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Abhishek woke Malini, with a playful nudge bright,
"Sleepyhead! Up now, school's waiting, morning's light!"
Malini groggily rose, rubbed her sleepy eyes,
Ran out to get ready - Abhishek's teasing smile did surprise.
He imagined dangers hidden in her innocent grace,
A charm so potent - it played havoc on his steady pace.
Ready at last, they walked to the dining hall's door,
Malini curious, timidly slid fingers onto his palm's shore.
Abhishek smirked, noticing her shy little play,
She tried to pull away - he tightened grip, gentle sway.
"You're my wife, Malini," he said with a teasing grin,
"Learn to take control of me - that's what wives do, win."
Malini's cheeks flushed pink, shyness filled her air.
As they entered dining, she noticed females serving there.
Males not eating yet - she wondered silently why,
Abhishek answered before she could ask, with a gentle sigh.
"1846's customs, love. Girls serve men first, they go to work's grind,
Women eat afterwards - that's how traditions are aligned."
Malini asked, eyes curious, "Why don't you eat with males?"
Abhishek replied, teasingly, with loving wicked trails.
"I love to feed you, and want you to feed me too,"
Malini blushed again, in sweet embarrassment's hue.
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16th April 1846
Calcutta, Bengal
ABHISHEK POV~
But when our eyes lock, something flickers between us… something tender… and entirely real.
Her brows knit slightly in confusion as she squints, blinking again… eyes darting downward, then widening as realization dawns.
She suddenly becomes still….like a deer catching a sound in the woods.
Her eyes widen as she fully registers the moment… me hovering above her, one hand still firm around her waist.
She's half-curled under me, her back still slightly arched from her stretch, which makes her chest rise, breathless and unaware.
It hits her all at once, our proximity, the tangled warmth of our bodies, and the fact that I haven't moved an inch.
A blush spills across her cheeks as she quickly pulls the blanket up, shrinking into herself… arms folding over her chest, legs curling instinctively.
She tries to hide, to vanish into the folds of the mattress, sucking her stomach in, her posture defensive yet endearing.
Crimson creeps onto her face, blooming across her cheeks and the tips of her ears.
I tilt my head slightly, unable to stop the slow smirk that tugs at my lips.
Her flustered state…. so raw, so sweet… makes something protective and possessive stir in me.
She's not just beautiful…. she's mine to tease, to treasure.
"Good morning... sleepyhead," I murmur softly, my voice brushing over the tip of her nose like a feather.
Her brows scrunch as she stirs, still caught between sleep and wakefulness.
She tries to shift beneath me, her body squirming gently, as if trying to create distance, but she's trapped under my weight.
I can feel the nervous flutter in her breath.
A hint of pink begins to rise on her cheeks even before her eyes fully open.
"W-ww-what ar-are you doing?" she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her chest rises and falls rapidly, breath hitching with every second as her eyes lower, hesitantly grazing over my bare chest.
The pink in her cheeks deepens.
She looks like a doe caught in sunlight— vulnerable, startled, but curious.
"What do you think?" I ask, lowering my head just enough to let my breath fan across her cheek.
It's warm, deliberate.
She shivers… barely, but I feel it.
Her breath catches again, and a soft hue begins to creep up her neck, tinting the curve of her ears.
"Um… I… I… d-don't know," she mumbles, her voice fragile like morning mist.
Her small hands, trembling slightly, press lightly against my biceps, not forceful… just shy.
A silent plea for space, or maybe just control.
"I'm waking you up. You have to go to school," I say, finally pulling back a little, just enough to let the tension between us dissolve like dew under morning sun.
I watch as her shoulders relax, a breath of relief slipping past her lips.
Giving her space— emotional and physical… is my way of saying…. 'I'm teasing, but I see you.'
"Who wakes up someone like this?" she mutters, her brows furrowing into a cute scowl as she adjusts herself.
Her voice is hushed, but the pout in her tone is unmistakable.
I can't help the grin tugging at my lips.
She's annoyed… but not really.
And she's blushing more now than when she first woke up.
I chuckle, finally easing myself off her and sliding down from the edge of the bed.
The morning light filters in through the open window, painting golden streaks across her face.
She sits up slowly, her eyes still downcast, and adjusts her saree's pallu over her shoulder and chest with delicate fingers.
The motion is instinctive, modest, yet graceful.
She looks like a painting… soft, serene, and utterly unaware of the chaos she stirs in me.
"Get ready fast, I'll drop you off. And don't forget breakfast," I say casually, walking to the almirah.
