Silences Between Hearts ~ A Rumya SS [Completed] - Page 2

Originally posted by: themasked

I find this premise really interesting and Rudra and Saumya make such a wholesome couple.But I have a question.Did Shivaay and Om expect Bhavya to fall for Rudra?

No they just wanted him to gain her affection but then their plan failed and she fell in love with Rudra.

Chapter 5 (Bitter Truths)

Bhavya’s Confession

The Punjabi household woke to its usual rhythm: the clang of steel vessels, women gossiping at the well, children darting through the corridors. But Bhavya was unusually quiet that morning. Her swollen eyes betrayed the sleepless night she had spent replaying the moonlit courtyard in her mind—Rudra’s arms around Soumya.

She had seen it. Yet in her heart, she twisted the truth.
She doesn’t belong here. I do. I’ve been with him, shared his silence, laughed with him, cared for him. Why should she take him away?

That afternoon, Bhavya went to Sikander. Her steps were firm, though her hands trembled as she held out a folded slip of paper.

Sikander, lounging with a glass of lassi, raised his brows. “What is this, Bhavya?”

She pressed the note into his palm, her eyes pleading.

He unfolded it slowly. The words, written in her careful hand, made him sit straighter:

I love him. The mute boy. I want to marry him.

For a moment, Sikander just stared. Then he barked out a laugh. “Marry? That deaf-mute boy?” But her grave expression silenced him at once.

“You’re serious,” he muttered, scanning her face. Her eyes shimmered, determined.

Sikander leaned back, stroking his beard. He looked toward the courtyard where Rudra—turban, fake beard, and all—was carrying bundles of firewood with quiet strength. The boy’s silence, his humility, the way Bhavya’s eyes clung to him—it all clicked into place.

“Hm.” Sikander’s grin spread. “If my Bhavya has chosen, then so be it. He will be her husband. I’ll speak to the elders tonight.”

Bhavya’s lips curved faintly, her chest swelling with triumph.

Soumya’s Return to Colour

That evening, the family gathered for dinner. Plates clinked, children bickered, women chattered. But then the room hushed.

Soumya entered.

Gone was the plain widow’s sari. Tonight, she wore a soft, colourful salwar suit—pink and turquoise, simple yet radiant. Bangles chimed faintly at her wrist, and a delicate bindi glowed against her forehead. She had let her hair fall loose, framing her face with a brightness that had been missing for weeks.

Gasps rippled across the room.

“She changed her colours,” one woman whispered.
“Does that mean…?” another murmured.

But Soumya wasn’t listening. Her heart beat wildly, her steps light. For the first time since Rudra’s “death,” she felt alive. She had seen him. Touched him. Heard his trembling confession. Her Rudra was alive.

She slid into her seat with a small, radiant smile, unaware of the storm about to break.

The Shocking Announcement

Sikander stood abruptly, clapping his hands for silence. His booming voice cut through the chatter.

“Listen, everyone! I have news.”

All eyes turned toward him. Rudra looked up from his plate, and on the balcony, Shivaay and Omkara stiffened.

“Our Bhavya,” Sikander declared proudly, resting a heavy hand on Rudra’s shoulder, “has chosen her groom. This mute boy—” he gave Rudra a thump that nearly knocked him off balance—“will marry her. Their wedding will take place here, in this very house!”

The hall erupted in cheers. Women clapped, children squealed, elders nodded in approval. Bhavya lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushed, but her eyes slid toward Rudra with quiet triumph.

At the far end of the table, Soumya’s fork slipped from her hand, clattering against her steel plate. The colour drained from her face.

Marry?

Her gaze flew to Rudra—her Rudra—who sat frozen, knuckles white around his spoon, panic flaring in his eyes.

Soumya’s Heartbreak

Soumya’s chest heaved, her colourful attire suddenly feeling heavy, mocking. Only hours ago, she had shed her widowhood, daring to hope again. But now—this?

Her lips trembled, her eyes burning with unshed tears. She wanted to scream No! He’s mine! He’s my Rudra! But Shivaay’s warning echoed in her mind.
If you reveal him now, everything will collapse.

So she stayed silent, her silence choking her more than widowhood ever had.

Rudra’s eyes met hers, desperate, helpless. Trust me, they begged. But to Soumya, it felt like betrayal. He wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t stopping this.

The Oberoi Brothers’ Realization

On the balcony, Omkara let out a low curse. “This… was never part of the plan.”

Shivaay’s jaw tightened. “We wanted Bhavya’s affection, not a marriage. If Sikander fixes this alliance, Rudra’s cover is blown.”

“And Soumya…” Omkara’s eyes flicked to her trembling form. “…she’ll shatter.”

Both brothers exchanged a grim look. Their scheme to save Rudra had spiraled beyond their control.

The Silent Collapse

As excitement swelled around her, Soumya rose abruptly, excusing herself with a broken smile. She stumbled into the courtyard, where the cool night air met her tears. Her bangles clinked softly as she covered her face, sobbing into her dupatta.

Inside, Rudra sat like stone, his heart screaming louder than any words he could utter.

And Bhavya—mute, victorious—let her smile linger. He may not have spoken, but soon, he would be hers.

But in truth, Rudra’s silence had never been heavier.

And in the shadows, Shivaay and Omkara knew: unless they acted fast, this marriage would destroy all of them.

Bhavya’s Private Proposal

Later that night, Rudra slipped out into the courtyard, his mind in chaos. He needed air, space, anything to drown the echo of Sikander’s words: This mute boy will marry Bhavya.

