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Shivansh's POV
The door clicked shut behind her, but the echo of it didn't fade.
It stayed—lingering like the scent she left behind, like the silence that wrapped around me too tightly. I didn't move for a moment. I just stood there, staring at the space she had occupied just seconds ago. The warmth of her presence still lingered, but she… she was gone.
She didn't look back.
Didn't say a word.
And maybe that was the part that stung the most.
I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration, letting out a sharp breath. I wanted to go after her. I wanted to say something—anything—that would make her stop, turn around, and look at me the way she used to. But she needed space.
I knew that much.
Pushing her now would only drive her further away. And right now, we didn't need more distance. We needed time. Silence. Breathing room.
She needed to collect herself.
And honestly?
So did I.
I turned toward the mirror. My reflection didn't lie—eyes tired, jaw tight, shirt slightly creased from sitting, pacing, overthinking. I looked exactly how I felt—tense, restless, worn.
It was time to reset.
I headed into the bathroom, letting the door shut behind me with a quiet thud. Stripping off my shirt, I turned the tap, letting the water run until steam curled from the tiles like a mist. I stepped into the shower, letting the warmth pour down my back, grounding me, calming me. The water didn't fix anything, but it gave me a few moments of peace—peace I desperately needed.
I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, letting my thoughts drift to her.
Isha.
The fire in her eyes when she's angry. The silence she wears like armor when she's hurt. The way she doesn't speak to win an argument but to protect her pride.
I knew I hurt her today.
Not just once.
But over and over in ways she wouldn't admit aloud.
And yet… she was still here.
Still doing her best to hold everything together—for the function, for the surprise, for the family, for my parents, for me.
And that made me feel even worse.
"You don't deserve her."
The thought whispered cruelly in the back of my mind.
I shut off the water and stepped out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I stood there for a moment, drops rolling down my skin, the bathroom mirror fogged over—like the future.
Unclear. Uncertain.
I ran a hand over my jaw and walked into the closet.
Tonight was important.
There were no guests yet, but soon there would be.
I pulled out my black tuxedo from the row of neatly arranged outfits. The fabric felt smooth between my fingers—simple, clean, sharp. Not flashy, but strong. Quiet confidence.
Much like what I wanted to be tonight.
Wearing that, I slipped on black trousers of mu suit, my watch, and adjusted my cuffs before finally standing straight, letting the mirror see me again.
There.
Composed.
Ready.
Even if I wasn't, I had to be.
As I descended the stairs, the palace buzzed with energy.
No guests yet—but movement everywhere. Soft voices. Clinking cutlery. Instructions being passed between staff and family members.
The family was already moving around downstairs, checking last-minute arrangements. The courtyard had to be perfect. The lights strung just right. The seating in the hall had to match the tone of the evening. Elegant. Royal. Flawless
And she wasn't there.
Isha hadn't returned to the hall. I didn't ask where she went. I trusted she was doing what she had to—preparing herself, emotionally and mentally.
So I did the same.
I stepped into the courtyard first.
Rows of lights floated above like stars caught in strings. The floor had been freshly cleaned, the carpets laid out neatly. A few decorators made small adjustments to the flower placements. The soft hum of instrumental music testing in the background added a calm undertone.
I moved from section to section, checking every detail. Every chair lined up. Every corner tidy. No wires exposed. No distractions.
From there, I entered the hall.
More lights. More order.
Cushions fluffed. Sofas spaced evenly. The aroma of fresh jasmine from the garlands hung along the walls wafted faintly in the air.
Everything was coming together.
Perfectly.
I took a deep breath and nodded silently. No need to call Isha here. She had done her job better than anyone else could. If there were still things to fix, I'd do them myself. I wouldn't bother her—not now.
She deserved that much.
She deserved peace.
I spotted Choti Maa sa walking around, smiling, giving small instructions. Dhruv stood near the stage area, asking about the flower backdrop.
For once, I didn't feel like giving orders. I just walked silently, observing everything.
And yet… a part of me still searched for her.
Every time I turned my head, every time someone passed me by—I looked, almost instinctively, hoping it was her.
It never was.
So I stood in the middle of that perfect hall.
Lights glowing above me.
The world spinning around me.
Everything ready.
Everything perfect.
Except me.
And except the one person who wasn't here.
I sat in the grand hall, just a few feet from the main staircase, where I could hear the faint buzz of preparations finishing up outside. My posture was perfect, my face unreadable—as it always had to be—but my thoughts were anything but still.
Every tick of the clock echoed louder than it should have.
She hadn't come down yet.
I hadn't seen her since she left my room that morning.
I should've felt relief that everything for the evening was falling into place. The courtyard was done. The lights were glowing. The stage was ready. The staff had executed everything exactly as I'd asked.
And yet… I felt like something inside me was holding its breath.
Waiting.
The first sign of life broke my thoughts—Dhruv walked in, dressed sharply, looking as composed as ever.
"Shiv," he nodded, the only one brave or kind enough to even acknowledge my presence.
I nodded back with a small lift of my chin. He walked over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "You good?" he asked, quietly enough that only I could hear.
"No," I said simply, and that was enough for him to understand. He didn't press further. He sat beside me for a few minutes before getting up to check something with the decorators.
Then they started to arrive—one by one.
