Tera Mera Saath Rahe ~ Gosham, Mithila FF ~ Chapter 8 pg 2 - Page 2

Chapter 5 (When Hearts Begin to Know)

The Unseen Bond Grows

Gopika and Saksham began to understand each other without words.

When Saksham returned late from work, he would find a small lamp still burning in the temple — Gopika’s silent prayer for his safe return.

When Gopika felt troubled, Saksham would appear quietly by her side, offering her a glass of water, asking nothing but offering everything.

Janaki Baa watched this growing bond with a heart that swelled with hope.

Perhaps Kanha ji has written this story Himself, she thought, smiling gently as she watched them from afar.

And yet, even she did not fully see how, with each passing day, their bond deepened, becoming something neither of them had imagined.

The Blooming of Love

It began in small ways — a glance that lingered a moment longer than it should, a shared smile that warmed the heart more than words ever could.

Saksham found himself thinking of Gopika during meetings, his mind wandering to the way she tilted her head slightly when listening, the way her eyes glowed with kindness when she spoke of Baa or Kanha ji.

Gopika, too, found her thoughts returning to him — the quiet strength in his voice, the softness in his gaze, the way his presence seemed to ease every worry.

When he praised her cooking, she felt joy. When she smiled at him, he felt peace.

Neither spoke of what was growing between them — too unsure, too shy, too respectful of what they believed were boundaries never to be crossed.

The Evening That Changed Everything

One quiet evening, the sky painted in shades of rose and gold, Saksham and Gopika found themselves in the garden after dinner.

They had been laughing over something small — a memory Baa had shared at the table. The air was light, their hearts lighter still.

Saksham, leaning against the old mango tree, looked at Gopika as she gently gathered fallen flowers.

“You always see beauty where others don’t,” he said softly.

Gopika blushed, shaking her head. “It’s Kanha ji’s world. There is beauty everywhere, Saksham ji. We just need the right eyes to see it.”

He smiled. “You have those eyes.”

For a moment, silence settled — warm, gentle, filled with a thousand unspoken things.

And then, without realizing what prompted her, Gopika spoke.

“I saw you before I ever met you, Saksham ji,” she said, almost to herself.

Saksham turned to her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Gopika hesitated, then, encouraged by his kind gaze, continued in a soft voice.

“I… I used to see a man in my dreams. In the glow of the sacred fire, beside me at the mandap… always with me, though I never saw his face clearly. But the first time I saw you… I felt as if… as if it was you.”

Her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment as soon as the words left her lips. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that…”

But Saksham only gazed at her, his heart beating faster, something deep inside him stirred.

“No, Gopika,” he said gently. “I’m glad you told me. Because now I know… I wasn’t imagining this bond. I felt it too — from the first moment I saw you.”

They stood there, the evening breeze carrying the soft scent of jasmine, two hearts finally beginning to understand what they had unknowingly found: love.

The threads of destiny had drawn them together quietly. And now, the fabric of love had begun to take shape — delicate, true, unbreakable.

The Bond Grows Deeper

After that evening, something changed between Saksham and Gopika. Their glances were softer, their silences warmer. The invisible wall between them had begun to fall, brick by brick.

Saksham sought Gopika’s company whenever he could — walking with her in the garden, pausing at the temple steps to listen as she hummed bhajans, even sitting quietly in Baa’s room just to watch how gently Gopika cared for the elder.

And Gopika, though still shy, felt the fear in her heart slowly melt away. With Saksham, she felt seen — truly seen — for the first time in her life.

The Truths of Her Past

One evening, as the sun dipped low and the air turned cool, they sat beneath the old neem tree at the edge of the garden. The world seemed to hold its breath as Gopika, her eyes lowered, spoke at last of the pain she had carried in silence.

“My parents passed away when I was a baby, Saksham ji,” she said softly, fingers nervously twisting the end of her dupatta. “I don’t even remember their faces. My maama, Anand ji, brought me to his house… but from as long as I can remember, my maami, Ramila, treated me as nothing more than a burden. A maid in my own home.”

