Chapter 24

Ruhika's POV:

I stretched my arms above my head, my fingers slowly curling as a dull ache travelled through my shoulders and arms. A small wince escaped me as I rubbed my palms over them, trying to ease the soreness. Maybe it was because of that ridiculously hard mattress I had been sleeping on.

But the strange part was that whenever I lay down on the bed, the mattress felt completely fine. Soft enough. Comfortable enough. Yet somehow, every morning, I woke up feeling as though I had spent the entire night sleeping on a stone floor.

The thought made me frown. How was that even possible? I was still busy trying to solve the completely unnecessary mystery of my sore arms when the question suddenly disappeared from my mind.

Komal dii was walking toward me. And judging by the enormous pout on her face, something was definitely wrong.

My eyes immediately softened when I noticed the slight tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

Oh no. Not again. Her pregnancy hormones were apparently taking another dramatic turn. One moment, she was laughing and teasing everyone around her, and the next moment, she was standing in front of me with tears in her eyes as though I had personally committed the greatest betrayal of the century.

"Aaj ruk jaa na, Ruhi... please..." (Stay today, Ruhi... please...)

A small pang touched my heart. Her voice was soft, almost pleading, and despite the tiny smile that threatened to appear on my lips because of her adorable pout, I could not bring myself to tease her.

I had only known Komal dii for such a short time, but somehow, she had managed to make a permanent place for herself inside my heart. Her bubbly personality, endless chatter, dramatic reactions, and the affection she showered me with had made me feel strangely comfortable around her. Leaving her now felt much harder than I had expected.

I slowly stepped closer to her and wrapped my arms around her.

"Dii, aapko pata hai na kal mere bhaiya ki haldi hai... warna main pakka ruk jaati." (You know, right, that my brother's haldi ceremony is tomorrow... otherwise, I would definitely have stayed.)

She hugged me tighter, and I felt another small pang in my chest. I slowly pulled back from the hug and looked at her face. A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye, and I immediately lifted my hand to wipe it away.

"And..."

I added softly, trying to make her smile,

"ittu si baat mein rone ki kya baat hai? Main phir aapse milne aaungi na. Aur jab aaungi, tab pakka bohot din theher kar jaungi." (Why are you crying over such a small thing? I'll come to meet you again. And when I come next time, I promise I'll stay for many days.)

Komal dii let out a broken chuckle, though the sound was still mixed with a tiny sniffle. I smiled at her, relieved to see the tears in her eyes slowly disappear.

But the relief lasted for barely a few seconds. Because suddenly, something changed in her expression. The pout disappeared. The sadness disappeared. And the tears disappeared. Instead, a suspicious little smile appeared on her face.

My eyes narrowed.

Why was she smiling like that? Before I could ask, Komal dii suddenly caught both my hands in hers. I stared at her curiously as she looked around for a moment, making sure no one was paying attention to us.

My curiosity deepened.

"Dii..."

I questioned cautiously. Instead of answering me, she slowly opened one of my palms and placed a small paper wrapper inside it.

I stared at it. Then at her. Then at the small wrapper again.

She studied the confused expression on my face for a moment before a mischievous glint appeared in her eyes. Oh no. Whenever Komal dii looked at me like that, I already knew I was about to regret asking questions.

I opened my mouth to question her, but before I could say anything, she leaned closer to me. Her movements were so secretive that she looked as though she was about to reveal the location of some hidden treasure. I stared at her in confusion as she brought her lips close to my ear.

"Yeh hamare Vaid ji ne diya hai..." (Our Vaid ji gave this to me...)

She whispered. My brows pulled together. Vaid ji? Before I could ask what exactly she meant, she continued.

"Raat ko doodh ke saath dena. Hafte mein sirf do din..." (Give it with milk at night. Only two days a week...)

My confusion deepened. Give it? To whom? I looked at the paper wrapper in my palm before turning toward her.

"What is—"

"Dekhna, agli baar jab aayegi tu, pakka khushkhabri ke saath aayegi..." (Just wait and see, the next time you come, you'll definitely come with good news...)

My entire body froze. My eyes widened at her words, and I felt my face flush instantly as the true meaning behind them finally settled inside my mind.

Before I could even open my mouth to say anything..before I could scold her, question her, or simply disappear from the embarrassment..both of her sons suddenly came running toward me. Their tiny footsteps echoed across the room before they reached me and immediately wrapped their little arms around my legs.

"Dii, jaldi wapas aana..." (Dii, come back soon...)

They whispered almost together, their innocent little voices instantly melting my heart. My fingers immediately tightened around the small medicine wrapped in paper. I quickly moved my hand behind the folds of my dupatta, hiding it properly before the children could notice it. The last thing I needed was for either of them to become curious about what their mother had secretly given me.

A soft smile spread across my lips as I carefully lowered myself to their level. I gently ruffled their hair, watching their little faces brighten as I nodded.

"Okay, cuties. Jaldi aaungi." (Okay, cuties. I'll come back soon.)

They smiled, apparently satisfied with my answer, and for a brief moment, I simply looked at them. I had not expected to become attached to them either.

"Chalte hain..." (Let's go...)

My entire body froze. I did not need to turn around. I knew that voice.

Arnav ji.

My heart skipped a beat so suddenly that I almost forgot how to breathe. The conversation from the previous day immediately returned to my mind, every single word replaying itself with painful clarity. But his last words... those three simple words... continued to echo inside my head like a melody that my heart refused to forget.

I want you...

A fresh wave of warmth travelled through my body. My face instantly flushed. Oh God. Why did my heart have to react like this every single time I remembered those words? And why did my mind have to remind me of them now?

I could feel his presence behind me, and somehow, that made the situation even worse. My fingers tightened around the edge of my dupatta as I stubbornly refused to turn around. There was absolutely no way I was going to look at his face. Not after yesterday.  Without looking toward him, I simply nodded my head.

"Ji..." (Yes...)

I turned around and started walking toward the exit, perhaps a little faster than necessary. I could hear Komal dii and the rest of the family following behind me, but I kept my gaze ahead, trying my best to behave normally.

The moment we stepped outside, my eyes travelled toward the car. Arnav ji had already called home earlier, and someone had apparently come to help with the arrangements. The luggage had already been placed neatly inside the car. Everything was ready. There was nothing left to do. We just had to leave. For some reason, the realization made my chest feel slightly heavy.

I stopped right in front of the car before turning toward Komal dii.

"Apna dhyaan rakhna, dii..." (Take care of yourself, dii...)

I paused as my gaze moved toward her two little sons. A smile appeared on my face as I gently patted both of their heads. Then my eyes slowly travelled downward toward her lower abdomen. My smile widened.

"Aur mere teeno cuties ka bhi. Main jaldi aaungi inhe wapas milne." (And take care of all my three cuties too. I'll come soon to meet them again.)

Komal dii let out a small sob, though a smile remained on her face. She nodded immediately before wrapping her arms around me one last time.

I smiled and hugged her back. A strange sadness quietly settled inside my heart. I had only spent a short amount of time with her, yet somewhere between all her chatter, her teasing, her affection, and her dramatic emotional moments, Komal dii had managed to capture my heart with her cute and bubbly personality.

I was going to miss her. I slowly pulled away from the hug and looked at her face one last time before turning around and getting inside the passenger seat. As I adjusted my dupatta and settled into my seat, my gaze travelled outside the window.

Rakesh bhaiya was standing beside Arnav ji. I watched as Rakesh bhaiya placed a hand on Arnav ji's shoulder and patted it warmly. I could not hear what they were saying, but there was something unspoken in the gesture—something that felt like silent understanding.

Arnav ji gave him a small, polite nod. Rakesh bhaiya then looked toward Komal dii, and after exchanging a few silent glances, Arnav ji finally walked toward the driver's side of the car.

My heartbeat betrayed me again. The driver's door opened. I immediately turned my face toward the window before he could get inside. Why was I behaving like this? He was only getting into the car. That was all.

But somehow, knowing that I was going to be sitting alone with him inside the car made my heart beat a little faster. The door closed. The engine started. I looked outside the window one last time.

"Bye, cuties..."

I whispered softly. The car slowly began moving. My gaze shifted toward the rear-view mirror. I could see the entire family standing together outside the house. They were smiling. They were waving. Komal dii's hand remained raised while the two little boys waved excitedly toward the car.

I raised my hand and waved back, watching them through the rear-view mirror.

The car slowly moved farther away. Their figures gradually became smaller. But they continued waving. And I continued watching them. For some reason, I did not want to look away. I watched them until their figures slowly disappeared from my sight.

And even after the road turned and the house vanished completely behind us, I remained silent, my fingers instinctively moving toward the corner of my dupatta where the small paper packet was still hidden.

My face warmed all over again. I quickly looked out of the window. Suddenly, I became painfully aware of the silence that had settled inside the car. Until now, I had been too occupied with watching Komal dii and her family disappear behind us, too busy hiding the small paper packet inside my dupatta and, most importantly, too determined to keep myself from remembering Arnav ji's words from yesterday.

But now there was nothing left to distract me. It was just the two of us. Alone. Sitting beside each other in the enclosed space of the car. The realization hit me so suddenly that my heart seemed to accelerate at the speed of a rocket, beating wildly against my chest as though it had suddenly forgotten how to behave normally.

"No need to bite your lips, Butterfly. I won't eat you..."

I flinched at the sound of his voice.

His tone was composed and calm, almost dangerously casual, but the unmistakable teasing hidden beneath his words was impossible to miss. My eyes widened slightly as his words registered in my mind, and only then did I realize what he was talking about. I was biting my lower lip. Hard.

My teeth instantly released it. Oh God. Heat rushed straight to my face as I quickly tried to act as though I had not been caught doing something as embarrassingly obvious as nervously biting my lips while sitting beside him. I straightened my posture and turned my face toward him, trying my best to gather whatever remained of my dignity.

"Road par dhyaan de rahe hain ya mujhpe, aap?" (Are you paying attention to the road or to me?)

The words came out more sarcastically than I had expected. For a brief second, there was silence.

Then a soft chuckle escaped his throat.

My eyes betrayed me before I could stop them, and I turned my face slightly toward him.

Big mistake. A very big mistake.

My breath hitched for a moment. He was wearing a plain white shirt, the sleeves casually folded up to his elbows. The simple colour somehow made his appearance even more distracting, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. His hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, effortlessly controlling the car as his fingers moved with practiced ease. The veins on his forearms were faintly visible beneath his skin, becoming more prominent whenever he adjusted his grip or turned the steering wheel.

I gulped, my eyes still fixed on the veins popping out along his forearms. It was ridiculous, honestly. My gaze followed his hand as he made a turn, and before I could stop myself, an incredibly strange thought crossed my mind. I wanted to touch them. My eyes widened slightly at my own thought, and I immediately tried to look away, but my hand had already started itching with an inexplicable urge to reach out and touch his arm just once.

"Enjoying the view, wifey?"

My entire body froze at the sound of his voice. For one horrifying second, I did not move, and then the realization hit me like a truck. He knew. He knew I had been staring at him.

My eyes widened in complete shock before my gaze instantly snapped toward the window, so quickly that I almost hurt my neck in the process. My stomach twisted with embarrassment, and my face burned as I bit my lower lip again, silently cursing myself and asking Mother Earth to open up and swallow me whole. I could not believe I had been caught so shamelessly staring at him, and now, instead of having a proper explanation ready, my brain had completely abandoned me.

Trying to save whatever little dignity I had left, I slowly turned my head toward him.

"W-Woh... woh... aa... aapke haath mein... haan, machchar tha. Wahi dekh rahi thi main..." (T-There... um... there was... yes, a mosquito on your hand. I was looking at that.)

The moment the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes tightly. A mosquito. Inside an air-conditioned car. On his arm. And apparently, I had been staring at it for who knew how long.

I almost laughed at my own stupidity. How could someone possibly be so dumb? If embarrassment could kill a person, I would have died right there in the passenger seat. I waited for him to laugh at me. I waited for him to tease me and question how a mosquito had even entered the air-conditioned car, but to my complete shock, nothing happened. Instead, after a brief moment of silence, a soft, serious hum escaped his throat, almost as though he genuinely believed my ridiculous excuse.

"Hmm."

My eyes slowly opened, and I turned my face toward him in disbelief. He was still looking ahead, his expression completely composed and serious. There was no teasing smile. No sarcasm. No amusement. Nothing. He had simply accepted my excuse as though it made complete sense.

I stared at his side profile suspiciously, wondering whether he was secretly laughing at me internally, but his face remained calm. Perhaps he had simply decided to let me keep whatever little dignity I had left after witnessing me make a complete fool of myself.

A few minutes passed in silence as the car continued moving steadily along the road. I stared outside the window, watching the scenery pass by while trying very hard not to look toward him again. The silence between us did not feel as uncomfortable as it had earlier, though. The soft sound of the engine filled the car, and after a while, Arnav ji finally spoke.

"Wanna hear a song?"

My gaze flickered toward him. The idea was not bad, and considering I was already beginning to feel slightly bored, I gave him a small nod. My hand immediately moved toward the radio, but before my fingers could reach it, his hand suddenly came forward and caught mine midway.

