Married to My Brother-in-Law, In Love with His Brother (Early Acess Ch 12)

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Soft morning light filtered through the latticed windows, casting delicate patterns on the worn stone floor. The air hung heavy with sandalwood and jasmine incense, curling upward like silent prayers.

The rhythmic murmur of morning chants echoed from the prayer room, blending with the gentle clinking of bells. Outside, two tiny feet pattered eagerly across the courtyard, their soft clicks punctuating the serene ritual.

A small boy, no older than three, darted through the vast halls with unrestrained laughter, his bare feet skimming over the cool stones. His eyes sparkled with innocent joy as he ran toward the figure seated before the altar — his mother, wrapped in a deep red silk saree, folded carefully in prayer before the idol of Lord Krishna.

He reached out, his chubby hands grabbing at the folds of her saree, tugging gently to draw her attention.

"Maa...," he said, touching her feet.

Meenal opened her eyes as Arun clung to her side, his warmth grounding her. A faint smile broke through the quiet solemnity — a fleeting light in the shadows of their past.

"You know, you should pray to Krishna ji first, not me," she said gently, brushing his hair away. "Go on, offer your prayers to Lord Krishna first."

The boy shook his head, putting his hands on either side of his hips. "Before Krishna ji, you're my God, Maa."

"Acha ji...," Meenal laughed softly, feeling a surge of love for her son. She ruffled his hair affectionately before guiding him towards the small idol of Lord Krishna in their home temple.

"Now pray with all your heart, and remember that God is always listening." She whispered, watching as her son closed his eyes and folded his hands in prayer.

"Will God give me a sister?" he asked innocently.

Meenal's smile faded slightly as she said gently, God always gives us what is best, beta. Sometimes, what we want and what we need are different." She then hugged her son tightly, feeling grateful for the innocence and faith of childhood.

As they pray, a tall shadow falls over both of them as Rajveer stands, in all white kurta and dhoti, hands folded in prayer as well. Meenal felt his presence but didn't turn around, the weight of years pressing down like a silent wall.

She lifted little Arun into her arms, pressed a tilak to his forehead, and whispered a silent prayer for protection and guidance.

Rajveer's voice was low but firm. "No tilak today?"

She turned slowly, hands trembling despite herself. Though it was a morning ritual, his presence still made her heart race and her hands grow unsteady.

But she managed to steady herself and walked towards Rajveer, gently applying the tilak on his forehead while avoiding eye contact. The tension between them was palpable, but Meenal knew she had to maintain her composure in front of him.

"Prasad...," she murmured, handing him the sacred offering as a sign of respect before quickly moving away to continue her morning rituals.

"Maa, ladoo?" Arun tugged at her saree.
She smiled. "No ladoo today — peda is the prasad," she said, ruffling his hair affectionately before turning back to Rajveer, who was watching her with a soft smile.

Arun's face fell, but he brightened again at the mention of peda. Meenal felt a sense of warmth and contentment as she continued her morning rituals, grateful for the love and connection she shared with Arun.

Arun trailed her like a shadow, his tiny feet echoing her every step.

As she stepped into the kitchen, Meenal spotted Kamini Devi and Rita already at work.

"Maa...prasad," She passed it to both of them.

"Thakurain, what to make for breakfast today?" Rita asked, looking up from her task. Meenal smiled and suggested making some fresh parathas with a side of spicy pickle.

As they continued working, she watched Rita and smiled. Watching Rita work, Meenal felt a familiar ache of admiration. Widowed at eighteen, Rita had lost both husband and child — yet it was she who had kept Arun alive when bottle milk had failed him. Meehal often wondered how a woman who had lost so much could still give so selflessly.

Rita's resilience and strength inspired Meenal every day. That's why she stays in the haveli and helps Meenal with day-to-day work.

****

Golden light spilled across the breakfast table, softening the rough edges of the haveli. The quiet clink of steel plates echoed softly through the room.

Meenal sat at one end, her fingers nervously pressing the edge of her steel thali. Rajveer sat opposite, his gaze flickering toward her but never quite meeting her eyes. Aditya sat beside Meenal, quiet and withdrawn, the invisible tension between them like a thick curtain.

Little Arun sat between them, happily breaking a piece of warm paratha with his tiny hands, eyes bright with innocence.

"Arun," Rajveer asked softly, feeding him a piece of paratha, "Did you finish your prayers to Krishna ji this morning?"

Arun looked up, a wide smile lighting his face. "Yes, Baba! Maa said, Krishna Ji grants every wish if you pray with all your heart!"

Rajveer leaned forward slightly, a rare softness in his voice. "Oh? And what did you wish for?"

Arun's smile grew bigger as he broke off a piece of peda and popped it into his mouth. "A sister!"

The words hung in the air, light and innocent, but impossible to ignore.

Meenal's hand froze, the paratha slipping from her fingers.

Rajveer's smile tightened. He looked away, unsure if the ache rising in his chest was longing, regret, or something far more dangerous.

Aditya coughed, swallowing hard, the room thick with unspoken meaning.

All three adults exchanged startled glances; Arun's simple wish fell like a stone into the still waters of their complicated lives.

Meenal blinked back the sting in her eyes and forced a smile, reaching over to ruffle Arun's soft hair. "That's a beautiful wish, beta," she whispered, smoothing his hair. "Krishna ji always listens — and gives us what we truly need."

Rajveer's jaw tightened, a shadow crossing his face before he masked it with a faint, wistful smile. Aditya composed himself but said nothing, the silent ache in his gaze louder than words.

The meal continued, but the air had changed—thicker now, heavy with unspoken hopes and the fragile threads of a family held together not by love, but by the child who unknowingly carried the weight of all their broken hopes.

*****

Author's Note 💫

Hey lovely readers! 🌸 Thank you so much for diving into The Weight of a Wish with me. This chapter was all about those quiet moments that hold the biggest emotions — a little boy's innocent wish and the fragile threads that tie this family together. 💖

Guess what? Three years have flown by, and our little Arun is no longer the tiny bundle you met here — now he's a full-on mischievous toddler, bringing all the chaos and charm you can imagine! 😄👶 Stay tuned, because things are about to get even more interesting!

If you're enjoying the story, please drop a comment, share your thoughts, or tell me what you want to see next. Your support means the world to me! 💬✨ And don't forget to follow for more updates and sneak peeks. Let's keep this journey alive together! 🚀📚

Sending you all lots of love and good vibes! 💛🙏

— Shaar Shree