Seven days had passed in a quiet rhythm that neither Neel nor Priyal spoke about, yet both felt in ways they couldn’t explain. The Shekhawat house no longer felt unknown to Priyal. The long corridors had started to recognize her footsteps, the marble floors no longer felt cold beneath her feet, and the silence of the house had begun to carry familiarity instead of distance. The kitchen had started responding to her touch, the staff now looked at her for instructions instead of waiting for someone else, and the people—slowly, gently—had made space for her without forcing it.

She had learned the timing of the house—the way mornings began early with Dadi’s prayers echoing softly through the hallways, how Ishita filled every silence with endless chatter that somehow never became annoying, how Meera observed everything quietly yet never interfered unnecessarily. Even Kavita Bua’s sharp remarks had become predictable, almost expected.

Everything was settling.

Everything except Neel.

Because Neel was not consistent.

There were moments when he was distant enough to remind her of the contract, of the six months that stood between them like an invisible wall. His tone would turn formal, his presence controlled, his words carefully measured as if he was constantly reminding himself not to cross a line.

And then there were moments—

when he stood beside her without hesitation.

When his hand found hers instinctively during rituals.

When his eyes lingered for a fraction longer than necessary before he looked away.

When he defended her like she wasn’t temporary.

And that contradiction unsettled her.

Because distance was easy to understand.

Care, wrapped in denial, was not.

Shekhawat Residence

That morning, the dining table carried its usual warmth. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, spilling across the polished surface, catching on silver utensils and glass bowls. The aroma of fresh breakfast filled the space, warm and inviting, blending with the faint fragrance of incense that still lingered from the morning prayers.

Voices overlapped.

Ishita was in the middle of dramatically complaining about her “diet” while reaching for another serving. Dadi listened with a composed expression that clearly didn’t believe a word she was saying. Meera added a quiet comment now and then, smiling faintly.

Priyal sat among them, her saree draped neatly, her movements soft and composed as she served herself. She had started to understand the rhythm of this table—when to speak, when to stay quiet, when to simply observe.

Across from her sat Neel.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves slightly rolled, his attention fixed on his phone.

Detached.

As if the room didn’t demand him.

But Priyal had begun to notice something—

he was never truly unaware.

His gaze flickered up occasionally. Brief. Controlled. But present.

Dadi placed her teacup down, the soft sound enough to quiet the table slightly. “Neel,” she called.

He looked up. “Hm?”

“You and Priyal need to visit the Shekhawat temple today.”

Neel’s brows drew together faintly. “Today?”

“Yes. It’s a ritual. Every newly married couple goes there.”

He leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose. “I have a meeting today. An important one.”

“Meetings can be rescheduled,” Dadi said calmly.

“This one can’t.”

The words were simple.

But they carried finality.

The air shifted slightly.

Not tense.

But not light either.

Priyal felt it.

And before it could grow heavier, she spoke, her voice soft but steady. “I’ll come to your office.”

Neel’s eyes lifted to her immediately.

She held his gaze, even though there was a quiet hesitation beneath her calm expression. “You finish your meeting,” she continued gently, “and then we can go together.”

For a moment, Neel didn’t respond.

He simply looked at her.

Studied her.

As if trying to understand why she was making things easier.

Why she wasn’t arguing.

Why she was adjusting.

Something unreadable passed through his eyes.

But he didn’t refuse.

And that was enough.

Dadi gave a small nod of approval, and just like that, the matter was settled.

By the time afternoon settled over the city, Priyal stood in front of Arora.

The building rose high into the sky, all glass and steel, reflecting sunlight with a sharp brilliance that almost felt intimidating. People moved in and out with purpose, conversations clipped and efficient, the environment carrying a silent authority that didn’t need to be announced.

This was Neel’s world.

And now—

she had stepped into it.

She adjusted her saree slightly.

It was deep maroon, rich and elegant, the gold embroidery along its borders catching the light with every small movement. Her blouse fit perfectly, hugging her form without being excessive, her hair falling in soft waves over one shoulder. The sindoor in her hairline added a quiet power to her presence, subtle yet undeniable.

In her hands, she held Neel’s kurta.

He had forgotten it.

And she had brought it.

Without thinking.

That realization stayed with her for a second longer than necessary.

Then she stepped inside.

The moment she did, she felt it.

Eyes.

Lingering.

Whispers forming just out of reach.

Curiosity, judgment, speculation—all blending into something she couldn’t quite name.

