AUTHOR POV

The morning light filtered gently through the large French windows of the house, casting a golden warmth across the polished marble floor. The fragrance of fresh parathas, brewed tea, and a hint of sandalwood incense floated in the air. Downstairs, the dining area looked alive — perfectly arranged plates, gleaming cutlery, and steaming dishes waiting to be served.

Isha slowly descended the staircase, the soft rustle of her saree blending with the calm of the morning. Her heart felt strangely light — the kind of quiet excitement that comes from being part of something warm, something new. As she reached the final step, her eyes instantly fell on the dining table. Everything was already prepared. Not a single thing was left undone.

“Everything’s already ready…” she thought, a little surprised. Maa must have woken up early again… she never lets anyone else help, does she?

Just as she was thinking that, her gaze met Mira ji’s — Shivam’s mother — who was standing near the table, gently arranging a bowl of fruits. Mira ji looked up, her face glowing with kindness and affection the moment she saw Isha.

Isha quickly walked forward and bent slightly, her hands joining together in a respectful namaste.

“Namaste, Maa.”

Mira ji’s lips curved into a wide smile as she placed her palm lovingly on Isha’s head.

“Areh… sada suhagan raho, beta! May you stay blessed, and your marriage stay filled with happiness forever.”

The touch of her mother-in-law’s hand was both warm and powerful. Isha felt a wave of affection — and also a tiny flutter of guilt. She hadn’t helped at all this morning.

She smiled nervously and said,

“Actually… Maa, I got a bit late today. Otherwise, I would’ve helped you. Please tell me — is there something I can still do?”

Her tone was soft, genuine, full of care.

Before Mira ji could answer, a deep, affectionate male voice came from behind her.

“Arey! You people made my daughter-in-law do work already?”

Isha turned around and saw Shivam’s father, standing at the entrance with a newspaper in one hand and his reading glasses in the other. His face, though firm, carried a teasing smile.

Mira ji chuckled lightly.

“Arrey, not at all! How can I make our house’s Lakshmi work in the morning? She’s our daughter now, not some helper. Let her just sit and eat peacefully!”

Then turning to Isha, she said warmly,

“Go sit down, beta. I’ll join you in a moment.”

And then, to her husband, “You also sit down, ji. Breakfast is ready.”

As everyone started moving toward the table, Mira ji looked around and asked suddenly,

“By the way, has Rishi come down yet? And where’s Shivam?”

That one question made Isha pause in her steps.

Where’s Shivam?

She blinked for a second, realizing she hadn’t seen him for the past few minutes. He’d been teasing her endlessly a little while ago upstairs — playfully blocking her way, taking her hairpin, whispering something that made her heart skip — and then suddenly, he had vanished.

Her thoughts ran wild for a moment.

Where did he go? He was right behind me… did he go to change? Or maybe he’s talking to Rishi bhaiya?

Just then, a cheerful voice answered from the staircase.

“Areh, Maa! Bhaiya is right here.”

Everyone turned to look — Rishi was coming down the stairs, wearing a casual smile and holding his phone. Right beside him was Shivam, freshly dressed in a light blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hair still slightly damp.

For a brief moment, Isha’s breath caught. He looked effortlessly handsome — like someone who didn’t need to try to own the room. He looked up and caught her gaze. Just a second — but enough to make her heart flutter wildly.

Why does he look at me like that every time… as if the whole world disappears? she thought, quickly looking away.

They reached the dining table together. There were two empty chairs near Isha. Out of simple instinct — and without thinking much — Rishi pulled one of them and was about to sit down beside her.

But before he could, a calm yet firm voice stopped him.

“That’s my seat. Yours is over there.”

It was Shivam.

He said it with an easy smile, but there was something unmistakable in his tone — a quiet claim, a touch of protectiveness, maybe even a hint of possessiveness. His eyes flickered to Isha for the briefest second before turning back to his brother.

Rishi paused, blinking once, and then burst into a small laugh.

“Ohh… okay, okay! Got it, Bhaiya. I didn’t realize you had a reserved spot already.”

