Here is Chapter 2 , Wait is over

The Man Beneath the Turban

The wedding ended long after midnight.

Meera could barely feel her feet beneath the heavy lehenga as relatives surrounded her, offering blessings she couldn’t even hear properly.

Everything felt distant.

Blurred.

Like she was trapped inside someone else’s life.

Across the mandap, Veer Pratap Singh stood surrounded by village elders and political guests. Even in the crowd, he looked impossible to ignore.

Power clung to him naturally.

People straightened when he spoke.

Lowered their eyes when he looked at them.

And through it all…

he never looked at Meera again.

Not once.

Somehow, that hurt more than it should have.

—

The bidaai began an hour later.

Her mother cried loudly while hugging her.

Her father couldn’t even meet her eyes.

Guilt sat heavily in the air between them.

Meera wanted to ask a thousand questions.

Why didn’t anyone stop this?

Why did Veer agree?

What would happen when his family found out?

But the words remained trapped inside her throat.

Soon, she was escorted toward the black SUV waiting outside.

The moment she sat inside, silence filled the car.

Veer sat beside her.

Close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

Yet the distance between them felt enormous.

The driver started the vehicle.

Rain began falling outside almost immediately.

Soft at first.

Then heavier.

Meera stared out the window silently, clutching the edge of her dupatta tightly.

Beside her, Veer remained completely still.

No phone.

No conversation.

Just silence.

Terrifying silence.

Finally, unable to bear it anymore, Meera whispered softly,

“Why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

No response.

She slowly turned toward him.

Veer’s sharp eyes remained fixed ahead.

“You knew,” she continued carefully. “You knew I wasn’t my sister.”

This time he looked at her.

The intensity of his gaze made her pulse stutter.

“I did.”

His voice was deep. Calm.

No emotion.

Meera swallowed nervously.

“Then why…?”

For a moment, Veer said nothing.

Rain hit the windows heavily around them.

Then finally—

“Because your family was desperate.”

Meera frowned slightly.

“That’s not an answer.”

Veer leaned back against the seat, jaw tightening faintly.

“Not every decision requires explanation.”

The coldness in his tone stung.

Meera looked away immediately.

Of course.

What else had she expected?

He was probably furious underneath that calm exterior.

Forced into marrying the wrong woman.

Humiliated publicly.

She curled her fingers tightly together in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

The words came out smaller than intended.

Veer looked at her again.

For one strange second, something unreadable crossed his face.

Then disappeared.

“You did not run away,” he said quietly.

Meera blinked.

“What?”

“The woman who ran away owes me an apology.”

His voice remained emotionless.

“But you…” His eyes briefly dropped toward her shaking hands. “You merely became the punishment.”

The words hit harder than shouting ever could.

Meera turned toward the rain-covered window quickly before he could see the tears gathering in her eyes.

Punishment.

That’s exactly what this marriage was.

—

Three hours later, the SUV finally entered Devgarh village.

Even at night, the village buzzed with activity.

People stood near shops whispering as the convoy passed.

Women watched from balconies.

Children ran behind the cars excitedly.

Everyone wanted to see the sarpanch’s new bride.

Meera shrank further beneath her veil.

The haveli appeared at the end of the road.

Huge.

Ancient.

Intimidating.

Lights glowed warmly against the dark stone walls while guards stood near the massive entrance gates.

Meera’s stomach tightened.

This was her home now.

The realization felt suffocating.

The car stopped.

Before she could react, Veer stepped out first.

Rain immediately soaked the shoulders of his black sherwani.

One of the servants rushed forward with an umbrella, but Veer ignored him completely.

Instead, he opened Meera’s door himself.

She stared at him in surprise.

For the first time that night, his expression softened slightly.

“Careful,” he said quietly, noticing her exhausted state.

The softness vanished almost immediately afterward, as though it had never existed.

Meera stepped out slowly.

The cold rain kissed her skin instantly.

Before she could adjust her heavy lehenga properly, loud whispers erupted nearby.

“That’s not the original bride.”

“I heard the elder daughter ran away.”

“Poor sarpanch.”

“Such shame…”

Meera’s face burned with humiliation.

Her breathing became uneven.

Then suddenly—

Veer stepped in front of her.

Blocking her from the crowd entirely.

His broad frame shielded her from their staring eyes.

The whispers died instantly.

Not because he spoke loudly.

Because he didn’t.

Veer simply looked at them once.

Coldly.

And everyone fell silent.

Fear.

That’s what he carried in his gaze.

Without another word, he placed one hand lightly against Meera’s back and guided her toward the haveli entrance.

The touch lasted barely seconds.

Yet somehow, Meera felt it long after he removed his hand.

—

Inside, the haveli was breathtaking.

Massive chandeliers.

Marble floors.

Old paintings lining the walls.

The scent of sandalwood lingered faintly in the air.

But despite the beauty…

the house felt lonely.

Cold.

Like laughter had not lived there for years.

An older woman approached them.

Elegant saree.

Sharp eyes.

Veer’s mother.

Her gaze landed on Meera and hardened immediately.

So she knew too.

Wonderful.

“Come,” the woman said coldly. “The rituals are waiting.”

No welcome.

No warmth.

Just duty.

Meera lowered her eyes silently and followed.

The next hour passed in exhaustion.

More rituals.

More staring.

More whispers.

By the time everything finally ended, her head ached terribly.

One servant picked up her bags while another led her upstairs.

Meera stopped outside a large wooden door.

Her heartbeat quickened instantly.

The bedroom.

Her married life.

Her future.

Everything waited behind that door.

The servant opened it quietly before leaving.

Meera stepped inside slowly.

The room was enormous.

Dark wooden furniture.

Soft golden lamps.

Large windows overlooking the rain-covered fields outside.

And near the balcony—

stood Veer.

His back faced her while rain thundered outside beyond the open doors.

He had removed his turban.

His sleeves were rolled slightly upward.

One hand rested against the balcony railing.

For a moment, he looked less like a feared sarpanch…

and more like a tired man carrying too much weight.

Meera stood near the door awkwardly.

Unsure what to do.

What to say.

After several seconds, Veer finally spoke without turning around.

“There’s another room connected to this one.”

Meera blinked.

“You can stay there if you feel uncomfortable.”

Surprise flickered across her face.

He wasn’t forcing closeness.

Wasn’t even looking at her.

A strange mixture of relief and disappointment settled inside her chest.

Slowly, Veer turned toward her.

His expression remained unreadable.

But his eyes paused briefly on the tear stains still visible on her face.

Then he said quietly—

“No one in this haveli will disrespect you publicly.”

Meera stared at him silently.

“And privately?” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Something dangerous flickered in Veer’s eyes.

Not anger.

Something darker.

More personal.

He walked toward her slowly.

Meera’s breath caught.

Every instinct told her to step back.

But her feet refused to move.

Veer stopped directly in front of her.

Close enough that she could smell rain and sandalwood on him.

His voice dropped lower.

“As long as you are carrying my name,” he said calmly, “nobody gets the right to hurt you.”

Then he moved past her without another word.

Leaving Meera standing there

with a racing heartbeat…

and the terrifying realization that her cold husband might be far more dangerous in kindness than cruelty.