She didn’t react.

Didn’t slow down.

She walked straight toward the lift.

And just as she was about to step in—

a voice stopped her.

“Excuse me.”

Priyal turned.

A woman stood there, her expression sharp, her posture straight with the kind of confidence that bordered on arrogance. Her gaze moved over Priyal slowly—from her saree to her bangles to her face—lingering just enough to make the judgment obvious.

And then she spoke.

Cold.

Dismissive.

“Yeh lift sirf Neel sir ke liye hai… aur aap jaise logon ke liye to bilkul bhi nahi.”

The words didn’t echo loudly.

But they settled.

Quietly.

Deeply.

For a second, Priyal stood still.

The insult didn’t hit like a slap.

It sank.

Slow.

Sharp.

But she didn’t react.

Didn’t argue.

Didn’t defend herself.

Because dignity didn’t always need noise.

She nodded once, the movement small but controlled, and turned to leave.

Her steps were steady.

But something inside her had shifted.

And just as she took another step—

a firm hand wrapped around her waist.

Pulling her back.

Her breath caught.

Her body stilled instantly.

Neel.

He stood beside her.

Close.

His hand still resting at her waist—steady, unyielding, unmistakably possessive.

The entire atmosphere shifted in a second.

Conversations nearby died down.

Eyes turned.

Because Neel Shekhawat didn’t hold someone like that without meaning.

“Problem kya hai?” he asked, his voice calm, but edged with something sharp enough to silence the entire floor.

The employee froze. “S-sir, I was just—”

Neel didn’t let her finish.

His hold tightened just slightly as he looked straight at her and said, clearly, each word measured yet absolute—

“Meet my wife… Mrs. Priyal Neel Shekhawat.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

The girl’s face drained of color.

Priyal’s heartbeat stumbled.

Because the way he said it—

it didn’t feel like a contract.

It felt real.

Neel didn’t look at anyone else again.

“Come.”

And he guided her into the lift.

This time—

no one dared to stop her.

Inside his cabin, the silence returned.

But it felt heavier.

Denser.

Neel let go of her slowly, as if aware of the moment, while Priyal stepped aside, her voice soft. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Neel didn’t respond immediately.

He removed his watch, placing it on the table with controlled precision before finally speaking. “She disrespected you.”

“It’s okay,” Priyal said gently.

“No,” he said, firm, turning to look at her. “It’s not.”

And before she could say anything else, he pressed the intercom. “Send that employee in.”

The girl entered within minutes.

Nervous now.

Shaken.

“Sir…”

Neel didn’t offer her a seat.

Didn’t soften.

His voice turned cold.

“Jis ladki ko tum kuch bol rahi thi… woh meri biwi hai.”

The words weren’t loud.

But they carried weight.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know—”

“You meant what you said.”

Silence.

“Submit your resignation letter.”

The girl froze. “Sir please—”

Priyal stepped forward slightly. “Neel, leave it.”

He didn’t even look at her.

“She insulted you.”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not.”

Final.

The girl’s voice broke. “Sir please, I need this job…”

Neel’s expression didn’t change.

“Submit. Your. Resignation.”

And just like that—

it was over.

After completing his work and meetings when Neel changed into the kurta Priyal had brought, it suited him perfectly the deep red suited him effortlessly. The embroidered stole added a quiet elegance, enhancing his already commanding presence.

Priyal noticed.

And this time—

she couldn’t look away immediately.

He caught it.

Their eyes met for a second.

And something unspoken passed between them.

Before both looked away.

After an hour

The temple stood high, carved in white stone, glowing under the golden hue of the evening sky.

Priyal stepped out first, gathering the puja items while Neel went to park the car. By the time he returned, everything was ready.

They began climbing.

Step by step.

The stairs stretched endlessly upward.

The first few steps were easy.

Then came the weight.

Then the exhaustion.

The air grew heavier with each step, her breathing uneven, but she kept going.

Until—

her foot twisted.

A sharp pain shot through her ankle.

She stopped instantly, her breath catching.

“I’ll wait here,” she said softly. “You go ahead.”

Neel looked at her.

Then at the stairs.

Then back at her.

And without a word—

he bent.

And lifted her into his arms.

Priyal gasped softly. “Neel—”

“Don’t argue.”

His voice was calm.

Final.

Her hands instinctively held onto him.

Her heartbeat—

completely unsteady now.

Because being in his arms felt… safe.

Too safe.

