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Now… let’s dive back in, shall we? 😉

Chapter 22: Something More Fragile Than Bone

Meenal’s heels clicked sharply against the marble—each step a fragile echo in the heavy silence she’d been avoiding for years.

The walls were high-ceilinged, painted a pale ivory, and trimmed with fading gold leaf. Brass wall sconces burned gently with electric bulbs—one of the few luxuries this wing could afford.

A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, more decoration than relief. Outside, rain tapped steadily against tall arched windows. Far off, a peacock’s cry echoed.

The matron, dressed in a crisp white sari with a blue border, nodded solemnly and stepped aside to let them in.

Meenal paused at the door, her fingers brushing the edge of her pallu. Aditya stood beside her, unusually quiet. His kurta, damp at the cuffs, bore the weight of a sleepless night—but all his attention was on her.

She stepped into the room.

This room held a different silence—heavier, more fragile. Larger than a typical hospital room, with a teakwood cupboard in one corner and a cushioned divan beneath the window. White chikankari curtains fluttered softly in the breeze from the open transom, carrying whispers of the old haveli.

And in the middle of it all, lying on an ornately carved hospital bed, was Rajveer.

His head was wrapped in fine gauze, but the bandages could not hide the cuts and swelling along his jaw. His right arm was in plaster, resting on a pillow. One leg elevated in a sling, suspended by clean white linen tied to a brass pulley. A nurse adjusted the saline drip beside him.

He looked… broken.

A man who had carried the weight of land, legacy, and silence now lay small against the crisp white sheets.

And Meenal—
She had told herself it didn’t matter. That they shared a roof, not a bond. That she stayed for Arun, not for this man who had never given her love, only responsibility.

But seeing him like this…

A crack opened inside her.

Her throat tightened. A sudden sting behind her eyes caught her breath, but she forced herself to look away.

She crossed the room slowly; her bangles jingled stark against the fragile hush. Her breath hitched when she reached his side.

Meenal’s breath faltered as a faint scent of sandalwood mixed with antiseptic drifted through the room—a fragile reminder of the haveli’s old world.

He looked impossibly young in that moment—like the man he might have been before loss had hardened him. Before Megha’s death. Before silence built walls between them.

He didn’t look like a Thakur now—no turbaned pride, no land-bound authority. Just a man. Broken. Bleeding. In need of something no title could give him.

Her fingers hovered over his hand, trembling, torn between retreat and the desperate need to connect. A memory flickered—a laugh shared long ago, a promise never spoken. She swallowed hard, afraid that touching him might break something delicate or perhaps finally mend what years of silence had shattered.

“Was it worth driving through the storm… when you’ve already got so much inside?” she asked softly, breaking the silence between them. Rajveer’s eyes met hers, filled with a mix of pain and longing.

"To calm the storm inside me," he whispered, his voice barely audible. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes, and she knew that despite their past, they were still connected by something deeper than words could express.

Her fingers hovered, hesitated, then gently touched the back of his uninjured hand. Like touching the something that doesn't belong to her but felt familiar nonetheless.

She was scared. If she lets herself care now, what happens to the walls she's built?

The breath in her chest coiled, unsure whether to rise or shatter.

Behind her, Aditya turned away and walked to the window, the silence between them stretching like thread drawn taut. His jaw clenched briefly, fingers tightening around his kurta’s cuff. He had made his choice—one that might shift everything they had carefully balanced. But now, looking at his brother so stripped of certainty, he questioned if the weight of it would hold.

Rajveer stirred.

His lips parted.

“Meenal…”

It was barely audible. But she heard it.

A gasp rose, unspoken.

She sat on the edge of the bed carefully, as if afraid to break something more fragile than bone—the silence, the moment, the fragile thread between them.

She had rehearsed this feeling—empty, neutral—so many times, she almost believed it.

Almost.

This wasn’t indifference. The news of his accident had shaken her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Now, watching his steady breath, the fragile rise and fall, the silent battle fought in sleep—she wasn’t sure anymore what she felt. Or what she was willing to lose.

****

💭 Author's Note
You know…I’m not a time traveler (yet 👀), but I’ve let my mind wander deep into a world shaped by echoes of the 1950s. My grandparents lived that era—their elegance, restraint, and unspoken stories shaped so much of this chapter. Their memories aren’t static—they live in quiet gestures, sandalwood-scented silences, and rooms where the past still breathes.

Writing this chapter was like sitting in a forgotten corridor of the haveli, listening to the ghosts of decisions never voiced. Meenal didn’t expect to feel. She certainly didn’t expect to feel this much. And maybe neither did I.

🔮 Some silences don't protect us. They just outgrow us.

So now I’m asking you, doston—
💔 Did this chapter stir anything open in you?
👣 Would you have walked in… or stayed at the door?
🕯️ Drop me a line, a quote, a single emoji if that’s all your heart can give today.

✨ P.S. Monday’s chapter? Let’s just say... the storm outside hasn’t touched what’s about to break inside.

With a little fear and a whole lot of feeling,
—Shaar Shree 🤍