Page 99 of Protect my Heart
“You’re insane,” Gaurav hisses.
“No,” I say, crouching to his level, “you are. You really thought you could threaten her, touch her, take her—and I’d sit back and do nothing?”
Gaurav lets out a weak laugh through his pain. “She’s not your wife,” he wheezes. “I’m the man she deserves. Not some coward who hides and attacks when I wasn’t even looking.”
I look at him, really look at him. And something inside me… snaps. “Man?” I laugh once, twice, then harder. “You’re calling yourself a man?”
My eyes flicker to Anika. She’s standing quietly by the side, her expression unreadable—except her eyes. Her eyes are locked on mine, like she knows exactly what I’m about to say and she wants me to say it. I turn back to Gaurav. “You threw acid on a girl because she said no to you. That’s your definition of manhood?”
I lean forward, so close that he can see the anger in my eyes. “A man protects. A man doesn’t destroy. A man doesn’t try to own women like they’re property. You want to know what makes me a man?”
I rise slowly to my feet, brushing imaginary dust from my sleeves. “I don’t have to scream my masculinity from the rooftops. I don’t need to mark territory. I make her feel safe. I hold her when she cries. I stand between her and anyone whodares raise a hand or voice. And I’ll do it every single day, whether the world sees it or not.”
Anika's breath catches. I don’t look at her yet. I can’t. Not until these bastards are out of sight.
“Jay,” I call, never taking my eyes off the broken heap that is Gaurav. “Take these two away to the police station. Give them my name. Tell them I’ll come in the morning to give my statement.”
“Yes, sir.” Jay walks over and kicks some dust toward Gaurav’s feet before turning to me. “You walking on your own,” he asks them, “or should I break your legs so I get the excuse to carry a grown-ass man like a baby?”
I chuckle under my breath and shake my head. Jay’s too dramatic, but right now, I love it.
As they’re dragged away, both of them cursing and crying like the cowards they are, I finally turn. Anika’s looking at me like I’ve just stepped out of a dream—equal parts shock, awe, and a little bit of Is this really my life?
I walk to her, place both hands on her cheeks gently, and brush away the mess of curls sticking to her face. “Let’s get married, wifey,” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. My thumb grazes the edge of the bruise on her arm, and my heart clenches. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, “for being that ruthless in front of you. I hope you don’t…”
She cuts me off with a smile that steals the air from my lungs.
“Let’s get married, husband,” she says, and rises on her tiptoes.
“I love you,” she whispers, and before I can even respond, her lips are on mine.
Soft. Sure. Everything I’ve ever wanted in this lifetime. This girl—this woman—is mine. And I’m hers. And nothing, nothing, will ever change that.
CHAPTER 58
ANIKA
The moment we step into the wedding hall, all hell breaks loose. I barely have time to adjust the edge of my pallu before a sea of people swarm toward us.
Maa’s voice rings out first—sharp, panicked, relieved. “Where the hell were you two?!” She’s already halfway to us, her eyes flickering from Aarav to me and back like she can’t decide whether to hug us or strangle us.
“For a second, I thought Aarav ran away,” she mutters.
I actually chuckle. Aarav wraps an arm protectively around me and says, “We had to take care of something, Maa. But you should know—your son won’t ever leave his wife at the altar.”
He says it so smoothly, like it’s the most obvious fact in the world (it might be, but it still makes my heart skip a beat). His voice is soft but steady, laced with that quiet pride he always carries when he talks about me. And God, it does something weird to my heart.
Everyone hushes as the panditji clears his throat and announces, “Time's running out; let's start the ceremony."
And just like that, the noise dies down. The air thickens with emotion and age-old meanings. I take Aarav’s hand instinctively, and together we walk toward the mandap. The marigold strands sway gently, the sacred fire already crackling to life. I can feel the heat of it against my cheeks—or maybe it’s just the heaviness in my chest.
The wedding music plays softly in the background, and all I can think about is this is it. This is the moment I used to imagine when I was younger, wrapped in fairy lights and fantasies. Only, I never thought I’d get here like this—heart heavy, eyes full, but hand in hand with the only man I’ve ever wanted to walk through fire with.
We sit, Panditji begins the chants, reciting verses that sound like poetry I don’t fully understand, but somehow feel in my bones. The pandit ji looks at me and says, “Bride’s father, step up for Kanyadaan.”
Everything stops. My breath hitches. I look to the side. There’s no father here. Just an empty space beside me where he should’ve been. But I have never been blessed with a father. A real father. My eyes sting. Mumma reaches out, her hand shaking slightly as she holds my wrist. Her chin trembles, but she tries so hard to smile. I know what it costs her. To sit here. To be both mother and father. To let go and still hold on.
Then a voice—familiar, warm, and teasing—breaks the silence. “I’ll do it.” I turn my head, eyes widening as I stare at Rudraksh bhaiya. He has a soft smile, and Bhabhi is trying to smile, but the tears spill from her eyes.