Saksham listened, his heart tightening with each word.

“Aashi… she’s my cousin. Younger to me by four years. But in that house, she was always the daughter, the princess. And I… I was the one who cooked, cleaned, served, stayed silent.”

Her voice trembled, but she went on, as if years of unspoken hurt had found their moment.

“The women in the society… they’d whisper. They’d laugh. ‘Thirty and still unmarried,’ they’d say. ‘Who will marry a girl like her — uneducated, plain, no riches, no beauty?’ I would cry before Kanha ji’s murti at night, asking Him why I was born at all.”

Her voice broke, and Saksham, unable to bear it, reached out, placing his hand gently over hers.

“You are none of those things, Gopika,” he said, his voice filled with quiet strength. “You are pure. You are kind. You are beautiful — more beautiful than anyone who ever mocked you.”

Their eyes met then, and Gopika saw in his gaze not pity, but deep, abiding respect.

Love Finds Its Voice

Days turned to weeks, and with every passing moment, Saksham’s heart grew fuller with love for Gopika. He admired her strength, her goodness, the light she brought to the quiet corners of Modi Bhavan.

Gopika, too, felt her heart drawn to him — to his kindness, his humility, the way he treated her not as lesser, but as equal.

And then, one fine morning, as the first rays of sun touched the temple dome, Saksham found her standing alone near the tulsi, her hands folded in prayer.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward.

“Gopika,” he said softly.

She turned, surprised, and saw the emotion in his eyes.

“I cannot keep this in my heart any longer. I love you. I have loved you from the moment I truly saw you — not with my eyes, but with my soul.”

Tears welled in Gopika’s eyes, not from sorrow, but from joy she never dreamed would be hers.

“Saksham ji…” she whispered, voice trembling, “I too… I too have loved you. But I thought… I thought a girl like me could only ever love in silence.”

“No,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You were always meant to be loved. Truly, deeply. And I am the one blessed to give you that love.”

The temple bells rang softly in the breeze, as if Kanha ji Himself smiled upon their union.

And so, what began as silent friendship, what grew as gentle understanding, now blossomed into love — true, unwavering, blessed by the heavens.

------

To be continued.

Re-read chapter3.gopika realizing that Saksham was her bridegroom in her dream was lovely.Saksham doubting whether she is his half forgotten memory or dream struck me. Is this soulmate connection or reincarnation?

Originally posted by: jasminerahul

Re-read chapter3.gopika realizing that Saksham was her bridegroom in her dream was lovely.Saksham doubting whether she is his half forgotten memory or dream struck me. Is this soulmate connection or reincarnation?

It is soulmate connection

Saksham getting impressed by gopika singing Bhajan was lovely.saksham observing gopika was nice.saksham telling gopika that she does everything from her heart was nice.I liked saksham wanting to be friends with gopika.though gopika refused it because of the difference in the status I liked how saksham convincing her and them becoming friends.saksham finding reasons to spend time with gopika was cute.i am glad that finally saksham realized that its no longer a friendship.gopika too is longing for saksham's presence.hope she will realize her love for him soon.

Loved Saksham helping gopika silently.saksham telling gopika that she sees beauty where others don't see and gopika saying that this is Kanhaji's world..there is beauty everywhere and they need right eyes to see it...saksham saying that she has beautiful eyes to see it was lovely.gopika telling saksham about seeing him in her dream and he saying that he also feels that he has also seen her before was lovely.how can people say that gopika has no beauty?is it because she wears specs?loved saksham saying that she is more beautiful than all those who mocked her.gosham's love confession and the temple bell ringing was beautiful.

I remember one thing.in Nandanam there is a song..gopike....

Years later when you wrote on Nandanam the FL's name is Gopika.

Chapter 6 (When Doubt Meets Devotion)

The Weight of Doubt

After that sacred morning when their hearts spoke their truth, Gopika found herself smiling more, her heart lighter. But as night fell and silence wrapped the world, the old fears crept in.

