Abhimaan

I’m a powder keg about to explode. My head’s a maelstrom, every thought a jagged edge threatening to cut through me. Today has been an inferno.Today has been a crucible, testing the very limits of my endurance.

My beloved, my sanctuary, has become an enigma. Her walls, impenetrable fortresses that leave me bereft, yearning. I ache to claim her, body and soul, to mark her as mine in a primal dance as old as time itself. If only she could see the depths of my devotion, cloaked though it may be in gruff exterior.

The news of Rajput's demise should have been our shared victory. Instead, her eyes betrayed concern for that viper. A cold rage ignited within me, a desire to resurrect him solely for the pleasure of watching terror bloom in his eyes before I extinguish his miserable existence once more.

Breakfast was an exquisite torture. My father's gaze, laden with unspoken judgments, pierced me like shards of ice. His taunts, veiled in paternal concern, grate against my very being. Does he not see the man I've become, the protector, the warrior? Rajput's downfall consumes my thoughts, a singular focus that brooks no distraction.

And then, the final indignity. My father, ensconced in his study, dispensing wisdom as if I were still a child fumbling in the dark. He bids me comfort my wife, oblivious to the tempest raging within. Does he truly believe I revel in this turmoil?

I am Abhimaan Malhotra, a man who would lay down his life without hesitation for those he holds dear. Yet in this moment, I am adrift, longing for the anchor of my wife's touch.

I stormed out from my father's study , my head pounding. I need her. I need her hands in my hair, kneading away the tension. Beneath the armor, I’m a wounded animal craving her touch. We’ve created a world within a world, a sanctuary of passion and intimacy. It’s our secret, our escape. But right now, all I can feel is rage.

The weather weighs heavily on my troubled mind as August approaches, the monsoon at its relentless peak. The sun feels like a distant memory, hidden behind an impenetrable veil of clouds.when  I reach the haveli, my clothes were clinging to me from the light rain. As I open the door to our room, darkness and silence greet me. My beloved wife and son are nowhere to be seen, drawing a frustrated sigh from my lips.

My hand finds the switch, and as light floods the room, my eyes dart around frantically. Then, realization strikes me like lightning. How could I have forgotten?

There, on the bed, sits my wife. She's curled into herself, her delicate hands lightly holding her legs, her head bowed between them. The memory of that fateful night flashes through my mind - her fear of thunder and lightning, a scar left by a trauma I couldn't prevent.

"Abhimaan, you fool," I chastise myself silently. "How could you forget something so crucial?"

I discard my blazer on the couch, moving swiftly to her side. She remains motionless, but I can hear her muffled sniffles. My chest constricts painfully at the sound. She's too pure, too precious for the darkness of my world.

As I place my hand on her shoulder, she looks up at me, her eyes wide with fear. The sight shakes me to my core. I don't want to see her like this, ever.

Our eyes locked, and my world shattered. Her once-vibrant gaze was now a sea of red, framed by tangled locks. The vermilion on her hairline, , was smeared – a visual echo of her distress.

Suddenly, she crumbled. Her cries pierced the air as she pulled me close, her delicate hand finding purchase on my neck. She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her tears hot against my skin. Her body trembled violently beneath my touch, a leaf caught in a storm.

I enveloped her in my arms, trying to shield her from invisible demons. She clung tighter, her sobs growing more desperate with each passing moment.

"Maan," she pleaded, her voice raw with anguish, "please stop it. It's hurting... my body is hurting. He's hurting me. Please, make him stop." Her words were daggers to my heart.

I held her closer, feeling her shudder as if fighting for every breath. The pain in her voice was unbearable.

"Tell me his name, baccha," I implored, my own voice thick with emotion. "I'll make him regret ever drawing breath." I was begging now, desperate to end her torment.

But she only cried harder, lost in her nightmare. "Maan, please stop him!" she screamed, the sound tearing through me.

I gently pulled her away, cupping her face in my hands. "Shraddha, look at me," I urged, my voice soft but firm. "You're not with anyone else. You're here with me. Look, it's your Maan."

Slowly, her swollen eyes focused on mine. A flicker of recognition passed through them. "Maan," she whispered, the word a fragile thread of hope.

I nodded, stroking her tear-stained cheek.

"Yes, your Maan," I murmured, my voice a soothing balm. "Look around, Shraddha. You're safe in our room. No one can harm you here."

Her eyes, wide with lingering fear, met mine. "Maan," she whimpered, "he touched me. Rudra... my baccha was in my belly. He tried to stab..." Her voice broke, a lump visibly forming in her throat. The memory of that day crashed over me - the day I should have been there sooner, the day my plans cast a shadow over our lives.

"I protected you, didn't I?" I whispered, guilt and pride warring within me.

She nodded, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips.