For a moment, I felt as though my entire world had frozen.

The warmth of his palm resting over my hand made a shiver travel down my spine, so unexpected and intense that my breath caught inside my throat. I stared down at our hands, completely forgetting about the radio, the music, and everything else around me. His hand was covering mine so naturally, yet the simple contact was enough to make my entire body hyperaware of his presence.

The warmth of his skin seeped into mine, and for some reason, I could not bring myself to move. I had held his hand before. I had been close to him before. But after yesterday... after everything he had said to me, this one simple touch suddenly felt entirely different.

"Someone has said that my touch never makes her feel uncomfortable..."

He spoke softly, the teasing amusement in his voice making my heartbeat stumble. I slowly lifted my gaze toward him, only to find the faintest smirk playing on his lips. He was still focused on the road ahead, but I knew that look. He was enjoying every second of my reaction.

"So, I think she won't mind if I hold her hand without any pallu or shield from now on, na?"

My eyes widened. Heat immediately rushed to my face.

He remembered. Of course, he remembered. And he was using my own words against me.

I snapped my gaze toward the window, suddenly finding the passing scenery extremely interesting. Anything was better than looking at him while he was sitting there with that teasing smirk. My hand, however, was still trapped beneath his warm palm, and the awareness of it made my heart beat even faster. I swallowed nervously, trying to gather enough courage to respond.

"M-Ma... haan... m-mujhe gaana sunna hai..." (I-I... yes... I want to listen to a song...)

I somehow managed to whisper, completely changing the topic because I had absolutely no idea what else I was supposed to say.

A small chuckle escaped his throat. The sound sent another flutter through my stomach. Then his hold on my hand loosened.

Something strange happened inside my chest. For a fraction of a second, I felt a tiny pang of disappointment at the thought of losing his warmth. But before I could even understand why I felt that way, his fingers suddenly slipped between mine.

My breath hitched.

Our fingers intertwined. Completely. Naturally. As though they belonged there. Before I could react, he gently pulled our joined hands toward himself and placed mine over his thigh with such casual ease that I almost forgot how to breathe.

My eyes widened.

I snapped my gaze toward him, my lips parting in complete shock. My mind had still not processed the fact that he had so casually intertwined our fingers and placed my hand over his thigh as though it was the most normal thing in the world. A dozen questions were already forming inside my head, and I was just about to open my mouth and ask him what exactly he thought he was doing when his voice suddenly filled the car.

"Hansta rehta hoon tujhse milkar kyun aajkal..."

My breath hitched. Everything inside me went still. The words did not register immediately. For a brief moment, I simply stared at him, my eyes widening as I realized that he was not speaking.

He was singing. For me. My gaze remained fixed on his face as he drew another breath, his fingers still intertwined with mine.

"Badle-badle se hain mere tewar kyun aajkal..."

My heart skipped a beat. His voice was not loud. It was soft, warm, and filled with an emotion I could not completely understand but could somehow feel. There was something so unexpectedly beautiful about the moment that I forgot to breathe properly. The car continued moving steadily along the road, the world outside continuing as though nothing had changed, while inside, I sat completely frozen, staring at the man beside me.

With those words, his fingers gave my hand a gentle squeeze. The simple gesture sent a flutter racing through my stomach. Then, as though feeling my gaze fixed upon him, he turned his face slightly toward me.

Our eyes met. And he smiled. My breath completely disappeared. It was not the teasing smirk I had grown used to seeing whenever he caught me staring at him. It was not a playful smile meant to make me embarrassed.

It was different. Soft. Warm. Genuine. Perhaps the sweetest smile I had ever seen in my entire life. For one brief moment, I forgot everything.

I simply stared at him. At that smile. At the softness in his eyes. At the way he was looking at me as though the entire song had suddenly become ours.

And before I could process the moment properly, he turned his gaze back toward the road. Just like that. As though he had not completely stolen my breath away with one smile.

My heart skipped another beat.

"Aankhein meri har jagah, dhoondhe tujhe bewajah, ye main hoon ya koi aur hai teri tarah..."

His voice flowed through the car, soft and melodic, wrapping around me so gently that for a few moments, I forgot where I was. I sat completely still beside him, my gaze fixed on his side profile while his fingers remained intertwined with mine. Then, almost unconsciously, his thumb began moving over the back of my hand, gently tracing and creasing against my skin in slow, absent-minded motions. The smallest touch sent an unfamiliar warmth spreading through my body, travelling from my hand straight to my chest. I could feel every brush of his fingertips far too clearly, as though my entire body had suddenly become sensitive to his touch.

"Kaise hua, kaise hua, tu itna zaroori kaise hua? Kaise hua, kaise hua, tu itna zaroori kaise hua?"

My lips trembled slightly as his voice continued ringing in my ears. There was something painfully beautiful about hearing him sing again..something so unexpected that my mind struggled to believe it was really happening. His voice had changed over the years. It was deeper now, more mature, carrying a richness that had not existed when we were children. Yet beneath that change, there was still something painfully familiar. Something that belonged to the boy I had known twelve years ago.

It had been twelve years. Twelve long years since I had last heard him sing. The realization struck me so suddenly that my eyes began to sting.

My gaze remained fixed on him, my vision slowly blurring as memories started resurfacing one after another. I remembered the younger Arnav..the boy who could spend hours with his guitar, singing without caring whether anyone was listening or not. Singing had never just been something he did. It had been a part of him. Something that made him happy in a way I had rarely seen anything else do.

And then... His parents had taken it away from him. The memory was still painfully clear. The sound of his guitar being broken. The silence that followed. The way he had been forced to put everything aside and focus only on his studies.

And after that day... He had stopped singing. Just like that. As though someone had taken a piece of him and locked it away somewhere so deep that even he had decided never to search for it again.

My throat tightened. For twelve years, I had never heard him sing again.

But today he was singing again that too just for me. The realization made my eyes burn. A tiny shimmer of moisture gathered in them, and I blinked rapidly, trying to stop the tears from falling. I did not want him to see me crying. Not now. Not when he had probably only wanted to make the journey less boring.

But my emotions refused to listen. The adrenaline of hearing him sing again after all these years, combined with the memories of our childhood, made everything in front of me blur.

My fingers slowly curled around his hand. My throat tightened even more.

"Main baarish ki boli samajhta nahi tha, hawaaon se main yun ulajhta nahi tha, tha seene mein dil bhi, kahaan thi mujhe yeh khabar..."

His voice softened as he reached the end of the line, carrying an emotion that made something inside my chest tighten. Then, suddenly, he paused.

For a brief moment, there was nothing except the soft hum of the engine and the sound of my own uneven breathing.

His eyes slowly lifted toward the rear-view mirror. I froze. Our gazes met through it. My breath caught instantly. I did not know whether he had meant to look at me or whether his eyes had simply found me on their own, but he did not look away. His gaze remained fixed on mine for a few heartbeats, and I suddenly became painfully aware of the way my hand was still resting in his.

Then, without saying a word, he lifted our joined hands. My eyes widened slightly as he brought the back of my hand toward his face.

My heart stopped.

His fingers remained intertwined with mine as he gently pressed the back of my hand against his cheek. A violent shiver travelled through my entire body.

I stared at him. At the way his eyes remained fixed on mine through the mirror. It felt as though he was trying to feel my presence.

My fingers trembled slightly against his cheek. He began singing again.

"Kahin pe ho raatein, kahin pe andhera, aawargi hi rahi saath mera, theher ja, theher ja, yeh kehti hai teri nazar..."

His voice suddenly cracked. I flinched slightly. My eyes widened as he looked at me. The crack in his voice made the next words sound even more real. Even more painful.

"Kya haal ho gaya hai yeh mera..."

My lips trembled. His gaze remained on me. And suddenly, I could not breathe.

"Aankhein meri har jagah, dhoondhe tujhe bewajah, yeh main hoon ya koi aur hai meri tarah..."

The last word stretched as his voice filled the space between us.

"Kaise hua..."

His fingers tightened gently around mine. My eyes remained fixed on him.

"Kaise hua..."

The softness in his voice almost broke something inside me.

"Tu itna zaroori kaise hua..."

My heart skipped another beat. Then, just like that, he turned his gaze back toward the road. The moment between us shifted.

"Kaise hua, kaise hua, tu itna zaroori kaise hua? Kaise hua, kaise hua, tu itna zaroori kaise hua? Kaise hua, kaise hua, tu itna zaroori kaise hua?"

And then... His voice stopped. The silence that followed felt almost deafening. But I did not move.My gaze remained plastered to him.

My heart was pounding so violently that I could hear it inside my ears. Everything felt unreal. It felt like I had somehow slipped into a dream..a dream I was terrified to wake up from because I knew that the moment I did, he would no longer be sitting beside me, holding my hand, after singing to me for the first time in twelve years.

The car slowly began to decelerate. I did not even realize it at first. My eyes were still fixed on him. Then he gently pulled the car toward the corner of the highway and brought it to a stop. The sound of the engine continued quietly in the background.

My breath became shallow. Slowly, he turned his face toward me. My heartbeat skipped. His eyes met mine. And for a few moments, neither of us spoke.

Then he slowly lowered our intertwined hands toward his thigh, placing them there with the same calmness with which he had held them throughout the song. His fingers gave mine a gentle squeeze.

The gesture was simple. But after everything that had just happened, it made my heart ache.

His gaze moved toward my face. His eyes paused. And then his lips slowly curved into the faintest smile.

"Itna bura gaya kya maine jo meri biwi toh rone hi lag gayi?" (Did I sing so badly that my wife has actually started crying?)

A sobbed chuckle escaped my lips, and only then did I realize that the tears had actually slipped from my eyes. I had been so absorbed in listening to him, so lost between the man sitting beside me and the memories of the boy he had once been, that I had not even noticed when my eyes had filled completely. The warmth from his singing was still lingering somewhere inside my chest, and seeing him after twelve long years finally doing something he had once loved had stirred emotions I had not been prepared to face.

Before I could wipe my tears away myself, his free hand slowly lifted toward my face. His hand stopped just beside my cheek. He did not touch me.

Not yet.

His fingers simply hovered there, so close that I could feel the warmth radiating from them. His eyes remained locked with mine, waiting. He was giving me a choice.

"May I?" he asked softly.

I gulped. A fresh wave of warmth washed through me. It was such a small gesture. Just a hand reaching toward my tears. Just someone wanting to wipe them away. Yet somehow, it felt much bigger than that.

The warmth of that realization wrapped around my heart. But almost immediately, fear followed. The warmth was there, but so was the fear—the fear of all this being a dream.

My eyes flickered. Perhaps he noticed it. Perhaps he saw the sudden trace of panic that I was unable to hide completely. Because before his hand could touch my face, he spoke again.

"I promise, Butterfly..."

His voice was softer this time, completely free from the teasing that usually surrounded his words.

"Main sirf tumhare aansu ponchunga... aur kuch nahi." (I will only wipe your tears... nothing else.)

Something inside me cracked. The way he said it. I nodded my head slowly, giving him the silent permission he had been waiting for.

The moment his palm touched my cheek, my breath caught. His touch was gentle, almost careful, as though he was afraid that even the slightest pressure might make me pull away.

His thumb slowly moved beneath my eye, wiping away the tear that had escaped down my cheek. I remained completely still, my gaze fixed on him as another tear slipped free, and this time, before it could fall any further, he gently wiped that one away too. There was something unbearably comforting about it.

His palm was warm against my skin, and his fingers moved with such patience that I suddenly became afraid of moving, afraid that even the smallest movement might somehow ruin the warmth of the moment.

"Didn't you quit singing twelve years ago, Aru?"

The question escaped my lips before I could stop myself. His movements paused. It was only for a moment, barely a second, but I noticed it. The softness in his eyes shifted, and something flickered across his expression..something I could not completely understand.

My heart tightened as I wondered whether I had said something wrong, but before I could apologize, he regained his composure.

A small smile appeared on his lips as he slowly pulled his hand away from my cheek and leaned his head back against the seat. His gaze moved toward the front, but his other hand remained firmly intertwined with mine, his fingers still holding mine as though letting go had never even crossed his mind.

"Hmm... par..." (Hmm... but...)

He paused, and my eyes remained fixed on his face. After a brief moment, he turned his face slightly toward me, and the small smile on his lips deepened.

"Then I remembered someone used to love my voice the most..."

He said softly, the teasing warmth in his voice immediately making my heart skip a beat.

"So, I gave it a try. Kya pata meri biwi ka patthar jaisa dil pighal jaaye mere liye..." (Who knows, maybe my wife's heart, which is as hard as stone, might finally melt for me...)

My lips parted, and for a moment, I simply stared at him. He said it so casually. So teasingly. Yet something about his words settled far too deeply inside my heart. Someone used to love my voice the most. He remembered. After twelve years, he remembered something I had probably told him countless times when we were children. He remembered that I had loved hearing him sing, and after all these years of silence, he had decided to sing again because of that memory.

Then his last words finally settled inside my mind. Maybe my wife's heart, which is as hard as stone, might finally melt for me.

