Abhimaan

The thought hit me like a physical blow—the strange, hollow feeling when a Rajput falls without striking back.My office suddenly felt too small, too confined for the magnitude of my thoughts. The leather of my chair creaked as I leaned back, forcing myself to take a deep breath that did nothing to calm the storm brewing inside.

My mind, treacherous as ever, drifted to her. My wife's last night panic attack played in my head like a haunting melody—shallow, pained, desperate. The memory of her voice, once filled with love and trust, now accusatory in its silence. "Fuck," I whispered into the empty room, the word carrying the weight of a thousand regrets. I had failed her when she needed me most. I, who had sworn to be her protector, became another shadow in her nightmare.

That day remains carved into my consciousness with cruel clarity—every detail preserved like insects in amber. Let him think he's won, I thought, my fingers unconsciously curling into fists. Let him savor his supposed victory. But when we meet again... The thought remained unfinished, but my jaw clenched at the image of his face. The bastard tried to claim my wife by killing our unborn child. Fucking Rajput sophistication masking a monster's soul.

The sharp trill of my office telephone shattered my dark reverie. The sound seemed to echo off the  walls, each ring more insistent than the last.

"Hello?" The word came out clipped, professional—a mask over the tempest within. Silence answered me, broken only by the distant wail of sirens bleeding through the connection. The sound raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"Goddamnit, speak!" I roared, patience evaporating like morning dew in a desert.

"S-sir," The voice trembled. Something in his tone made my stomach drop. "It's me, Rishi, Abhimanyu sir's assistant."

"Speak." One word, loaded with authority, demanding the truth I already knew I didn't want to hear.

"Sir, Abhimanyu sir got shot." Five words that turned my world red. My brother—who dared? The crystal tumbler on my desk shattered in my grip, shards embedding themselves in my palm. I barely felt it.

"Where were the fucking guards?" The question came out as a growl, primal and dangerous. Blood dripped onto my desk calendar, staining tomorrow's appointments crimson.

"Sir, the guards... they're unharmed. It was a sniper attack." Rishi's voice cracked on the last word. Professional. Calculated. Personal.

"Where he is right   Now." The question tasted like ash in my mouth.

"Sir, the doctors are removing the bullet. We're at The Hospital." The call ended with my thumb crushing the disconnect button.

Muscle memory took over as I dialed Veer. He answered before the first ring finished.

"Bhaiya." One word carrying volumes of understanding. Veer always knew. Sometimes I wondered if he could smell blood in the wind.

"I'm coming," I said, voice deadly calm now. "Find the shooter. No mercy this time. No codes, no rules, no boundaries. They've crossed the last line." The rage in my chest had crystallized into something cold and sharp.

"Already en route," Veer replied, his tone matching my own. "We'll have the shooter soon."

I ended the call without another word. No need to alert the family—our father's network of eyes and ears would have already carried the news to him. His interference in our business, usually an irritant, would be an asset today. As I stood, blood still dripping from my clenched fist.

The sterile fluorescent lights of City Hospital cast long shadows across the polished floors as I rushed through the corridors, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Through the maze of white walls and antiseptic air, I spotted Veer – my youngest brother – standing near the Operation Theatre, tears glistening in his eyes like morning dew. Despite being part of our family's formidable mafia empire, Veer has always been our tender heart, wearing his emotions like a badge of vulnerability that somehow makes him stronger.

The red "Operation in Progress" light cast an ominous glow across his face, highlighting the worry lines . I paused before the imposing doors of the OT, my fists clenching involuntarily. A silent vow formed in my mind: I'm not going to leave a single soul who dared hurt my brother. He's Abhimanyu Malhotra – hurting him means signing your own death warrant.

The sharp click of hurried footsteps drew my attention as Abhimanyu's assistant approached, his usually impeccable suit wrinkled from hours of waiting. Worry had carved deep lines around his eyes as he reported, "Sir, the media situation outside is escalating. They're causing quite a scene." His voice carried a note of guilt, as if he had somehow failed in his duty to protect his boss.

Beside me, Abhiveer's reaction was immediate and volcanic. His eyes, usually warm brown, turned to molten steel as he roared, "I'm going to end this today! I'll kill each and every soul involved in this!" His voice echoed off the hospital walls, making a nearby nurse jump.

I placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, feeling the tremors of rage beneath my palm. Turning to the assistant, I commanded with the quiet authority that has made our family both feared and respected, "Order them to leave. Tell them everything is fine." The assistant nodded sharply and disappeared down the corridor, his footsteps fading into the background hum of hospital equipment.

When I looked at Veer again, the sight shattered something inside me. My baby brother, usually so full of mischief and light, stood there with eyes red from unshed tears. When our gazes met, his carefully constructed walls crumbled. He collapsed into my arms, his body shaking with silent sobs.