"But I couldn't watch my baby when he was born," she lamented, shaking her head. "I'm such a bad mother."

I pulled her gently onto my lap, cradling her like the precious treasure she is. "You're the best mother," I assured her, my voice firm with conviction. "You protected him every single moment. For five days, you were stronger than anyone could imagine."

She gazed up at me, her doe eyes pools of emotion I could drown in forever. The intensity of her stare, unwavering and filled with something I couldn't quite name, left me breathless.

Then, without warning, her lips found mine. Soft, sweet, yet filled with a desperate passion that caught me off guard. It felt like our first kiss all over again - electric, earth-shattering. The taste of her, like the sweetest candy, drove me to the brink of madness.

She pressed closer, her urgency growing with each passing second. When her tongue met mine, the world ceased to exist beyond the two of us. Her hands snaked around my neck, pulling me deeper into this intoxicating dance.

I was lost in her - in the feel of her lips, the warmth of her body, the passion that radiated from her very being. Shraddha Abhimaan Malhotra, my wife, my love, had the power to make me forget everything but her.

As she kissed me with a fervor I'd rarely experienced, my head spun. Blood rushed through my veins, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm. It was only when the haze of desire began to clear that I realized the magnitude of this moment - my usually reserved wife had initiated this passionate encounter, leaving me utterly spellbound.

"Do you realize what you just did?" I asked, my voice husky with desire. She nodded, a mixture of innocence  dancing in her eyes. The urge to claim her, to lose myself in her, was overwhelming.

With a groan, I cupped the nape of her neck and crashed my lips against hers. Her eyes widened in surprise, but I was beyond restraint. My kiss was fierce, passionate, a testament to the fire she ignited within me. I poured every ounce of my longing into that kiss, my lips moving against hers with an intensity that left us both breathless.

Just as I was losing myself in her, she pushed gently against my chest. I broke away, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. The sight of her nearly undid me – her lips swollen from our kisses, her cheeks flushed a delicate crimson. She was temptation personified, and it took every ounce of my willpower to hold back. After my past transgressions, I knew I had no right to push further.

Suddenly, a deafening crack of thunder shattered the moment. Shraddha instinctively threw herself into my arms, trembling. I held her close, my hand moving in soothing circles on her back.

"It's alright," I murmured into her hair. "You're safe with me." She clung to me, her body gradually relaxing as the rumbles faded into the distance.

"Where's Rudra?" I asked softly, trying to distract her from the storm.

She looked up at me, a small pout forming on her lips. "He's with Maa and Papa. He refused to come with me."

I couldn't help but smile at the thought of our  son. "He's just like you – rebellious to the core."

Shraddha shook her head emphatically, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "No, he doesn't have a single feature of mine. He's all you – moody and loves to give orders."

"Really?" I asked, my tone a mixture of amusement and disbelief. She nodded, her eyes twinkling with a hint of defiance.

As she rested her head against my chest, my thoughts darkened. Why wouldn't she tell me the name? My patience was wearing thin, but I knew today wasn't the right time to press. She looked so fragile, reminiscent of that terrible day. Her nightmares still lingered, and I didn't want to risk triggering them.

"Maan," she whispered, her voice soft as a summer breeze.

I hummed in response, encouraging her to continue.

"I love you," she said, the words hanging in the air between us.

I froze, conflicting emotions warring within me. The memory of her lying on the hospital bed that fateful night still stung. If only she had told me then, I could have protected her. My silence stretched, heavy and oppressive.

Sensing my hesitation, she tried to pull away. I caught her arm, drawing her back to me. Our eyes met, hers brimming with unshed tears. As she struggled against my embrace, I tightened my hold.

"Don't show this attitude, Shraddha, when the reason is you," I said, my voice low and taut with frustration.

She stilled, hurt radiating from every line of her body. "You'll never believe me, will you?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I think you should stop your acting now. It's late, let me sleep," she said, turning her head away, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

"Acting?" I echoed, disbelief coloring my tone. "And what would you call what you're doing?"

She shook her head, a gesture filled with weariness. When she spoke, her words were charged with long-suppressed emotion. "Tell me, Mr. Malhotra, have you ever, since that incident, truly believed me? You acted as if it was my fault, as if I wanted to hurt myself and our baby. Have you ever considered my feelings, how I'm feeling?"

Her questions hit me like a physical blow, causing me to grit my teeth against the surge of conflicting emotions.

"How many times have I asked you about the person who hurt you?" I countered, my voice strained. "I've lost count, but you've never said a single word. Tell me, how am I supposed to react? Whom you are trying to protect? I know you are hiding something, the day i got to know, i will wipe the cause of our suffering "

She pushed me slightly, her frustration palpable. "You think it's easy? I wished that I di—"

"Shraddha, shut up," I interrupted, my voice sharp with fear and anger. "Just shut up. Not another word from your mouth. I'm warning you." The mere hint of what she was about to say sent chills down my spine.

