Target 70 votes
_____________________
Trayambak's Pov-
The next morning, I woke up slowly, the early sunlight creeping in through the curtains and casting a soft glow across our bedroom.
For a moment, everything felt perfect —
until the guilt hit me like a freight train.
What the hell had I done?
I had been too harsh on her.
Way too harsh.
I clenched my fists against the mattress.
I shouldn’t have made her gulp that paper , but when it comes to Dhimahi — I lose control.
How could she even think of leaving me?
Divorcing me?
It wasn’t anger that gripped me anymore.
It was pure, bleeding hurt.
A pain that pricked my skin, set fire to my veins, burned my heart.
I know it’s my fault —I made her believe I cheated on her.
But the fact that she decided to actually divorce me —it was gut-wrenching.
Still, I couldn't even begin to fathom how deeply I must’ve hurt her for her to take that step.
Those five days I stayed away,
God, what must she have gone through, all alone?
Hurting because of me.
I have to fix this.
I can't afford to hurt her anymore.
I can't.
Not when I love her with every goddamn breath I take.
I turned toward her, my beautiful girl still asleep, her face serene.
I leaned in gently, kissed her cheek, breathing her in, murmuring sweet nothings against her soft skin.
As I caressed her hair, I felt her subconsciously lean into my touch, melting against me like she belonged there — because she did.
With one last kiss, I slid off the bed and headed straight for the kitchen.
The maids, who were bustling around doing their respective chores, froze when they saw me step in.
They blinked once.
Twice.
I think one of them even gasped because Trayambak Pratap Singh voluntarily entering the kitchen was a historical event.
Yeah, yeah, stare all you want.
''Nikal jao sab kitchen se" ["Everyone, out of the kitchen,"] I said, waving my hands dramatically.
They hesitated.
Maybe they were worried I’d burn the house down. But one stern glare and they scampered away like scared rabbits
Normally, I only grace the kitchen when Dhimahi’s there, and I’m feeling romantic enough to flirt over flour and spices.
Otherwise? Nope.
Dhimahi cooks all my meals.
Not just because I demand it but because I love eating food made by her hands.
She’s the most dedicated, loving wife.
I’m so damn lucky.
But today was for me to pamper my girl.
Dhimahi’s king-sized breakfast.
I set to work immediately.
Decided to make her favorites — Puri, Chole ki Sabzi, and Kheer.
Battle one: Dough.
At first, it felt too dry.
Added water — now it looked like soup.
Added flour — now it felt like wet sand.
Forty freaking minutes of wrestling and pleading and possibly crying internally, I finally managed to get a dough that was almost acceptable.
YOU ARE READING
The Oculesics- Ek Kahaani Junoon Ki
Fantasy"Kapde utar," he said coldly. ["Strip"] Dhimahi's hands shook as she reached for her dupatta. There was no point resisting. She knew it. But she was too slow. Trayambak stormed towards her, ripped her kurti, and forced her down to her knees. "Muh kh...
