Whispers of the Withered House: The Haunting Love

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**Author's Note – Aish the Unstoppable, to her now-married SHADOWHEARTS 💍🔥🖤**

They said cursed houses never turn into homes.

They said mirrors don't forgive.

They said happily-ever-afters are too soft for the haunted.

They were wrong.

This chapter is warm hands on old scars.

It's soft morning kisses and quiet rooms that finally smile.

It's Aanya, now *a wife*, learning what it means to live in peace... and Veer, the husband, being his overprotective, sinfully poetic, monster-in-love self.

Let's walk into the after. Together.

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Sunlight kissed the floor of the hallway where ghosts once walked.

It filtered in through the dusty old glass windows, catching on motes of floating dust like fairy ash, warm and gentle and *real*. No whispers. No mirror screaming.

Just a morning that felt like an answer.

Aanya stepped through the corridor barefoot, her red bridal bangles chiming faintly with each movement. Her hair was loose today, falling down her back in waves, the edges still smelling of jasmine oil from last night. The scent of sandalwood and masala chai drifted from the kitchen, tangled with Veer's off-key humming.

She paused at the mirror.

The one.

**The mirror.**

It didn't tremble now. It didn't reflect the past.

It simply showed her. In a white cotton kurti, eyes lined with sleep and satisfaction, a locket resting on her collarbone—and a soft blush on her cheeks that still hadn't faded since Veer had whispered:

*"This is the best damn version of you I've ever seen. Soft. Loved. Mine."*

The mirror caught her smiling.

And this time… it smiled back.

She turned and walked to the veranda.

Veer was there, shirt half-buttoned, sleeves rolled up, hair tousled, and *a bandana tied horribly wrong across his head.*

She stopped, hand to her mouth, laughing. "What is *that*?"

"This?" he said, sipping his chai like a model in a bad Bollywood ad. "This is called *husband fashion.* You wouldn't understand."

"It looks like you lost a bet."

"I won a war. The war of winning your heart. I'm entitled to dress like a victorious disaster."

She walked toward him, stole his chai cup, and sipped.

"You're awful."

"And married."

"Tragically."

"Beautifully."

He kissed her temple without asking, his hand sliding around her waist like it belonged there—which, now, it did.

"I have something for you."

"If it's another cursed ring, I swear I'm calling your mother."

He laughed. "Not cursed. Not a ring. Just… a letter."

He handed her a piece of thick cream-colored paper.

Her name in his handwriting. Slanted. Unsteady. Like it'd been written too fast and felt too much.

> *Dear Mrs. Veer,*

>

> I don't know how many lives we crossed through to find each other, but I know in every version—I'd still be the idiot falling headfirst for your fire.

>

> You turned trauma into tenderness. You made this house breathe again.

>

> And me? You turned me into something dangerous.

> Because now I know what I'd burn the world down for.

>

> You. Always you.

Tears stung her eyes before she could fight them. She looked up and found him already watching her with that grin.

"You're a menace."

"I'm your menace."

"You're too good at this."

"You haven't seen the anniversary letter yet."

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They spent the afternoon unpacking the storage room.

Now that the House was *theirs*, every locked door no longer felt like a warning—just an unopened memory.

They found childhood paintings Ananta had drawn. Old tea cups Naira used to collect. One journal from Ira, unsigned but honest:

*I hope this house doesn't forget the girls it broke. But I hope it learns to remember them with love.*

They stacked what they could. Repaired what needed it. Let go of what didn't.

Veer insisted on painting the reading room walls marigold yellow.

"It makes the ghosts dizzy," he said.

"You are the ghost," Aanya replied.

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That night, they lit every candle in the House.

No darkness. No haunted corners.

Only flickering light, and the sound of rain beginning to fall on the roof above them.

Aanya lay in bed, the soft cotton sheets tangled at her ankles, the gold anklet Veer gave her on their wedding night still catching light.

He lay beside her, shirtless, arm behind his head, watching her like she was art.

"What?"

"Just thinking."

"That's dangerous."

"I know. I'm thinking about you. In my shirt. Pregnant with ghosts."

She burst out laughing. "WHAT?!"

"Just a thought. We could raise haunted children. They'd float. We'd save a fortune on shoes."

"Veer!"

"Too soon?"

"Way too soon."

He rolled onto his side and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Alright. No ghost babies yet. Just us. Just this."

"This is enough."

"More than enough," he said, kissing her slowly, deeply, until the storm outside didn't sound like fear anymore—just background music to a life finally unfolding the way it was meant to.

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The mirror in the hallway reflected them the next morning—two lovers wrapped in blankets and laughter, sipping tea on the stairs.

Not cursed. Not hunted. Not afraid.

Just home.

And the mirror? It didn't whisper anymore.

It watched.

Like a witness.

To something sacred.

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**Ending Author's Note – Aish, your mirror-wielding mistress of married bliss 💍🪞🖤**

ShadowHearts…

This chapter was *a breath* after everything.

You saw Aanya happy. You heard Veer's love without ghosts between his words. You watched the mirror *remember joy.*

But don't be fooled.

Next is **Chapter 23: Vows Over Ashes**

They survived. Now, they help others. Because the House still remembers what it was built for.

And Veer? Oh, he's about to become *husband goals with healing powers.*

See you there.

—Aish 💫🖤

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