Tu Meri Pehalwan ~ A VeeRat FF - Chapter 17 on pg 8 - Page 8

Keerat said yes to the wrong person. She will be shocked when she finds out.

Caught up...Keerat yeh tumne kya kiya Garry pls reunite both of them soon!

Chapter 16 (What Silence Chose to Say)

Brar Mansion – Veer’s Room, Late Night

The house had finally quieted. Laughter had died down, plates had been cleared, and excitement slowly faded into sleep. But two pairs of footsteps climbed the stairs — soft, deliberate, unmissable.

Veer sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees, face buried in his palms.

A gentle knock.

Then the door creaked open.

“Veer?” Sahiba’s voice came first, cautious but kind.

He looked up sharply, quickly wiping his face, though there was no trace of tears — only a weariness that clung to his shoulders.

“What happened?” he asked flatly. “Why are you both here?”

Gurleen followed Sahiba in, shutting the door behind them. She didn’t sit — just leaned against the dresser, arms folded, gaze calm but knowing.

“You tell us,” Gurleen said softly.

Veer frowned. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Don’t insult our intelligence, Veer,” Sahiba replied, sitting down beside him. “We saw your face at dinner. We’ve seen it for weeks now. Every time Keerat walks into the room, you forget how to blink.”

Veer let out a dry scoff. “That’s dramatic, even for you, bhabhi.”

“It’s not dramatic,” Gurleen cut in. “It’s obvious.”

He stood up, suddenly restless. “You’re both reading too much into this.”

“We’re reading exactly what’s there,” Sahiba said gently. “We’re not accusing you of anything. We just... want to know the truth. Before things go further.”

“There’s no truth,” Veer snapped. “She’s a friend. That’s it. Just a friend.”

“But not just any friend,” Gurleen pressed. “The kind you watch when she’s not looking. The kind who makes you smile without realizing it. The kind who changed something in you.”

Veer’s jaw tightened. “You’re both making it sound like some love story. It’s not.”

“Then what is it?” Sahiba asked softly.

He looked away, clenching his fists. “She was there for me. She defended me when no one else did. Of course I care. But that doesn’t mean it’s... that kind of feeling.”

“So if she marries Garry,” Gurleen asked carefully, “you’ll be fine?”

Veer didn’t answer.

A silence stretched, thick and pulsing.

“Veer,” Sahiba whispered, “it’s okay if you’re scared. But lying to yourself won’t make this easier.”

He met her gaze — eyes steady, voice cold now.

“She’s happy,” he said. “That’s all that matters.”

And with that, he picked up his guitar, turned his back, and strummed a string that didn't quite sound right.

Gurleen and Sahiba exchanged one last look — quiet, sad, resigned — before leaving him to the silence he had chosen.

But even as the door closed behind them, the weight of his unspoken truth lingered — heavy, aching, and undeniable.

Brar Mansion – Veer’s Room, Late Night

The door clicked shut.

Veer stood frozen for a moment, guitar still in his hands, the string he’d struck vibrating faintly before fading into silence. The quiet felt suffocating — heavy with things said and far more left unsaid.

He lowered himself onto the bed.

“She’s happy,” he muttered again, as though repeating it might make it true.

But his mind betrayed him. His mind drifted back to that night beneath the banyan tree — the rain softening around them, her body still warm in his arms, the way her lashes had fallen shut like a quiet yes he hadn’t dared take.

He could still feel it — the weight of her trust resting against his chest, her fingers curling lightly at his shoulders, waiting.

Not pulling away.

Waiting.

He had stepped back then. Chosen restraint. Chosen silence.

But maybe she had heard something else in that moment.
Maybe she had understood what he hadn’t said aloud.

If she had closed her eyes like that… if she had stayed when she could have moved away…
then she must have known.

And if she had still said yes after that — knowing exactly what had almost happened between them — then maybe this was her answer.

He swallowed hard.

Then she chose it.

That was the version he forced himself to believe — because the alternative required courage he wasn’t ready to face.

He reached for the guitar again, fingers brushing the strings without intent. A sound emerged — flat, unfinished. He stopped immediately.