Everyone laughed lightly at his teasing tone. Mira ji shook her head with mock irritation.

“Rishi! Stop teasing your brother in the morning. Sit down and eat.”

Rishi grinned and obeyed, pulling out the next chair and settling beside Shivam instead.

As they all sat, the room felt alive — the sound of plates clinking, laughter mixing with the smell of breakfast, sunlight falling perfectly across the table.

Isha quietly took her seat, still feeling the faint warmth in her cheeks. She could feel Shivam beside her now — close enough that she could sense the faint scent of his aftershave. She tried to focus on her plate, but her mind wouldn’t stop replaying his words: “That’s my seat.”

For everyone else, it had been just a casual remark. But for her, it meant something entirely different — something that made her heart melt and her lips curve into a small, hidden smile.

The Breakfast Begins

Mira ji served parathas to everyone herself, refusing any help despite Isha’s repeated offers.

“Maa, please, let me serve too—”

But Mira ji interrupted kindly, “No, beta, just eat. You’ve joined our family only recently; we’ll pamper you for a few more days before giving you kitchen duties.”

Shivam’s father chuckled.

“Few days? I think she’ll never let her work, the way you’re treating her like a princess.”

“Why not?” Mira ji replied immediately. “She is a princess — my daughter.”

Hearing that, Isha smiled shyly, lowering her gaze. Her fingers toyed with the corner of her saree. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t hide the blush creeping onto her cheeks.

Shivam glanced at her — a slow, almost amused glance.

He leaned a little closer and whispered under his breath, “Maa already likes you more than me.”

Isha turned slightly, whispering back, “And whose fault is that?”

“Mine, obviously,” he said with a grin, “because I found you first.”

Isha froze, biting her lip to stop the smile that wanted to escape.

This man… he never stops teasing, does he?

Meanwhile, Rishi noticed their quiet exchange and smirked. “Ahem… you two seem to have your own breakfast going on in a parallel universe.”

“Rishi!” Mira ji’s voice came sharp but playful. “Let them be. You eat your food.”

“Fine, fine,” Rishi said, still laughing, while Shivam shot him a mock glare.

As breakfast went on, Isha’s nervousness slowly faded. The family talked about small things — upcoming festivals, office matters, some neighborhood gossip. Every now and then, Shivam would quietly nudge a bowl toward her, offering her something without saying a word — butter, chutney, another paratha.

It was subtle, but it spoke volumes.

Even Shivam’s father noticed once and smiled behind his cup of tea. There was a strange peace in seeing his son — once so reserved and work-driven — now looking so much lighter, happier.

At one point, when Mira ji got up to fetch something from the kitchen, Isha instinctively followed her. “Maa, please, at least now let me help.”

But again, the gentle refusal came. “Beta, no. When I said you’re like a daughter, I meant it. And mothers don’t make their daughters work when they visit, do they? Just enjoy this phase. The house feels more alive with you here.”

Those words touched Isha deeply. She nodded silently, feeling her throat tighten with emotion. She wasn’t used to being treated this warmly. There was love here — a quiet, effortless kind — that wrapped around her like sunlight.

She went back to her seat, and Shivam looked up at her immediately. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Just… your Maa is really sweet.”

He smiled, a small but real one. “Told you she’d love you.”

The way he said it — calm, certain — made her heartbeat quicken again.

Soon after, Rishi began telling some funny story from his office — something about a coworker who accidentally sent a love confession email to the whole company. Everyone laughed, including Isha, who covered her mouth trying to hold it in.

Shivam leaned back slightly, just watching her laugh. The way her eyes sparkled when she did — unguarded, genuine — made something shift inside him. He didn’t say anything, but his gaze softened completely.

When she finally noticed him looking, she blushed again and looked down at her plate.

After Breakfast when the plates were empty and the tea cups drained, Mira ji folded her hands with satisfaction. “Now that was a proper family breakfast,” she said proudly.

Shivam’s father smiled. “And all credit goes to your cooking… and your management, as always.”

