Shraddha

I stirred in my sleep, my hand instinctively reaching across the silk sheets to find Rudra's warmth. The empty space beside me was cold, devoid of his tiny presence that had become my anchor to reality. My eyes flew open, heart lurching against my ribcage as consciousness crashed over me like an icy wave. The bedroom, bathed in silvery moonlight streaming through the gossamer curtains, suddenly felt vast and suffocating.

"Rudra?" The name escaped my lips in a broken whisper, my vision blurring with hot tears that threatened to fall. The familiar panic, my constant companion since that fateful day, began to claw at my chest. "Maan?" I called out, my voice trembling like autumn leaves in a storm. The silence that answered was deafening.

My mind spiraled into darkness - He took him. He must have taken him. The thought alone made my body convulse with terror. The room began to spin, the elegant furnishings becoming a dizzying carousel of shadows. My legs, weak as water, carried me to the edge of the bed. I reached for the side table, desperate for support, but my trembling fingers knocked against the crystal vase. Time seemed to slow as it toppled, shattering against the marble floor in a symphony of breaking glass.

That's when I heard it - the soft rustle of movement from the direction of the balcony. I lifted my tear-stained face, and there he stood, a silhouette framed by moonlight and the gossamer curtains dancing in the night breeze. Maan, my anchor, my storm, and my shelter, stood in the balcony doorway with our precious Rudra cradled in his strong arms. Our baby boy was peaceful in sleep, his tiny fingers curled into his father's shirt, his face nestled trustingly against Maan's broad chest.

With steps that felt like walking through deep water, I made my way to them. My tears fell freely now, but they were different - tears of relief, of gratitude, of love so profound it threatened to bring me to my knees. I wrapped my arms around them both, feeling the solid warmth of reality beneath my touch. Maan's free arm encircled me, pulling me into their shared embrace. I pressed my lips to Rudra's forehead, breathing in his sweet baby scent, then buried my face against Maan's chest, where his heartbeat sang a steady rhythm of safety.

"Kya hua, Baccha?" Maan's deep voice rumbled in his chest, gentle with concern. I couldn't answer; the emotions coursing through me were too raw, too overwhelming. His fingers caught my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes, dark as the night sky but warm as summer rain, softened as he brushed away my tears with his thumb. "Why are you crying?"

I shook my head, unable to voice the demons that haunted my dreams. With careful movements, he guided us back into the bedroom, laying Rudra in his spot on the bed. The little one didn't stir, lost in the peaceful dreams of innocence. I stood watching them, my legs trembling beneath me despite my best efforts to remain strong.

Before I could take another step, Maan swept me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as if I weighed nothing. He carried me toward his study, my weak protests falling on deaf ears. The study, with its walls of books and leather furnishings, had always been his sanctuary. Now he placed me on his heavy wooden desk, positioning himself between my knees, his presence both protective and demanding.

"You had nightmares?" His question was soft but direct, knowing me too well to accept anything but truth. Horror gripped me - how could I tell him? How could I burden him with the darkness that plagued my nights?

"No, it's not like that," I tried to deflect, but anger flashed in his eyes, quick as lightning.

"I hate lies, Shraddha. You know this well." His voice was firm but tinged with hurt. "Was it a nightmare?"

My vision blurred again as I nodded, unable to hide from his piercing gaze. "When did it start?" he pressed, and when I looked away, his hands cupped my face, demanding honesty. "When?"

"When... when I gained consciousness," I whispered, watching his beautiful face contort with pain and regret.

"You didn't even tell me?" The accusation in his voice was laced with hurt that cut deeper than anger ever could.

My tears fell harder as the words tumbled out: "You weren't talking, Maan. I tried at first, but you were too angry to even look at me. And then, when you finally started talking, you were all anger and blame. But these last few days... you've been my Maan again, the one who used to love me. I don't want to change a single thing. If this is a dream, let me live in it forever."

"I'm..." The word hung incomplete in the crisp air between us, his voice trailing off as though the weight of unspoken words had stolen his breath.