Ishika, in a red dress, stunning and sharp-eyed, walked past without sparing me a glance. Her usual cheerful grin was absent, replaced by a cool air of disapproval.
Ranveer came next, dressed in deep blue suit, avoiding eye contact altogether, pretending to talk to someone on his phone.
Then Aviyansh—tall, confident, with a presence that usually filled the room—barely looked in my direction.
And finally, Ritvik arrived, all smiles and loud jokes with the staff, but the second his eyes landed on me, the smile dimmed. He didn't say a word. Just gave me a polite nod, then busied himself by the entrance.
It stung—but I didn't flinch.
I deserved this.
And then came the real storm.
Prisha. Ishika. Arjun. Arav.
All from her side.
And all of them furious.
I saw it in their eyes before they even looked at me directly. Prisha gave me a glare so sharp, it could've sliced through metal.
Ishika looked like she was seconds away from throwing something at me. Arjun, always the calm one, didn't even nod in acknowledgment.
Arav walked past, muttering something I didn't catch—but I knew it wasn't friendly. And, who usually met me with laughter, didn't even meet my eyes.
They all sat on the opposite side of the hall.
Loud. Laughing. Talking over one another.
But none of it reached me.
Not truly.
Because beneath every shout and tease was a pointed silence toward me.
It was like I had become invisible to them.
No. Not invisible—unwelcome.
They weren't trying to hurt me. They were trying to protect her.
And I understood.
I'd do the same if anyone else hurt her the way I had.
But even knowing that didn't make it easier to bear.
I shifted in my seat, straightened my back, and focused on my phone, the only screen that didn't judge me. That's when it rang.
Aarya.
Of all people.
I immediately answered, "speak."
But before I could say more, the noise in the hall exploded.
"I told you he was wearing that same black suit again!" Ishika shouted to prisha.
"Looks like someone took fashion advice from an antique mirror," prisha snorted.
Everyone laughed—loudly.
I pressed my palm over my free ear. "Aarya, just a second," I said into the phone, casting a glance at the noisy group.
"Arjun," I called out with as much patience as I could muster, "can you guys lower your volume for a bit?"
No response.
In fact, they got louder.
I clenched my jaw. The call was important. Aarya and I had been trying to track a man connected to the rohan case and if he had news, I needed to hear it—now.
I stood up and looked at Chhoti maa sa who was sipping tea casually. " I need to talk," I said. "It's important. I'm heading to my chamber. Please make sure I'm not disturbed."
She gave me a short nod and waved me off. "Handle it. We've got things covered here."
I didn't wait.
Phone still pressed to my ear, I walked swiftly across the hall, up the grand stairs, passing the upper level, and turned toward the right-wing corridor.
My footsteps echoed as I reached the double doors of my chamber.
I entered without switching on the lights.
Moonlight poured through the balcony doors, casting silver across the floor and the edges of the furniture.
I passed through to the poolside—my favorite place when I needed to breathe, think, feel.
The water shimmered quietly in the evening breeze. Calm. Still.
Exactly what I needed.
I finally pressed the phone back to my ear.
"yeah speak now. "
The voice on the other end was hushed and serious now.
And as we spoke about the man we'd been tracking, and new leads that had come in, my eyes drifted across the courtyard visible from the edge of my balcony… where the party would begin soon.
And I wondered…
Would she be there?
Would she talk to me?
Or would she pretend I didn't exist—just like the rest of them?
Because if I were in her place… I might do the same.
"…haan, haan, Aarya, I got that," I muttered, pushing open the door to my chamber with my shoulder, phone still pressed to my ear. "If he was last seen near the lake road, there's a chance he doubled back through the southern wall, check the cam—"
I paused mid-step, stepping into the dimly lit living area of my chamber. The warm amber glow from the antique lamp lit one side of the room, casting soft shadows along the bookshelves and furniture.
I didn't see it at first.
I didn't feel it.
Not until I walked in fully, still talking, half-distracted.
And then I turned toward the center of the room.
There—at the doorway—stood a figure.
Still. Silent. Unmistakable.
A woman.
But not just anyone.
Her.
Jaana.
Isha.
And not the Isha I was used to seeing in kurtis, jeans, or her everyday outfits.
No.
This was different.
She stood tall, facing the opposite direction—unaware, perhaps, that I had entered.
But I saw her.
Draped in red. A saree.
Red like fire.
Red like heartbreak.
Red like the blood that rushed to my face the moment my eyes took her in.
It hit me like a blow to the chest.
She was wearing a saree.
For the first time.
And not just any saree. That red. A color that once belonged to power, danger, seduction—but on her, it meant something deeper. A quiet defiance. A confidence that didn't need permission.
The pleats were perfectly tucked, hugging her waist like they were made for her. The drape fell over her shoulder like poetry in motion, and a faint gold border shimmered against the soft fabric as she shifted slightly.
My breath caught.
My lips parted.
My mind went completely, irrevocably blank.
"Yeah, so if the camera caught anything around that time, it means—" I was saying, but my words faded on their own.
Because now, nothing else mattered.
I watched the faint sway of her earrings, the way her hair brushed her back, and how the faintest breeze from the open balcony lifted the end of her pallu.
She was breathtaking.
No—she was dangerous.
I didn't even realize I had stopped mid-sentence until I heard Aarya's voice crackling over the phone, distant and tinny.
"Hello?"
"Sir?"
