Roohi POV Scene
I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers loosely curled around the end of my dupatta, staring at nothing in particular.
The morning at the dining table still pricked my heart like a dull thorn.
Rekha aunty’s cold reaction wasn’t unexpected, but it still hurt.
She wasn’t bad… just upset, confused. Anyone would be, after everything happened so suddenly.
But in the middle of all that, Ankita and Arjun’s playful chaos felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.
They didn’t treat me like an outsider. They joked, teased, involved me—almost like they had known me for years.
Their energy was messy, loud, and warm.
Something I had never experienced growing up.
A soft knock pulled me out of my thoughts.
Sunitha chachi entered with her usual gentle smile.
“Roohi beta, evening snacks ready. Can you please take them to Arjun and Ankita? They’re studying in Sid’s study room.”
I nodded immediately.
“Okay, chachi.”
Helping felt nice. Being useful felt even better.
I picked up the tray—two glasses of juice and a plate of sandwiches—and made my way to Sidharth’s study.
The moment I entered, I stopped.
His study room looked… majestic.
Polished wooden flooring, a tall bookshelf stretching from one end to the other, filled with thick novels and business journals.
A leather sofa, a huge glass desk, a soft yellow lamp on the side table, and the faint scent of sandalwood.
It felt like the room itself belonged to someone who carried authority effortlessly.
And right in the middle of that luxury.
Arjun was dying.
Not literally, but close enough.
He sat with both hands on his head, staring at a notebook like it was a bomb.
“This question is not a question, it is torture,” he declared dramatically.
Beside him, Ankita lay half asleep over her assignment, hair a mess, pen dangling from her fingers.
I bit back a laugh.
They looked adorable.
I stepped in quietly.
“Snacks?” I asked.
Both heads snapped up.
“Bhabhi!”
Their tired faces lit up instantly.
I kept the tray on the table and handed them the juice.
Then I sat beside them, smiling at Arjun’s exaggerated misery.
He pointed at his notebook with the expression of a man betrayed.
“Bhabhi, look at this. This is not maths; this is black magic.”
I leaned forward.
One glance at the problem and I almost laughed.
“Arjun, this is simple.”
He looked personally offended.
“Simple? SIMPLE? Bhabhi, don’t break my heart like this.”
I gently took his notebook.
“See... the first step is wrong. Use the other method. Like this—”
I explained slowly, making sure he understood.
Within a few seconds, his eyes widened.
“Ohhhh! Bhabhi genius! Bhabhi Einstein! Bhabhi Nobel Prize winner!”
Ankita groaned.
“Arjun shut up, she’ll think we are idiots.”
“We ARE idiots,” he replied proudly.
I laughed softly.
Their banter felt like fresh air.
Ankita turned to me suddenly.
“By the way, Bhabhi… where did you study?”
I froze.
My fingers tightened around the pen.
For a moment, the study room blurred.
Their voices dimmed.
All I could hear was a sharp ringing in my ears—
a memory I had buried but never healed from.
Flash back
My stepmother, standing with crossed arms, voice cold
“Enough studies, Roohi.
We can’t afford your fancy dreams anymore.”
“But Maa… I got a free seat,” I whispered, clutching the admission letter like it was life itself.
She snatched it from my hands.
“Free? Nothing is free. You’ll still need bus money, books, food. And we don’t have extra for a girl’s useless education.”
My father stood there, quiet.
As always.
Tears blurred my eyes.
“Papa… please—”
His silence was louder than her refusal.
My stepmother tore the letter in half.
That sound… ripping paper…
still rings in my soul like a wound that never closed.
Back to Present
My throat tightened painfully as I blinked back to the present.
“I… didn’t continue,” I said finally, voice quiet, steady but hurting.
Ankita frowned.
“What? Why? You clearly love studying.”
The question was innocent.
But something inside me tightened.
I smiled politely.
“Actually… I got a free scholarship in one of the top universities.”
Both of them choked on their juice.
“WHICH university?” they shouted in unison.
I told them the name.
Both of them froze.
“WHAT?!”
“Bhabhi… we study there!”
Arjun’s eyes were round.
Ankita looked betrayed by the universe.
