She cleared her throat softly and said, "I'll just get some water," before standing up and heading towards the kitchen.

Advait, who had been watching her intently, smirked as he followed her movements. "Finally, madam succeeded in her little mission," he thought to himself, amused.

It took her so long to even start talking to me, and now she’s back to her usual tricks—finding excuses to disappear when I’m around. His thoughts trailed off, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface.

"Advait! Advait!" Sagun’s voice broke through his reverie, snapping him back to the present.

He blinked, realizing they were all staring at him. "What?" he asked, trying to cover his distraction.

"So, you didn’t listen to anything we were saying, did you?" Sagun asked, folding her arms.

"No… No, I did," he lied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Then tell me, what did Aunty say?" Sagun's gaze turned toward his mother, challenging him.

He looked at his mother, struggling to remember the conversation. Sagun's eyes narrowed. "See, everyone, he’s sitting right here but hasn’t heard a single word we’ve been saying."

"Cut the nonsense," Advait snapped, growing defensive.

Vihaan chuckled, his teasing voice adding fuel to the fire. "Oh, Bhaiya, you're caught now! Stop pretending."

"Shut up!" Advait growled, pushing his chair back with a sharp movement. "I’m done. Sitting here with you all is a waste of time." He stood abruptly, his frustration boiling over, and went out of the room with a slight smile on his lips.

“Aunty, I should get going now,” Sagun said, standing up and adjusting her dress.

“Why? You should stay a little longer,” Riddhima replied, hoping to keep her around.

“No, I’ll stay some other day for sure,” Sagun said with a warm smile.

Before she could take another step, Vihaan jumped in with his usual teasing. “Oh, let her go, Chachi. Her boyfriend probably texted her.”

A blush crept onto Sagun’s face, one she tried hard to hide. “Of course you always know everything, don’t you?” She shot back, playfully rolling her eyes. In response, Vihaan smugly dusted off his collar, as if to say, I’m the expert here.

Sagun laughed it off, quickly hugged everyone, and made her way out. She had always shared a close bond with the family, having visited since childhood. That’s why Dadi had once planned to marry her off to Advait, but Sagun already had someone else in her heart. She had never seen Advait as more than a good friend and viewed his family as her own. Her love for her boyfriend was deep, and she remained true to him.

……………………..

It was 10 p.m., and Drishti lay on the sofa, her usual spot—the one Advait had been trying to get her to change for some time now, but she consistently avoided all his offers. Tonight, she was watching a drama on her phone, trying to immerse herself in the story, but the sound of the door opening snapped her out of it. Quickly, she placed her phone on the table and pretended to be fast asleep.

Advait entered the room, immediately noticing her phone on the table, the screen still glowing faintly, a sign she had just put it down. He smirked to himself, seeing right through her act, and turned to lock the door behind him.

"Drishti," he called her name, fully aware that she was upset with him and pretending to be asleep. He knew her too well.

As expected, there was no response. Of course, how could she answer? She was “asleep,” after all.

Sighing softly, he headed to the bathroom to freshen up. When he returned, he glanced at her again, now sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes lingering on her figure as memories of their recent argument replayed in his mind.

"Drishti," he whispered gently, but she didn’t move. His voice softened even further, a pleading note creeping in. "Drishti, I know you're not sleeping. Please, get up."

His words were so tender, so filled with hope, that anyone would have felt compelled to wake up. There was a vulnerability in his voice, a rare softness that showed just how much he wanted to bridge the gap between them. Yet, Drishti stayed still, her anger keeping her silent.

Advait sat there, staring at his palm, rubbing it with his thumb, his voice quiet yet firm. "Don’t you want answers to your questions?"

Drishti, hearing his words, opened her eyes slowly and turned toward him. Their eyes met for a brief moment before she shifted to sit on the sofa, still avoiding his gaze. He looked at her deeply, as if trying to communicate all the things he couldn’t put into words—an unspoken apology for the distance between them, for making her feel like she was in this marriage without choice.

"Boliye"—"Speak," Drishti said, her voice barely above a whisper, still not meeting his eyes.

"Puchiye"—"Ask," he replied gently, reminding her of the moment when she had confronted him earlier, and he had promised they'd talk. Now he was ready to give her all the answers, but she remained silent, looking anywhere but at him.

"When I’m sitting here right in front of you, you don’t want to look at me. And now, when I’m ready to answer, you have nothing to ask?"