How can this be? She wondered, gazing at the stars from her small room’s window. I am just Gopika — an orphan, uneducated, plain. And he… he is Saksham Modi. The heir of this grand house. A man of stature, wisdom, respect.

The next day, as Saksham found her near the temple, she greeted him with folded hands, but there was hesitation in her eyes.

Saksham sensed it at once. “Gopika, why do you seem distant today?” he asked gently.

Gopika lowered her gaze. “Saksham ji, what we spoke… that moment… perhaps it was a mistake. You are everything, and I am… nothing.”

Saksham’s heart ached at her words. “Don’t ever say that, Gopika.”

She shook her head, tears brimming. “But it is the truth. You are educated, respected, the pride of your family. And I am just an illiterate girl who came here to serve Baa. People will laugh. They will say you deserve better.”

Showing Her Worth

Saksham stepped closer, his voice steady and full of emotion.

“Do you think love is measured by books, by riches, by name?” he asked.

She was silent.

He pointed toward the tulsi she had tended every morning. “Who kept this house alive when it was empty of joy? You did. Who gave Baa a reason to smile again? You did. Who showed me what kindness, purity, and devotion truly mean? You did.”

Taking her hands in his, he continued, “Gopika, the world may see wealth and titles. But I see you. The woman who prays not for herself but for others. The woman who serves without expecting anything in return. The woman who, in her simplicity, taught me what love truly is.”

Gopika’s tears flowed freely now — but they were no longer tears of doubt, but of relief, of feeling cherished.

Love Deepens

“I don’t want riches, Gopika,” Saksham said softly. “I want you. Your heart, your goodness, your faith. That is all I have ever needed.”

Slowly, Gopika lifted her gaze to meet his. The fear began to melt, replaced by a warmth that filled every corner of her soul.

“If Kanha ji brought me to this house for you, Saksham ji… then I will trust Him. And I will trust you.”

Saksham smiled, the kind of smile that comes from the deepest joy.

And so, their love deepened — no longer just a bond of hearts, but a promise of souls. They found strength in each other, and in that strength, they found peace.

The world might not have seen it yet. But in the quiet corners of Modi Bhavan, a love had taken root — steadfast, pure, and blessed.

A Night of Rain and Whispers

One night, Saksham stepped into the quiet mansion, unbuttoning his collar after a long day. The hallway was dimly lit, and the usual voices — Janaki Baa’s gentle hums, Chirag’s chatter, or even the distant clink of utensils — were missing.

“Baa?” he called softly.

Silence.

He walked into the kitchen. Empty.

Then the living room. No one.

Finally, near the temple, he spotted a familiar silhouette. Gopika. Lighting a diya, her face glowing in the flicker of the flame, calm and soft — his heart slowed at the sight.

“Where is everyone?” he asked, stepping closer.

She turned and smiled. “Baa went to a relative’s place… Chirag had some office work. Everyone will be back tomorrow morning.”

Saksham’s brow lifted with an almost boyish delight. “So you’re all alone?”

Gopika gave a small nod, oblivious to the flicker of mischief in his eyes. She turned back to arrange the flowers near the idol.

Thunder suddenly rumbled outside, loud and unexpected.

Gopika gasped, slightly jumping, her hand gripping the flower tray.

Saksham chuckled. “Scared of thunder too?”

“I’m not!” she protested, flustered. “It just startled me.”

“Prove it,” he teased, stepping closer, his voice low. “Give me a kiss. Then I’ll believe you’re brave.”

Gopika’s eyes widened. “Saksham ji— I mean, Saksham! What are you saying?”

He laughed, loving how her cheeks flushed. “You’re still calling me ji sometimes?”

“I’m not giving you a kiss,” she huffed and turned away.

“Well, then,” he drawled, walking closer, “I’ll have to earn it.”

Gopika’s eyes narrowed playfully before she bolted — right out into the drizzle that had just begun.

“Hey! You’re running?” he called out, grinning as he followed her out into the garden.