"What if something happens to him, Bhaiya?" His voice cracked like thin ice. "He never tells anyone when he's hurting or sad. Please make him alright, please?" The words tumbled out between hitched breaths, a plea he's been making since childhood – always believing his eldest brother could fix anything broken in our world.

I held him closer, feeling the weight of his trust. "Shh, don't cry, baccha," I soothed, the childhood nickname slipping out naturally. "I'll make everything alright, I promise." The words tasted like both honey and ash in my mouth – sweet with love, bitter with worry.

The sudden creak of the OT doors sent us both straight-backed and alert, years of training kicking in automatically. Veer hastily wiped his eyes as the doctor emerged, surgical mask dangling around his neck. His face carried the weary satisfaction of a successful operation.

"The surgery went well," he began, his voice carrying the practiced calm of someone used to delivering life-altering news. "He's currently sedated. The bullet penetrated deep into his shoulder – we've managed to remove it successfully, but he'll need complete rest for proper recovery. Please ensure he avoids any sudden movements."

I nodded, feeling Veer release a shaky breath beside me. We settled into the hard plastic chairs outside the OT, the haveli's comfort beckoning from miles away. Once Abhimanyu wakes, we'll move him home where we can better protect him – and hunt down those responsible.

Veer's fingers flew across his phone screen, his jaw set in determination. I recognized that look – the same one our father wore when planning retribution. The Malhotra blood runs thick with loyalty and vengeance.

"He'll hide everything again," Veer murmured, breaking the tense silence. The words carried years of frustration at our middle brother's stubborn nature.

"He will," I agreed, watching Veer's small, knowing smile. Abhimanyu has always been like this, absorbing pain without letting it show on his face.

"Bhaiya," Veer's voice turned contemplative, "if you could go back and make one thing right, what would it be?" The question hung heavy in the air between us.

"I don't know," I teased, trying to lighten the mood, "Perhaps having a sister instead of you?"

"I'm your brother – accept it!" He folded his arms, mock outrage painting his features.

"Harsh but true," I murmured, our familiar banter a comfort in this sterile place of worry.

The doctor's return interrupted our moment, bringing news of Abhimanyu's consciousness. Entering the room, memories crashed over me like waves – my wife, my child, and now my brother. Each wound inflicted on my family by enemies who still drew breath. The scales of justice trembled, demanding balance.

We found Abhimanyu sitting up, already arguing with a nurse about medication. Some things never change – even a bullet can't dim his stubborn spirit.

"You're old enough to have children of your own, yet here you are, acting like one," Veer's teasing voice carried a tremor of relief. Abhimanyu's eyes found us, something lost and vulnerable in their depths before his usual mask slipped back into place.

Veer rushed forward, embracing our brother with the desperate energy of someone who'd almost lost something precious. Abhimanyu's surprised smile was like sunshine breaking through storm clouds.

"Stop clinging, Veer. You smell," Abhimanyu complained, but his arms tightened around our youngest brother until a pained hiss escaped his lips.

Veer jumped back as if burned. "Sorry! Does it hurt? Should I call the doctor? I'm so sorry, bhai!" His words tumbled out in a panic until Abhimanyu pulled him back into a gentler embrace.

"Why the crying face, Veer?" Abhimanyu's soft words only made Veer cry harder, years of brotherhood contained in that simple question.

When Abhimanyu's eyes met mine over Veer's shoulder, I moved forward, completing our circle. He melted into my embrace, the tension finally leaving his body as I rubbed his back – just as I did when he was small.

"Are you okay?" I asked, knowing the answer would be filtered through his need to protect us from worry.

He nodded against my shoulder, a small giggle escaping. "Sorry," he whispered, the word carrying the weight of all our unspoken fears and love.

I ruffled his hair, my fingers gentle against the dark strands, drawing out a precious giggle from Veer that momentarily lightened the heavy atmosphere. Abhimanyu's smile, though tinged with exhaustion, was genuine – a rare gift in our world of calculated expressions and hidden motives. As our embrace dissolved, the sterile hospital air rushed between us, a harsh reminder of where we were and why.

"We'll leave in a few minutes," I said, scanning Abhimanyu's face for any signs of discomfort he might try to hide. "Are you feeling any pain?" My practiced eyes caught the slight tension around his mouth even as he shook his head in denial. Ever the protector, even when he's the one needing protection. I nodded to the nurse hovering nearby, dispatching her to prepare the discharge papers with a quiet authority that spoke of years of command.

The vinyl hospital chair creaked under my weight as I settled beside the bed, while Veer perched on the mattress next to Manyu, unconsciously positioning himself like a shield between our brother and the door – old habits die hard in our line of work.

"Do you know who was behind this?" I asked, though the answer was written in the way Abhimanyu's shoulders tensed. The rally shooting wasn't a coincidence, and now this – someone was getting bold, thinking they could touch what's ours. The thought made my blood simmer.

"I'll handle it, bhai. There's nothing to worry about," Manyu deflected, his words carrying the weight of secrets he shouldn't be bearing alone. It was the wrong thing to say.