Needing space, I stood and walked to the closet, changing my clothes with mechanical movements.My head and chest felt heavy and my body is trembling with fury. 

When I returned to the bed, I found her already asleep, her face peaceful in repose. After giving me a heart attack and snatching away a piece of my heart, this woman could sleep so carelessly.

I lay down beside her, and as if sensing my presence, she shifted closer. I gazed at her, drinking in the sight of her vulnerable beauty. Gently, I brushed away a stray lock of hair from her face and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I love you too," I whispered into the quiet night, the words I couldn't say earlier finally finding voice.  she was still my anchor, my home.

___________________________

Abhimanyu

The rain had been cascading from the heavens for what felt like an eternity, its rhythmic patter a constant backdrop to the world. As I stepped onto the balcony, expecting to find the kitchen empty, my eyes fell upon a sight that made my heart skip a beat.

There she was, my beloved wife, curled up on the couch like a delicate flower seeking shelter from the storm. A soft, dove-gray dulet was draped around her shoulders, its folds creating a cocoon of warmth against the damp chill. Her raven hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast to the muted tones surrounding her.

As I approached silently from behind, I caught a glimpse of the tome in her hands – a weighty biology textbook, its pages filled with intricate diagrams and dense text. Beside her, a notebook lay open, its margins adorned with her elegant scrawl. The sight of her studious concentration brought a smile to my lips.

Sensing my presence, Drishti turned, her eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. But instead of the usual warmth I'd come to cherish, I was met with a flash of anger that sent a shiver down my spine. She averted her gaze quickly, leaving me to wonder: What transgression had I committed to invoke such ire?

I settled beside her on the couch, the cushions sinking beneath my weight. The scent of rain mingled with her familiar jasmine perfume, creating an intoxicating aroma. Yet, Drishti remained as still as a statue, her body language screaming of discontent.

"Wifey," I called softly, my voice barely audible above the rain's symphony. No response. I repeated the endearment, each utterance growing more urgent, "Wifey, Wifey, Wifey." Still, she refused to acknowledge me, her focus determinedly fixed on the pages before her.

Finally, frustration getting the better of me, I reached out, my fingers grazing her shoulder. "Drishti, I'm calling you," I said, my touch as light as a butterfly's wing.

At last, she turned to face me, but the movement was accompanied by a subtle shift away from my touch. The distance between us, though mere inches, felt like a chasm.

"Naraz ho?" I inquired gently, searching her face for any sign of softening.

Her response came swift and sharp, laced with sarcasm that cut deeper than any knife. "Hum kon hote hai aap se naraz hone wale, CM saheb," she said, closing her book with a decisive snap and setting it aside. Her full attention was on me now, but it felt more like the scrutiny of a judge than the gaze of a loving wife.

Confusion clouded my mind. "Kuch hua hai?" I asked, desperately trying to understand the source of her displeasure.

Then, like a bolt from the blue, she unleashed a question that left me reeling. "Am I not important enough in your life? Do I even matter to you?" Her words hung in the air, heavy with accusation and hurt.

Annoyance flared within me, quick and hot. "What are you even saying?" I retorted, my voice rising slightly. "You are the most important part of my life, Drishti."

Her response was but a whisper, yet it echoed like thunder in my ears. "Liar," she muttered, the single word laden with disappointment and disbelief.

The accusation struck me like a physical blow. Liar? Me? Anger surged through my veins, a tempest to match the one raging outside. How could she dismiss my words so easily, branding me with such a hateful label?

"What's wrong with you?" I asked, bewildered by the storm of emotions swirling in Drishti's eyes. Suddenly, she grabbed her phone and slammed it onto the couch between us, the impact muffled by the cushions but resonating with her frustration.

Curiosity piqued, I picked up the device, its sleek surface cool against my fingertips. As my eyes scanned the screen, they widened in disbelief, mirroring the expanding pit in my stomach.

There, emblazoned across the top of a reputable newspaper's website, was a headline that sent shockwaves through my world: "Mr. Abhimanyu Malhotra and Miss Ishita Oberoi of Janta Party Set to Make Their Relationship Official as Party Chief Holds Secret Meeting with Chief Minister."

The absurdity of the situation hit me like a tidal wave, and before I could stop myself, laughter erupted from deep within my chest. It bubbled up, uncontrollable and slightly manic, filling the balcony with its incongruous sound.

"They're so ridiculous , they all know I'm married but still" I managed between guffaws, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes. "Look at how serious they're making this out to be. It's as if I'm some sort of clandestine Romeo, sneaking around with Ishita behind everyone's backs!"

