The first rays of dawn had barely begun filtering through the windows, casting a pale glow across the room. Samaira stirred in her sleep, her bridal jewelry pressing uncomfortably into her skin. Her limbs felt heavy, and her head buzzed with exhaustion from the previous day. Across the room, Aayansh shifted on the couch, his gaze lingering briefly on her.
She looked so delicate, tangled in the embroidered dupatta, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a painting. For a second-just a second-his cold exterior faltered, but he quickly reminded himself. This wasn't his concern.
This marriage wasn't a choice but a burden, a knot tied for reasons beyond their control. His father had forced him into this union, and now he was stuck with Samaira Malick-timid, quiet, and utterly unfamiliar to him.
Samaira woke slowly, blinking against the pale morning light. Her gaze landed on Aayansh, who stood by the window, looking out at the city bathed in the morning haze. For a moment, she forgot where she was. But the weight of the unfamiliar room and the memories of the rushed wedding came crashing back all at once.
She adjusted her dupatta over her shoulder, feeling awkward. "Umm... Good morning," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Aayansh didn't turn to face her. "Good morning," he replied flatly, his tone cool and distant, as if politeness was just an obligation.
Samaira hesitated before speaking again. "Aap... theek se soye nahi?"
Aayansh scoffed quietly. "Couch pe kaun theek se sota hai?"
She bit her lip, unsure how to respond. "Main-main couch pe so jati..."
"Nahi zarurat nahi thi," Aayansh interrupted without looking at her. "Mujhe aadat hai."
His words stung a little, but Samaira swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She slipped off the bed, the heavy fabric of her bridal clothes dragging as she moved toward the wardrobe. Her fingers grazed the soft material of a light pink and white salwar kameez.
When Samaira came downstairs, she found Aayansh already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, cooking. The sight surprised her.
"Aap kya kar rahe hain?" she asked, stepping closer. "Yeh mera kaam hai."
Aayansh glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. "Mujhe karne do. Tumhe abhi tak rest ki zarurat hai."
"Par... main kar sakti hoon," Samaira insisted, moving toward the stove. "Aap jaake rest kariye."
Aayansh's lips twitched slightly, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Tumhare naye kapde kharab ho jayenge," he said dryly, gesturing toward her outfit. "Aise pyaare libaas me kaam mat karo."
Samaira frowned but couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Acha?" She raised a brow, her voice teasing. "Aapko mere kapdon ki fikr kabse hone lagi?"
Aayansh's eyes flickered with something she couldn't quite place-amusement, maybe? But his face remained impassive. "Bas... zarurat se zyada curious mat ho."
Samaira shook her head, unable to suppress her smile. "Theek hai," she said, grabbing a spoon. "Lekin breakfast to main hi banaungi."
Aayansh crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, watching her with an unreadable expression. "Tum stubborn ho," he murmured.
Samaira grinned. "Aur aap khadoos ho."
For the first time, Aayansh's lips twitched, as if he was fighting back a smile.
They sat down for breakfast, an awkward silence lingering between them as they ate. Samaira stole a glance at Aayansh, who poured himself a glass of orange juice. He was sharp-featured, with a quiet intensity that made her uneasy.
"Yeh ghar... bohot bada hai," Samaira said cautiously, trying to fill the silence. "Aap yahan akelay rehte hain?"
Aayansh didn't look up. "Haan."
Samaira hesitated. "Aur... aapke parents?"
Aayansh's hand stilled briefly over his glass, but he didn't raise his eyes. "Ammi ka saalon pehle inteqal ho gaya." His voice was flat, as if the words carried no weight, but Samaira could sense the underlying pain.
She lowered her gaze. "Mujhe nahi pata tha... main-main sorry..."
"Zarurat nahi," Aayansh interrupted, his tone sharper than before. "Aur mere father... unhe mere saath rehne ka koi shauq nahi. Subah Dubai chale gaye hain."
Samaira bit her lip, unsure how to respond. She hated that she kept bringing up things that hurt him. "Main waqai sorry hoon," she said softly.
Aayansh gave a noncommittal shrug, finishing his food in silence. "Bas khana khatam karo," he said, standing up. "Mujhe kaam ke liye nikalna hai."
Before leaving the room, he paused. "Ghar late aunga. Tum khana khalena."
Samaira nodded, watching as he left the room, his broad shoulders disappearing down the hallway.
With the house to herself, Samaira wandered through the mansion. Every room she entered was more luxurious than the last, filled with expensive furniture, artwork, and decor. But despite the grandeur, the place felt empty-soulless, as if no one had ever truly lived there.
Eventually, she found a door leading down to the basement. Curious, she descended the narrow staircase and discovered a hidden treasure: a library.
Samaira's heart swelled with joy as she took in the sight of the library. Tall mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with books of every kind-classics, modern novels, poetry collections, and even rare editions. A large oak table sat in the middle of the room, accompanied by plush armchairs, inviting anyone to sink into them and get lost in a world of words. Soft golden lamps illuminated the space, creating a warm, cozy atmosphere that felt out of place in the cold and distant mansion.
Samaira ran her fingers lightly over the spines of the books, her heart calm for the first time since her wedding. This was a haven, a hidden treasure buried in a place she hadn't thought she could ever belong to. For a moment, it was as though her reality-the marriage, Aayansh's cold demeanor, and her uncertain future-disappeared, replaced by the quiet promise of stories waiting to be told.
The air was cool, and the scent of old books filled the room. This was a place she could lose herself in. She grabbed a copy of Pride and Prejudice and settled into a plush armchair, her heart lighter than it had been in days.
Hours passed unnoticed. When Samaira finally emerged from the library, she found Aayansh in the kitchen again, pouring himself a glass of water. His sleeves were still rolled up, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looked tired but as guarded as ever.
"Aap waapas aa gaye?" Samaira asked, surprised.
Aayansh gave a small shrug. "Meeting jaldi khatam ho gaya."
"Main kuch banati hoon dinner ke liye," she offered, stepping forward.
"Zarurat nahi," Aayansh replied. "Order kar diya tha. Bas thodi der me aa jayega."
Samaira nodded, sitting down at the table. They ate in relative silence, the occasional clink of utensils breaking the stillness.
"Aapko waqai books pasand hain?" Aayansh asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His tone was still cold, but the question felt like an olive branch.
Samaira smiled. "Bachpan se," she admitted. "Books hi meri duniya thi."
Aayansh nodded thoughtfully, as if trying to make sense of it. "Samajh aata hai," he said quietly.
Samaira hesitated, then asked, "Aur aap? Aap kaise escape karte hain?"
Aayansh's expression darkened, and for a moment, she regretted asking. But then he answered, his voice low. "Main escape nahi karta. Jo cheez saamne ho, uska saamna karta hoon."
His words hung heavily between them, filling the space with unspoken weight. Samaira could sense the burden he carried, though he would never admit it aloud.
The doorbell rang, interrupting the moment. Aayansh stood up to collect the food, and they ate in silence once more.
But this time, the silence felt different-less like a barrier and more like a tentative understanding.
That night, as Samaira lay in bed, she found herself thinking about Aayansh. He was distant, cold, and difficult to read, but there were moments-small, fleeting moments-when she caught a glimpse of something softer beneath the surface.
And maybe, just maybe, if she was patient enough, she could find a way to reach him.
Outside her door, Aayansh stood in the dim hallway, listening to her soft, even breathing.
For the first time in a long while, the silence didn't feel so lonely.
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