Saisha's pov:

The morning of the shoot, I woke up three times before sunrise. Not because of the alarm - that was still ticking away peacefully at 6:45 AM - but because my mind had already staged the entire shoot in my dreams. Twice.

I was leading this one. Me. Not assisting. Not standing behind Pranay watching and learning. But standing in front of a team, directing the frame, making creative calls.

Terrifying. Thrilling. Everything at once.

I found myself pacing in front of the mirror as I tied my hair into a bun for the third time, muttering things like, "Use warm tones for the village backdrop," and "Don't forget the depth in wide shots."

From behind me, Pranay yawned and leaned on the doorway. "Are you directing the mirror now too?"

I turned, trying to play it cool. "I'm just... visualizing."

He walked over and kissed the top of my head. "You're going to rock it. And I'll be right there, behind the camera, making sure you get every shot you want. Just like you've imagined it."

"More like over-imagined it," I mumbled. "What if I mess up?"

He cupped my cheeks gently. "Then we figure it out. Together. But trust me, Aishu... this shoot needs you."

His words stayed with me as we drove to the location - a heritage village about 45 minutes away, rich with terracotta architecture, vivid murals, and artisans already starting their morning work.

As we reached, the light was perfect. Soft gold filtering through the trees, kissing the red tiled roofs and ancient stone walls. A storyteller's dream. My dream.

I took a deep breath, grabbed my camera, and stepped out.

The crew - models in ethnic attire, a stylist, lighting assistant, and one enthusiastic chai vendor - were all buzzing with energy. But the moment they looked at me for instructions, my heart skipped.

And then I felt his hand graze mine. A tiny squeeze.

"You've can do this," Pranay whispered.

And suddenly, I wasn't afraid.

I began setting up the angles - capturing the rhythm of a potter's wheel, the aged hands that shaped clay, a little girl playing with temple bells in the backdrop. I framed wide shots of the village alleys, zoom-ins of colorful bangles, and mid-shots where sunlight danced on textured walls.

I gave directions. I reviewed every frame with Pranay by my side. Sometimes we argued softly over contrast and shadow - but we ended up laughing more than anything.

I was in my element. I didn't just see frames anymore. I felt them.

Hours passed in a blur. By afternoon, we had everything we needed - and a few magical extras we hadn't planned. Like the cow that wandered through the frame just when we were shooting the temple priest. Or the old lady who smiled with toothless grace and asked me if I was a youtuber.

When we wrapped, I stood quietly near the banyan tree, sipping chai.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Pranay asked.

I looked up at him, exhausted but glowing. "I feel like I didn't just do a shoot but like i wrote a story."

He smiled. "You did. And you told it beautifully."

As we walked back to the car, he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

"I'm proud of you, Lead Photographer Mrs.Mishra," he said with a mock bow.

I grinned. "You better be. You're married to a professional photographer now."

He laughed, pulled me in for a quick kiss on my forehead, and whispered, "Always was."

And just like that, I knew.

This was only the beginning.

Pranay's pov:

We had just reached home. The shoot had gone brilliantly - Aishu was radiant the whole day, in her creative zone. By the time we entered our place, she was exhausted. She curled up on the couch in my oversized hoodie and shorts, her legs dangling off the side, her bun messier than ever, and the latest romance novel she'd picked up lay across her chest like a soft armor.

God, she looked so peacefully tired - and so beautifully mine.

I was about to grab a coffee for myself when the doorbell rang. Not once. Not twice.

But furiously.

Who the hell rings a bell like that?

I opened the door, frowning - only to find Saisha's father standing there, eyes burning like wildfire.

My entire body went alert. Something was off. The man looked like he'd walked out of a battlefield, not someone visiting his married daughter.

Without a word, he stormed in.

I glanced at Aishu - still asleep, oblivious. She looked like a child, resting after a day of dreams, of building her own identity.

And he looked at her like she was a stain.

I quickly pulled a chair from the corner, set it up, and handed him a glass of water. "Uncle... you could've at least called. What's the-"

He didn't even look at me.

Instead, he stood up without drinking the water, walked over to Saisha...

...and poured the water straight on her.

My world stopped for a second.

What the actual hell?

Aishu woke up with a shiver, blinking fast, her lips trembling as the cold water soaked her. She sat up, confused, heart visibly pounding.

I rushed to her. "Aishu!" I wiped her face with my handkerchief, helping her up gently. She was drenched, scared, and shaking - not just from the water, but from the man standing above her.

Her father.

He looked down at her like she was filth. His voice was thunder.
"Do you have any shame, Saisha? You've embarrassed me! You're a disgrace to womanhood itself!"

I stepped forward, but Aishu's eyes flicked to mine. Let me handle this, they said.

"Ramu from our village saw you roaming around college like some aimless girl. Married women don't do this! You should be home, bearing kids, cooking food, not wasting your husband's name like this!"

He turned to me. "And you-you're serving me water while she's lying there like a lazy man at 6 in the evening?!"

And then he raised his hand to slap her.

But she caught his wrist.

In that second, everything changed.

Her voice was sharp. Cold. Unshakable.

 "I am not a disgrace. I am the daughter you never respected. You worshipped my brother for breathing. But when I topped my class or when I cried silently through nights without dinner, no one in that godforsaken house even noticed."

 "You say I brought shame? No, you did - every time you taught us girls that our worth begins and ends in someone else's kitchen. Every time Ma was sick and you refused to take her to a hospital because 'it's just a woman'. Every time I was hungry and afraid and you called it 'discipline'. You're not my shame - you're my wound."

His face darkened. "You talk like this to your father?!"

That was when I stepped in, standing beside her. I gently placed a hand on her back.

 "Uncle, I respect elders - but respect isn't a right. It's earned. And you lost mine the moment you touched my wife. She's not yours to control anymore. She is my partner. And I believe in her. She's going to go places. Lead teams. Capture stories. Change narratives. And you? You'll still be yelling at walls."

His mouth twitched, furious. I didn't care.

"And let me be very clear - if you ever dare to hurt her again, you'll deal with me."

He yanked his hand back and stared at us both - this time with something he'd never shown: powerlessness.

His voice was low and shaking.

 "Don't you dare come back to our village again. Neither of you."

And just like that, he stormed out. Slammed the door shut behind him.

The silence that followed wasn't peaceful.

But it was freeing.

Saisha turned to me slowly, eyes glossy, the hurt still lingering in the corners of her lashes.

I gently tucked her damp hair behind her ear. "Aishu..."

She fell into my arms. "I didn't mean to say it like that..."

I held her tight, whispering, "You said it exactly how it should've been said."

And for the first time in years, I think she breathed without guilt.

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