Chahat pov :

I stood in front of the mirror, fiddling with the delicate folds of my organza dupatta. Despite my best efforts, it just didn't seem to match the perfect vision I had in my head. I furrowed my brow, frustrated by the discrepancy between my mental image and reality.

"Why does it always look so perfect in my head, but not in reality?" I thought, twitching my lips in annoyance as I adjusted the dupatta once more.

I took a step back to examine my reflection more critically. The pink suit I had chosen was a lovely shade, complemented by a subtle blush and a hint of lipstick. I scrutinized every detail, making sure everything was just right. It was a far cry from my usual carefree attitude towards dressing up for college. But things had changed since he became my professor.

Lately, I found myself going to great lengths to look perfect, even when it felt like an exhausting task. I thought about how love could turn us into people we barely recognize.

The girl who used to breeze through life without a second thought about her appearance was now obsessed with getting every detail just right. I used to never bother with moisturizer or makeup, but now I was experimenting with different looks, trying to find the perfect combination that would catch his eye.

I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. How had I become so invested in impressing someone just because my heart skipped a beat whenever our eyes met? The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. I realized that I was no longer dressing up just for myself; I was doing it for him, hoping that he would notice and perhaps even be impressed.

"But what if he doesn't like it?" The thought flickered in my mind like a nagging doubt, and I quickly pushed it aside, shaking my head as if to clear it. I grabbed my college bag and rushed out the door, determined to catch the bus that was likely waiting or about to leave.

Just as I was about to step out, my mother's voice echoed from the kitchen, "Chahat, have your breakfast!" I didn't have time to stop, so I turned around mid-stride, snatched an apple from the table, and took a big bite. The crunch of the apple filled my mouth as I continued running towards the bus stop.

My mother playfully scolded me, "Jhalli!"

[ Crazy]

Her eyes rolled in exasperation, but I just smiled with my mouth full, the apple still clutched in my hand. I was already out the door, the cool morning air hitting me as I rushed to catch the bus.

The thought of being late for college, especially with my newfound motivation to look perfect for him, was unbearable. I quickened my pace and the apple was still in hand.

"Arey, meri bus!" I yelled, sprinting towards the bus as it began to pull away from the stop. I was about to shout again, but my leg twisted beneath me, sending me tumbling to the ground. A sharp pain shot through my ankle as I landed, and I let out a pained cry, "Mumma!"

I sat on the road, clutching my ankle tightly, trying to bear the throbbing pain. People around me began to gather, their worried faces a blur as I focused on my ankle. The pain was intense, and I couldn't help but let tears flow as I whispered, "Mahadev, dard ho rahi hai"

[Mahadev, it's hurting]

I felt embarrassed, sitting on the road, crying in front of a crowd of onlookers. The shame and humiliation mixed with the pain, making me want to break down even more. I didn't care about anything else; all I could think about was the agony in my ankle. I continued to cry, holding my ankle tightly, as the world around me seemed to blur.

The bus drove off without me, and I was left sitting there, feeling helpless and in pain. My carefully planned outfit, the bus, the college – everything seemed insignificant compared to the pain and embarrassment I was feeling. All I wanted was for the pain to stop and for someone to help me get up and make it go away.

"Chahat," the voice called out, and I felt my heart sink. I hadn't expected to hear that voice, especially not now, when I was sprawled out on the ground, clutching my ankle in pain.

“Chahat”

I hesitated, not wanting to look up, hoping against hope that it wasn't who I thought it was. But the voice called out again, and I knew I had to face reality.

I gulped, closing my eyes for a moment, and then slowly lifted my face, praying silently that it wouldn't be him. But as I inhaled, I caught the familiar scent of his cologne, and my heart sank further. I opened my eyes, and my gaze met his, my tears still streaming down my face.

"Hriday sir..." I whispered, my voice barely audible as I tried to control my crying. I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me, knowing that he was witnessing my vulnerability. I didn't want him to see me like this – broken, crying, and helpless.

Hriday's sir green eyes locked onto mine, and I felt like I was drowning in their intensity. I licked my lower lip, trying to compose myself, but the humiliation was too much to bear. "Aur yahan hua meri izzat ka kachra," I thought, feeling like my dignity had been thrown out the window.

["And here my dignity went down the drain.”]

I cried louder, not caring anymore about hiding my emotions. At that moment, I felt like my life was at its worst, and the fact that Hriday sir was standing there, looking at me with those piercing eyes, made it all the more unbearable.

I was mortified, embarrassed in front of the one person I didn't want to see me vulnerable. The pain in my ankle was nothing compared to the agony of my pride being bruised.

"Chahat, yeh kya haal bana diya hai?" His voice was laced with concern as he knelt down in front of me. The crowd around us couldn't help but stare, their eyes wide with surprise, knowing that he was the prince of Banaras.

["Chahat, what have you done to yourself?"]

"Sir..." I tried to speak, but my words trailed off as he gently lifted my foot onto his lap. A jolt of emotions ran through my body, and I felt a strange sensation wash over me. My heart raced as his hands touched my skin, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and surprise.

"Sir,don't touch my feets" I protested, trying to pull my foot away, but he held it firmly, careful not to cause me any more pain. His grip was gentle yet firm, and I felt a flutter in my chest as he carefully removed my shoe, exposing my injured ankle.