“You? In our college? And we didn’t know?”
I laughed, looking down shyly.
“I never got to join. Things… happened. So I stayed home.”
Ankita frowned.
“But why would you let go of such a big opportunity?”
I swallowed and kept my tone light.
I tried to smile.
“I guess… in some homes, daughters’ education becomes a burden.”
Arjun went silent.
Ankita stopped twirling her pen.
I felt the atmosphere shift, so I forced a small smile.
“But it’s okay. Life works differently for everyone.”
someone was standing by the door.
Sidharth.
His hand rested on the door frame, his expression unreadable… but his eyes weren’t.
There was hurt there.
And helplessness.
He had heard everything.
Then he slowly looked away and left, quietly closing the door behind him.
Ankita touched my hand gently.
“Bhabhi… you’re strong.”
Arjun nodded.
“Very strong. And don’t worry… now that we are here, we’ll make sure you study again.”
I smiled, grateful but overwhelmed.
Their kindness… their warmth…
It was something I was still learning to accept.
But maybe…
Maybe this house wasn’t as unfamiliar as I thought.
The evening breeze drifted softly across the balcony, brushing Roohi’s hair as she stood staring into the horizon.
The sky was painted in fading shades of orange and rose, a gentle contrast to the storm inside her heart.
She wrapped her arms around herself, holding onto the silence.
For the first time in many years, her life felt like an open chapter…
but she didn’t know how to turn the next page.
Footsteps approached from behind.
She didn’t need to turn.
Only one person in the house walked with that mix of calm authority.
Sidharth.
He stopped a few feet away, his presence steady but unintrusive.
For a moment, he simply watched her — the way the soft wind played with her dupatta, the quiet strength she carried even in silence.
Then, gently:
“Roohi.”
She turned slightly, not fully facing him.
Her eyes were soft but distant.
He came beside her, leaning lightly against the railing, keeping a respectful distance.
“I want to talk to you… about something important.”
She didn’t speak.
She waited.
He exhaled slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.
“Do you want to continue your studies?”
Roohi’s fingers tightened around her dupatta.
She hadn’t expected this.
Not so soon.
Not from him.
Her voice trembled softly.
“Sidharth… I— I don’t think it’s the right time. I just came into this house. Everyone is already upset. I—”
He turned to her fully.
“Roohi.”
She froze at the firmness in his tone.
Before she could continue, he stepped a little closer — not intimidating, but enough to stop her spiraling.
“I’m not asking for explanations.”
His voice was deep, calm.
“Just answer what I asked.”
She blinked, confused.
“But—”
He cut her off gently.
“Yes or no?”
Her heart skipped.
His eyes held hers — steady, unwavering.
It felt like he wasn’t just asking about education.
He was asking her to choose herself… maybe for the first time ever.
Roohi lowered her gaze slowly.
Her voice came out small, but clear.
“…Yes.”
A softness passed over Sidharth’s expression.
Not victory.
Not pride.
Just quiet relief.
Without a word, he extended a file toward her.
Roohi looked at it with puzzled eyes.
“What is this?” she whispered.
He tilted his head slightly.
“See it.”
Her fingers trembled as she opened the file.
And then her breath stopped.
Admission Forms.
Her name already written neatly.
The same top university she once got a scholarship for — the dream she buried long ago.
Her vision blurred.
“You… already…”
He nodded once.
“I contacted the university this afternoon. They’re ready to take you in.”
Tears gathered at her lashes, threatening to fall.
She traced her name on the paper with shaking fingers, unable to look up.
“Sidharth… why?”
Her voice cracked — not in pain, but disbelief.
“Why would you do this for me?”
He watched her quietly for a moment.
Then a small, barely-there smile touched his lips.
“Because someone should have done it long ago.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She inhaled sharply, overwhelmed.
“Thank you… I— I don’t even know how to—”
She swallowed hard, wiping her face quickly, embarrassed.
He stopped her hand gently — not touching, just blocking her movement.
“Roohi.”
His tone softened.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
She looked up slowly.
He met her gaze, calm and warm.
“Just study. That’s enough.”
Her lips parted, emotion swelling in her chest.
“No one ever… believed in me like this.”