This is what I do, he thought.
I assume. I retreat. I let things decide themselves.

He shoved the guitar aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“If you wanted me to stop you,” he whispered into the darkness, “you would’ve told me.”

The lie settled in his chest — uncomfortable, but convenient.

Monga House – Keerat’s Room, Late Night

Sleep would not come.

The rain had returned — light, unhurried — tapping against the window like a reminder she hadn’t asked for.

Keerat lay still, eyes open, until memory pulled her under.

The banyan tree.
The hush after the storm.
The way the world had narrowed to the space between her and Veer.

She remembered the warmth of his arms, the rain cooling her skin, the way his touch had been careful — almost reverent. His fingers brushing her temple, his thumb tracing her cheek as if he were committing her to memory.

Her breath had stuttered then — not with expectation, but with hope.

Because for a moment, she had thought he was finally going to say something.

Not touch.

Not hesitate.

Speak.

She remembered the question in his eyes — uncertain, fragile — and how her heart had urged her forward before fear could pull her back.

That was why she had closed her eyes.

Not because she was inviting a kiss.

But because she was waiting for words she didn’t trust herself to hear while looking at him.

She had stood there, still and open, giving him space to cross the one line she couldn’t cross for him.

And when nothing came — no name, no confession, no claim — she had felt it quietly settle inside her.

He wasn’t ready.

The almost had lingered, heavy and unresolved, until he stepped back and smiled like nothing had happened.

She had told herself that was the answer.

Keerat turned onto her side, facing the dark.

If he wanted me, she thought, he would have said it.

So when her mother later spoke of a rishta — unnamed, unspoken — Keerat had filled in the silence herself.

Because in her heart, that rain-soaked moment beneath the banyan tree had already taught her something painful but practical:

Touch can hesitate.
Silence cannot lie.

She closed her eyes again — not in hope this time, but in resolve.

Somewhere else, he was remembering the same moment for a different reason entirely.

And neither of them knew how much that difference would cost.

Brar Mansion – Upstairs Corridor

Gurleen and Sahiba paused outside Veer’s room.

Stillness.

Sahiba folded her arms tightly. “He thinks it’s settled,” she said quietly.

Gurleen nodded, eyes heavy with worry. “And she probably thinks he finally spoke.”

“Neither of them said anything,” Sahiba murmured.

Gurleen sighed. “And now the silence is doing the talking.”

They stood there a moment longer — knowing that once misunderstandings reached this stage, they rarely corrected themselves gently.

Back in Veer’s Room

Veer lay back on the bed, one arm flung over his eyes.

The word rishta echoed in his head — vague, heavy, final.

He didn’t know what Keerat believed.

He only knew what he had chosen not to say.

Slowly, he turned his head, gaze settling on the guitar again.

This time, he didn’t reach for it.

Somewhere between assumption and fear, a truth waited — unspoken by both.

And until it surfaced, two hearts would continue walking in opposite directions, each convinced the other had chosen differently.

Earlier That Night – Keerat’s Message

Later that night, long after the house had settled, Keerat lay on her bed scrolling aimlessly before stopping herself.

She opened his chat.

Her thumb hovered.

Then:

Keerat:
You were very quiet today.

The reply came almost immediately — which surprised her.

Veer:
Didn’t want to intrude.

She frowned.

Keerat:
Intrude on what?

There was a pause this time. Longer. Deliberate.

Veer:
Your happiness.

Her brows knit together.

That was… odd.

Keerat:
What are you talking about?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Then:

Veer:
You’ve chosen. That’s what matters.

Her breath hitched — not with alarm, just confusion.

Keerat:
Chosen what?

The typing bubble vanished.

Minutes passed.

Then finally:

Veer:
Goodnight, Miss Pehalwan.

The name felt distant. Formal. Closed.

Keerat stared at the screen for a long moment.

“That was weird,” she murmured.

But she told herself he was just tired. Overthinking. Healing did strange things to people.

She locked the phone and turned onto her side, unaware she had just brushed against the edge of the truth — and stepped away from it.

Monga House – Drawing Room, Late Afternoon

It happened without drama.

That was the cruelest part.

