Dil Ke Karib (Early Acess Ch 7)

The morning came in quiet shades of gray. The faint rustling of leaves outside the window was the only sound, save for the soft creak of wood as Nandini shifted under the thin blanket.

For a moment, she didn’t move — as if pretending to be asleep might delay the inevitable weight of remembering.

But the ache was already there.

She sat up slowly, the cool air brushing against her skin. Her gaze flickered to Rajeev’s side of the room. He was already gone. The blanket was folded neatly, his presence erased but not unnoticed.

A strange pang settled in her chest — not worry, not longing — but something quieter, something unfamiliar. Consideration.

She rose and stepped toward the small brass pot near the bed. Someone had filled it. The water was warm and fresh. A small gesture. How does anyone know that drinking warm water upon getting out of bed in the morning helps with digestion?

Rajeev.

Did he notice? He must’ve done it before leaving. She didn’t know when he had started these quiet offerings — small comforts that didn’t speak of obligation but of... awareness. It unsettled her. Not in fear, but in something close to guilt, close to awe.

He never asked for thanks. That was what unsettled her most. Never expected acknowledgment. And yet, he kept noticing the things she didn’t say.

She took the pot of warm water from the bedside table and sipped it slowly, feeling grateful for his silent care.

She took another sip, more thoughtful now, wondering how Rajeev had known — or if he’d simply guessed. Either way, it unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Kindness was harder to accept than cruelty. Cruelty you could explain.

Later, when she stepped out into the courtyard, she saw him — crouched near the tulsi plant, fixing a loose brick along the edge. His kurta was stained with morning dust. He looked up briefly, then stood, brushing his hands on his knees.

"Morning," he said simply, not forcing the moment.

Nandini hesitated, unsure if she should speak, unsure even if she wanted to. But she nodded, a slight incline of the head — the first non-defensive response she'd offered in days.

He didn’t comment. He didn’t smile, either. Something softened in his eyes. She remembered the rumors — that he was once playful, the carefree youngest son of the village head. Then why this sudden change in demeanor? Was it the weight of responsibility that had settled on his shoulders by being forced to marry her, or something else entirely? Nandini couldn't help but wonder as she watched him continue his work in silence.

"I am leaving with Bhai for the city; I might not come back tonight," Rajeev said, his tone flat, already turning back to his task.

The words sat with her through the day, lingering long after the food was gone. Not a demand. Not an apology. Just space — given, not taken.

By afternoon, she found herself outside, sitting beneath the same banyan tree where her old love had once made false promises. The irony didn’t sting as sharply now. The ghosts were still there, but quieter.

She clutched her shawl, grounding herself. The silence no longer felt empty — it almost felt companionable.

Then came the sound of steps.

Goosebumps prickled along her arms. Had he come back?

She turned around slowly, heart pounding in her chest.

Rajeev stood a few feet away, a small plate in hand — two slices of raw mango sprinkled with red salt. A childhood treat. Something once sacred in monsoon seasons, something that made girls laugh and boys tease.

She blinked.

"Didn’t know if you liked it," he said, placing the plate on the bench beside her. "But Amma used to say it's good for bad moods."

He didn’t sit. He didn’t wait.

But he didn’t leave either.

Nandini stared at the plate. She didn’t touch it. But she didn’t push it away either.

Mangoes. She clenched her fist as her heart swelled with nostalgia. It was the same trick he had once used — to make her believe he loved her only to discard her heartbroken and shattered. The memories flooded back, mixing sweetness with bitterness. She forced a smile — part memory, part mistrust.

"You don’t have to... keep trying," she said finally, her voice low, hesitant. "I know this isn’t... what you wanted."

Rajeev looked at her for a long moment.

"I didn’t come into this wanting anything," he said.
She looked away, the words pressing against her ribs.
"But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you."

"You didn’t even speak at the panchayat," she said suddenly, unable to stop herself. "You just stood there. Let them blame you. For me."

A pause.

"I knew what they would say," he replied. "And I knew they wouldn’t listen. But if silence could give you shelter... then I chose silence."

Shelter.

The word settled around her like the warmth of chai on a winter morning. Strange. Foreign. Familiar.

"You pity me," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I don't want your pity," he responded firmly, his eyes meeting hers with a sense of understanding.

"Then why did you agree to marry me, when you could’ve married anyone? Why did you stay quiet when they blamed you? Why protect someone like me — touched by someone else's hands, stained by someone else’s sin?" She searched his eyes for an answer but found only a steely resolve that made her heart ache with longing for the truth. "Sometimes... silence’s the only shield left," he murmured.

Tears formed in her eyes as she realized the sacrifices he had made for her. “You deserve someone who isn’t... broken," she whispered, feeling a deep sense of unworthiness.

"Do you want to know why I stayed silent? Why I agreed to marry you?" Rajeev mumbled, sitting on the ground beside her, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Because I’ve seen how women are blamed for carrying the burden of truth when men are the ones who should be held accountable." His words struck a chord deep within her, making her understand the weight of his decision to protect her from the harsh realities of the world. "I have seen how both men and women fall in love and lose themselves in the process," he continued, his voice filled with emotion. "Because I’ve seen how easily a woman’s truth turns into her shame, I didn’t want them to touch yours." His voice cracked slightly, and for the first time, she saw him not as a protector or stranger, but as someone just as afraid.

He rubbed his thumb along the edge of the plate, as if buying time. The silence between them thickened — no longer awkward, just real. Like something breaking open without making a sound.

Nandini looked at his face, saw the pain — and the quiet resolve behind it. "Do you want to share this burden with me?" she asked softly, her heart filled with gratitude for his selfless gesture.

“What burden?” Rajeev asked, wiping his eyes. “I don't know. But maybe that’s why I stayed silent. Because something inside me... weighed heavier than blame.”

Nandini wanted to reach out to hold his hand but stopped herself.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly. "I know how broken I am... after what he did. Maybe I can understand what you're going through." She waited patiently, giving him the space to share his pain when he was ready.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away. And somehow, that was enough.

"We are married, even if I can't be the wife you desire, but I can be the friend you need right now. I will always be here for you, no matter what." Nandini's words were filled with sincerity and compassion, offering him a safe space to confide in her without fear of judgment.

Rajeev stared at her. A question trembled on his lips — not yet spoken, not yet safe.
And Nandini, for once, held his gaze.

*****

Author's Note 🌿✨

Ah, silence. Sometimes, it speaks louder than words, doesn’t it? In this chapter, I wanted to explore what happens when two broken souls stop trying to fix each other and instead begin to see each other — quietly, deeply, and with understanding. 🫖💔

You might remember Rajeev from Chapter 1 — carefree, mischievous, always ready with a smile that hid a million unspoken words 😏🌾. And now? He feels like someone entirely different. But here’s the thing: life doesn’t change people — it reveals them.

Between being thrust into a marriage he didn’t choose and watching Nandini silently crumble in front of the world, something buried deep inside Rajeev stirred. Pain does that. Silence does that. And love — in its rawest, most unglamorous form — sometimes asks for nothing more than simply being there.

The truth? You never know what someone is carrying until it breaks them open. Rajeev’s quiet decisions reflect what lies beneath — the hidden, unspoken things no one sees. In the upcoming chapters, we’ll begin to uncover why Rajeev chose to shoulder Nandini’s burden and what it truly means to protect someone when the world has already decided they’re beyond saving. 💭

With love and gratitude,

Shaar Shree.