The wooden door creaks slightly as I open it, pulling out a soft cotton kurta and a maroon shawl to match.
Morning rituals.
Ordinary chores.
But somehow, today, everything feels less ordinary… with her here.
I watch her stumble down from the bed, almost tripping over the hem of her saree in her hurry, before rushing outside toward the garden where the washroom is.
She's flustered, still pink, still breathless…. and trying very hard not to look back at me.
I laugh under my breath.
She's so endearing when she runs from the storm she doesn't even know she's stirring.
I chuckle softly, shaking my head as I begin slipping my arms into the kurta sleeves.
Her fluster, her innocence…. it's all too precious.
She has no idea how deeply she affects me.
And maybe that's what makes her so dangerous to my carefully built calm.
MALINI POV~
As we walk side by side toward the dining room, the polished floor echoing under our soft footsteps, my mind drifts to yesterday morning.
The voices still linger— sharp like splinters… taunts laced with contempt, objections heavy with scorn, and pressure that felt like it might crush my ribs.
And yet…
He stood beside me.
A quiet force.
Shielding me.
Deflecting every blow with the calm of a storm that refuses to rage.
I glance up at him, my eyes tracing the quiet strength in his features, then lower my gaze to his hand swinging beside mine.
My heart skips… not from fear, but something softer.
Tentatively, I reach out, my fingers brushing his knuckles before sliding into the spaces between them.
His hand closes around mine instinctively.
Warm.
Firm.
Assuring.
Curious, I peek up again…. only to catch a knowing smirk dancing on his lips.
Startled by the smirk, I quickly lower my gaze and instinctively begin to pull my hand back.
But he doesn't let go.
His fingers wrap tighter— gentle, not forceful… like a quiet reassurance that I'm safe.
He leans in, his breath brushing the shell of my ear, sending an unexpected shiver down my spine.
"You're my wife," he murmurs, voice low, teasing. "Learn to take control over me."
The words twist something inside me— timid awe, confused courage.
I bite my lip, cheeks warming as I fix my eyes on the corridor ahead.
Anything but him.
His words play on a loop in my mind, their meaning fluttering just out of reach like a leaf caught in the wind.
From beside me, a soft chuckle escapes his lips— low, smooth, amused.
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I feel it again.
That warmth.
The rough texture of his palm wrapped around mine… not to control, but to comfort.
Like I'm being held… not as possession, but as something precious.
Slowly, we reach the dining hall.
The warm morning light spills through the half-open windows, casting golden patches on the floor, but something else catches my attention— again, only the women are present.
They sit quietly on the chair near the table, their sarees tucked in neatly, eyes cast downward, serving themselves in silence.
Why are there only women here?
Where are the men?
Don't they eat?
A quiet confusion stirs within me, and my brows pull together.
I squint slightly, trying to make sense of this invisible rule that separates the same family into two timelines… two rituals.
"They've already finished their breakfast," he whispers gently near my ear, voice soft and warm. "It's the time for the women of the house to eat… after serving the men."
His words slip into the silence like a forbidden truth, and I feel something sharp and invisible prick my chest.
He answers without me even speaking, as though he could read the protests rising in my throat.
"Then… Why are you eating now?" I whisper, my voice a little smaller than before. "Why didn't you eat with them?"
He glances at me with a flicker of something soft— mischievous, yet warm.
"Because I want to eat with my wife," he says simply, as if that alone is enough. "I want to feed her and—"
He trails off, the faintest smirk playing at his lips, eyes glinting under the shadow of his lashes.
"And?" I ask, raising a brow, my voice more curious than demanding.
"And…" His fingers gently graze my knuckles, the touch feather-light. "I want her to feed me… like yesterday."
A rush of warmth floods my cheeks as my heart stutters, tripping over its next beat.
His voice is calm, but there's a flicker of a tease in it, like a secret only we share.
I quickly lower my gaze, heat blooming across my cheeks.
My heart thumps faster, steady but wild.
Tiny waves stir again in my stomach— soft and fluttery… like petals falling into water.
The memory of yesterday flashes in my mind— his warm lips brushing my fingertips, the playful way he bit down so gently, so deliberately.
I press my lips together, trying not to smile.
What is this feeling he keeps stirring in me?
"Come," he murmurs softly, and before I can utter a word, his fingers curl gently around my wrist.
His touch is firm but kind, guiding me into the quiet of the dining room.
~ You're my wife…. Learn to take control over me.
჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻.✾.჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻
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