The engagement was over — so was the drama.

She stood by his jeep, waiting impatiently for him to come out and take her home.

Her saree felt heavier now, as if the night had soaked into its fabric. The earrings tugged at her ears more than before. Her eyes stayed fixed on the gate, while her body shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.

She rolled her eyes at his carelessness.

How could he make her wait like this?

The evening clung to her skin like dust.

Avni leaned against the jeep, her bangles now silent, her eyes heavy from holding back the storm all evening.

Then —

“Avni?”

She turned.

The voice was calm. Unfamiliar. Male.

A stranger stood a few feet away, under the edge of the lamplight. Tall, unassuming. He wasn’t from the function. Not from her world. Not from Guru’s chaos.

He looked… out of place.

He walked closer — and with each step, his identity began to take shape.

Sahil. If she wasn’t mistaken.

“Toh tum ho Avni? Jisse meri shaadi hone wali thi?”

(So you're Avni? The one I was supposed to marry?)

She stared at him. His words struck harder than his tone.

"Matlab tumhari behen se... par woh toh..."

(You mean your sister, but she—)

He stopped mid-sentence, creating an awkward silence between them.

Her brows furrowed. Her lips parted. Slowly, hesitantly, she gave a short nod.

“Haan...” she said. “Lekin... tum kaun ho?”

(Yes... But who are you?)

She wanted him to say it — to confirm it himself.

“Sahil. Sanjay bhai ka beta.”

(Sahil. Sanjay Bhai’s son.)

She sighed in quiet relief. At least she had found him.

But the question still lingered — Could she trust him?

After all, he belonged to that world.

“Mujhe nahi pata tha,” she said stiffly. “Ki meri shaadi... tumse—”

(I didn’t know… that I was to marry you—)

She stopped.

The sentence felt wrong on her tongue.

Before Sahil could respond—

Footsteps.

Heavy. Grounded. Familiar.

From the side gate, Guru emerged — sleeves rolled, presence like a thundercloud. His eyes locked onto Sahil instantly.

He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak.

He just walked up and stood in front of Avni, his body shielding her from Sahil’s view.

Like a wall.

Like a warning.

Like protection.

Avni’s eyes widened.

Not because of what Guru said — he said nothing.

But because of what he did.

For the first time… he didn’t treat her like a deal.

He stood like she mattered.

Even Sahil was still now. Watching. Measuring.

The silence between the three of them was louder than any threat.

Behind Guru’s broad back, Avni stood frozen — staring at him.

Trying to understand what had just changed.

Silence lingered between the three, but a storm brewed between Guru and Sahil.

Avni looked at Guru’s broad shoulders, blocking her view like a barrier — or a shield.

And then her eyes met Sahil’s.

He looked at her with something unfamiliar.

Not hate.

Not revenge.

But something else entirely.

“Apna khayal rakhna...” he said with a faint smile.

(Take care of yourself...)

Avni’s mind couldn’t process anything.

Those words sounded like care — but maybe a warning too?

Or was it just drama? A game?

Before she could respond, Sahil turned and walked away — leaving Guru and Avni alone.

Guru turned toward her, the question already forming on his lips — What did he say? What did you talk about?

But before he could utter a word, she cut him off with a quiet, steady voice.

“Chalein?” (Shall we?)

Without waiting for his response, she opened the passenger door and slipped inside, the rustle of her saree the only sound in the thick silence.

Guru exhaled, long and slow. His gaze drifted to the corner where Sahil had vanished, as if hoping to read answers in the empty shadows he left behind. Then, without a word, he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

He wanted to ask.

He wanted to know what Sahil had said, what words had passed between them.

But something told him — no matter how many times he asked, she wouldn’t give him a single word.

And just when the silence had stretched long enough to feel permanent…

She spoke.

Unexpected. Calm. And utterly strange.

A question — one that made him glance her way, brows narrowing.

“Tumhara shaadi se pehle kisi ke saath affair tha?”

(Was there anyone before marriage? A relationship?)

She asked it so casually, like they were old friends chatting on a quiet afternoon.

He didn’t answer. Just kept his eyes on the road, pretending the question hadn’t happened.

“Shaant ho... matlab 'pyar karte the'?”

