Dil ke Karib (Early Acess Ch 10)

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The rain came down hard, hammering the roof like it was trying to get in. It was the kind of night that refused to be ignored — loud, wild, relentless. Just like her thoughts.

Sheets of water lashed the courtyard, drowning out the world in its relentless rhythm. Thunder cracked somewhere above, close enough to rattle the brass handles of the almirah. A gust of wind pressed against the old windows, making them groan like the walls were tired of keeping secrets.

Nandini sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving.

She had tried to sleep. She had closed her eyes, counted the breaths between lightning and thunder, pressed her fingers to her temples like it could quiet the storm inside.

But sleep had long abandoned her.

Across the room, Rajeev lay on his thin cotton mat, turned to the wall, blanket half-kicked off. He always slept like that — quiet, contained, distant. Even in rest, he gave her space, never daring the intimacy of proximity.

Tonight, that distance was no longer gentle — it was exile.
The bed, vast and untouched, may as well have been another room.

Nandini clutched her saree closer around her shoulders. She adjusted her pallu out of habit. Not to hide — but because hiding had become easier than explaining.

A shame no one named, yet one she wore every night like second skin.

Her breath was shallow. Every crack of thunder dragged the past closer — uninvited and insistent.

The locked door.
The shadowed room.
The scent of sweat and betrayal.
The voice that once said her name like a prayer, now echoing like a curse.

She wanted to scream.
But her throat was dry — clogged with years of silence.
She wanted to cry, but her eyes stayed dry — grief had learned to stay silent, too.
She wanted to stand, go to the next room, slap him — that man — across his smug face.

But she didn’t move.

Because courage wasn’t always in the shouting. Sometimes, it was in the staying.

The wind howled through the cracks in the window. Another flash of lightning illuminated the room — and for a breath, she saw Rajeev’s silhouette.

Still. Breathing. Present.

She stared at him.

There was no invitation in his body language. No reaching hand. No question. Just quiet presence.

And yet, it called to her.

Maybe it wasn’t love.

Just the smallest crack in her wall, letting in warmth she hadn’t dared ask for.

Her bare feet met the cold floor. The smell of wet dust rose around her — comfort always a little out of reach. The edge of her saree brushed the floor, damp from the swollen air.

No words.

No noise.

She lay down beside him — awkwardly at first, uncertain, her hands stiff and curled like she was afraid of being caught stealing something.

But Rajeev didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just breathed.

His warmth reached her before his touch did.

It wasn’t an embrace. It wasn’t forgiveness.

It was proximity.
It was breath against breath.
It was the sound of rain meeting earth, two old griefs colliding and dissolving.

For the first time that night, Nandini let her eyes close.

She didn’t cry.

Didn’t speak.

But for the first time in a long time, someone’s breath met hers in the dark.

*****

What Nandini didn’t know was Rajeev was awake.

He had been, from the moment the storm began rattling the windows.
He heard it all — the uneven rise of her breath, the faint drag of her saree across the floor. Each step she took toward him echoed like thunder inside his ribs.

He didn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t.

Because the truth was, he had always felt too much — since the very first day.

Not love. Not pity. Not even desire, not exactly.

But something more unsettling.

He still remembered the slap.

That sharp afternoon under the banyan tree. The crack of her hand against his cousin’s cheek had echoed straight into Rajeev’s chest. In that moment, he saw not rage — but pain, coiled tight with dignity. It never left him.

He said nothing. Just turned, head held high, veil slipping just enough for him to see her eyes: unafraid. Unapologetic.

He admired her from that moment, though he never admitted it.
He never saw the face of the man who betrayed her — and it didn’t matter. What stayed with him was her defiance, not her history. And that respect would stay with him for the rest of his life.

Then came the panchayat.
When her name was dragged like dust across the village.
When her name was dragged with Rajeev because the misunderstanding had spread like wildfire. The accusations were baseless, but the damage was done. She stood strong, her eyes still unafraid, as the truth slowly came to light.
She stood alone — her spine straight, her voice steady — and said, "He is not the one who ruined me but saved me."
Rajeev had stayed silent. Not out of fear. But because his voice would have only added weight to the shame they tried to place on her. In that moment, silence became his offering.

Rajeev had stayed silent then.
Not because he was afraid.
But because his words would have dragged her down even further. And in that moment, he realized the true strength and courage she possessed.
Sometimes silence was the only protection he could offer.

And now — this.
She was beside him.
Not touching. Not asking. Just… there. A presence that felt both foreign — and fated.
The space between them was filled with unspoken things.
He had never known a woman like this — who carried her wounds so quietly, whose presence stirred something in him that was neither comfort nor guilt.

Just a pull. Constant. Subtle. Undeniable.

He had thought marriage would be an obligation. Duty.
But lying beside her, her breath slowing into sleep, he realized something with a sudden, quiet certainty:

She lived inside his thoughts. Had for a long time.

And though he still didn’t know her truth, he wanted to be worthy of it.
Not by asking.
But by being someone she could one day tell it to.

The brush of her sleeve against his arm — barely a whisper — made his skin tighten.
Not lust. Not romance.
Just the possibility of something new —
a bond forged not in words but in the hush between them.

A life not built on romance or rescue — but something stranger.
A bond made of silence, scars, and proximity.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

But his heart beat a little louder in the dark.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if the storm outside was louder —
or the one inside him.

******

Author’s Note 💫

Hold onto your seats, because Nandini’s journey is about to get REAL! 😳💥 The tension between her and Rajeev is thick, and things are heating up! Will the space between them bring healing or further distance? 🌧️

The storm inside them is just as fierce as the one outside… 🌩️ What’s your take on their silent bond? Do you think it’ll grow stronger or unravel? 🤔

🔥 Drop your thoughts below – let’s dive deep into this! 💭👇
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Let’s keep unraveling this story together! 💖✨ What do you think will happen next? The secrets are just beginning… 😉

Until Next time, lovelies.

Shaar Shree. 😉