She could feel the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the strength in the way he held her—firm, careful, unwavering.

Every step he took was steady.

Unshaken.

As if the climb meant nothing.

And she—

she didn’t resist.

She just stayed.

Looking at him.

Trying to understand him.

Failing.

Because how could the same man who spoke of separation hold her like she mattered?

When they reached the top, he placed her down gently.

The pandit smiled warmly.

“Neel, tumne to kamaal kar diya. Kehte hain agar ek pati apni patni ko apni bahon mein lekar poori seedhi chadh jaaye… to unki shaadi saat janmon tak chalti hai.”

Priyal lowered her gaze.

A faint blush rising to her cheeks.

Neel nodded.

But his eyes flickered toward her—

just for a second.

The puja began.

The diya flickered softly between them, its flame steady despite the slight breeze. The pandit’s chants filled the air, rhythmic and grounding, creating a calm that wrapped around them both.

Priyal closed her eyes, her hands folded tightly.

She prayed.

For strength.

For clarity.

For something she couldn’t name.

Beside her, Neel stood still.

But once—

just once—

he looked at her.

And something in his expression softened.

Before it disappeared again.

Offerings were made.

Flowers placed carefully.

The sacred thread tied around their wrists.

The bell rang loudly as the aarti began, the sound echoing through the temple, vibrating through the stillness.

And somewhere in that moment—

something shifted.

Not love.

Not yet.

But something that refused to remain distant.

As they walked down the stairs, slower this time, Neel stayed close beside her.

Close enough to catch her if she slipped again.

Close enough to make her aware—

without saying a word—

that he was there.

And for reasons she didn’t understand—

she didn’t move away either.

As they reached the bottom of the temple stairs, the world around them seemed to return slowly—sounds growing clearer, people moving again, life resuming its ordinary pace.

But something between them had shifted.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just… enough to be felt.

Neel walked beside her, not too close, not too far, his presence steady in a way that didn’t demand attention but refused to be ignored. Priyal adjusted her pace carefully, her ankle still slightly sensitive, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

He noticed anyway.

They reached the car in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that carried too many unspoken things.

Neel opened the passenger door for her without a word.

Priyal paused for a fraction of a second.

Then sat inside.

The drive began quietly. The city outside moved in its usual rhythm—horns, people, chaos—but inside the car, everything felt contained.

After a few minutes, Neel spoke.

“Come with me to the office.”

Priyal turned slightly, surprised. “Office?”

“I have something to finish,” he said, eyes still on the road. “It won’t take long.”

There was a pause.

“And then?” she asked softly.

“Then we go home.”

Simple.

Direct.

But there was something in his tone that made her nod without questioning further.

“Okay.”

When they reached at Arora again, the building stood just as imposing as before—but this time, Priyal didn’t feel the same hesitation.

This time—

she walked beside him.

And no one stopped her.

The same lift.

The same space.

But the difference was unmistakable.

Neel stood close enough for his presence to be felt without touching her, his hand occasionally brushing against hers when the lift shifted slightly. Neither of them moved away.

No one spoke.

But the air between them wasn’t empty.

Inside his cabin, the door closed behind them, shutting out the world once again.

Priyal stepped in quietly, her eyes moving around the room before settling back on him.

Neel walked toward his desk, placed his phone down, and for a moment, said nothing.

Then he turned.

“Sit.”

Priyal hesitated slightly before moving toward the chair behind his desk—the one he usually occupied.

She didn’t question it.

She simply sat.

Neel watched her for a second.

Then walked toward a cabinet near the side of the room.

He opened it slowly.

And took something out.

A small box.

Velvet.

Dark.

Elegant.

Priyal’s gaze followed the movement, confusion slowly building in her eyes.

Neel walked back toward her.

Each step measured.

Unhurried.

He stopped in front of her.

And for a moment—

he just stood there.

Looking at her.

As if deciding something.

Then, without a word—

he placed the box on the table.

Opened it.

Inside—

lay a pair of payal.

Delicate.

Silver.

Intricately designed with tiny ghungroos that shimmered softly under the light.

Priyal’s breath stilled.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the armrest.

“Neel…?” she whispered.

But he didn’t answer.

Instead—

he moved.

And the next moment—

he was on the floor.

On one knee.

Right in front of her.

Priyal’s eyes widened.

“Neel—what are you doing?”

But he didn’t stop.

His expression wasn’t playful.

It wasn’t teasing.

