Aarav helped Siyara stand and guided her toward the entrance of the temple. The stone archway was ancient, covered with moss and small carvings of vines and flowers. As they stepped inside, the world shifted.

The air cooled instantly, sweet with the scent of sandalwood, damp stone, and jasmine flowers.

Soft bells chimed somewhere deeper inside, echoing like a gentle heartbeat.

Siyara looked up slowly, her breath catching.

Before them stood the idol of Bhudevi, carved from dark stone, draped in fresh flowers and glowing in the warm light of dozens of oil lamps. Her face was serene, eyes gentle, like a mother watching her children.

Siyara whispered, almost reverently,

“Aarav… it’s beautiful.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

He was watching her, the way her eyes softened, the way her fingers brushed her saree, the way the temple light made her skin glow.

“Yes, it is” he murmured.

She turned to look at him, confused.

He looked away immediately, pretending to observe the temple walls.

They walked a few steps ahead, and Siyara noticed a smaller shrine to the right.

Her voice softened.

“Aarav… look.”

Inside the smaller sanctum, the idol of Bhuvaraha Swamy stood, Varaha lifting Bhudevi gently in his arms, protecting her, supporting her weight, holding her like she was the center of his world.

Siyara stared at the idol silently.

Her heart thudded once.

Aarav stepped closer behind her.

His chest almost brushed her back.

His voice dropped to a whisper near her ear:

“Even the gods carry their wives, Siyu.”

Her cheeks heated instantly.

“Aarav… behave.”

He smirked. “I am behaving. You’re the one blushing.”

“I’m not—!”

She stopped when she realized she was.

They walked toward the main sanctum. The floor was cool under their feet, polished smooth from centuries of footsteps. Diyas flickered gently, casting warm gold light across their faces.

Siyara folded her hands and closed her eyes.

She prayed quietly… genuinely.

Something she hadn’t done in a long time.

Aarav stood beside her.

But he didn’t pray.

He watched her.

Every blink.

Every breath.

Every small movement.

She opened her eyes slowly and found him staring.

“What?” she whispered.

He shook his head once.

“Nothing.”

But his gaze didn’t move away.

She looked back at the idol to escape his eyes.

On a small brass plate beside the lamp lay a mound of kumkum.

Aarav reached for it.

“Aarav—”

“Come here,” he said softly.

She stepped closer, expecting him to use his fingers.

But instead, Aarav leaned in.

Closer.

Closer.

Close enough for her breath to hitch.

Then gently, softly, he pressed his forehead to hers.

The kumkum marked them both.

A soft red smudge on her.

A matching red smudge on him.

Siyara froze.

His voice brushed her lips when he spoke, that close:

“This is how I want to mark you, Siyu. Not with my hand…with me.”

Her fingers trembled.

She didn’t step away.

She didn’t blink.

Aarav’s breath fanned her skin.

Her heart was beating too loudly.

He finally pulled back a little, just enough to look into her eyes.

“That mark on your forehead…” he said softly, “means you’re mine.”

He touched the matching mark on his forehead.

“And this means I’m yours.”

Siyara swallowed.

She didn’t know whether to melt…

or run.

Whether to accept him…

or fear him.

Bhudevi and Varaha watched from above—

a goddess held by her protector,

a wife carried by her husband.

Just like Siyara had been carried up those steps moments ago.

A blessing.

A symbol.

A warning.

She looked at Aarav again.

His eyes were steady.

Serious.

Unshakable.

Siyara was still breathing unevenly when Aarav slowly pulled back, the faint red mark on both their foreheads glowing softly under the temple lamps.

Before either of them could speak, a gentle voice echoed behind them.

“Daughter… son…”

They turned.

An elderly priest stood near the sanctum doorway, holding a small brass plate filled with turmeric, kumkum, and raksha dhaaga, the sacred protection thread.

His eyes crinkled with kindness as he looked at them.

“You two prayed with pure hearts,” the priest said. “May Bhudevi and Bhuvaraha Swamy bless your union.”

Siyara lowered her head respectfully.

Aarav folded his hands.

The priest stepped closer.

“Come forward, child,” he said to Siyara.

Aarav moved with her — instinctively, protectively — and the priest noticed that.

He smiled softly.

“Ah… you stand like Varaha himself. Guarding her from every side.”

Siyara’s cheeks warmed.

Aarav’s jaw tightened slightly not angry, not embarrassed… just deeply serious.

The priest dipped his fingers into turmeric and lightly touched Siyara’s forehead, then Aarav’s.

Then he picked up a sacred yellow thread, tied with a tiny red bead.

“This is Bhudevi’s raksha dhaaga,” he explained. “It protects a woman through every journey… long life, peace, harmony.”

He held it out.

Before Siyara could even lift her wrist, Aarav took the thread from the priest.

“I’ll tie it,” he said quietly.

The priest nodded approvingly.

“As a husband should.”

