तेरे कंधे पे सर रख के,
हमने देखा है सपने…
कभी आँखों से जुदा ना हों,
ये चाहे थे अपने…
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For some time, only silence remained in the room, wrapping itself around them. Her hands cradled his like a quiet guard, while his stayed nestled in hers—calm, content, unresisting and at peace—both gently wrapped beneath the soft drape of her dupatta, like a secret the world wasn't meant to see.. No one said a word—and they didn’t need to. Words felt unnecessary. What remained wasn’t awkwardness, but a gentle stillness—an earlier hesitation now melted into the quiet peace of simply being together. Though the night stretched on and dawn loomed near, neither of them moved—for the silence between them felt warmer than sleep and the thought of parting, heavier than sleep.
Yet with quiet reluctance, she rose, her feet heavy with hesitation as she moved toward the door. Each step felt unwilling. Then she paused—turning to take one last, lingering look at his face. He met her gaze, just as intently, their eyes locked in a silence louder than words. Finally, the moment broke as she turned away once more. But this time, it wasn’t her feet that stopped her—it was him. His hand, firm yet gentle, wrapped around her wrist, halting her. She turned back, breath caught, as his eyes silently pleaded with her… to stay. She turned to him again, her breath uneven, her heart louder than the silence between them. His grip on her wrist remained gentle, but his eyes held a storm—of things he hadn’t said.
His eyes… they said it all. He didn’t need words—because in that stillness, she understood. She understood him. Without a sound, she found herself returning to where she had been, settling beside him once more. But this time, her hands didn’t reach for his—they reached for him. Gently, they rose to cradle his face, her touch soft, reverent. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came—only silence, thick with feeling. She tried again, her voice barely a murmur, filled with concern, with knowing.
"Kya hua, Veer?" she asked, the question hanging between them like a fragile thread, trembling in the quiet.
VEER.
That was her name for him. So simple—yet to him, it felt sacred. He held it close, letting it echo through the quiet corners of his heart. In that moment, he made a silent vow, to cherish this name for as long as time allowed him to feel, to love, to remember. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a trembling breath escaped. The weight in his chest made the words too heavy to rise. He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on hers, and finally—just barely—a whisper broke free,
"Ruk jaiye… Jaan."
Three small words, carrying all the emotion he hadn't yet found the courage to speak aloud.
For reasons she couldn't name, memories of her past self began to stir—A girl who had once lived in shadows, always afraid, always alone, carrying sorrow like second skin. She hadn’t known him for long—not even a month—but somehow, he had already begun to pull her out of that darkness. Not with grand gestures, but with quiet constancy…Slowly. Patiently. Gently. Always.
ALWAYS THERE.
And somewhere along the way, without noise or announcement, she had placed her heart and soul at his feet—willingly. And now… she knew it. She had. Staying a little longer no longer felt like a choice—it felt natural. He wasn’t asking for much. Just her presence. And that… he already had.
Always had. Always would.
She nodded. Soft, small—but it was there. And Yashveer saw it. A gentle smile followed, warm and unwavering, meant only for him.
Always him.
That single nod was enough. It needed no words—just quiet assurance, steady as her gaze.
Her. Only her.
Quietly, he reached up and held the hand that still cradled his face, his fingers curling around hers like a promise. Together, they rose, and without a word, he guided them toward the balcony. Tucked into a quiet corner was a small, cozy couch. He motioned for her to sit, and she did. A moment later, he sat beside her, then shifted—just slightly—and with the gentlest care, lowered his head into her lap. And the moment his head touched her… he exhaled. A soft, unguarded sigh.
Content.
That was all he felt.
As though the world outside had hushed just for them.
Their eyes met—and in that gaze, they spoke a language no one else would ever understand. A quiet conversation of glances, of emotions too deep for words.
He was the first to look away, a soft flush blooming on his cheeks as a small, contented smile played on his lips. Then, without a word, he turned toward her and gently buried his face against her clothed stomach—seeking comfort, and perhaps, something more tender than peace. Avyukta still couldn't look away. Her gaze lingered on him, as if afraid to blink and miss the softness of this moment. With slow, loving fingers, she moved through his hair—thick, smooth, and as effortlessly beautiful as he was.
And then, as if shielding him from the world, she pulled the end of her dupatta over his face—tucking him in like a quiet promise. Her eyes remained on him. For her, nothing else existed.
Just him. Only him.
She continued to move her hands through his hair, each stroke slower than the last, as if time itself had slowed to match the rhythm of her touch. There was no rush, no noise—only the warmth of him resting against her and the hush of her fingers threading gently through his locks. It felt like something sacred. Like stillness wrapped in love.
Like home.
And though no words were spoken, her every movement whispered to him, I’m here. I’m yours.
As her fingers continued their slow, soothing dance through his hair, she felt him ease into her touch. The tension in his shoulders melted, his breath deepened, and something within him stilled—relaxed.
He had fallen asleep. And in that stillness, she realized—Her presence had become his peace. The calm he had needed, found, and now held on to without a single word. And with him resting so quietly in her lap, it wasn’t long before her own eyelids grew heavy. Surrounded by the warmth of his closeness, cradled in the silence they shared, she too drifted into sleep.
They slept that way—In peace. In quiet.
Wrapped in each other’s presence and the soft, steady rhythm of love unspoken.
What they didn’t know was that four quiet pairs of eyes had been watching all along. From the balcony directly across, their siblings had seen everything—every glance, every unspoken word, every tender touch that needed no explanation. No words were exchanged among them, only soft smiles and eyes that glimmered with emotion. They knew the weight each of them carried… the pain, the walls, the healing.
And tonight, they witnessed something rare—two hearts finding home in each other.
There was no teasing, no whispers. Just quiet understanding. The kind only siblings could carry—with love, with pride, and a little protectiveness tucked beneath it all. They chose to leave this moment untouched, letting it remain sacred…a secret shared solely between the ones who lived it.
One by one, they turned away, stepping back into the stillness of their rooms—hearts full, minds at ease. And slowly, they too fell into the hush of night, comforted by the peace they had seen blooming just across the way.
That night marked their first in Vrindavan—the sacred land of devotion, where every breeze carried the echoes of eternal love. And perhaps, in that very place, God had already played HIS part—gently weaving their fates together, long before they had even met.
Now, it was their turn. To step into the roles written for them with care, To love as they were meant to—freely, completely. Their hearts and souls already belonged to one another, even if no vows had been spoken aloud.
And as the moonlight faded and morning waited just beyond the horizon, something stirred in the stillness— A quiet promise of a new beginning. For in the sacred streets where Shri RadhaKrishna once walked, they too would now walk—together, sharing a love that was both human and divine.
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