Keerat was helping Santhosh sort through wedding catalogues spread across the center table — colours, fabrics, dates scribbled in pencil. She flipped one absent-mindedly, not really seeing it.

“Mummy,” she said casually, “did the Brars say anything about… timing?”

Santhosh didn’t look up. “Timing?”

“For the rishta,” Keerat clarified. “Did he mention when he wants to move forward?”

Santhosh’s hand stilled.

Just for a second.

Then she picked up another catalogue, adjusted it, and said, carefully,
“He hasn’t said anything directly.”

Keerat smiled faintly. “Figures.”

Santhosh finally looked at her. “What figures?”

Keerat shrugged, trying to sound light. “You know him. He’s not very good with words.”

Silence settled — not heavy, just alert.

Santhosh folded her hands in her lap. “Keerat… who do you think sent this rishta?”

Keerat looked up, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

“The proposal,” Santhosh said slowly. “Who do you think it’s for?”

Keerat let out a small, breathy laugh. “Mummy… why are you asking me that now?”

“Answer me,” Santhosh said — not harshly, but firmly.

Keerat hesitated. Then, almost shyly,
“Veer.”

The word sat between them.

Santhosh inhaled sharply.

“No,” she said.

Keerat blinked. “No?”

“This rishta is not from Veer,” Santhosh said. “It never was.”

The room seemed to tilt.

Keerat’s smile didn’t disappear immediately. It lingered — confused, suspended — as if waiting for the sentence to correct itself.

“Then…?” she whispered.

Santhosh looked away.

“It’s from Garry.”

The name landed wrong — unfamiliar, misplaced — like it belonged in another conversation entirely.

Keerat stood up slowly.

“Who is Garry?”

Santhosh’s head snapped up. “You don’t know?”

Keerat shook her head, once. “You said the Brars.”

“Yes.”

“You said they sent a rishta for me.”

“Yes.”

“You never said his name.”

Santhosh swallowed. “You never asked.”

The words cut deeper than anything loud ever could.

Keerat felt something drain out of her — warmth, certainty, breath — she couldn’t tell which.

“So…,” she said carefully, each word chosen like stepping onto thin ice,
“Veer didn’t send it.”

“No.”

“He didn’t ask.”

“No.”

“He doesn’t even know…?”

Santhosh didn’t answer.

Keerat didn’t need her to.

Her mind reeled backward —not to his silence — but to that message.

Didn’t want to intrude.
Your happiness.
You’ve chosen.

The words rearranged themselves now, cruelly clear.

He hadn’t been distant.

He had been stepping back.

Not confused.

Convinced.

Her chest tightened as the weight of it settled.

He hadn’t gone quiet because he didn’t care.
He had gone quiet because he thought it was already over.

Keerat closed her eyes slowly.

“Oh,” she whispered — the sound barely there, but devastating in its clarity.

Oh God.

Her chest tightened painfully.

She lowered herself back onto the sofa, hands gripping the edge as if it were the only solid thing left in the room.

“I thought…” Her voice broke, just once. She swallowed. “I thought this was how he was saying it.”

Santhosh closed her eyes.

Keerat laughed then — a short, breathless sound that startled them both.

“He didn’t even say anything,” she whispered. “I said yes to silence.”

And suddenly, the banyan tree made sense.
The closed eyes.
The waiting.

She had been listening for words that were never coming — because they had never been meant to.

Keerat pressed her palm flat against her chest, as if to keep something from caving in.

“How long?” she asked quietly.

Santhosh hesitated. “What?”

“How long has he known?” Keerat asked. “That I… that I thought—”

Santhosh’s voice was barely audible. “He doesn’t know.”

Keerat closed her eyes.

This time, there was no hope in it at all.

Somewhere else, she knew, Veer was carrying a guilt that wasn’t his —
while she had agreed to a future that had never been offered.

And between them lay a single, devastating truth:

They had both been waiting for the other to speak.

And neither of them had.

------

To be continued.

Chapter 17 (The Kindest Lie)

Brar Mansion – Courtyard, Early Evening

Keerat didn’t remember the drive.

