Married to My Brother-in-Law, In Love with His Brother (CH 35 Early Acess)

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Chapter 35: Silence is Safer

Meenal couldn’t sleep.

The room was still—too still. Arun’s breathing rose and fell gently beside her, undisturbed. But her own chest felt too tight, her thoughts too loud. They weren’t even words. Just murmurs, fragments, and emotions she’d long taught herself to silence.

She shifted slowly so as not to wake the boy and drew the blanket over his small body. One hand lingered on his soft back for a heartbeat longer than needed. Then she slipped out.

The corridor was shadowed, the lanterns dimmed, and the world below the haveli slept.

But the aangan was bathed in cold moonlight, the winter air crisp and laced with silence. As she stepped down the stone steps, the marble bit into her feet—clean, untouched, lifeless.

Then she paused. Something caught her gaze.

A fire.

Its glow flickered low near the edge of the courtyard, tucked beneath the awning near the tulsi pot. And beside it—seated with his back straight, a shawl around his shoulders, and a cigar in hand—was Rajveer.

Her breath caught.

Any other night, she would’ve turned back. Walked the longer route through the rear corridor. Hidden in the silence like always.

But tonight… something in her refused to bend.

She walked to him—soft footsteps over old stone—and when she reached the edge of the fire, she saw he had placed a wooden stool beside his. Empty. Waiting. Or maybe not.

She sat.

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t offer a glance, a word, or even a shift in posture. The fire crackled quietly between them. Warm, orange light brushed over their faces, softening the hard edges they both carried.

She drew her shawl tighter and held her palm above the fire.

Neither spoke.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t companionable either. It just… was.

Like two ghosts sharing the same shadow.

Minutes passed.

Rajveer finally flicked the ash from his cigar and said, without looking at her, “Couldn’t sleep?”

She didn’t answer. Not because she was being stubborn—but because she didn’t trust her voice to come out calm.

He didn’t press.

Another minute. Two.

Then she whispered, “Some silences don’t rest.”

His gaze flicked to her, unreadable as throwing a log into the fire. "I know what you mean," he said softly, his eyes reflecting the dancing flames. And in that moment, she felt understood in a way she hadn't before.

“Sometimes,” he said, “silence is safer.”

That made her lips curve—not into a smile, but something gentler. Sadder.

“You always sit here this late?” she asked softly.

She glanced at him.

He tapped the ash into the brass tray.

“Not every night,” he said. “Only the cold ones.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Then, quietly, he said, “Because sometimes this is the only place that doesn’t feel cold.” His vulnerability was palpable, drawing her closer to him in a way she hadn't expected.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her shawl.

She didn’t know what brought her here tonight. What made her stay? But something in her—something broken, buried, and brittle—felt seen. Not forgiven. Not whole. But no longer invisible.

And that was more than anyone had offered her in years.

She stayed until the fire turned to ember, until the moon began its slow descent behind the neem tree, and let the silence answer for him.

And then she rose.

Rajveer's heart was heavy, swollen with all that remained unsaid. Her silence screamed louder than any goodbye.

"You are leaving..."
His voice was barely a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness between them.

She paused—just for a breath—and nodded.
No words. No farewell.

Only the firelight danced in her eyes, reflecting all she could never say.

She turned.

And walked away.

The stool beside him—where she had sat mere moments ago—stood bare. But it was no longer just empty.
It was waiting.

Her anklets chimed with each step, soft as a lullaby, sharp as regret.
In their echo, something inside him stirred—something long buried.
Long denied.

He watched her disappear into the night fog.
And in the quiet that followed, the fire sighed into embers, the silence between them thick as ash.

Then something glinted on the stone—delicate, familiar. An anklet.

He picked it up gently, as if afraid it might vanish at his touch.

It was cold—too cold.

He closed his fist around it, turned toward the dying fire, and whispered nothing at all.

Staring past the dying fire, he whispered a silent promise to himself to never repeat the mistakes of the past and to cherish what life has offered to him. He turned the anklet over in his hand, its delicate curve cold and familiar.

Megha’s name flickered in his thoughts—sharp, then gone.

But something else lingered.

The anklet caught the firelight once more before he slipped it into his pocket.

Not as a keepsake.

As a promise.

✨ Author’s Note✨

So… what did you think of that fireside moment? 🌙🔥
Meenal couldn’t sleep… and honestly, neither could I—until I poured this quiet, soul-heavy scene onto the page. Sometimes, two people can sit in silence and still say everything, right? 😌💬

This chapter holds a special place in my heart.
No loud confessions. No drama.
Just two wounded souls, a crackling fire, and an anklet that says more than words ever could. 💔🪔

And hey… did she leave that anklet on purpose? 👀 Or was it fate being sneaky again?
I’m not saying anything.
(Okay fine, maybe I am. But only in Chapter 36. 😄)

Let’s talk:
👉 Do you think Meenal is falling for him, slowly but surely?
👉 Would you sit by the fire with Rajveer if the seat beside him called your name?
👉 Is the anklet her glass slipper… and is she his Cinderella? 🥿✨👑

Tell me what your heart says in the comments. I love hearing your thoughts after these softer scenes.
Because sometimes, it’s not the storm—but the silence—that simmers into love. 🫶

See you soon for Chapter 36—it’s glowing on the horizon.

With warmth,
Shaar 💫