His Replaced Bride

🌸 Slow Steps, Silent Love

Recovery was never instant.
It wasn't about big milestones-it was about slow steps.

Dakshita's bruises began to fade, though her wrist still ached in certain positions. She had started sitting up longer during the day, walking around the house with care. Her body was healing...

But what she hadn't expected was how safe she felt-in this house, in this room, and most of all... with Akshit.

---

Every morning, he placed her slippers exactly where her feet would touch the ground. Every evening, he sat near her as she rested, pretending to read-but his eyes always followed her movements.

He still didn't talk much.

But now, his silence was full of meaning.

And for the first time since their rushed marriage, Dakshita felt like his presence wasn't distant-it was home.

---

One afternoon, while he was out for a short meeting, Dakshita stood slowly and made her way to his side of the bed.

She opened his drawer, looking for something soft to keep her wrist on.

That's when she saw it.

A leather-bound notebook with her name carved on the edge in tiny letters.

She opened it.

Page after page... were filled with sketches.
Of her.

Not perfect ones. Not dramatic. Just moments.

Her tying her braid in the mirror.
Her anklet resting on the floor.
Her hand reaching out across the dining table.
Her sitting on the hospital bed, smiling through pain.

Dakshita pressed the book to her chest, overcome.

---

That evening, when Akshit returned, he found her in the kitchen-standing with a bit of effort, one hand stirring soup.

"Why are you-"

She turned around and smiled. "Sit. I'm almost done."

"You're still healing."

"So are you," she said, eyes soft.

He didn't argue.

He just sat.

She brought him a bowl of warm tomato soup-the first thing she'd cooked since her accident.

He tasted it, blinked, then took another spoon.

"It's... good."

"I Googled how to make it autism-friendly-less spice, more warmth," she said playfully.

His lips curved in a smile.

"Did you go through my notebook?"

She paused, then nodded. "Yes. And I'm not sorry."

"I didn't want you to see it yet," he admitted.

"Why?"

"Because... I draw when I feel something I can't say."

"And now?"

He looked at her-truly looked at her.
At the way her eyes held so much trust, despite the pain.
At the way she stood there, stronger, softer, his.

"Now I can say it," he whispered. "You're the first thing I draw in the morning. And the last thing I see before I close my eyes."

Dakshita blinked back tears, then said with a smile, "Akshit... you love like no one else I've ever known."

---

And that night, for the first time, she fell asleep in his arms-her head on his shoulder, his heartbeat steady against her cheek.

Recovery wasn't just physical.

It was emotional.

And they were doing it, together.