My fingers trembled as they found purchase in the fine fabric of his shirt, the silk cool against my desperate grip. "It's all about them taking Rudra away from me, torturing me," I whispered, my voice breaking like a wave against rocks. "I was helpless, Maan, and still am. I love you both so much that even a scratch on either of you steals the very breath from my lungs." The words tumbled out, each one carrying year of contained anguish. "I know what I did that day was wrong -.. But tell me, is it truly such a crime that you stopped talking ?"

He caught my trembling hands in his, his touch both gentle and firm-the same way he'd held my heart all these years. The warmth of his skin against mine sent familiar sparks dancing up my arms, even in this moment of tension.

"When I warned you that day," he began, his voice low and measured like gathering thunder, "Veer had just been shot. Everything was in chaos, and you-" His grip tightened fractionally. "You chose that moment to disappear. You deceived the guards, outwitted Manyu, and vanished. I yelled and guards and even at my brother. When I questioned you about that, you offered nothing but silence." The hurt in his voice cut deeper than any blade could. "What was I supposed to do? I begged for answers, but you remained as unyielding as the ancient fortress walls. Why? You were kidnapped, first time in my life Me, Abhimaan Malhotra felt helpless" His voice softened to a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm a fool. Is my love not enough for you to trust me?"

The question shattered something inside me. "No!" I choked out through hiccups, tears streaming freely down my cheeks now. "Your love is my only anchor , please understand that. I believe in you above all else in this world, Maan. I love you." Each word was a desperate plea, a truth I needed him to feel as deeply as I did.

His expression softened. "I won't ask you about it again, Shraddha," he said, reaching up to brush away my tears with his thumb. "If you choose to tell me someday, I'll listen. If not..." He shook his head, a sad smile playing at his lips. "I can't even threaten to leave you-it would be like threatening to stop my own heart from beating. Leaving you would be my death sentence. You've ensnared me so completely that every breath I take is because of you."

His hands cupped my face, his touch as reverent as it had been on that first winter evening years ago. "You and Rudra transformed my world entirely. My life was once as straightforward as the lines of succession-just me, my parents, my siblings, being Raja sa. But you, my queen..." His voice grew thick with emotion. "You taught me to feel everything, to live completely. God," he chuckled softly, "this is the longest I've spoken about my feelings since that winter evening when I first bared my soul to you."

Shraddha nodded, her mind drifting to that winter evening years ago - their confessions beneath the starlit sky, their first kiss that tasted of cardamom chai and promises. The memory was as clear as yesterday, warming her heart despite the growing chill in the air.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, but Maan shook his head immediately, reaching out to cup her face with gentle hands.

"Don't be. I'm the one who's sorry. I failed to protect you when you needed me," he murmured. Shraddha couldn't bear the pain in his voice. She pulled him closer until their foreheads touched, sharing breath and warmth. She silently thanked whatever divine force had brought him into her life when she had been at her most vulnerable, lost and alone.

With infinite tenderness, she pressed soft kisses to both his cheeks. He stood there, eyes closed, breathing slowly, looking like a man finding peace after a storm. To her, he was everything - protector, lover, father to their child, the very anchor of her world.

"Rudra is alone," she reminded him gently, and his responding smile lit up his entire face.

"I want to say that your love for me decreased after him," Maan teased, sweeping her up into his arms with practiced ease. Even after all these years, his playful jealousy of their son never failed to amuse her.

"My love for you remains unchanged and always will," she assured him, running her fingers along his jawline. "Rudra protected us from breaking apart. He's the physical manifestation of our love."

They entered their room to find him sleeping peacefully, his small form curled up like a comma under his favorite blue blanket. Maan gently laid me beside rudra, then settled on his other side. When I noticed Rudra's skin feeling somewhat warm, maternal worry immediately flared in my chest. But Maan's calm reassurance - "It's not fever, it's normal" - helped me relax.

Outside, the August sky had darkened considerably, the promise of rain hanging in the air like a lullaby. Earlier, the sky had been clear, but now the monsoon clouds painted the heavens in various shades of gray and purple. Maan pulled the duvet over all three of them, creating a cocoon of warmth and safety.