The rain came down harder, soaking her kurta instantly. She squealed, trying to dodge him as he pursued her through the courtyard, both laughing freely, the night echoing with a kind of joy that felt like a song only they could hear.

Gopika turned to glance back — only to see Saksham just a step behind. She let out a soft scream as he suddenly grabbed the edge of her dupatta.

The fabric slipped from her shoulders.

She froze.

The rain plastered her clothes to her body. Her breaths hitched as she turned slightly, arms instinctively crossing over her chest, eyes wide.

Saksham stood still, holding the wet, vibrant cloth in his hand, now wrapped around his palm like a promise.

He took slow steps toward her, the playful gleam in his eyes replaced by something deeper — something reverent.

Gopika couldn’t move. The rain, the moment, the silence — everything stilled.

When he reached her, he lifted his hand slowly and caressed her cheek, brushing away wet strands of hair.

She looked up, lips parted slightly.

Saksham leaned forward.

Softly, deliberately, he pulled her lips toward his — and kissed her.

The world blurred.

It was not just a kiss — it was every prayer she had whispered alone, every longing he had buried behind duty, every boundary they had once feared to cross, now dissolved in the rain.

And in that moment, Gopika no longer felt like a maid or an orphan.

She felt like a woman deeply, passionately loved.

And Saksham — he felt like the luckiest man alive.

-----

To be continued.

I am so happy that finally you posted it.i missed it a lot.

Sad that social status made gopika questioned herself for loving saksham.but I loved saksham saying that he doesnt care about riches and he prefers gopika who lives for others, made this house alive,made his grandmaa smile.like gopika said I also feel that kanhaji brought her to this house for saksham.you have described the kiss very well.it was a prayer who has been answered.i loved how you wrote that when saksham kissed her gopika didn't feel like an orphan or a maid but a woman who is loved passionately. Saksham's feeling is true.he is the luckiest person.

Chapter 7 (Unveiled)

The Night Kanha Witnessed

The soft pitter-patter of rain echoed outside as the storm continued to rumble faintly in the distance. The house, usually bustling with warmth and voices, lay silent. Gopika, breathless and slightly damp from the rain, stood motionless as Saksham withdrew his lips from hers. Her kurti clung to her skin, and her bare chest rose and fell with nervous anticipation, her dupatta still coiled around Saksham’s hand like a promise unspoken. Their eyes met — his filled with longing, hers with vulnerability. A gust of wind brushed through the open corridor, sending goosebumps across her arms, but it was Saksham’s gaze that truly made her shiver.

He reached out — not in haste, but with reverence — gently tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, yet it held a universe of emotion.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispered. “I will never do anything you don’t want,” he added, stepping closer, letting her see the sincerity behind his teasing smile. “You can run again, Gopika. But if you stay, just know… you are my world now.”

She didn’t run.

Instead, she looked up at him — barefaced, rain-slicked, and with eyes that had finally stopped questioning whether she deserved love.

Then, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his words settle into her bones. As if sensing her silent yes, Saksham wrapped his arm around her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, carrying her bridal-style through the quiet hallway.

In his room — now dimly lit by the golden glow of a bedside lamp — he set her down gently onto the soft mattress. The rain had slowed to a murmur, as if nature itself had paused to watch their story unfold. The silence was sacred.

Their wet clothes clung to them, making everything feel more vulnerable, more real. Saksham didn’t speak — words would’ve been too loud for the reverence of the moment. Instead, he looked at her as if she were a prayer he had waited a lifetime to see answered.

He slowly removed her damp kurti, careful not to startle her, and she responded by looking away — shy, yet trusting. Saksham continued to unclothe her until she was completely bare. She let him.

Not because she thought she had to, but because something deep inside her finally wanted to trust — to be loved not just for her heart, but for her body too. And Saksham, her Saksham, made it feel safe.

Saksham paused and cupped her face. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Not because of how you look tonight, but because of who you are. The girl who fought the world alone… and still smiles.”

