Dhruv's POV

"BHAI!" Kabir yelled and came running towards me. He sat beside me and waved his phone in the air. "Social media? Really?"

I didn't even flinch. I am so used to his yelling. "What happened, Kabir?"

"You really went and did it. You posted a photo. And not just any photo—your wife, draped in a saree, looking like a dream, and you captioned it 'My wife.' Bro, you dropped a bomb." He said with wide eyes.

Before I could retaliate, Karan sauntered in, already smirking.

"Wait. We're talking about this post?" He said, showing my post on his phone.

"Exactly that one." Kabir said with a flourish.

Karan flopped onto the couch, grabbing a handful of nuts. "I never thought I'd see the day. Bhai, who once called emojis 'an assault on language,' is now dropping wifey posts. Aesthetic ones, no less."

Before I could defend myself, two more voices joined the conversation.

"Oh my God," Sachi said, sipping chai. "My workaholic bhai became so romantic. Aarav, learn something."

"What's there to learn? I am more romantic than my dear brother-in-law." Aarav said.

"You didn't post something that could break the internet." Sachi said with a pout.

"Wife, I am an ordinary man, not royal like your brother." He said in a pitiful tone.

"Mom said, Aakriti's so lucky to get a husband like you, Dhruv. Dhruv must love her so much. Everyone is praying to get a husband like you, brother-in-law." Aarav said in a teasing tone.

"Glad I could amuse everyone," Dhruv said. Aakriti sat down, pretending to scroll through her phone as if she was not present here. Her lips twitched, but she stayed silent.

"Kabir," Sachi said, still beside Aakriti, "tell him how fast that post spread. Rohit messaged me and said, 'Wait. The Dhruv Rathore? Your brother? The one who doesn't believe in love? He posted a wife appreciation post.' "

"He thought it was AI-generated," Aarav added.

Kabir clapped dramatically. "We should frame it. Hang it in the hallway. 'The Day Dhruv Rathore Acknowledged Emotion.'"

"I'll design it," Karan said solemnly. "In gold."

"Maybe add sparkles too," Sachi chimed in, trying to suppress her grin.

I set the coffee mug down and stood up. "You're all jobless."

"Not jobless," Karan replied. "Emotionally invested. There's a difference."

"Also—don't act unaffected," Sachi said with a smirk. "You picked the photo where her hair was falling just perfectly, with that blurry background. It was a full romantic edit. Don't even try to say you posted it casually."

"...It was a decent photo." She looked like a goddess, so it was an involuntary decision to click her picture. Posting on social media was a declaration that I had wanted to make for so long. But I forgot about my siblings. I don't mind their teasing, but maybe Aakriti will feel uncomfortable.

"Oh my god, you're blushing," Aarav grinned.

"I'm not," I snapped, deadpan.

"Wait," Kabir said, already pulling out his phone. "Smile, all of you. Let's take a group selfie; after all, we are witnessing a legendary moment."

Karan leaned in. "Tag Bhai and write 'Formerly known as Ice King.'"

Aakriti laughed, finally joining in. "You guys are going to give him an identity crisis."

"Too late," Sachi whispered.

Kabir showed the group selfie to Aakriti. "Should we caption this 'The day he melted'?"

She laughed, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Only if he allows us. After all, Raja Sa's permission is a must." Everyone looked at her with amusement and burst out laughing.

Karan bowed dramatically. "All hail Raja Sa, the benevolent ruler of hearts and social media posts." Kabir also joined him.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't suppress a grin. "Fine, but don't make it sound like I'm granting a royal decree. I'm just here to survive your nonsense."

Maybe I was blushing.
Maybe I didn't care anymore.

I looked around at all of them—my chaos, my home. Aakriti's gaze met mine, soft and sure.

She didn't say anything.
But her eyes showed that she knew.
That I didn't mind the teasing.

Aakriti's POV

The room was warm with all the lighting and that faint scent of cedarwood Dhruv somehow always carried with him. He was sitting on the couch, half-distracted by his tablet, eyebrows knit like the world depended on that screen.

I sat on the bed with my back resting against the headboard, flipping through a file. But I wasn't really reading. Not when I could see him looking like a male god engrossed in all his work. Solid. Silent. So effortlessly present.

My eyes wandered to the phone beside me. The one that hadn't stopped buzzing all day with tagged posts and forwarded stories—all centered around that photo. His photo.

Black and white. Minimal caption. "My wife."

Just two words. And yet, my ears had been ringing since morning. Why did you do that, Dhruv? Wasn't our marriage something you didn't particularly desire? Dhruv, you posted my photo showing your possessiveness, declaring to everyone that I belong to you, shocking everyone. Not because I didn't like it—but because I did. And that terrifies me.