The touch of his hands on my skin sent shivers down my spine, and I couldn't meet his gaze, feeling overwhelmed by the intimacy of the moment. I kept my eyes down, trying to process the emotions swirling inside me, as Hriday's fingers delicately examined my ankle.

"Ahhh," I hissed, wincing in pain as Hriday gently twisted my leg to examine my ankle. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes once again, and he looked at me with a concerned expression before carefully placing my leg back on the ground. He stood up, towering over me, and asked, "Chal sakti ho?"

(Can you walk?)

I nodded, trying to appear braver than I felt, but the pain was making it difficult for me to stand up. I attempted to gather my belongings, but my hands were shaking, and I couldn't manage. Just as I was about to try standing up again, I saw Hriday bending down to pick up my things, carefully placing them in my handbag and carrying it like a lady would.

"Sir," I said, surprised by his gesture. He turned to me, his eyes locking onto mine as he knelt down again. "Aap ko mai utha sakta hu, godh mai?" he asked, his voice firm but gentle.

(Can I pick you up, in my arms?)

"Godh mai?" I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper. His eyes seemed to hold a spell, and I felt my heart racing at the thought of being so close to him. "Aapko dikkat na ho agar toh?" he added, looking at me patiently, waiting for my response.

[ In arms ?]

(If it's not a problem for you?)

My tongue felt tied, and my heart was screaming "yes," but my mouth couldn't form the words. The man I had dreamed of seeing from afar was now offering to pick me up in his arms, like a bride being carried by her groom. The thought sent shivers down my spine, and I felt like I was melting into his gaze.

I just nodded my head, my gaze drifting downward as he moved closer, his movements deliberate and gentle. He slid one hand beneath my legs, the other wrapping around my back, his touch sending a shiver through me.

I forgot to breathe as his face brushed against my neck, his warm breath dancing across my skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. My cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through my face as I felt the heat of his breath.

“Hum maafi chahte hai aapko aise uthane ke liye lekin hamare paas koi aur rasta nahi tha”he said softly, his voice low and soothing as he lifted me into his arms, cradling me like a bride. His words were a gentle apology, but his tone was laced with a quiet confidence, a sense of purpose that was both reassuring and unnerving.

[I apologize for picking you up like this, but I have no other choice]

As he held me, my hands instinctively rose to wrap around his neck, my fingers intertwining behind his head. It was as if being in his arms was where I was meant to be, like my world had come to a standstill and all that mattered was this moment, this closeness.

“ Aatish -e- ulfat jaag uthi hai mann mai tere chhune se,

Shashwat -e - aarzoo toh kabhi na thi tujhe chhune ki,

Yeh toh khuda ki rehmat hai, tujhe paas se mehsus karne ki varna,

Hum thehre ek target aashiq, tujhe door se he nihaar lene ki khwaish thi…”

["The fire of passion has awakened in my soul with your touch,

There was never an eternal longing to touch you,

This is but a blessing from God — to feel you up close, otherwise,

I was merely a distant lover, content with admiring you from afar..."]

He started taking me towards his car while the world was watching us, but I didn't care because my world was holding me with gentleness. I thought of it as a dream which I never wanted to wake up from. The dream was so sweet that I would have slept for a lifetime, like a corpse, just to feel him.

As he gently placed me on the passenger seat, his fingers brushed against mine, sending a spark of electricity through me. The soft leather creaked beneath me, molding to my shape as he settled me in.

He slowly slid the bag from his shoulder to my lap, his hands grazing my thighs as he settled it into place. The weight of the bag was reassuring, but it was his touch that left my skin tingling.

With tender precision, he tucked me properly into the seat, his fingers grazing the edges of my kurti as he smoothed out the fabric. His eyes met mine for a brief moment, and I felt my heart skip a beat as I caught the hint of a smile playing on his lips. The dim light of the setting cast a warm glow on his features, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw.

As he reached for the seat belt, his hands brushed against my waist, sending shivers down my spine.

He adjusted the belt with a gentle tug, his fingers lingering on the buckle before releasing it. The soft click of the lock seemed to echo through the silence, a reminder of the reality.

The strap fit snugly across my chest, and I felt a sense of security wash over me, knowing I was safe with him.

I was about to thank him, but he turned around, moving away from the car. As I glanced to the side, my eyes widened in surprise—I hadn’t even noticed my mujadi had slipped off, but there it was, lying on the road, and he was holding it in his hands.

“Banaras ka shehzada aur hamare jutti chu rahe hai," I murmured to myself, feeling a wave of shame wash over me as I looked at him. Yet, his face showed no trace of embarrassment. Instead, he walked confidently back to the car, his movements fluid and unhurried.

["Prince of banaras and he's picking up our worn-out jooti]

With a gentle smile, he opened the car door and crouched down, carefully placing the mujadi near my feet. I watched him, taken aback by the humility and kindness he displayed.

“You don't need to touch my feet and shoes,” I whispered, peeping through my eyelashes, my voice barely audible but loaded with discomfort. He didn't respond immediately, just turned his attention back to the road, the car rolling forward in a slow, steady motion. The air between us hung heavy with unspoken tension.