Tears welled in Gopika’s eyes, but they weren’t of sorrow. It was the kind of overwhelming emotion that comes only when a wound is seen, touched, and accepted — not judged.

Then, Saksham pressed his lips gently to her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose — each kiss a vow — then paused at her lips as if asking for permission again. She clutched his shirt, pulling him closer, trusting his rhythm, matching his heartbeat, and answered him — not with words, but with a kiss so full of wonder and nervous joy that it left them both breathless.

What followed was not just a union of bodies, but of silences, of wounds, of longings buried for too long. Every touch was patient. Every caress was a promise. Saksham’s hands learned the shape of her body like an artist memorizing his muse— memorizing the tender swell of her breasts, the hush of her breath where desire stirred deepest, and the tremble that rose like a prayer from the depths of her being.

And Gopika… she felt everything.The first time a man’s hands moved over her skin, she didn’t feel fear. She felt cherished. The first time his lips traveled lower—over her collarbone, her chest, her stomach, the softness where her breath hitched—she didn’t feel shame. She felt seen.

By the time their bodies lay bare and entwined, there were no barriers left.
Only two souls, once bruised by life, now healing in the rhythm of each other’s heartbeats.

Their love wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow. It was sacred. It was everything they never thought they would have.

As the night deepened, thunder faded into a lullaby. For the first time, Gopika smiled without hesitation. And Saksham, with his arms around the only woman who ever made him believe in love, whispered against her hair: “Now you know… you were always enough.”

Gopika murmured, “I never thought… I would ever feel this safe,” her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re home now,” Saksham replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You always were.”

As the night deepened and their bodies moved with newfound closeness, the outside world faded into quiet. Passion ebbed into stillness. Gopika lay wrapped in Saksham’s arms. In that cocoon of warmth—skin to skin, soul to soul—their breaths softened, and their bodies, weary from love’s tenderness, drifted into sleep together. Not as an orphan and a prince, but as two hearts that had finally found their rhythm in each other.

The Morning After

The first light of dawn spilled gently through the gauzy curtains, brushing golden fingers across tangled sheets and quiet skin.

Gopika stirred first—barely. Her lashes fluttered against the hush of morning, her body curled into the curve of Saksham’s chest, where his heartbeat moved slow and steady, like a lullaby refusing to end. She didn’t move. Didn’t want to. There was something sacred about those stolen seconds between sleep and waking—when the world hadn’t yet remembered to demand, and love still lingered in the air like musk and memory.

Saksham’s arm tightened around her instinctively, his hand resting at the small of her back, as if even in slumber, he feared letting her go.

And for the first time in years, Gopika didn’t brace for the day. She didn’t shrink from the light. Instead, she breathed it in. The warmth. The safety. The sense that she belonged.

Saksham murmured her name, voice rough with sleep. “You’re still here.”

She tilted her face toward his, smiling softly. “I didn’t want to be anywhere else.”

His eyes opened slowly, clouded with dreams and tenderness. He looked at her like she was sunrise itself—gentle, luminous, worth waking up for. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, fingertips reverent. “Neither did I.”

Outside, the world stirred to life. But inside that quiet room, time bent for just a little longer—to hold them, to heal them, to let them remember what love could feel like after the storm had passed.

A while later, Gopika rested her head against Saksham’s shoulder, fingers absentmindedly tracing the faint scar along his collarbone. She had so many questions. But none that needed answering right now.

“You snore, by the way,” she murmured, lips curling into a quiet smile.

Saksham raised an eyebrow, half amused, half indignant. “That’s slander. I’m practically a silent sleeper. Like a yogi.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, pretending to consider. “A yogi who mumbled my name and kicked the blanket off twice.”

He looked mock-offended. “That was strategy. I was making sure you didn’t overheat.”

She laughed softly. It was a light sound—new on her lips. The kind of laugh that comes only when your guard is down and your heart has started to believe.

A beat passed before she added, more quietly, “No one’s ever said my name in their sleep before.”

Saksham’s teasing softened. His hand found hers beneath the sheet, fingers intertwining naturally. “That’s because no one’s known how to carry your name right.”

