Chapter 9 – First Mornings
हाथों का सहारा, साँसों की लहरें,
सुरक्षा में बँधी हमारी नयी कहानियाँ।
मिसअंडरस्टैंडिंग में भी तेरा सहारा,
हर खतरे में तू रहा पास हमारा।
The morning after the wedding, sunlight streamed through the tall French windows of the Khanna residence. The house, still buzzing from last night's celebration, now carried the hum of relatives chattering over breakfast, women clinking bangles as they cleared leftovers, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the halls.
In her new room, Trisha stirred awake. The weight of her bridal jewelry was gone, replaced by a soft cotton kurta and a light dupatta that Priya aunty had insisted she wear for the morning rituals. Yet even without the ornaments, she felt heavy—like the silence of her new reality had settled on her shoulders.
She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock. Seven thirty. She had overslept.
Her heart stuttered. At her parents' house, waking late was enough reason to unleash sharp words and slaps. Panic bubbled as she scrambled to her feet.
"Relax."
The voice came from near the window. She froze.
Abhineet was already awake, standing tall in a crisp white kurta, sipping tea. Sunlight haloed around him, his broad frame cutting a commanding figure against the glass. He didn't look like someone who had celebrated until dawn.
"You're up," she murmured, embarrassed.
"You needed rest," he replied simply, setting down his cup. "Nobody's keeping score here."
Her lips parted. The calmness of his tone disarmed her. For a moment, she almost believed it.
---
Downstairs, the breakfast table buzzed with energy. A dozen relatives crowded around plates of parathas, fruit, and steaming chai. As soon as Trisha stepped in, the room erupted.
"Here comes the new bride!" someone called.
"Arrey wah, what a glow! Look at our dulhan," another teased.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, fingers tightening around her dupatta. She could already feel their stares—measuring, judging, waiting for her to fumble.
Before the teasing could escalate, Abhineet's voice cut through. "She doesn't need a parade just to have breakfast."
The laughter softened into murmurs. Without looking apologetic, he pulled a chair for her. She sat, the room suddenly less suffocating.
---
It was only when the plate of parathas was set before her that another panic struck—she had to eat in front of everyone. Her appetite shrank.
She reached for the spoon to serve herself, but her hands trembled just enough for the ladle to clink too loudly against the bowl. A ripple of chuckles spread at the table.
Her throat tightened.
Abhineet's hand appeared, steady and smooth, serving food onto her plate as if it were the most natural thing. "You'll like the aloo stuffing," he said quietly, just to her. "Less chili. Maa instructed the cook herself."
The small detail made her blink. He had noticed her dislike for spice last night, when she'd barely touched the mirchi pakoras.
Her stomach unclenched. She took a bite, the flavors surprisingly comforting.
---
Later that morning, Priya aunty pulled her aside into the kitchen. "Beta, our Khanna family tradition—every new bride must prepare something sweet on her first morning."
The kitchen suddenly felt like an exam hall. Rows of gleaming pots and ingredients stared back at her. Her heart began to race.
Priya continued, "Don't worry, we won't judge harshly. Even if it's burnt."
A few women giggled.
Trisha forced a small nod. Baking was her passion, yes—but cooking under pressure, in a new home, with judgmental eyes watching? Her hands grew clammy.
As she stared at the shelves, a calm voice slipped beside her ear.
"Make what you're good at."
She turned. Abhineet leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, observing her panic with quiet assurance.
"I... I can bake," she whispered, almost defensively.
"Then bake," he said, as though it were that simple.
---
The oven preheated. She worked in silence, measuring flour, sugar, cocoa powder. Her hands shook at first, but once the rhythm of whisking and pouring settled in, a familiar comfort washed over her.
Soon, the warm scent of chocolate wafted through the kitchen, drawing curious relatives inside.
"What's this?" someone asked.
"Brownies," she murmured.
When the tray emerged golden and gooey, Abhineet was the first to take a piece. He broke it in half, tasting it slowly. The room held its breath.
"Not bad," he said, straight-faced.
Her heart dropped. Not bad? That was it?
Then his lips curved—just slightly. "Actually... it's dangerously good. Might need to hide the tray before they disappear."
Relatives laughed, reaching for their shares. The tension broke. Trisha exhaled in relief, her lips curving despite herself.
---
By afternoon, when most relatives retired to their rooms for rest, the house finally quieted. Trisha escaped to the balcony with a cup of tea, craving a moment alone.
The Mumbai skyline stretched endlessly—tall buildings piercing the haze, the sound of traffic humming faintly below. She took a sip, letting the warmth steady her.
"You survived."
She turned. Abhineet leaned against the balcony railing, another cup in his hand.
"Barely," she admitted.
"You didn't just survive. You impressed them." His tone was factual, not flattering.
She frowned. "With brownies?"
"With holding your ground," he said simply.
Her eyes softened. Silence hung between them—not awkward this time, but tentative.
After a while, she asked, "Do you... always notice everything?"
He sipped his tea, gaze fixed on the skyline. "Old habit."
Her curiosity stirred. "Why?"
For the first time, his jaw tightened, a shadow flickering across his face. "Because once, I didn't notice in time."
The air grew heavy. He didn't explain further, and she didn't push. But she tucked the words away.
---
That night, long after the house had gone to sleep, Trisha lay awake in her room. The ceiling fan hummed softly, shadows stretching across the walls.
Her mind replayed the day—the teasing, the judgment, the oven's warmth, the rare smile on Abhineet's lips.
For years, she had survived in silence, every day filled with sharp words and accusations. But here... things felt different.
He hadn't demanded her laughter or her words. He hadn't forced her into comfort. He had simply stood beside her—steady, unshaken, like the world couldn't touch her as long as he was there.
For the first time in her life, she wondered if safety could feel like this.
And the thought made her chest ache in a way she wasn't ready to name.
तेरी निगाहों में पाया मैंने सुकून,
हर साँस में बँधी मेरी हिम्मत की रौशनी।
गलतफहमियों के बीच भी तेरा हाथ मेरे पास,
हर डर, हर अनजान लम्हा अब नहीं अकेला।
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✨ End of Chapter 9 ✨
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