Shambhavi felt the sunrays through the hospital curtains. But this morning, the air was different. Rudrang had been on his phone since dawn, his voice low and commanding.

He didn't argue with the hospital staff, he simply dictated terms. By ten in the morning, the senior doctor was personally signing the discharge papers.

Shambhavi watched from the bed, feeling a mix of awe and relief. She didn't understand how things were moving so fast, but she trusted the man who had stayed by her side all night. Her husband.

She still couldn't believe they were married. She was married.

Rudrang walked over to her. He knelt by her bed, his eyes softening as they landed on her face.

"Taiyaar ho, Shambhavi? Hum ghar ja rahe hain."

(Are you ready, Shambhavi? We are going home.)

He said, his voice warm. Shambhavi nodded, a small, shy smile touching her lips.

"Haan. Mujhe yahan bilkul accha nahi lag raha."

(Yes. I don’t feel good here.)

"Ab sab theek ho jayega."

(Everything will be fine now.)

He promised, taking her hand.

"Maine ghar par saari taiyari kar li hai. Doctor, nurse, sab kuch wahan hoga. Tumhe hospital ki zaroorat nahi padegi."

(I have prepared everything at home. Doctor, nurse, everything will be there. You won’t need a hospital.)

He helped her into a wheelchair, his movements incredibly careful, as if she were made of glass and might shatter at the slightest pressure.

Shambhavi stared out the window, hoping a street, a shop, or even a tree would trigger a memory. But the city was a stranger to her. Everything was new.

They stopped before massive, iron gates that opened slowly, revealing a driveway lined with trees.

At the end of the path stood a mansion, that looked more like a palace than a home.

Shambhavi's breath hitched in her throat. She looked at the huge pillars and the perfectly manicured lawns.

"Rudrang... yeh kya hai? Hum yahan rehte hain?"

(Rudrang…what is this? We live here?)

Rudrang parked the car and looked at the house with a proud, almost predatory smirk.

"Haan, Shambhavi. Yeh tumhara ghar hai. Sab kuch tumhara hi toh hai."

(Yes, Shambhavi. This is your house. Everything is yours only.)

"Lekin...?"

(But…?)

She whispered, feeling a sudden wave of insecurity.

"Main yahan kaise rehti thi? Mujhe toh yeh sab dekh kar darr lag raha hai."

(How do I live here? I feel scared even looking at this.)

Rudrang got out and opened her door, lifting her back into the wheelchair.

"Darrne ki koi baat nahi hai. Main hoon na tumhare saath. Tumhe dhire dhire sab yaad aa jayega."

(No need to be scared. I am here with you. You will remember everything slowly.)

He began to wheel her through the grand entrance. The interiors were breathtaking, marble floors that shone like mirrors, crystal chandeliers that threw rainbows across the walls, and a staircase that led to the other floors.

They passed several rooms, but as they reached a hallway on the second floor, Rudrang's pace slowed. He was pushing her past a door that stayed tightly shut, unlike the others. Shambhavi noticed it immediately because it looked different, older, maybe.

"Yeh kamra kya hai, Rudrang?"

(What is this room, Rudrang?)

She asked, pointing toward it. Rudrang stopped. His grip on the handles of the wheelchair tightened until his knuckles turned white. He stared at the door for a long heartbeat.

For a second, the mask of the caring husband slipped, and Shambhavi saw a flash of something raw in his eyes, a deep pain, burning anger, and a sadness so heavy it made her chest tighten.

"It's just a storeroom."

He said, his voice suddenly cold and distant.

"Kaafi saalon se band hai. Udhar dekhne layak kuch nahi hai."

(It is closed since years. Nothing to see.)

"Lekin..."

(But…)

Shambhavi started, but Rudrang began walking again, his pace much faster this time, effectively cutting her off.

"Don't bother, Shambhavi. You need rest."

He said, his tone leaving no room for further questions. They reached a large room at the end of the corridor. When he pushed the door open, Shambhavi let out a small gasp.

The room was beautiful. It was decorated in soft creams and warm woods. On the vanity, there were perfumes she didn't recognize but smelled faintly of jasmine. In the closet, rows of elegant dresses and soft sweaters hung neatly.

But what caught her eye were the walls. There were framed pictures everywhere. Shambhavi in a garden, laughing. Shambhavi reading a book by a window. Shambhavi looking over her shoulder at the camera.

In every photo, she looked happy, though she noticed she was always alone in the frames, Rudrang wasn't in them.

"Yeh sab... meri hain?"

(All these…are mine?)

She asked, touching a frame.

"Haan."

(Yes.)

Rudrang said, standing behind her.

"Inme aap kyu nhi hai?"

(Why are you not here?)

"I liked taking your pictures. Tumhe pata bhi nahi chalta tha, aur main tumhe hamesha ke liye kaid kar leta tha."

(You never got to know, and I used to capture you forever.)

There was something slightly unsettling about the way he said 'capture', but she brushed it off. It felt romantic, in a dark sort of way.

"Rudrang."

She said, turning her chair toward him.

"Humari shaadi ki koi tasveer nahi hai? Matlab, hum saath mein..."

(There is no picture of our wedding? I mean, of us together…)

Rudrang's expression didn't change, but he didn't look her in the eye.

"Nahi, Shambhavi. Humne court marriage ki thi. You didn't want a grand wedding. And because neither of us had a family, just the two of us were enough."

(No, Shambhavi. We had a court marriage.)

Shambhavi felt a pang of loneliness at the mention of not having a family. It explained why no one else had come to the hospital besides that strange, aggressive man, Anirudh.

"Toh mera koi nahi hai?"

(I have no one?)

She murmured. Rudrang knelt before her, taking both her hands in his. He looked up at her with an intensity that felt like it could burn.

"Mera bhi koi nahi hai, Shambhavi. Hum sirf ek dusre ke liye bane hain. Main hi tumhara sab kuch hu. Kya tumhe mujh par yakeen nahi hai?"

(I also have no one, Shambhavi. We are made for each other. I am your everything. Do you not trust me?)

Shambhavi looked into his eyes. There was a secret hiding in the depths of those dark pupils, something he wasn't telling her, but his touch was so steady and his voice so sure.

"I trust you."

She whispered.

"Good."

Rudrang said, kissing the back of her hand.

"Ab tum aaram karo. Main tumhare liye kuch khaane ko bhejta hu. Aur yaad rakhna, Shambhavi... is ghar se bahar jaane ki koshish mat karna. Bahar ki duniya bohot khatarnak hai, aur main tumhe dobara khone ka khatra nahi utha sakta."

(You rest now. I will send some food for you. And remember, Shambhavi…don’t go out of the house. The world is dangerous, and I cannot risk losing you again.)

He stood up and walked toward the door. Just before he left, he turned back. 

"Tumhe jo bhi chahiye, bas mujhe batana. Main sab haazir kar dunga. Bas mujhse dur mat jaana."

(Whatever you require, let me know. I will get everything. Just don’t go away from me.)

The door clicked shut, leaving Shambhavi alone in the middle of the massive, beautiful room. She looked at her own smiling face in the pictures on the wall.

She felt like a princess in a fortress. It was perfect, but as she looked at the door in her mind, the one Rudrang called a 'store room', a tiny seed of doubt began to itch.

Rudrang was her saviour, her husband, her everything. But as she sat in the silence of the mansion, she couldn't help but wonder why a simple store room could make a man like Rudrang look so broken. And why, despite his sweetness, she felt like a bird in a very expensive, very golden cage.