He leaned against the old neem tree, running a hand over his face. How had things spun so far out of control?

A soft shuffle of footsteps made him look up. Bhavya stood there, holding her slate close to her chest. Her eyes glowed with a mixture of shyness and determination.

Rudra straightened instantly, tension knotting his shoulders.

Bhavya stepped closer, her bangles tinkling softly. Then, slowly, she raised the slate. The words made his heart stutter:

Will you be mine?

Rudra’s lips parted, but no sound escaped. His throat tightened as she added more words with trembling chalk:

I know you are silent like me. You understand me without words. I love you.

And then—she lifted her gaze, eyes brimming with emotion, and clasped his hand between hers.

Rudra froze. The weight of her sincerity hit him like a storm. She wasn’t playing games. She truly believed their shared silence was destiny. His disguise, meant to protect him, had created this cruel mirage of love.

He wanted to pull back, to explain, to scream No, you don’t understand! But his silence—chosen, fake—had chained him.

Soumya’s Silent Witness

From the shadows of the corridor, Soumya stood hidden, her dupatta clutched to her mouth. She had come searching for Rudra, wanting to tell him they’d find a way out together. But what she saw stopped her cold.

Bhavya’s soft, hopeful eyes. The way her hands trembled as she held Rudra’s. The chalk-written confession glowing in the moonlight.

It was pure. Uncomplicated. The love of a girl who had lived in silence, finding someone who mirrored her world.

Soumya’s throat tightened painfully. She… she truly loves him.

Her heart screamed to rush forward, to claim Rudra as hers. To tear the slate away, to cry out that he belonged to her. But her conscience shackled her. Bhavya had never known deceit, never known the truth of who Rudra really was. All she knew was the boy who, like her, spoke through silence.

Tears blurred Soumya’s vision as she pressed a hand to her chest. If I stay… I will break her. And Rudra will be torn between us.

She backed away slowly, each step heavier than the last, the weight of her decision crushing her spirit.

Soumya’s Resolve

Later, curled up on her bed, Soumya stared at the ceiling, her pillow damp with tears. She replayed Bhavya’s trembling confession over and over, the image seared into her mind.

Maybe… this is the sign. Maybe Rudra was never mine to begin with. Maybe I have to let go.

Her fists clenched tightly, her heart shattering with each thought. But she whispered into the darkness, her voice barely more than a sob:

“For her sake… I will step back.”

Her voice broke, but her resolve hardened.

And in another corner of the haveli, Rudra sat beneath the neem tree long after Bhavya had gone, staring at the words still lingering on her slate.

Two women. Two silences. One out of disguise, one born from truth. And between them, his heart was being torn apart.

Soumya’s Withdrawal

The next morning, the haveli woke with its usual thunder of voices and footsteps. But for Rudra, something was missing.

Soumya.

She no longer came down in the bright colors she had worn the previous day. Her clothes were pale again, her eyes dull, her presence ghost-like. She kept her distance—at mealtimes, at chores, even in the courtyard where she once sought him out.

When their eyes accidentally met, she looked away so quickly it sliced through him like a knife.

Rudra clenched his fists. Why is she slipping away? He wanted to shout, to drag her back to him, but Bhavya’s shadow was never far. The girl hovered near him constantly now, smiling shyly, sometimes brushing her fingers against his hand as though testing if she was allowed to belong there.

Soumya’s silence cut deeper than words ever could.

Rudra Confronts Soumya

Rudra couldn’t take it anymore. By nightfall, he slipped away from Bhavya’s watchful gaze and found Soumya near the well, drawing water.

“Soumya,” he whispered hoarsely, dropping the act for the first time that day.

She froze. The bucket slipped from her hands, crashing into the water with a hollow splash.

“Don’t,” she whispered, shaking her head furiously. “Don’t make this harder.”

Rudra stepped closer, his eyes blazing. “You think I will let you go? You think I’ll marry her because of this disguise?”

Soumya’s throat constricted, her eyes wet. “She loves you, Rudra. She believes you are like her—silent, broken. If I fight her, I destroy her. I can’t do that. I won’t.”

Rudra grabbed her wrist, his voice low and desperate. “And what about me? Don’t I get a choice? Don’t you matter?”

Her tears spilled then, but she tore her hand free, whispering, “Not this time.”

Rudra’s chest heaved, his eyes searching her face for even the smallest crack in her resolve. “Not this time?” he echoed, his voice breaking. “Soumya, you’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Why are you punishing me?”

Soumya shook her head, choking back a sob. “No, Rudra. This punishment… you brought it on yourself.”

Her words cut through him like glass. He staggered a step back, stunned, as she continued, her voice trembling but merciless.

“You started this game, remember? You put on this mask, you chose this lie, and now Bhavya’s heart is caught in it. You let her believe she’d found someone like her. You let her believe in you. And now…” Her lips quivered as she pressed a hand against her chest. “…now you have to pay for it. You’ll lose me.”

Rudra’s eyes widened, the world spinning. “No—no, Soumya, don’t say that. Don’t do this to me!” His hand shot out, desperate to catch her again, but she stepped back.

Tears streamed down her face as she whispered the words that shattered him completely:
“You played with her heart, Rudra. And now the price is mine.”

She turned and fled into the darkness of the haveli, leaving him rooted by the well—silent, broken, and finally tasting the bitter weight of his own deception.

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To be continued.

