The Sarpanch’s Silence

Some desires are born quietly. They don’t announce themselves. They don’t scream. In Devgarh village, people believed sin was loud—scandalous, visible, shameful. They were wrong. Sin lived in silence. It lived in the way Veer Rathore, the village sarpanch, paused for half a second longer than necessary when Ishita Sharma walked past him in the courtyard. In the way his eyes followed her—not hungrily, but carefully. Like a man memorizing a mistake before committing it. Ishita felt it too. The weight of his gaze. The authority in his presence. The danger wrapped in his restraint. She had come to Devgarh as a guest. As a sister. As family. Not as temptation. Yet every night, when the haveli slept and the village lights dimmed, Ishita stood by the window of her room, aware of something she didn’t want to admit. That somewhere in the same house… A powerful man was fighting the same war. They hadn’t touched. They hadn’t spoken beyond polite words. But desire doesn’t need permission. And in a house built on tradition, The most forbidden thing wasn’t love. It was wanting. Because when a modern woman meets a man bound by power and duty— Someone is bound to break. They wait.