

Colder.

I didn't realize how much I noticed it until it was gone.

She closed the ointment cap, placing it aside casually.

"You should be more careful," she added.

I nodded once.

"Noted."

A pause.

Then she glanced at me again. Something softer this time.

"You don't always have to handle everything like that," she said quietly.

I met her eyes.

"Like what?"

"Like you're the only one responsible."

A beat.

I held her gaze for a second longer.

Then looked away.

"Someone has to be," I said.

She didn't respond immediately.

And somehow...

that silence felt heavier than anything else she could've said.

After a moment, she exhaled softly and stepped back.

"Next time," she said, tone lighter now, "try not to injure yourself while being a terrible human."

There it was.

Familiar ground.

I leaned back slightly.

"Next time," I replied, "try not to turn into a medic while being a witch."

Her lips pressed together.

Trying not to smile.

Failed.

Slightly.

She turned away before I could see it fully.

But I saw enough.

And for some reason...

that stayed longer than the sting in my hand ever could.

Conversation over.

Moment over.

Everything... back to normal.

That's what it should've been. That's what I told myself it was. I picked up my phone.

Routine. Distraction. Control. Anything but... whatever that was.

I unlocked it, opened the browser without thinking too much, fingers moving faster than my logic.

Search bar. Blank. Good. Neutral Safe.

I typed.

"Why does your heart beat faster when someone touches your hand"

I stared at it for a second.

This is ridiculous.

I should delete it. I didn't.

Search. Results flooded instantly. I scanned the first line.

Then the second.

Then...

I stopped.

"This can be a sign of emotional attachment or attraction."

No.

No, that's...

That's general.

Generic.

Applies to everyone.

Not me.

I frowned slightly and scrolled.

Another result.

"Increased heart rate, nervousness, and heightened awareness are common indicators of romantic interest."

I locked my jaw. Romantic. No. Incorrect. Completely incorrect.

I refined the search. More specific. More logical.

"Why do hands shake when touched suddenly medical reason"

Search. Better. More controlled. More... me.

I read quickly.

"Adrenaline response..."

Good. That's what I said. Correct. Validated. I nodded once.

Then my eyes moved lower.

"...can also be triggered by emotional excitement or nervousness around a person."

I went still.

That word again. Person. Not situation. Not impact. Person.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb against the side of the phone.

This is getting stupid.

I typed again.

Faster this time.

"Difference between adrenaline and attraction symptoms"

Search.

Why am I doing this?

Results appeared.

I read. Compared. Analysed. Heart rate increase. Check.

Slight loss of control.

Check. Hyper awareness.

Check.

I paused.

Scrolled further.

Then...

"If the reaction is specific to one individual, it is more likely to be attraction rather than general stress."

My eyes stopped moving.

The words sat there.

Clear.

Uncomplicated.

Unacceptable.

I leaned back slightly.

No.

That's...

That's not how this works.

This is situational.

Context-based.

High-stress environment.

Post-conflict reaction.

Proximity.

That's it.

That's all it is.

I typed again.

Slower now.

"Can you feel attraction accidentally"

Search.

Results loaded.

I didn't even read all of it.

My eyes landed directly on one line.

"Yes. Attraction often develops unintentionally, especially through repeated emotional and physical proximity."

I blinked once.

Then again.

Repeated proximity.

I lowered the phone slightly.

Looked ahead.

Aayat was across the room now, near the table, adjusting something absentmindedly.

Normal.

Composed.

Unaware.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she didn't just...

I looked back at my phone.

No.

This is wrong.

All of this is wrong. This is not attraction. This is misinterpretation. A misfiring response. A temporary lapse in control. That's it.

I typed one last time.

Slower.

More deliberate.

Like I needed the answer to obey logic.

"Can you stop attraction if it starts"

Search.

Silence filled the room again as the results loaded.

I read.

Once.

Then again.

"Yes, but it requires conscious distance, emotional boundaries, and reduced interaction with the person."

I went still.

Completely still.

Distance.

Boundaries.

Reduced interaction.

My grip on the phone tightened slightly.

I looked up again.

At her.

She was still there. In the same room. In my space. In my routine. In... my life.

Contract.

This is a contract.

Nothing more. Nothing changes. Nothing can change.

I locked the phone. Set it aside.

Picked up my file again.

Focus. Work. Structure. Control. That's what matters.

That's what stays.

But as I tried to read the first line...

I realized...

I had no idea what it said.

And for the first time in a long time...

my mind wasn't following orders.

"Mihir", she called.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

1.Will Mihir confront his feelings or continue to deny them?

2.Does Aayat realize how much influence she has over him?

AND YES TELL ME HOW WAS THE CHAPTER??????

To be continued

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