The sun rose lazily over the haveli, its golden fingers brushing against the sandstone walls and ancient carvings. But within Meera, there was no warmth. Just a strange numbness, as if her body moved but her soul had been left behind somewhere...

She awoke before dawn.

Not because someone asked her to, but because she couldn’t bear to lie still in that room — any longer.

The servants had been instructed not to interfere.

"This is your work now meera " the old housekeeper muttered .

“ Sarpanch ji likes his things a certain way... I'm retiring now..”- that old housekeeper of a 65 year old woman said stroking Meera's hairs and disappeared from there..

In The Kitchen ,

The soft sunrays hit the kitchen and the breeze came out from green lushy fields...

Meera tied her hair back in a messy bun, her old torn saree's phallu tucked in her waist curve and entered the vast kitchen.

She didn't speak even a word... Her eyes life less ..her face pale... And a pimple adorned her face on her cheek ..

She cooked in silence. Hands moved on their own — kneading dough, slicing vegetables, grinding masalas the way her father taught her before Kamla- her cruel stepmother took over everything.

She didn’t think about the food.

She didn’t care if the rotis puffed.

She didn’t care if the tea boiled too strong.

This wasn’t care. It was compliance.

---

His Room

She knew he is in terrace doing his workouts ... And eats breakfast only after doing workouts - and after refreshing ...

After placing the breakfast ready in hotpot , Meera climbed the staircase to clean his room.

The door was slightly ajar.

She hesitated before pushing it open.

The room smelled like him — masculine, clean, faint traces of smoke and sandalwood. Heavy books lined the wall. A rifle hung silently above a locked cabinet. His kurta from the day before lay tossed over the chair — black, cotton, creased.

She lifted it slowly and smelled the faintest hint of rain-soaked earth on it. His scent.

But she quickly pushed that thought away.

She made his bed — every corner tucked, every pillow firm. Not out of love. Not even duty. Just... to get it done.

She hated that her palms were tucking his bed now... Her hands are cooking meals for that monster who bought her like a cattle mercilessly ...

And when she is about drift in to her thoughts , she recognize the rhythm of his footsteps across the marble floors. That she could already guess he's here..

She hated knowing anything about him.

He entered with a domineering aura , only in his white cut vest on his body and a dhoti as lower... His body drenched in sweat - his muscles flexed , bulged out ... And from his hair sweat dripping like droplets...

She lowered her head and swept the room ignoring his presence..

He went to take a bath as usual after his heavy workouts ...

She served him three meals that day.

Each time, he sat at the head of the long dining table, alone, like a king with no court.

She entered quietly, placed the brass thali in front of him, poured water from the silver jug, and stood back.

He didn’t thank her.

He didn’t look up.

He didn’t say, “Sit. Eat.”

But he noticed.

She caught him watching — once, when she bent to collect the napkin.

Again, when she accidentally touched the steel tumbler too hot and flinched when it made a burn on her slender soft finger tips..

He watched her ... But didn't speak any words...

She saw him observing her acts..but she didn't care....

No words exchange in between them...

His eyes were always still, deep, unmoving — like a river right before it floods.

She never met them. She kept her gaze low, her body distant, her heart locked tight..

The day passed ... She indulged in work to not to think low about her... Like a sold goods .. just as a transaction...

She retreated to her small room in night after completing the kitchen chores and laid on charpai ( wooden cot ) out of exhaustion...

The moon rose high in sky , stars twinkling and the neem tree in the backyard gave a soothing breeze , and the eering sound of insects filled that dark night...

Her eyes darted to the window , and gazed at the moon...

She always amazed looking at moon .. but now , it didn't amaze her... It didn't excite her ... She's not the same girl anymore - who thinks a prince will come to her and take her to palace with love ...

She is just a object bought to the palace by a monster ... Not out of love .. but just as an object...

her mind restless - but her body felt exhausted from the chores and she skipped all the meals ...

And there is no one to even ask her - " did you eat ? ".

With heavy thoughts , she drifted in drifted in sleep ..

The next day ...🌄

After cooking breakfast and doing his chores mechanically , she went to the backyard..

she washed his clothes by hand.

Shirt after shirt. Kurta after kurta. She scrubbed silently, watching her knuckles turn raw. The soap stung her fingers, but she didn’t stop.

The sky above shimmered with heat.. and her body sweat made her soft red coloured torn saree clung to her body like a second skin ..

She felt it too much to handle... This pain - this scorching heat - this turmoil .. but she didn't vent it out..

And still, somewhere behind the jharokha, he watched..

Unseen. Silent. Burning with thoughts in his mind - but he never asked...

Dev stood there seeing her working mechanically ... Silent - but fierce ... !

---

Not once in these 3 days did Devendra touch her.

Not when she brought his tea, steaming hot, to the verandah where he sat reading files.

Not when she accidentally brushed against his shoulder in the hallway.

Not when she slipped on the wet floor near the kitchen and caught herself just in time taking support from the wall...

