Guru’s eyes didn’t just glare at Sahil — they burned through him. It was the kind of look that didn’t need words to threaten. His fury was so loud it was almost deafening in the silence of the room.

There stood Sahil, shirtless, just a few inches from Avni — his wife.

And that alone was enough to ignite every ounce of rage in Guru’s blood.

His eyes could’ve easily carved holes through Sahil’s body. So much hatred. So much venom.

“Guru… tu jaisa soch raha hai waisa—”
(“Guru… it’s not what you’re thinking—”)

“Apun ki shirt ka button toot gaya hai…”
(“My shirt’s button popped off…”)

The words came out cold and emotionless — a blatant lie served with a sharp tongue. He cut Sahil mid-sentence without even looking at him properly now… because all his attention was shifting.

His feet moved — heavy, deliberate steps echoing through the room. And with each step toward them, his furious gaze never left Sahil. . His fists clenched, his shoulders broad and intimidating. Everything about him screamed danger.

And then—

“Kaha…?”
(“Where…?”)

That one word. Whispered so softly. So innocently.

Her voice.

It sliced through the rage like a thread of calm in a raging storm.

His steps slowed.

Not Sahil. Not the shirt. Her.

And everything inside him shifted.

His fury didn’t vanish — no, it still burned in the background — but the moment his eyes met hers, they softened. That piercing fire dimmed. His jaw, once locked in rage, eased. The way he looked at her now… it wasn’t anger.

It was something deeper. Protective. Possessive. And something even he wouldn’t dare name.

She looked at his shirt. Every button was in place. Perfectly aligned. Not even loose.

She blinked in confusion.

And then, without a single word, he reached up and ripped one off.

She gasped — her eyes widened.

“Yeh raha,” he said, holding the button up in front of her like it was a trophy. A twisted badge of proof.
(“Here it is.”)

And before she could even react, his hand wrapped around her wrist. Firm. Unyielding.

She looked down at the grip, startled — then looked up at him.

His touch wasn’t painful… but it wasn’t gentle either. It held meaning. A message.

He didn’t look back at Sahil again — not fully. Just a glance, enough to send a warning that needed no words. And then his eyes returned to her.

And this time, they didn’t soften.

They lingered.

They told her things he wasn’t ready to say aloud.

And though his fingers were only around her wrist…

He didn’t drag her — no, that would mean force.
But he took her. Out of that room. Away from Sahil. Away from whatever the hell this was.

He wasn’t just angry.

He was possessively, irrationally, painfully angry.

He walked into the other room without a word, still radiating that simmering tension, like a volcano that hadn’t erupted yet — but could, any second.

Finally, he let go of her wrist.

She didn’t have time to process it. He went straight to the drawer, opened it, and pulled out a needle and a spool of thread. Not a single word. No explanation. Just quiet, calculated movements.

Avni’s eyes instinctively roamed around the room, trying to ground herself, trying to breathe — but her gaze barely brushed the walls when he returned and stood right in front of her.

Like a wall.

A tall, silent, intense wall between her and everything else.

Her breath caught.

That close proximity, the way his shadow blocked the light, the way he watched her — it wasn’t something she was used to.

Slowly, she reached for the needle and thread he held out, her fingers brushing against his palm. She didn’t dare look up. But she could feel it — his gaze.

Burning. Heavy. Unwavering.

She took a deep breath, clutching the needle like it could anchor her.

But it didn’t.

Because he was still staring. Not blinking. Not moving.

And it wasn’t like every other day — the usual tension, the usual sarcasm, the cold teasing.

No. This was different.

He was different.

Something in the air had shifted.

He wasn’t just looking at her — he was watching her. Like he was seeing something for the first time. Or maybe realizing something he had refused to acknowledge until now.

She swallowed hard. Her heart was beating too fast for how quiet everything was.

It used to be easy, handling him. His moods, his taunts, even his anger — she had learned how to dance around all of it.

But today?

Today, his silence was louder than all his anger.
His stare, more disarming than his temper.
And the way he stood there — completely still, completely focused on her — it made her feel like she was being seen too deeply.

She cleared her throat, the silence pressing down on her like a weight she couldn’t ignore anymore.

"Tumhara mood off hai kya?"
(“Are you in a bad mood?”)

Her voice was casual… too casual, as if she was trying to pretend the air wasn’t thick with something unspoken.

“Nahi…”

A flat reply. No emotion. No explanation. But a big lie.

Yes he was off after seeing everything.

He was jealous but more than that a sudden wave of protectiveNess hit him....

She hummed, nodding like it was the most normal thing in the world, even though her fingers trembled slightly while sewing his shirt button.

But as she focused on the neat little stitch, a thought slammed into her like a truck.

Wait… what the hell am I even doing?

Her hands froze mid-movement. Eyes blinked. The thread hung loose between her fingers as that one realization shattered the fragile awkwardness.

Why on earth is she stitching this man’s shirt? And why did she let him drag her here for it?

The tension that had filled the room like smoke suddenly cleared — burned away by the fire rising in her chest.

She looked up at him. And this time, her eyes didn’t shy away. No more silence. No more confusion.

