divya

[కుమార్]

Divya’s eyes snapped open wide. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts. The first thing she did — before anger, before shame, before anything else — was turn her head sharply toward

‎Monu.

‎

‎He was  humming to himself while rummaging through his toy box.

‎

‎Beedaa stepped back, dark eyes locked on her face for one last beat — no smirk, no triumph, just quiet intensity — then turned toward the front door. His boots made soft, heavy sounds on the tiles as he walked out, broad shoulders filling the frame for a moment before he crossed the threshold.

‎

‎Divya stood frozen in the hall for half a heartbeat. Then something inside her moved — not thought, not reason, just pure impulse.

‎

‎She followed.

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‎Barefoot, saree pallu trailing loose behind her, she hurried after him. Reached the open front door just as he stepped onto the small porch.

‎ She stopped at the gate threshold — one hand gripping the iron bars, the other still touching her own lips unconsciously.

‎

‎Beedaa paused on the other side, turning to face her. The lane was empty in the late-morning heat. No neighbors watching. Just the two of them.

‎

‎Divya’s voice came out small, trembling, but firm.

‎

‎“Aap… aap mere papa ki umar ke ho. Mere father jaise ho. Aisa mat karna kabhi. Please… dobara mat kiss karna mujhe.”

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‎Her eyes were glassy — confusion, guilt, something raw flickering behind them. The sindoor on her forehead still perfect, mangalsutra gleaming against her heaving chest.

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‎Beedaa looked down at her for a long moment. Then he nodded once — slow, serious.

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‎“Theek hai, bhabhi,” he said quietly, voice rough but sincere. “Main vaada karta hoon. Dobara nahi karunga. Kabhi nahi.”

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‎He turned to leave.

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‎But before he could take a single step—

‎

‎Divya moved.

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‎She stepped forward — just one small, hesitant step across the threshold — rose on her toes, and pressed her lips to his.

‎

‎Once.

‎

‎Soft. Quick. Almost innocent.

‎

‎Then again.

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‎A second kiss — still shy, still trembling, but deliberate.

‎Her hands came up to rest lightly on his vest-covered chest for balance. Lips parted just enough to feel the warmth of his mouth again, tasting the faint paan and smoke she’d tried to wipe away moments earlier.

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‎She pulled back fast, cheeks flaming crimson, eyes downcast. She couldn’t meet his gaze.

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‎With a shy, barely audible whisper — voice cracking with embarrassment and something else entirely — she said:

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‎“Ab… ab jaaiye. Apne ghar jaaiye… aur nahaa lijiye.”