Isha's pov>

"Can I love ?"

The moment those words slipped from Shivam's lips, my breath caught in my throat. For a heartbeat, the world froze. My eyes darted toward him, wide and startled, as though he had just whispered a secret that could tilt my entire existence.

I swallowed, trying to steady myself, and forced my voice to sound normal-even though my heart was drumming so fast it felt as though it might leap out of my chest. "I can walk alone," I said quietly, freeing my hand from his gentle hold and moving toward the staircase. The wood creaked softly under my steps, each sound louder in the silence between us.

Behind me, his voice floated again-calm, stubborn, laced with that mischievousness he never really hid. "I know... but still, I want to."

I turned my head slightly, narrowing my eyes at him. "And what about what you want? Does that have anything to do with me? Do I not get a choice?" My words were sharp, but inside, I wasn't angry. In fact, I could feel the corners of my lips threatening to curl upward, because the truth was-bickering with Shivam had become one of my guilty pleasures. Somehow, our small arguments always carried warmth instead of bitterness.

His eyes softened, though he held on to that playful expression. "No, maybe not. But it hurts me, you know... that my one and only wife doesn't even allow me to hold her hand." His tone shifted, teasing fading into something far more vulnerable. Slowly, he placed his palm against his chest, right where his heart was. "It hurts here."

Something twisted inside me. I hated how his words had the power to make me both flustered and tender in the same instant. I didn't know what to do with all the emotions that surged in me when he looked at me like that.

So I snapped back, "Good then." My voice came out firmer than I intended, but my heart was nowhere near as steady.

And then-before I could find my footing in that moment-a sudden clattering sound echoed from downstairs. I startled and quickly looked down, only to see Maa, Baba, and Rishi bhai standing near the doorway, waiting.

My entire face ignited. Heat rushed to my cheeks so fast it felt like I had turned into a living, breathing tomato. My hand clenched against my saree, and without meaning to, I shot Shivam a glare. Nervousness spread through me like wildfire-how much had they seen? How much had they heard?

Beside me, Shivam straightened instantly. His shoulders stiffened, his posture became sharp and proper, and his expression wiped clean as though a curtain had dropped over his emotions. From mischievous to stoic, from playful to unreadable-he could do it in a second. Typical. Grumpy man.

"Areh, what's this?" Baba's voice carried amusement. His eyes twinkled as he glanced between us. "I see entertainment is already happening at home. Next time, no need to recharge the television. We'll just watch Bhaiya's drama instead."

Rishi bhai burst into laughter. His chuckles filled the air, making me want to bury myself in the floor. I pressed my lips together, mortified. My entire body felt aflame, and no amount of cooling breeze could calm the redness on my cheeks.

I wanted to say something back, defend myself, or at least scold Rishi bhai for teasing me-but words refused to form. My voice had deserted me. All I could do was stand there, clutching my dupatta, staring at the ground like a guilty child caught in the act.

Shivam, of course, remained maddeningly composed. He didn't so much as blink in response to their remarks. He had slipped entirely into his straight-faced, no-expression mode-the "Budha mode," as I secretly called it. Honestly, he was impossible. He could set my world on fire with just one smile and then act as if nothing had happened the very next second.

Meanwhile, my nerves were spiraling. I was painfully aware of every glance directed at us, of every teasing word echoing in the room. I could almost feel my family's knowing smirks digging into me, and the more I tried to stay calm, the redder my cheeks became.

Shivam finally moved, pulling out a chair from the dining table with a smooth, practiced gesture. He looked at me, his face still unreadable, and said nothing-simply holding the chair for me.

I blinked at him, my flustered mind catching up to the action. What? He pulled the chair for me?

A tiny frown formed on my lips. Am I incapable of pulling out my own chair? I could have done it perfectly fine myself!

But he had already guided the chair forward, his quiet insistence making it impossible to refuse. Reluctantly, I sat down, still feeling the heat of embarrassment on my face.

And then, to my utter dismay, he pulled out another chair and sat right beside me. Not across. Not at a respectable distance. Right there, so close that the warmth radiating from him brushed against me like an invisible current.

I dared a sideways glance. His jawline looked sharper when he was serious. His hands rested calmly on his lap, but I knew-they weren't calm at all. This was his way of rebelling silently, of staying close no matter how much I tried to argue otherwise.

Inside, my heart was a mess. My thoughts clashed against each other-half of me wanted to push him away, scold him for being shameless, for making me blush in front of everyone. The other half... wanted to stay. To hold on to the little moments where his stubbornness wrapped around me like invisible arms.

Because no matter how much I fought, no matter how many sharp words I threw, the truth was undeniable-being near him felt like home.

Shivam's pov

I pulled the chair back for Isha, letting her sit first. It was a habit I hadn't thought twice about, but it mattered. Little things always mattered with her. When I lowered myself onto the seat beside her, I noticed her fingers brushing against the edge of the table, her eyes lowered as though she was still getting used to the rhythm of this house, of us.

Before the silence could settle, Baba's voice rose from the head of the table. His tone was casual on the surface, but I knew better-it was never just casual when Baba spoke about family matters.

"So," he said, his gaze shifting between the two of us, "when are you both planning to go back to your own house?"

The question struck the air like a pebble thrown into still water. Ripples of meaning spread across the table. Before I could even part my lips, Ma's voice cut through, sharp and quick.