She only remembered the sound of her own breathing — sharp, uneven — and the way her phone trembled in her hand as the truth replayed itself again and again.

You’ve chosen.
Didn’t want to intrude.

God.

She pushed through the open gates of the Brar Mansion without slowing down.

“Keerat?” a voice called from the side.

She didn’t stop.

The courtyard was quiet — the kind of quiet that existed before something broke.

Then she saw him.

Keerat didn’t slow down.

Veer was near the neem tree, guitar case resting against the bench, phone in his hand like he’d been staring at it for too long. He looked up when he heard her footsteps — surprise flashing across his face before it disappeared behind composure.

“Keerat,” he said. “Is everything—”

“Why are you talking like that?” she cut in.

He stilled. “Like what?”

“Like I’m already gone,” she said. “Like I don’t exist in the same space as you anymore.”

Veer’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed steady. “You’re imagining things.”

“I’m not,” she said. “You replied to my messages like I was… an inconvenience. Like you were stepping aside.”

He looked away.

“That’s because I am.”

The words landed heavier than she expected.

Keerat took a breath. “Veer… you’ve been a really good friend to me. Through everything.”

He nodded slowly, as if bracing himself. “I try.”

“And because of that,” she continued, careful now, “I want to ask you something honestly.”

Her voice softened.

“What do you think I should do?”

He didn’t answer.

She watched his face — the way something flickered there, almost rose, then was forced back down.

“About the rishta,” she clarified. “Do you think I should go forward with it?”

The world narrowed.

Veer swallowed hard.

Of course she wants reassurance, he thought.
Of course she wants permission — not from him, but from the version of him that no longer matters.

He inhaled slowly, measured.

“Yes,” he said.

The word tasted like ash.

Keerat blinked. “Yes?”

He nodded, forcing calm into his voice. “I do.”

She searched his face. “You’re… sure?”

Veer clenched his fists behind his back.

“Yes,” he repeated, more firmly now. “Garry is a really good human being.”

Her brows knit together slightly at the sudden use of the name, but she didn’t interrupt.

“He’s steady,” Veer went on. “Grounded. He knows what he wants. And he knows how to give it.”

Each sentence felt like he was placing another stone on his own chest.

“You deserve that,” he finished quietly. “You deserve the best.”

Keerat stared at him.

Something in her chest twisted — not pain exactly, but disappointment shaped like disbelief.

“You’re… happy?” she asked.

Veer managed a smile.

“I am,” he lied. “Truly.”

He looked at her then — really looked — memorising the way the evening light caught in her hair, the way her eyes softened when she trusted someone.

“I’m glad,” he added gently, “that you’re choosing someone who won’t hesitate.”

The irony burned.

Keerat nodded slowly.

“Okay,” she said. “I just… needed to hear that from you.”

She turned to leave, then paused.

“Thank you,” she said. “For always being honest with me.”

Veer closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened them, she was already walking away.

After She Leaves

Veer stood there long after the gate closed behind her.

His chest hurt in a way that felt familiar — earned.

“You asked,” he whispered into the empty courtyard. “And I answered the way you needed.”

Not the way he wanted.

Somewhere else, Keerat walked home believing she had just been given clarity —
while Veer stood rooted to the spot, having once again mistaken silence for strength.

And between them, the misunderstanding settled deeper —
not because neither of them felt enough…

…but because both of them chose to protect the other from a truth that could have changed everything.

Brar Mansion – Veer’s Room, Late Night

Veer shut the door behind him without turning on the light.

The room smelled faintly of old strings and lemon polish — familiar, safe. Too safe. He dropped his keys onto the table, the sound sharp in the quiet, and stood there for a long moment, staring at nothing.

You deserve the best.

The words echoed back at him, cruel in their calm.

He laughed once — short, hollow — and dragged a hand down his face.

“Best,” he muttered. “Yeah. Right.”

He sank onto the bed and lay back, one arm flung over his eyes. The ceiling blurred as memories rushed in uninvited.

Kulfi melting too fast in the heat.
Her laughter when he teased her.
The way she’d frozen when his thumb brushed her lip — not pulling away, not asking him to stop.

His chest tightened.

