कहते रहे लोग —

"एक नज़र में प्यार नहीं होता..."

हम उनकी आँखों में डूबते चले गए,

और दिल... फिर कभी करार नहीं होता।

वो बोले कुछ लफ्ज़ —

सादे, मगर दिल छू लेने वाले,

हम बस मुस्कुरा कर रह गए,

जैसे लब खामोश हों और रूह बोल रही हो...

इश्क़ कब हुआ...

कहाँ हुआ... किस पल हुआ —

हमें ख़बर तक नहीं होती,

पर ज़िंदगी उसी से जुड़ जाती है।

🌸.……………………🌸

My eyelids fluttered open slowly, struggling to adjust to the dim light around me. Everything felt blurry at first… until my gaze settled on him.

Ruhaan.

He was sitting on the floor, right beside my bed—his head resting against the edge, his eyes closed in sleep. Peaceful. Too peaceful. Something inside me shifted the moment I saw him like that. My breath caught… not out of fear, not entirely. It was something else. A strange unease mixed with something I couldn't quite put into words.

But just then, a discomfort pulled me away from that thought. I needed to go to the washroom. And the only way out was past him.

I hesitated.

If I moved, he might wake up. And I wasn’t ready for another encounter—not yet. Still, I couldn’t wait. So I took a slow, careful breath and pushed myself up, inch by inch, avoiding any sudden movement.

I tiptoed toward the washroom, stealing glances at him with every other step… just to check if he was still asleep.

He looked calm when he slept.

Aur jab jaagte hain…

I don’t want to think about that right now.

After a while, I stepped out of the bathroom, freshly bathed and wrapped in the new suit he’d brought for me. I didn't want to wear it, but I didn't have another option either.

I reached the door, ready to leave the room… but then stopped.

"Why, Kanha ji… am I not your child? Subah-subah kiska chehra dikha diya…"

"Tum uth gayi?" His voice was soft, almost tired.

"Nahi, so rahi hoon abhi bhi," I wanted to snap, but I swallowed the words. I didn’t want to die today.

"Hmmm…"

Should I ask him?

Will he send me back to Nani?

But what if he gets angry?

"Tumne dinner kiya tha?" he asked suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"Kuchh khaya tha tumne raat mein ya nahi?"

"Ji… nahi."

He stepped closer. I could feel his irritation rising.

"Kyun?"

"Woh… aapne kaha tha na ki aap aayenge to…"

"To kya? Mere hisaab se khaogi tum? Tumhe bhookh lagi thi ya nahi?"

Why… why is he angry?

I was only doing what he said. I didn’t want to eat unless he came. That’s what he said. I was just… trying to follow it.

That’s all.

I don’t want to live with him.

I don’t belong here.

He stepped closer.

And I froze.

I knew what was coming next—he was going to shout. Scold me for not following his words. I could already hear his harsh tone echoing in my head.

But did it affect me anymore?

No.

I had already tolerated enough—on my house... no, chacha’s house. The pain, the silence, the insults. Life hadn’t changed. It had just taken a worse turn in a different location.

I looked down, instinctively, out of habit… out of fear.

“Go down. I’ll order something to eat.”

What?

What?

My head snapped up in surprise, eyes wide.

He didn’t shout?

I blinked at him, confused… trying to read the blank expression on his face.

“Kya? Mujhe khane ka irada hai kya jo aise aankhein faad kar dekh rahi ho?”

Embarrassed, I immediately dropped my gaze again.

Why am I even expecting kindness? Or cruelty? He’s always somewhere in between—unreadable, unpredictable.

“Hato abhi.”

“Hmm?”

“Hmm? Movee. I need to go to the washroom, madam,” he repeated, with the slightest edge of sarcasm in his voice.

“Oh…” I mumbled, quickly moving aside.

🌸………………….🌸

I slowly came down the stairs, my footsteps light, almost hesitant. The moment my feet touched the cold floor, a strange silence wrapped around me. I stood still for a second, letting my eyes travel across the living room. Everything was in its place — the photo frames, the furniture, the curtains swaying faintly with the breeze. Yet, the more I looked, the more unfamiliar it felt.

It was like staring at a memory that had lost its warmth.

Insaano ke rehte hue bhi ye ghar mujhe bejaan sa lag raha tha. As if it was breathing, but not alive. As if it was echoing with words never said, with emotions buried too deep to touch.

I swallowed hard. I just can’t live here. I decided. Not like this. Not in a place that feels so hollow, so cold.

Just then, a voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"What are you doing here, standing like a ghost?" Someone is at the door; go and open it!"

He said something more, but his words blurred into the background noise of my racing thoughts. I looked at him, trying to understand, but my mind had already drifted away. Before I could move, he sighed and walked away, opening the door himself.

He returned with something in his hand — maybe food, maybe something else — I couldn’t focus enough to care.

“Come here and have this. You haven’t had anything since last night,” he said, his voice soft yet firm as he set everything on the table with a kind of care I wasn’t used to.

I stood there for a second, watching him. His movements were calm, gentle — like he wasn’t just placing plates and bowls, but trying to piece together something broken. Me, maybe.

Slowly, I walked over and sat down at the edge of the chair, as if unsure whether I belonged there. The aroma of warm food filled the room, but inside me, everything still felt cold.

He pulled out a chair opposite me, not saying much, not forcing me. Just… being there.

I looked at him.

The way he’s caring for me… what is this?

No one has ever done this before — not like this. Not without asking for something in return.

Why would someone care for a girl like me?

A girl who’s been too quiet for too long. Who carries too many cracks under her skin. A girl who still flinches when someone raises their voice… or shows kindness.

Why?

I lowered my gaze, my throat tight.

Maybe I didn’t know how to accept this kind of tenderness.

Maybe I was afraid that if I did — it would disappear.

“What are you staring at?” he asked gently, almost in a whisper — yet even that softness made me flinch.

My fingers froze around the spoon. I didn’t answer. Words felt too heavy to push out. Instead, I lowered my eyes and began eating, mechanically… quietly.

His gaze was still on me — steady, unreadable — and it made something inside me twist. Like my lungs were forgetting how to breathe. Every bite I took felt like I was being watched through glass, like I was on display.

I hated it.

Or maybe… I wasn’t used to it.

He sat across from me, sipping his black coffee, calm as ever. Not a single word. Just silence and sips.

No toast, no fruit. Just coffee.

Doesn’t he have breakfast?

Why only coffee… every morning?

Was it a habit? Or was he like me — someone who'd forgotten what comfort felt like in the early hours?

My eyes lingered on his cup for a moment longer than I intended, but I looked away quickly, as if I’d been caught stealing glances at something I shouldn’t.

There was so much I didn’t understand about him.

And maybe even more that I didn’t understand about myself… around him.

I will leave this place soon.

Very soon.