“Not at all,” she replied, “the credit goes to everyone being together.” Then turning to Isha, “And now that our new bahu is here, our mornings finally feel complete.”

Isha smiled quietly, her eyes glancing toward Shivam without realizing it.

He looked back — that same knowing smile — and for a moment, words weren’t needed at all.

That morning, nothing extraordinary had happened. It was just breakfast — laughter, simple conversations, teasing — but for Isha, it felt like something more.

For the first time since she entered this house, she didn’t feel like an outsider trying to fit in. She felt belonged. And maybe, just maybe, the seat beside Shivam — the one he claimed as “his” — would always stay hers too.

ISHA'S POV

After breakfast, the house grew quiet in a way I wasn’t used to. Maa and Baba had gone to the temple to offer puja for us — they said they’d return by afternoon. As soon as their car disappeared beyond the gate, the rhythm of the morning seemed to fade, leaving behind a silence that stretched across every corner.

Inside the house, only three of us remained — Rishi bhaiya, Shivam ji, and me.

Rishi bhaiya was already lost in his work, his study door half-closed. I could occasionally hear the faint tapping of his keyboard and the distant hum of his video call. Shivam ji, too, sat with his laptop open, scanning through files, his glasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose as he read something intently.

And then there was me — just sitting there, doing absolutely nothing.

Two hours had already passed since breakfast. I kept glancing at my phone, scrolling through random apps that didn’t really matter. I had even spoken to Dadi for about half an hour earlier; she had her usual warmth, her voice filled with that affectionate curiosity only grandmothers have. We talked about puja, about what I had eaten, about the weather — and after that, the line went quiet.

Now it was just me and the stillness.

The ticking of the clock was the loudest sound in the room.

Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, painting the marble floor in shifting patches of gold. Dust motes danced lazily in that soft light. The fan above whirred gently, almost rhythmically, as if counting down the minutes.

Maa had told us we’d go out later in the day — after they came back from the temple.

Until then, we were to stay home and rest.

I tried to relax. I really did. But there’s a strange kind of silence that doesn’t soothe — it unsettles. It’s not the quiet of peace, but the quiet that makes you hear your own heartbeat too clearly.

Suddenly, the silence broke.

A ringtone sliced through the still air — sharp and unexpected.

My first instinct was to check my phone, but it wasn’t mine. It was his.

Shivam ji’s phone lay on the glass table beside him. He looked up immediately, frowned for half a second, then reached for it. His eyes flickered briefly toward me before he answered.

He didn’t speak for a few seconds. Just listened. Then he nodded once, stood up, and said in a low, steady voice,

“Isha, if you need anything, call me. It’s an important call — I’ll be back in two minutes, okay?”

I didn’t say much — just nodded.

He smiled faintly, almost reassuringly, then turned to leave. But as he reached the balcony door, I thought I heard him murmur something under his breath.

Something that sounded like… my name? Followed by a few words I couldn’t quite catch.

He wasn’t the kind of man to joke casually, especially not mid-call. And yet, for a split second, he smiled — not the polite kind of smile he gave everyone, but something softer, amused… private.

It was strange.

Before I could think about it more, he stepped out into the balcony, his voice fading as he began speaking into the phone again.

As soon as he left the room, the stillness returned — heavier than before.

Rishi bhaiya’s door was shut tight now. No typing, no voices. Just a hush that filled the air like a thick blanket.

I glanced around. The house felt larger when it was this quiet. The walls seemed farther apart; even the shadows seemed longer.

I leaned back on the sofa and sighed. Maybe I should make some tea, I thought. Or read something. Or just step outside for fresh air.

But I didn’t move.

Minutes passed. My phone screen dimmed to black.

Then,  something shifted.

It was faint — a tiny sound, almost like fabric brushing against wood. I froze for a second, straining to hear again.

Nothing.

I told myself it was probably the wind. Or maybe a door left ajar. Still, my heart gave a small, nervous flutter.

I stood up qu

ietly, half thinking of checking the sound — and half hoping I wouldn’t have to.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhh!  Shivammmmmm jiiiiiiiiii!”

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