As they drifted toward sleep, the first drops of rain began to fall, their gentle patter against the windows a soothing melody. In that moment, surrounded by her husband and child, I Shraddha felt complete. They were her universe.

Kiara

In the dim light of our bedroom, the phone's blue glow illuminated my face as I stared at the number that had become both my hope and heartache: 3,047 calls to Mumma. Each one unanswered, each silence heavier than the last. My thumb hovered over her contact photo - her bright smile frozen in time, her eyes crinkled with the joy.

Three thousand and forty-seven attempts to bridge a gap that seemed to grow wider with each passing day. Three thousand and forty-seven moments of hope, followed by the hollow echo of a ring that went nowhere. My "Sher Baccha" contact photo for her seemed to mock me now

- the nickname she'd given me for being her brave little tiger, even when I felt anything but brave.

The last time I heard her voice, it had been different. Gone was the musical lilt that could make even father's darkest days bearable. Instead, her words had come through the phone like autumn leaves, brittle and falling. "Everything's all right, beta," she had said, but the melody was missing from her voice, replaced by something flat and distant. That should have been my warning.

My fingers traced the old scar near my collarbone - a reminder of one of father's worse days. But for every mark on my skin, Mumma bore two. She had been my human shield, stepping between his rage and my fragility more times than I could count. When his hand would strike too hard, when the belt would leave welts that burned for days, she would be there, her own body already a canvas of purple and blue, still offering herself as a barrier between his fury and me.

"What did it cost you, Mumma?" I whispered to the silent phone. "How many times did you break so I wouldn't have to?"

The room felt suddenly too large, too empty, despite the luxury Veer had surrounded me with. My eyes drifted to that mysterious door - the one that connected our bedroom to whatever space Veer claimed as his own. It stood there like a dark promise, or perhaps a warning. I had never asked about it, never dared to peek inside. My mind conjured images of the basements.

why he kept refusing my pleas to see Mumma? What secrets lay behind that door that made him so protective - or was it controlling? - of my movements? The thought sent a shiver down my spine, making the soft silk of my nightgown feel like a cage of finest threads.

Evening light filtered through the gossamer curtains, casting soft shadows across our bedroom. I was curled in my favorite reading nook - a plush corner of our king-sized bed, surrounded by silk pillows in shades of cream and gold. The novel in my hands was well-worn, its pages dog-eared from multiple readings. Another enemies-to-lovers story, the kind that made my heart flutter with its delicious tension and inevitable surrender to love.

The mattress shifted beneath me, and a familiar warmth preceded Veer's presence. I didn't need to look up to know he was watching me with that mixture of curiosity and affection that made my chest tight with happiness. Still, I glanced up, catching his dark eyes studying me with an intensity that made the romantic scene I'd been reading pale in comparison.

"What are you reading?" His voice carried that gentle rumble that seemed reserved just for our private moments. The sound of it still made my pulse quicken.

"Novel," I replied, trying to focus on the words that now seemed to blur before my eyes. He nodded, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he lowered his head to my lap, making himself comfortable with the entitled grace of a pampered cat.

"Read me instead of it," he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky tone that never failed to send shivers down my spine. The novel found its way to the bedside table, forgotten as my fingers instinctively sought the silken strands of his hair, dark as midnight against my pale skin.

"You have no filter," I chided, but the laugh in my voice betrayed my delight at his boldness. The evening air was heavy with the promise of rain, making everything feel more intimate, more intense.

His chuckle vibrated against my thigh. "I know plenty of bad words," he confessed, eyes closed in contentment as my fingers traced patterns across his scalp. "But I try to be careful with you. Don't want to see those pretty cheeks turn red." The teasing earned him a playful slap on his shoulder.

The first hints of petrichor drifted through the window as clouds gathered outside, painting the sky in shades of slate and pearl. My hands continued their gentle exploration of his hair, each strand like silk beneath my touch. Veer remained still, his breathing deep and even, the perfect picture of trust and contentment.