Chapter 6 (Shadows Before the Fire)

Wedding Preparations

The haveli was alive with color. Strings of marigolds swung from the doorways, the courtyard shimmered under the glow of lanterns, and the air smelled of sweetened milk and sandalwood. Laughter echoed as women moved in and out with trays of turmeric, betel leaves, and shining copper vessels.

Bhavya stood at the center of it all, wrapped in a crimson dupatta that deepened the flush on her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled with a joy she could not speak, but her silence was louder than any song—her smile said everything. The family adored her, fussing over every fold of her outfit, every jewel in her hair.

Sikander clapped his hands together, delighted. “Our Bhavya is glowing! This engagement will be remembered in the village for years to come.”

Bhavya lowered her gaze shyly, her hands trembling against the fabric she clutched. She had dreamed of this day in silence, and now, it was here—her heart’s wish finally within reach.

Rudra watched from a distance, jaw tight. Every garland, every diya lit in the courtyard felt like a chain tightening around his chest. He played his role—answering the family’s questions, smiling where he had to—but his eyes kept straying toward the stairs, where Soumya had disappeared the night before.

The dholak beat through the courtyard, drowning out his thoughts but not his ache. For Rudra, the entire haveli felt like it was preparing not for a union, but for his punishment.

Bhavya and Rudra’s Engagement Day

The day of Rudra and Bhavya’s engagement dawned bright and clear. The courtyard buzzed with energy—women draped in vivid saris fluttered about, men adjusted turbans and waistcoats, and children darted between garlands and rangoli patterns, squealing with excitement.

Bhavya sat quietly on a decorated swing, her hands folded in her lap, eyes shining with anticipation. Rudra stood nearby, carefully maintaining the mask of the obedient, silent fiancé. Every bow of his head, every careful gesture, was calculated to conceal the storm inside him. His heart pounded with dread and longing—he could not allow this day to unfold as Bhavya imagined.

From the balcony, Shivaay and Omkara shared a loaded glance. Omkara’s lips curved into a sly grin. “Step thirteen: the truth bomb. Time to shake this house to its core.”

Shivaay nodded. “Bhavya needs to know, and Sikander’s pride needs a lesson. Let’s bring them in.”

A hush fell over the courtyard as a convoy of sleek cars pulled up at the front gate. The chatter stopped, curious eyes turning toward the entrance. Out stepped Tej, Jhanvi, and the rest of the Oberoi family, radiating authority and purpose.

“Guests for the engagement?” a servant asked nervously.

Shivaay’s voice boomed from the balcony. “Not just guests. Witnesses.”

Bhavya blinked, confusion rippling across her face. Her hands tightened around the edge of her dupatta. Rudra felt the familiar weight of guilt press down on him—he had warned her nothing would be simple, yet nothing had prepared him for this.

The Oberois walked through the courtyard, their presence commanding attention. Tej’s gaze landed sharply on Rudra, unflinching. Jhanvi followed, her eyes scanning the scene until they rested on the boy standing silently beside Bhavya.

“Rudra Singh Oberoi,” Tej said, voice low but carrying across the hall. “You’ve been hiding a lot.”

A ripple of unease spread through the gathered Punjabis. Sikander straightened, brow furrowing. “What is the meaning of this?”

Rudra’s throat tightened. He could feel Bhavya’s eyes on him, wide and trusting. Swallowing hard, he finally stepped forward, turban and beard trembling in his hands.

“Bhavya… there’s something you need to know,” he began, voice steady but heavy. “I… I am not what you think. I am not mute or deaf. And… I am not just a visitor in this house. I am Rudra Singh Oberoi.”

Gasps echoed through the courtyard. Bhavya’s hand flew to her mouth, her slate slipping from her lap as she stared, unbelieving, at the man she had thought she loved in silence.

“You mean… all this time… you’ve been pretending?” Sikander’s voice roared, a mix of outrage and disbelief.

Rudra nodded, eyes fixed on Bhavya. “I had to. To protect everyone. To survive. I never meant to hurt you, Bhavya, or lead you into believing… anything false. But the truth cannot be hidden any longer.”

Shivaay and Omkara watched from above, satisfaction flickering in their eyes as the Punjabi household reeled.

Bhavya, trembling, sank to her knees, hands pressed to her chest. The smile that had once shone with hope and pride was gone, replaced by shock, betrayal, and the dawning realization that the boy she loved—her silent companion—had another life, another heart already tethered elsewhere.

Soumya, standing at the edge of the courtyard, stepped forward quietly, eyes locked on Rudra. Relief and heartbreak warred in her chest, but she remained silent, letting the revelation unfold in its own chaos.

The courtyard erupted in questions, gasps, and murmurs. Bhavya’s dreams—the engagement, the union—shattered in a heartbeat, leaving her clutching at Rudra’s sleeves, trying to find the boy she thought she knew.

Rudra knelt beside her, hands trembling as he reached for hers. “Bhavya… I never wanted to hurt you. I never asked for your love, yet…”

Even the children stopped their chatter, sensing the gravity of the moment. Sikander’s face was a mask of confusion and disbelief, while Shivaay muttered to Omkara, “Step fourteen: hearts shattered. Perfect execution.”

Bhavya’s tears spilled freely, the slate in her lap forgotten. The bright marigolds and festive decorations felt like a cruel mockery. She had been preparing for a life she imagined with him—and now everything had been stripped away in a single revelation.

Rudra’s eyes met Soumya’s across the courtyard, a silent promise of loyalty and love. But in front of Bhavya, in the eyes of the Punjabi family, he had no words to soften the blow.

