Next Morning – Sitapuram

The first rays of sunlight slipped through the carved wooden windows of  House. The air felt different—lighter, calmer.

Ishan woke up first.

For a moment, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying everything from last night. His cheeks warmed slightly. He turned his head.

Shubman was still asleep, one arm loosely draped over Ishan’s waist, his face peaceful—so different from his usual stubborn, proud self.

Ishan smiled softly.

Ishan: “tharki kahi ke …”

he whispered under his breath.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, adjusted his saree, and stepped outside.

---

Shubman woke up a few minutes later.

The bed felt empty.

He sat up quickly, his heart skipping a beat before he heard soft laughter coming from the courtyard. He relaxed.

After freshening up, he walked outside.

And there was Ishan.

Standing near the tulsi plant, sunlight falling on his face, laughing with the house, help about something small. The morning breeze made the end of his saree flutter.

Ishan was playing with madhav.

For a second, Shubman just stood there, watching.

Something inside him felt… steady.

Ishan noticed him staring.

He raised an eyebrow.

Ishan: “Kya dekh rahe hai, pati dev ji ?”

Shubman cleared his throat.

Shubman: “Kuch nahi biwi ji.”

Ishan smirked.

Ishan: “Subah-subah tharki kyun ho rahe ho phir?”

Shubman: “Tumse matlab,”

Shubman muttered, but this time, there was no anger—only softness.

---

Later That Day

By afternoon, the whole town of Sitapuram was glowing under golden sunlight.

The narrow lanes were alive with vendors, children running around, temple bells ringing in the distance.

Shubman and Ishan stepped out together.

For a few seconds, they walked side by side, a little awkward.

Then—

Ishan slowly slipped his hand into Shubman’s.

Ishan makes a move without any boundaries or thoughts.

Shubman looked down at their joined hands.

Shubman: “Log dekh rahe hai,”

he murmured.

Ishan:  “Toh dekhne do,”

Ishan replied casually.

Shubman hesitated… then tightened his grip.

And they continued walking.

Somewhere is Shubman’s heart . He wished that they could roam everywhere like this. Really like married couples

---

They stopped near the old sweet shop where fresh jalebis were being fried.

Ishan’s eyes lit up.

Ishan:“Humko chahiye.”

Shubman sighed dramatically.

Shubman: “Tum bas khate rehte ho hum par toh dhaynhi nahi hai.”

Ishan: “or aap bas ghoorte rehte ho,”

Ishan shot back.

Shubman almost choked.

Ishan laughed loudly.

The shopkeeper smiled at them knowingly and handed over two plates.

Instead of eating his own, Shubman absentmindedly held his plate near Ishan.

Ishan blinked.

Shubman: “Khilaoge?”

Shubman looked away.

Ishan: “Chup chap khao.”

But he didn’t move the plate.

Ishan took a bite.

Sweet syrup dripped slightly from his fingers.

Without thinking, Shubman caught his wrist and wiped it gently with his handkerchief.

Their eyes met.

For a moment, the noise of Sitapuram faded.

---

They walked toward the riverside next.

The water shimmered under the sun.

Children were flying kites nearby.

Ishan leaned slightly against Shubman’s shoulder.

Ishan: “Kal jo kaha tha…”

Ishan started softly.

Shubman stiffened a little.

Shubman: “Wachan wala?”

Shubman looked at the river instead of him.

Ishan: “Haan,”

he said quietly.

Shubman: “Hum mazak nahi karte aise baaton pe.”

Ishan’s fingers tightened around his hand.

Ishan: “Sach?”

Shubman finally looked at him.

Shubman: “Sach.”

No teasing. No ego. No pride.

Just truth.

Ishan’s eyes softened in a way Shubman had never seen before.

He rested his head properly on Shubman’s shoulder this time.

They stood there like that for a while.

Not speaking.

Just breathing together.

---

As the sun began to set, painting the sky orange and pink, they walked back home—still holding hands.

And for the first time since their act of  marriage…. Feels real

It didn’t feel forced.

It felt chosen.

Sitapuram – Ancient Era

The rules of Sitapuram were older than the temple stones.

Men married women.

Love followed duty.

And anything beyond that… was buried in silence.

So to the world, they were husband and wife.

Inside the walls of House, however, truth breathed quietly.

---

That night, the oil lamps flickered gently against mud-plastered walls. The courtyard was silent.

Shubman closed the wooden door carefully.

He turned toward Ishan, who was still wearing a saree, pallu covering his head.

For a moment, he simply looked at him.

Then, softly—

Shubman: “Kapde badal lo.”

Ishan looked up.

Ishan: “Kyun?”

Shubman: “Yahan koi nahi hai,”

Shubman said, voice low.

Shubman: “Na log… na nazar.”

There was something different in his tone. Not command.

Permission.

Ishan hesitated… then slowly went inside and changed.

When he stepped out wearing simple men’s clothes—dhoti and a loose kurta—he looked lighter. Freer. Like a part of him had returned home.

Shubman stared.

Not with desire.

With admiration.

Shubman: “tum… aise zyada ache lagte ho,”

he said quietly.

Ishan blinked, slightly startled.

Ishan: “Sach?”

Shubman nodded once.

---

In the small kitchen, Ishan prepared dinner.

No royal thaal.

No silver plates.

Just plain rice, dal, and sabji cooked on a clay stove.

The smell of tempered cumin filled the air.

Shubman sat on the wooden floor nearby, watching him.

Not a prince tonight.

Not a warrior.

Just a man looking at another man he cared about.

Ishan served the food on brass plates.

He sat down slowly.

Ishan: “Maaf kijiye,”

he muttered.

Shubman frowned.

Shubman:“Kis baat ke liye?”

Ishan: “Hum… rajkumari jaisa bhojan nahi bana paate. Bas yahi saadha khana… apko takleef hoga hum thahere rajkumar ”

His voice trailed off.

In a world where Shubman was meant to marry royalty…

Where feasts defined status…

What was this simple meal?

Shubman picked up a handful of rice and dal.

He tasted it.

Silence.

Ishan’s fingers tightened slightly on his own plate.

Then—

Shubman:“Bahut accha hai,”

Shubman said simply.

Ishan looked up.

Ishan: “Sach mein?”

Shubman took another bite.

Shubman : “Ismein namak sahi hai. Mirch sahi hai. Aur…”

He paused.

Shubman: “Ismein tum ho.”

Ishan’s breath caught.

Shubman leaned back slightly, studying him.

Shubman: “Rajbhog se pet bharta hai,” he said calmly.

Shubman: “Par aisa khana… ghar deta hai.”

The words were not dramatic.

They were steady.

Ishan’s eyes grew moist, though he quickly looked down.

Shubman noticed.

He reached forward and gently tilted Ishan’s chin up.

Shubman: “Hum khush hai. Kyuki tum mera ghar ho”

No pride.

No teasing.

Just truth.

Outside, the w

ind rustled through neem trees.

Inside, two men sat cross-legged on the floor, sharing a simple meal that no court poet would ever write about—

But which meant more than any royal feast.

And for that night, hidden from the world’s rules…

They were simply themselves.

To be continue.....

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