But as my laughter subsided, I noticed Drishti's face. Her expression was a masterpiece of conflicting emotions - annoyance, hurt, and something deeper, more vulnerable. She had turned away, her gaze fixed on the rain-soaked sky beyond our balcony. The stormy gray of the clouds seemed to reflect the turmoil in her eyes.

"Drishti," I said, my voice softening as I reached for her hand. She didn't pull away, but neither did she respond to my touch. "You know this is all rubbish, right? It's just sensationalist nonsense." I found myself explaining, something I rarely bothered to do when it came to media speculation. But this was Drishti - her opinion, her trust, mattered more than anything.

Her voice, when she finally spoke, was barely above a whisper. "What about the pictures?"

Confusion furrowed my brow. "Pictures? What pictures?"

Without a word, Drishti took the phone from my grasp, her fingers dancing across the screen with practiced ease. A moment later, she thrust it back into my hands, her eyes challenging me to look.

As I stared at the image before me, I felt the blood drain from my face. There, in high-resolution clarity, was a photo I thought I'd buried deep in the digital graveyard. It showed Ishita and me, caught in what could be misconstrued as an intimate moment - her hand on my arm, our heads bent close in conversation. Out of context, it painted a damning picture.

My mind raced. How had Drishti obtained this? I'd moved heaven and earth to have it scrubbed from every corner of the internet, called in favors, made threats. Yet here it was, resurrected like a phoenix from the ashes, threatening to burn down the trust I think  I'd built with my wife.

The rain outside intensified, its patter against the balcony roof a staccato rhythm that matched my rapidly beating heart. I looked up at Drishti, her face a mask of hurt and expectation, waiting for an explanation that I wasn't sure how to give.

I turned to Drishti, my heart pounding like a caged bird against my ribs. Her eyes, deep pools of emotion, searched my face for truth. The air between us crackled with tension, thick as the storm clouds looming outside.

"Well," I began, my voice a trembling whisper, "it was an accident. It's not what it appears to be, I swear." I raised my hands, palms out, a gesture of innocence. "I just saved her from falling, nothing else."

Drishti's face remained impassive, an inscrutable mask that sent tendrils of fear coiling through my gut. What if she didn't believe me? What if this misunderstanding rekindled thoughts of divorce? The mere idea sent a chill through my veins, colder than the rain-cooled air around us.

But then, like the sun breaking through storm clouds, a smile blossomed on Drishti's face. It was small at first, a mere quirk of her lips, but it grew, spreading warmth across her features and dispelling the shadows of doubt.

Confusion must have been evident on my face, for she spoke, her voice soft yet firm. "I'm not doubting you," she said, each word a balm to my frayed nerves. "It's just... I don't like that woman.and not even trust her,"

Relief washed over me, a tidal wave of emotion that left me weak-kneed and giddy. "You know her?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

Drishti nodded, a strand of her raven hair falling across her cheek. I resisted the urge to brush it away, captivated by the play of emotions across her face.

"Yes," she sighed, her gaze turning distant. "I met her at a party meeting. She was trying to show my father that she was better than me." A sad smile graced her lips, tinged with old hurt. "And guess what? My father believed her. He told me to be more like her and learn how she is perfect managing politics and studies hand to hand"

My heart clenched at the pain in her voice. How dare anyone, especially her own father, make my Drishti feel less than the treasure she was? I cupped her cheek, my touch as gentle as a butterfly's wing.

"Hey, love," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. "You are perfect just as you are. You don't need to be like anyone else. Be like this, be mine, okay?"

Her smile in response was radiant, chasing away the last vestiges of the storm between us. She nodded, leaning into my touch, her warmth seeping into my palm.

Eager to change the subject, to see her eyes light up with passion again, I gestured towards the book lying forgotten beside her. "What are you reading?"

Drishti's face transformed, excitement dancing in her eyes like starlight. "I have my last semester exam next week," she announced, her voice tinged with both nervousness and pride. "And then... my graduation will be complete!"

Pride swelled within me, threatening to burst from my chest. I gazed at her, this remarkable woman who balanced the demands of political life with her own dreams and aspirations. She was a force of nature, as captivating and powerful as the storm raging beyond our balcony.

"So, soon-to-be Dr. Drishti Abhimanyu Malhotra," I mused, a hint of playful pride coloring my voice. "Not bad at all."

Drishti's eyes sparkled like stars in a twilight sky, her smile as radiant as the sun breaking through storm clouds. "My graduation ceremony is next month," she replied, her voice tinged with excitement. "After that, yes, I'll have earned that title."

But then, like a sudden shadow passing over her face, Drishti's expression shifted. A flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes, and I felt a twinge in my heart.

"What happened?" I asked, concern lacing my words.

She looked at me, hope shimmering in her gaze like dewdrops on morning grass. "Will you come to the ceremony as my family?" The vulnerability in her voice was palpable, a delicate thread connecting us.

