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Now… let’s dive back in, shall we? 😉

Chapter 23 : I Choose Arun

Rajveer lay in the backseat, the soft clatter of the car mingling with the rhythmic slap of rain against the windows. The road was familiar, yet shadowed now by the knowledge that settled heavy on his chest like wet earth.

The haveli loomed ahead, a silent guardian of memories better left unspoken. Its peeling paint and faded grandeur felt like a wound too stubborn to heal.

He could hear Meenal’s steady breathing beside him and feel the quiet resolve in her touch as she adjusted his sling. And then there was Aditya, sitting opposite, eyes fixed on the window—as if the storm outside might wash away the past.

Rajveer’s mind refused the comfort of silence. It forced a truth into the open: once, Meenal and Aditya had loved each other. And by marrying Meenal, he had torn that thread—fractured a delicate bond that might have been.

His fingers twitched against the plaster—aching not just from the fall, but from the weight of knowing.

He had ruined both their lives by being the third wheel. Now, sitting in silence, he wondered if there was any way to mend what he had broken. The guilt weighed heavy—a burden he would carry for the rest of his days.

He had thought himself the keeper of duty, the man who would protect the Thakur name and quiet the restless hearts beneath it.

But what if, in doing so, he had become the storm?

The car turned into the haveli’s courtyard. The heavy wooden doors creaked open, revealing shadowed halls where silence had long lived. Meenal moved with grace, caretaker, reluctant guardian—and wife—all at once.

Rajveer felt the fragility of his body mirrored in the fragile peace between them. Meenal’s eyes met his briefly—hollow, haunted, but with a flicker of something unspoken, a shared sorrow he couldn’t name. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words tangled and slipped away, lost in the thick silence.

“Did you ever…” he started, voice hoarse.

“Shh... not now,” Meenal whispered softly, her voice a soothing balm to his wounded spirit. “You’re still in pain.”

Near the doorway, Aditya’s silhouette shifted. “Let me help you; Bhia is heavy. We need to get him to the car,” he said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Rajveer’s chest tightened—not just from pain, but from an ache deeper than any injury, a wound no plaster could mend.

Aditya moved with practiced ease, lifting Rajveer from the backseat. The rain had softened to a drizzle, but the air remained thick—heavy with damp and memory.

Meenal followed silently, her footsteps soft on the worn stone floor of the haveli’s courtyard. The walls, draped with peeling ivy, seemed to lean in, listening.

Inside, the vast entry hall was dimly lit by a solitary oil lamp, its flickering flame casting long shadows. The air smelled of old wood and forgotten stories. A distant clock ticked in steady time—indifferent to the storm raging in their hearts.

Aditya set Rajveer down on the cushioned divan near the grand staircase. The brothers exchanged a look—something unspoken passing between them. Aditya’s jaw clenched, but his eyes held a quiet concern.

Meenal moved to the small wooden table beside them, reaching for a glass of water and carefully lifting the glass to Rajveer's lips.

For a moment, the three of them shared the same space, the silence thick and suffocating.

Rajveer’s gaze drifted to the large portrait hanging above the fireplace—his parents, stern and proud, eyes seeming to judge the fractures their son now bore.

His voice broke the stillness. “Do you… hate me, Meenal?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her thumb rubbed absently at a water ring on the wooden tray—as if trying to erase time.

Meenal’s hands stilled. She looked away, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you asking that?" Rajveer's eyes searched hers, pleading for reassurance.

Aditya’s knuckles whitened around the edge of the armrest. He didn’t speak. Just nodded once and turned to go, the collar of his kurta stiff with something unspoken.

Rajveer’s chest constricted with a bitter ache. “You have married me, a widow, and also your sister's husband, for my son's sake. If you ever had a choice in the matter, would you have chosen me?” Meenal’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as she struggled to find the right words to respond. Rajveer waited, his heart heavy with anticipation.

Meenal’s eyes finally met his—soft, tired, and full of a sorrow that cut deeper than any wound. “I did make a choice, and I choose Arun, not you or this marriage, but my son." And with those words, she turned and walked to the kitchen—quiet as rain against the windows.

Behind her, Rajveer remained still. A man stitched into silence—not by pain, but by the shape of the life he’d carved, and the ones he had broken to make it.

*****

💬 Author’s Note – From My Heart to Yours

Hey you,
If you’ve made it this far, thank you for sitting with the silence, the storm, and the fragile in-between. 🌧️ Sometimes, the heaviest conversations are the ones never spoken aloud—and in this chapter, I wanted you to feel that pause, that ache, that quiet before everything shifts again.

💔 Rajveer, Meenal, and Aditya are all carrying grief in different shapes. Some wear it as duty, others bury it under sacrifice.
And then there's Arun—still innocent in a world built on choices that weren’t his.

What did this chapter make you feel?
Did you find yourself torn between sympathy and anger? Between what should have been and what is?

👇 I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments:

• Did Meenal’s final line hit you the way it hit Rajveer?

• Who do you think is hurting the most—and why?

• Would you have made a different choice?

Let’s talk. I’m here, reading every word you send back. 📖💬
Your voice matters in this journey—thank you for walking through the rain with me. 🌿

Until the next page,
—Shaar Shree

🖤 If this story moved you, share it. Bookmark it. Whisper it to a friend. Stories live when we let them breathe.

#Chapter23 #IchooseArun #FamilyDrama #IndianLiteraryFiction