I know that I feel something for you, and even you do. I know it by the way you behave with me, taking care of me like I am a fragile doll. But I don't want it to be love. I love the comfort and understanding that is between us, and I don't want it to fade. But love always fades. I've seen it. In my home. In others. It starts with bright eyes and ends with empty rooms and colder shoulders.

I don't want to depend on you or show all my vulnerability only for you to realize that you don't need me anymore. I don't want to be another memory you outgrow.

"Aakriti." Dhruv called me, breaking my trance.

"Let's go and have dinner." I picked up my phone and stood up.

"Dhruv."

He hummed in response, shut his tablet, and stood up, coming towards me.

"I've been thinking..." I said in a soft tone.

That got his attention. Barely. His eyes flicked up, skeptical.

"This tone means danger." He murmured, barely audible, but I could hear him.

"Maybe I should post something too." I said in a teasing tone. He narrowed his eyes like I'd just threatened to burn his suits.

"A photo," I continued, tapping my chin dramatically. "Captioned... I don't know... 'My husband'? Or maybe 'Mine. Legally and emotionally'. Sounds good, no?"

"Copying me doesn't suit you. Rani Sa." He said, teasing me back.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on his knees. "Or how about something fun like, 'Rated 11/10. Would accidentally marry again'." He exhaled in an annoyed way.

He closed his tablet. "You're not serious."

"Oh, I'm very serious," I said, biting my lip to hide the smile. "Should I find that photo Kabir clicked during our wedding ceremony? The one where you look like an ad for expensive loneliness?"

His hand reached out, slow and deliberate, and took the phone from my hand. "You're done."

"I'm not!" I laughed, trying to grab it back. "I have at least three more captions in my drafts!"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're not posting anything."

"Why? Embarrassed?"

"No," he said, eyes boring into mine. "Terrified of what you'll write."

"Me doing it was aesthetic, but you doing it would be cringe." He said.

"How mean." I pouted.

"But you forgot one thing: to praise my photography skills." He said.

"Why should I? The photo turned out so good because I am beautiful. You forgot you said something to me on our wedding night. I guess it was true." I said, bragging in front of him.

"True, Mrs. Aakriti Dhruv Singh Rathore looks more beautiful than Miss Aakriti Nanda ever did." He said in a soft tone. I looked away first. I know I am blushing right now. That is the power he holds over me. The room suddenly felt too quiet.

It wasn't about the photo. Not really.

And it wasn't jealousy, or possessiveness, or anything dramatic.

It was just... this strange pull.

"Fine," I said, brushing imaginary creases on my saree.

"No post. You already declared that I am yours. Who dares to challenge you, Raja sa?"

He smirked. And I hated how my heart reacted to it.

"You certainly do love to call me that, right, Rani Sa?" He said, raising an eyebrow, voice low and teasing.

Every time he called me Rani Sa, something inside me stirred—something I didn't want to name. Because naming it meant giving it power. And I've known that the moment you hand someone your heart with a name tag, they forget it belongs to a person. They just see it as another thing to hold until they grow bored.

"It just feels more lively to address you like that." I replied, folding my arms to hide the way my fingers itched to reach for his. "Formal. Regal. Dignified. Just like you."

"Is that how I seem to you?" His smile faltered for a second. Barely. But I noticed.

"That's how I am in front of others. With you..." I looked away, suddenly too aware of the space between us. Too aware that I didn't want it to grow. Did I say something wrong?

"With me..." I longed for him to complete his sentence.

He took a step closer, his voice brushing against my skin like a whisper. He invaded my space without crossing the line, always so controlled and careful. I could feel the shift in the air.

"With you I am me. Without any layers of excellence or composure."

And just like that—my walls threatened to crumble.

My breath caught, my thoughts scattering like fragile glass.

Because those words... they were everything I had wanted to hear and everything I was terrified of hearing.

I didn't know how to handle this version of him—raw, honest, unmasked. It was easier when he was mischievous and bossy. When I could pretend this marriage was just circumstantial, built on duty, on tradition. Not on choice. Not on emotion. We were just trying to adjust.

But now?
He made it sound so real. That I was the only one in his raw and unfiltered world.

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "That's a dangerous thing to admit."

He tilted his head, studying me. "Why?"

What should I answer him? That your words make me believe that you love me? Love, the word that seems like a joke to me. Like forever. Like being someone's safe place. Like love that stays.

I looked away, and he didn't force me to answer. He just stood there—present, unwavering.

And somehow, that silence spoke louder than any promise ever could. 

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