"Veer, it's about to rain!" The excitement in my voice was childlike, unbridled. Instead of responding, he only burrowed closer, turning his face toward my middle. His warm breath seeped through the thin fabric of my dress, raising goosebumps along my skin.

"I know," he mumbled against me, his arms tightening slightly. "But you're not going out in it this time. I won't watch you shiver with fever ." The protective note in his voice warmed me more than any blanket could.

"I just love the rain," I whispered, my voice carrying a weight I hadn't intended. The words hung in the air like the storm clouds outside, heavy with unspoken memories.

"Why?" he asked softly, and something in his tone told me he sensed the deeper currents beneath my simple statement. "Why does the rain mean so much to you?"

My chest tightened with remembered pain, but also with the realization that here, in this moment, I was safe enough to speak of things I'd kept locked away. This man, who could command empires with a word but treated me like precious china, had earned the right to know my darkest truths. Yet still I hesitated, wondering if sharing the story would change the way he looked at me, if it would transform the love in his eyes to pity.

The first drops of rain began to fall outside, their gentle patter against the windows like nature's encouragement to finally open my heart fully to the man in front of me.

"My father..." The words caught in my throat like broken glass, but Veer's steady presence gave me courage. "He tried to make me..." I forced the rest out in a whisper, "have sex with one of his debtors."

The change in Veer was instant and terrifying. He lifted his head from my lap, and I watched the warmth in his eyes freeze into something darker, something that reminded me why people feared him. The gentle man who'd been relaxing in my lap moments ago disappeared, replaced by someone who could make empires crumble with a phone call.

"Who?" The word carried enough venom to kill. I shivered, not from fear of him, but from the memories his question unleashed.

"I never knew his name," I managed, my fingers twisting in the soft fabric of my dress. "But his face... God, his face is burned into my memory, he was definitely mafia."

Veer's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, giving me space to continue. The rain outside had picked up, its rhythm matching my racing heart.

"Father invited him for dinner." My voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else. "I was terrified, but that wasn't new - I always dreaded father's 'guests.' I cooked for them, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped the plates twice. Throughout dinner, his hands... they kept finding excuses to touch me. My shoulder, my wrist, my hair." I shuddered at the memory. "I told myself it would be over soon, that he'd leave after the meal."

The lump in my throat grew larger, threatening to choke me. "I was at the sink, washing dishes, trying to make myself as small as possible, as invisible as possible. Then..." My voice cracked entirely.

Veer moved with the fluid grace of a predator, gathering me into his arms. His embrace was fierce yet gentle, protective yet tender - everything my father should have been but never was. I buried my face in his chest, breathing in his familiar scent of sandalwood and safety as tears soaked into his expensive shirt.

"My father was there, Veer," I continued, my words muffled against his chest. "When that man... when he tried to... I begged my father. I pleaded. But he just stood there, watching, like I was nothing more than currency to be traded." The memory made me clutch Veer tighter. "Then something in me snapped. I fought back. I hit him - the man - again and again until... until he wasn't moving anymore."

The rain drummed harder against the windows, nature's percussion to my confession. "My father's face... I'll never forget it. Pure fury. That's when I ran. The rain was pouring outside, but I didn't care. I just ran and ran until my legs gave out. The rain... it helped somehow. Each drop felt like it was washing away a piece of the pain, numbing me enough to keep going. That's why I love the rain - it saved me that night."

Veer's arms tightened around me, one hand making soothing circles on my back while the other cradled my head protectively. The warmth of his body seeped into mine, chasing away the chill of the memories.

"I'm here," he murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "You're safe now." After a moment, he asked softly, "Will you tell me what happened to him? The man?"

I shook my head against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart against my cheek. "I don't know. I never looked back, never asked. I just... ran."

Outside, the storm raged on, but here in Veer's arms, I was sheltered from more than just the rain. The darkness of my past seemed less threatening, when je held me in arms

My fingers traced absent patterns on Veer's shirt, anchoring myself to the present. "The next thing I remember clearly is Mumma finding me in the hospital."