"It’s... it’s not like that," Drishti stammered, trying to find the courage to meet his eyes.

"Then ask," he urged her softly, wanting to break the wall between them.

"Do you... hate me?" She finally asked, her voice breaking with uncertainty. She couldn’t shake the feeling that his distance, the way he avoided talking to her, was rooted in something deeper.

"If I hated you, would you be sitting here right now, asking me this?" He responded, his voice soft but firm.

Drishti looked down, biting her lip. "You never acknowledge me as your wife in front of anyone. Even in front of family, it feels like you don’t care. If you don’t hate me, then why do you behave this way?"

He sighed and leaned forward. "If you asked anyone, they wouldn’t say I hate you. I’ve never shown it because... I thought you wouldn’t be comfortable, and also I do not have a good perception for marriage."

"Why do you think I wouldn’t be comfortable?" she asked, her frustration rising. "You assume so much."

"Think about it, Drishti," he said quietly. "You married someone you barely knew. Would you be comfortable?"

She blinked, taken aback by his words, but a part of her anger still simmered. "But I’ve been hurt by the way you behave... even now, nothing much has changed in you."

A small smile played on his lips as he began, "I know... I’ve made mistakes. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough to make you comfortable, but you’ve become comfortable without me now, haven’t you? I should’ve tried to talk to you more, but whenever I saw you distancing yourself from me, I didn’t push."

Drishti’s heart skipped a beat, unsure of how to respond. His words rang true, but they also stung. She had built walls around herself, assuming he didn’t care. And in response, he had done the same, thinking she wanted distance. Over time, that space between them had grown wider, but as she stood there now, she wondered—was it too late to bridge the gap?

“What’s your perception of marriage, then? What did you think, and what do you think now?” she asked, testing the waters.

He shook his head, avoiding the question. “I’m not going to answer that today,” he said quietly, “but one day, I’ll tell you.”

A wave of nervousness hit her. She thought of Sagun, wondering if now was the time to ask. But the hesitation crept in. Just because he was trying to bridge the distance didn’t mean she could ask him anything, right? Fighting with herself, she thought, What if he doesn’t like it? What if he thinks I’m overstepping?

“Will you... will you get angry?” She asked slowly, unsure if she even wanted an answer.

He glanced at her with a calm expression and said, "What have I done in these past days to make you think that?"

His calmness threw her off. She thought back to all the times he hadn’t spoken to her, and even when he did, it was always in that slow, careful tone, as if he was talking to a child. Yet, despite his softness, she was afraid of him. People who spoke less were often the most terrifying because you never knew what was going on in their minds.

“N-No... but...” she trailed off.

He interrupted her with a light reprimand, “This story you’ve built up in your head—fix that first.”

She blinked in surprise, wondering how he knew she had been crafting her own version of events. Trying to defend herself, she responded, “I didn’t build anything up. You shout at me! Should I remind you how many times you’ve yelled at me?”

She looked at him, frustration lacing her words, but he just smiled. The way she argued, almost childishly, struck him as endearing.

“Don’t laugh! I’m being serious here,” she huffed. “You think I’m crazy that I don’t remember anything, but I remember everything perfectly. That day when... when...” She hesitated, recalling how his mood had changed when she last called him ‘father.’ Quickly, she corrected herself, “When your Mr. Rathore spilled water on himself, you blamed me! You didn’t listen to me and yelled at me, and..and that day when I was with Prachika, You shouted that too in front of her. ”

She stopped, trying to remember more instances, but her mind drew a blank. The truth was, he had never really shouted at her.

As she described the moments when she thought he’d been angry, he simply watched her, captivated by how her eyes flashed with emotion. He could see how much these incidents had stayed with her and how much she wanted him to understand. And as he listened, he realized how much he had missed by staying distant. He had been wrong.

“Did you hear me?” she asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I’m talking seriously, and you’re just smiling like this is some joke!”

He laughed softly. “Oh, it’s a serious topic, huh? I heard everything, Drishti, and now I know—you’re not crazy at all.”

Her glare lingered on him, but inside, Drishti’s heart had softened, if only for a moment. Then the memory of Dadi's words crept back into her mind, the way she had always questioned their relationship. The weight of those words tugged at her, pulling her back into her thoughts, and the warmth she felt just moments ago faded. Her face fell as she mumbled, almost to herself, “But I think… everything you’ve done is enough… after all, our marriage was forced.”

