Married to my Brother in law. In love with his Brother (Early Acess Ch 27)

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✍️ Chapter 27: The Quiet Between Us

The haveli creaked around them—old wood shifting under the weight of memory.

Outside, an owl called once, then fell silent, as if even the birds knew better than to intrude.

Meenal sat perched on the very edge of the divan, hands folded neatly in her lap, knees locked together, the silence between them thick as velvet. Rajveer’s breathing had evened out, but his eyes remained open, unmoving, like he was afraid of what the darkness behind his eyelids might show him.

The room smelled faintly of sandalwood, old books, and something sharper—antiseptic, perhaps, or fear.

Somewhere down the hall, a grandfather clock ticked its way toward midnight.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The pause stretched long—not uncomfortable, exactly. Just unfamiliar.

Neither of them knew how to exist in stillness together.

He shifted slightly. Winced.

Meenal flinched instinctively, the movement sharp and involuntary—like she’d been caught doing something indecent.

She smoothed her saree.

Twice.

The silence pressed in again.

Then Rajveer spoke, his voice quiet and distant.

“You’re sitting like you’re being punished.”

She didn’t look at him. “Am I not?”

He met her eyes. “You think I’m the one punishing you?

Meenal turned her head slowly. The lamps cast golden shadows across her face, softening the lines of exhaustion.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she said.

“Be near me?”

“No.” She blinked, her nails digging into her palm. “Not feel like I have to leave.”

That hung in the air like a confession in a confessional no one else was supposed to hear.

Rajveer turned his face to her, pain softening into something else—not pity, not comfort. Recognition.

They both wore the same tired expression—the one that came from pretending to be whole for too long.

He opened his mouth and closed it again. Let the silence answer for him.

Outside the window, a servant passed quietly with a lantern. He didn’t glance in. No one ever did.

They weren’t supposed to be seen like this—unguarded. Two people bound by reputation, family history, duty, and marriage.

Rajveer pulled his hand to take the glass of water, but before he could reach it, she handed it to him, their fingers brushing briefly. In that fleeting touch, they both felt a spark of connection, a shared understanding that went beyond words.

She cleared her throat, breaking the moment. "Let me know if you need anything else," she said softly before touching the glass to his lips and walking away. Rajveer watched her in awe as the cold water touched his lips, a rush of emotions swirling inside him.

One sip, and it felt like the thirst of years had been quenched—not just for water, but for something deeper.

This was not the kind of love elite families wrote about in letters.

This was the kind they buried under marble and mango trees.

Rajveer coughed lightly. “You used to sing, didn’t you?”

Meenal’s eyes flickered. “Not anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t recognize the sound of my own joy anymore.”

He closed his eyes. Because I took your voice and locked it away in a cage of duty and expectation. He thought of the years they had spent together, suffocating under the weight of their roles and responsibilities.

She stared at her hands.

The awkwardness returned—not because there was nothing left to say, but because everything they needed to say required a language neither of them had been taught.

Finally, she stood. Slowly. Carefully.

Her shadow stretched long across the floor.

“I should go.”

Rajveer’s eyes opened again. “Must you?”

She didn’t answer. Just adjusted her pallu, smoothed the edge as if it could straighten what was crooked inside her.

Then—softly, like an afterthought—he said, “You never told me what you wanted.”

She paused at the doorway, hand on the carved frame.

“I don’t know anymore,” she said without turning. “Wanting feels dangerous.”

Silence again.

Then Rajveer’s voice, barely above a whisper.

“Maybe we both forgot we’re allowed.”

She looked down at her feet. At the floor beneath them—solid, expensive, ancestral.

Then, slowly, Meenal turned.

One step back into the room.

One heartbeat louder than the rest.

But she did not sit.

Not yet.

She just stood there—the stillest thing in a house full of ghosts.

"Meenal…," Rajveer called softly, his voice filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. Meenal's eyes met his, searching for something she couldn't quite name. "I am sorry for binding you with me."

Meenal's heart ached with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. “Sorry…” The word echoed so softly, she wasn’t sure she’d heard it right.

The silence pressed down—deafening, suffocating.
Whatever came next wouldn’t just break it.
It would name what they’d been too careful to feel.

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💭 Author’s Note

Hi dear reader,

If you’re here, sitting quietly after this chapter… thank you.
Chapter 27 was never loud—it was about the pauses, the glances, the things left unsaid.
Sometimes, the heaviest moments are the ones spoken in silence.

Meenal and Rajveer aren’t just characters to me—they’re echoes of all the things we try to carry alone.
The longing. The restraint. The ache of wanting to stay, but feeling like we shouldn’t.

If this chapter made you feel something—soft, sad, understood—I’m so glad it reached you.

🤍 Just know:
You’re allowed to want.
You’re allowed to stay.

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✨ If a line lingered with you, or if a moment felt like it was written for you—
I’d love to hear it.
A comment, a message, even a quiet emoji.
It means more than you know.

With all my heart,
Shaar Shree

#MeenalAndRajveer #TheQuietBetweenUs #SoftStoriesMatter