"Sir,are you even there?"
"HELLO?"
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't blink.
I was drowning in the way her presence shifted the air around me.
Still, she didn't turn. She hadn't seen me yet.
Or maybe she had—and just chose to ignore me.
God, she looked… unreal. Fierce. Soft. All at once.
The silence between us stretched for what felt like an eternity, even though she hadn't said a word. And I—I'd said nothing that mattered.
That's when I heard her footsteps.
Soft.
Controlled.
She turned slightly—and for the first time, I saw her face.
Not fully.
Just the side.
But that was enough.
Enough to tear apart whatever thread of control I'd been barely holding on to.
My heart kicked against my ribs.
I wanted to say her name.
I wanted to breathe again.
I wanted to apologize, confess, scream… anything.
But she didn't stop.
She didn't speak.
She just walked… right past me.
Not a glance.
Not even an accidental brush of her gaze.
She walked past me like.
I said.
"Jaan chaiye toh aise hi mang leti mein khushi khushi de deta yeh zulam karne ki kiya jarurat thi apko, jaana.
(If you wanted to know my life you could have asked for it just like that, I would have happily given it to you. Why did you need to do this cruelty, Janna.)
But she chose to ignore me.
And entered the closet room.
Just like that.
The echo of her anklets stayed in the air longer than she did.
I was still standing there, phone in hand, my face probably a mirror of stunned disbelief, when I finally heard Arav's voice again.
"Hello? Sir? WHAT the hell is happening there?"
I blinked.
Swallowed.
Tried to breathe.
And then I cleared my throat, voice low and stiff.
"Handle the work," I said curtly. "I'll call you later. Something's coming up."
I hung up before he could question anything further.
The screen of my phone dimmed and went dark.
And all I could do was stare at the door she had disappeared behind.
Still frozen.
Still shaken.
I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding, and rubbed a hand down my face.
"Calm…" I muttered under my breath.
I turned around, looking at the empty space where she had stood.
My heartbeat refused to slow down.
"Calm the fucking down jaana ke ansh. "
But the truth was—I couldn't.
Not after seeing her like that.
Not after the quiet, piercing pain of her silence.
She hadn't heard me.
But she didn't need to.
Because for the first time in my life, I was the one invisible.
And God…
It hurt like hell.
I hadn't moved.
My hand was still loosely holding the phone, but the call had long ended. I didn't remember what I said before hanging up.
Because all I could remember—
All I could see—
Was her.
The sound of her anklets had faded down the corridor, and a full thirty seconds must've passed before my body even allowed me to breathe again.
My jaw tightened.
She just walked past me like that.
Like I didn't exist.
And maybe I deserved that.
But even punishment shouldn't come with this level of… of—temptation.
I turned to the doorway slowly. The door to our room—no, her room now—was slightly ajar. The light inside was on. Warm, golden, soft.
My feet moved before my mind caught up.
I stepped forward… quietly. No sound. No word. Just the low, erratic beat of my heart pulsing in my ears.
And then—I saw her.
Standing in front of the mirror.
Her back was to me.
Her bare back.
My eyes froze.
My breath hitched.
My sanity—split.
What the hell…?
She was wearing a backless blouse.
Not low.
Not sleeveless.
No—backless.
And not even with hooks.
Just… two damn strings.
One tied near the nape of her neck.
The other, around her lower back.
That was it.
Two. Fragile. Ties.
The blouse hugged her skin like second flesh, molded to her shape so perfectly it should've been illegal. Her dusky skin glowed under the warm light, smooth, soft, glowing like gold dust.
I blinked—hard—trying to look away.
I failed.
What the hell is she wearing?
Why is she wearing this?
Today? After all that—after the fight? After everything?
The anger from earlier rose for a split second—
Only to be completely drowned by something darker. Heavier.
Desire.
She had no clue.
She didn't even know I was standing here.
Leaning against the doorframe.
Losing my goddamn mind.
I clenched my jaw. Hard.
"She's…" I whispered under my breath, "She's f***ing seducing me without even trying."
Without even looking at me.
Without saying a word.
Without knowing the kind of storm she just created inside me.
She sat down again, unaware.
I watched.
God, help me, I watched.
She was applying kajal—lining her lower lashline slowly, carefully. Her movements were delicate. Focused.
I noticed how her fingers trembled slightly.
She didn't look nervous. But she was definitely hiding something under that flawless exterior.
Then she applied a black small bindi between her eyebrows.
she picked up the necklace.
A medium one.
Not heavy. Not too light.
Just enough to make my fingers twitch with the urge to go and fix it for her.
But she did it herself. She always did.
One earring. Then the other.
She tilted her head slightly, letting her hair fall to one side, exposing that long, smooth line of her neck.
I exhaled, slowly.
"She doesn't even know what she's doing to me," I muttered, my voice rough, low. "Or maybe she does. Maybe she does."
She stood up then.
And I swear—for a second—I forgot who I was.
She adjusted the pallu, pulling it over her shoulder with a flick that should've been taught in war schools. Her curves moved underneath that red silk like flame under sheer glass—visible, untouchable, dangerous.
My grip on the doorframe tightened.
She turned to check herself in the mirror again.
A small frown formed on her face.
She tucked a hairpin in place, pressed her lips together, and then tilted her head again—studying herself.
Her posture. Her eyes. The kohl. The fire.
