Over the next few days, the wedding festivities unfolded like a never-ending storm. Gunnu was everywhere—serving tea, teasing cousins, making jokes that weren’t always funny but made the entire household laugh regardless. She belonged to the noise, to the chaos, while Abhinav belonged to the shadows, silent and watchful. But his eyes followed her all the same.
Their first accidental brush happened in the kitchen. Gunnu brought him a glass of buttermilk, her bangles chiming as she extended it. His fingers grazed hers, rough from years of service, against her soft, untried hands. The glass slipped from her grip, crashing to the floor.
“Oh God, I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, crouching quickly to clean. Abhinav knelt beside her at once, his hand covering hers for just an instant as they both reached for shards. Her heart jumped into her throat. His eyes, unwaveringly direct, caught hers. For a second, the world, the kitchen, the wedding—they all blurred into silence, save for the thunderous beat of her chest.
He withdrew first, his voice even. “Be careful. You’ll hurt yourself.”
She blinked, startled at how soft his tone was compared to his intimidating exterior. Yet her quick tongue betrayed her. “Do you ever smile, Rajput ji? Or is it forbidden in the army?”
He paused, almost letting the corner of his mouth shift, but stopped himself. He rose and walked away, but his heart hammered like the beat of war drums.
Later, Gunnu replayed the moment, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “He’s scary. But… interesting scary,” she confessed to herself. Meanwhile, Abhinav lay awake that night replaying her laugh, her words, her wide-eyed innocence.
Neither spoke their attraction. But silence often says more than words.
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