It was… calm.

Focused.

Intent.

He gently took her hand.

Not forcefully.

Not suddenly.

Just enough to guide her forward.

“Relax,” he said quietly.

Her heartbeat began to race.

Not out of fear.

But something else.

Something softer.

Something unfamiliar.

Neel shifted slightly, adjusting his position, and then—carefully—he lifted one of her feet.

Placing it gently on his thigh.

Priyal’s breath caught.

Her fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the chair.

The closeness—

the position—

the way he was sitting on the floor while she sat above—

it did something to her heartbeat she couldn’t control.

“Neel…” she whispered again, softer this time.

He didn’t look up immediately.

His focus remained on her foot.

Careful.

Respectful.

He held it as if it was something fragile.

Something important.

Something… his.

Then slowly—

he picked up the payal.

The soft sound of the tiny bells filled the silence.

And with steady hands—

he wrapped it around her ankle.

The cold metal touched her skin, sending a slight shiver through her.

Not because it was cold.

But because of the way he touched her.

His fingers brushed lightly against her skin as he secured the clasp.

Unintentional.

Yet not unnoticed.

Priyal’s breath grew uneven.

Her gaze dropped to him.

To the way he sat.

To the way his head was slightly bowed.

To the way his expression remained calm

but his touch…

his touch wasn’t indifferent.

He finished fastening the first one.

But didn’t move away immediately.

For a second—

his fingers stayed there.

Resting lightly against her ankle.

As if feeling the moment.

As if memorizing it.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met.

And something passed between them—

quiet.

Unspoken.

But undeniable.

Priyal felt her heartbeat stumble.

Because there was no contract in that moment.

No distance.

No condition.

Just… him.

Neel didn’t say anything.

He simply lowered his gaze again and picked up the second payal.

This time—

his movements were even slower.

Even more careful.

As if he was aware now.

Aware of her reaction.

Aware of the silence.

Aware of everything that was happening between them.

He lifted her other foot.

Placed it gently the same way.

And once again—

his fingers brushed against her skin.

Lingering just a fraction longer than necessary.

The tiny bells chimed softly as he secured it.

The sound filled the room.

Soft.

Intimate.

Too intimate.

Priyal’s breathing had changed now.

Shallow.

Uneven.

Her fingers tightened slightly as she watched him.

He finished.

But again—

he didn’t move.

His hand remained there.

Lightly holding her ankle.

And this time—

he spoke.

Quietly.

“You should wear these.”

Priyal swallowed.

“Why?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Neel looked up at her.

His gaze steady.

Unwavering.

“Because they belong to you.”

Simple words.

But they didn’t feel simple.

They carried something else.

Something deeper.

Priyal’s heart tightened.

“Neel… this isn’t part of any contract,” she said softly.

A pause.

Then—

very quietly—

“Exactly.”

The word settled between them.

Heavy.

Real.

For a moment—

neither of them moved.

Then slowly—

Neel released her foot.

And stood up.

The distance returned.

But not completely.

Because something had already crossed that space.

Priyal looked down at her ankles.

The payal shimmered softly, the tiny bells catching light with every slight movement.

She moved her foot just a little.

The sound—

soft.

Musical.

Beautiful.

Her lips parted slightly.

And when she looked up—

Neel was already watching her.

Not openly.

Not intensely.

But enough.

Enough to make her aware.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

Priyal didn’t answer immediately.

Because the truth was—

it wasn’t just about liking it.

It was about what it meant.

And that…

that she didn’t know how to understand yet.

Still—

she nodded.

“Yes.”

Soft.

Honest.

Neel looked at her for a second longer.

Then turned slightly, picking up his phone again.

But the atmosphere—

it didn’t go back to normal.

Because something had shifted.

Something quiet.

Something dangerous.

Something neither of them had named—

but both had felt.

And as Priyal stood up slowly, the soft sound of her payal echoing faintly with each step—

she realized one thing.

Whatever this was—

it was no longer just a contract.

That's it for today.

The thing is that i wrote it very beautifully but due to some issues that got deleted 💀. So I had to write it again.

And yeah Neel is bipolar b**ch. I understand. But kya kare author ko chul hai 🙂.

Please tell me if you liked this chapter of not and the parts which need a bit more of attention. Though the transition of reaching and those will be sounding a bit weird today because I had to write it again and the same amount of beauty would not be there so so sorry for that.

Word Count - 6863

Bye Take Care

Author 🤍✨