Sidharth’s eyes softened further.
“Then consider this your beginning.”
The wind blew between them, cool and gentle, as if carrying away years of weight from her shoulders.
Roohi hugged the papers to her chest, holding them like something precious — something she never thought she could claim again.
“Thank you,” she whispered again, voice trembling.
He nodded.
“Good.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“Now stop crying. Ankita and Arjun will think I scolded you.”
A surprised laugh escaped her — soft, unsure, but real.
Sidharth watched her with a quiet expression, something unreadable but warm flickering behind his eyes.
He didn’t say it out loud, but Roohi felt it:
This was not just an admission form.
It was the first thing anyone had ever given her…
with belief.
And she held it like a lifeline.
Roohi stood in front of the mirror, still holding the admission papers against her chest.
Every time she looked at her name printed there, her heart fluttered with disbelief.
Dreams she once buried under fear were now in her hands—real, possible.
A knock came.
Before she could respond—
“Bhabhi! We’re coming in!”
The door burst open.
Ankita stumbled first, holding a notebook and a half-eaten chocolate bar, while Arjun followed with the energy of a hyperactive puppy.
They both stopped.
“Why do you look like you just saw God?” Arjun narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
Roohi bit her lip, smiling nervously.
“I… have something to tell you.”
She extended the papers.
Both of them leaned forward, squinting—
Ankita grabbed the file first.
Her eyes widened.
Then she screamed.
“YOU GOT ADMISSION?!!”
Arjun snatched the paper.
His jaw dropped.
“THE SAME COLLEGE? OUR COLLEGE?! IN THE SAME CAMPUS?!”
Roohi nodded shyly.
For two seconds, they were frozen.
Then—
“Bhabhi! Baaaabhi!” Arjun shook her shoulders dramatically.
“You’re going to be our senior! No—wait—Siddharth bhai ki biwi and our senior! WE ARE ROYALTY NOW!”
Roohi laughed, clutching the file tighter.
Ankita hugged her suddenly.
“I’m so proud of you! Omg, you’re coming with us to college—this is going to be amazing!”
Then Ankita pulled back, eyes sparkling mischievously.
“We need to SHOP!”
Arjun raised both hands like a referee.
“Yes! College shopping! Bhabhi needs clothes, shoes, bags, everything!”
Roohi blinked.
“Shopping? Now?”
“YES NOW!” they shouted together.
At that exact moment, Sidharth passed the door.
Arjun yelled,
“Bhai! Permission! We’re taking Bhabhi!”
Sidharth raised one eyebrow.
“Where?”
Ankita answered dramatically.
“World-changing, life-upgrading, wardrobe-rebuilding shopping.”
Sidharth’s lips twitched—very slightly.
“Fine.”
He looked at Roohi for a heartbeat.
“Take the driver—”
Arjun gasped as if betrayed.
“Noo! Bhai you come too! We need a sponsor!”
Sidharth gave him a slow look.
“…A sponsor?”
Arjun corrected immediately.
“Moral support! Yes—moral support.”
Sidharth sighed, but there was a hint of amusement he didn’t hide well.
“Fine. I’ll join.”
Roohi’s eyes widened.
She wasn’t prepared for that part.
But the spark in Ankita and Arjun’s faces made her smile anyway.
The mall buzzed with weekend crowds and bright lights.
Roohi walked beside Ankita, her steps small but excited, while Sidharth walked calmly behind them, hands in his pockets.
Arjun, meanwhile, was a different story.
He raced from one shop to another, shouting—
“Bhabhi, this bag suits you!”
“Bhai, pay for this!”
“Ankita! Don’t buy the whole mall!”
Ankita dragged Roohi inside a boutique.
“Try this dress!”
“No, this one!”
“No no—THIS ONE!”
Roohi couldn’t stop laughing.
Sidharth stood outside, watching her through the glass—
Her smile, the excitement in her eyes, the ease she displayed around his siblings.
Something inside him softened.
Arjun suddenly appeared beside him, whispering loudly,
“Bhai… Bhabhi looks so happy.”
Sidharth nodded slowly.
“She does.”
Arjun grinned wickedly.