My cheeks instantly warmed. I looked down at our intertwined hands. My fingers were still resting between his, completely trapped within the warmth of his hold. He was still holding me.

My breath hitched at his words, and my lips parted in a silent gasp as I stared at him. For a moment, I could not even form a proper thought, let alone find an answer.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed. The corner of his lips twitched upward into something that was more of a satisfied smirk than a smile, as though my flustered silence had already given him the answer he wanted. The audacity of this man.

My face flushed instantly. I quickly turned my gaze away, staring out of the window as though the view outside had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the entire world. I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to answer him.

What was I even supposed to say? That my heart was already behaving strangely? That his words had somehow sent thousands of butterflies racing through my stomach as though they were participating in a marathon?

I pressed my lips together, trying to calm my racing heart. Then, as though God himself had finally taken pity on me, a soft knock came against the car window. I immediately let out a quiet breath of relief.

Arnav ji glanced toward the window before pressing the button to roll it down. The moment the glass lowered, two little children appeared outside..a boy and a girl who looked no older than seven or eight years old. They immediately leaned toward the open window.

"Bhaiya, bhaiya, yeh roses le lo na..." (Brother, brother, please buy these roses...)

My eyes instantly softened as I looked at them. My gaze then travelled toward the flowers in their tiny hands. A small smile immediately spread across my lips. Among the red roses were a few beautiful pink lotuses, their delicate petals standing out even from where I was sitting. My heart softened at the sight.

Both of them were my favourite flowers.

"Hmm... par mujhe inki koi zaroorat nahi abhi." (Hmm... but I don't need these right now.)

Arnav ji's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I looked toward him just as he gently ruffled the little boy's hair. The boy's face immediately fell. And I would be lying if I said mine did not fall a little too. Just a little.

I knew Arnav ji was right. We did not actually need flowers right now. There was no occasion, no celebration, and absolutely no reason for him to buy them.

But then again... Why had I expected him to?

My lips pressed together. Uff, Ruhika. Why was I acting like this?

I quickly turned my gaze away from the flowers, trying to hide the disappointment I had absolutely no right to feel. But before the little boy could walk away, his eyes suddenly travelled toward me. Then toward Arnav ji. And then back toward me again. His small face immediately brightened.

"Arey, bhaiya! Aapki itni sundar behen hai, unke liye le lo!" (Oh, brother! You have such a beautiful sister, buy them for her!)

My eyes widened. For a moment, there was complete silence inside the car. Then—Both Arnav ji and I choked.

"Buddhu, woh unki biwi hain! Dekh nahi rahe kaise haath pakda hai bhaiya ne didi ka?" (Idiot, she is his wife! Can't you see how brother is holding sister's hand?)

The little girl standing beside him immediately pinched the boy's hand, giving us an embarrassed yet cheeky smile. My eyes widened at her words, and for a moment, I completely forgot how to breathe. The little boy's gaze slowly dropped toward our intertwined hands, as if he was finally understanding what his sister was trying to explain.

My embarrassment reached an entirely new level.

The moment those words left the little girl's mouth, I instinctively tried pulling my hand away from Arnav ji's hold, wanting nothing more than to hide my face somewhere. But to my absolute horror, instead of letting me go, his fingers only tightened around mine, keeping my hand firmly secured within his warm hold. My breath caught, and I immediately turned my gaze toward him.

A triumphant, almost mischievous smile was resting on his lips as he looked toward the little girl, completely unaffected by my obvious attempt to escape. There was something so ridiculously satisfied about his expression that I could practically hear the teasing hidden behind it.

I stared at him in disbelief, my cheeks burning even hotter. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew I was embarrassed, and instead of helping me escape the situation, he seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

"Aap toh bahut smart ho, betu..." (You are very smart, little one...)

Arnav ji whispered softly, his voice carrying a warmth that made the little girl immediately beam with pride. She gave him a cheeky little smile, clearly pleased with herself, while I could only stare at the two of them with disbelief.

Apparently, they had formed an alliance against me within seconds.

He then casually reached toward the small compartment near the dashboard and pulled out his wallet. I watched him curiously as he opened it and took out some cash. But before I could understand what he was doing, he also pulled out his business card and held both toward the little girl.

My eyebrows rose in surprise, and my gaze moved from the money to his face. The little girl looked equally startled for a moment, while the little boy stared at the unexpected generosity with wide eyes.

"Yeh aap dono ke liye hain. Isse apne liye kitaabein aur kapde khareedna... aur yeh hamara card. Kabhi bhi kisi madad ki zaroorat pade toh mujhe call karna, okay?" (This is for both of you. Buy books and clothes for yourselves with it... and this is our card. If you ever need any help, call me, okay?)

The moment his words left his mouth, both children's faces lit up with pure happiness.

The little boy and girl looked at each other, their excitement quickly turning into matching mischievous smiles. Then, almost as though they had rehearsed it together, they spoke in perfect sync, their tiny voices filled with so much sincerity that my heart fluttered.

"Bholenath kare aap dono ki jodi hamesha bani rahe..." (May Bholenath always keep you two together...)

My eyes widened slightly. My heart gave an embarrassing little flutter inside my chest.

I instinctively lowered my gaze, suddenly feeling far too conscious of the hand still securely intertwined with Arnav ji's.

But apparently, they were not finished. With matching cheesy grins spreading across their little faces, they pushed their tiny hands forward toward us.

"Yeh aap dono ke liye..." (This is for both of you...)

I looked down at what they were holding, and my expression softened immediately.  My heart melted at their sincerity. There was something so pure about the way they had offered those little flowers to us, as though their tiny gesture was the most natural way of returning the kindness they had just received.

I could not help the soft smile that formed on my lips as I looked at them, my gaze lingering on the pink lotus and roses they were holding. A part of me genuinely wanted to take one of each. They were both my favourite flowers, after all, and the thought of carrying them with me felt strangely special.

I was not asking for an entire bouquet or anything extravagant. Just one rose and one lotus. That was all. Yet somehow, before I could even reach for them, Arnav ji had already made his decision.

Beside me, Arnav ji smiled and shook his head, his expression carrying a quiet amusement. He reached toward the open window and gently patted both their heads before speaking in that calm, effortless voice of his.

"No need... meri biwi ko phool main khud dila dunga. Aap yeh le jao." (No need... I'll buy flowers for my wife myself. You take these.)

My brows immediately furrowed at his words. I turned toward him, staring at his side profile in complete confusion. Why did he have to refuse them? I only wanted one of each. They were already offering them so sweetly, and somehow, I had actually started looking forward to having those little flowers with me.

But before I could say anything, he simply pressed the button and rolled the car window back up, leaving me sitting there with a tiny, disappointed pout on my lips. I stared at the closed window for a moment, almost offended by how casually he had dismissed the flowers without even asking me whether I wanted them.

"Ek le lete toh kya ho jaata inhe..." (What would have happened if you had taken just one?)

I muttered under my breath, turning my face toward the side window. I watched the two children outside, their little figures slowly moving away from the car while still holding the flowers. My disappointment was embarrassingly genuine, and I tried to convince myself that it was not a big deal. It was just a flower. One tiny flower. There was absolutely no reason for me to feel this pouty about it.

From the corner of my vision, however, I noticed Arnav ji looking at me. Just once. His gaze lingered on my face for a brief moment, almost as though he had noticed my sulking expression, before he turned his attention back toward the road and started the engine.

I immediately twisted my lips and looked away, pretending I had not noticed him looking at me. Not that I cared. Obviously, I did not care. Why would I? It was not like I had wanted those flowers badly or anything. I simply liked them, that was all. And perhaps I had secretly expected him to understand that without me having to say it.

"Stingy man... ek phool diya nahi jaata, aaye bade mujhe approach karne wale." (Stingy man... can't even give me one flower, and he came here wanting to pursue me.)

I muttered, folding my arms lightly as I continued staring outside with a stubborn pout. He wanted to pursue me, apparently. He wanted to melt my heart, apparently. He had even sung an entire so

ng about how important I was to him. But when it came to one tiny flower, suddenly Mr. Romantic had disappeared and Mr. Stingy had taken over. I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile at my own thoughts, and stubbornly kept my gaze fixed outside the window as the car began moving again.

If he wanted to pursue me so badly, he could at least learn how to buy his wife a flower.

Apparently, that was too much to expect from Mr. I-will-melt-my-wife's-heart.

Hmph.

Chapter 25

AUTHOR POV

"Bhabhi, aapne sach mein bhaiya se permission lene wali hain kya bachelor party ki?" (Bhabhi, are you seriously going to ask Bhaiya for permission for the bachelor party?)

Ruhika asked, her voice carrying a mixture of genuine disbelief and barely contained amusement. She stared at Saanvi as though the woman in front of her had just suggested something completely outrageous.

For a few seconds, she simply looked at her, trying to figure out whether Saanvi was actually serious or merely teasing her. But the mischievous grin sitting proudly on Saanvi's face only made Ruhika more suspicious. There was something about that smile that screamed trouble. It wasn't the expression of someone who was planning to politely ask for permission. If anything, it looked like the expression of someone who had already decided everything and was merely informing the rest of the world about it.

Ruhika narrowed her eyes slightly, studying her bhabhi with growing suspicion.

"Bhabhi... aapke chehre par jo smile hai na, woh mujhe bilkul trustworthy nahi lag rahi." (Bhabhi... that smile on your face does not look trustworthy to me at all.)

She leaned a little closer, almost as if she were trying to uncover the secret hiding behind Saanvi's suspiciously innocent expression. But instead of answering her questions or offering even the slightest explanation, Saanvi simply shrugged her shoulder with an utterly carefree attitude. Her grin didn't disappear; if anything, it became wider, making Ruhika even more certain that something was definitely brewing inside her head.

"Woh sab tum mujh par chhod do aur bachelor night ki preparation karo bas." (Leave all that to me and just focus on preparing for the bachelor night.)

Saanvi replied with such confidence that Ruhika's eyebrows immediately rose. There was no hesitation in her voice, no uncertainty, not even the slightest indication that she had actually considered asking for permission yet.

It was almost as though the entire bachelor night had already been planned down to the tiniest detail somewhere inside Saanvi's head, and now all she needed was for everyone else to obediently follow her instructions.

Ruhika opened her mouth to question her again, already preparing another argument because there was absolutely no way she was going to let Saanvi escape that easily.

"Par-" (But-)

Ruhika barely managed to get the first word out before Saanvi swiftly picked up a laddu from the plate beside her and pushed it into Ruhika's mouth, successfully silencing her mid-sentence.

Ruhika's eyes widened in complete shock as she instinctively brought her hand toward her mouth, staring at Saanvi as if she had just committed the greatest betrayal imaginable.

Saanvi, on the other hand, looked incredibly pleased with herself. She folded her arms against her chest and sat there with the satisfied expression of someone who had just found the most effective way to win an argument without actually having to argue.

"Chup. Dono chup. Koi mere plan ke against nahi jayega." (Quiet. Both of you, quiet. Nobody is going against my plan.)

Saanvi declared, pointing a warning finger between Ruhika and herself as though she were the commander of some highly classified mission and the rest of them were her unwilling soldiers. Ruhika could only stare at her while chewing the laddu, her expression somewhere between disbelief and amusement. She swallowed it with considerable effort before finally giving Saanvi an unimpressed look.

"Main toh kuch bol bhi nahi rahi thi." (I wasn't even saying anything.)

Saanvi immediately tilted her head, looking far too pleased with herself.

"Mujhe pata hai tumhare dimaag mein kya chal raha hai." (I know what's going on inside that head of yours.)

Ruhika let out an incredulous little scoff, shaking her head at her bhabhi's shameless confidence.

Ruhika was just about to protest again when Saanvi's playful expression softened ever so slightly. She glanced at Ruhika before speaking, her voice losing some of its earlier mischief.

"Ek toh na... hum dono ki shaadi itni jaldi mein hui thi. Kuch acche se celebrate hi nahi kiya." (For one thing... both of our weddings happened so suddenly. We never really got to celebrate them properly.)

The words were simple, almost casual, but the meaning behind them carried a weight that neither woman could ignore. Saanvi's smile faded just a little as the memory of her own wedding passed through her mind. There had been no time to truly stop and celebrate.

Everything had happened too quickly, circumstances moving faster than emotions could keep up with.

The change in Saanvi's voice was enough for Ruhika to understand what she meant. Her own expression slowly lost its playful brightness as an entirely different memory surfaced in her mind. Her wedding. Her marriage had not begun with the carefree happiness people usually associated with weddings.

It had been surrounded by complicated emotions, circumstances she had never imagined for herself, and fears she had carried silently while everyone else looked at her as though she was simply another bride beginning a beautiful new life.

Ruhika didn't say anything, but the subtle change in her posture was enough for Saanvi to notice. She could see the way her fingers unconsciously gathered a small portion of her saree, the way her eyes lost their previous sparkle, and the way her silence suddenly became heavier than it had been a moment ago.

Saanvi knew better than to ask her to explain. She didn't need to. Instead, she reached out and gently squeezed Ruhika's shoulder, grounding her back in the present without forcing her to speak about the past.