Everything screamed control.
Everything screamed I'm fine.
Everything screamed You don't affect me.
And yet—she looked like a fing storm* dressed in a saree.
Fury in silk.
"Calm down, Shivansh," I told myself, dragging a hand over my face, "Calm the fuck down."
But it wasn't working.
Not when my eyes were locked on the line of her spine.
Not when I could see every subtle movement under that thin fabric.
Not when the woman I loved—and possibly hated right now—looked like she was crafted from sin and fire just to destroy me.
She didn't even glance toward the door.
Didn't know I was there.
Or maybe she knew—and didn't care.
That stung.
But it also made me burn.
I could almost laugh.
Here I was—King of Jaipur. A man who's faced death threats, business wars, family politics, royal duties…
And I was losing control…
To the sight of a woman in a red saree.
My wife.
My chaos.
My calm.
My curse.
Oh yeah she is not completely mine but she is mine.
And maybe—maybe still, somehow—my home.
I watched her one last time before stepping back into the shadows.
Still burning.
Still lost.
Still… wanting.
The moment she turned—
The moment her eyes met mine—
I forgot how to breathe.
She froze.
One hand holding a final bangle, half in motion, half unsure.
Her gaze flickered—first in surprise, then in recognition, and finally, in… indifference.
She didn't say anything.
Didn't react.
Didn't smile.
Didn't frown.
She just looked right through me.
And then—
She walked past me.
Like I was air.
Like I didn't exist.
Like we didn't exist.
Her perfume brushed against my senses. Her soft anklets chimed once again.
She was about to pass me—
But I moved.
My hand reached out—instinctive, precise—and I caught her wrist.
Firm.
Not tight.
Not rough.
But unyielding.
Like she could try all she wanted—but I wouldn't let go.
She stilled.
Didn't even look back.
I slowly turned to face her, my back now leaning against the door, still holding her hand as her fingers rested softly against the side of my chest.
It felt like fire on skin.
That tiny space between us buzzed like an invisible string drawn too tight.
I didn't speak at first.
Couldn't.
Because everything inside me was chaos.
Because the woman in front of me—
This storm in red silk and a backless blouse—
She was every breath I needed and every weakness I didn't want to admit.
And she was pulling away. Quietly. Silently. Like we meant nothing.
"Isha…"
My voice barely escaped. Rough. Strained. "Wait."
She didn't reply.
Her eyes didn't soften.
Her fingers didn't twitch.
Only her breath shifted.
"I don't want to fight," I said, letting the words fall between us, unsure, unscripted, desperate in their own way. "I just… I needed to see you."
Still, nothing.
"I can't stand in this house, in this silence… without you in it."
A pause.
"My mind—it just goes blank. I know you're angry. I know I'm the reason you're keeping this wall up, but…"
My voice cracked, just slightly.
"…I need the sun back."
Her fingers moved then. Just the slightest pressure.
"My world goes quiet when you're not in it."
Her wrist twitched in my grip.
"I can't breathe in that living room, around all of them… if you're not there too."
Her silence pressed against my words like a wall I couldn't climb.
And then she snapped.
I looked down at our hands. Her soft wrist, caught in my palm.
"You don't understand, do you?" I murmured, more to myself than to her. "You don't understand what it does to me. Just watching you… existing."
She turned her face toward me now. A slow, cautious tilt.
There was fire in her eyes. Challenge. Distance. Pain.
"You want me to talk?" she said, her voice was sharper than I'd expected. "but I don't want to talk to you. Or move out of the dam way."
I exhaled harshly. My head dipped for a second, gathering strength I didn't think I had.
Then I looked up again.
At the woman who had no idea she was undoing me completely.
"You shouldn't wear that blouse," I said suddenly.
The words came out too fast. Too rough.
Her body went stiff.
Her eyes widened in disbelief. And then—turned molten with rage.
I saw the fury form even before her lips moved.
"I will wear what I want," she snapped. "My body. My choice. You don't get to decide how I dress."
"I know," I said, my voice is lower now, struggling to stay calm, "I know. I'm not saying that because I want to control you."
"Then why?"
I sighed, frustrated. Angry at myself. At everything.
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
Because the truth—the real reason—was too heavy to say out loud.
No, I wasn't judging her.
I wasn't angry about the blouse.
I wasn't here to control her.
But gods… I was terrified.
What if that string at her back came loose?
What if she bent or moved wrong and that fragile little knot gave way?
And I wasn't there to catch it?
What if someone else saw before I did?
What if someone touched before I could shield her?
And worse—what if someone saw more than they were ever meant to?
And she'd be all over the news. Eyes. Cameras. Attention.
What if someone, somewhere—one of those faceless dangers circling around her—saw her as a target again?
She didn't know the half of it.
The threats. The shadows.
All the risks now loomed over her… because of me.
She thought this day was about celebration.
But to me, it felt like trying to protect a flame in the middle of a storm.
So no—
I didn't say all that.
Couldn't.
She wouldn't understand.
She'd only argue harder.
She'd think I was shaming her body when all I wanted to do was protect it like it was sacred.
So I let her believe I was angry.
I let her believe I was trying to dominate the moment.
Because telling her the truth would've only made her feel caged.
And I'd rather be the villain than the reason she ever felt less than free.
So I swallowed it all.
Then I said, voice tight, strained, "Fine. Do what you want."