My heart swelled with love and an overwhelming desire to pull her close, to kiss away every doubt and insecurity. But I held back, a different plan forming in my mind.

"On which day?" I asked, feigning nonchalance.

"August 25th," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

I steeled myself for what I was about to say, knowing it would hurt her but trusting in the ultimate outcome. "I'm so sorry, love, but I have my visit to Dehradun that day . I'll be unavailable."

The light in Drishti's eyes dimmed, like a candle flame flickering in a sudden breeze. She nodded, understanding but clearly disappointed. "It's okay. I'll be fine alone, like always," she murmured, the words barely audible but cutting through me like a knife.

I shifted closer to her, drawn by an invisible force. Someone had suggested I meant nothing to her, but her reaction proved otherwise. My heart ached with the realization of how selfish I was, wanting to keep her all to myself. She was mine, wholly and completely, and if she wasn't so sensitive, I'd show her just how much she belonged to me.

Gently, I took her hand in mine, bringing it to my lips. I placed a soft kiss on her knuckles, feeling her shiver at the contact. "I'm sorry, love,I would have rescheduled but it's important to attend it before oath ceremony" I whispered against her skin.

She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It's okay, I'm fine," she said, gently withdrawing her hand from mine.

A flicker of doubt crossed my mind. Didn't she like my touch at all? The thought was unbearable.

With a swift, fluid motion, I reclaimed her hand, my other arm snaking around her waist. She set aside her books and notebook on the table before us, the movement graceful despite her surprise. I guided her onto my lap, feeling her body tense then relax against mine.

The air around us seemed to crackle with electricity, the rain outside fading to a distant murmur. I leaned in close, my lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. "You don't like me touching you, huh?" I whispered, my breath warm against her skin.

Drishti shook her head in denial, a slight tremble running through her body. The dulet slipped from her shoulders, pooling around us like a soft, gray cloud.

"No, it's not like that..." Drishti's words were cut short as I pressed my lips to hers, soft yet insistent. Time seemed to stand still, the world narrowing to the point where our lips met. I gave her a moment, a chance to push me away if she wished, but she remained motionless, her breath warm against my skin.

Slowly, deliberately, I began to move my lips against hers. Like a flower unfurling its petals to the sun, Drishti responded. Her hands, hesitant at first, glided up my shoulders before finding purchase at the nape of my neck. Encouraged, I deepened the kiss, pouring all my love and longing into the gesture.

Our lips danced together in perfect harmony, the taste of her sweeter than any nectar. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing heavily, our chests rising and falling in unison. Drishti looked down, a becoming blush coloring her cheeks. Her shyness was endearing, igniting a warmth in my chest that spread throughout my body.

Unable to resist, I placed a tender kiss on her cheek. She looked up, her eyes wide with wonder, as if seeing me for the first time.

"I don't know what you're doing to me," i whispered, her gaze locked on mine, unblinking and full of emotion.

Just then, the shrill ring of my phone shattered our intimate bubble. I sighed in frustration, the sound grating against the soft, ethereal moment we'd been sharing. With graceful movements, Drishti retrieved the phone from my pocket and handed it to me. I gestured for her to answer it, and she obliged, holding it to my ear.

"Speak," I commanded, my voice gruff with annoyance.

The voice on the other end made me tense, my eyes darting to Drishti's face. She was watching me intently, curiosity and concern battling in her expressive eyes.

"Okay, I'll meet you tomorrow," I replied, my jaw clenched tight. Only Drishti's comforting presence kept me from losing my composure entirely.

With a subtle nod, I indicated for her to end the call. As soon as she did, her question came, soft but urgent. "Who was he?"

I saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes, and my heart constricted. She must have recognized the voice. Damn it all.

"Not so important," I tried to deflect, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. But Drishti wasn't so easily placated. Her gaze remained fixed on me, searching for answers.

"It was my brother on the call, wasn't it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I sighed, knowing I couldn't fool her. She was too perceptive, too attuned to the nuances of my reactions. "It's nothing to worry about, okay? Just a small meeting," I attempted to reassure her.

But Drishti shook her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "Manyu," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "will you grant me a wish?"

I looked at her, taking in the vulnerability etched across her features, and nodded slowly.

"Don't go," she pleaded, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Please don't meet him. Please break the alliance."

Her request hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken fears and long-held tensions.

"And to make me lose you? Not even a chance," I declared, my voice resonant with conviction. "You can ask for my life, but not this." The weight of our shared history hung between us, the memory of our wedding day and all its complications as vivid as if it were yesterday.

Drishti's eyes, luminous with unshed tears, searched my face. "You can't get yourself hurt for me, please don't," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek.