But within seconds, that softness was replaced by the familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. Her lips curved upward, and the sadness that had briefly threatened to settle between them was pushed aside by a dramatic determination that was so unmistakably Saanvi that Ruhika couldn't help but look at her.

Saanvi squeezed her shoulder once again before leaning slightly toward her, lowering her voice as though she were about to reveal an extremely important secret.

"Par..." (But...) she began dramatically, deliberately stretching the word long enough to make Ruhika suspicious all over again. She paused, letting the anticipation build before finally flashing her that dangerously excited grin.

"Rabya ki shaadi mein hum saari kasar poori kar denge, kyun Ruhi?" (But at Rabya's wedding, we'll make up for everything we missed, won't we, Ruhi?)

Rabya and Ruhika both chuckled at Saanvi's words, exchanging a look before nodding their heads in agreement. There was no way either of them was going to say no to Saanvi now.

Before any of them could say another word, a loud, breathless voice suddenly echoed through the room.

"Bhabhi diii! Aapko choti bhabhi ko program ke liye neeche laane ko bol rahe hain!" (Bhabhi diii! They're asking you to bring Choti Bhabhi downstairs for the function!)

All three girls turned toward the doorway at once.

Vivian stood there, slightly out of breath, his hair looking as though he had run halfway across the mansion just to deliver those extremely important instructions. His dramatic announcement made Saanvi's face light up instantly, while Ruhika's lips curved into an excited smile.

"Chalo!" Saanvi immediately exclaimed, her excitement practically radiating from her.

Ruhika nodded eagerly, and before Rabya could even process what was happening, both women moved toward her from opposite sides. Saanvi caught one of Rabya's hands while Ruhika took the other, and together they began pulling her toward the hallway.

"Arre, dheere! Meri lehenga!" (Hey, slowly! My lehenga!)

Rabya protested with a laugh, hurriedly gathering a little of the heavy fabric so she wouldn't trip over it. But neither Saanvi nor Ruhika seemed particularly concerned.

"Bas bas, dulhan ji. Aaj aapko koi girne nahi dega." (Enough, bride. Nobody is going to let you fall today.)

Saanvi assured her dramatically, tightening her hold on Rabya's hand.

"Exactly," Ruhika added with a giggle.

"Aaj toh hum dono aapki security hain."

Rabya could only laugh helplessly as the two women escorted her out of the room like two overly enthusiastic bodyguards.

The moment they stepped into the hallway, the atmosphere changed. The soft music that had been playing somewhere downstairs was now much louder, accompanied by the cheerful hum of conversations, laughter and excited voices. The entire mansion seemed to have been swallowed by the wedding festivities. Every corner was decorated with flowers, warm fairy lights and colourful traditional elements, making the whole place look like something straight out of a dream.

Saanvi and Ruhika continued walking with Rabya between them until they finally reached the beautifully decorated centre stage.

And that was when Rabya's steps slowed. Because Akash was already there. Sitting on the stage. Waiting. The moment his eyes landed on her, everything seemed to pause for him.

His breath hitched. Actually-He forgot to breathe.

Rabya caught his gaze. Their eyes met. For a brief moment, neither of them looked away. Rabya's lips curved into the smallest smile before she shyly lowered her gaze.

Akash smiled too. And unfortunately for him... Saanvi had seen everything. She glanced at Ruhika. Ruhika glanced back.

Saanvi's lips slowly curved into a wicked grin.

Oh, Akash was not getting away that easily. She stepped slightly forward and looked directly at him, deliberately putting on her most innocent expression.

"Devar saa, bas aapki hi biwi hain... nazar lagaayenge kya?" (Devar saa, she's only your wife-to-be... are you going to cast an evil eye on her by staring at her like that?)

Akash's eyes widened. Ruhika immediately burst into laughter. And the colour that rushed onto Akash's face was absolutely priceless..

"Main toh bas..." Akash started, clearly searching for an excuse.

Saanvi raised an eyebrow.

"Bas kya?" (Just what?)

Akash immediately shut his mouth. Because what exactly was he supposed to say? I was staring because my future wife looks too beautiful and I forgot that an entire hall full of people exists? Definitely not.

Rabya, meanwhile, had turned completely red.

She lowered her face, desperately trying to hide the smile that had appeared on her lips.

Ruhika noticed her embarrassment and nudged Saanvi lightly, both of them sharing another amused glance.

"Bas bhabhi, rehne do,"

Ruhika whispered through her laughter, clearly taking pity on the poor groom. Saanvi finally laughed, shaking her head before stepping back.

"Chaliye, Ruhi. Humara kaam dulhan ko stage tak laana tha. Ab aage ka romance in dono ko khud sambhalne do." (Come on, Ruhi. Our job was to bring the bride to the stage. Let these two handle the romance from here.)

Ruhika giggled at that, and together they finally stepped down from the stage, leaving Rabya beside Akash.

As they walked away, Saanvi couldn't help but glance back once. Akash was still looking at Rabya. And Rabya was still trying very hard not to smile.

"Chalo, hum bhi mehendi laga lete hain, Ruhi. Abhi Anvi bhi apne papa ke paas hai." (Come on, let's get mehendi applied too, Ruhi. Anvi is with her papa right now.)

Saanvi said with a bright smile, completely unaware of the storm that was about to enter Ruhika's world within the next few minutes.

Ruhika gave her a small nod, her lips lifting into a faint smile.

"Bhabhi, aap chaliye. Main aati hoon, paanch minute... bas paani pee kar." (Bhabhi, you go ahead. I'll come in five minutes... just after drinking some water.)

Her voice was casual, almost absent-minded, and Saanvi nodded without giving it much thought before heading back toward the gathering.

Ruhika watched her leave for a moment before turning toward the kitchen. She entered the kitchen, picked up a glass and filled it with water. Her fingers curled around the cool glass as she brought it toward her lips and began drinking slowly.

For those few seconds, everything was quiet. Until-A hand suddenly shot out from her side and grabbed her wrist with painful force.

"Ahh..."

Ruhika hissed, the glass nearly slipping from her fingers. Her entire body jerked at the unexpected contact. She immediately turned her head, and the colour drained from her face.

Her Bua stood beside her. Kamini.

The expression on her face was enough to make Ruhika's stomach twist. There was no affection in those eyes. No warmth. Not even the faintest trace of familial concern. Only disgust. Pure, undisguised disgust.

Ruhika's breathing faltered. Her body instinctively stiffened beneath Kamini's grip, while an old, deeply buried fear began crawling back through her veins. Her fingers trembled around the glass, and she swallowed hard, staring at the woman in front of her as though her mind was desperately trying to understand why she was here.

She knew that look. She had seen it before. Too many times.

"B... Bua... j... kya h... hua?" (B... Bua... w... what happened?)

Ruhika stammered, her voice barely audible. She tried to pull her wrist back instinctively, but Kamini's fingers only tightened around it.

The sudden pain made Ruhika flinch.

"K...kya h...hua Bua ji..." (W...what happened, Bua ji...) she managed again, her voice trembling.

She didn't even get the chance to finish. A sharp slap landed across her cheek. The sound echoed through the kitchen. Ruhika's face snapped to the side from the force of it. For one horrifying second, she simply stood there. Frozen.

The glass remained clutched in her trembling hand while her other hand instinctively rose toward her cheek. Her eyes widened, shock rendering her completely speechless.

She hadn't expected it. Even after everything... She hadn't expected it.

The sting spread rapidly across her cheek, but the physical pain wasn't what made her chest tighten. It was the familiarity of it. That humiliation. That helplessness. That awful feeling of being reduced to someone else's anger without even being given the chance to defend herself.

Kamini stepped closer, her eyes burning with rage.

"Kal muhi jee nahi bhara kya tera? Chhe saal pehle hamara muh kala karke..." (Weren't you satisfied with disgracing us six years ago? After bringing shame to our family six years ago...)

Her voice dripped with venom. Ruhika's lips parted, but no sound came out.

Kamini's anger only intensified when she saw her silence.

"Aab phir se aise kapde pehen kar kiske bistar tak jaane ka mann hai, haan?" (And now, after wearing clothes like this again, whose bed are you planning to go to, huh?)

The words struck harder than the slap. Ruhika's eyes immediately filled with tears. Her breathing became uneven. The glass in her hand trembled so violently that a few drops of water spilled over her fingers and onto the floor, but she barely noticed.

Those words. Those filthy, cruel words. They dragged every nightmare she had spent years trying to bury back to the surface.

Ruhika stared at her Bua through blurred eyes, unable to understand how someone from her own family could look at her with such hatred.

She wanted to speak. She wanted to tell her that she hadn't done anything wrong. That she didn't owe anyone an explanation for the clothes she wore. That she had survived things no one had the right to judge her for. That she was not the girl they had labelled six years ago. That she had fought to rebuild herself from the pieces they had all watched fall apart.

But the words refused to come. Fear had wrapped itself around her throat, tightening with every breath.

Kamini's fingers remained locked around her wrist as she shook Ruhika's shoulder harshly, her voice rising with every word.

"Bol! Kiske liye itna saj-dhaj kar aayi ho? Haan?!" (Tell me! Who have you dressed up so beautifully for, huh?!)

Ruhika's entire body trembled. Ruhika's hand flew to her burning face, the sharp imprint of a slap throbbing against her flesh as a heavy sheen of unshed tears glossed over her widened pupils. Her lower lip trembled uncontrollably, the betrayal and humiliation catching in her throat like jagged glass. She forced her voice past the tight knot of despair choking her, managed barely a broken whisper

, "Y..yesa na..nahi ha.. (I..it's n..not like that..)"

Before she could piece together a defense, Kamini's fingers clamped around her wrist with ruthless force, her manicured nails sinking deep into the tender skin. The sudden, localized bite of pain drew a low, involuntary hiss from Ruhika's lips as blood rushed beneath the bruised tissue.

"Bua jii please dard horaha hain.. (Aunt, please, it hurts..)"

Ruhika whimpered, her body instinctively twisting as she tried to wriggle her arm free from the iron hold.

Kamini tightened her grip further, completely indifferent to the desperate pleading. Her dark eyes narrowed into slits of pure malice, her visage contorting into a violent scowl that oozed deep-seated hatred.

"Bohot jawani chadi hain na tujhe yeh deep neck aur sleeveless pehaane k liya.. (You've gotten far too bold, haven't you, flaunting yourself in this deep neck and sleeveless top..?)"

Kamini spat, her voice laced with venom. She leaned closer, the claustrophobic weight of her hostility suffocating the small kitchen space. Every line on Kamini's face twisted into an ugly mask of rage as she lashed out again.

"Uss kal muhi saanvi k sath reha kar jawan bhi chala sheek liya hain... abhi ruk tujhe toh ma... (Hanging around that wretched Saanvi has taught you how to backtalk too... Just wait, I'll show you...)"

Without a second thought, Kamini yanked Ruhika toward the stove, where a pot of water boiled violently, sending plumes of scalding steam into the air. Horror flooded Ruhika's veins, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she stared at the rising vapors, realization dawning with sickening clarity.

"I am sorry bua... promise aab se kabhi nahi pehanungi please chod dijiya na [I promise I will never wear this from now on, please let me go]..."

Ruhika's voice fractured into a trembling, desperation-laced whisper as tears spilled over her lashes, tracing hot trails down her flushed cheeks. She squirmed frantically within the unyielding grasp, her fragile frame shuddering under the immense physical pressure.

Just as her delicate fingers scraped the scalding boundary of the rising steam-close enough for the intense heat to sear her nerve endings..a lethal, thunderous roar tore through the stifling atmosphere of the kitchen.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

The sound struck like lightning, shattering the room's tense silence.

Kamini froze instantly, the blood draining completely from her face as she instinctively snapped her head toward the threshold. Standing in the doorway was Arnav, his imposing silhouette framed by the harsh overhead light.

His jaw was clenched so tightly that the muscles twitched violently, his eyes dark, tempestuous pools of absolute, unadulterated fury. For a fraction of a second, horror flickered across Kamini's features, but she forced a quick, shallow breath, desperately attempting to smooth her twisted expression into a mask of maternal concern.

She exhaled a trembling breath of simulated relief, whispering hastily,

"Aree Arnav beta, kuch nahi... isko ek acchi ghar ki bahu kesa bante hain wahi sekha rahi thi mai..." [Oh Arnav child, it's nothing... I was just teaching her how to become a good daughter-in-law of a respectable family...]

Before the hollow, deceptive syllables could fully leave her lips, Arnav bridged the distance between them in two lethal, predatory strides. His massive chest heaved, his shoulders trembling with a suppressed, volatile rage that threatened to raze everything in its path. The sheer kinetic energy radiating from him transformed the room's temperature instantly.

Without deigning to utter a single word, he reached down and forcefully ripped Ruhika's bruised wrist out of Kamini's grasp.

The sudden, violent displacement of force broke Kamini's balance entirely; she stumbled backward, her heels catching on the slick tile as she stammered incoherently, flailing her arms in sheer terror as she nearly collapsed directly onto the boiling water.