"House?!" she exclaimed, her eyes narrowing. She turned toward Isha, her expression protective, almost possessive. "Why should my daughter leave so soon? She will stay here with us for a few more days. I will not let her go anywhere yet."

Isha froze, her spoon still halfway to her lips. I saw the uneasiness in her posture, the way she shifted slightly in her chair as though she wasn't sure whether she was supposed to answer or simply bow her head.

Ma's stubbornness wasn't new to me. I had grown up with it, had watched Baba fight and surrender to it in equal measure over the years. But now, for the first time, I felt it pressing down on me too. Because this wasn't just about her son anymore-it was about my wife.

Baba sighed, his hand drumming lightly against the table. "Ahh, enough," he said, his voice firm but calm. "Let Shivam speak first."

All eyes turned toward me. I glanced at Baba, whose eyes demanded clarity, then at Ma, whose eyes demanded compliance. Finally, I looked at Isha. Her gaze flickered nervously toward me, as though she was silently asking me to smooth things over. But I had already decided.

"Baba," I said, my tone steady, "we're leaving tomorrow morning. Right after breakfast. I have several cases that require my attention, and they've been waiting too long. I cannot delay them any further."

The room fell into silence, a heavy, unyielding kind of silence. Even the faint clinking of cutlery stopped.

Then came Rishi's voice, breaking the tension like a stone against glass.

"Fine," he said with a grin, "tomorrow we'll see what happens. But tonight..." He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head toward Isha with a playful smirk. "Tonight, I'm going to spend some time with Bhabhi. We'll sit, we'll talk, we'll get to know each other better."

The words were light, teasing, but something in me snapped before I even realized it.

"No."

The word left my mouth with a sharp edge. Clear. Firm. Undeniable.

Rishi blinked, startled. The smirk slipped from his lips.

Isha turned to me instantly, her eyes wide. I knew that look-she didn't like it. My behavior, my refusal, it must have felt rude to her. Controlling, even. Maybe she thought I was overreacting. But did I care? No. Not when it came to her. Not when it came to the line I had drawn in my mind, the boundary I would not let anyone cross.

"Why not?" Rishi's grin returned, but this time it was forced, stretched across his face like a mask. He tilted his head, his tone mocking, challenging.

I met his eyes, my voice steady, clipped. "That is my personal matter."

The firmness in my words echoed in the silence of the room. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to.

Because everyone there already understood.

Rishi leaned back, his expression somewhere between amusement and irritation. He wasn't used to me shutting him down so bluntly. For years, he had been the one to stir things up, tease me, push boundaries. And usually, I let him. But not tonight. Not with Isha.

Ma's lips pressed into a thin line. I knew her thoughts without her having to speak them. To her, I must have looked rigid, maybe even harsh. She probably thought I was making a fuss over nothing. But she didn't see what I saw. She didn't feel what I felt.

I turned my head slightly, my eyes catching Isha's. She wasn't angry-at least not openly. But there was something in her gaze, a question, maybe even a quiet plea. I knew what she was thinking: Why are you doing this? Why does it matter so much?

And the truth was, I didn't know how to explain it. Not in front of everyone.

To me, it wasn't about the words Rishi had said. It was about the intention behind them, the space he wanted to share with her. A casual chat, harmless laughter-yes, that's what everyone would see. But I knew better. I knew how lines blurred when you let them, how teasing could turn into something more, how boundaries could be crossed without anyone realizing until it was too late.

Isha was mine. My wife. My responsibility. My world.

And I wasn't about to let anyone else step into that space. Not even Rishi.

Baba cleared his throat, breaking the stillness. "Shivam," he said in that steady tone of his, "sometimes it's alright to loosen your grip. Family is family. Rishi meant no harm."

I forced a smile, though it didn't reach my eyes. "Baba, with all due respect, some things are not open for discussion."

He studied me carefully, as if weighing my words, but didn't press further. Baba had always known when to step back.

Rishi, on the other hand, wasn't finished. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his grin returning like a stubborn flame refusing to die out.

"Come on, Bhai. What's the harm in talking? She's my Bhabhi, after all. Don't you trust me?"

His words were playful, but I caught the challenge buried underneath.

Trust.

It wasn't about trust-not exactly. It was about ownership, protection, the instinct that ran deeper than logic. Maybe it made me sound possessive, maybe even unreasonable. But I didn't care.

"No," I said again, my tone softer this time, but final. "I don't want it. That's enough."

Isha shifted uncomfortably beside me, her hand brushing against her saree as though she didn't know where to place it. She didn't say a word. She never did in moments like this. But her silence spoke volumes-it told me she wasn't happy with the way I had handled things.

A part of me wanted to turn to her, to explain, to make her understand that this wasn't about mistrust or control. It was about me-about the way my chest tightened whenever I imagined her laughing with someone else, about the way my heart clenched when I thought of her giving pieces of herself-her smiles, her attention, her softness-to someone who wasn't me.

Was it wrong? Maybe.

But it was real.

Dinner continued in silence after that, though it wasn't the kind of silence that comforted. Every clink of a spoon, every movement of a plate, felt louder than usual. Ma muttered under her breath once or twice, Baba kept his expression unreadable, and Rishi sat back with that smug half-smile, as though he had just uncovered a secret about me.

Only Isha remained quiet. Too quiet.

And that silence of

hers burned me more than any word could.

Here's the updated

শুভ বিজয়া

Happy reading

Take care

Muah 💋 💋

Insta id : liliwritezz