Gopika looked up at him, eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude. “And you?” she asked, not quite teasing, not quite shy. “Do you think you do?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple—slow, unhurried, like a promise sealed with warmth. “I’m learning,” he whispered. “Every day. Every curve of your voice. Every silence you don’t speak.”

She swallowed the ache in her throat—the one that came from being seen. And held. And understood.

Outside, a bird chirped. Morning unfurled fully now, casting the room in pale gold. Gopika sighed and let her head rest on his chest again, eyes fluttering shut, as if to delay the inevitability of stepping back into a world that had never been this kind.

“Let’s stay here a little longer,” she said.

Saksham pulled her closer. “Forever sounds good.”

But time, as always, moved on.

Eventually, Gopika rose and freshened up—her body still tingling with memory, her spirit strangely quiet. Draped in a soft cotton salwar kameez, hair loosely tied, she moved like sunlight itself—gentle, composed.

By the time she stepped into the kitchen, the front door creaked open, spilling in the familiar voices of home.

“Baa?” Gopika turned, surprised.

Baa blinked. “You’re up already, dikra? I thought we’d sneak in before anyone noticed.”

Chirag followed with bags in hand, grinning. “Turns out the house runs fine without us.”

“No,” Saksham’s voice came from behind, still rough from sleep as he padded in barefoot.
“It only just started feeling like home.”

Baa gave him a knowing look before turning toward the dining table. “Good. Because you’ll need both hands to serve. I’m starving. Gopika, call the staff—let’s make breakfast together.”

Soon, the household hummed with soft commotion. Kaka and Hansa appeared from the servant quarters. Baa stood at the stove in her crisp saree, lovingly stirring the pan of halwa, humming an old bhajan. “Gopika’s favourite,” she said with a fond smile, ladling it into the silver bowl with a flourish.

Gopika arranged the plates, her hands steady. Saksham brought out the steaming pots of poha, upma, and puris while Chirag laid out the glasses, chutneys, and cutlery.

The family settled around the table—Baa at the head, Saksham and Gopika side by side. There was no grand announcement, no acknowledgement of what had shifted during the night. Just quiet gestures—like Gopika handing Saksham the sugar without being asked, or Saksham refilling her water before his own. Each movement was deliberate, tender, and wrapped in silence.

Baa watched them with narrowed eyes—not suspicious, just curious.
“So, how was the night here all alone?” she asked, spooning some pickle beside her halwa.

“Peaceful,” Saksham replied, without pause.

“Quiet,” Gopika echoed softly, her gaze lowered.

The dining table brimmed with warmth—clinks of steel, murmurs of laughter, and silences that felt full, not empty. Baa proudly served the halwa she had made with her own hands, while Saksham helped pass the puris from the brass container. Gopika’s eyes occasionally met his in quiet, lingering moments that carried the weight of something unspoken—a bond forming not just through passion, but in the hush of routine, the intimacy of rhythm, and something tender still blooming.

Saksham, seated beside her, shifted slightly, brushing her elbow as he reached for a second puri. He turned his head just a little, stealing a glance—his eyes tracing her profile, the way the light caught the curve of her cheek. Gopika, sensing it, did not look back but felt the warmth rise in her chest. Between them, the air shimmered like a half-spoken memory.

Chirag leaned back, stretching. “It’s good to be back. So much work is pending now.”

“You and your endless files,” Baa teased. “Let your brother rest for a while!”

“No, Baa,” Chirag chuckled, reaching for the upma. “There’s barely any time. Saksham Bhai and Ashi’s engagement functions need to be planned too.”

There was a soft clang—Gopika’s spoon against her steel plate.

Saksham’s hand stilled midway as he lifted his teacup.

Gopika blinked slowly, unsure if she’d heard right. “Engagement?” she asked, voice a fragile whisper.

Chirag, too busy buttering his toast, continued nonchalantly, “Haan, Saksham Bhai and Ashi’s marriage is happening next month. You know how Ashi is—already planning outfits, photographers, and heaven knows what else.”