"Yeh kya kar rahe ho tum..." [What do you think you are doing...]

Kamini's voice broke in a frantic, high-pitched quiver, the words stumbling over one another as she scrambled to regain her footing. Her pulse thundered against her ribs-a chaotic mixture of residual terror from her near-disaster over the scalding pot and sheer disbelief at the audacity of the man standing before her.

She clutched her chest, attempting to rally her usual authority, but before she could stitch together a single coherent defense, Arnav's voice erupted, cutting through the stagnant air like a sharpened blade.

"Aap hoti koun hain meri biwi ko kuch seekhane wali?!" [Who on earth are you to teach my wife anything?!]

The roar reverberated off the tiled walls, deadening every other sound in the room. It was not merely anger; it was absolute, unbridled contempt.

Beside him, Ruhika let out a small, broken sob.

The faint, hitching sound was barely audible above the hiss of the boiling cauldron, but to Arnav, it was deafening. Her tear-filled eyes remained glued to the floor, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her helplessness, unable to meet the tempest in his gaze.

The ferocious storm raging in Arnav's eyes died down instantly, replaced by a sudden, aching gentleness as he turned to the tiny figure beside him.

"Baccha..." [Child/My love...]

The word slipped from his lips as a low, agonizing whisper. He dipped his head, leaning down to meet her line of sight, but the moment his gaze mapped the details of her face, his entire frame went instantly, terrifyingly rigid.

His eyes locked onto her reddened, tear-soaked lashes, the fragile way her lower lip quivered as she fought a losing battle to suppress her cries, and the distinct, angry swelling blooming across her fair cheek-the raw mark of a fresh slap. The breath locked in his chest, turning into something lethal.

Down at his side, his hands coiled into tight, white-knuckled fists against the fabric of his kurta, the joints turning ghostly pale under the force of his violent restraint.

Arnav snapped his head toward Kamini, who was watching the scene unfold with a creeping sense of unease. His dark eyes bore into her with an intensity so menacing, so devoid of warmth, that a sudden, visceral shiver ran down her spine. The air between them grew dangerously thin, heavy with a silent promise of retribution.

"Slap her!"

His voice tore through the silence in a sharp, command-laden roar.

For a fraction of a second, Kamini stood completely frozen, the harsh directive hanging in the air. Then, a smug, cruel spark lit up her eyes.

A sinister curve touched her lips as she misinterpreted his wrath, convinced that Arnav had finally come to his senses to put his worthless bride back in her place, commanding her to deliver another humiliating strike to Ruhika.

Ruhika's head snapped up, her tear-filled eyes wide as they fixed onto Arnav's unyielding profile. Her lips parted in a silent, agonizing gasp, a wave of cold betrayal washing through her heart. The sheer agony of believing that her husband was aligning himself with her tormentor choked the very breath from her throat.

Yet, before her spiraling thoughts could plunge her any deeper into despair, Arnav pivoted his body completely away from Kamini. He lowered his gaze to Ruhika, his dark eyes burning with an unshakeable, fiercely protective resolve as he repeated his command, his tone softening only for her ears:

"I said slap her, butterfly..."

Ruhika's eyes widened to their absolute limit. A soft, breathless gasp escaped her trembling lips, and she immediately began shaking her head in utter disbelief, terrified of the chaotic storm he was asking her to unleash.

"Are you going to slap her, or don't blame me later for handling her in my own ways?!"

Arnav roared, the sound vibrating against the stone walls of the kitchen as his chest heaved in ragged, volatile rhythms. His breathing was heavy with a dangerous, razor-thin restraint-a violent storm barely held at bay.

Panicked seized Kamini instantly, the blood draining from her face, leaving her sickly pale.

Realizing the devastating shift in his allegiance, she rasped in a desperate, breathy tremble,

"Yeh kya bol rahe ho Arnav beta, main toh tumhari bhalai k liya isko suna rahi thi... dekho toh kesa kesa kapte pehannke pata nahi kis kis ko apni jawani k jalwe de rahi thi..." [What are you saying Arnav, son? I was only scolding her for your own good... just look at the kind of revealing clothes she wears, showcasing her youth to God knows who...]

Before another vile accusation could cross her lips, Arnav's lethal focus shifted. In one fluid, terrifying movement, he reached out, grabbed the glass of water Ruhika had left half-full on the counter, and violently splashed its contents directly into Kamini's face.

"Tujhe kisi ne poocha?! Aur tu hoti koun hain meri biwi ko kuch seekhane wali, haan?!" [Did anyone ask you?! And who the hell are you to teach my wife anything, huh?!]

His voice reverberated like thunder, deafening in its pure, protective rage. Blinded by the overwhelming fury surging through his veins, Arnav's fingers coiled around the thick crystal, his palm tightening around the glass edges with such unhinged, punishing force that the structure fractured under the pressure-shattering violently into sharp, jagged fragments right within his grip.

A sharp, terrified gasp tore from Ruhika's throat. Utterly forgetting her own fear, she lunged forward, her trembling hands instantly snatching his now-bleeding palm into her soft hands, her eyes wide with frantic, tearful panic at the sight of his blood dripping onto the cold floor.

"Aru... khoon..." [Aru... blood...]

She rasped, her voice cracking under the weight of overwhelming panic as her eyes locked onto the crimson liquid streaming down his wrist. Her hands trembled violently as she tried to pull his injured palm closer, but Arnav didn't care.

The sharp bite of shattered glass tearing through his flesh was completely imperceptible to him. All his eyes could focus on was the faint, ugly mark of bruised fingers left on Ruhika's delicate wrist and the painful, angry swelling blooming across her soft cheek.

"I said slap her, Ruhu... or I will forget my boundaries as a man!"

Arnav roared, his free hand reaching out to firmly grasp her shoulder as his heavy chest rose and fell in ragged, furious breaths. Ruhika stared up into his dark, tempest-filled eyes, frantically shaking her head as fresh tears welled up and spilled down her flushed face.

Seeing her hesitation, Arnav's expression hardened with unyielding determination.

Without breaking eye contact, he deliberately reached down with his injured hand, picked up a jagged, sharp-edged fragment of the broken glass from the counter, and squeezed it tightly within his bare palm. Crimson blood oozed out instantly, dripping onto the pristine white tiles below.

Ruhika's eyes widened in utter horror.

"No! Aru, please!"

She gasped, lunging forward in a frantic bid to wrench the deadly fragment away from his grip, but Arnav swiftly dodged her approach, stepping just out of her reach.

"I said slap her, butterfly... twice as hard as she slapped you... slap her!"

Ruhika opened her mouth to scream a desperate protest, to beg him to stop hurting himself, but before a single word could escape her lips, Arnav's fingers coiled around the sharp glass with even greater, punishing force. The jagged edges dug deeper into his palm, slicing through the skin as fresh streams of bright blood gushed down his forearm.

"Oka... okay, please don't hurt yourself, Aru, please..." [Okay... okay, please don't hurt yourself, Aru, please...]

She rasped, a single heavy tear finally breaking free and cascading down her trembling cheek.

Kamini's face twisted into an ugly sneer the second the terrified acquiescence slipped from Ruhika's lips. Indignation flared through her veins, replacing her fleeting panic with pure malice.

"Tu mujhpe haat uthaigi?!" [You will raise your hand against me?!]

Kamini spat, her voice drenched in venom. But before she could finish lacing her disgusted words around Ruhika like a whip, Arnav directed a terrifying, lethal glare straight at her. The sheer menace in his eyes instantly suffocated the rest of her sentence, forcing her to visibly gulp as a cold chill ran down her spine.

Ruhika swallowed hard, her pulse hammering wildly against her throat. For a split second, instinct urged her to back down, to shrink into the submissive shadow she had been forced to be for years. But the sharp sound of Arnav tightening his bleeding fist echoed through the silent kitchen.

Seeing the red drops splashing onto the floor, panic surged through her. Ruhika turned abruptly and rushed forward, standing directly in front of Kamini.

Her tear-filled eyes locked onto her bua.. the very woman who had never missed a single opportunity to remind her of her degraded place, especially after that fateful incident.

The woman who made a sport out of humiliating her, tearing down her self-worth piece by excruciating piece. Suddenly, the fog of submission cleared, replaced by vivid, burning flashes of the past: every cruel, degrading word hurled at her, every hidden burn, every physical scar left on her skin from Kamini's relentless abuse.

Kamini stared back down at Ruhika, a sneering confidence settling back into her eyes. She was utterly convinced that the fragile girl before her lacked the nerve to actually strike her back.

Slowly, Ruhika turned her head to look at her husband. There stood Arnav-the man who was willingly tearing his own hands to pieces just to give her a voice, bleeding for her without a second thought. She then snapped her gaze back to the woman whose monstrous cruelty she had silently endured her entire life.

Decades of buried agony, suppressed screams, and unadulterated hatred suddenly rushed to the surface, overwhelming her fear and washing through her veins like liquid fire.

Closing her eyes shut, Ruhika raised her trembling right hand and brought it down across Kamini's face with every ounce of suppressed strength in her fragile body.

Thwack!

The sharp, echoing crack shattered the heavy air of the kitchen like a gunshot. Kamini gasped in absolute, paralyzed shock, her head snapping to the side as her palm flew up to clutch her burning, crimson cheek.

She stared at Ruhika with wide, disbelieving eyes. Meanwhile, the dark shadow on Arnav's face lifted just a fraction, the corner of his lips twitching into a dark, lethal smirk of pure satisfaction.

"Tsk, butterfly... Bua ji ek bhi laal gaal lekar kaha jaingi yese... [Where will aunty go with just one red cheek...]

why don't you slap her other cheek too?"

Arnav added, his deep voice dripping with murderous sarcasm, his eyes daring Kamini to even breathe too loudly, let alone attempt to touch his wife ever again.

Ruhika stood with her eyes tightly shut, her chest heaving as the floodgates of six long years of agony, humiliation, and hidden bruises burst wide open inside her soul. She was completely consumed by the nightmare of her past. Without waiting for Arnav to prompt her again, her hand moved almost unconsciously, driven by an uncontrollable wave of raw pain.

She swung her hand again, striking Kamini's other cheek with brutal force. And then again. And again.

Thwack! Thwack!

The heavy tears she had held back for years finally spilled over her lashes, streaming down her face in hot, unchecked rivers as her voice broke into a ragged, breathless scream, her words punctuation between the harsh strikes:

"I didn't wear anything to seduce anyone... and for God's sake, I was the victim six years ago! Then why... why the hell did you all treat me like garbage instead of comforting me, huh?!"

Thwack!

"Why didn't you all just kill me at once... huh?! Why torture me like this every single day?!"

Her broken voice tore through the air, jagged and raw. Heavy, blinding slaps landed one after another..five, eight, more than ten-striking with the fury of a soul that had been pushed past its absolute limit.

Kamini stumbled backward under the unyielding assault, her arrogant composure completely demolished until her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the cold tile floor in absolute, wide-eyed horror, clutching her swollen, burning face.

"I was the victim... I was... I a...and you all blamed me for being the vi...victim... Why? Why?!"

Ruhika's voice cracked into breathless, ragged hitches. The adrenaline surging through her veins abruptly drained, leaving her completely hollowed out. As her knees gave way under the overwhelming weight of her grief, strong, unyielding arms caught her before she could hit the ground.

Sensory recognition sparked instantly.

Ruhika pivoted into Arnav's solid chest, flinging her trembling arms around his neck with desperate force. She buried her tear-stained face into the crook of his collarbone, her whole frame shivering violent sobbing spells as she screamed into his skin:

"Aru, inhe mere samne se jaane ko boliye, please... please, Aru..." [Aru, tell her to get out of my sight, please... please, Aru...]

"I've got you, butterfly," he murmured darkly into her hair.

In one smooth, swift motion, Arnav scooped her up into his arms, pulling her fragile body tight against his heart. Turning his head toward the petrified woman cowering on the floor, his eyes burned with an icy, unforgiving vengeance as his voice reverberated in a lethal roar:

"No one dares to lay a single finger on my woman... and you had the guts to hurt her. Now you will have to deal with the consequences."

Without granting Kamini another second of his presence, he turned on his heel and strode away. Bypassing the main corridors, he pushed through the heavy glass back door of the kitchen, stepping straight out into the secluded back garden.

Ruhika instinctively clung to him. She didn't even question where he was taking her. She simply hid her face against his neck, her tears dampening the fabric near his collar as Arnav carried her away from the noise of the gathering.

His steps remained steady as he walked toward one of the quieter corners of the hall, away from the crowd and the curious eyes of the guests. He finally reached a secluded bench and sat down, carefully keeping Ruhika in his arms as though she were something fragile he was terrified of breaking.

He adjusted her slowly, settling her sideways across his lap so that she could rest comfortably against him. One of his arms remained securely around her waist while his other hand moved to the back of her head, gently supporting her as she continued crying into his chest.

Ruhika didn't pull away. Instead, she snuggled closer. Her arms tightened around him, her cheek pressed against his chest as though she could somehow hide from the entire world inside the safety of his embrace. Every time another sob escaped her, Arnav's fingers moved gently through her hair, never rushing her, never demanding that she compose herself.