“Are you smiling?”
Sidharth gave him a flat look.
“No.”
Arjun snorted.
“Bhai, even your ‘no’ is smiling.”
Author pov
The moment Roohi stepped into the restaurant, her breath hitched.
Soft golden lights, glass walls, gentle music, elegant tables—everything looked like scenes she had only seen from faraway roads, never from inside.
She swallowed nervously, clutching the edge of her dupatta.
“bhabhi, come!” Ankita tugged her arm with a big grin.
Even Arjun was whistling under his breath, clearly enjoying how dazzled she looked.
They took their seats, and when the waiter placed the dishes one by one, Roohi stared at the plates with wide, confused eyes.
The food looked… unreal. Too pretty. Too decorated.
She leaned slightly toward Arjun.
“Arjun… yeh… khana hai?”
(“Arjun… is this… food?”)
she whispered innocently.
Arjun almost choked laughing.
“Arey haan bhabhi! Dekho—” he held the fork dramatically,
“—yeh khaane ke liye hi bana hai. Aise uthao aur seedha mooh mein daalo!”
(“Oh yes, bhabhi! See—” he held the fork dramatically,
“—this is made for eating! You pick it up like this and put it straight in your mouth!”)
Ankita giggled loudly.
Roohi, trusting him completely, lifted the fork exactly as he said and brought it near her mouth—
eyes still full of doubt.
But before the fork could touch her lips…
A hand gently tilted her chin up.
Warm. Firm. Careful.
Sidharth.
Their eyes met, and Roohi froze.
“Nahin,”
("No")
he said quietly, voice low enough only she could hear.
He took the fork from her with the other hand and shook his head.
“Is tarah nahi khate. Arjun sirf mazaak kar raha hai.”
(“This isn’t how you eat it. Arjun is just joking.”)
Arjun burst into loud fake indignation,
“Areyyy bhai! Main toh expert hoon classy restaurants mein! Mujhe kyun blame kar rahe ho?”
(“Arey brother! I’m an expert in classy restaurants! Why are you blaming me?”)
Before Roohi could respond, Ankita leaned over and playfully slapped Arjun’s shoulder.
“Stop confusing my bhabhi, idiot!”
Arjun gasped theatrically.
“Violence! Pure violence! Aur main toh sirf unhe modern table manners sikha raha tha!”
(“Violence! Pure violence! And I was only teaching her modern table manners!”)
Ankita rolled her eyes and grabbed a napkin to wipe the tiny sauce stain he had made.
Meanwhile Sidharth placed the correct dish in front of Roohi and explained gently:
“Isse fork se nahi… spoon se try karo. Dheere se.”
(“Not with the fork… try it with the spoon. Slowly.”)
His tone was… softer than usual.
Like he wasn’t just teaching her how to eat—but making sure she never felt embarrassed again.
Roohi nodded shyly, cheeks warm.
When she took the first bite, her eyes widened in surprise.
“Iska taste… itna accha?” she whispered.
(“Its taste… is really this good?”)
Ankita clapped.
“Of course! Welcome to real food, bhabhi!”
Arjun leaned forward dramatically:
“Bhabhi, aaj ke baad hum restaurant reviewers banenge. Tum taste bataogi, hum video banayenge!”
(“Bhabhi, after today we’ll become restaurant reviewers. You’ll tell the taste, we’ll make the video!”)
Roohi giggled—really giggled—for the first time that day.
And when she looked sideways, Sidharth was watching her.
Not the food.
Not the others.
Just her.
His expression unreadable… but softening just slightly at the corners.
After dinner, Ankita’s eyes started sparkling dangerously.
“Bhai, please! Just ten minutes in the game zone!”
Arjun added dramatically,
“Haan bhai! Aakhir hum holiday se aaye hain—celebration toh banta hai!”
(“Yes brother! After all, we just came back from holiday—celebration is necessary!”)
Sidharth sighed, but there was a tiny smile he couldn’t hide.
“Fine. Ten minutes.”
Both Arjun and Ankita cheered as if they won a lottery.
Roohi followed them nervously as they walked inside
The game zone felt like a different universe—bright lights, neon colors, cheering sounds. My eyes kept wandering, trying to take in everything at once.