Then, with a lazy sideways glance and a hint of something simmering beneath the surface.

“Kyun, humara chhuna aapko pasand nahi aaya,” he said, his tone laced with mild anger, like he was masking a deeper hurt behind his words. I looked at him, confused, trying to decipher the layers in his voice. My brows furrowed slightly as I narrowed my eyes at him, not quite sure what he meant or what he was really asking.

[ Why ? You don't like my touch ?]

“Humara matlab tha… ki aapko chot lagi thi isliye,” he said, explaining himself while smoothly changing the gear, his voice a bit softer this time.

["I meant to say… you had hurt yourself, that’s why."]

My eyes involuntarily dropped to his hands—those veiny, strong hands that moved with such controlled ease.

Something about the way his fingers gripped the gear stirred something in me. I fisted my palms, trying to anchor myself, releasing a shaky breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Aap Banaras ke hone wale Yuvraj hai aur log aapko dekh rahe the,” I said, my voice steady, trying to reason with him, trying to make him see the bigger picture. But he turned to look at me, his face unreadable, expression blank—like my words had touched nothing inside him, or maybe touched too much.

["You are the future prince of Banaras, and people were watching you."]

“Banaras ke hone wale Yuvraj madad nahi kar sakte hai?” he said, his voice calm but piercing as he turned his head towards me, locking his eyes with mine. There was something intense in his stare—firm, questioning, almost disarming.

[Can't the future prince of Banaras offer help?]

I couldn’t hold it for long. My gaze dropped instantly, like it had been scorched by the heat in his eyes. I felt something unfamiliar stir within me, something raw and new, like I was being seen in a way I hadn’t been before. His presence was overwhelming, and that one look made me feel like I had just stepped into a version of myself I didn’t know existed.

“Aap kar sakte hai apni praja ki madad,” I said softly, nodding my head in quiet surrender, acknowledging his question like an offering—gentle, honest.

[You can help your people.]

“Aap sirf humari praja nahi hai,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, like the words weren’t meant to be heard, like they slipped out from somewhere deeper than intention.

[You are not just my people.]

“Huh?” The sound escaped my lips before I could think, a breathless question shaped only by confusion and the need to be sure of what I’d just heard. I turned to him, searching his face, but he didn’t look back. He held his gaze forward, eyes fixed on the road ahead, as if what he had said didn’t exist anymore—or maybe as if it meant more than he was ready to admit.

“Banaras ke log sirf humari praja nahi, balki humara parivaar hai… aur parivaar ki madad karna mera kartavya hai,” he answered with quiet conviction, taking a deep breath and rubbing his nose slightly—an unconscious gesture that somehow made him look both regal and boyish in the same moment.

[The people of Banaras are not just my subjects, they are my family… and helping family is my duty]

I couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at my lips, watching his little antics—so unguarded, so human.

“Main radio chala lu?” I asked, tilting my head a bit, my voice gentle, laced with a childlike request. I looked at him, hoping for a reaction, but he didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he poked his tongue into his cheek, a subtle defiance, as if trying to stop himself from revealing anything on his face—anything that might betray how much my presence was affecting him.

[ Shall I be on the radio ?]

“Aap gungi nahi hai vaise,” he said, licking his lower lip slightly before lazily turning his gaze toward me, the hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

[ By the way,are you mute ?]

“Aapka matlab hai main bolti bahut hoon?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him, my voice laced with playful suspicion.

[ You mean to say that I talk too much?]

“Humne aisa toh nahi kaha,” he replied with exaggerated innocence, his tone teasing, clearly enjoying this little game.

[I didn’t say that, did I?]

“Aapke kehne ka matlab toh wahi tha,” I said, a little offended, my voice dipping just enough to let him know I’d caught the undertone of his words—but not enough to end the moment.

[But that’s what you meant to say]

“Acha toh aap gungi hai?” he asked with faux curiosity, his eyes gleaming mischievously, as if genuinely intrigued by the idea.

[Oh, so you're mute now?]

“Aap…” I muttered, clearly annoyed by his question, my voice trailing off in frustration. Letting out a sigh, I turned my face towards the window, determined to end the conversation then and there—avoiding any further interaction with him.

[ You…]

I expected at least a small apology, a word or two to soften the moment. But he kept driving, calm and composed, his hands steady on the wheel. Curiosity got the better of me, and I risked a glance from under my lashes—only to find him already looking at me.

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat as I quickly turned my gaze back to the window, cheeks burning, and bit my tongue in embarrassment.

“Stupid,” I scolded myself internally, mortified. Just then, I heard a low chuckle escape his lips, soft and teasing, making my face heat up even more.

“Acha, choron ki tarah kyun dekhti ho?” he said with a teasing tone, clearly trying to rile me up. I chose to ignore him, keeping my eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside.

[Oh really, why are you looking at me like a thief?]

“Chor ho?” he pressed again, and this time, my head snapped toward him in pure irritation.

[ Are you a theif]

“Aapko main chor lagti hoon?” I snapped, my voice a little louder than intended. I could feel the heat rising to my face—I knew I was already red with embarrassment and frustration.

[ Do I look like a thief to you ?]

