Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Shivani's Pov

I woke up.

The room was quiet—the kind of silence that settles after a long night of pretending. For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then the unfamiliar ceiling came into focus, and reality followed.

Malhotra mansion.

Malhotra surname.

Malhotra marriage.

I slipped out of bed and went into the bathroom. The mirror greeted me with a woman I barely recognized—red sindoor at the parting of my hair, bangles resting heavy on my wrists.

A wife.

I looked at myself for a long time, as if the reflection might blink first.

After my bath, I draped the red saree around myself. Red—the colour of marriage, of promises. I adjust the pleats and begin combing my hair.

The door opens behind me.

Gautam.

He has just returned from the gym. When I glance at him through the mirror, I see him stop mid-step. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment—too brief. Something flickers there before his expression hardens. Without saying a word, he walks past me and enters the washroom. The door closes.

I look at the closed door for a few seconds, then turn away and leave the room.

---

Downstairs, in the living room,

Ranvijay Malhotra and Rakesh Malhotra sat in the living area, deep in conversation. Papers lay spread across the table, tablets in hand, voices low and measured. The language of business never slept in this house.

I walked over and bent to touch their feet.

Ranvijay’s ji hand rested briefly on my head. Rakesh ji murmured a blessing.

Anamika ji calls me from the dining table and reminds me of the ritual. I nod, take her blessings, and head to the kitchen to prepare a sweet dish.

The kitchen is already busy. A few servants are moving around, carrying breakfast trays to the dining table. I decide to make kheer.

I pour the milk into a heavy pan and place it on the stove, stirring slowly as it begins to boil. The familiar rhythm of cooking steadies me. I add rice, sugar, and cardamom, focusing only on the task in front of me.

Once the kheer is ready, I transfer it into a serving bowl and carry it to the dining table.

Everyone is present now.

Including Gautam.

He sat quietly at his place, composed, his face unreadable. As I stepped closer, he looked up briefly. Our eyes met for just a second.

There it was again.

That same hesitation.

That same restraint.

Not distance.

Fear.

The faint clink of cutlery filled the silence as I placed the bowl on the table.

And suddenly, I understood.

This man wasn’t guarding his heart from me.

He was guarding himself from remembering how it once broke.

I stepped back, my hands folding automatically in front of me.

Whatever this marriage was meant to be—

It was already far more complicated than a contract.

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