Married to my Brother in law, In love with his Brother (CH 36 Early Access

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✨Chapter 36: The Sound of Anklets 

The anklet was still in his pocket when dawn cracked open the sky.

Rajveer hadn’t moved.

The fire had long given up its fight against the cold, and the first rays of sunlight touched the marble like cautious fingers—hesitant, almost apologetic for ending the night.

He stood, stiff from both the cold and the weight of everything unsaid, and made his way up the steps. The anklet tapped softly against his thigh with each step, a heartbeat made of silver.

As the sun crept higher, he tightened his grip around it—its delicate curve pressing into his palm like a quiet truth he hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

The memories of the night before slowly faded, replaced by the promise of a warmer morning.

A morning filled with possibilities and small beginnings. A morning where he might finally loosen the hold of the past and step, just slightly, toward the future.

In her room, Meenal stirred.

Sleep had eventually claimed her—but only after hours of staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence wrap itself around her. Her pillow still smelled faintly of sandalwood. His scent.

It unsettled her that she noticed.

Even more, it unsettled her that it brought comfort.

The tightness in her chest—the one that had followed her like a second shadow for days—was gone. In its place was a strange ache. Quieter. Duller. Not absence, but... something healing. Not healed. Just trying.

She sat up, eyes adjusting to the golden slant of morning light. The shawl she’d worn last night was still draped over the divan, touched now by sunlight that danced through the jharokha.

As her feet touched the cool marble floor, her gaze dropped—and stilled.

Her left foot was bare.

The anklet. Gone.

A sharp breath caught in her throat. The missing silver anklet had always moved with her—tinkling, whispering memories of her sister. She hadn’t worn one without the other in years. They were a pair. Like they had been.

The anklet was the last thing her sister had touched—threaded with memory, loss, and laughter that had died too soon.

She couldn’t lose it.

Not because it was silver.

Because it was her.

Still, she didn’t look for it.

And she didn’t remove the other anklet either, the one still chiming gently on her right foot.

The sound brought a fragile kind of comfort. A reminder that her sister's memory—though missing—was still near. Still alive in the echoes.

The haveli woke slowly.

Maids swept the corridors, their bristles brushing over stone like whispered chants. In the kitchen, brass pots clinked and morning prayers began.

Meenal lit incense, folded her hands in front of the deity, and whispered her sister’s name into the smoke.

The anklet continued to chime gently with every movement—a lullaby of love and loss.

Arun followed her as he always did, mimicking her mudras, then darted away to play in the courtyard, his laughter bouncing off the walls of the haveli.

The home was filled with life once again.

But she still felt the emptiness—less like absence and more like silence between notes. The space between grief and grace.

In the verandah, as soft sunlight filtered through the carved jharokhas, Meenal paused.

He was there.

Rajveer.

Sitting on the steps again—but this time in daylight.

Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow. A cigar between his fingers—unlit. His gaze was somewhere far, watching nothing in particular.

He looked less like the master of the house and more like a man waiting to step back into his own skin.

He didn’t notice her.

She could’ve walked away. Again. She had mastered the art of walking away.

But her feet seemed to remember a different path.

She stepped closer. Quietly. Paused at a pillar.

“You didn’t come for puja,” she said.

“Not today,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t feel like it.”

They stared at each other. A moment too long.

Then he stood. Brushed the imaginary dust off his kurta. Extended his hand, palm up.

“Prasad?”

She hesitated for half a heartbeat, then nodded. Stepping forward, she applied the tilak to his forehead. The cold sandalwood paste beneath her fingertip. The quiet stillness of that gesture.

He closed his eyes for a breath. When he opened them, they found hers.

And for once, didn’t look away.

This ritual.
This was the only thread still tying them to something. almost sacred. Even when they had nothing else.

He received the prasad from her hands, as he had done every morning since she arrived—even on the days they didn’t speak.

Because no matter the distance, this daily act was the only way he could stay tethered to her.

He never said it aloud.

But it mattered.

And then, without knowing why, he reached for the sindoor.

His fingers paused for only a second before he applied it to her hairline.

He had done this once before—on their wedding day.

Not once since.

The gesture startled them both. It was instinctive. Unexplained.

And yet… it felt right.

As if something old had found a new way to begin.

Meenal blinked. Felt the warmth of the red dust on her forehead. Her breath caught in her throat.

That evening, Rajveer still had the anklet in his pocket.

It chimed gently with each step—silver and soft, like a memory refusing to fade.

And still, he didn't return it.

Instead, he closed his hand around it.

Not hoping.

Just holding on.

Because sometimes, love doesn’t announce itself.
Sometimes, it just waits—in a pocket, in a prayer, in the faint chime of silver.

One day, maybe, he would be forgiven.

For not loving Megha enough. For not being a present husband to Meenal. For all the spaces he had left empty.

He didn’t know when.

But he knew one thing:

He would start from scratch. Again and again, if he had to.

Because sometimes, love isn’t loud.

Sometimes, it lingers.

Sometimes, it lives in silence.

And sometimes… it waits.

In a pocket.
In a prayer.
In the faint chime of silver.

🌺 Author’s Note 🌺

Okay... can we just pause for a second and talk about that anklet moment? 👣✨

Rajveer holding it. Meenal realizing it’s missing. The quiet tension. The not-so-quiet dhak dhak of someone’s heart (yours too? 👀). No one’s saying anything... and yet everything is being said. This chapter was all about the unsaid.

💬 “You forgot something.”
But did she really? Or was it her heart that left something behind?

I loved writing this scene—Meenal’s pride vs Rajveer’s sudden softness… the way she tries to act unaffected but totally isn’t (we see you, Takurain 😌). And Rajveer? Is it just the injury talking or is something melting in that stone man?

🔥 Silent sparks.
🎭 Hidden emotions.
💞 A slow-burn that's finally getting warm.

Tell me—are you team "He’s falling for her" or "Still too early to trust him"? I’m watching the comments! 👀

Chapter 37 will bring even more shifts (and maybe a certain someone won’t return the anklet just yet 😉). Hold on, romance lovers… we’re just getting started.

With love,
Shaar 💫