With infinite tenderness, I leaned in, my lips brushing away the tear. The salt of her sorrow melted on my tongue, a bittersweet reminder of all we'd endured. I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, my hands cradling her face as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

"I can get killed for you, Jaana," I vowed, my voice thick with emotion. "I don't care about anything else. You're my lifeline, my very reason for being. That's why I call you Jaan - because you are my life."

My words seemed to shatter something within her. Drishti collapsed against me, her arms wrapping around my torso with desperate strength. She buried her face in the crook of my neck, her breath warm and uneven against my skin.

"Please don't get yourself hurt," she whispered, her words muffled but urgent. "You will not meet him tomorrow. Promise me."

I hesitated, torn between my word and my need to protect her. Drishti sensed my reluctance and pulled back, her eyes boring into mine with an intensity that took my breath away.

"Promise me, please," she implored, her voice trembling like a leaf in the wind.

Unable to deny her anything, I nodded, my resolve crumbling in the face of her love. "Okay, fine. Don't cry. I will not meet him, I promise."

Relief flooded her features, and she pressed a soft, grateful kiss to my cheek. The simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity through my body, igniting a warmth that spread from my core to my fingertips.

"Someone was saying we're not meant to be," I teased gently, a smile tugging at my lips, "but now is kissing me."

Drishti's response was to hug me tighter, as if she could meld our bodies into one. "Why? You don't want this?" she asked, a hint of playful challenge in her voice.

A laugh bubbled up from deep within me, joyous and free. I tightened my hold on her, reveling in the feel of her body against mine. "I'm loving it, love," I assured her, my voice husky with emotion. "There's no going back for me."

We remained entwined, our embrace a fortress against the world outside. The rain continued its steady rhythm, a soothing backdrop to our shared moment. Time seemed to lose all meaning as we held each other, our heartbeats synchronizing, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

As the storm raged on outside our little haven, I silently renewed my vow to protect her, to cherish her, to love her until my last breath and beyond.

___________________________

Abhiveer

The grand haveli echoed with my frantic footsteps as I searched for my elusive wife, my little butterfly who had seemingly vanished into thin air. The ornate corridors and lavishly decorated rooms blurred together in my desperation to find her.

My heart racing, I found myself outside Maa and Papa's room, the intricate wooden door looming before me. I raised my hand, knocking gently. The door creaked open, revealing Maa's serene face, her eyes twinkling with wisdom. In her arms, little Rudra nestled, a bundle of giggles and mischief.

"Maa," I breathed, hope fluttering in my chest, "have you seen Kiara?"

A knowing smile played on Maa's lips, her eyebrow arching in amusement. "You mean to tell me, Abhiveer Malhotra, that you've lost track of your own wife?" Her tone was gentle but teasing, and Rudra, sensing the playful atmosphere, let out a peal of laughter that echoed through the hallway.

I couldn't help but grin, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on Rudra's chubby cheek. His giggles intensified, filling the air with pure joy.

Maa's expression softened as she revealed, "Your Kiara was waiting for you in the kitchen, beta. But as the hours ticked by, she decided to move her vigil to the garden. She mentioned something about keeping an eye on the parking area from there."

Gratitude washed over me as I nodded, already turning to make my way to the garden. But as I moved, a worry nagged at me – the pitter-patter of rain against the windows had grown steadier. Surely, my sensible Kiara wouldn't be out in this weather?

I hurried through the haveli, my footsteps muffled by plush carpets, passing by walls adorned with generations of family portraits. The scent of rain and jasmine grew stronger as I approached the garden entrance.

The verandah came into view, a sheltered haven between the warmth of our home and the wild beauty of the garden beyond. My eyes scanned the area, hoping to see Kiara's silhouette, but the space was eerily empty. Only a soft, ethereal glow from a distant lamp broke through the gathering twilight.

I shook my head, a mix of exasperation and adoration swelling in my chest. My Kiara, always pushing boundaries, always yearning for freedom. I could already hear her passionate defense.

The rain-soaked garden came into view as I descended the ornate staircase, my eyes scanning the lush landscape. That's when I saw her—a vision of untamed beauty, dancing with abandon in the pouring rain. Her vibrant dupatta lay forgotten on the sodden grass, a splash of color against the verdant backdrop.

I couldn't help but shake my head, a mixture of exasperation and wonder flooding through me. Kiara was unlike anyone I'd ever encountered, a force of nature that had upended my carefully ordered world. Our story was one of passion and tragedy intertwined—I had met her, desired her, and in a twist of fate that still haunted me, killed her father before making her my bride. Now, barely a month into our marriage, I found myself planning our first month  anniversary celebration, set for the following week.

Slowly, I approached her twirling form, marveling at how she remained oblivious to my presence. Her joy was infectious, her movements graceful despite the slippery ground beneath her feet. In one fluid motion, I reached out and grasped her hand, pulling her towards me.