“She trusted you,” he whispered. “And you told her to go.”

He turned onto his side, curling inward, fingers digging into the bedsheet like he was holding onto something slipping.

The bicycle crash.
Her weight against his chest.
That breathless second where he’d thought, This is it.

And then the banyan tree.

Her lashes falling shut.

God.

He sat up abruptly, heart pounding, and reached for the guitar — then stopped mid-motion.

Not tonight.

Tonight, the strings would tell the truth faster than he was ready to hear it.

Instead, he buried his face in his hands.

“You waited,” he said hoarsely. “And I made you believe you shouldn’t.”

His throat burned. His eyes stung — not with tears yet, but with the threat of them.

“I told myself I was being noble,” he said into the empty room. “But I was just afraid.”

Afraid he’d break her.
Afraid she’d see the cracks.
Afraid that wanting her would cost him everything he’d just learned to hold together.

A sound tore out of him then — not a sob, not quite — something rough and animal, swallowed back immediately.

Veer lay down again, staring at the dark.

Somewhere between the man he had been and the man he was trying to be, he had let happiness walk away — politely, with a blessing.

And the bitterness of it sat heavy in his chest, refusing to dissolve.

Monga House – Keerat’s Room, Same Night

Keerat closed her door with more force than necessary.

She leaned against it, breathing hard, palms pressed flat against the wood as if it might steady her. Her chest hurt — not sharply, but deeply, like something had lodged there and refused to move.

“So that’s it,” she whispered. “That’s your answer.”

She crossed the room and sat on her bed, staring at the floor until the patterns blurred.

Garry is a really good human being.
You deserve the best.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her shirt.

Was I that easy to give away?

Her mind betrayed her, replaying moments she hadn’t meant to revisit.

The kite string slipping through her fingers — his hand covering hers, steadying, close.
The bookshop — You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.
The red thread on her wrist — the way his touch had stalled there, careful, reverent.

“You did all of that,” she said aloud, voice shaking, “and still you think I belong somewhere else?”

She lay back abruptly, staring at the ceiling, blinking hard.

Anger rose first — hot, sharp.

How dare he decide for me?
How dare he tell me what I deserve without asking what I want?

Then came the quieter thing beneath it.

The doubt.

Maybe this was all she had imagined.
Maybe she had mistaken kindness for intention.
Maybe the almosts had always meant more to her than to him.

Her throat tightened.

She turned onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest like it might hold her together.

“I waited,” she whispered fiercely. “I waited for you to choose.”

The rain began again outside — soft, relentless — tapping against the window like a reminder she couldn’t shut out.

And suddenly, the bitterness crept in — slow and corrosive.

Not heartbreak.

Something worse.

The knowledge that she had offered her heart quietly, honestly —
and he had returned it untouched, as if it were never his to hold.

Two Rooms, One Silence

Across the city, two rooms held two people awake — each replaying the same moments, each convinced they had done the right thing.

Veer lay staring at the dark, telling himself he had protected her.

Keerat lay staring at the ceiling, telling herself she had misread him.

And between them stretched a silence heavy with memories — kulfi melting, kites flying, strings vibrating under shared fingers —

All the proof of something real.

And all of it, now, tasted bitter.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t end in rejection.

Sometimes, it ends in restraint.

Monga House – Keerat’s Room, Late Night

Keerat stood in front of the mirror longer than she ever did.

She usually avoided it — mirrors were for checking injuries, not emotions. Tonight, though, she didn’t know where else to look.

The tube light above the mirror felt harsh, exposing, so she dimmed it slightly and stared at her own reflection, unsettled.

“This is stupid,” she muttered.

She reached into the bottom of her drawer and pulled out a small, half-forgotten pouch — makeup she rarely used, mostly lying there from weddings she couldn’t avoid.

Not habit. Not comfort.

Just something to keep her hands busy.

She dabbed a bit of foundation onto her fingers, smearing it clumsily across her face. It felt wrong — unfamiliar — like she was wearing someone else’s skin.

She didn’t bother blending properly.

The point wasn’t to look good.

The point was not to feel.