“Daaku kahi ke…” I muttered under my breath, eyes dropping to my lap, avoiding his infuriatingly amused gaze.

[ You bandit, seriously…]

“Toh gungi ho?” he asked again with a chuckle, his voice light, victorious—like he knew he had successfully pushed every button.

[ So, are you mute ?]

I gritted my teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another reaction. Reaching forward, I turned on the radio with a little more force than necessary, letting the music drown out his voice—and hopefully, my flustered heartbeats too.

“Namaste, Banaras! Main hoon aapka RJ Romeo,” the enthusiastic voice boomed from the radio, pulling my attention away from the storm of emotions I’d been trying to tame. I sighed softly and leaned back in the seat, letting my eyes fall shut, hoping the music and chatter would soothe the lingering irritation he had planted in me.

[ Hello, banaras ! I'm your RJ romeo]

“Today, the atmosphere is getting romantic, and in this romantic weather, let you guys dedicate songs to your partners… so dial the number 234578 and send your songs to me!” the RJ continued, his cheerful tone filling the car. A small smile crept onto my lips. For a moment, it felt like the tension was melting away, the radio acting as a much-needed distraction from the whirlwind of our banter and my own bruised pride.

“So, humein bahut si requests mili hain… lekin yeh request bahut ajeeb hai,” the RJ said, and I chuckled faintly, keeping my eyes closed, deciding to just listen—no more reacting, no more letting him get to me.

[ We have received many request but this request is kind of weird ]

“Yeh request hai, daaku ki uski chorni ke liye,” the RJ announced, bursting into laughter.

[This request is from a bandit for his thief-girl.]

My eyes flew open, and my mouth dropped in shock. I turned sharply to look at him—and there he was, typing something on his phone, a smirk playing boldly on his lips.

He didn’t even look guilty. Just smug. Very smug.

“Meri pyaari chorni, meri nyaari chorni, meri… bholi… nahi nahi… meri gungi chorni,” the RJ mimicked in a dramatic, singsong tone, bursting into uncontrollable laughter. I stared at him, seething, my eyes practically shooting daggers. He was enjoying this way too much. Annoying didn’t even begin to cover it—he was impossible.

[My lovely thief-girl, my unique thief-girl, my… innocent… no no… my mute thief-girl.]

I gritted my teeth, my lips parting to finally snap back at him, to give him a piece of my mind—but before I could, the car came to a sudden stop. I narrowed my eyes in confusion, my irritation momentarily giving way to curiosity. I followed his gaze and saw the hospital building just a few steps away.

“Iski jarurat nahi hai, main theek hoon,” I said, my tone laced with frustration. I didn’t want to go in, not like this, not because he forced me to.

[This isn’t necessary, I’m fine.]

But he didn’t respond. Silently, he reached for the backseat and pulled out a mask and a jacket. His usual teasing air had vanished; it was like someone had flipped a switch.

“Wear this jacket and mask,” he said, his voice calm but firm, leaving no room for arguments. The playfulness from earlier had completely dissolved—now, there was only quiet authority. Without waiting for me to respond, he wore his own mask and jacket, transforming from a mischievous tease into someone serious, someone… protective.

“Yeh sab kyun?” I asked, slipping into his oversized jacket that practically swallowed me whole, hanging down to my thighs like a blanket. I looked absolutely ridiculous—like a lost, homeless person dragged out of some old Bollywood drama.

[ Why all these ?]

“Kyunki mere aas paas media hoti hai… aur main nahi chahta ki aapka naam mere saath jude,” he said sincerely, his tone stripped of all sarcasm, all teasing. It was just… real. Honest.

[Because there’s media around me… and I don’t want your name to be linked with mine.]

“He doesn’t even like me, and you’re falling for him. Great,” I scolded myself silently, pulling the mask over my face with a quiet sigh.

I reached out to open the car door, ready to escape this whirlwind of feelings, but it didn’t budge. It was locked. Confused, I turned my head towards him—only to find him staring at me.

Hamesha ghoorte rehte hai, I thought, avoiding his gaze quickly, looking down at my hands resting nervously in my lap. His eyes had a way of making me feel exposed, like they could read every unspoken thing I was trying to hide.

“Main aapke naam mein daag nahi chahta. Mere liye yeh aam si baat hai, lekin aap par koi ungli uthaye, humein nahi pasand aayega,” he said, his voice low, calm, but filled with a strange kind of protectiveness. He wasn’t being dramatic—he was just… explaining, clearing up what I had clearly misunderstood. It surprised me how effortlessly he knew what was going on inside my head, as if my silence spoke louder to him than my words ever could.

[I don’t want any stain on your name. It might be a normal thing for me, but I wouldn’t like it if anyone pointed a finger at you.]

“Zaruri nahi har chaand mein daag achha lage,” he added, almost as an afterthought, turning around to unlock the door. I didn’t fully grasp the depth of that line, but it left something warm and unsettling behind. My stomach twisted, and my heartbeat quickened without my permission—like his words had brushed something raw inside me.

[It’s not necessary that every moon looks good with a blemish.]

He walked over to my side and opened the door. I was just about to step down on my own when, in one smooth motion, he swung my bag onto his shoulder and then picked me up in bridal style—like it was the most natural thing to do.