Veer exploded from his seated position, his movement sharp with frustration. "Seriously? Nothing to worry about?" His voice cracked with emotion. "You got shot! Your car looked like it was drenched in a crimson waterfall, and you're saying there's nothing to worry about?" The words echoed off the hospital walls, carrying years of fraternal concern and suppressed fear.

Abhimanyu remained silent, his eyes fixed on his hands folded in his lap. I watched the familiar dance between my brothers – one burning with protective fury, the other wrapped in stubborn silence.

"It's not like that, Veer. I promise I'll handle it," Manyu finally offered, his voice soft but firm. The words might as well have been kindling to Veer's fire.

"Either you tell us, or I'll find out and kill him myself," Veer declared, his young face set with the determination that made him both dangerous and endearing. "Your choice." I shook my head, recognizing the familiar pattern of their argument – Veer's passion against Manyu's practicality.

"Fine, do it. Kill him," Manyu snapped, irritation finally breaking through his composed facade. Veer, satisfied with even this small victory, settled back beside him, their shoulders touching in silent reconciliation.

"Everyone at home must be worried. Let's go," I intervened, watching relief flood Manyu's face before horror replaced it.

"You guys told them?" The question came out strangled. I shook my head, "Papa must have." The sigh that escaped him carried the weight of future conversations he wasn't ready to have.

The hospital corridor stretched before us like a white tunnel as we made our way out, our footsteps echoing in synchronized rhythm. I kept close to Manyu, noting how he favored his right side, while Veer hovered nearby, ready to steady him if needed. At the administration desk, I signed the discharge papers with practiced efficiency, the pen scratching against paper the only sound in the quiet space.

Our black SUV waited in the parking lot, a silent guardian with bulletproof glass – a necessity in our world. I slid behind the wheel, while Abhimanyu eased into the passenger seat, his movements careful and measured. Veer claimed the back seat, his reflected gaze in the rearview mirror still sharp with concern.

The engine purred to life, and we merged into the evening traffic, the city lights beginning to twinkle like early stars. We were halfway home when the sharp trill of Veer's phone cut through the comfortable silence. The caller ID glowed with 'Maa' – a name that carried both comfort and concern. Veer's eyes met mine in the mirror, seeking direction.

"Pick up," I nodded, stealing a glance at Manyu, who had retreated into himself, worry etched across his features like fine lines in marble.

"Ha, Maa," Veer's voice was gentle, trying to soothe our mother's fears across the digital divide. "He's fine, okay? Stop crying first. We're coming, just a few minutes more. You'll see him yourself." The love in his voice was palpable, wrapping around us like a warm embrace.

"DON'T panic, Maa. I told you he's fine," Veer's frustration leaked through before he thrust the phone at Manyu with an exasperated look that only younger siblings can perfect.

"Hello," Manyu's voice was steady, a balm to our mother's worries, even as he closed his eyes against what I suspected was both physical and emotional pain. He looked different – haunted almost – strengthening my resolve to uncover the truth behind this attack.

"Maa, I'm fine, it's not hurting. I'm on my way back, just a few minutes, okay?" The lie about the pain was smooth, practiced. I allowed myself a small smile – some things never change.

As he ended the call, our car glided through the ornate gates of the haveli, the familiar architecture rising before us like a fortress against the darkening sky. The day had been long, but it wasn't over. Someone had dared to touch our family, and now it was time for answers – whether Abhimanyu wanted to give them or not.

The quiet purr of the engine died as we parked, leaving us in a moment of suspended silence. Tomorrow would bring its own battles, but for now, we had brought our brother home. In our world, that counted as a victory, however small.

Abhimanyu

The heavy mahogany doors of the ancestral haveli creaked open as I stepped inside, my injured arm throbbing with each movement. The evening sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns across the marble floors—a beautiful contrast to the somber mood that hung in the air like a heavy curtain. The truth and lies I carried weighed more than the physical pain, and only one name echoed in my mind: Rajveer Malhotra. He had answers I desperately needed.

The grand hall, usually alive with laughter and conversation, was eerily quiet except for the soft sounds of muffled sobs. My eyes found Maa first, her small frame hunched over on the couch. The elegant silk of her sage green saree seemed to have lost its luster, much like her usually bright eyes that hadn't stopped shedding tears since the news reached her.

Bhabhi stood like a sentinel near the ornate wooden staircase, her worried gaze fixed on me. Next to her, Kiara held little Rudra, who squirmed in her arms, his innocent face scrunching up at the sight of my bandaged arm. The white gauze stood stark against my skin, a visible reminder of what had transpired. My eyes instinctively searched for Mr. Malhotra's commanding presence, but the patriarch's usual spot remained conspicuously empty. More importantly, my heart ached at the absence that mattered most—where was my wife?

Before I could voice my question, Maa rose from the couch ,  She crossed the distance between us in quick steps, her anklets creating a gentle symphony against the marble floor. The moment her arms wrapped around me, I felt like a child again. I returned her embrace with my good arm, breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine and home that always clung to her.