Fear flashed in her eyes as she instinctively tried to pull away, but as her body collided with my chest, our gazes locked. My breath caught in my throat—she was a masterpiece, raindrops clinging to her lashes, her skin glistening in the fading light. My eyes drifted to her lips, full and tempting, igniting a primal desire within me.

Looking back into her eyes, I saw the lingering traces of fear, a reminder of the complex dynamics between us. Shame washed over me, knowing that despite my efforts, she still harbored a deep-seated apprehension towards me. Gently, I cupped her cheek, feeling her tremble beneath my touch.

"What are you doing in the rain?" I asked, my voice a mix of concern and authority. She shivered, her teeth chattering slightly as she responded, "I love the rain."

My eyes bore into hers, searching for understanding. In one swift movement, I scooped her into my arms, her wet clothes immediately soaking through my own. Her arms instinctively wrapped around my neck, bringing us closer than we'd been in days.

As I began to walk towards our room, Kiara's soft voice broke through the sound of falling rain. "Veer, what are you doing? Please put me down." Her request hung in the air, but I pressed on, determined to get her out of the cold.

We entered the grand hall, a spacious room adorned with intricate tapestries and gleaming marble floors. The staff's curious gazes fell upon us, their eyes widening at the sight of Kiara's rain-soaked form in my arms. Feeling the weight of their stares, Kiara buried her face against my chest, her embarrassment palpable. A soft chuckle escaped my lips at her endearing shyness.

My eyes hardened as I surveyed the room, silently commanding the staff to disperse. They quickly averted their gazes and hurried away, leaving us alone in the cavernous space.

With purposeful strides, I carried Kiara towards our private chambers. Using my foot, I deftly opened the ornate wooden door, its hinges creaking softly. Kiara's eyes widened in surprise as I made my way not to the bedroom, but directly to the opulent bathroom.

The marble-tiled space echoed with our footsteps as I approached the spacious shower enclosure. Gently, I lowered Kiara to her feet, steadying her as she regained her balance on the slick floor. With a swift motion, I reached for the shower controls, and a cascade of warm water began to fall around us.

Kiara's hand found my shoulder, using me for support as she stood there, looking bewildered and uncertain. Her eyes, a mix of confusion and apprehension, met mine briefly before she turned, attempting to leave the shower.

My hand shot out, grasping her arm gently but firmly, pulling her back under the warm spray. "Fifteen minutes," I said, my voice low and authoritative. "If you're not out and dressed in fresh, warm clothes by then, I'll come back and do it myself. Am I clear?"

She nodded, a flicker of fear passing through her eyes. The sight of it tugged at something deep within me, a mixture of regret and longing. I turned to leave, the weight of our complicated relationship heavy on my shoulders.

Just as I reached the doorway, I felt a tentative touch on my hand. Surprised, I looked back to see Kiara, her eyes downcast but her voice steady as she said, "You're drenched as well."

A smile tugged at my lips, a rare moment of lightness between us. "Want me to join you?" I asked, my tone hovering between jest and sincerity.

The effect was immediate. Kiara's hand dropped away from mine as if burned, her head shaking vigorously in denial.

"No... I mean..." Kiara's words tumbled out, but I gently interrupted her, "It's okay. I'll change in the spare washroom. You change and come out quickly." She nodded, a mixture of relief and something unreadable flickering across her face.

I left our room, heading to the spare bathroom down the hall. As I changed into dry clothes, my mind wandered to Kiara, her carefree dance in the rain replaying in my thoughts. A smile tugged at my lips, her innocence a stark contrast to the complexities of our situation.

Returning to our room, I found Kiara perched on the edge of our expansive four-poster bed, her hair still dripping onto the intricate paisley patterns of the bedspread. I shook my head, torn between exasperation and fondness at her childlike disregard for practicality.

I grabbed a plush towel from a nearby chair and sat beside her on the bed. Kiara instinctively shifted away, creating a chasm of space between us that felt wider than the physical distance. Undeterred, I gently pulled her closer, beginning to dry her hair with careful, measured movements.

As I worked, I felt her gradually relax, leaning slightly into my touch. The scent of rain still clung to her, mingling with the jasmine of her shampoo. "You love the rain," I began, my voice softer than I intended, "but what if you catch a fever, Mrs. Malhotra?"

Kiara's eyes, pools of emotion, met mine. "You stop me from doing everything," she said, her voice a mix of frustration and defiance. "I don't like being like this. I love the rain. I don't care if I get sick." Her lower lip jutted out in a pout that made my heart race.

My tone hardened, concern manifesting as sternness. "Stop this nonsense, Kiara. You're not a child, look at you still shivering like a leaf." The words came out harsher than I meant, driven by a fear of seeing her hurt or ill.