“Wait—” I barely managed to protest, but he had already shut the car door with his leg and started walking toward the hospital.

My heart thudded wildly, not just from the suddenness of it all—but from the way his arms felt around me. Safe, strong… and dangerous in a way I wasn’t ready to admit.

This time I didn't say anything to him but held him. I know the pull towards him from day one but the push towards him was new to me. It felt like a hidden concern behind his words.

We entered the hospital, and he carried me all the way to one of the private rooms, gently placing me on the bed. I kept my eyes lowered, too aware of the giggles and teasing smiles from the staff who had been watching us ever since we stepped in. Their expressions said more than their words ever could—and I didn’t have the courage to meet any of their eyes.

“What happened to your wife?” the doctor asked casually, and both our heads snapped toward each other in perfect sync. For a moment, our eyes met—wide, startled—before we quickly looked away in awkward silence.

“She’s not my wife,” he clarified immediately, turning to the doctor. He said something else after that, but his voice had faded into the background—I didn’t catch it. My mind was too caught up in the weight of that one word.

“Just check her ankle,” he added, his voice firm again, like he wanted to avoid any more assumptions. The doctor nodded and began examining my ankle gently.

Just then, Hriday sir’s phone rang, and he excused himself, stepping out of the room, giving me space I didn’t know I needed until he was gone.

“Your fiancé is very caring about you,” the doctor said with a warm smile as he continued checking my ankle.

My cheeks flushed instantly, heat rushing up to my face. I opened my mouth to correct him—to say he wasn’t my fiancé, not even close—but the word fiancé sounded so sweet, so dream-like when attached to him… I didn’t say anything. I just smiled softly, letting the lie sit there a little longer than it should have.

After some time, the doctor handed me the prescribed medicine and explained how and when to take it. I nodded quietly, trying to focus, when the door opened—and my heart lifted for a second.

“Bhaiya,” I said with a faint frown, realising it wasn’t Hriday sir but my brother who had entered.

[ Brother ]

“Kya hua? Kaise lagi aapko?” he asked, kneeling down beside the bed, his face full of concern. His presence felt familiar, comforting, like home.

[ What happened to you ?]

“Main theek hoon, bhaiya… aap mat chinta kijiye,” I reassured him with a small smile, and he gave a slight nod, though worry still lingered in his eyes.

[ I'm okay brother don't worry]

But mine… my eyes kept drifting to the door, as if waiting for someone else. As if expecting someone to walk back in.

My brother must have noticed, because he looked towards the door too, then turned back to me and said gently, “Woh chala gaya… kuch urgent kaam tha usse.”

[ He left for urgent work]

I didn’t respond. I just stared at the empty doorway for a moment longer. I shouldn’t have felt this way—this hollow weight settling quietly inside my chest. But I did. I felt something pull inside me, something I didn’t want to name yet.

It wasn’t supposed to matter.

But the truth was… I was growing attached. Too fast, too quietly.

“Musht -e- khakh se lamhe milte hai tere saath mujhe bitane ko,

Kambakkht, Hasrat - e- deed kabhi muqammbal he nahi hoti,

Jaanti hu mai,ek aarzoo-e-naa-subuur hai tu meri mohabbat muqammbal hone ka,

Magar tujhse yeh dooriyaan bhi bardasht nahi hoti”

[From a mere handful of dust, steal moments just to spend with you.

But damn it—this longing to see you is never truly fulfilled.

I know well… you're an incomplete desire of mine,

A love that aches to be complete—But even these distances from you are too hard to bear]

—---🌹—---

Author's pov :

“This request has come from our lovely secret admirer,” RJ Romeo’s voice echoed through the radio, smooth and charming, laced with that familiar playful warmth. His smile could almost be heard through the speakers, and it pulled a lazy smile onto Jiya’s face as she stood in front of her mirror, tying her hair with half-hearted focus.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across her room. Her books lay scattered on the desk, the college ID hanging loosely around the corner of the mirror, and yet—all her attention was on his voice.

She didn’t know who RJ Romeo was. Had never seen his face. But every morning, his voice became the first thing she waited for. There was something about the way he spoke—like he was speaking only to her. Like he knew exactly how to touch hearts without ever meeting them.

“Laga le gale,” he said, and the soft strains of the song began to fill the room.

Jiya looked at herself in the mirror, a slight blush on her cheeks as the lyrics wrapped around her like a secret. She smiled—wide, dreamy, lost in a fantasy she didn’t dare to name.

She laughed softly, the sound light and carefree, echoing faintly in her sunlit room. Her feet moved on their own as the music played, and without thinking, she held out her hand—imagining someone taking it. Someone tall, gentle, with eyes that looked at her like she was the only person in the world.

Jiya twirled, her dupatta flowing like a ribbon in the air, her laughter rising with the rhythm. She closed her eyes and imagined his hands resting at her waist, her own resting on his shoulder. With each step, she swayed as if she was in the arms of that invisible someone—her secret admirer, her faceless Romeo.

The room faded away. For a few moments, it was just her and a melody, dancing like a couple caught in a dream. Her heart beat a little faster, her smile a little wider. It felt silly, maybe… but it felt magical too.