Then I saw it.
A small claw machine on the corner, filled with soft teddy bears.
One of them—a tiny brown one wearing a red bow—looked too adorable.
Something warm tugged inside me.
Before I could stop myself, I walked toward it.
Ankita gasped dramatically,
“Bhabhi wants the teddy?! Awwww, how cute!”
Roohi felt her cheeks heat up.
“Woh… bas achha lag raha tha…”
(“I just… liked it, that’s all…”)
Arjun immediately rolled up his sleeves like he was heading for war.
“Move aside, bhabhi. Main hoon na! Aapki izzat ka sawaal hai!”
(“Move aside, bhabhi. I’m here! Your honour is at stake!”)
He inserted the token and attacked the joystick with unnecessary heroism.
The claw dropped.
Missed.
Arjun froze, jaw dropping.
“Machine biased hai. It hates me personally.”
Ankita cackled, “Sure. Blame the machine.”
She stepped forward confidently.
“I’ll show you how it’s done.”
She adjusted her hair and played.
Missed.
Arjun folded his arms and smirked.
“Ha! Karma. Machine tumhe bhi pasand nahi karta.”
(“Ha! Karma. Even the machine doesn’t like you.”)
Ankita smacked his arm.
“Shut up!”
Then they both turned to Roohi.
“Bhabhi, ab aap try karo!”
(“Bhabhi, now you try!”)
Roohi panicked.
“Main? Nahi… main toh—”
(“Me? No… I—”)
But they were already dragging her closer.
Her hands trembled slightly as she touched the joystick.
The claw dropped.
And missed miserably.
Arjun threw his hands in the air.
“Yeh game hum sabki izzat le raha. Disgrace!”
(“This game is ruining everyone’s reputation. What a disgrace!”)
Ankita sighed.
“Total fail squad.”
Then a shadow fell over them.
All three turned.
Sidharth.
He stood there calmly, hands in pockets, eyes flicking from the machine to Roohi.
Arjun whispered loudly,
“Boss aagaye.”
Ankita elbowed him,
“Shh!”
Roohi stepped back, embarrassed.
“I—I was just trying… hum sab haar gaye…”
(“I—I was just trying… we all lost…”)
Sidharth looked at the teddy again.
Then at her.
“So you want it?”
Roohi’s breath caught.
“Nahi… I mean… I just liked it—”
But he was already taking a token.
Arjun whispered, “Hero entry.”
Ankita whispered back, “Movie moment happening.”
Roohi swallowed hard.
Sidharth leaned slightly, looking into the glass box with full concentration, one hand on the joystick.
His sleeves were rolled up, wristwatch gleaming under the neon lights.
His focus was intense.
Roohi didn’t even realize her hand had reached out—
until her fingers touched his sleeve.
Soft. Accidental. Natural.
Her heart jumped.
She pulled back immediately, eyes wide.
But Sidharth didn’t look surprised.
He didn’t say anything.
He just shifted slightly, as if silently letting her stand closer.
Their shoulders almost touched.
He moved the joystick.
The claw lowered.
For a second, both of them stared through the glass, holding their breath.
Then the claw closed—
and caught the teddy perfectly.
Ankita screamed,
“HE GOT IT!”
Arjun shouted,
“Bhai OP! Legend!”
Roohi couldn’t speak.
The teddy dropped into the prize chute.
Sidharth bent down and picked it up, brushing a bit of dust off its tiny bow.
Then he turned to her.
And without a word, held it out.
Roohi stared at him, unable to breathe.
His eyes softened—just slightly.
A hint of of warmth.
A small curve at the corner of his lips.
A smile.
Not a big one.
But real.
Roohi felt heat rush to her face, her ears burning.
She took the teddy carefully.
“Thank you…” she whispered.
He tilted his head a little, voice low.
“You liked it. That’s enough.”
Roohi’s blush deepened.
Arjun immediately ruined the moment by shouting,
“Bhabhi blush alert!! Red alert!! Red alert!!”
Ankita grabbed his collar,
“Chup! You’re ruining the romance scene!”
Sidharth shot them both a glare.