"It's just a small injury, nothing to worry about," I attempted to reassure her, but my words only earned me a stern look from those eyes that could always see through any pretense. "When will you three stop these lies?" she scolded, her voice carrying both anger and fear—the unique combination that only a mother's heart can produce.

"I'm fine, Maa," I insisted softly, though my heart clenched at causing her such worry. Her face softened for a moment before hardening again in that peculiar way mothers have—showing love through their anger.

"Mera baccha," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she raised herself slightly on her toes to place a kiss on my forehead. I closed my eyes, letting the blessing of her touch wash over me. In that moment, I was not the grown man who had just faced danger, but her little boy seeking comfort in her unconditional love.

The sound of bangles tinkling announced Bhabhi's approach. She stood before me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You had us all worried sick," she said, her voice carrying the softness she carries  mixed with genuine concern. Then she added the words that made my heart skip a beat: "And mostly your wife."

"Where is she?" The words tumbled from my lips, urgent and worried, as Bhabhi's face softened into a painful smile that made my heart sink even before she spoke.

"In your room," she replied, her voice gentle but heavy with concern. "She fainted earlier. When she regained consciousness..." Bhabhi's bangles clinked softly as she wrung her hands. "She's been stubborn about taking rest, hasn't even spoken a word since then." Each word felt like a needle piercing my heart. She fainted. The thought echoed in my mind like a haunting melody.

My feet carried me swiftly through the corridor, the elaborate wall sconces casting dancing shadows that matched my racing heartbeat. I threw open the bedroom door with such force that it rebounded against the wall, the sound reverberating through the silent room. And there she stood – my Drishti.

The sight of her made my breath catch in my throat. She looked like a porcelain doll that had lost its shine. The setting sun painted her in hues of amber and gold, but couldn't mask how pale she'd become. Her face, usually radiant with beauty, was now streaked with dried tears, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow.

"Drishti," I whispered her name like a prayer as I approached her, my footsteps careful as if she might shatter at any moment. She remained motionless, only her eyes tracking my movement, pools of pain that made my chest ache. I knew that look – the way her mind worked, she would be drowning in self-blame right now. My Drishti, always taking the blame of all my pain on herself.

When I reached to touch her cheek, the way she flinched cut deeper than any physical wound. She stepped back, each inch of distance between us feeling like miles. Her silk dupatta rustled as she tried to retreat, but I couldn't let her go – not now, not ever. I pulled her towards me, perhaps too forcefully in my desperation, and she collided with my chest, her eyes widening in horror.

"Have you lost your mind? You're injured!" she exclaimed, her voice breaking as she tried to pull away, her hands fluttering like frightened birds against my chest. "Aren't you in pain?" The concern in her voice, even as she tried to push me away, spoke volumes about her love.

"It's not your fault," I whispered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent  that always clung to her tresses. She looked up at me then, and then tears fell from her eyes.

"No," she protested, her voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. "It's all because of me. Your life is in danger because of me. I've turned your life into this chaos." Her words came out in a rush, each one laced with self-loathing that broke my heart. "Leave me, please. You'll be safe then. Don't risk everything for me, Manyu." Her fingers clutched my shirt, contradicting her words. "You'll find someone else, someone who will love you, cherish you the way you deserve. I don't deserve you. You don't deserve this life of constant fear."

The mere suggestion of another woman in my life ignited a fire in my veins. My voice came out harsher than intended, rough with emotion. "Is it that easy for you?" I demanded, my grip tightening instinctively around her waist. The intricate patterns on our bedroom walls seemed to blur as I focused entirely on her face. "Could you really bear to see me with someone else?"

I gently wiped away her tears with my thumb, feeling each drop like a shard of glass against my skin. Drishti kept her gaze lowered, her long lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. The heavy silence between us spoke volumes of unspoken words and emotions too deep to voice. I know she doesn't have answer to my question.

A soft knock echoed through our room, breaking the moment. Drishti quickly composed herself, brushing away the remnants of her tears with trembling fingers before walking to the door. Her anklets created a melancholic rhythm against the polished wooden floor, each step measured and hesitant. When she returned, she carried a silver tray laden with my medicines and a plate of food that Maa had undoubtedly prepared with extra care – the aroma of her special jeera rice and dal wafting through the air.

She placed the tray on the ornate  table, . With infinite gentleness, she took my hand in hers – her touch as light as a butterfly's wing, afraid of causing me any discomfort. I followed her lead without protest, watching how her face tensed with concentration as she guided me to the plush velvet couch near the window. The evening breeze rustled the sheer curtains, bringing with it the scent of night-blooming flowers from our garden below.

As she sat beside me. The way she carefully prepared each morsel, mixing the rice and dal with such attention, reminded me of all the little ways she showed her love. When she brought the spoon to my lips, I kept them sealed, my eyes fixed on her face that had grown thinner in just one day of worry.

