🖤 To Love You Was Not a Sin

This isn’t just a story. It’s a confession.

— Foreword • Dedication • Prologue —

“Some stories begin with a kiss.

Others with a goodbye.

Mine began with a man I was never allowed to love.”

✍️ Foreword

There are stories that burn.

And then there are stories that smolder—quiet, forbidden, hidden in the folds of family names and old expectations. To Love You Was Not a Sin is a story born from both.

What began as a forbidden spark between a guarded man and his too-bright step-nephew grew into a storm of longing, betrayal, denial, and redemption. It asks: What happens when love is not allowed? And what happens when we love anyway?

This story is about second chances that feel like first love. About men who break and rebuild, who touch without speaking, and kiss like they remember every version of each other.

If you’ve ever wanted something so badly it scared you—if you’ve ever left and prayed they’d still be waiting—this is your story too.

Here’s to Krit and Mihir.

And here’s to you, dear reader, for believing in love that never needed permission to begin with. — Nox Veil

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💌 Dedication

For the ones who were told their love was a mistake—

You are not wrong. You are not broken. And your love is not a sin.

This is for the soft boys with sharp hearts. The quiet ones who stayed. The loud ones who left. And the ones who dared to come back.

To love, even when it hurts.

To choose it again, even when it nearly killed you.

This is for you.

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🌧️ Prologue: The First Time He Looked at Me Like That

Krit Suthamchai never liked weddings.

Not the grand, multi-day Indian affairs Meera adored. Not the endless socializing Kartik thrived on. Not the choreographed chaos of polite laughter and emotional blackmail and “when will you settle down?” questions disguised as concern.

He especially didn’t like this wedding.

Because it was his brother’s second.

And because Meera Kapoor—beautiful, brilliant, twice-broken Meera—was marrying into the Suthamchai family.

Into him.

The first time Krit saw Mihir Kapoor, it was the day before the wedding.

He’d arrived from Mumbai late—unexpected, jetlagged, and clearly uninterested in the ceremony he was allegedly part of.

Krit had been walking through the courtyard of the Suthamchai estate, sipping his evening tea, when he caught a flash of movement—someone hopping the low boundary wall like a delinquent.

He turned just in time to see him:

Tall, lithe, hoodie pulled halfway off his head, curls wild from the breeze.

And smiling. God, that smile.

“Uncle Krit, right?” Mihir had grinned like they were already in on a shared secret.

Krit blinked. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Technically,” Mihir had said, shrugging, “I’m family. By tomorrow night.”

Then, mischievous:

“Which means you’re my uncle. Kinda.”

Krit had frowned. “That’s not funny.”

But Mihir hadn’t stopped smiling. “That’s okay. You’re serious enough for both of us.”

And just like that—

Krit had been thrown off balance.

Meera and Kartik’s story was softer. Not scandalous. Just timed all wrong.

She was already divorced when Kartik met her. Her son was five. Her spirit is a little heavier than it used to be.

Kartik had been kind. Steady. Not the kind of man to make grand declarations—but the kind who showed up. Every time.

He taught Mihir to ride a bicycle. Helped Meera finish her MBA. Waited three years before even asking her out.

When they married, people didn’t gossip. They just nodded.

Because Kartik Suthamchai wasn’t the kind of man who stirred trouble.

But his brother?

Krit had always been a little too quiet. A little too careful. The kind of man who seemed like he’d forgotten how to feel.

Until Mihir showed up.

And laughed like that.

And smiled like that.

The second time they met, Mihir had cornered him by the staircase.

“You always look like someone kicked your puppy,” he said casually, drinking mango juice out of a champagne flute.

Krit didn’t look at him. “You’re very informal with strangers.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Mihir had said, eyes gleaming. “You’re going to be my uncle.”

He said it with teeth.

With challenge.

And Krit had finally looked at him—really looked.

Something shifted in his chest.

Something dangerous.

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🖊️ Author’s Note

“I almost didn’t write this story. It scared me. It felt too personal, too taboo, too raw. But I did it anyway—because love doesn’t need permission. And some stories… demand to be told.”

Thank you for being here. For choosing this story. For stepping behind the veil.

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💬 Leave a Whisper

What did this opening stir in you?

Drop your thoughts, your ache, or just a 💔 below. I’ll be waiting in the rain.

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🔗 [Chapter One → Something I Shouldn’t Feel]

Coming tomorrow.

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💬 Follow me where the shadows linger:

Let’s stay veiled together.

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