“ Tujhe bin dekhe maine ishq kiya hai tujhse,

Dil-nihaad ban chuka hai tu meri zindagi ka,

Ae ajnabi ... .tum mohabbat ishq chehre se karne ki baat karte ho ?

Humne toh Teri awaaz mai he lab-ishq-e-saahil de chuke hai..”

[I have loved you without ever seeing you,

You've become the hidden pulse of my life.

Oh stranger… Do you speak of loving faces and beauty?

I have already surrendered to the shores of love in the sound of your voice alone.]

—---🌹—---

Mainka was walking towards the garden when she suddenly stopped, gasping at the sight before her — the entire garden was now blooming with roses.

"Yeh… yeh gulab?” she asked in astonishment, her eyes wide as she took in the sea of red and pink petals.

[ These roses]

One of the servants smiled softly and gestured toward a figure crouched near the flowerbeds — it was Veer, his hands gloved and face streaked with mud, planting the last of the roses.

“Sahab, hum laga dete na… aap kyun itni mehnat kar rahe hain?” one of the servants offered, reaching out to take the plant from him.

["Sir, I would have done it… why are you working so hard?"]

But Veer shot him a glare, sharp and firm, making it clear — this labor of love was his alone.

“Nahi, mainka ko gulab bahut pasand hai aur unke liye mai khud yeh bagicha gulaab se sajana chahata hu,” Veer said, standing up from the earth like a sapling breaking through soil, tenderly watering it as if nurturing a dream with his own hands.

["No, Mainka loves roses a lot, and for her, I want to decorate this garden with roses myself."]

A few steps away, Mainka stood frozen, like the wind had whispered a forgotten melody into her ears. Her eyes, wide with disbelief, clung to the sight of him — a man who, just weeks ago, had been a stranger within the walls of their bond. But now, he moved like a poem written for her, each act of kindness a stanza, each glance a verse.

He had begun behaving like a husband not by duty, but by devotion. He was no longer just present — he was there in every moment: bringing her water before she asked, shielding her from the harsh noon sun, listening to her silences more than her words. Where once there was a hollow echo of his absence, now bloomed the steady rhythm of his presence.

The cracked corners of her heart, once dry and forgotten like parched earth, now drank in the rain of his affection. His love was not loud, but it was steady — like the sun that rises without fail, lighting even the darkest corners.

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t being pulled into his gravity — softly, surely — like a leaf drifting into a stream, not knowing where it may lead, but surrendering anyway.

“Veer…” she whispered, his name as delicate as the petals he tended. He turned towards her, and his smile bloomed — not the guarded curve of lips from the past, but a full, radiant one, as if her voice had unlocked something hidden in him. A smile that used to vanish upon seeing her now stayed, lingering like the scent of roses after a morning rain.

Everything had changed. And she could feel it — not just around her, but within her.

“Mainka,” he said softly, his voice laced with a smile that carried the weight of unspoken apologies. That one word — her name from his lips — was enough to shatter the dam she had built around her heart. Tears, long held back, spilled from her eyes like a monsoon breaking after months of drought. With a sudden surge of emotion, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around him as if she feared he might disappear if she didn’t hold on tight enough

She sobbed into his chest, her cries raw and unrestrained, her grip tightening like roots clinging to soil in a storm. The force of her emotions made him stumble slightly, but he steadied himself with a tender chuckle, his hands circling her protectively — like a lighthouse holding its light for a ship finally returning home.

“Arey, aap ro kyu rahi hai?” he asked, his voice warm as spring sun, and pressed a kiss to her forehead — a silent vow etched on her skin.

[ Why are you crying ?]

“Aap bahut gande hai,” she cried against his chest, her fists thudding weakly against him as if punishing the same heart she now sought shelter in.

[ You are very bad]

“Arey, ab jaisa bhi hu, ab aapka hi hu,” he replied, catching her flailing hands gently, then folding them behind her like a flower he didn’t want to lose to the wind.

["Hey, no matter how I am now, I am yours."]

He looked into her eyes — those storm-filled eyes that held more love than blame — and whispered with a fragile honesty,

“Aise aankhon ko takleef mat diya karo… rohti aap hai aur dard mujhe hota hai.”

["Don’t hurt these eyes like that… you’re the one who cries, but it’s me who feels the pain."]

As he wiped away her tears with his thumb, her lips trembled, caught between words and silence. In that moment, the world around them blurred — and all that remained was the ache of what had been, and the quiet promise of what could now become.

“Aapki diary padi thi humne... usmein likha tha gulab ke bagiche ke beech aapki ek tamanna thi, jise poora karne ke liye kal raat se laga hu,” Veer said, his voice low and laced with something deeper than just affection. As he spoke, his fingers reached out gently, brushing aside the baby hairs clinging to her damp cheek — the kind of touch that says more than words ever can.

["I read your diary... it mentioned a wish of yours — to have something in the middle of a rose garden. I've been working since last night to make it come true."]

Mainka’s breath caught in her throat. The blush crept up her neck and bloomed on her face like the very roses he had planted for her. Her gaze fell to the ground, and her fingers curled nervously into the fabric of her dupatta.