"Eat," she finally broke her silence, her voice carrying both authority and concern. "You need to take the medicine after this, or the pain will become unbearable once the painkillers wear off." The medical knowledge from her years as a medical student kicked in.

"Did you eat?" I questioned, already knowing the answer from the hollow look in her eyes and the slight tremor in her hands. She met my gaze briefly before looking away, busying herself with the food.

"I'll eat later, okay? First, you need to eat and take your medicine," she deflected, but I knew her too well. The thought of her going without food all day made my heart clench painfully.

"I'm not eating unless you do," I stated firmly, watching her face crumple slightly at my stubbornness. The golden pendant at her neck caught the light as she shook her head.

"Manyu, please," she pleaded, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't feel like eating. I'll have something later." The defeat in her tone made me relent – sometimes loving someone means knowing when to stop pushing.

She fed me with the same care she always showed, each spoonful measured and careful. When it came time for the medicine, I couldn't help but grimace at the bitter pills. Her lips twitched into a small smile – a precious glimpse of my usual Drishti – before she quickly masked it. But I had caught it, and my heart soared at that tiny victory.

As she rose to leave, panic gripped me. My hand shot out to catch her wrist, the gold bangles she wore clinking softly against each other. She turned back, surprise flickering across her face.

"Don't leave, please," I found myself almost begging, hating the desperation in my voice but unable to hide it.

Her eyes softened as she looked at me, though worry still creased her forehead. "Stop moving your hand so much, Manyu," she scolded, her tone carrying more concern than anger. "It will hurt more. I'm not leaving – just getting your clothes. You need to change." She spoke as if to a child, and despite everything, I had to suppress a smile at her fussing.

I released her wrist reluctantly, carefully placing my uninjured arm back on the couch. Though I was barely moving my injured arm, my overprotective wife continued to worry needlessly.

The moonlight filtered through the gossamer curtains, casting gentle shadows across the bedroom as she disappeared into the walk-in closet. My mind was still reeling from the day's revelations, but her presence anchored me to the present. She emerged moments later,  pants folded neatly in her delicate hands, her dupatta trailing behind her like a silk river in the dim light.

"I think wearing a shirt might disturb your stitches," she whispered, her voice as soft as windchimes . Her fingers played nervously with the embroidered edge of her dupatta, a habit I'd grown to find endearing. "The wound seems deep, and if you're comfortable..." she trailed off, a blush painting her cheeks the color of dawn.

My innocent angel, always so concerned about my comfort when she was the one who brought peace to my chaotic world. I nodded, accepting both the pants and her care with equal gratitude.

In the washroom, the harsh fluorescent light revealed my reflection, and with it came the haunting echo of those words: "You think they are your parents? You are a fool. Rajveer Malhotra fooled you." The mirror showed me a man wrestling with his identity, searching his features for traces of the people he'd called family. Could my entire existence be built on shifting sands? Those bedtime stories, the festival celebrations, the sibling banters  – were they all elaborate fabrications?

I splashed cold water on my face, letting the shock of it ground me in reality. The water dripped down my chest, each droplet a reminder that whatever truth lay in my past, my present was real. And she was waiting.

When I stepped back into the bedroom, she stood bathed in moonlight, her silhouette a painting of grace. The sight of me shirtless brought another blush to her cheeks, this one deeper than before. Despite everything we'd shared, her modesty remained untouched, like morning dew on a lotus petal.

"Come," she murmured, her voice carrying both command and care. "You need to sleep."

I settled onto the bed, feeling the cotton sheets cool against my skin. She leaned over me, close enough that I could catch the scent of her hair as she adjusted the pillows. Her hands moved with practiced efficiency, but I noticed their slight tremor – she was trying so hard to be strong for me, yet her body betrayed her concern.

As she spread the duvet over me, her movements were almost ceremonial, as if tucking away not just my body but also the troubles that plagued my mind. She circled to the other side of the bed, her footsteps whisper-quiet on the plush carpet.

She sat on the bed beside me The silence between us was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding, until she broke it with a whisper that seemed to float on the night air. "Can I ask you something?" Her voice held a note of hesitation, like a butterfly uncertain whether to land.

I nodded, watching as moonlight played across her features, highlighting the gentle concern in her eyes. The way she looked at me made me feel simultaneously exposed and protected – as if she could see through every wall I'd built, yet chose to approach them with tenderness.

"Something is bothering you, right?" The question caught me off balance, like a sudden gust of wind. She was reading me with an accuracy that was both comforting and unnerving – seeing past the carefully constructed facade to the turmoil beneath. Her eyes, deep pools of wisdom beyond her years, searched mine with quiet intensity.

"There's nothing like that, Drishti," I attempted, but the words felt hollow even as they left my lips. She responded with a smile that held more understanding than belief, a smile that seemed to say she knew the weight I carried, even if she couldn't name it.