Bhavya’s Silent Triumph

Bhavya slowly rose to her feet, movements deliberate, almost ceremonious. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and picked up her slate. The courtyard fell into silence as everyone—Punjabis and Oberois alike—leaned in, anticipating the words she might finally communicate.

She tapped her chalk gently, then wrote with painstaking care:
“My heart belongs to Rudra. He is mine. I will go forward with the engagement.”

A hush descended over the haveli. Sikander’s jaw dropped, the women gasped audibly, and the children stopped running, staring in bewilderment. Bhavya lifted her eyes, steady now, and gestured toward Rudra.

Her actions were silent but resolute: the love she had nurtured, though built on the misunderstanding of his identity, had remained true. And now she claimed it, not with words, but with courage and conviction.

Rudra froze, disbelief flashing across his features. “Bhavya… I… you… you don’t understand what this means—”

Bhavya’s gaze held his, unwavering. Her lips pressed together, her silence speaking louder than any protest. She would honor her heart, even if it meant stepping into uncertainty.

Sikander, still flustered, waved a hand. “Well… if she insists… then we proceed. But this… this is… extraordinary!”

Shivaay and Omkara’s Disappointment

From the balcony, Shivaay and Omkara banged their heads lightly against the carved railing, a mixture of frustration and disbelief on their faces.

Omkara muttered through clenched teeth, “I can’t believe this… after all that planning, all the steps… she just—she just threw it back at us.”

Shivaay exhaled heavily, rubbing his forehead. “I knew Bhavya was strong-willed, but this… this wasn’t part of the plan. We thought she’d break, that Rudra would have to step away. Instead, she’s… doubled down.”

Omkara’s jaw tightened. “We manipulated, we schemed, we tried to protect him—and for what? She’s standing there, fearless, declaring her heart. She won. And now our carefully laid plan… it’s in shambles.”

Shivaay’s eyes softened as he watched Bhavya, resolute in her silent claim. “And yet… I can’t deny it. She’s brave. Unyielding. If only we’d counted on her strength instead of trying to control everything.”

Omkara let out a low whistle. “Step sixteen was supposed to expose the truth, break the engagement, and get Rudra out without hurting anyone. But now… nothing is going as we intended. I feel… sad. For Soumya. For Rudra. For the chaos we created.”

Shivaay glanced at Omkara, face a mixture of guilt and admiration. “We underestimated her heart. Sometimes, the plans of men are no match for the courage of those who speak in silence.”

Tej and Jhanvi Step Forward

Tej cleared his throat, his authoritative presence immediately drawing attention. “Sikander, family… I must speak,” he said, eyes scanning the Punjabi gathering. “There is more to Rudra than what you see…”

Jhanvi nodded, stepping forward with a calm but firm expression. Tej continued, “There is someone…”

Soumya’s Intervention

Before Tej could continue, Soumya stepped forward from the shadows, voice clear and composed. “No, Tej Uncle. Stop,” she said, raising a hand. The crowd fell silent instantly. Even Bhavya looked up, curious despite her confusion.

Soumya’s gaze softened as it fell on Bhavya. “Bhavya is the best bahu your family could wish for. She is brave, she is kind, and she has loved Rudra—without knowing everything, without doubt. Let the engagement proceed. Let her be happy.”

A stunned silence followed her words. Tej blinked, taken aback. Jhanvi’s stern expression softened, her lips twitching in a small, reluctant smile.

Soumya turned to Rudra, eyes meeting his. A silent promise passed between them—she would wait, she would step back, she would honor Bhavya’s heart. Yet her heart ached as she whispered, “It’s his choice… and hers.”

The Engagement Proceeds

With Soumya’s blessing, the courtyard slowly returned to its festive rhythm. Women adjusted Bhavya’s dupatta, men distributed garlands, and the dholak resumed its cheerful beat. Bhavya and Rudra took their places, ready to go through the rituals, their hands brushing occasionally, communicating a silent, complex understanding between them.

In the shadows, Soumya watched, a mixture of pride and sorrow on her face. She had chosen restraint over confrontation, grace over claim—and in that choice, she found her own strength.

Above, Shivaay muttered to Omkara, “We failed. Completely. But… perhaps this is better. For all of them.”

Omkara’s sigh carried a tinge of resignation. “Better… but not easy. Never easy with hearts involved.”

As the haveli’s lanterns flickered and the scent of marigold and sandalwood filled the air, the engagement ceremony continued—a moment of fragile joy, unspoken sacrifices, and love entangled in silence and understanding.

Bhavya’s Illusions of Triumph

The engagement rituals concluded, and Bhavya felt a quiet euphoria settle over her. The marigolds swayed gently in the evening breeze, lanterns flickered warmly, and the sounds of laughter and celebration enveloped the courtyard. In her heart, she carried a fragile triumph—the knowledge that Rudra, the boy she had loved in silence, was now formally her fiancé.

She did not notice the subtle tension in Rudra’s shoulders, the way his eyes occasionally flicked toward the balcony where Soumya had disappeared. To Bhavya, every smile he gave her, every gentle touch during the rituals, seemed like proof of the bond she had imagined between them. Every laugh he shared with the family felt like a secret acknowledgment of her love.

Sikander’s delighted chuckles echoed in the courtyard. “Look at her glow! Our Bhavya has captured the heart of Rudra Singh Oberoi himself. I always knew she was special.”