Slowly, after several long moments, Ruhika's sobs began to lose some of their intensity. Her breathing was still shaky, her eyelashes wet with tears, and her cheeks were flushed from crying, but the overwhelming panic that had consumed her seemed to have loosened its grip.

Finally, she pulled herself slightly away from his chest. Her hands remained curled around his shirt as though she wasn't completely ready to let go. She lifted her tear-filled eyes toward him, and the sight of her broke something deep inside Arnav. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but the words came out fractured between uneven breaths.

"Ka... Kali Maa ki saugandh, Aru... maine yeh dress kisi ko seduce karne ke liye nahi pehani..." (I swear on Kali Maa, Aru... I didn't wear this dress to seduce anyone...)

Her voice cracked, and she quickly swallowed, trying desperately to explain herself even though her mind was still clouded by everything that had just happened.

"Wo... wo Saanvi bh... bhabhi ne mujhe yeh d..dress choose karke di thi.. ba..bas tabhi ma..maina yeh peh..pehana ha..."

Her voice became smaller with every word. There was shame in the way she struggled to explain something that she should never have been forced to justify in the first place.

But before she could complete the sentence, Arnav gently lifted his hand and placed one finger against her lips. The gesture was soft. Yet the authority behind it was unmistakable.

Ruhika's words immediately stopped. Her tear-filled eyes met his. Arnav held her gaze for several seconds, his expression calm but impossibly firm. There was no anger toward her in his eyes..only a quiet certainty that made it impossible for her to argue.

"My wife will wear whatever her heart desires to..."

He said slowly, his voice low and controlled. Then his gaze travelled over her for a brief moment before returning to her eyes.

"And you are looking absolutely stunning in this dress, baccha."

Ruhika's breath hitched. Not because his words were loud. They weren't. Arnav hadn't raised his voice even once.

His thumb gently brushed away a tear resting near her cheek.

"And for a millionth time, Butterfly... jaanwaron ki gandi niyat ke liye khud ke character ko question karna band karo..." (And for the millionth time, Butterfly... stop questioning your character because of the filthy intentions of animals.)

Arnav's voice came out a little louder this time, the frustration he had been trying so hard to control finally breaking through. But that frustration wasn't directed at Ruhika. It wasn't even completely directed at Kamini.

Somewhere deep inside, Arnav was angry at himself. Angry because he had once again been too late to protect his wife from words that had no right to touch her. He hated seeing her sitting there with tears in her eyes, defending herself for something she had never done wrong. More than anything, he hated the fact that Ruhika had been taught to question herself whenever someone else crossed a line.

"Gandi niyat wale jaanwar do mahine ki bacchi tak ko nahi dekhte..." (People with filthy intentions don't even spare a two-month-old baby...)

He continued, his voice shaking slightly with the anger burning inside him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before adding,

"Aur hamara yeh samaaj uss bacchi ko blame karega instead of teaching their son basic human etiquette." (And our society will blame that little girl instead of teaching their son basic human etiquette.)

His jaw tightened as he spoke. It wasn't simply anger anymore; it was the helpless frustration of watching the same cycle repeat itself again and again. Somehow, the person who was hurt was always asked what they had done to invite it, while the person responsible was given excuses. And Arnav couldn't stand the thought of Ruhika carrying that burden anymore.

He took another slow breath before his eyes settled firmly on hers.

"It's your life..."

He said, his voice quieter now, but there was an unmistakable firmness behind it.

"You are the only person who can decide how you're going to live it. No fucking outsider, even me, should have the authority over you to imprison you."

His words weren't just reassurance; they were something he wanted her to remember. Arnav knew that being her husband didn't give him ownership over her choices. He didn't want to become another person she had to seek permission from before deciding what she wanted for herself.

Her clothes were hers. Her choices were hers. Her life was hers. And loving her meant respecting that freedom rather than taking it away in the name of protecting her.

His finger was still resting gently against her trembling lips. Slowly, he moved it away and let his fingertip travel toward her cheek, his thumb softly wiping away the dried tear resting there. His eyes remained fixed on hers as he spoke again, his voice carrying a little of that familiar teasing warmth now.

"So ruin every single person who tries to come between you and your freedom and happiness..."

His thumb brushed her cheek once more before a faint smile touched his lips.

"Aur baaki sab tumhare iss servant par chhod do, okay?" (And leave everything else to this servant of yours, okay?)

Ruhika's breath hitched at his words, her lashes trembling as she stared at him through the tears that still clung stubbornly to her eyes. Something about the certainty in his voice reached a part of her that had been frightened for far too long. Her lips parted, and a tiny gasp escaped before she finally managed to whisper,

"Understood..."

Arnav's eyes remained fixed on hers, his expression still carrying that quiet intensity.

"Understood?"

Ge asked again, his voice firmer this time, almost sounding like a command rather than a question. His grip around her waist tightened slightly, pulling her closer into his lap, and it was only then that Ruhika seemed to realize the position they were actually in. Her eyes widened as she looked down, only to realize that she was sitting on Arnav's lap, practically tucked against him. A shocked gasp escaped her lips, and her cheeks immediately warmed.

"Aru... koi dekh lega..." (Aru... someone might see us...)

She rasped, her gaze instantly darting toward the surrounding area in nervous embarrassment. She tried to shift herself, attempting to get up from his lap, but Arnav's hold didn't loosen even a fraction.

"So? I am just holding my wife. And I asked you something, Mrs. Sharma..."

He said, his voice suddenly carrying that unmistakable authority that made Ruhika stop struggling. He didn't raise his voice unnecessarily, but the firmness behind it was enough to make her swallow. Ruhika took a slow breath, her fingers curling lightly against his shoulder before she finally gave him the answer he was waiting for.

"Understood..." she repeated softly.

The moment the word left her lips, Arnav's shoulders visibly relaxed. It was as though he had been holding his own breath until she finally understood what he had been trying to tell her. His grip around her waist, however, didn't waver.

He simply exhaled deeply, letting his head fall against her shoulder as the strength seemed to drain from his body all at once. The anger that had been burning inside him moments ago was replaced by something far more painful. Guilt. Fear. Helplessness.

The image of Ruhika standing in that kitchen, trembling beneath Kamini's words, replayed inside his mind again and again, and no matter how many times he tried to push it away, it wouldn't leave.

"Bas... shoot them, baccha..." (Just shoot them, baby...)

He murmured, his voice suddenly much softer.

"Shoot every fucking one who even tries to lay a finger on your hair... aur baaki sab main handle kar lunga." (Shoot every fucking one who even tries to lay a finger on a hair on your head... and I'll handle the rest.)

His voice cracked toward the end, exposing the emotion he had been desperately trying to hide. Ruhika's eyes widened as she felt the slight tremor in his breathing, and then she heard the words that completely shattered the strong image he had always carried.

"I... I'm sorry, Butterfly..." he whispered, his throat tightening as though even saying those words was difficult for him.

"I... I am useless..."

Ruhika's heart clenched. Her heart melted. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Ruhika lifted her arms and wrapped them around his torso. It wasn't a dramatic movement. It was tentative, almost as though she was still discovering the courage to initiate the touch herself. But the moment her arms settled around him, her voice came out softer, carrying a small glimpse of happiness through the lingering emotion.

"Because of you, I can finally slap her, Aru..."

She whispered.

"Finally... I... I didn't let her punish me for the things I n... never even did." (Because of you, I can finally stand up to her, Aru... finally, I didn't let her punish me for things I never even did.)

Her voice trembled, but there was something different within it now. Pride. A tiny, precious sense of victory. For the first time in six years, she had stood up for herself. She hadn't lowered her head. She hadn't silently accepted someone else's accusations. She hadn't allowed another person to make her feel guilty for something that wasn't her fault.

And somewhere in her heart, she knew she had found the courage to do it because Arnav had spent so long reminding her that she deserved to choose herself.

The moment Ruhika's arms wrapped around him, Arnav's entire world seemed to tilt. He froze. Completely.

The man who had been speaking with absolute confidence only seconds ago suddenly seemed to forget what he was supposed to do. His body went still, his breath catching somewhere in his throat. His hands, which had been resting around her waist over the fabric of her dupatta, stopped moving altogether. He didn't tighten his hold. He didn't pull her closer. He simply stayed there, almost afraid that one wrong movement might make her change her mind.

Ruhika noticed. A soft smile appeared on her lips when she felt the hesitation in his touch. There was something almost endearing about seeing the same man who could command an entire room suddenly become completely uncertain because she had chosen to hug him first.

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him before speaking in a voice that carried a hint of playful teasing.

"You should hug back when someone hugs you, Mr. Sharma..." (You should hug back when someone hugs you, Mr. Sharma...)

Arnav froze all over again. For a second, he genuinely couldn't believe what he had just heard. His head snapped up, his eyes immediately searching her face.

Ruhika was already looking at him. And then she smiled. It wasn't a nervous smile. It wasn't forced. It was soft, warm and completely intentional. She gave him a tiny nod. A silent reassurance. A silent yes.

She was telling him that this time, he didn't need to be afraid of crossing a boundary. She was choosing the closeness herself. She was giving him the reassurance that she wanted him to hold her-not because she owed him anything, not because he was her husband and therefore entitled to her touch, but because she trusted him enough to want his arms around her.

Something inside Arnav softened instantly. The rage disappeared from his eyes, dissolving into something far more precious.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, emotion rising painfully into his chest. Slowly, almost painfully carefully, his hand moved away from the fabric of her dupatta at her waist. He hesitated for another moment, his gaze remaining fixed on her eyes, silently checking one last time for even the smallest sign of discomfort.

There was none. Only that same gentle smile. His heart thudded hard against his chest. Slowly, his hand lifted toward her waist, his touch still hesitant as he moved to embrace her. He was just about to pull her into his arms when suddenly-

"Clumsy princess."

CHAPTER 26

Arnav's POV:

My trembling hand was just about to reach for her, just about to hold her, just about to pull my butterfly into my arms and finally give her the embrace she had been silently asking for. Just about to, when everything shattered.

"Clumsy princess."

That fucking voice. That fucking bastard again.

The moment those words reached my ears, my entire body went rigid. My butterfly instantly stood from my lap, breaking the warmth that had wrapped around me only a second ago, as if she hadn't just been sitting there so close to me, as if she hadn't just given me full permission to hold her back, as if she hadn't just made my heart forget how to beat properly with nothing but her scent and warmth.

She had been so close. Close enough for me to feel her trembling breath against my skin. Close enough for my fingers to almost touch her. Close enough to make me believe, even if only for a fleeting second, that maybe she would finally let me hold her. Maybe she would finally allow me to touch the broken pieces of her soul she kept hidden from everyone.

And then... gone.

The sudden absence of her warmth made something inside me ache painfully. My brain was still struggling to process what had just happened, trying to make sense of the storm of emotions raging inside me, when the emptiness left behind by her pulled me brutally back to reality.

"Art... Arthav..." I heard my Ruhu's trembling voice.

My eyes immediately found her. She was hurriedly wiping the tears from the sides of her face, brushing them away as though they had never existed in the first place. And then, just like that, she composed herself. Her shoulders straightened, her expression became normal, and that familiar mask slipped back onto her face.

As if she hadn't been crying just a moment ago. As if her heart wasn't hurting. As if she hadn't been breaking right in front of me.

But I knew her. I knew that mask better than anyone, and I fucking hated that she had to hide behind it every single moment. She could fool the whole world with that perfect smile, but not me. I knew when she was hurting, even when she pretended she wasn't.

That bastard instantly stepped forward, walking towards us. His hand was just about to touch my wife's shoulder when I abruptly rose to my feet and stepped between them, placing myself directly in front of my wife. There was no way in hell I was going to let him touch her.

"Mr. Whatever-you-are... don't you think you lack some civic sense?"

I kept my voice low, almost eerily calm, but the bitterness and sheer rudeness laced within every word were impossible to miss. I didn't need to raise my voice to make my warning clear. My eyes alone were enough to tell him that he was standing far too close to something that belonged under my protection.

Arthav scoffed, his jaw tightening as his fingers clenched around the bouquet of pink roses and lotus flowers he had brought with him. The delicate petals crumpled slightly beneath the force of his grip, but apparently, even that wasn't enough to calm whatever madness was burning behind his eyes.

"Civic sense ki toh tum baat mat karo, Doctor Sharma..." (Don't you talk to me about civic sense, Doctor Sharma...)

He spat, his gaze briefly shifting towards my wife.

"Meri clumsy princess ki aankhon ke aansu ka raaz tum ho, toh main aur kya kya kar sakta hoon... tum soch bhi nahi sakte." (You are the reason behind the tears in my clumsy princess's eyes, so you can't even imagine what else I can do.)

Don't. That single word screamed inside my head.

I rolled my eyes at his pathetic threat, but beneath my calm exterior, my soul was practically screaming to bury his shit body six feet under the ground. Every nerve in my body was begging me to wipe that fucking smirk off his face for daring to speak about my wife like she was still his to claim.