"You can share it with me, if you want," she offered, her voice as gentle as falling snow. "You don't need to lie." The way she said it – not an accusation but an invitation – made something in my chest tighten. Her compassion was a balm I hadn't known I needed.

Looking at her in the diffused moonlight, I felt a sliver of truth escape. "Just a thing... it wasn't your brother." The words hung between us, a small piece of a much larger puzzle I wasn't ready to complete.

She shook her head, dark hair spilling across the pillow like ink on parchment. "You don't need to lie to me to make me feel good," she repeated, shifting to lay beside me. The mattress dipped slightly with her movement, and her presence beside me felt like an anchor in a stormy sea.

"I'm not lying," I assured her, knowing tomorrow would bring its own revelations. "You'll get to know everything that happened today... tomorrow." The promise felt heavy on my tongue, weighted with uncertainties I couldn't yet voice.

Abhiveer

The words erupted from my throat like molten steel, burning and raw. "I swear to God, when I get there next time, you'll be the one staring down a barrel if you don't tell me who's behind this!" My voice cracked with barely contained fury as I gripped the phone so tight my knuckles blazed white against my skin. The familiar taste filled  my mouth – I'd been grinding my teeth again without realizing it.

The useless bastards on the other end still had nothing. No shooter. No leads. Nothing but excuses and bureaucratic bullshit while my brother's blood had stained the  car.

With a guttural roar, I hurled my phone across the room. It landed with a soft thud against the duvet – even in my rage, some part of my brain had maintained enough control to avoid destroying another device. The silk threads caught the dying sunlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, creating a canvas of shadows and light that seemed to mock the darkness of my thoughts.

Running my fingers through my hair – a nervous habit I'd carried since childhood – I paced the length of our bedroom. Something wasn't adding up. In years of being a leader of mafia's , I'd never failed to find my target. Yet here I was, chasing shadows and hitting walls at every turn. Bhaiya was hiding something; the thought settled in my gut like a lead weight. But why? We'd never kept secrets about security – it was our one unbreakable rule.

The soft click of the bedroom door pulled me from my spiraling thoughts. There she stood, my wife, framed in the doorway like a Renaissance painting come to life. Her beautiful saree,  But the elegance of her attire stood in stark contrast to the hollow look in her eyes – those same eyes that usually sparkled with love  and life now seemed to look through me rather than at me.

She drifted past like a ghost, her usual jasmine perfume trailing in her wake, making her absence feel even more pronounced. Not a word, not a glance – just the whisper of silk against marble as she disappeared into the ensuite bathroom. The door closed with a decisive click that seemed to echo in the growing darkness of the room.

The shower began to run, and I found myself staring at the closed door, listening to the rhythmic patter of water. She'd always found solace in water – rain especially. The memory of her confession about her father's actions surfaced unbidden, making my blood boil anew. If that bastard weren't already dead, I'd resurrect him just to send him back to hell myself again. But it was the other man she'd mentioned that gnawed at my consciousness. If he'd already met his maker, fine. If not... well, I had a particular set of skills that would come in handy.

The clock on the front wall-  ticked away mercilessly, marking thirty minutes of nothing but running water and silence. Moving to the bathroom door, I tried the handle. Locked.

"Fuck," I whispered, pressing my forehead against the cool wood. The word carried more worry than anger, more fear than frustration. Something was very wrong.

"Kiara!" My voice shattered the oppressive silence, bouncing off marble walls like broken glass. Nothing. The weight of her silence pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe. "Baby, please open the door." The words came out softer now, edged with desperation rather than demand.

The solid teak door remained unmoved by my pleading, standing like a sentinel between us. My palm pressed flat against its surface, feeling the cool wood beneath my fingertips. "Kiara, I'm not joking anymore." The warning in my voice was betrayed by the tremor of fear underlying it. My fist connected with the door, the impact sending vibrations up my arm. "I'll break it down if I have to!"

Then – a sound so soft I almost missed it. A tiny click that meant everything.

The door creaked open, and there she stood, a vision that transported me back to that fateful night when her father's blood had stained my hands. The same fear flickered in her amber eyes, but this time it wasn't directed at me – it seemed to emanate from somewhere deeper, somewhere I couldn't reach. Her saree was now wrinkled, the perfect pleats disturbed like autumn leaves in a storm.

Before she could retreat into herself again, I caught her wrist – gentle but firm, the way one might catch a frightened bird. She collided with my chest, her body fitting against mine like the missing piece of an puzzle. My arms enveloped her automatically, muscle memory born from countless embraces. In one fluid motion, I lifted her, her weight familiar and precious in my arms, and settled us both onto the bed's edge. She curled into my lap like a child seeking shelter from thunder.

Her eyes, usually bright , refused to meet mine, focusing instead on some invisible point on my chest. "Baby," I whispered, my fingers tracing soothing patterns on her back, "what happened?" The moment our eyes finally connected, the dam broke. Tears welled up, transforming her eyes into glittering pools of anguish.