Bhavya’s smile widened, her heart swelling with pride. She glanced at Rudra, who returned her gaze with something complicated—warmth, yes, but also restraint and unspoken words she could not decipher. She attributed it all to modesty, humility, or the excitement of the day. In her mind, it confirmed that he belonged to her alone.

Rudra’s Silent Struggle

Rudra’s heart was anything but peaceful. Every ritual, every brush of Bhavya’s hand, every smile he returned, felt like a betrayal. He loved Soumya—had always loved her—and yet here he was, bound by duty, caught in a web of family expectations and Bhavya’s unwavering courage.

He knelt beside Bhavya during the final ritual, helping adjust her dupatta, his fingers brushing hers. She looked at him with glowing eyes, completely unaware of the silent torment beneath his composed exterior. Rudra wanted to speak, to explain, to relieve the weight of this misunderstanding—but the words would shatter her joy, and perhaps that was a cruelty he could not inflict.

So he remained silent, nodding, smiling, performing every gesture required, while his heart ached for the woman he truly loved.

The Courtyard Buzzes

The courtyard returned to its celebratory chaos. Music played, children ran around with sweets in hand, and the family continued distributing garlands and blessings. Bhavya laughed softly when a young cousin tried to sneak a piece of her engagement sweet, her eyes lighting up with unguarded delight.

Rudra observed her, feeling a pang of guilt for every happy expression she cast his way. How could she know that, beneath the surface of this engagement, his heart belonged elsewhere? How could she understand that the boy she loved silently had already given his heart to another?

Even Sikander noticed Rudra’s occasional distracted gaze, but he dismissed it as the excitement of the day. “Our Rudra is shy around Bhavya—how sweet,” he whispered to a neighbor, entirely unaware of the storm brewing behind that composed exterior.

Soumya’s Silent Vigil

From the shadows, Soumya watched, a mixture of pride and pain etched across her face. She had chosen to step back today, to let Bhavya’s courage shine and allow the engagement to proceed. But seeing Rudra kneel beside Bhavya, smiling and guiding her through the rituals, twisted her heart.

She remained quiet, unseen and unobtrusive, respecting Bhavya’s triumph while silently suffering her own loss. Every moment Rudra spent with Bhavya was a reminder of the impossible choice they all had to endure—a tangled web of love, loyalty, and unspoken truths.

Evening Descends, Tension Remains

As the sun set and the courtyard was bathed in the golden glow of lanterns, Bhavya’s joy remained untouched by suspicion. She thought she had won Rudra’s heart, that this day cemented her place in his life forever.

Yet, shadows lingered beneath the celebration. Rudra’s heart and Soumya’s presence were silent truths no one acknowledged openly. Bhavya’s happiness stood in stark contrast to the complex emotions threading through the Oberoi family and Rudra himself.

The engagement had proceeded, the rituals completed, and the celebrations continued—but the undercurrent of unspoken love and hidden loyalty had only deepened, setting the stage for a future fraught with tension, misunderstandings, and the delicate balance of hearts held captive by circumstance.

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To be continued.

Chapter 7 (All's Well That Ends Well)

Wedding Rituals Begin

The haveli buzzed with festive chaos once again. Lamps flickered along the corridors, the scent of marigold and sandalwood mingled with the sweet aroma of ladoos and kheer, and the courtyard rang with the vibrant beats of dholaks. Bhavya, radiant in a golden-red lehenga, sat gracefully on the swing, her slate resting lightly on her lap. Every subtle gesture—the tilt of her head, the nervous tapping of her fingers, the glimmer in her eyes—spoke louder than words, capturing the delicate anticipation of a bride-to-be.

Rudra stood beside her, performing the rituals with meticulous care, yet his mind was a battlefield of guilt, longing, and restraint. Every smile he offered Bhavya felt measured, every guiding hand cautious, as though he were walking a tightrope above the chasm of his true feelings.

Garry’s Entrance

Suddenly, the cheerful hum of celebration was broken by a loud, familiar voice.
“Bhavya! Finally! Look at you! All dressed up!”

Garry, Bhavya’s childhood friend, strode into the courtyard, his presence immediately drawing attention. Confident, teasingly familiar, and impossibly casual, he carried the air of someone who belonged in every heart and every memory.

Bhavya’s eyes lit up, a small smile curving her lips as she tapped her slate:
"Garry! You’re here! Don’t be late for my wedding!"

Garry grinned theatrically, waving off her words, and then his gaze drifted toward Soumya, quietly observing the rituals from the sidelines.
“Well, well,” he murmured to no one in particular, “look who we have here… interesting company!”

Soumya offered a calm, polite smile, her hands folded gracefully.
“Hello, Garry. I hope you’re enjoying the celebration.”

“Oh, I intend to!” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Beauty comes in all forms, you know. Impossible not to notice.”

Rudra’s Jealousy Flares

Rudra’s jaw tightened. His hands clenched slightly around Bhavya’s as he guided her through the next ritual. Every glance toward Garry was a spark of flame he struggled to contain.
"Seriously… him? Now?" he muttered under his breath, forcing composure.

Bhavya, immersed in her happiness, tapped her slate again:
"Rudra, stay calm. Focus on the rituals."

Her silent words made his chest tighten further, a mix of guilt and desire warring within him.

Shivaay and Omkara Observe

From the balcony, Shivaay and Omkara watched the scene unfold, amusement written across their faces.