Roohi hugged the teddy to her chest, smiling shyly.
Her heart was beating too fast.
But one thing was certain—
For the first time that night…
she didn’t feel like an outsider.
She felt seen.
Chosen.
Special.
ROOHI POV
The whole mansion had gone quiet by the time we returned.
Soft golden lights filled the hallway, and the echoes of Arjun and Ankita’s laughter still lingered somewhere faintly behind us.
I held the teddy close, its tiny bow brushing against my chin.
I still couldn’t believe he won it for me.
My steps were slow as I entered the room.
The silence felt big… almost too big.
Sidharth walked in behind me, the door clicking shut softly.
He removed his watch and coat with the same composed grace he carried everywhere. Even in the faint lighting, his presence felt strong—steady.
I tried to act normal, but my heart was still beating too fast.
He glanced at me.
“You’re tired.”
I nodded, though the truth was…
I didn’t want this night to end.
He loosened his shirt’s collar, and I looked away quickly, staring at the teddy instead.
“It was… a good evening,” I whispered.
There was a pause.
A long, warm pause.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It was.”
I looked up without meaning to.
His eyes were already on me.
Something gentle flickered there—something he usually hid.
He walked closer, slow and controlled.
For a second, he said nothing. And somehow, that silence felt louder than words.
Then—
“You smiled today.”
My breath caught.
“I… I smile every day…” I murmured.
“Not like today,” he replied softly. “Today, you were… yourself.”
I didn’t know what to say.
A strange warmth spread inside my chest.
He pointed at the teddy. “Do you like it?”
I nodded.
“Very much.”
He hummed, satisfied, almost like he had expected that answer.
I gently placed the teddy on the table and turned to him again.
He was watching me—calm, observant, unreadable but somehow comforting.
When I moved to walk past him, my dupatta slipped slightly from my shoulder.
Before it could fall completely, his hand came up—fast, steady.
His fingers brushed the edge of the fabric and settled it back gently over my shoulder.
My breath stopped.
His touch wasn’t firm…
only warm, feather-light, respectful.
But it was enough to send a shiver through me.
I looked up.
He looked down.
The space between us felt impossibly small.
“Roohi,” he said slowly, voice low, “you’re safe here. You know that, right?”
I nodded, though my throat felt tight.
“Good.”
He stepped slightly back, giving me space.
Then he added, quietly—
“If anything ever feels too much… you can tell me.”
Something inside me cracked softly.
Because no one had ever said something like that to me.
I opened my mouth to answer—but the words tangled.
All I managed was a quiet, broken:
“…Thank you.”
His eyes softened.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
I looked at him… really looked—
the man everyone called cold, untouchable, intimidating.
Standing here…
speaking gently…
to me.
He moved toward the couch.
“I’ll sleep here tonight,” he said, like always.
But before he could settle, I stopped him without thinking.
“Sidharth…”
He turned immediately.
I swallowed.
“You don’t have to sleep uncomfortably because of me.”
He blinked—almost surprised.
Then his voice dropped to something warmer than I’d ever heard.
“I’m not uncomfortable.”
I froze.
He continued, tone steady—
“It’s not about the couch. It’s about giving you space… until you feel safe enough to share one.”
My breath trembled.
His words felt like a soft blanket around my heart.
He picked up a pillow, but before lying down, he said:
“Good night, Roohi.”
I held the teddy to my chest and whispered—
“Good night.”
I turned off the lamp, leaving only the moonlight falling across the room.
From the couch, I heard him shift once… and then silence.
As the quiet night wrapped around us,
I lay there with the tiny teddy pressed to my chest, feeling the faint comfort of its softness—and his presence just a few steps away.
The room wasn’t silent anymore; it carried the warm echo of everything he had said, everything he had done,
everything he hadn’t needed to say at all.
Somewhere between his gentle words and the way he placed my dupatta back on my shoulder…
something inside me shifted. For years I had learned to survive in shadows, but tonight, in this quiet room, with the moonlight resting between us, I felt something different. I felt seen. Protected.
And for the first time, my heart whispered a truth I wasn’t ready to say out loud yet… but maybe, just maybe, I was starting to belong here—starting to belong with him.
___________________________
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