The halwa on Gopika’s tongue turned to dust. Her throat tightened, her hand trembling slightly as she reached for her water glass.

Baa was speaking about flower vendors and jewellery men, but the words floated somewhere far away.

Ashi. Her cousin. The same Ashi who used to steal her things and humiliate her in front of everyone.

Saksham... was going to marry her?

Gopika turned her head ever so slightly. Saksham was already watching her, seated right beside her. His face was unreadable—calm, too calm—but his jaw clenched, as if even he was digesting the blow in real time.

The moment hung between them—tense, quiet, like an arrow trembling at the edge of a bowstring, waiting to be released.

------

To be continued.

Chapter 8 (Ashes After Dawn)

Saksham... was marrying Ashi?

Gopika turned to Saksham—slowly—disbelief clouding her eyes. He was already watching her. His jaw was tight, his gaze unreadable, yet guilty. Not surprised. Not confused.
He knew.
And he hadn’t told her.

That quiet bond they'd begun to weave in the silences of the night shattered like thin glass between them.

Inside, Gopika felt herself folding in. Why hadn’t he said anything? After what happened between them—after the trust, the glances, the closeness—how could he?

She dropped her gaze, blinking fast.

Saksham, beside her, burned in his own silence. He had known this was coming, had known it for weeks. But he had never found the right moment—or maybe he’d just never wanted to tell her.
Because some part of him hadn’t let go of the possibility that he didn’t want it.

And now, Gopika looked like she’d been blindsided. Like he had betrayed her.
Because he had.

Across the table, Baa and Chirag said something about lehengas and guest lists. Ashi’s name flitted through the conversation again—loud, celebratory—but all Saksham could hear was the slow retreat of Gopika’s breath—measured, hurt, and silent.

He wished she would yell. Or cry. Or even get up and walk away.
But she didn’t.

She just sat there, composed and still, finishing the last bite of halwa as though it hadn’t turned bitter.
And that—that quiet dignity—made it worse.

He leaned toward her slightly, lowering his voice. “Gopika…” he began, but the words stuck.

Her lips didn’t move. Her face remained calm.
Only her eyes flickered once—and then turned away.

Modi Bhavan – Terrace, Minutes Later

The breakfast table had long cleared, and laughter still echoed faintly from the living room below. But Gopika stood alone on the terrace, her fingers gripping the cool iron railing, her hair loose in the wind.

Behind her, the door creaked open. She didn’t need to turn to know it was him.

Saksham stepped out silently, closing the door behind him.
“Gopika—”

“You knew,” she said, voice steady—almost too calm. “Didn’t you?”

He paused, unsure if she meant to wound with silence or storm with fury.
“It’s not what you think.”

She finally turned to him. Her eyes weren’t teary—they were burning.
“Then tell me what it is. Because what I think is—last night, you looked me in the eye. You touched me like I meant something. You kissed me like you couldn’t breathe without me. And all along… you were promised to my cousin.”

Saksham looked away for a second.
“It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan—”

“You made love to me,” she said, her voice cracking now—not out of shame, but pain. “You gave me something sacred. You took something sacred. While your marriage was already written in stone with Ashi.”

“I didn’t use you,” he said firmly, stepping forward. “I swear, Gopika. I didn’t even know the date was fixed. Mom and Dad handled it. I never agreed—”

“But you never stopped it either,” she shot back. “You never told me the truth. You let me fall, Saksham. You watched me fall and you caught me in your arms instead of the truth.”

There was a long silence.

“I love you,” he said finally, his voice low.

She laughed—a small, bitter sound.
“No. You don’t. You love what you see in me. You love the version of me that fits into your night. But you don’t love me enough to fight for me in the morning.”

She stepped away from him, her eyes softening just for a second.
“And now I know why people say love burns. Because that’s all I feel right now—ashes.”

Without waiting for a response, she walked past him and opened the door, her footsteps calm—but her heart thundering with betrayal.