“Step seventeen: childhood friend causing emotional turbulence. Weddings are dangerous,” Omkara whispered, nudging Shivaay.
Shivaay snorted. “Rudra’s jealousy is practically glowing. Bhavya, oblivious, is silent as ever, and Soumya… she’s the calm in the storm. Perfect chaos.”
Omkara pointed at Garry, who had just tripped over a stray garland. “Step eighteen: slapstick wedding edition. Couldn’t have scripted it better.”
Shivaay laughed quietly. “And all this while Rudra’s trying not to explode beside her.”

Soumya Remains Unruffled

Soumya noticed Rudra’s tension but remained serene, offering him a subtle, composed smile. The calm in her eyes reminded him of the loyalty and depth of her feelings, even as she maintained her restraint. Rudra exhaled slowly, forcing his focus back to Bhavya and the rituals, though his gaze flickered toward Soumya more times than he cared to admit.

Bhavya’s Silence and Joy

Bhavya’s hands brushed Rudra’s occasionally as she continued the rituals, glancing at her slate to jot down her thoughts:
"Focus on now. Happiness is here."

She remained blissfully unaware of the silent war brewing between Rudra’s jealousy and Garry’s innocent mischief. Her attention was fully on the ceremonies, on the joy filling the haveli, and the tiny details that made this day hers alone.

Humor Amidst Chaos

Omkara leaned toward Shivaay, nodding at Garry, who had just loudly complimented Soumya’s elegance while nearly stepping on a dholak.
“Step nineteen: Rudra’s patience meter just hit critical. This is gold.”
Shivaay shook his head, stifling laughter. “And yet, no one can touch Bhavya’s composure. Silent, strong, and completely in control.”

The crowd laughed at Garry’s clumsy antics, Soumya smiled politely, and Rudra’s jaw clenched tighter with every passing moment.

Mehendi and Sangeet: A Colorful Chaos

The courtyard was a riot of colors. Canopies of yellow and orange drapes fluttered, fairy lights twinkled above, and the scent of henna mingled with jasmine. Women danced and laughed, children ran with splashes of colored powder, and the dholak beat a cheerful rhythm that made everyone sway.

Bhavya sat on a low swing, hands delicately painted with mehendi designs. Her slate rested in her lap, but today, her expressions—subtle smiles, sparkling eyes, and gentle gestures—spoke louder than words.

Garry’s Persistent Charm and Rudra’s Tension

Garry leaned casually against the railing, whispering playful compliments to Soumya. His presence, easy and confident, made Rudra’s chest tighten. Every laugh and flirtatious remark felt like a personal affront, stoking a quiet fury he struggled to suppress.

Bhavya, noticing Rudra’s tense expressions, scribbled to Rina:
"Why does he look upset at Garry? Does he… not like me smiling?"

Her innocent interpretation only deepened Rudra’s turmoil, turning jealousy into a silent, simmering storm.

Shivaay and Omkara’s Running Commentary

Leaning over the balcony, Omkara chuckled. “Step twenty: emotional tension meets slapstick wedding. Did you see Garry trip while complimenting Soumya?”
Shivaay laughed. “Step twenty-one: Rudra’s internal meltdown. My favorite part. Classic melodrama.”

Garry continued his playful antics while Rudra’s jealousy burned hotter. The Sangeet had become a delicate dance of hidden desires, misunderstandings, and comic relief—a night promising laughter and chaos in equal measure.

Night Before the Wedding: Terrace Tension

The haveli had quieted down after the late-night mehendi celebrations. The courtyard shimmered with lanterns, now casting soft, golden pools of light. Music had softened to a distant hum, and most of the family had retreated indoors.

Soumya, still dressed in her elegant lehenga, leaned against the railing of the terrace, gazing at the moonlit garden below. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of marigolds and sandalwood.

“Care for some company?” Garry’s voice broke the silence. He stepped beside her, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Soumya straightened, cautious but polite. “I… thank you, Garry. But I’m fine.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, leaning closer, “you’re too poised for your own good. Let someone see the other side of you.”

Soumya remained composed, though her eyes flicked briefly toward the open doors where Rudra’s shadow lingered in her peripheral vision.

Garry leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know, there’s something about you… calm, graceful, mysterious… makes it impossible not to want to know you more.”

Soumya’s calm demeanor didn’t waver, but her jaw tightened slightly. “Garry… please remember the wedding tomorrow. I cannot…”

Garry’s voice dropped to a softer, teasing murmur. “I just want a moment. Just us. Don’t you ever wonder what it would be like… without all this chaos?”

His lips drifted dangerously close to hers, and the air between them seemed to tense, electric.

Unbeknownst to both, Rudra had been observing from the stairwell below, his chest tightening with every second, jealousy and fury flaring hotter by the heartbeat.

Without a second thought, Rudra stormed forward, fists coiled, and in a single motion, punched Garry squarely in the chest. Garry staggered backward, colliding with the terrace railing and almost toppling over, his expression a mix of shock and indignation.

Soumya’s eyes widened, stepping back instinctively. “Rudra! What—what are you doing?”

Rudra’s face was etched with anger, his voice low but heated. “I’ve warned you. Stay away from her. You think this is a game?”

Garry, clutching his chest and glaring, tried to retort, but Rudra’s glare silenced him.

Soumya’s hands rose in frustration, her composure slipping for the first time. “Rudra! Calm down! You have no right—no right to attack anyone like this! I am not yours to protect!”

Rudra’s eyes softened for a fraction, but his fists remained clenched. “Then tell me why… every time he’s near you, I can’t breathe?”