The storm outside had settled into a steady rhythm, nature's lullaby accompanying my exhaustion. I had no more tears left to cry - they had all been spent, leaving behind a hollow kind of peace. The kind that comes after a storm has passed, when everything is washed clean and quiet.

Veer's lips pressed against my forehead, soft as butterfly wings. The gesture held such tenderness that it made my heart ache. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me. In moments like these, I felt ethereal, as if his love could lift me above all the darkness in my past, transforming pain into something beautiful.

"Kiara." My name on his lips was barely more than a breath, carrying waves of emotion I was still learning to decode. I hummed in response, the sound vibrating between us in the rain-softened silence of our room.

"Can I ask you something?" There was a hesitation in his voice I rarely heard, making me open my eyes to find his gaze. The warm amber lights of our bedroom caught the sharp angles of his face, softening them with golden shadows. I nodded, trust overriding the anxiety his tone sparked.

"The Spanish man your father arranged for you to marry - did you ever see him?" The question fell between us like a stone into still water, creating ripples of unease.

My head moved in automatic denial, but something in his expression made my heart stutter. "Why?"

His next words changed everything: "He know you're the girl he was meant to marry."

Terror gripped me then, cold and familiar as winter rain. My fingers clutched at his shirt desperately. "Veer, please," I begged, my voice small and broken. "Don't give me to him, please..." The old fear rose like flood waters, threatening to drown me.

The change in his expression was instant and fierce. Gone was any trace of gentleness, replaced by a protective fury that transformed his features into something almost dangerous. But his anger wasn't directed at me - it was for me, a shield against the world that had tried to break me.

"You are my wife, Kiara," he declared, each word ringing with the weight of an unbreakable vow. His hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing away phantom tears. "Never - I will never let anyone touch you. I swear it." His voice dropped lower.. "You are mine, Kiara Abhiveer Malhotra, as I am yours."

I melted into him then, our bodies fitting together like pieces of a puzzle finally finding their match. His arms wrapped around me, solid and secure, creating a fortress of flesh and bone and love. Outside, the rain continued its gentle song, but it was different now. The rain that had once been my only protector had given way to something stronger - the shelter of his embrace.

Drishti

The evening shadows stretched across our bedroom, painting long fingers across the cream-colored walls. I sat cross-legged on our king-sized bed, watching our newest family member - a tiny black retriever puppy whose enthusiasm seemed infinite despite his wobbly legs. His fur caught the warm light from the bedside lamp, creating a halo effect that made him look almost

ethereal as he bounded across the mattress, his tiny paws creating little dips in the plush duvet.

I reached for my phone for what felt like the hundredth time that evening, my heart sinking when I found no notifications. The screen's cold glow seemed to mock my growing anxiety. Twelve hours. Twelve long hours since Manyu left for his meeting in New Delhi, and not a single word from him. With a frustrated sigh, I tossed the phone onto the bed, watching it bounce against the seafoam green comforter.

The puppy, perhaps sensing my distress, paused his energetic exploration to curl up beside me, his tiny body forming a perfect circle against the soft fabric of the duvet. I couldn't help but smile, remembering how Rudra's eyes had lit up when he first saw the little furball, and how Kiara had immediately appointed herself as his primary caretaker. That girl had spent the entire day running after him, secretly sneaking him treats and taking him for wobbly walks in the garden when she thought no one was watching.

The veterinary visit was still pending - I wanted to tell Manyu first, though uncertainty gnawed at me about his reaction. The rational part of my brain knew he had a soft heart beneath his sometimes stern exterior, but anxiety had a way of drowning out reason.

My fingers hovered over his contact picture - where he was laughing, his eyes crinkled at the corners. One call. No answer. The second attempt met the same fate. By the third try, my persistence was rewarded, but not in the way I'd hoped.

"If I'm not answering that means I'm busy. Can you stop disturbing for god's sake?" His voice cut through the line like winter wind, sharp and cold. The call ended before I could even draw breath to respond.

The silence that followed felt deafening. I stared at the darkened screen as tears welled up in my eyes, hot and unbidden. It had always been this way - my heart wore its sensitivity like a badge, making me an easy target for hurt. His words echoed in my mind, each repetition feeling like a fresh wound.