He never reached out.

But his eyes?

They never left her..!

That night, Meera sat near neem tree - slowly grinding the masalas to restock the kitchen ..

And the breeze hit her ... And she looked at the moon — full, fat, mocking.

She thought of her father.

She thought of Kamla’s smirk.

She thought of this golden cage that glittered but kept her trapped.

“You’ve made me an object.. ” she whispered seeing the moon...

“Not a wife. Not a woman. Not even a person.”- she said controlling her tears and live in haveli every minute with fear...

"What if he asks me to warm his bed ?? Am I a slut to him ??

What happens next ?

Do he punish me if I don't do my work ? Even if I fall sick - do I have anyone to care for me ??"- the questions barged in her brain , but with a sad smirk - her hands moved mechanically on the grinding stone to prepare masalas...

She didn’t know he was behind her.

“I never promised you anything,” Devendra said quietly.

She spun around. His voice always caught her off guard — gravel and depth, steady like thunder.

“You bought me Sarpanch ji” she snapped in low tone

“What else am I supposed to expect?”- she mumbled in low tone not wanting to see him ..

She hated his presence ... She doesn't want him near her...

He stepped closer, slowly. But not threateningly.

“You don't have to do all these ” he said, eyes locked on hers - but she didn't see him..

“You’re... something else. I haven’t figured it out yet.”- he said in plain thud tone..

She swallowed hard.

“Figure it out soon, Sarpanch saheb- Before I forget who I am .”- she mumbled , her hands still grinding the paste..

He looked at her — long, slow, like reading a scripture in a forgotten language. Then he turned, and walked away.

Leaving her under the moonlight, fists clenched, throat burning.

....

She served him everything.

Food. Water. Clean clothes. A tidy home.

But not her heart.

Not yet.

And he?

He watched from the shadows.

noticing everything.

🌄

The sky was swollen with heat, and as her routine she wokeup doing the chores...

It was day four since Meera entered the haveli.

Four days of silence.

Four days of service.

Four days of acting like a shadow in a palace she didn’t belong to.

She hadn’t eaten much. Her body moved like it was wired to survive — not live. Her lips were chapped, her hands blistered, her eyes hollow but wide open.

Still, she cooked.

She didn’t taste the food. She didn’t care if the spices were too sharp or the dal too thick.

She stirred the pot, steam kissing her face, vision blurry. The world around her felt distant. Like it had been dipped in fog.

She felt her body is asking for energy ..but she's stubborn ..

---

Outside the Kitchen...

Devendra stood by the pillar of the west courtyard — arms crossed, one leg resting on the carved stone.

He wasn’t staring. He never stared.

But his eyes found her, every time.

He watched her wrists shake when she poured water.

Noted how she coughed softly, hiding it behind her saree's phallu...

Saw how her braid had loosened completely by afternoon, yet she hadn’t fixed it once.

He didn’t say a word.That wasn’t who he was.

--- he ate his lunch and went to farm lands to check the crop ... Then went to panchayat to solve the disputes between villagers...

There in the haveli - meera sat leaning to kitchen wall ... Her knees bent And touched her torso... Thinking about her fate in this haveli - with this monster...

She drank some water from pot placed at corner - as she felt her head spinning... And her body is sweating too much ...

There , she heard the sound of his jeep ... And knew it he came home..

As he washed his hands and legs outside , he came in rolling his kurta sleeves and sat on dining table..

She came from the kitchen holding the vessels and placed them on the table - not even glancing at him...

And she went to the kitchen to bring the curry she cooked - her steps not in straight line... But she didn't stop .. just her stubbornness..

As she went to the kitchen island and took the copper pot in her hands , it slipped from her hand. The handle scorched her palm, and her knees buckled.

She gasped, gripping the wooden counter, sweat glistening on her forehead.Her chest rose and fell too fast. Her mouth opened as if to call for help — but no sound came.

And then — she collapsed inside the kitchen .. laying unconscious and the sounds of vessels echoed in haveli..

Silence. Stillness. Then… Footsteps.

Devendra’s boots echoed sharply across the haveli as he entered the kitchen, fast and firm. His kurta flared slightly with each step.

Without hesitation, he bent down and scooped her into his arms.

She was feather-light and he lift her like she weighs nothing ... Just like his workout equipment...

Her skin radiating , her body Burning hot. She's Breathing, but shallow.. her face pale and from her braid - some loose hairs strands came out and she didn't care to braid them...

He didn’t call for servants. He didn’t shout. He didn’t ask questions.l

His kneeled on floor , his fingers brushed her skin at first.. but then his one hand grip held her waist curve , and another hand just a few inches from touch her mounds ...

He acted... His foot steps echoed in corridor as he lifted her in bridal style and walked away from kitchen ...

Hey readers...👽

I'm so upset... Why aren't you commenting .. isn't the plot intersting ??

Second update for the day..

Happy reading 💚