Soumya’s voice trembled, anger and confusion mixing. “And what about Bhavya? The wedding? The responsibilities? You can’t just—”

Rudra stepped closer, his gaze locking onto hers, full of unspoken torment. “I can’t… I can’t watch someone else touch what’s mine. Not like this.”

Before she could protest further, Rudra’s hands cupped her face. His lips pressed against hers with sudden, fierce intensity. Soumya froze, then responded, her hands gripping his shoulders, a storm of passion and restraint colliding. The kiss deepened, igniting every suppressed emotion they had held back for months.

Above, the terrace doors had been left ajar, and the golden light spilled across the haveli courtyard, illuminating the shocking scene. Bhavya, still seated in the courtyard practicing her last-minute wedding gestures, froze mid-glance toward the terrace, her slate falling forgotten. Her eyes widened in disbelief, unable to vocalize the shock.

Sikander’s booming voice cut through the air as he followed Bhavya’s gaze: “What—what is happening up there?!”

Shivaay and Omkara, leaning over the balcony in disbelief, erupted into exclamations and snickers simultaneously.

“Step twenty-three: forbidden liplock!” Omkara muttered. “Well, we did not plan for this. Absolutely not!”

Shivaay shook his head, a mixture of amusement and incredulity on his face. “And here I thought tonight would be calm. Calm! Hah! Look at Rudra, Soumya… they’ve just redefined chaos.”

In the courtyard below, Bhavya’s heart pounded. She couldn’t speak, but her mind raced. The boy she loved, the boy she believed was hers, was not alone in his heart. Her slate lay abandoned, the ink of her silent thoughts failing to capture the turmoil in her chest.

The kiss broke only when Soumya, breathless and flushed, finally pushed back, glaring at Rudra. “Do you realize what you’re doing? The wedding—Bhavya—everything!”

Rudra’s hands still held her gently, his forehead resting against hers. “I realize everything. And yet… I can’t stop. Not anymore.”

The Oberoi-Punjabi household below stared upward in stunned silence, witnessing the unspoken truth unfold—Rudra and Soumya’s passion, the tension of unspoken love, and the inevitable consequences that would ripple through the wedding that was only hours away.

The night air seemed charged with forbidden electricity, laughter and exclamations mixing with gasps and whispers. The haveli itself held its breath, caught between the upcoming nuptials and the revelation of two hearts that could not be denied.

Wedding Morning: Tension in the Air

The haveli woke to the soft chirping of birds, but the festive energy of the previous night had shifted. Lanterns still flickered, the corridors smelled of marigold and incense, yet the air felt heavier—charged by the memory of the terrace confrontation.

Bhavya, dressed in a crimson-and-gold bridal lehenga, moved carefully through the corridors, her slate in hand. Her expressions were composed, but her heart thudded in confusion. Last night’s glimpse of Rudra and Soumya replayed in her mind, impossible to erase. She scribbled hurriedly:

"Why… why did I see that?"

Sikander bustled around, handing out bangles and sweets, oblivious to the emotional storm brewing beneath the surface.

Rudra and Soumya: Silent Reckoning

Rudra had barely slept, tossing restlessly in his guest room. Soumya, calm as ever, rose early and slipped through the haveli to prepare herself. Their eyes met briefly across the courtyard while Bhavya was still surrounded by attendants.

No words were exchanged, but the glance carried the weight of last night’s forbidden kiss. Both knew the day ahead would test them—Bhavya, the family, the rituals, and their own hearts pulling them in opposite directions.

Garry’s Role: Mischief Retreats

After his terrace mishap, Garry nursed a dramatic bruise but chose—for now—to watch quietly from the sidelines. His usual mischief dimmed in the face of the thick tension surrounding Rudra and Soumya.

Omkara and Shivaay, leaning from their balcony perch, couldn’t resist commentary.

“Step twenty-four: the calm before emotional chaos. Brace yourself,” Omkara murmured.
Shivaay smirked. “And the bride remains blissfully unaware… for now.”

Bhavya’s Silent Turmoil

As the morning rituals began—the haldi, the kalash, the ceremonial knots—Bhavya followed every instruction precisely. Yet her eyes searched for answers she couldn’t bring herself to write. She noticed Rudra’s furtive glances toward Soumya, the tightness of his jaw, the storm he tried to suppress.

She scribbled quickly:

"Does he… still care for me? Or someone else?"

The slate could only hold fragments of her questions. The rest weighed silently in her chest.

Rudra’s Inner Struggle

Rudra guided Bhavya through rituals, performing every gesture expected of him. Yet every brush of her hand tugged him in two directions: duty and desire. His gaze strayed again and again to Soumya, the memory of their kiss burning in him.

When Bhavya’s attention drifted, he muttered under his breath:
"Stay strong. She deserves nothing less… but she’s not mine."

The Courtyard: Family Awaits

Guests began gathering, unaware of the emotional current threading through the haveli. Children tossed petals, elders exchanged blessings, Sikander beamed with pride, convinced everything was proceeding smoothly.

From above, Shivaay and Omkara whispered like narrators of a hidden play.

“Step twenty-five: hearts on the edge of a knife,” Omkara said.
Shivaay nodded. “And the bride, silent and strong, stands unknowingly on the precipice.”

A Precarious Balance

As rituals continued, the fragile equilibrium threatened to collapse. Rudra’s tension was palpable, Soumya’s serene restraint only sharpened it, and Bhavya’s silent questions added a quiet vulnerability to the festive atmosphere.

