Page 142 of Lawfully Yours

It had been the night of their wedding. A grand ceremony, all lights and cameras, followed by the long pull of post-wedding rituals. But for the night itself, she had wanted something quiet. No crowd. No guests. No more exhaustion. Just peace before the reception the next day. She’d told heruncle this before the wedding, and clearly, Kushal had listened. Because after her bidaai, he had brought her straight here.

She remembered stepping inside to find the penthouse dressed in soft golden lighting, flowers placed with thought, the air warm and fragrant and most importantly, there were no guests, no noise. Just them.

He had unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting her enter first. She’d caught the flicker in his eyes, the faint urge to sweep her into his arms and carry her inside. But they weren’t at that kind of ease yet. So, he didn’t push.

The memory was still warm in her chest. But she forced herself back to the present and rang the bell.

It opened almost instantly.

Kushal stood there, and for a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe. He hadn’t known she was coming. He looked… not angry, not arrogant. Just… sad.

He didn’t ask why she was here. He simply turned, walking back inside. “The closet’s unlocked. Take your time,” he said, before disappearing into another room.

Her throat felt tight as she stepped in. The house was dim now, shadows replacing the warm light she remembered. She walked slowly to their bedroom…no,his bedroomnow…and the memories of their marriage night hit harder again.

That night, after showing her the rest of the house, he opened the door to this room.

The bed had been decorated with flowers and soft drapes. She had stopped short, breath catching, and he’d noticed.

“My friends’ idea,” he said, a faint smirk on his lips. “Couldn’t say no. But if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll take it down.”

She surprised herself by shaking her head. “No… I don’t mind.”

His smirk warmed into something else. Playful and dangerous as he’d stepped closer. “I’m just wondering… whathappens when two hotheads like us actually sleep in that one bed? Might burn the place down.”

She’d narrowed her eyes at him, pretending calm while her pulse skipped. “In that case, I won’t mind if you take the couch. I need more space to sleep anyway.”

He’d laughed low, cupping her face with a touch so light yet so certain it had made her knees weaken. “Until we’re husband and wife…which is forever…no one is sleeping on the couch. Take all the space you want… just leave me enough to cuddle you…until…”

She’d swallowed hard. “Until…?”

He’d leaned closer, his lips so near she’d felt the heat of his breath. “Until the only space you’ll need on that bed will be underneath… or above me.”

A rush of heat had flooded her then. She’d pushed him away, muttering something about freshening up before practically running to the bathroom.

Now, standing in the same doorway, the memory was almost unbearable. The room felt colder without that teasing energy, that promise he had once held so close to his chest.

She drew in a slow breath and stepped inside. This time, she was here for closing things, not for starting a new life, unlike the last time. She was here today to gather what was hers before walking away for good, or at least that’s what she kept telling herself.

But every step, every glance around the room made her wonder if she was here to take her belongings… or leave behind the last pieces of herself.

Arundhati’s eyes shimmered as she pulled open the closet door, her palms lingering on the handle as though she were touching it for the last time. The sight inside tore at her heart. Her sarees, jewellery boxes, all were placed neatly, exactly as she had left them the first week she moved in as Kushal’s wife.Nothing had been disturbed, nothing rearranged. It was as if time had been frozen here, as if their separation had never happened.

The dam broke. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She reached out, fingers grazing the soft silks, unable to pull them away from their place. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be ready. And yet she had to.

With trembling hands she pulled out a few sarees, laying them gently across the bed—theirbed. The same bed where they had spent nights curled up in each other’s arms, touching, learning the shape of each other’s bodies, but holding back from crossing into full intimacy.

Those were the days she had felt most alive, most safe.

Marrying a man her uncle had chosen had not been an easy leap of faith. Yet from the very first meeting, there had been something about Kushal that had drawn her in, something she had never been able to explain or shake off.

Her gaze landed on a deep maroon saree lying on the bed, and once again, another sharp memory pulled her under.

It had been just a week after their wedding. Her uncle had insisted on a small puja at the penthouse. The priest hadn’t arrived yet, and Raj Verma was busy arranging the offerings in the living room.

In that one week, they had exchanged soft kisses on cheeks, forehead, and even along her jawline. But their lips had never met. Not yet. Still, they both carried the same unspoken hunger, the same quiet anticipation for when it would finally happen.

She had just stepped out of the shower when she saw the maroon saree lying neatly on the bed. Kushal had kept it there for her to wear. It was such a simple, unexpected gesture, but it had warmed her. She had worn it for him, the fabric clinging to her still-damp skin.