She burrowed deeper into my embrace, her body trembling like a leaf in a monsoon wind. Her sobs, though quiet, shook her entire frame. Her fingers clutched my shirt desperately, bunching the expensive fabric into wrinkled knots. The scent of her jasmine perfume mixed with salt tears as she pressed her face into the crook of my neck.

"Kiara, aap humein dara rahi hai," I murmured against her hair, my mother tongue flowing naturally in this intimate moment. "Hua kya hai? Kisi ne aap se kuch kaha?" (You're scaring me. What happened? Did someone say something to you?) She shook her head against my neck, her tears warm against my skin.

I pressed my lips to her bare shoulder, tasting the salt of her tears that had rolled down. Who would have thought that Abhiveer Malhotra, the man whose name  made underworld tremble, would be undone by this woman's tears? Gone were the days when I'd stumble home at dawn, my mother's worried face greeting me at the door. Now, I rushed home each evening, drawn by the magnetic pull of Kiara's presence. The fear in her eyes – it shattered something primal inside me. I would sooner cut out my own heart than cause her pain.

She pulled back slightly, her delicate hands framing my face. Her touch was feather-light, as if she were touching something infinitely precious. The golden bangles on her wrists chimed softly with the movement, a musical counterpoint to our shared breath.

"Veer," she whispered my name like a prayer, the single word carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. I smiled, pressing my lips to her temple, tasting the lingering dampness of her tears. The gesture was both a promise and a plea – I'm here, I'm yours, please let me in.

"Yes, baby, your Veer," I breathed, each word a gentle caress. The moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows painted silver highlights in her tear-dampened lashes, making them sparkle like morning dew.

"Don't leave me ever, please." Her voice cracked like delicate crystal, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks like liquid diamonds. Each tear that fell felt like a dagger to my heart, their source a well of fear I desperately needed to understand.

"I'm not going anywhere, Kiara. I'm here with you always." I tried to infuse every syllable with the weight of my promise, but she shook her head violently, her bangles creating a frantic symphony of soft chimes.

"I got so afraid today," she began, words tumbling out like a dam breaking. "When bhaiya got shot—" her voice hitched, "—bhabhi fainted. She was so broken, Veer." Her fingers dug deeper into my shoulders, as if ensuring I wouldn't disappear. "He's in politics, yet still he got shot, and you—" She drew a shaky breath, her eyes boring into mine with an intensity that stole my breath. "You're a mafia lord, out of all things. You could get hurt anytime."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, fragile as spun sugar. "I'm not that strong to bear more pain. This time... this time I'll shatter if something happens to you." The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. "You're my everything right now. You saved me, became my whole world. I can't lose you to this mafia." Her last words carried the weight of her past trauma, of nights spent crying over a father who'd betrayed her, of a life torn apart by the very world I ruled. "This mafia thing ruined my whole life, Veer. Don't let that repeat."

I pulled her closer, if that was even possible, feeling her body trembling against mine like a frightened bird. The silk of her saree whispered against my skin, her jasmine perfume mingling with the salt of her tears.

"Kiara," I began, my voice rough with emotion, "I can't offer you my safety—" The truth tasted bitter on my tongue, but I'd never lie to her. Not to her.

She cut me off with a violent shake of her head, her hair brushing against my face like silk strands. "No! I want you safe." Her palm pressed against my chest, right over my heart. "I want your promise that you'll protect yourself." The fierce protectiveness in her voice made something primal stir in my chest.

I found myself drowning in those eyes – eyes that had seen too much pain, yet still held so much love. My heartbeat thundered beneath her palm, a rhythm that spelled out her name with every beat. Slowly, deliberately, I leaned closer, watching her eyes widen like a startled doe's.

"I will protect you over anything," I murmured, my lips barely inches from hers. A smirk tugged at my mouth as I added, "And if you want me to be safe and sane, all that's needed is a kiss." The playful words were a deliberate contrast to the intensity of the moment, an attempt to chase away the shadows in her eyes.

She looked up at me with that impossibly innocent expression – the one that made me question how someone who'd seen so much darkness could still look at the world with such pure wonder. The same expression that had made the most feared man lay his heart at her feet, completely defenseless.

I closed the final whisper of distance between us, our breaths intermingling like incense smoke in a temple. Her delicate hand found its way to my neck, fingers trailing fire across my skin. Time seemed to suspend itself as I finally captured her lips with mine – soft, warm, and impossibly sweet. She remained motionless at first, like a deer caught in headlights, before melting into the kiss like honey in warm tea. There was something transcendent about kissing Kiara – as if the universe had distilled pure bliss into human form.

With deliberate slowness, I traced a path of kisses along the elegant line of her jaw, each touch a silent prayer of devotion. She tilted her head instinctively, offering herself to me with a trust that made my heart clench. My lips found their way down the smooth column of her neck, tasting sunshine and jasmine on her skin. At her collarbone, I paused, marking her with gentle teeth and soothing tongue, claiming her in the most primal way.