I closed my eyes for a second.
Don't argue. Don't lose her again.
So I whispered the only truth I had left.
"Then I'll give up."
She blinked.
"What?"
I looked at her, pain sharp in my throat.
"I'll give up this damn blouse. Okay? I'll stop talking about it. I won't say a word from now on."
A beat.
"But please—don't mistake my words for control. I'm not scared of your skin showing. I'm scared of losing you in any way. Even if it's just in front of my eyes, and I can't reach you."
We stood there for a few seconds. Her fingers are still against my chest. My hand is still around her wrist.
She glared, but I wasn't done.
"but just… stick around the dhruv, okay?" I said, quieter now. "Don't go anywhere alone."
She blinked, surprised for half a second. But I didn't give her time to respond.
I gently released her wrist.
The loss of her skin against mine felt like a part of me falling away.
And then I turned.
I didn't look back.
Because if I did… I knew I'd do something reckless.
Breath. Heat. Silence.
The kind that screams louder than words.
And I knew…
If I stayed a second longer,
If I saw her eyes again,
If she even breathed too close—
I would kiss her.
No hesitation. No regret.
Or tell her everything I was holding back.
Or fall apart right there in her damn room.
And I couldn't afford any of that.
I let go of her wrist.
Gently. Like I was letting go of something sacred. Something I might never touch again.
And then I turned and walked out of her room.
Every step felt like I was ripping threads out of my own chest. My heartbeat was loud, chaotic, thunderous in my ears. Like a drumbeat that didn't know what rhythm to follow anymore.
I didn't even realize where my feet were carrying me—my body moved on its own.
And then I reached the guest wing.
The room she was assigned to. The only place in this damn palace that didn't feel like it had a hundred eyes watching me.
I didn't even bother locking the door behind me.
I moved straight toward the bathroom.
My throat was dry.
My hands were trembling.
There was this storm swelling under my skin—anger, guilt, frustration, longing—and something darker.
Something hotter.
Something she had awakened the moment she looked up at me with fire in her eyes and didn't flinch when I stepped closer.
That monster.
The one that wanted to touch her. Kiss her again.
Push that stubborn hair behind her ear.
Run my hands down her back and feel her shiver under me.
God. I needed a cold shower.
Now.
I stripped quickly. The marble floor beneath my feet was cool, but I was burning from the inside.
I turned the knob all the way to the left.
The water hit me like needles. I welcomed it.
Ten seconds in, and my breathing still wasn't steady.
Ten minutes in, and I was still fighting off images of her—those bangles, that blouse, that one damn moment her eyes flickered when I said I couldn't breathe without her.
I stood under the icy water for twenty minutes straight.
My forehead rested against the wall.
Water slid down my back.
I let the cold try and kill that ache inside me.
But pain started to replace the heat.
Not physical—emotional.
I hadn't said what I wanted to say.
I hadn't protected her the way I should've.
I walked in without permission. Touched her without a word.
And then judged her blouse like a coward, when all I really wanted was to wrap her in every layer I owned and keep her away from the world.
I hated myself in that moment.
And I couldn't let anyone see that.
So I dried off. Wore a black kurta. Took a breath. Tried to lock it all away.
And stepped out again.
The palace was buzzing now.
Laughter. Footsteps. Chatter. Distant sounds of preparations echoing through the open courtyard.
Everyone was gathering.
I moved through the halls, heading toward the staircase that opened toward the main living area.
That's when I heard it—
Her voice.
Not loud. Not direct. But present.
My body reacted before I even registered what was happening.
I took the first step down the staircase—
And saw her.
She was standing in the center of the room.
Perfect. Effortless. Like something that didn't belong to this world.
Her back was turned to me, but even then… I could feel her presence like gravity.
The way her saree moved as she adjusted something on the table. The soft sway of her hair falling down her back. The light hitting her bangles like tiny sparks.
I stopped walking.
Just stood there—mid-stair.
Watching.
Breathing?
Barely.
And then she turned slightly, just enough for me to see the side of her face. That tiny tilt of her lips as she laughed at something someone said.
She was glowing.
And I forgot.
I forgot I was on a staircase.
Forgot I had to move my feet.
Forgot there were even steps beneath me.
Because all I could think was—
God, I love her.
My foot slipped.
I didn't even register it at first.
One step turned into none.
The edge of the stair vanished from under me.
My body tilted.
There was nothing to grab.
And for a second—just a second—I thought I was going to fall. Fully. Crashing down those stairs like an idiot who couldn't handle his own legs.
But by some miracle, I caught the side rail. Gripped it hard.
My elbow hit the banister.
My knee landed on the next step down.
And then I was… sprawled.
On the staircase.
Half-sitting, half-collapsed.
Breath gone.
Dignity? Nowhere to be found.
And every single head in that damn hall turned to look at me.
"I'm fine," I muttered before anyone could even ask.
I pushed myself up slowly.
The pain in my leg flared.
But it was nothing compared to the humiliation.
Someone had already started toward me—Dhruv, maybe. Or Aviyansh.
I waved them off.
"I said I'm fine."
But then I saw her face.
Isha.
She was standing a few feet away, eyes wide, concern creasing her brows.
And suddenly I wasn't fine at all.
Because her concern broke me more than the fall did.
And I didn't deserve it.
I shouldn't have been watching her like that.
