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🛎️ New to Nandini and Rajeev’s world? No worries! Catch up on Dil ke Karib (Chapters 1–40) on my website before diving in. Her story is just getting started… 💔✨

🔥 Don’t miss:
📖 Read: “Married to My Brother-in-Law, In Love with His Brother” — a forbidden 1950s romance filled with duty, desire, and defiance.

✨ Two stories. One unforgettable journey.

Now, let’s dive back into the latest chapter… 👇

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Chapter 41 The Rat in the Burrow

The house was quieter now.

Too quiet.

Ever since the hasty wedding and the blood-soaked truth, the storm had left behind an unsettling stillness—one where words hung heavy and glances carried more weight than conversations.

Nandini stood by the kitchen window, her hands cupped around a glass of cold buttermilk. The sourness eased the nausea in her throat, though her stomach still churned. She hadn’t told anyone she’d vomited twice already that morning. She didn't want to trouble anyone, especially not after everything that has happened.

She caught her reflection in the glass. Her eyes were duller, skin paler. But her hand instinctively went to her belly, cradling what now felt like a sin. A life within her. A blessing for many but a curse for her. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the fear and uncertainty that consumed her thoughts. The weight of her secret was suffocating, threatening to crush her spirit.

Behind her, soft footsteps.

She didn’t turn. She already knew it was him.

Rajeev.

“I asked Kaki to boil ginger,” he said quietly, setting a small plate of dry nuts beside her. “It might help.”

She didn’t thank him but took the nuts anyway.

He leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching her without pressure. Just… being there. The way he always had. Like a shadow that refused to leave, even when unwelcome.

Nandini chewed slowly, then said, “She still lives here.”

He followed her gaze. Across the courtyard, Sobha sat by the tulsi plant, her hands methodically rolling wool into tight skeins. Her hair was neatly tied, her sari crisp, and her face as unreadable as ever. But even from this distance, one could sense it—something inside her had soured.

“She’s not leaving,” Nandini murmured. “And neither is he.”

Rajeev didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

Because Vikrant hadn’t left either. He still paced the upstairs corridors at night, still sat at the family meals, and still carried his arrogant silence like a badge of survival.

And Sobha? She watched him. Every. Single. Move.

"I don't know why I feel pity for her; no matter what, Sobha doesn't deserve a husband like him," Nandini whispered, her voice heavy with concern. Rajeev finally spoke, his words laced with worry, "Sometimes to clean the wounds, you have to rip off the bandage. It was her choice to marry him to make him pay for his sins."

“But can she make a man like Vikrant pay for his sins?" Nandini asked, her eyes filled with doubt. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Rajeev’s voice was low. “Not if you know pain like she does.”

Nandini finally turned. Her eyes met his—sharp, searching. “You know something, don’t you?”

He hesitated.

“She didn’t just agree to this marriage,” she pressed. “She planned to ruin herself in the process, didn't she?”

Rajeev’s jaw tensed. But then he nodded, once.

“It wasn’t for the house. Or for appearances.”
He stepped forward, stopping just short of her.
“It was revenge. Bhai gave it to her. She was… lost, Nandini. Barely breathing. He gave her purpose.”

Nandini looked out again—at Sobha, who now rose, slowly walking toward the tulsi courtyard where Vikrant stood smoking.

Their eyes didn’t meet. But their bodies tensed at the same time—hers in silent fury, his in guilt-laced discomfort.

“She looks at him,” Nandini said quietly, “like she’s waiting.”

“She is.”

The afternoon sun slipped through the jarokas, casting shadows over the red stone courtyard. Sobha stepped lightly, with poise in every gesture. She passed Vikrant, pausing just enough for her words to reach him.

“You smell like a man with no home,” she murmured, not turning to look.

He stiffened. “This is my home.”

“Not for long,” she replied. “You don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

His voice was low and threatening. “Keep playing your little games, Sobha. But remember… you are a woman, and a woman has no power over a man like me."

She turned her head slightly, lips curving into something between a smile and a dare.

“No, Vikrant,” she said. "You mistake your filth for power. But all I see is a rat scurrying in borrowed corridors. I’ll be the light that finds you." With that, she walked away, leaving him seething with anger and frustration.

And as she walked away, sandalwood lingered—like ruin wearing perfume. Her anklets jingled—not like music, but like warning bells.

Later that night Nandini lay awake, hand on her stomach.

Rajeev was beside her on the floor mat as she was on the bed, the way he’d chosen to sleep since the wedding—close but distant. Protective, but never invading.

Nandini moved from the bed and lay beside him on the mat. "I don't want the baby if it turns out to be like him," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. Rajeev reached out and held her hand, his touch warm and comforting. "No, it will be different, because the child inside you is a part of you, not just him," he reassured her.

Nandini stared at him and asked the question that was underlying in her mind, "Do you hate me?"

"Hate you, why?" Rajeev responded, confused by her question.

“Because I’m no longer untouched… and this child—it’s his, not yours.” Nandini's voice trembled as she spoke, her fear and vulnerability palpable in the air.

"I told you before and will tell you again and again." Rajeev's eyes softened as he gently wiped away her tears. "I could never hate you for that. I love you, and I will love our child, no matter what."

"Why?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Rajeev took her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. "Because you're my wife. Isn’t that enough?" Nandini nodded, her eyes closing as she leaned into him.
The night stretched quiet around them, but within that silence, something stirred—hope, maybe. Fragile. But alive.

*****

🌙✨ Author’s Note – Chapter 41: The Rat in the Burrow 🐀🏚️

Hey you, lovely reader 💌

This chapter was quiet. Too quiet. Just like the house Nandini stands in — full of shadows, heavy glances, and words left unsaid. And yet… silence often screams the loudest, doesn’t it? 😶‍🌫️💔

Writing this felt like holding my breath and waiting for the storm to crack — but instead, I found something softer. Fragile hope. A woman’s quiet revenge. A husband’s unwavering love. A child still forming beneath all that pain 🤍🕊️

Sobha, oh Sobha. 🥀 Once broken, now dangerously composed. She doesn’t shout — she watches, she waits, and when she speaks… even Vikrant flinches. Her revenge isn’t loud, it’s surgical. Calculated. And I think that makes it all the more terrifying 🔥🧠

Meanwhile, Nandini struggles between guilt and grief, love and fear. Her question — “Do you hate me?” — gutted me to write 😢 But Rajeev’s answer? That’s the kind of love I wish every soul finds at least once in this lifetime. Honest. Steady. Kind 💛

And Vikrant? Let’s just say… even rats can feel the heat when the burrow starts burning. 🐀🔥

Thank you for walking with me through this silence, for reading between the lines, and for feeling with my characters the way you do 🌾

Drop a 🐭 if you loved Sobha’s spine of steel.
A 🌿 if Nandini made your heart ache.
And a 💛 if Rajeev earned your love in this one.

You being here means everything.
Until next time, with chai-stained fingers and a very full heart —
Yours, Shaar 🌸🫶✨