Her hand hovered over the concealer next, hesitating, before she pressed it under her eyes — too hard, too fast — erasing the evidence of a night she refused to cry through.

“Enough,” she told herself quietly.

She caught her reflection again.

She didn’t recognize it.

The girl in the mirror looked steadier than she felt — sharper, almost armored.

Her fingers closed around a kajal pencil. She stared at it like it was a challenge.

She never wore kajal.

Not unless someone forced her into it.

But tonight, she lined her eyes roughly — not to enhance, but to distract — the slight sting grounding her in the present.

Her vision blurred for a moment.

She pressed the pencil down harder, jaw clenched.

You don’t get to fall apart, she thought. Not over silence.

She straightened, pushing her hair back into its usual tight ponytail, tugging the elastic until it hurt just enough to keep her anchored.

No kurta. No dupatta.

Just her worn T-shirt, track pants, and a body that knew how to endure.

The reflection stared back — not softer, not prettier — just… contained.

Keerat leaned closer to the mirror, her voice barely a breath.

“You don’t cry for almosts,” she whispered. “You don’t beg for silences.”

She turned away abruptly, scrubbing her hands together like she needed to wipe something off them.

Behind her, the mirror held a version of her she didn’t plan to meet again.

Brar Mansion – Veer’s Room, Same Night

Veer’s room felt smaller than usual.

The walls pressed in. The silence hummed.

He paced once. Twice. Then stopped at the cupboard, fingers hovering before he opened it.

The wooden box sat exactly where it always had.

Keerat’s gift.

He pulled it out slowly, as if sudden movement might undo him.

“What’s this?” he heard himself ask again in memory.

A gift.

His throat tightened.

Veer sat on the bed and opened the lid.

The syringes gleamed faintly under the dim light — sterile, empty, harmless in appearance.

His hands trembled as he picked one up.

Just one.

The old reflex stirred — familiar, dangerous — whispering relief, quiet, escape.

His breathing grew uneven.

“Just once,” the thought crept in. “Just enough to shut everything up.”

He reached for his drawer.

Then froze.

Her voice cut through the fog — not loud, not dramatic — steady as it had been that day.

If you ever try to use drugs again with these syringes, you’re not just hurting yourself… you’re hurting me.

Veer’s fingers curled tightly around the syringe.

“You’d be shaming the very bond we’ve built.”

His chest seized.

Bond.

Not obligation.
Not pity.
Bond.

His vision blurred.

Someone out there truly believes in you.

He looked down at the syringe in his hand — not seeing plastic and metal anymore, but kulfi melting too fast, kite strings tangling, her laughter spilling into quiet afternoons.

Her faith.

Her stubborn, infuriating faith.

Veer’s breath broke.

“No,” he whispered hoarsely.

His hand shook violently now.

He placed the syringe back into the box like it might burn him.

Then, with a sharp motion, he slammed the lid shut and hugged the box to his chest — the way he’d done the first time.

Not as temptation.

As restraint.

As proof.

Veer bent forward, elbows on his knees, forehead pressed against the wood.

“I didn’t choose you,” he whispered into the quiet. “But you chose me.”

A sob tore free before he could stop it — raw, unguarded.

And for the first time that night, he let himself break — not into addiction, not into escape —

But into the pain he had earned by loving silently.

Two Acts of Survival

Across the city, a girl wiped away her hurt and wore strength like armor.

Across the city, a man stared temptation in the face — and turned away because of her.

Neither of them knew what the other was doing.

But in their own broken ways, both were still holding on —

To dignity.
To memory.
To the quiet, devastating hope that what they had meant something.

Even if it hurt like hell.

------

To be continued.

He is assuming she is happy but she didn't even know what she agreed to.

Did Keerat decide because of a mistake or did she decide in resignation? She is thinking he didn't want her because he never said it.

Will Gurleen and Sahiba take the reigns and act for these two?

So she still thought the proposal was for Veer but she was wanting him to speak up too. Now she knows. Will she keep waiting for him to act?

He was the worst kind of chicken. He doesn't get to decide who is better for her. He is afraid to step up and hiding behind a lie.

He almost gave in to temptation but backed out because he would go against her. If only she knew.