"Veer," she breathed, her voice a mixture of pain and pleasure that sent electricity down my spine, "it hurts, but... it feels good." The confession was barely a whisper, innocent yet seductive. I soothed the mark with my tongue, satisfaction coursing through me at the sight of my handiwork – a reminder that she was mine to protect, to cherish.

My hands found their way beneath the silk of her saree, fingertips tracing patterns on warm skin. I pressed tender kisses to her flushed cheeks, watching in adoration as she ducked her head to hide in the crook of my neck, her embarrassment endearingly pure.

"You're my baby, just my baby," I murmured against her temple, breathing in the intoxicating mix of her shampoo and natural scent.

She huffed indignantly, the warm air tickling my neck. "I'm not a baby, I'm old enough to have bab—" Her words cut off abruptly as realization dawned, and I couldn't suppress my knowing smirk.

"That I cannot agree with, my love," I teased, voice rich with affection. "You're still very much my baby. We'll only think about having a baby when you, my precious one, outgrow being my baby yourself. Until then," I traced her lower lip with my thumb, "I want just one baby to spoil."

The blush that bloomed across her cheeks was more beautiful than any sunset I'd ever seen, turning her skin the color of rose petals.

"Kiara," I softened my voice, turning serious. "Don't worry your beautiful head. I'll move heaven and earth to keep you, our family, and myself safe. No matter what happens, I'll always find my way back to you." The promise felt like a sacred vow.

She answered by pressing her lips to my cheek, a gesture so pure it made my heart ache. "Thank you," she whispered, the words carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.

I couldn't resist stealing another kiss, this one light as a feather. "Come on, let me put you to bed. You look exhausted." My fingers combed through her silken hair. "This is all new for you – seeing one of us hurt. But Maa," I chuckled softly, "she knows us too well. That's why she called out bhaiya's lies straight away."

Her eyes widened in surprise, sparkling with renewed interest despite her fatigue. The moonlight caught the gold flecks in her irises, making them shine like stars in an amber sky.

"You've been shot before." It wasn't quite a question – more like a revelation wrapped in fear. The words fell from her lips like autumn leaves, delicate and inevitable. I nodded, watching emotions dance across her face like shadows in candlelight.

"Where?" The whisper was so faint it might have been a thought given voice. Instead of answering, I let my fingers work the mother-of-pearl buttons of my shirt, each one revealing another inch of truth. When the scar appeared – a silvery starburst against tan skin – her breath caught audibly in her throat.

With trembling fingers, she traced the mark, her touch feather-light and reverent. The warmth of her skin against the old wound sent electricity coursing through my veins. "It's deep," she observed, her voice thick with unshed tears. I nodded, fighting the urge to capture her exploring fingers with my own. Each gentle touch was like a healing balm, not for the long-healed wound, but for something deeper – something that had scarred my soul rather than my flesh.

"How?" The question hung between us like smoke in still air. I smiled, not the dangerous smile that had made grown men cower, but the soft one reserved only for her.

"That's a story for another moonlit night," I deflected gently, choosing instead to chase the shadows from her eyes. "But first, tell me what you're planning for my birthday?" The sudden shift made her smile – mission accomplished.

"When is your birthday?" she asked, a playful light replacing the worry in her amber eyes. I couldn't resist smirking, enjoying the way her nose crinkled in response.

"That's for you to discover," I teased, watching her lower lip push out in an adorable pout. The same lips that could reduce most feared mafia lord to a lovesick fool.

"At least tell me it's not tomorrow," she pleaded, anxiety flickering across her features like lightning in summer skies. I shook my head, offering this small mercy.

"No, not tomorrow." The relief in her sigh was palpable as she settled against my chest, her ear pressed right above my heart. Her breathing slowly synchronized with mine, creating a rhythm as ancient as love itself.

I gazed down at her, marveling at how this one woman had transformed my world so completely. Peace had never been more than a foreign concept in my life – a luxury I couldn't afford in the blood-soaked streets of underworld . Every breath had been calculated, every move measured against the cost of keeping my family safe. But then she crashed into my existence like a shooting star, and suddenly I was insane – crazy with the need to protect her smile, to shelter her light from the darkness that had claimed so much of my own soul.

Her pain, though rarely voiced, screamed to me in silent moments – in the way she flinched at sudden movements, in how her eyes would sometimes grow distant with memories she tried to bury. I found myself wanting to be better, to be worthy of the trust she placed in me. The cigarettes that had been my constant companions now tasted of betrayal; the whiskey that had dulled my edges felt like poison against the sweetness of her kisses.

I wouldn't be another villain in her story. She saw me as her protector – her guardian angel with blood-stained wings – and I swore silently, fiercely, to become the sanctuary she deserved. In this moment, with her warmth seeping into my scarred chest and her breath fanning across my skin, I renewed my vow to fill her life with so much love that all her previous pain would fade like stars at dawn.