Those words, unintended but raw, slipped out. His expression shifted—hurt and anger flickering in his eyes. This wasn’t the first time she’d called their marriage ‘forced,’ and every time she said it, it tore at him. But he calmed himself before letting his emotions take over. This was exactly where he always lost control, where his anger would push her further away. She feared him even when he hadn’t done anything yet, and that fear terrified him more than anything. What if one day he really couldn’t control himself?

With a composed smile, he responded, "Why, did someone drag me to the wedding , or did you put a gun to my head to get married?"

His teasing tone caught her off guard, and the tension in her face lifted as she replied, “Why would I do that?”

He looked at her with a soft, almost playful gaze. “Come here.”

She blinked in confusion. “Me?” she asked, pointing to herself, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.

He chuckled. “How many people are in this room?”

Though reluctant, her body trembling slightly, she stood up and took hesitant steps toward him. She stopped a step away, still maintaining a safe distance.

He watched her, noticing how nervous and tense she seemed. Without breaking eye contact, he extended his hand and gently took hers. She instinctively tried to pull back, but his grip tightened, though not painfully. He raised an eyebrow, questioning her resistance.

“Sit beside me,” he said, guiding her to the seat next to him. Even though he held her hand, she kept shifting, creating as much space between them as she could. It was almost as if she was drawing an invisible line between them. The sight made him chuckle.

“So much distance?” he teased, watching her unease.

“You were the one who started it,” she muttered, trying to free her hand.

“And you’re the one maintaining it,” he replied, his voice low, but teasing. She didn’t answer, and when he finally let go of her hand, he leaned back.

“I’ve started other things too,” he said softly, “but you don’t seem to be maintaining those.”

She blinked, unsure what he meant. Her eyelashes fluttered in confusion.

“Never mind. ,” he said, letting it go with a sigh. “But at least, look at me.” His tone was gentle but firm.

She hesitated before lifting her eyes to meet his.

“This so-called ‘forced marriage’—that’s what you think, right?” he asked.

“I don’t say that, everyone does,” she replied softly, deflecting.

“And who is this ‘everyone’?” he pressed. Drishti’s stomach tightened. She didn’t want to tell him that Dadi always taunted her with those words. Anjali had warned her that He didn’t have a good relationship with Dadi, and the last thing she wanted was to create more friction between them because of her. So she avoided the question.

“Your actions say it,” she said instead, trying to change the subject.

“Really?” he chuckled. He leaned in closer to her, causing her to instinctively pull her head back. Amused by her reaction, he shifted toward her again, closing the gap. She looked up at him, confused and nervous.

“And what do my actions say right now?” he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper, his eyes locked on hers.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, she had no words.

Looking at her face, he sighed and leaned back, giving her space. “So, where were we?” he asked, his voice softer now, but his eyes still on her. Drishti remained lost in thought, the tension still lingering between them.

“Oh, right. Forced,” he continued, a trace of frustration in his tone. “That word—*forced.* You say it often, and if anyone else says it, let me know. No one can forced Advait Singh Rathore ,” he said, his pride evident. Then, with a more reflective tone, he added, “Except for two people in my life—only they could ever push me into something. And even then, I know it would be for my own good.”

Drishti stared down at her lap, absorbing his words. She tried to piece together who those two people might be. Ma, of course, was one of them, she was sure of that. But the second? Could it be Di?

“Understood?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She nodded, still thinking over his statement.

“I chose you of my own will,” he said, his voice more serious now, “and if anyone in this marriage isn’t happy, it could only be you. Because no one asked you if you wanted to marry or not.” He paused for a moment, his gaze softening. “But I never felt like it was forced for me.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in a long while, Drishti felt her heart waver. Though they had both been caught in circumstances beyond their control, perhaps he was right—his choice had been real. It wasn’t forced, not for him.

Drishti let out a bitter chuckle, her voice laced with the pain she had been carrying for so long. "I was just meant for this," she said, her tone edged with resignation. "If not you, it would have been someone else. My wishes never mattered. What difference would it make if I wanted this or not?"

Advait’s eyes softened as he watched her. There was something deeper in her words, something she had borne silently for far too long. The unspoken fears, the hidden scars—he had always sensed them, but she had never told him outright why she was so afraid, why she kept herself guarded.

“But it matters to me,” he said, his voice low but firm. "Your wishes matter to me."

For the first time, she felt the weight of those words. His eyes held a sincerity she hadn’t let herself believe before. Could it be true? Could she really matter to him .