I watched as tears welled up in her eyes, glistening like the raindrops that had clung to her lashes earlier. In a swift motion, she snatched the towel from my hands and stormed towards the balcony. The sudden absence of her warmth left me feeling strangely bereft.

"Kiara, it's cold out there. Come back inside. I'm warning you," I called out, anger and worry warring in my voice. The only response was the resounding slam of the balcony door.

Left alone in the room, I sank back onto the bed, rubbing my face with my hands. The ornate ceiling above seemed to mock me with its perfect patterns, so unlike the messy reality of our relationship. I sighed deeply, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the room.

"Why do I have to be like this?" I murmured to myself, the question hanging unanswered in the air.

I ran my hands through my hair, feeling the weight of my responsibilities pressing down on me. "Come on, Abhiveer," I muttered to myself, "You have to leave your mafia persona at the door when you're with your wife."

Rising from the bed, I padded towards the balcony, my bare feet silent on the cool marble floor. There she was, a vision of melancholy beauty, curled up on the plush velvet couch. Her legs were drawn up, arms wrapped around her knees as if to shield herself from the world. The stormy sky beyond the balcony mirrored the tumult in her eyes.

Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating her delicate features. In that moment, she looked both fragile and formidable, like a storm-tossed flower clinging to a cliff's edge. I approached cautiously, lowering myself onto the couch beside her. She remained still, her gaze fixed on the tempestuous heavens.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, the words feeling inadequate even as they left my lips. She turned to me, her eyes pools of sorrow, before looking away again.

"How many times will you say sorry when you don't even mean it, Veer?" Her voice was soft but laced with bitterness. "You'll just yell at me again, just like... him."

I clenched my fist, anger surging through me at the comparison. Her father – that despicable man – how dare she think I was anything like him? I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, willing her to believe me. "I'm not him, you know that, right? I will never raise my hand against you. I will never hurt you." The promise felt etched into my very soul.

She looked lost, her gaze distant as if seeing ghosts of the past. "Physically, no," she conceded, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what about my mental health? Being caged within these gilded walls... it's suffocating me."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, punctuated by a low rumble of thunder. I reached out, hesitating before gently taking her hand in mine. Her skin was cool to the touch, like porcelain.

"Kiara, baby," I whispered, her name a prayer on my lips. "Give me some time. I promise I'll make everything alright." My words hung in the air, fragile as blown glass.

She nodded, a subtle movement that sent cascades of her silken hair rippling in the dim light. "Another promise," she murmured, her voice tinged with a bittersweet mixture of hope and skepticism. "Let's see."

I couldn't help but smile, recognizing the challenge in her words. "I know I'm bad at keeping promises," I admitted, my tone softening with vulnerability. "But I'm trying, truly I am."

A ghost of a smile flickered across her face, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Well, Bhabhi said you're like this," she remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice.

My eyes narrowed playfully. "You were discussing me with Bhabhi?" I asked, curiosity and a touch of mischief coloring my words.

Kiara's cheeks flushed slightly, a rosy hue that made her even more enchanting. "It's not like that ," she protested weakly, but her eyes sparkled with a secret she couldn't quite hide.

I grinned, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. "Well, it's not bad to want to know about your husband," I teased gently, watching as she nodded in agreement, a shy smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

Unable to resist any longer, I reached out and pulled her close. She came willingly, melting against me as if we were two pieces of a long-separated puzzle finally reunited. Kiara rested her head on my shoulder, her warmth seeping into me, chasing away the chill of loneliness I hadn't even realized was there.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into her hair, breathing in the intoxicating scent of jasmine and rain that was uniquely hers.

"I want to do better, I want to be better for you " I vowed, tightening my embrace ever so slightly. "I want to be the husband you dreamed of when you were a little girl."

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against my chest. "I doubt I dreamed of marrying a mafia don," she teased, but there was no malice in her words.

"No," I agreed, a chuckle escaping me. "But perhaps you dreamed of a man who would move heaven and earth for you. Because that's what I'd do, Kiara. In a heartbeat."

She lifted her head then, her eyes meeting mine. The storm outside seemed to pause, holding its breath as we gazed at each other. Slowly, tentatively, she leaned in, her lips brushing mine in a kiss that spoke of forgiveness.

As we parted, another flash of lightning illuminated the sky, followed by a gentle rumble of thunder. Together, we sat in companionable silence, watching as the rain painted intricate patterns on the balcony floor. The storm outside seemed to mirror our own journey – turbulent at times, but with the promise of clearer skies ahead.

In that moment, with Kiara in my arms and the rhythmic patter of raindrops as our soundtrack, I felt a sense of peace I'd never known before. It was as if the universe had aligned just for us, offering a glimpse of the beautiful future we could build together.

___________________________