Married to My Brother-in-Law, In Love with His Brother (Early Acess Ch 19)

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Chapter 19: The Woman Who Stayed Too Long

(Meenal’s POV)

The door clicked shut behind her—softer than she meant it to be.
She should’ve slammed it. Should’ve made it echo. But rage wasn’t what lived inside her anymore. Not rage. Just a quiet, hollow exhaustion. Like something ancient and worn, cracking quietly in the corners of her chest.

She stood still in the corridor, Arun curled against her shoulder. His breath warmed her skin, gentle and unaware. Too small to understand the things falling apart around him. Too innocent to know what it meant when silence echoed louder than his mother’s pain.

The old haveli walls loomed around her, painted with stories that never belonged to her. She had entered this house three years ago as a guest. And stayed like a ghost.
A shadow of her sister.
Wed out of duty, not love.
To a man who didn’t see her. Who barely spoke. Whose silence felt colder than distance—because it was deliberate.

Yet in the stillness of the corridor, with Arun's fragile weight pressed into her arms, she felt a flicker.
Not of hope—hope had abandoned her long ago.
But defiance.
A spark of something she hadn’t felt in years. A sliver of determination to carve her own story inside these ancient walls—even if it meant burning down the past.

She hadn’t cried in that room.
She never cried in front of him.
Not when Megha died.
Not when her name became a compromise.
Not even when the man she loved walked past her without a glance, like her presence was something to endure.

She had always been the strong one. The quiet one. The one who kept everything stitched together when it should’ve unraveled.

But tonight—her throat was raw from truth finally spoken.

"Maybe I should die too—would you start caring about me then?"

The words had escaped before she could catch them.
And even now, they echoed.
Loud.
Violent.
True.

She walked slowly down the corridor, each step deliberate—not with hesitation, but remembrance.
Every step stitched with memory.

The echo of her bangles that had long since been packed away.
The nights she tiptoed so she wouldn’t wake him.
The evenings were spent by the window, filling the silence she lived in with fairy tales Arun never asked for.

The perfect Thakurian to the public.
She cooked her sister’s recipes.
Dressed in her saris.
She whispered lullabies to a child who wasn’t hers by blood but became hers in every heartbeat.
She wore Megha’s silence like a second skin, hoping the world her sister left behind might someday feel like home.

And still… she wondered if it was enough.
If she had made any difference at all.
If Arun would even remember her love—or only the shadows he grew up around.

Her hands trembled.
Not from fear.
But from release.

The weight of everything unspoken fell away like an old shawl, leaving her bare and unarmored.

She stepped into Arun’s room. It was warmer here. Brighter.
Chalk drawings covered the almirah—stick figures, a crooked red sun, and two smiley faces holding hands.

And a stick family of three with the words Maa, Baba, and Arun. The sight brought tears to her eyes, a mix of joy and sadness.
A fragile world he had created.
A world where his parents smiled. Together.

She placed him gently on the bed. Kissed his forehead. Tucked his wooden horse under his arm.
He stirred but didn’t wake.
She envied that kind of peace.
The peace of not knowing the truth.

She sank to the floor beside him, pulling her knees to her chest, her back pressed against the wall.
And at last, she let herself feel it.

Not just the grief of losing Megha.
But the grief of losing herself.

For all the years she’d spent invisible.

For every time she brushed her hair longer.
Wore Megha’s perfume.
Lived a life that was never hers.

For every night she cried into her pillow in silence.

For every dinner eaten without a word.

For every glance she waited for and never received.

For never being chosen.
Not once.
Not even when she gave up everything to stay.

And now... she couldn’t even see herself anymore.
Only a reflection of a sister gone too soon.

Too late.

She wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. Just one. No more.

She leaned her head against the wall and let her eyes fall shut. Her fists curled against her knees. The ache inside her bloomed wide—anger and sadness, twined like thorns.

A black-and-white photo caught her gaze—her and Megha, young and laughing.
A time when life was simple.
When promises hadn’t yet been broken.

“I fulfilled my promise, Didii,” she whispered. “I didn’t leave your son.”

Her voice cracked.

"I’ll always be here for him… just like I told you I would."

But I’m losing myself in the process.

A pair of feet came into view, silent and hesitant.

But she didn’t look up.

She stayed seated. Her breath was steady. Her spirit unraveling quietly in the soft light of the room.

He knelt beside her, his voice breaking the silence they had both built like a wall.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“I see you now.”

Author’s Note 💬

"Some women are lost in the fire.
Some women are built from it."
— Michelle K.

This chapter is for every woman who’s ever stayed too long in a place that stopped seeing her.

Meenal’s grief is no longer a whisper—it’s a voice, rising from the depths of everything she lost. And now she stands at the edge of something new. Not freedom, not yet. But truth.

Will Rajveer step forward? Will she let him?

Who is the man apologizing to her? Is he Rajveer?

I want to hear your thoughts. Did this chapter break you a little? Heal you a little? Or both?

📝 Comment below.
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💌 And don’t forget—Chapter 20 arrives Monday. You won’t want to miss it.

With love and ink-stained fingers,
Shaar Shree ❤️