With trembling fingers, I switched off the phone and placed it on the side table. Let him be, I thought bitterly, even as my heart ached. No more disturbances from me.

I reached for his pillow - the one with the slight dip in the center where he rested his head every night. Burying my face in it, I inhaled deeply. His scent lingered there, a mixture of his sandalwood cologne and something uniquely him, simultaneously comforting and painful in his absence. The familiar scent acted like a balm to my raw emotions, slowly calming the storm in my chest.

The puppy, our tiny angel, wobbled over to settle against my side. His warm presence was reassuring as I gently stroked his silky head. He was so small, still mastering the art of walking without tumbling over his own feet. In that moment, his innocent affection felt like the only thing keeping me anchored.

As sleep began to claim me, tears still damp on my cheeks, I found myself wondering if Manyu would call back, if he would realize how his words had cut through me like glass. The last thing I remembered was the gentle sound of puppy snores and the feeling of warm fur against my arm, a small comfort in a bed that felt too large, too empty without him.

Then sleep consumed me.

The steady pitter-patter of rain against the window had lulled her into a deep slumber, her consciousness drifting through peaceful dreams like leaves on a gentle stream. The bedroom was bathed in the soft blue glow of a stormy night, the occasional flash of lightning casting ethereal shadows across her sleeping form.

A gentle but insistent knock shattered the tranquility.

Drishti stirred, her mind sluggishly pulling itself from the depths of sleep. Her eyes found the digital clock on her nightstand: 2:30 AM. The red digits seemed to pulse in the darkness, a silent warning that nothing good ever comes from midnight visitors.

Running her fingers through her disheveled hair, she adjusted her cotton nightdress and padded across the cool wooden floor. When she opened the door, her mother-in-law stood in the dim hallway light, phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline. Despite the late hour, her mother-in-law's face held that particular blend of concern and knowing that only mothers seem to master.

"Manyu called, beta," she said softly, her voice carrying both worry and gentle reproach. "He asked me to check on you since your phone is switched off."

"I'm fine, maa," Drishti replied, guilt creeping into her voice. "I'll check my phone right away."

Her mother-in-law nodded, a small smile playing at her lips as she turned to leave. There was something in that smile - a memory perhaps, of her own youth, her own lovers' quarrels - that made Drishti's cheeks warm.

After closing the door, Drishti retrieved her phone from where it lay forgotten on her dresser, its black screen a mirror of her earlier mood. As it powered on, her heart skipped - 55 missed calls. The number sat there like an accusation.

With trembling fingers, she opened his messages:

Manyu (11:45 PM):

Baby, I fucked up. I'm so sorry. Please answer, I can explain everything.

Manyu (11:52 PM):

Pick up, please. Just give me one chance to explain.

Manyu (12:15 AM):

Drishti, I know I hurt you. But I swear on everything we have, I thought it was my assistant. I would never...

Manyu (12:30 AM):

Jaana, please answer. My heart is breaking not hearing your voice.

Manyu (1:15 AM):

You're scaring me now. Where are you? Are you safe?

Manyu (1:45 AM):

Drishti? Please, just let me know you're okay.

Manyu (2:15 AM):

I'm going out of my mind with worry. Please...

The messages continued, each one more desperate than the last, tracking his descent from explanation to panic. Her finger hovered over the screen as a new message appeared:

Manyu (2:32 AM):

You're awake? I can see you're online...

The sight of those three dots appearing and disappearing showed his hesitation, his fear, his hope. Drishti's anger from earlier that evening still simmered, but it was tempered now by the weight of his worry, the persistence of his care. She thought about how he'd even reached out to her mother-in-law, knowing it would make him look bad but caring only for her safety.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the phone burst into life, his caller ID appearing with a photo of him , that he took photo with me.

Drishti took a deep breath, the sound of rain still drumming against her window, nature's own heartbeat matching her racing pulse. She pressed accept and raised the phone to her ear, his breathing already audible on the other end.