“Voh…” she stammered, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes not daring to meet him. Her heart raced with a thousand emotions — the thrill of being seen, the bashfulness of being known, and the vulnerability of someone reading the pages of her soul.

[ Actually…]

But Veer didn’t pull away.

He leaned in, the space between them charged with unsaid things, with breathless pauses. His eyes flickered to her trembling lips as he whispered,

“Itni mehnat ke baad thak gaya hu... thodi thakan utar dijiye.”

["I’m tired after working so hard... help me ease this exhaustion a little."]

His words, though playful, carried an unmistakable hunger — not just of the body, but of the heart. His breath mingled with hers, and the distance between intention and action narrowed until it was barely a heartbeat wide.

And in that moment, beneath the scent of blooming roses and the soft hush of dusk settling around them, the air itself seemed to wait — for her reply, for her permission, for her surrender.

He leaned in — slow, deliberate — his breath brushing against her skin like a whisper waiting for permission. And this time, she didn’t retreat.

She gave in — not out of confusion or surrender, but with joy blooming in her chest like the very roses that surrounded them.

When his lips finally touched hers, it was not just a kiss — it was a release, a quiet explosion of longing that had been buried for too long.

She leaned closer, responding with equal tenderness, her fingers clutching the fabric of his kurta as if afraid the moment might dissolve like a dream.

His hands rose to cup her face, rough with traces of earth, and in doing so, smudged bits of mud onto her cheeks — a gentle mess born from love and soil, grounding their moment in the very garden he had grown for her.

There was something beautifully unpolished about it — as if love, in its rawest form, had no need for perfection.

And then they lay down together amidst the roses, their bodies curled into each other like vines seeking the sun. The world faded around them — no pain, no past, no names or promises — only breath against breath, heartbeat against heartbeat.

Above them, the sky blushed into evening, and the roses swayed gently in the wind, as if nature itself paused to watch two broken hearts find healing in one another.

“Sar -e- registan main aaj phul kheela hai,

Kaanto ke baad aaj phoolon ki khusboo se ruhburoo huye hai,

Unhe haath mai liye, mehboob ke bagiche mai unke saath khade hai,

Sach kahu toh sab sapna lagta hai, lekin yeh mehboob aaj pehli baar apna laga hai’

[In the heart of the desert, a flower has bloomed today.

After all the thorns, we’re finally face-to-face with the fragrance of blossoms.

Holding them in hand, we stand in the beloved’s garden, side by side.

To tell the truth, it all feels like a dream…

But today, for the very first time—

this beloved truly feels like mine.]

—---🌹—---

“Ganga, aap yahan?” Jaiveer’s voice rang out softly, yet carried enough weight to startle her.

["Ganga, you’re here?"]

Ganga flinched, the book in her hand trembling slightly as she turned to face him, caught like a child sneaking into a room of secrets. She stood frozen in Hriday’s study — a place she had always known as forbidden territory, a room that held more silence than stories.

“Voh... main yahan chai...” she stammered, the words slipping out clumsily, betraying her nervousness.

[ Actually…in here… tea]

Jaiveer stepped forward, his eyes scanning her face, his sigh more affectionate than annoyed. “Aapne kyun takleef ki?” he asked gently, as though even her smallest discomfort was something he wished he could prevent.

[ Why did you bother ?]

“Koi baat nahi... woh mujhe yahan se ek kitaab chahiye thi. Mai le lu?” she asked quickly, holding the book tighter to her chest — not just to keep it close, but as if it held something fragile... maybe a memory, maybe a piece of herself.

[ "It’s nothing... Actually, I needed a book from here. Can I take it?"]

Jaiveer’s expression softened even more as he stepped close, brushing a stray curl from her forehead before placing a gentle kiss there.

“Aapka yeh pura rajmahal hai... Ganga, puchne ki jarurat nahi hai,” he murmured, his words not just comforting, but claiming.

["This entire palace is yours... Ganga, there's no need to ask."]

A smile finally bloomed on her lips — the kind that comes after holding back too long — and she wrapped her arms around him, her tension melting in his embrace.

In the stillness of Hriday’s study, a place once marked by silence and boundaries, something tender unfolded — not just a moment, but a quiet rewriting of the rules between them.

—---🌹—---

Hriday pov :

I lay on the bed, motionless, the only movement in me being the slow rise and fall of my chest as I held Chahat’s dupatta gently against my face. The fabric was soft — worn from time and touch — but what made it unbearable was the way it still carried her scent.

It smelled like her — like rain on parched earth, like the faint perfume of mogra caught in the folds of a summer breeze. I pressed it closer to my nose, inhaling her presence through the cloth, as though breathing her in could settle the storm she’d left inside me.

My eyes were closed, but the images of the day played in vivid flashes behind the darkness. Her sitting on the road, tears glistening like betrayal in the corners of her eyes. Her pain — raw, unguarded — had struck something inside me that I was desperately trying to bury.

I knew I should have walked away. After knowing the truth, after realizing what stood between us, I should’ve built a wall, not a bridge. But my heart… my cursed heart — it refused logic. It leaned toward her like a moth to a flame, knowing full well the burn that awaited.