I shouldn't have fallen like a fool in front of her.
I shouldn't have touched her hand earlier without her consent.
And now?
Now I was lying on the floor like the idiot who couldn't even handle loving a woman properly.
She stepped forward.
"Shivansh?"
Just my name.
But it undid me.
Because how the hell could I explain everything behind that one stumble?
The storm in my chest?
The image of her in that blouse burned into my memory like some cruel tattoo?
The taste of her name still lingering on my tongue from the night we kissed?
I wanted to tell her I was sorry.
But all I could say was—
"I slipped."
And that was the truth.
On the stairs.
In her presence.
In her absence.
In my own heart.
I was slipping, every damn day.
And no cold shower was ever going to save me from that.
The courtyard had never looked so grand.
Lit by a soft golden dusk, the air was thick with the scent of blooming mogra and the murmur of laughter, crystal glasses clinking, and slow, elegant music in the background. It wasn't just any evening—it was an event. A celebration dressed in silk and silence and importance.
Politicians were seated near the fountain, old money and new ambition laughing together. International guests wore tailored tuxedos and jeweled sarees, sipping wine like it was water. Royal families from three states had come—their presence alone made the air heavier. Business partners, foreign dignitaries, ambassadors—the courtyard held weight. Prestige.
And yet, amidst all of it...
My eyes only searched for her.
I was meant to greet.
Smile.
Talk to people who mattered in the world.
But she was the only one that mattered in mine.
I did my rounds.
Touched the feet of Isha's parents—Uncle gave me a proud pat, Aunty smiled with such warmth it made me straighten my spine. My choti maa noticed I was looking around.
"Where are Maa and Dad?" I asked her quietly.
She smiled, brushing an invisible wrinkle on her saree. "They're on the way, beta. Bas aate hi honge. Isha has gone to welcome them."
(They will be arriving soon.)
Ah.
I nodded. That explained the flutter in the air.
I turned, saw her.
Moving from one side of the courtyard to another, glowing in soft rose-pink, her earrings swaying as she tilted her head to talk to someone. There was a natural grace to her—not learned, but born. A rhythm in her step that didn't try to capture attention, but held it anyway.
I had just stepped in.
The noise was loud, the guests louder, but her presence...it cut through the chaos like a heartbeat I couldn't ignore.
She was everywhere. Fixing the ribbon on a welcome table, checking in with the staff about refreshments, nodding politely to guests, then pivoting back around to make sure the cake table hadn't been bumped out of place. A literal storm in a black saree with silver embroidery, her earrings catching every light, like they were mocking me—mocking how I lost her.
And yet she wasn't alone.
At first, I thought it was a coincidence.
But no.
Right behind her—everywhere—Dhruv and Aviyansh were following like two puppies trying to find their owner after being thrown out of the house.
They were tracking her movements like shadows, heads low, and expressions of sheepish. Dhruv would whisper something. Isha didn't even look. Aviyansh would chuckle nervously, probably trying to break her anger with charm. Still, nothing. Not a glance. She was steel.
I took a few steps forward, folding my arms, leaning slightly to get closer. I couldn't hear it at first. Then…
"kaahe khafa aise, chulbul se bulbul? .."
I froze.
They were… singing?
Were these two morons actually singing a love song to her?
Dhruv even stretched his arms like a dramatic hero. "Kaahe na tu maane btaiyaan? haaye.. "
I almost choked.
And she—still not looking—kept walking ahead.
They trailed behind, looking like idiots with broken hearts and a playlist of heartbreak anthems.
She suddenly stopped.
Dhruv bumped into Aviyansh who bumped into the edge of the table.
Then she turned.
And fuck, that tone? It could kill.
"Bas karo!" she snapped.
( stop.)
Both of them stood straight.
"No, you both are in his team, right?" She pointed toward thin air, but we all knew exactly who she meant.
My stomach clenched.
"Great. Toh jao. Jao uske saath. Don't follow me again. Samjhe?"
( Great. So go. Go with her. Don't follow me again. Understand?)
They stayed quiet.
"Next time you follow me like this, Dhruv bhaiyu—you are gone—but I swear to God, main iss party ke beech mein tum dono ko dande se maroongi. Samjhe?"
( Next time you follow this, Dhruv brothers- you are gone-but I will swear on God, I will beat both of you with a stick in the middle of this party. Understand?)
Aviyansh blinked. "Aree, Isha bhabhi…"
"'Isha bhabhi' my foot!" she barked.
"Main free nahi hoon, okay? I'm not free. I have no time. I have to look after the thing that makes everything perfect before maa sa and baba sa come. Toh agar tum log mujhe follow karoge na..."
(I am not free, okay? I'm not free. I have no time. I have to look after the thing that makes everything perfect before mother and father come. So if you guys will follow me...)
She leaned closer to both of them.
"Main chaku nikalungi. Ek aur stab. Aur is baar, tum dono hospital mein honge. Samjhe?"
(I'll take out the knife. Another stab. And this time, you'll both be in the hospital. Understand?)
Dhruv mumbled, "Mujhe toh laga pyaar mein log gaane sunte hain... yeh toh directly weapon utha leti hai..."
(I thought people listen to songs when they are in love... she directly picks up the weapon...)
I almost laughed. Almost.
But I couldn't. My heart was twisting.
They backed away slowly, defeated.