Saksham stood there on the terrace, still breathing her name—but she never looked back.

In Gopika’s Room

Gopika sat alone in the quiet of her room, her dupatta crumpled in her hands, her breath shaky.

The house bustled in the distance—voices echoing from the corridor, footsteps hurried with morning chores—but for her, the world had stilled.

She pressed her palms to her chest, trying to soothe the ache that no words could reach. Her body, once a temple of shy innocence, now felt foreign to her.

She could still feel the imprint of Saksham’s touch—not just on her skin, but beneath it, in the quiet hollows of her being. Her body remembered what her heart now wanted to forget.

Every shift, every brush of fabric against her thighs was a cruel reminder of what she had offered—willingly, trustingly—not knowing the truth that lay behind his gaze.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, warm and slow.

“I gave him all of me,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not just my love… but my body, my soul. And he belonged to someone else all along.”

She clutched her stomach, feeling hollow and full all at once. The echo of their night together haunted her—not just the memory of his kisses, but the way she had opened herself to him without fear, without shame.

Her mind screamed betrayal, but her body still hummed with memory, confusing longing with heartbreak.

That strange ache deep within—where she had once welcomed him—felt like a betrayal by her own self.
How could she still feel the warmth of him when her heart was freezing over?

She sank to her knees before the Krishna idol in the corner of the room, her voice cracking in prayer—not of worship, but of grief.

“Kanha… I trusted you. I believed if I kept myself pure—for love, for marriage—you would guide me to the right man. Then why did you let me fall for him? Why did you let me give myself to a man whose heart was never mine?”

There was no answer—only the silent presence of the deity, and the sound of her sobs echoing in the quiet sanctum.

Moments Later

Back on the terrace, Saksham didn’t move for a long moment after Gopika left.

The wind tousled his hair. His hands were clenched, jaw tight. But then, something in him stirred—and he followed her.

Down the stairs, across the corridor, until he reached her room.

The door was halfway open. She was inside, standing in front of her Krishna idol near the dresser, wiping her tears with the edge of her dupatta.

He stepped in without knocking. She saw him in the mirror, and this time, she didn’t turn around.

“Gopika,” he said softly, but firmly.

“What now?” Her voice was flat.

“I didn’t lie to you,” he began. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you. Because I didn’t want it to be true.”

She spun to face him.
“That’s not how it works. You don’t get to sleep with me and then say you didn’t want it to be true. You don’t get to pretend you were helpless.”

“I am helpless,” Saksham said, stepping forward. “This marriage was fixed by my mom and dad before I even came back to India. I didn’t know Ashi was still in the picture until recently. And by the time I realized what was happening, Baa and Chirag had already moved ahead with the rituals.”

“But you didn’t stop it,” she whispered.

“I didn’t agree either!” he snapped—then immediately softened. “I was waiting. Waiting for the right time. For Badi Maa to return. She’s the only one whose word matters the most to everyone. Mithila Modi—my Badi Maa—she raised me more than anyone else. If she says no, this marriage won’t happen.”

“And do you really think she’ll say no to a proposal your parents want?” Gopika asked.

“I think…” He paused. “I think she’s always known what’s right for me—more than even I have. And I know in my heart… you are what’s right.”

Gopika swallowed hard. Her heart wanted to believe him. But her mind had learned not to.

“You should have told me last night,” she said, her voice cracking.

“I couldn’t,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to lose that moment with you. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

She stared at him—long and quiet.
“But the moment’s gone, Saksham. And all I’m left with is the truth you hid from me.”

He walked up to her then, slowly, like approaching a wounded bird.
“Then let me fight for us now. Let me go to Badi Maa. Let me put everything on the line.”

Gopika turned away.

He reached out and gently touched her wrist. “Please.”

She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t look at him either.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to. Not yet. Just… give me time to prove you can.”

And with that, he left the room—this time not out of shame or silence, but to act.

Down the corridor, across the hall…

Toward the one person who could rewrite what had been written in stone.

Toward Mithila Modi.

------

To be continued.