"Finally you answered, fuck jaana, you made me worried. Are you okay? I'm so sorry." His voice cracked with raw emotion, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. The digital silence between us stretched like an endless void, my deliberate muteness a punishment he'd earned. The soft glow of my phone screen illuminated the darkness of my room, where I sat curled in the bed.

"Say something jaana, I'm dying to hear you," he pleaded, his voice dropping to that tender tone that always made my heart flutter traitorously. Even now, hurt as I was, it took every ounce of willpower to maintain my silence. The sound of his uneven breathing filled the space between us.

"Are you listening to me jaana?" His whisper was like silk against my ears, gentle and caressing. My resolve crumbled like autumn leaves.

"Ji," I managed, the single syllable barely audible. My fingers tightened around my phone, knuckles white with tension.

"Drishti," he breathed my name like a prayer, and I responded with a soft hum that seemed to echo in the stillness of the night.

"Please receive my video call, please," he implored. The vulnerability in his voice tugged at something deep within me, and I found myself whispering a quiet "okay" before I could stop myself.

When the phone rang again, the video call notification lighting up my screen, my heart performed a complicated gymnastics routine in my chest. I accepted with trembling fingers, and suddenly there he was - Manyu, my Manyu, looking like he'd been through an emotional storm.

Dark circles shadowed his usually bright eyes, and his normally perfectly styled hair was charmingly disheveled, as if he'd been running his fingers through it repeatedly in frustration. Despite his exhaustion, the sight of him in his crisp white shirt, slightly rumpled now from what must have been an endless day, made my breath catch. The warm golden light from his desk lamp cast a soft glow across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the gentle curve of his lips as they lifted into a weary smile.

"Hum aap ko dekhne ke liye taras rahe hai," he murmured, his eyes drinking in my image as if I were an oasis in a desert. The intensity of his gaze made my skin tingle.

Concern suddenly overwhelmed any lingering anger. "You haven't slept for a day, Manyu. Why are you awake yet?" I demanded, panic coloring my voice. How typical of him to be so careless with his own well-being.

His deep laugh, though tired, was like honey - rich and warm. He adjusted his phone on the table, and I caught a fuller view of him. The shirt fit him perfectly, the fabric stretched just so across his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms. I couldn't help but think of all the admiring glances he must have attracted at his office, and something possessive stirred in my chest.

"Done staring?" he teased, and heat rushed to my cheeks. I couldn't deny it - didn't want to deny it. The blush deepened as his knowing smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief that never failed to make my heart race.

I realized that staying angry at him was like trying to hold onto water - impossible and ultimately pointless. After all, some people just have a way of melting all your defenses, and Manyu had always been my kryptonite.

The soft glow of the midnight lamp cast dancing shadows across our room as I listened to his words tumble out, filled with remorse and tenderness. "I was so restless after knowing that you were on call. I really thought it was my assistant," Abhimanyu explained, and I could hear the exhaustion in his voice through the phone. "He kept calling me unnecessarily about central fund passing as Papa asked him to. I took my phone and without looking at the caller ID, I shouted..."

"I'm so sorry, Jaana," he said softly, his voice wrapping around me like a warm embrace. My heart clenched as I watched him through the video call, noting how he could ignore my moods, my tauntram, my difficult behavior, but he never did. The realization hit me again - I hadn't done anything to deserve this devotion, yet here he was, doing everything for me. Fighting my father, putting his life at risk because of me, but never once complaining. All he ever did was care and make me feel wanted in ways I'd never known before.

"Kaha kho gayi?" His gentle question pulled me from my thoughts, and I found myself lost in his tired eyes through the screen.

"Kahi nahi," I whispered, worry creeping into my heart as I noticed the shadows under his eyes. "Aap aaram kijiye."

He shook his head stubbornly, and even through the phone screen, his tender smile made my heart flutter. "Nahi, I want to look at you and listen to you." Even exhausted, he was thinking of me - always me first.

"Manyu," I said softly, his name falling naturally from my lips. Through the video call, I could see how the dim light in his room caught the tiredness in his features. "You need sleep,I'm here," I promised, trying to sound firm despite the emotion threatening to overwhelm me. "Put your phone down. I'll watch over you sleep for now."