Just irritation.
And a whole lot of attitude.

With a sharp sigh, she took a step back, breaking whatever strange closeness had wrapped around them.

“Toh tumhara dimag kharab hai kya?”
(“So have you completely lost your mind?”)

Her voice rose — not screechy, but sharp enough to slice through the room like a blade.

“Jo mujhe yahan button theek karane ke liye le aaye…!!”
(“That you dragged me here just to fix a stupid button?!”)

There it was. That spark. That fiery, unapologetic Avni who wasn’t going to stay quiet anymore.

Whatever awkward, strange moment had passed between them — she wasn’t letting it confuse her. Not without a fight.

And Guru?

Well, he didn’t expect that. Not after the silence. Not after that stare.

But there she stood — no longer flustered, no longer backing away.
Chin up, eyes blazing, and hands on metaphorical hips.

And suddenly… the power in the room shifted again.

"Aur jo mahashay ne khud todha ho!!"
(“And the gentleman who broke it himself!!”)

She didn’t wait. Her fingers fisted around his collar, yanking him slightly toward her.

A sharper taunt.

With her sudden pull, his entire body shifted forward, colliding with the force of her boldness. His chest nearly brushed hers, the space between them vanishing in a breath.

Caught off guard, his eyes flickered — and for a brief, traitorous moment, he looked away.

A faint tint of red crept up his cheeks, betraying him.

Not from embarrassment.
But from how close she was.
How unapologetically fierce she stood in front of him.
How her fingers still clutched his collar like she owned the moment.

Avni let go of his collar, the needle still dangling loosely from the button of his shirt. Taking a deliberate step back, she created some space between them, her eyes sharp with fury.

She crossed her arms tightly over her chest and glared at him.

"Aur rahi baat Sahil ki…" (And about Sahil...) her voice dripped with sarcasm, "I know tum mujhe waha se sirf isliye leke aaye kyunki tumhe usse dikhana tha. Tease karna tha ki jis ladki se woh shaadi karne wala tha, woh ab tumhari wife ban chuki hai."

(I know you brought me from there just to show him off. To tease him that the girl he was supposed to marry is now your wife.)

She narrowed her eyes. "Toh yeh silly games apne paas rakho." (So keep these silly games to yourself.)

With a scoff, she turned to walk past him, brushing close to his shoulder—only to be stopped midway.

He caught her wrist firmly, halting her in her track

"Apun ko zarurat nahi hai use dikhane ki... teri shaadi kisse hui hai," he started.

["I don't need to prove anything to her...that  you're married to me."]

They stood back to back, a storm of unspoken tension hanging between them. Guru hands grip on her wrist stayed firm—calculated, in control. He wasn’t letting her walk away that easily.

He took in a slow, deep breath and spoke again—his tone sharper, more cutting this time.

"Yaha tujhe koi pasand nahi karta hai... apun ko agar Sanjay bhai order de toh tujhe abhi apun marde... yaha jitne bhi log hai woh bas ek order ka wait kar rahe hai, fir woh tere sath kya kar sakte hai, woh apun bhi nahi janta... yaha sab ek dusre se nafrat karte hai aur badle ke liye kuch bhi kar sakte hai... aise logo ke beech toh tujhe apni parchhai pe bhi bharosa nahi karna chahiye."

["No one here likes you... and if Sanjay bhai gives the order, I’ll kill you myself... everyone here is just waiting for that one signal. What they might do to you after that—even I don’t know. People here hate each other and will do anything for revenge. In a place like this, you shouldn’t even trust your own shadow."]

It was ruthless. Unfiltered. But the scariest part? It was the truth.

Her wrist, which had been resisting him just moments ago, suddenly stopped. The words hit her like ice—numbing and real.

Guru felt the tremble in her hand. His hold softened instinctively. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaled, then slid his grip down—now gently holding her hand, no longer trying to dominate, but almost… steady her.

And then, with a sideways glance and a michevious smile playing at the edge of his lips, he added casually, trying to mask the tension.

"Or rahi baat Sahil ki... apun ki personal dushmani hai usse. Ab tujhe jo samajhna hai samajh sakti hai... par apun ka ego hurt ho jayega agar apun ki na pasindida biwi usse baat kare toh..."
["And about Sahil... I've got personal enmity with him. You can understand that however you want... but my ego will definitely get hurt if my not-so-favorite wife talks to him."]

Avni blinked, startled—not offended, just... caught off guard.

He called her his wife.

And not just that—na pasindida biwi (not-so-favorite wife)? Really?

She turned around slowly, eyebrows raised, and before she could stop herself, he added with a wicked smirk:

"Kya? Shaadi toh hui hai na..."
["What? We are married, aren’t we?"]

That caught her completely off-guard. Not because she was insulted—God, no. She wasn’t exactly excited to marry him either. But still, hearing him say it like that, so casually—it shook her a little.

She snapped back to the moment and jerked her hand free with a dramatic huff.

"Bhhaad me jao!!!"
["Go to hell!!!"]

And just like that, she stomped off, heels clacking furiously, she walked away.