POV
The night before my birthday, he called.
His voice was soft.
Too soft.
"Tomorrow," he murmured, "I'm going to treat you like a queen."
My heart betrayed me instantly.
"How?"
"You won't have to ask."
I smiled into the darkness of my room.
"I'll give you everything."
Everything.
"Promise?" I whispered.
He chuckled.
"I don't break promises, Bunny."
I slept with that sentence wrapped around me like silk.
12:00 A.M.
My phone exploded.
Cousins. Friends. Family group chats.
Adray called first.
"Happy birthday, moti."
I smiled faintly.
"Thank you."
But my eyes were fixed on another chat.
Waiting.
12:07.
12:19.
12:46.
Nothing.
Maybe he's planning something big.
Maybe queens don't get simple wishes.
At 1:30 A.M., I fell asleep with my phone in my hand.
Still no message.
Morning came with temple bells and sandalwood fragrance.
Mumma placed tilak on my forehead.
Papa rested his palm on my head.
"Khush raho."
Be happy.
I smiled.
And checked my phone.
Still nothing.
By afternoon, a parcel arrived.
Courier.
My name written on it.
Adray.
I opened it in my room.
Inside—
The limited edition bag.
The one I paused in front of every time we passed that store.
The one I never told anyone about.
There was a small note.
You look at it every time. Thought I'd save you the trouble. Happy Birthday, Ashu.
My throat tightened.
He notices.
He always notices.
But my heart didn't race.
Because I was still waiting.
Evening came.
Guests filled the house.
Laughter echoed.
Cake was cut.
Pictures were taken.
And still—
Nothing.
By 10:58 P.M., I stopped pretending I wasn't hurt.
At 11:03 P.M., my phone buzzed.
My breath stopped.
Come outside.
That was it.
No "happy birthday."
Just a command.
My heart began to race.
I slipped out quietly.
He was standing near the gate.
Black shirt.
Hands in pockets.
Expression unreadable.
"You forgot," I said before I could stop myself.
He stepped closer.
"Did I?"
"Yes."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pulled something from his pocket.
A small box.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside—
A ring.
Not delicate.
Not soft.
Bold.
Minimal.
Cold silver.
"I don't even like wearing rings," I whispered.
"I know," he replied calmly.
"Then why?"
"Because this isn't jewelry."
My breath caught.
"Then what is it?"
He took the ring from the box.
Held my hand.
Slid it onto my finger.
Slowly.
Intentionally.
"It's a reminder," he said quietly.
"Of what?"
"That you're mine."
The words didn't sound romantic.
They sounded final.
"You ignored me the whole day," I said, my voice barely steady.
"I wanted to see if you'd survive without me."
The cruelty was calm.
Measured.
"You were proving something?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"That even on your birthday…
You'd still wait for me."
Silence.
Because he was right.
"And you did," he added.
My chest tightened.
Tears burned my eyes.
"You're cruel."
He leaned closer.
"But you're still here."
That was the worst part.
Because I was.
He touched my chin gently.
"Happy birthday, Bunny."
Soft.
Low.
Intimate.
And I hate myself for this—
But in that moment—
The bag upstairs didn't matter.
The thoughtful note didn't matter.
The whole house full of people didn't matter.
Only this did.
His hand on mine.
The ring on my finger.
And the quiet realization—
I had just been claimed.