Married to my Brother in law. In love with his Brother (Early Acess Ch 17)

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Rajveer stood by the heavy oak window frame, the afternoon sun filtering through the embroidered curtains, casting a muted golden glow on the Kashmiri rug beneath his polished leather jhutas. His hand hovered, hesitant, near Meenal’s wrist—as if unsure whether even a simple touch could still be his to offer. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, and yet it felt unreachable.

Behind them, Arun slept, his chest rising and falling in soft rhythm. A single tuft of his hair twitched with each exhale. The room was hushed, broken only by the rustle of wind brushing the old trees outside, their dry branches whispering a language only time could understand.

Rajveer cleared his throat, eyes flickering to the pastel folds of Meenal’s sari—the delicate fabric draped like silence itself between them. A part of him wanted to speak simply for the sake of breaking that silence. Another part feared it was already too late for words to matter.

“Don’t leave,” he said, voice low—too controlled, too careful. “I know you never asked for this marriage. And truthfully… I wasn’t sure I wanted it either.”

He paused, weighing the honesty of the moment. “But there’s something between us—even if it’s broken, it’s still there.”

Meenal looked up. Her eyes, wide and uncertain, held more silence than anger—as if she'd been waiting, not for an apology, but for truth.

“You didn’t deserve how I treated you,” he added, his voice faltering. “Three years... we’ve lived like strangers. For Arun’s sake, we stayed. But I don’t want to keep pretending.”

She searched his face, wary, her expression unreadable.
“What are you really saying, Thakur Shabab?” The title still sat on her tongue like obligation. To her, he had never been more than a Thakur—or her sister’s husband.

Never.

He inhaled slowly, deeply. “I want to try—maybe not as husband and wife. But at least as two people raising a child. With honesty. No more walls.”

A long pause. Her gaze drifted to the blurred photo on the bedside table—her sister’s face, half-faded in time, still sharper than any memory.

“I look at that picture every night,” she said softly, “hoping one day it won’t hurt as much.”

Rajveer followed her gaze. “I never knew how to mourn her,” he admitted. “Or how to be anything for you other than what I was taught: distant, dignified, detached. It’s no excuse. But it’s the truth.”

Meenal’s voice trembled. “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, already bracing himself.

“Do you really believe that a few soft words can undo years of silence?”

She looked at him, eyes darker now—not angry, just tired. Weary, as if she'd been holding the weight of everything alone for far too long.

“You never cared for my sister. Not even when she was dying.”

Her voice cracked. “You stood by the door like a statue. No hand to hold. No comfort. Nothing. She waited for you to say something—anything—but you stayed silent.”

“And now you keep her photo like it means something.”

She turned toward him, her voice lower now, more fragile. “Why do you only love things after they’re gone?”

Rajveer flinched but said nothing.

His mouth opened, but no words came.

Meenal’s voice dropped even further, nearly a whisper. “Maybe I should die too—would you start caring about me then?”

He stepped forward, instinctively reaching for her hand—but she pulled it back, recoiling more from memory than from him.

“Meenal…” His voice broke. “I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to show you I still—”

“Don’t.” Her voice was sharp now. Final. Cold, but not cruel. Tired, but not bitter.

“You ignored me for years. You treated me like a live-in maid with your name marked as sindoor. And now you suddenly care?”

“It’s too little, too late.”

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but none fell. She turned away, her back straight, but her hands trembling.

Rajveer stood frozen, feeling the weight of years pressing in all at once—the silence, the guilt, the chances never taken.

“If you’d opened your heart sooner,” she said quietly, without looking at him, “maybe things could’ve been different. Maybe Didi would still be here. Maybe we wouldn’t be strangers, raising a child in the ruins.”

She walked to the bed, gently lifted Arun, who stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and turned to the door. Her steps were steady, deliberate—like someone carrying more than just a child.

“It’s too late now,” she said, not looking back.

The door clicked softly behind her, the final sound swallowed by the room’s silence.

Rajveer didn’t move.

The sun had shifted slightly, its glow no longer golden but pale, distant. The embroidered curtains swayed in the breeze, brushing his arm as if to console him. But there was no consolation.

Just silence. And the ghost of everything left unsaid.

He didn’t try to stop her. He didn’t know how.
Or maybe he had known, once—before silence became easier than sorrow.

*****

Author’s Note 💬

Hey wonderful readers! 🌟

Meenal finally broke — that long, simmering storm inside her has erupted, and it changes everything between her and Rajveer. 💔🔥 How do you think this will reshape their fragile world?

Drop your thoughts below! 💬👇 And if this chapter hit you in the feels, don’t forget to share with your fellow book lovers! 📚❤️

Your support means the world — let’s keep this journey alive together! 🌈✨

See you Monday for the next chapter. Until then, take care and keep dreaming! 💫👋

With love ❤️

Shaar Shree.