(You’re so silent… does that mean you were in love?)

She turned her head slightly, watching him with curious eyes. Her last word slipped out half as a surprise, half as a question that dared to be answered.

“Apun ko kisi se pyar nahi hua aaj tak.”

(I’ve never fallen in love with anyone till now.)

His voice was flat, almost indifferent.

Avni sighed and shrugged, leaning back in her seat with a smirk.

“Tumhe? Ya fir kisi ladki ko tum pasand hi nahi aaye?”

(You? Or maybe no girl has ever liked you?)

She mocked him playfully, poking at the silence he wore like armor.

“Tumse kaun pyar karega?”

(Who would ever fall in love with you?)

She added with a grin, her tone light and teasing as she looked away, as if daring him to react.

Then, she turned back just as quickly, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Tumhe pata hai?”

(You know something?)

She didn’t wait for a response. He simply shook his head, denying everything. But deep down, he knew — who was he to tell her no?

Her husband?

Yeah right.

“Waise, mere teen boyfriend reh chuke hain...”

(By the way, I’ve had three boyfriends...)

She declared, almost proudly.

“Ek 12th standard mein tha...”

(One in 12th grade...)

She held up one finger.

“Ek college mein tha... lekin usne mujhe cheat kiya. Toh maine naya boyfriend banake usse jealous feel karaya.”

(One in college... but he cheated on me. So I got a new boyfriend just to make him jealous.)

She laughed lightly at the memory, counting them off on her fingers like old trophies.

The words weren’t meant to hurt. But they hung in the air between them, bold and unapologetic.

He was barely paying attention to her stories, his focus lost somewhere beyond the road. But then, out of nowhere, she asked something so unexpected, it knocked the breath out of him.

“Tum virgin ho?”

(Are you a virgin?)

He blinked, stunned, confused for a second like he hadn’t heard it right. He didn’t want to answer — not even a bit — but his face gave him away.

She tilted her head and translated for him, slowly, with mock clarity.

“Tumne aaj tak kisi ladki ke saath sambandh nahi banaya?”

(You’ve never had a physical relationship with a girl before?)

He hit the brakes.

The jeep jerked to a stop.

He turned to her, his face a mix of shock and disbelief.

Did she just really ask that?

“Aye! Tu pagal hai kya?”

(Are you crazy?)

He shouted — not loudly, but loud enough for the silence to break.

She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. Shifting slightly in her seat, she turned to face him fully, her gaze locking onto his.

“Main bore ho rahi hoon,” she said matter-of-factly.

(I’m getting bored.)

“Yahaan mere paas baat karne ko koi nahi hai... Jante ho, jab main apne ghar pe thi na, main kitna bolti thi? Yahaan itna shaant rehkar na, mere muh mein dard hone laga hai.”

(There’s no one to talk to here… Do you know, back home I used to talk so much? It’s been so quiet here, my jaw literally aches.)

She shrugged, like her reasoning was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Toh tumhare alawa koi option hi nahi hai... because you're married to me.”

(So I have no other option but you... since you're my husband.)

Then, she leaned back in her seat, arms crossed over her chest, her tone shifting just a little.

“Aur yeh batane mein sharam kaisi? Biwi hoon tumhari... Jaanne ka haq hai mujhe. Tumhe bhi toh bataya tha na apne boyfriends ke baare mein!”

(And why be shy about it? I’m your wife… I have the right to know. I told you about my boyfriends, didn’t I?)

She settled into a more comfortable position, back pressed against the seat, her posture relaxed — but her eyes stayed on him, sharp and waiting.

He let out a long, disbelieving sigh and thumped the steering wheel in frustration.

From the corner of her eye, she watched him — then smirked.

“Shaant ho... matlab—”

(You’re quiet... does that mean—)

But before she could finish, his hand suddenly reached over.

He gently placed a finger on her lips, silencing her mid-sentence.

Then he leaned in — not aggressively, but close enough for his breath to brush her skin. His voice dropped, soft and rough.

“Apun ka aaj tak kisi aurat ke saath koi sambandh nahi raha hai.”

(I’ve never been with a woman before.)

His words lingered in the air between them, heavy, honest — and something in her chest skipped a beat.

Virgin? But he is- wait? Why the hell is he so close?