She turned and walked off again like a goddamn queen in a battlefield, leaving both of them emotionally wounded in the middle of roses and fairy lights.
That's when it hit me.
They weren't just trying to win her forgiveness. They were carrying my guilt, too.
They couldn't say anything to me. Because technically, I did right by them—I gave them the car, fixed things with them, and ask to help me.
But they'd lost her.
And they couldn't say anything to her either.
Because she wasn't wrong.
Her anger was justified. Her fire was earned. And now... they were trapped in the middle.
Just like me.
I didn't realize when I started walking toward them. Something in me needed to be closer. Maybe to apologize. Maybe to understand.
But Dhruv looked up before I could speak.
"Don't even start," he said. Voice low. Pained.
I paused.
"Tu sab theek kar raha hai… par usse toh tod diya."
( You are doing everything right… but you broke it with that.)
Aviyansh gave a faint smile. "Now we got the car... but lost the driver."
They walked away slowly. Back to the crowd.
I stood there for a moment, alone in the middle of glittering lights and clinking glasses.
And all I could see was her.
Walking around like nothing happened.
When everything had.
I watched her laugh at something someone said. Then her eyes flicked toward the entrance. A guard in uniform stepped up and whispered something into her ear.
She nodded once.
And just like that, I saw her shift.
Her smile softened into something warmer, more personal. She excused herself, walked straight to Choti Maa, said something too quiet for me to hear.
But I watched her lips move. I watched the slight bow of her head.
And then she walked away—toward the entrance. Toward the outside.
I didn't think.
Just moved.
Walked up to Choti Maa right after.
"What did she say?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Choti Maa didn't look surprised.
"She said bhaiya and bhabhi have arrived. She's gone to bring them in herself."
I followed.
Stepped past the outer corridor. My shoes echoing against the marble. The lanterns dimmed, casting shadows along the sandstone arches.
And then I saw her.
At the parking area. The air smelled of jasmine and petrol.
Two familiar figures stood by the car. My father. My mother. Both blindfolded gently with soft white silk.
I stilled.
Isha was standing in front of them—her voice low, gentle, smiling as she held my mother's hand with such care it made something twist inside my chest.
"Bas ek kadam aur… careful," she whispered, guiding Maa forward like she was made of glass.
(Just one step more.. Careful,)
She turned to my father, and he chuckled softly. "You sure this isn't one of your pranks, bitiya?"
"No, papa," she said, laughing. "Not this time. I promise."
Her voice was wrapped in joy, dipped in affection. It was the voice of someone who had nothing to prove but everything to give.
I stepped forward then.
She looked up at me.
"Take Papa, I'll bring Maa sa," she said softly.
I nodded.
No questions. No explanations. We moved together like instinct.
I held my father's hand lightly. "Careful, Dad."
He chuckled again. "When did my son become the soft one?"
I smiled faintly. "Maybe always was. Just never showed it."
We led them in.
Back toward the courtyard. The light inside had changed. Brighter. Golden.
But as we stepped into it, the laughter, the music, the clinking—everything stopped.
A hush fell like mist.
People turned. Important people. Powerful people.
And yet, they all watched.
Watched them—my parents—being led in blindfolded.
Watched her—Isha—walk ahead with my mother, holding her hand with reverence.
The courtyard held its breath.
We brought them to the center. A stage had been set—not high, not showy. Just enough for visibility.
Isha led Maa to the top step. I followed with Dad.
They stood there, in the heart of the courtyard. Lights above them dimmed slightly—enough for the flickering diyas to glow.
And then Isha looked at me.
"Ready?" she asked softly.
I nodded.
And together, without a word, we lifted our hands and untied the blindfolds.
Time didn't stop.
But she did.
My mother.
As the silk fell from her eyes, a breath escaped her lips—delicate, sharp, like someone exhaling years of silence.
"Oh…" she whispered, barely audible.
Her eyes, wide and blinking, took it all in.
The courtyard glowed in cream and gold. The marigold garlands hung like sun-warmed poetry. Strings of fairy lights moved like fireflies. Every pillar, every table, every lamp, every person—had been arranged in harmony.
But it wasn't just the decor.
It was the emotion.
The intention.
It was home.
Reimagined.
My mother clutched Isha's hand.
"Tumne…?" she couldn't even finish the sentence.
Isha nodded, softly. "We just wanted to surprise you, Maa sa."
And there it was—Maa sa.
The way my mother's eyes lit up at the word—like someone had just whispered love into her soul.
Tears welled up, unshed but shimmering. A lifetime of palace silences didn't prepare her for this kind of welcome.
And I stood there—watching.
Just watching.
Not as a king.
Not as a son.
But as a man in awe.
Of a woman who brought my mother back to life with just her presence.
My father blinked too. Not a man to cry—but his hand tightened around mine briefly, and that was enough.
They looked at the courtyard like it was the first time they were seeing it.
Maybe it was.
Because Isha hadn't just decorated a space.
She had awakened it.
And in doing so, she had awakened something in them too.
And in me.
I stood still—anchored at the far end of the courtyard, right near one of the majestic marble pillars, half-lit by the soft evening lanterns that danced golden shadows across the ornate floor.
My hands were behind my back, fingers gently tapping against each other—a nervous, unconscious rhythm—as my eyes roamed over the warm chaos of people: laughing, greeting, sipping, whispering.
