Married to my Brother in law. In love with his Brother (CH 43 Early Access)

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✨Chapter 43: The Powder of Love

The haveli awoke with its usual rhythm. Brass vessels clanged in the kitchen, the dull thud of pestle against stone echoed from the spice corner, and the sweep of brooms whispered across the marble floors. The fragrance of wet earth, still heavy from the night’s rain, drifted through the courtyard, mingling with the faint smoke of incense curling upward from the temple corner.

Rita moved among the other maids with quiet obedience, her frail frame nearly invisible in the morning bustle. Her daughter toddled beside her, clutching at the loose end of her sari, thumb tucked firmly in her mouth. Though her hands scrubbed and rinsed, folded and carried, her mind was far away.

Aditya’s face haunted her—the shadow in his eyes, the way his voice had faltered, and the rare softness when he had said thank you. It hurt her heart to see a man like him wandering in sorrow, carrying burdens meant for no one. He deserves more, she thought; he deserves light, not darkness.

It was then she overheard them. While tugging water from the well.

Two of the older servants crouched by the well, beating clothes against stone slabs, their heads bent together in secretive chatter. Rita’s ears caught snatches of their words, carried on the rhythm of their work.

One maid giggled, “Just a pinch, and your husband will chase you like a calf after its mother!”
The other snorted, “Arre, nonsense! You’ll get us all cursed if someone hears!”

The women’s voices faded into giggles, but their words clung to Rita’s mind like burrs. A powder? A potion that could bind a husband’s heart? That could turn his gaze, keep it steady, keep it hers?

Rita froze, water dripping from her hands into the copper basin she held. For the first time since her husband’s death, her pulse quickened not with grief but with a wild, fragile hope.

She thought of Aditya, of the loneliness in his eyes. What if… what if Meenal Thakurain could see him with the same tenderness she now showed Rajveer Thakur? What if fate could be nudged, just a little, back toward the path it had once promised?

But then she shook her head; no, it's wrong. Meenal Thakurain is now Thakur Shahab's wife. Rita knew she couldn't interfere in someone else's marriage, especially not Meenal Thakurain's.

What if she is about to commit sin? She closed her eyes, pushing away the dangerous thoughts that threatened to consume her.

But then bringing back two lost souls together seemed like a noble cause, a chance to heal old wounds and find new beginnings. Thakurain is sad just like Chotay Shahab, and maybe they could find solace in each other's company.

Her heart beat faster. It is not wrong, she reasoned. It is only helping what was meant to be. Chotay sahib loved her first… And he should not suffer in silence while another takes his place. Even Thakurian loves him deeply, even if she doesn't show it.

If fate had been cruel, perhaps she could be kind.

That night, when the haveli settled into heavy silence and the courtyard lamps burned low, Rita slipped through the dim passageways like a shadow. Her bare feet made no sound on the cold stone as she crept toward the small storeroom where herbs and medicines were kept.

The air inside was thick with the mingled scents of dried neem leaves, turmeric roots, and camphor. She searched with trembling fingers until she found it: a small pouch wrapped in red cloth, tucked behind a bundle of dried tulsi. She had seen one of the maids talking by the well hide it there earlier in the day.

Her hands shook as she lifted it. The cloth was rough beneath her touch, the contents inside light as dust. And smelled strange—like earth after lightning, with a sweetness hidden somewhere inside. Not food, not spice, not medicine… something in-between.

She noticed faint writing scrawled on the pouch in old charcoal letters, smudged with time. She couldn’t read them and so thought nothing of it.

She had no knowledge of what lay within—whether herb, root, or blessing—but to her innocent heart, it was nothing less than a promise.

Clutching it to her chest, Rita whispered into the stillness, her eyes glistening in the flickering lamplight:

“For you, Chotay sahib,” she whispered, pressing the pouch to her chest. “So your heart may never be alone again.”

💌 Author’s Note

Ohhh my lovely readers… ✨🌙
Did you feel it? The shift? Last night it was jasmine petals and unspoken prayers, but today the haveli whispered something else… 👀 A secret at the well, a pouch hidden away, a temptation too heavy for Rita’s tender heart to resist. 🌿🔥

Rita, my fragile-yet-brave widow — she’s not just watching anymore, is she? She’s acting. 🥺💔 That tiny pouch… is it really love’s blessing, or a dangerous trick dressed as hope? Is it her way of giving Aditya the light she thinks he deserves, or the very sin that might ruin them both? 🕯️

I wanted this chapter to feel like the hush before a storm — everyday sounds of the haveli, the clatter of brass vessels, the laughter of maids, and then… silence. A stolen pouch. A whispered promise in the dark. 🌌💔✨

Tell me, moonlight souls — would you have taken the pouch if you were in Rita’s place? 🌙 Or would you have let fate be fate, even if it meant watching love slip away forever? 💭💘

And most important — what do you think lies inside that red cloth? 🌿💫 Curse or cure? Love or ruin?

Drop your thoughts below — I can’t wait to read them. Your words mean the world. 💕

Until next time…
with anklet chimes and temple smoke,
💖 Shaar Shree