Siyara’s breath caught.

Aarav took her hand gently.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist, warm and steady.

“Siyu,” he murmured, “hold still.”

She didn’t know why that soft whisper made her heart skip.

He tied the thread around her wrist slowly, carefully, as if afraid of hurting her.

His thumb brushed her skin once… then again… lingering a heartbeat longer than needed.

Siyara swallowed hard.

The priest watched them with a knowing smile.

When Aarav finished tying the knot, he didn’t let go immediately.

His fingers stayed on her pulse… feeling it race beneath his touch.

Her voice trembled.

“Aarav…?”

He looked up, eyes dark and unblinking.

“This thread means you’re protected,” he said quietly.

Then added softer, almost a whisper “By the gods… and by me.”

Siyara’s breath hitched.

The priest blessed them again, placing his hand over their heads.

“May you never part,” he said.

“Just like Bhudevi and Varaha inseparable in every life.”

Aarav glanced at Siyara.

She quickly looked away.

Her chest felt too tight.

Her thoughts too full.

Her wrist too warm where he had touched her.

And somewhere behind them…

the temple bells rang again, as if sealing a vow neither of them was truly ready for,

yet both had already stepped into.

Siyara was sitting on the stone platform when the priest returned, holding a small clay pot filled with a thick green paste.

“This mulika is made from forest herbs,” he said gently. “It will ease the pain in your foot.”

Aarav immediately shifted closer.

“Give it to me, Pandit ji,” he said.

The priest handed the pot to him with a smile.

“A husband’s hands give the fastest healing.”

Siyara’s cheeks warmed once again.

Aarav opened the clay lid. A soft herbal scent rose from it cool, earthy, calming.

“Show me your foot,” he said quietly.

She hesitated.

“Aarav… I can apply it myself—”

He looked at her once.

Just once.

That was enough to silence her.

Slowly, she lifted her saree just a little and extended her foot.

Aarav placed her ankle on his palm gently, carefully as if it was fragile.

His fingers were warm against her cold skin.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he murmured.

Siyara didn’t answer.

She was too busy trying not to stare at the concentration in his eyes.

Aarav dipped two fingers into the mulika and began applying it over the swollen area.

His touch was slow… deliberate… almost reverent.

She winced slightly.

Aarav’s jaw tightened.

“Sorry,” he said softly, adjusting his pressure.

“I’ll be gentle.”

Her heart fluttered unexpectedly.

The priest watched them from afar and whispered a quiet blessing under his breath.

When Aarav finished, he looked up at her.

“How does it feel?”

She flexed her foot gently. “Better… actually much better.”

Aarav exhaled relieved.

“Good,” he said. “Now don’t pretend to be brave again.”

She rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t pretending.”

“You always do,” he muttered.

She smiled shyly…

and quietly agreed in her heart.

After sometime the priest placed two leaf bowls of Prasad in front of them sweet Pongal mixed with ghee.

One for her.

One for him.

They thanked him and walked toward the pillars outside to sit and eat.

Siyara sat first, carefully adjusting her saree.

Aarav sat beside her, keeping enough distance to avoid making her uncomfortable… but close enough to reach her if she slipped again.

Siyara began eating slowly, savoring each bite.

Aarav took a spoon of his Prasad, but before it reached his mouth…

A small shadow darted behind him.

Siyara’s eyes widened.

“Aarav—”

Before she could finish, a monkey snatched his entire Prasad bowl in one lightning-fast move and sprinted away.

Aarav froze.

Siyara covered her mouth instantly — trying and failing to hide her laughter.

Aarav turned slowly, glaring at the monkey who was sitting on a pillar, happily eating his Prasad.

He looked at Siyara.

She burst into laughter loud, soft, uncontrollable laughter.

Her shoulders shook.

Her eyes sparkled.

Her voice echoed through the temple walls.

Aarav forgot the monkey.

Forgot the Prasad.

Forgot everything.

He just stared at her.

Completely mesmerized.

He had seen her smile.

He had seen her shy.

He had seen her annoyed.

He had seen her scared.

But this—

this happy, open, carefree laugh…

He could watch forever.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he muttered.

Siyara wiped her eyes, still giggling. “I’m sorry— but your face—pfft— I can’t—”

Aarav sighed dramatically. “Great. The monkey stole my Prasad AND my respect.”

She laughed even harder.

He stared at her even longer.

Finally, she calmed down and held out her bowl.

“Here,” she said softly. “Share with me.”

Aarav blinked.

“What?”

“You didn’t eat… so we’ll share.”

He looked at her and something warm twisted in his chest.

“You want to share with me?” he asked, voice softer than before.

She nodded.

Aarav took a small spoonful from her bowl.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Siyara smiled softly.

“You’re welcome.”

They ate together —

one bowl, two hearts,

the forest wind moving around them,

the sound of monkeys chattering in the background…

And Aarav couldn’t stop glancing at her.

Not once.