Every smile, every gesture, every whispered blessing carried the weight of unspoken truths. The wedding was no longer a simple celebration—it was a stage where duty, love, and sacrifice collided.

The Wedding Climax: Flames and Truths

The mandap shimmered with golden light. Sacred flames danced in the havan kund, their smoke curling into the night sky. The air smelled of ghee, sandalwood, and rose petals—heavy with sanctity and expectation.

Rudra sat beside Bhavya, his sherwani gleaming, his posture straight, every gesture aligned with the priest’s instructions. The family surrounded them—Sikander brimming with pride, Jhanvi and Tej whispering softly, Shivaay and Omkara watching with guarded expressions from behind.

Bhavya, draped in crimson and gold, sat gracefully at Rudra’s side, her slate resting nearby. Her kohl-lined eyes gleamed—not with joy, but with quiet intensity. She had been observing. Watching. Reading what was left unsaid.

Rudra’s Betraying Glances

As the mantras flowed, Rudra faltered. His heart pounded not with devotion but with longing. His eyes betrayed him—again and again, they drifted to Soumya, standing quietly at the edge of the courtyard in a pale blue lehenga, her eyes shimmering with turmoil.

Each glance was brief but undeniable. Soumya’s parted lips seemed to warn him silently: Stop. Control yourself.

But he couldn’t.

The sacred fire burned, and his gaze kept returning—pulled like a moth to its flame.

Bhavya’s Realization

Bhavya noticed.

Every flicker of his eyes, every silence heavier than words—she read them. For months she had learned to listen beyond sound. Now, sitting in the mandap, she understood.

This wasn’t love. Not the way she dreamed it.

Rudra cared, yes—but his care was sympathy, not passion. His soul was bound to another, and she could see it in the thread that tied his gaze to Soumya.

Her chest tightened, but she didn’t weep. Instead, she reached for her slate, her hands steady despite the storm inside. She wrote quickly and lifted it for all to see:

"Stop the wedding. Rudra’s love is not mine. His heart… is with Soumya."

The Silence After the Storm

Gasps rippled through the courtyard. The priest froze mid-mantra. Sikander stumbled forward, stunned. “Bhavya—what are you saying?”

But Bhavya’s gaze was calm, her silence resolute. She lifted the slate again before turning to Rudra. For the first time, she smiled—not with pain, but with release.

Rudra’s breath caught. “Bhavya…” he whispered.

She shook her head gently, her eyes saying: No more sympathy. No more lies.

Then she turned to Soumya. In that glance, she offered the greatest gift—understanding. Acceptance.

With quiet dignity, Bhavya stepped aside.

Rudra and Soumya: The Inevitable Truth

Rudra rose to his feet, torn between guilt and gratitude. His eyes found Soumya’s, her tears glimmering though she had tried to remain composed.

“Soumya…” his voice cracked.

Soumya shook her head fiercely. “Rudra, this was never meant to happen like this.”

But truth had surfaced, undeniable. The haveli had witnessed it all—the kiss, the glances, and now Bhavya’s sacrifice.

The Closing Moment

The sacred fire flickered, garlands lay scattered, petals drifted in the breeze. Bhavya walked away with her head held high, slate under her arm. Rudra stood frozen, eyes locked on Soumya.

From the shadows, Shivaay murmured to Omkara, voice low with awe:
“Step twenty-six: the bride walks away, and love finally speaks. Not with words, but with truth.”

Omkara exhaled. “And it ends not with fire… but with freedom.”

One Year Later

The Oberoi Mansion glowed with laughter and light as the family gathered for the evening aarti. At the center sat Rudra and Soumya, their smiles brighter than the diyas.

In Soumya’s arms lay their baby girl, wrapped in pink, her eyes wide and curious. Rudra bent and kissed her head, pride softening his features.

“She has your calmness,” he whispered.
“And your stubborn streak,” Soumya teased.

Shivaay raised an eyebrow. “So remind me—why name her Bhavya?”

Soumya smiled, glancing at Rudra. He answered softly:
“Because strength deserves to be remembered. Our daughter should know the woman who taught us what love means.”

At that moment, the gates opened. Bhavya entered with quiet grace, Garry at her side, his hand protectively near hers. The family welcomed them warmly.

Bhavya’s eyes instantly found the baby. Soumya rose and placed the child in her arms. Bhavya held her close, emotion trembling in her touch. Words weren’t needed.

“Meet your namesake,” Soumya whispered.

Time paused. Past pains, sacrifices, unfinished rituals—all faded into something whole. Bhavya kissed the baby’s forehead, then looked up at Rudra and Soumya with a smile that said: She’s where she belongs. And so am I.

Omkara lit a diya and set it near the mandir. His voice carried through the courtyard:
“Some flames test us, some flames guide us. Tonight, this one blesses us—with endings healed, and beginnings shining brighter.”

As the glow spread, Rudra slipped an arm around Soumya, Bhavya stood beside Garry with peace in her eyes, and the baby gurgled softly—binding past and future with innocent light.

The family watched the two Bhavyas—one grown, one newborn—tied together in memory and renewal.

For the first time in a long while, everyone felt at peace.

Shivaay smirked, folding his arms. “Alright, enough emotional poetry. Baby Bhavya, welcome to the Oberoi family. Just remember—no pranks like your father Rudra. This house won’t survive another generation.”

Laughter echoed through the courtyard, sealing the moment with love, warmth, and the Oberoi way of turning even endings into beginnings.

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The End.