He gave an irritated nod, but I caught the smile he couldn't quite hide. "Fine," he conceded, and I couldn't help but smile back, watching as he shifted on his bed.

With familiar ease, he took off his shirt, and even through the phone screen, the sight made my heart skip a beat. He placed his phone on the bedside table, adjusting it so I could still see him as he lay down. The rustling of his sheets came through the speaker as he made himself comfortable, his eyes still fixed on his screen, on me.

"Sleep," I whispered, watching as he fought against his heavy eyelids. "Close your eyes."

He complied reluctantly, but I could still see how he struggled to stay awake, as if afraid I might disappear if he closed his eyes. Gradually, his breathing deepened and evened out as sleep finally claimed him. His features relaxed, making him look younger, more vulnerable. I carefully placed my own phone on the nightstand, the screen's soft glow illuminating our room.

___________________________

Drishti

I woke to a dull, throbbing headache, my body feeling as heavy as lead against the silk sheets. Sunlight filtered through the gossamer curtains, painting golden patterns across my room. Reaching for my phone, memories of last night flooded back - Manyu's tired smile, his peaceful sleeping face - bringing an involuntary smile to my lips. The call had disconnected sometime during the night. He must have already left for work, I thought, ignoring the slight twinge of disappointment at not seeing his face first thing in the morning.

The marble floor felt cool beneath my feet as I made my way to the washroom. The warm shower helped ease my headache, water cascading down my back like gentle fingers. After drying off, I stood before the ornate mirror, carefully applying sindoor along my parting. The vermillion streak looked vibrant against my black hair, and I couldn't help but smile, thinking of the man who had given me the right to wear it.

But the peaceful morning bubble burst as soon as I reached the hall. The atmosphere hit me like a physical force - thick with tension and fear. Our usually serene haveli was in chaos, yet somehow I felt invisible, standing there in my powder blue suit, watching the scene unfold before me.

Papa ji paced the length of the living room, his face contorted with rage as he shouted into his phone. His normally pristine kurta was wrinkled, as if he'd been wearing it all night. "I want every information about him" His voice thundered off the walls, making the crystal chandelier tremble slightly.

In the corner of our cream-colored sofa, Maa sat crumpled like a wilted flower, her morning puja thali untouched beside her. Tears streamed down her face, smudging her kajal. Shraddha bhabhi sat next to her, her own face pale with worry as she tried to console Maa, though her hands trembled as she stroked Maa's back.

Kiara stood near the window with Rudra, her small face pinched with worry. Rudra kept looking around with confused eyes, too young to fully understand the gravity of the situation.

The absence of Abhimaan bhaiya and Veer felt like gaping holes in the room. Where were they? The question echoed in my mind as I tried to make sense of the panic surrounding me. The morning sun streaming through our large windows seemed to mock the darkness of the moment.

Then Maa's words, spoken through tears, froze the blood in my veins: "We can't tell Drishti, she will panic."

My heart stuttered. Tell me what?

"But Maa, she has a right to know," Shraddha bhabhi's voice was gentle but firm, her bangles jingling softly as she gestured. "She'll feel betrayed that everyone knows except her."

I stood rooted to the spot, my fingers digging into the doorframe, dreading what would come next.

"Nahi, hum unhe kaise batayenge ki Abhimanyu ko goli lag gayi hai?" Maa's words crashed through the air like shattering glass.

The world tilted on its axis. My heartbeat thundered in my ears like war drums, drowning out everything else. How could this be? Just hours ago, he was safe, smiling at me through the phone screen, peaceful in his sleep. No, Bhagwan, please. Not him. You can't take him away from me. Not Manyu. Not my everything.

The pristine marble floor rushed up to meet me as my vision began to darken at the edges, turning the world into a tunnel of shadows. The last thing I registered was Kiara's terrified scream of "Bhabhi!" before darkness claimed me completely,pulling me into its merciful embrace.

As consciousness slipped away, my last coherent thought was of his smile from last night - so peaceful.