But before I could do anything, a soft hand suddenly landed on my shoulder from behind.

"Aru... Arthav, bas..." (Aru... Arthav, enough...)

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

I froze.

She stood behind me, her face once again perfectly composed, every trace of misery from a moment ago carefully erased. She had hidden her pain so effortlessly, as though those tears had never slipped down her cheeks, as though nothing had happened at all.

And somehow, that cruelty..the cruelty of watching my Ruhu master the art of hiding her own pain-stung my heart more than anything else.

"Ruhu, tu bol... isne kuch kiya hai kya? Aur yeh tera gaal mein kya hua hai?" (Ruhu, tell me... did he do something? And what happened to your cheek?)

That bastard rasped again, his eyes immediately dropping to the faint mark on my wife's cheek. The concern in his voice irritated me more than it should have. He took another step towards her, raising his hand as if he had every fucking right to touch her.

He didn't. Before his fingers could even come close to her skin, I caught his wrist mid-air and jerked his hand away from her.

Hard.

My jaw clenched as I stepped even closer, deliberately placing myself between him and my wife. I could feel the heat of my anger crawling beneath my skin, but somehow, my face remained frighteningly calm.

"First of all, who the hell are you to poke your nose between my wife and my matters? And second, don't forget your boundaries, Mr..."

I paused, letting my gaze travel over him with undisguised irritation.

"And call her by her name..."

My voice dropped lower.

"She is Mrs. Ruhika Arnav Sharma. Uska naam poore rutbe ke saath loge toh achha rahega tumhare liye." (She is Mrs. Ruhika Arnav Sharma. It would be better for you if you took her name with the respect it deserves.)

Every word left my mouth with deliberate calmness, but my heart was boiling with a jealousy I wasn't even trying to hide anymore.

I hated the way he looked at her. I hated the familiarity in his voice when he called her his clumsy princess. And most of all, I fucking hated the way he seemed to believe that he still had some right over her.

She was my wife. My wife.

The thought alone sent another wave of possessiveness through me. I didn't care if I sounded territorial. I didn't care if I looked jealous. Let him see it. Let everyone see it. Because there were some boundaries I would never allow anyone to cross.

I was hers, and she was mine-not just for now, not just for this lifetime, but for as long as I had breath left in this life. And when this life finally ended, I knew my soul would still choose her in every life that came after. Again and again. Her. Always her.

My butterfly suddenly stepped in again, lightly pinching my shoulder. I almost flinched.

"Fuck..."

I muttered internally as the pinch turned surprisingly painful. I slowly turned my head towards her, my gaze first falling on her eyes..which were glaring at me-before dropping to her fingers. Her nails were still digging into my shoulder as if she was silently warning me to stop.

A tiny, almost amused smirk tugged at the corner of my lips despite the anger still burning inside me.

"Nails kaatne honge aaj mujhe aapke, Butterfly... pata hai, according to medicals, kitna risky hai nails rakhna?" (I'll have to cut your nails today, Butterfly... do you know how risky it is to keep long nails, medically speaking?)

My voice remained deceptively calm.

But my eyes?

They were still burning with the jealousy I couldn't quite hide.

She stared at me as if I had just said the stupidest thing in the entire fucking world. Her eyes narrowed for a second before she rolled them dramatically, clearly done with both of us. Then, with a small huff, she pushed me aside and came to stand beside me.

"Chup dono ab... bacche ho ke aise lad rahe ho." (Both of you, be quiet now... you're fighting like children.)

She said it while looking between me and that kabab mein haddi..the unwanted person who had somehow managed to wedge himself between me and my wife.

I frowned.

How the hell was I the one being scolded here?

"Maina kuch nahi kiya, yahi hai jo bina baat mein tera mehmaan banke aaya hai..." (I didn't do anything; he's the one who came here uninvited, acting like your guest.)

I complained, my irritation instantly turning into childish frustration.

"Ek toh iski wajah se main tumhe hug bhi nahi kar paya, aur tum mujhe daant rahi ho." (First, because of him, I couldn't even hug you, and you're scolding me instead.)

The words slipped out before I could stop myself. Ruhu's eyes widened.

For a moment, she simply stared at me, completely caught off guard. A faint blush crept across her cheeks, beautifully betraying the embarrassment she was desperately trying to hide. My lips almost curved into a smug smile at the sight.

At least my butterfly was still capable of blushing because of me. She instantly averted her gaze from me, clearly refusing to acknowledge what I had just said. Instead, she turned towards Arthav and muttered,

"Inki baaton ka bura mat maanna... yeh bas kuch bhi bolte rehte hain." (Don't take what he says to heart... he just keeps saying random things.)

My eyebrow twitched.

Random things?

I was standing right beside her, practically wearing my jealousy on my sleeve, and she had the audacity to call my words random.

But before I could defend myself, I noticed Arthav's expression change. His gaze slowly travelled over her face, scanning every little detail with an intensity that instantly made something dark coil inside my chest. His eyes lingered on her cheek before moving back to me, his teeth clenched so tightly that I could practically see the anger radiating from him.

Then his voice came out low and rasped with barely restrained fury.

"Sach bata, Ruhu... isne kiya hai kya yeh sab tere saath?" (Tell me the truth, Ruhu... did he do all this to you?)

My entire body stiffened. The possessive part of me wanted to snap at him for questioning me about my own wife.

I twisted my lips to the side, clearly done with his drama. My patience was already hanging by a thread, and the way he kept questioning everything was doing absolutely nothing to help.

My butterfly instantly shook her head, waving her hand dismissively as she rasped,

"Pagal hai kya tu... yeh toh wo... woh, haan, mujhe allergy ho rahi hai. Uski wajah se mera gaal laal ho rakha hai thoda." (Are you crazy... it's just... yeah, I'm having an allergy. That's why my cheek has gotten a little red.)

I almost scoffed. An allergy? Of all the excuses she could have come up with, that was what my butterfly had chosen? She was lying, and the worst part was that she was a terrible fucking liar. Yet somehow, she looked so innocent while doing it that I couldn't decide whether I wanted to laugh at her excuse or admire how desperately she was trying to cover for me.

Arthav continued scanning her face, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were searching for even the smallest inconsistency in her explanation. His gaze eventually settled on her reddened cheek before he questioned,

"Sirf ek gaal?" (Only one cheek?)

Ruhika instantly nodded her head, almost too quickly.

I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek to keep myself from reacting. She was definitely lying, and we both knew it. But watching her desperately try to protect me from his questions stirred something warm and possessive inside my chest.

Having no choice but to accept her answer, that bastard finally gave me one last cold glare before turning towards my wife again. His eyes lingered on her face, and my jaw instinctively clenched.

I hated the way he looked at her. I hated the familiarity in his eyes. And more than anything, I hated that some part of him still seemed to believe he had the right to worry about my wife.

My wife.

The words repeated inside my head, almost like a warning to myself. I didn't like this. Not even a fucking bit.

"Meri biwi hai woh... itna kya zaroorat hai iss kamine ko meri biwi ko dekhne ki?" (She is my wife... why the hell does this bastard need to look at my wife so much?)

I muttered under my breath, low enough for only me to hear. My eyes remained fixed on him, though, silently warning him to stop testing my patience.

"Waise tu yahan kya kar raha hai? Program toh hall mein hai na..." (By the way, what are you doing here? The program is in the hall, right?)

My Ruhu asked, slightly adjusting the pleats of her saree as though completely unaware of the storm brewing beside her. Finally some sensable question.

"Main woh... tujhe dhoondh raha tha..." (I was... looking for you...) that bastard replied.

My blood fucking boiled. Of course he was.

Why else would he be wandering around here like he had some goddamn right to search for my wife?

Ruhu frowned slightly, her brows pulling together in confusion.

"Koi kaam tha kya... kuch chahiye kya tujhe?" (Did you have some work... do you need something?)

And then came the audacity of that bastard.

"Haan... tu." (Yes... you.)

My entire body went rigid. For one horrifying second, I genuinely forgot how to breathe. My hands curled into tight fists, and every muscle in my body tensed as my temper shot through the roof. He did not just fucking say that.

My vision practically narrowed on him. I swear, if Ruhu hadn't been standing right beside me, that bastard's face would have met my fist before he could even blink.

But perhaps even he realized what the hell had just slipped out of his mouth because his expression changed instantly. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he hurriedly corrected himself.

"Mera matlab... tujhe yeh phool dene hain." (I mean... I wanted to give you these flowers.)

I stared at him in absolute disbelief. These flowers?

My jaw clenched the moment I saw it. And what made it even fucking worse was the way my wife's face instantly lit up at the sight of those flowers. Her eyes sparkled with genuine happiness, and I swear, I had never been more jealous of a bunch of harmless petals in my entire life.

"Fucking flowers... can't they grow fast... huh..." (Fucking flowers... can't they just grow faster... huh...)

I cursed under my breath, glaring at the bouquet as if it had personally offended me.

Ruhika was just about to take the flowers from his hand when panic suddenly took over me. I cleared my throat and coughed once, deliberately leaning towards that bastard.

"Achhu..."

He immediately took a small step back, his face twisting into an expression of mild disgust. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the victorious smirk from spreading across my face.

Got you. But apparently, he wasn't taking the hint. He stepped forward again, extending the bouquet towards my Ruhu.

"Yeh le..." (Here, take this...)

My eyes widened. Absolutely fucking not. Before he could hand her the bouquet, I coughed again-this time leaning directly towards the flowers.

"Achhu!"

"Uff... sorry. I think I'm allergic to these flowers." (Uff... sorry. I think I'm allergic to these flowers.)

I said innocently, rubbing my nose while trying my absolute best to look convincing.

That guy's jaw clenched so hard I was almost afraid he'd crack a tooth. I hid my satisfied smirk and turned towards my wife, only to find her staring at the fallen bouquet on the floor with the cutest little pout on her face.

My heart melted instantly. God... she's adorable. That tiny pout, those slightly drooping eyes... My brain completely short-circuited. I just want to grab her and kis..

"What the hell, Arnav?! What wild thoughts are you imagining?"

I mentally scolded myself, genuinely shocked by my own thoughts. I immediately cleared my throat, turning my face away as heat rushed to my cheeks. Get a grip, Doctor Sharma.

I was supposed to be angry. Jealous. Protective. Not standing here blushing like some lovesick teenager because my wife had made a tiny pout over a bunch of flowers. Yet somehow, the sight of her like that made my possessive side flare up all over again.

I glanced at the bouquet lying on the floor, then at Arthav, and finally back at my wife. Nope. Still jealous. In fact, seeing that disappointed pout only made me want to make sure she forgot about those stupid flowers altogether.

Why does he even need to bring her flowers?

I folded my arms across my chest, pretending to be completely unaffected, while internally fighting the most ridiculous battle of my life. Apparently, I had officially started competing with flowers for my wife's attention.

And the worst part? I was losing.

Without giving anyone a chance to say anything, I slowly lowered my hand towards Ruhu's. Out of pure habit, my fingers instinctively moved towards the edge of her pallu first, as they always did whenever I wanted to touch her without making her uncomfortable. But my hand froze mid-air as a familiar sentence echoed inside my mind.

"Your touch never makes me feel uncomfortable, Aru..."

And just like that, my hand changed its direction. This time, I reached for her hand directly.

My fingers gently slipped around her palm, holding it without any barrier between us. And the moment our skin touched, a strange electric spark shot through my entire body, making me suck in a deep breath. It was such a simple touch, something so innocent, yet somehow it felt like my entire world had shifted on its axis.

I could see her eyes widen as her doe eyes immediately snapped towards me. She wasn't flinching. She wasn't terrified. There was no fear hiding behind those beautiful eyes.

Just pure shock... and a blush slowly spreading across her cheeks. The sight made something warm bloom inside my chest.

I tightened my hold on her hand ever so slightly, not wanting to let go, while the smallest smile tugged at my lips. Maybe I was imagining things, but for the first time, holding her hand didn't feel like crossing a boundary.

It felt like she was quietly allowing me into her world.

"Let's go, wifey... hamein aapke haathon mein mehendi bhi toh lagwani hai." (Let's go, wifey... we also have to get mehendi applied to your hands.)

I had absolutely no idea why I called her wifey. The word had simply slipped out before my brain could stop it. But the way my butterfly's face instantly flushed crimson made every ounce of embarrassment completely worth it.

My lips curved into a satisfied smile. Maybe teasing my wife was becoming my new favourite hobby.

Without giving that matar ka dana beside us a single damn glance or giving him any opportunity to say another word, I started walking towards the hall, still holding Ruhu's hand firmly in mine. I was done with his presence, done with his irritating questions, and especially done with the way his eyes kept wandering towards my wife.

The sooner I got her away from him, the better. But apparently, my butterfly had other plans. I had barely taken a few steps when I heard her gasp and turn her head back towards Arthav.

"Kal Pinky aunty ke cafe mein milenge..." (We'll meet tomorrow at Pinky aunty's café...) she called out sweetly.