I wasn't trying to be seen, nor did i expect to be invisible. But in that moment, it felt as if the world had faded into a slow hush, and I alone was a witness to something that wasn't even meant for me to witness.
My mind buzzed slightly. Everyone was focused on our parents— father's hearty laughter, mother's twinkling smile. Guests from royal families, international business partners, politicians, family friends—everyone was here.
But i… i was somewhere else. Watching. From the shadows. Feeling oddly still inside a moving world.
And then… the sound came.
Clink… clink… clink…
A rhythmic, delicate rattle. Something rolling on the ancient stone tiles. At first, it was barely noticeable, but the courtyard's gentle lull made the faint sound stand out like a soft bell in a temple.
I turned my head, slowly.
And there she was.
Isha.
Wearing a red saree that shimmered subtly beneath the courtyard lanterns, her hair loosely curled, strands flying gently across her cheek as she pushed a silver trolley from the arched entrance.
Her smile was small, modest, almost shy—but her eyes held a kind of mischief, the kind that could light up the darkest silence in someone's soul.
The trolley was decorated with marigold petals, gently sprinkled around its edge. And right in the center—lifted slightly on a mirrored platform—stood a tall, elegant cake of four tiers, iced in royal ivory and gold, with intricate floral patterns curling across its sides. At the very top, a golden arch of letters gleamed under the fairy lights:
"Happy 31th Anniversary."
Gasps rippled across the courtyard like a wind-stirred pond. People turned. Conversations paused. Heads tilted.
And for a second, i could swear even time stilled.
Maa sa placed her hand to her heart, dad's eyes went wide—then melted into the softest smile i had seen on him in years.
Some one whispered, i guess she was prisha "Oh... my god. This is beautiful," and others murmured in agreement.
Isha glanced at me once—just once—as if checking if i saw it Or not.
And i did.
All of it.
Even what she tried to hide behind her confident posture and glowing presence.
I saw the way her hands trembled slightly when she paused the trolley in the center. I saw the way she took a small, anxious breath before turning to face everyone.
Then, someone—i couldn't even place who—called out, "It's time!"
And like a sudden spark that lit the air, the music started—soft drums, a chorus in tune, followed by claps, laughter, cheers.
Everyone rose to their feet.
"Happy Anniversary to you…"
I blinked. His breath caught.
"Happy Anniversary to you…"
I looked around, stunned. Every single person… every single one was singing. As if rehearsed. As if it was a ritual passed down generations.
I'd never seen anything like this. Never heard a song sung this loudly and yet with such gentle affection.
"Happy Anniversary, Maa sa and baba sa…" Isha's voice rang out above the rest, and then she laughed—a bright, tinkling sound that spread like glitter through the night.
"Happy Anniversary to you…"
She didn't need a mic. Her voice was enough.
She laughed again as she clapped along with everyone, eyes on his parents. But her smile—he saw it. It reached further. It meant more. She had done this. She had planned this. For them. For his family. And suddenly, it was clear—
She was the light.
That someone—the one who said a light came in the darkness of a person's life—had been right. Dead right.
Because that's what she felt like to me.
A soft, golden, relentless light.
Maa sa turned to look at her, eyes full of tears and wonder. Dad chuckled and wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder, and they both shook their heads in disbelief—grinning, overwhelmed.
And i? I found himself singing too.
"Happy Anniversary to you…"
Softly at first.
Then louder. Without realizing it.
Without even meaning to, i smiled. I laughed. And I sang.
Because at that moment, it didn't matter that u wasn't the one in the center.
I didn't need to be.
Because the one in the center… was already holding all the stars.
And she had given them—to my parents.
To me.
To everyone.
And maybe, just maybe, she didn't even realize what she had become to them all.
But i did.
She wasn't just part of the celebration.
She was the celebration.
The applause had only just faded after the cake-cutting ceremony. The soft clinking of glasses, distant hum of music, and murmurs of polite conversation replaced the loud cheer.
I stepped away from the crowd, adjusting my coat's cufflinks absently, and made my way toward the side terrace—seeking a pocket of quiet.
Dhruv was already there, leaning against the railing, sipping from a flute of champagne that he wasn't really drinking. The flickering golden light of the fairy bulbs overhead cast sharp shadows against the stone walls.
"You finally got away from the chaos?" I said with a quiet smirk, stepping beside him.
Dhruv chuckled, shaking his head. "I needed air. You're lucky you don't have to smile at every single auntie here asking about your marriage plans."
I laughed under his breath. "Right. As if I'm not already cursed with one too many of those conversations."
There was a short pause. A silence that felt heavier than the usual.
Then Dhruv glanced sideways, his voice quieter. "You know… I still don't think you should've shouted at her in morning."
My's jaw tensed slightly. My brows drew together. I didn't need to ask who her was.
Dhruv continued, "I know what happened. And I know you messed it up. But it was never her fault. Not really. If anyone made the mistake, it was you. I should've never accepted that damn car. I thought I was helping. Instead, I became a problem between you two."
I looked away, my gaze fixed on the people moving through the garden path below. "It wasn't your fault entirely. I overreacted. We both did."
"She didn't deserve to be caught in between," Dhruv said softly.
"I know," i murmured.
Just then, a calm but authoritative voice broke the moment.
"Ah, Shivansh."
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