Chapter 3: The First Morning

The morning sun filtered through the small wooden window, casting long, golden stripes across the room. Nandini woke up before the alarm, her habits from her father’s house still sharp. She moved quietly, trying not to wake Rajveer, who was fast asleep on the other side of the bed.

She had changed into a simpler cotton saree—a soft peach color—but she was still struggling with the hooks of her blouse and the heavy fall of the fabric. Standing in front of the small, slightly rusted mirror, she leaned forward to adjust her mangalsutra, her hair falling over her shoulder in a messy wave.

Suddenly, she heard the bedsheets rustle.

Rajveer stirred, rubbing his eyes as he sat up. He was still half-asleep, his hair tousled. He looked toward the mirror, and his breath hitched.

Nandini was leaned over, her back arched slightly as she tucked the pleats of her saree. Because she was bending forward, the neckline of her blouse dipped, revealing the soft curve of her cleavage and the golden glow of her skin in the morning light.



Rajveer froze. He had never seen a woman so closely in such an intimate, unguarded moment. The sight hit him like a physical wave—the contrast of the delicate gold chain against her skin made his throat go dry.

Nandini saw his reflection in the mirror and realized he was awake. She saw where his eyes were fixed and felt a sudden, hot flush creep up her neck. She quickly stood upright, pulling her pallu over her shoulder to cover herself, her heart hammering against her ribs.

"Aap... you're awake?" she whispered, her voice trembling with that familiar nervousness, though this time it felt different. It felt like fire.

Rajveer quickly looked away, clearing his throat loudly. He felt like a teenager caught doing something wrong. "Haan... woh... I didn't mean to... I mean, haan, main uth gaya."

He stood up hurriedly, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug. "Main... main bahar ja kar pump se paani lata hoon. You take your time."

Nandini watched him rush out of the room, his ears tinged bright red. She stayed there for a second, her hand resting over her heart.

She was embarrassed, yes, but for the first time, she also felt a strange, fluttering power.

She looked at her reflection and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Pagal..." she murmured to herself with a tiny, shy smile.

The kitchen was small and smelled of woodsmoke and dried chilies. Nandini felt the weight of the household on her shoulders as she looked at the brass pots and the jars of lentils.

This was the "Pehli Rasoi"—the first meal.

She was busy kneading the dough, her glass bangles clinking a rhythmic song against the metal bowl.

She had tucked her pallu firmly into her waist, and a few stray strands of hair were damp with sweat, sticking to her forehead.

She didn't hear him walk in.

Rajveer stood in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame.

He had just come from the pump, his face fresh and a few water droplets still clinging to his neck. He watched her work. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved—so sure of herself in the kitchen, despite her nervousness earlier.

Nandini turned to reach for the rolling pin and gasped. "Aap... how long have you been standing there?"

Rajveer straightened up, feeling that heat return to his face. "Bas abhi aaya. I just came to see if you needed help with the fire."

Nandini looked at the chulha (stove) and then back at him. "Nahi, main kar lungi. I can manage."

She turned back to the rolling board, but her hands were slightly less steady now. She knew he was still watching. As she rolled out the first roti, it came out a bit lopsided.

"Gol nahi bani," Madhav teased softly, his voice a low rumble. "It's not a perfect circle."

Nandini bit her lip, a playful spark hitting her eyes. She looked at him over her shoulder. "Toh aap bana lijiye? If you’re such an expert, you try."

Rajveer laughed—a real, deep laugh that made Nandini’s heart skip a beat. He took a step closer, into her space. The kitchen felt very small all of a sudden.

He reached out, his hand hovering near hers as he pointed to the dough.

"Hamare gaon mein bolte hain, roti ka swad gol hone mein nahi, pyaar mein hota hai," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "In our village, they say the taste isn't in the shape, but in the love."

Nandini felt the breath catch in her throat.

He was so close she could smell the fresh water and the faint scent of earth on him. She looked down at the rolling pin, her face glowing.

"Chai pi lijiye," she whispered, handing him a steel tumbler of hot ginger tea. "It’s getting cold."

As he took the glass, his fingers brushed against hers. It was a brief touch, but it felt like an electric current. Rajveer took a sip, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Perfect hai," he murmured, and they both knew he wasn't just talking about the tea.



   The silence is only the beginning. The next chapter of Nandin

i is coming sooner than you think. Stay tuned for the storm. 🥀✨