Holding her dupatta felt like touching the edges of a forbidden dream. She was a song I wasn’t allowed to hum, a prayer I wasn’t meant to whisper. But still, here I was — clinging to a piece of her like a sinner hiding a sacred relic.

I let the dupatta slip through my fingers, the threads whispering against my skin like her voice once did. And in that quiet moment, I wondered — is it possible to be attached with someone and still stay away from them? Or was I already too far gone?

I lay on my stomach, the room dim, the silence so thick it felt like it might spill over. My fingers reached under the pillow, finding the cool, familiar metal — the anklet. I brought it out slowly, holding it in my palm like something sacred. It shimmered faintly in the dull light, delicate and incomplete… just like the story between us.

I had found it at the Mahadev temple, resting near my feets like it had been waiting for me. At first, I thought it was nothing — just a lost ornament. But something made me take it. Something deeper, irrational. Now I know why.

It belongs to her.

Today, my eyes betrayed me again. I saw her feet and that’s when I noticed it. One anklet missing. A silence where music should’ve been. My breath caught in my throat the way it always does around her. And in that moment, it all connected.

This anklet… is hers.

And maybe that’s why I couldn’t resist taking it. Maybe that’s why I keep it hidden beneath my pillow, like a stolen secret. Because it’s the only piece of her I have the right to hold. It’s wrong — I know that. But it’s also the only thing that feels real in this war between right and longing.

She doesn’t know I have it. She doesn’t know that while I push her away in the day, I hold onto this piece of her at night — like it might whisper the things I don’t have the courage to say out loud.

My heart thundered in my chest, not out of fear, but out of something far more dangerous — devotion.

The moment I saw her stumble, her breath caught in pain, something inside me snapped free — like a chain I spent too long pretending was still wrapped around my heart. My eyes didn’t glance around to check who was watching. My pride, my ego, my shame — all dissolved in that one moment as I dropped to my knees before her, in front of everyone.

And then… I touched her feet.

My fingers, calloused from work and war with myself, grazed her skin with a gentleness I didn't know I possessed. The world around me became a blur — voices, stares, judgment — none of it mattered. All I saw was her… and her pain.

My hands trembled, not from hesitation, but from the weight of reverence. As if her feet were not just flesh and bone, but the threshold of something sacred I was never meant to cross — yet couldn’t stay away from.

And then, I slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her into my arms. Bridal style. Unapologetically. As if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Gasps echoed. A few whispered. Some stared. But I didn’t care. My eyes remained locked on hers — wide with disbelief, a blush creeping across her cheeks — and for a moment, I felt like I was carrying a fire in my arms, both afraid and alive.

Her presence against my chest burned through every layer of distance I had ever created. And still, I held her tighter — not possessively, but protectively. Like the world could say what it wanted, but in that moment, she was my responsibility… and maybe something more.

Every step I took was steady, slow — not just through space, but through the limits I once set for myself.

And in that silent defiance, in front of everyone, I crossed a line I could never uncross — not with shame, but with a love that no longer wished to hide.

She had forgotten her dupatta in the car.

A simple mistake.

But I didn’t go back.

Not because I couldn’t.

Because I wouldn’t.

Or rather, because if I did… I knew I wouldn't come back the same.

The fabric she'd left behind lay on the seat beside me like a ghost of her presence — soft, scented, untouched — and yet it burned through me like wildfire.

And then Somesh came.

The moment he heard her name, his face shifted — just enough to clench my gut.

His worry was unspoken, but loud.

Too loud.

It hit me in places I didn't know were vulnerable.

Jealousy?

No.

Something uglier.

Something deeper.

Because I wasn’t just afraid of losing her —

I was afraid of wanting her.

This wasn’t just an attachment anymore. It wasn’t just a glance too long or a heartbeat that skipped when she walked by.

It had become a hunger — quiet and relentless.

A thirst I couldn’t quench.

A shadow I couldn’t outrun.

Liking her felt like standing on the edge of a holy temple with blood on my hands.

She was the flame. And I… I was the moth, circling her warmth knowing I was made of wax.

Every step away from her feels like punishment.

Every step toward her feels like betrayal.

And still, I find myself suspended in that space between sin and surrender —

Where her name sits on the tip of my tongue, but never passes my lips.

Where her smile haunts the hollows of my silence.

Staying away from her isn't hard —

It's unnatural.

Like asking the moon not to follow the tide.

Like asking a dying man to refuse breath.

But I must.

Because even though my heart already belongs to her,

She is a prayer I was never meant to utter.

A dream I’m forbidden to chase.

And some love…

Are meant to be buried quietly

beneath the weight of what cannot be.

“Hum- raah ban chuke hai teri aadaton ke jaad ka,

Ikhtiyaar-e-Furqat bardasht na ho sakegi humse,

Chahun toh do paal mai tera haath thaam lu,

Nisbat hai tere - mere be- naam rishte ka,

Aakhir jabardasti cheezein cheezein paayi jaati hai,mehboob ki mohobat nahi”

[“I’ve become a attached to the magic of your habits,

The choice of separation is something I can no longer bear.

If I wished, I could hold your hand in just a moment,

But there’s a silent bond between us, unnamed yet profound.

After all, things can be taken by force —but never the love of a beloved.”]