My face immediately scrunched up at her words. Tomorrow? Seriously? She had already made plans with him for tomorrow too? My jealousy flared all over again, and without even realizing it, I started walking faster, pulling her along with me. I wasn't intentionally trying to drag her, but my irritated mind had apparently forgotten that my wife was wearing a heavy lehenga and wasn't exactly capable of matching my long strides. I could hear her struggling to keep up behind me, her anklets softly chiming with every hurried step.

"Aru, slowly... mera lehenga kitna heavy hai waise hi..." (Aru, slowly... my lehenga is already so heavy...)

She complained between her uneven steps, almost tripping as she tried to keep up with me. I shut my eyes for a second and took a deep, frustrated breath. Fine. I couldn't exactly blame her for having tiny steps when I was practically walking like I was escaping a crime scene. So I stopped abruptly and turned around to face her, fully intending to slow down this time.

Unfortunately, my butterfly hadn't noticed that I had stopped. Her next step carried her straight into my chest with a soft thud.

"Ahh... Aru, deewar hai yahan!" (Ahh... Aru, there's a wall here!)

She hissed, immediately lifting her hand to rub her forehead. I stared at her for a second, completely speechless, before my lips twitched. Of course. In my jealousy-fueled hurry, I had managed to forget one very important detail..my wife had absolutely no idea when I decided to stop being a human being and start behaving like an actual wall.

She continued rubbing her forehead with the most offended little expression, completely unaware of the battle I had been fighting inside my head only moments ago. And somehow, despite all the jealousy still simmering beneath my skin, the sight of her standing there in that heavy lehenga, pouting because she had walked straight into my chest, made it ridiculously difficult for me to stay annoyed.

Without saying a single word, I simply scooped her into my arms, not even giving her a proper second to react. One moment she was standing in front of me, rubbing her forehead with that adorable little pout, and the next, she was securely in my arms. Her startled gasp was almost enough to make me smile.

"Deewar nahi, aapke pati the woh..." (It wasn't a wall, it was your husband...)

I muttered under my breath, adjusting her comfortably against my chest before beginning to walk straight towards the hall.

Her eyes widened at my sudden stunt, her cheeks slowly turning pink as she stared at me as if she couldn't believe what I had just done.

"Aru, kya kar rahe ho? Neeche utaariye mujhe..." (Aru, what are you doing? Put me down...)

She rasped, immediately trying to squirm her way out of my arms.

My hold only tightened around her.

"Haan, taaki tum phir se girti-padti raho..." (Yes, so that you can keep tripping and falling again...)

I replied casually, as if carrying my wife around in my arms in the middle of a crowded function was the most normal thing in the world. She continued protesting softly, but I didn't loosen my grip even an inch. If anything, I pulled her a little closer, making sure she was completely secure against me.

I walked straight into the main hall where the function was taking place, completely unbothered by the dozens of eyes that immediately turned towards us. Conversations seemed to quiet down around us, and I could feel people staring, whispering, probably wondering what the hell had gotten into me. Honestly, I couldn't have cared less.

Let them stare. Let them wonder.

I wasn't embarrassed about holding my wife in my arms. If anything, there was something strangely satisfying about walking into that hall with her against my chest, knowing that everyone could see exactly where she belonged.

My arms tightened instinctively around her as I looked down at my butterfly, her face still flushed with embarrassment.

She wasn't just someone I was carrying. She was the person my soul had somehow chosen long before my mind ever understood it.

And right then, with her warmth against my chest and her heartbeat so close to mine, I didn't care who was watching. I was simply holding what truly belonged to my soul.

"Aru... log dekh rahe hain..." (Aru... people are watching...)

She whimpered, hiding her face behind her palm, clearly embarrassed by the murmurs and curious gazes following us. I could feel her squirming slightly in my arms, as if disappearing behind her hands would somehow make the entire hall forget that I had just carried my wife in like she weighed nothing.

I simply shrugged and continued walking, completely unaffected by the attention. Let them look. Their opinions didn't matter to me..not when the only person I cared about was currently hiding her face against her palm because she was too shy to meet anyone's eyes. I walked towards a sofa tucked into the corner of the hall and carefully lowered her onto it, making sure her heavy lehenga was settled comfortably before straightening myself.

"Toh... pati hoon main tumhara. Tumhara khayal rakhna should be my first priority, na ki log kya kahenge yeh." (So... I'm your husband. Taking care of you should be my first priority, not worrying about what people will say.)

She stared at me, completely speechless. Her eyes widened slightly, as though she hadn't expected those words from me. I could almost see the argument forming on the tip of her tongue, but before she could say anything, I narrowed my eyes at her slightly, silently warning her not to start.

For once, she actually fell quiet. A tiny victory.

At that exact moment, the mehendi artist arrived and smiled politely at us before preparing her things. I glanced at my butterfly and then at her hands, making sure she was settled comfortably before speaking.

"Tum mehendi lagao, main tumhare liye kuch khaane ko laata hoon. Subah se kuch khaya toh nahi hoga tumne..." (You get your mehendi done, I'll bring you something to eat. You probably haven't eaten anything since morning...)

I paused, giving her a pointed look.

"Bas mujhse kalesh karna yaad rehta hai, khud ka dhyaan rakhna nahi." (You only remember how to argue with me; you don't remember to take care of yourself.)

She gasped, her eyes widening in pure disbelief.

I raised an eyebrow.

What? Was I wrong?

My wife could remember every tiny detail about how to fight with me, but somehow remembering to eat on time was apparently too difficult.

I shook my head, trying to hide the small smile threatening to appear on my lips. My troublesome little butterfly.

"Main karti hoon kalesh... aap ho jo mujhe kahin bhi, kabhi bhi apni godh mein utha lete ho, jaise main koi do saal ki bachchi hoon..." (I'm the one who creates trouble... you're the one who picks me up anywhere, anytime, as if I'm a two-year-old child...)

She replied, rolling her eyes and puffing her cheeks, clearly offended by my words. I bit the inside of my cheek hard, desperately trying to suppress the laugh threatening to escape.

"Mere saamne toh bachchi hi ho na..." (In front of me, you're still a child, aren't you...)

I replied, raising one eyebrow with an amused smirk.

"Haan, Pita ji... waise bhi aapko bada shauk hai mera papa banne ka na? Aaj se aap wahi ban jao mere. Pata nahi kya samajhte hain aap apne aapko..." (Yes, Father... anyway, you seem to have a great fondness for being my father, right? From today, you can just be that. I don't know what you think you are...)

She stretched her face into an adorable pout, clearly annoyed with me. I couldn't hold it anymore and a soft chuckle escaped my lips at her words.

"You said it yourself, Butterfly... I hope you won't regret this in the near future..."

I whispered, keeping my voice deliberately low and teasing, just enough to make the words sound far more suspicious than they actually were. Her brows immediately furrowed in confusion as she stared at me, clearly trying to understand what exactly was going on inside my head. The innocence in her eyes almost made me laugh. Almost.

"Ohh... my wifey is sooo innocent..."

I murmured, a mischievous smirk slowly making its way onto my lips as I watched her confused expression.

"But no worries... I'll make sure I make her learn everything slowly..."

My voice dropped even lower, my words carrying just enough teasing meaning to make my own subconscious practically hiss in happiness. Damn. The smugness inside my head was getting out of control. I could practically hear it celebrating my little victory while that stupid smirk remained plastered across my face. What the hell, Arnav? Have some mercy on the poor girl. But then again... watching my wife get all flustered because of me was becoming one of my favourite things.

Before I could tease her any further, the mehendi artist suddenly cleared her throat, snapping me out of my thoughts. I glanced toward her and noticed the poor woman looking slightly uncomfortable, her cheeks faintly flushed after apparently hearing enough of our conversation.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Meanwhile, Ruhu suddenly became extremely interested in the mehendi being drawn on her hand, as if the intricate patterns had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the entire hall. The artist was already halfway through the beautiful design on one of Ruhika's hands, carefully tracing delicate patterns across her palm while Ruhu sat quietly in front of her.

"Ma'am... woh, kuch naam likhna hai aapko yahan?" (Ma'am... do you want to have any name written here?) the mehendi artist asked, pointing toward a small empty space in the design.

Ruhu's eyes widened instantly.

She stared at the mehendi artist for a second, completely caught off guard by the question. Then, almost instinctively, her gaze shifted toward me. Her eyes met mine for a brief moment before she quickly looked back at the artist, as though suddenly finding the floor far more interesting. I raised one eyebrow, silently watching her, already curious about what was going through that pretty little head of hers.

But then, to my utter surprise, she slowly shook her head. No. Just one tiny shake of her head.

"Nahi, nahi... bas minimal design bana dijiye aap aur kuch nahi." (No, no... just make a minimal design nothing else.)

I didn't know why, but the moment those words left her lips, something inside my heart snapped. My eyes immediately shot toward her, and for some inexplicable reason, a tiny wave of sadness washed over me.

Sadness... and perhaps a little betrayal too. It wasn't as if she was obligated to get my name written on her hand, but still... a tiny part of me had secretly expected her to say yes. Maybe even just the first letter of my name. Was that really too much to ask from my wife?

And the worst part? She didn't even lift her eyes to meet mine. Not even once.

A frustrated huff escaped my lips as I turned away from her and started marching toward the other side of the hall. I deliberately let the heels of my shoes hit the marble floor a little harder with every step, making enough noise to let her know that her husband was very, very unhappy with her decision. I even slowed down for a second, giving her every possible opportunity to call me back or at least glance in my direction.

But nothing. Not a word. Not even a proper glance.

I clenched my jaw, feeling my already wounded ego getting bruised a little more with every passing second.

"Nakchari kahiki... bachpan se bilkul badli nahi... huhhhhh..." (Such a stubborn little girl... you haven't changed a bit since childhood... huhhhhh...)

I murmured under my breath, kicking a little imaginary pebble that obviously wasn't even there as I continued walking toward the juice section. My irritation was genuine, but unfortunately, my heart had never been particularly good at staying angry with her for long.

"Par pyaari bhi toh kitni hai..." (But she's so damn adorable too...) I muttered a second later, my lips twitching despite myself.

I mentally rolled my eyes at my own weakness.

"Haan, maana... koi zaroorat nahi hai naam likhwaane ki," (Fine, I agree... there's no need to get a name written,)

I grumbled, reaching the juice counter and picking up a glass.

"Par bas mera naam ka pehla letter likhwa hi sakti thi na woh... itni bhi kya kanjoosi?" (But she could've at least gotten the first letter of my name written, right? What's so difficult about that?)

I took a sip, still fuming internally. It wasn't even about the name anymore. It was about the fact that I wanted a tiny piece of myself hidden on her hand. Something that would stay there for a few days, something I could look at and stupidly feel proud about. And instead, my wife had casually rejected the idea without even giving me a chance to make my case.

"Unbelievable..." I hissed, shaking my head as though she had committed some grave crime against me.

And just when I thought my already irritated mood couldn't possibly get any worse, someone suddenly popped up right in front of me.

Vivian.

I froze mid-sip, staring at the little menace who had somehow managed to appear directly in my line of sight.

Of course. Because apparently, the universe had decided that my peaceful sulking deserved one more problem.

"Umm-hmm... jiju, bade fast ho rahe ho aap. Meri di ko godh mein uthana and all... not bad," (Hmm... brother-in-law, you're moving pretty fast. Picking my sister up in your arms and all... not bad.) Vivian muttered, placing a hand casually on my shoulder.

I instantly jerked his hand away, giving him an annoyed glare.

"Nikal yahan se..." (Get out of here...)

I grumbled, already irritated enough without him coming here to make things worse.

"Ek toh teri di mujhe bhaav nahi deti... yaar, itna bhi bura toh nahi hoon main jitna woh mujhe ignore kar deti hain." (For one thing, your sister doesn't even give me any attention... Come on, I'm not even as bad as she makes me out to be by ignoring me this much.)

I complained, cursing my fate under my breath like a completely helpless husband whose wife had personally decided to destroy his ego today.

Vivian immediately let out a chuckle at my misery, clearly enjoying every second of watching me sulk.

"You know, taste..."

He began, nodding his head thoughtfully as though he were about to deliver some profound wisdom about women.

"Ladkiyon ko energetic aur romantic young ladke pasand aate hain..." (Girls like energetic and romantic young guys...)

I slowly turned my head toward him, my eyes narrowing.

What the hell was this kid trying to imply?

But before I could question him, Vivian turned his face toward the other side of the hall, where that mosquito-like human being was standing again.

Yes. That Arthav. Or whatever the hell his name was. The man seemed to have some kind of permanent subscription to my wife's vicinity. I swear, if I looked away for five seconds, he would somehow materialize beside her again.

Vivian pointed his gaze in his direction and continued, completely unaware-or perhaps completely aware..of the fact that he was pouring petrol over the fire already burning inside my head.

"Jaise aap Arthav bhaiya ko dekh lo... koi ek baar dekh le toh fida ho jaaye." (Just look at Arthav bhaiya... anyone who sees him even once would instantly fall for him.)

My jaw clenched. Slowly, very slowly, I followed Vivian's gaze toward Arthav. My eyes travelled from his face to his stupidly confident posture and then back to his face.

Fida?

People would actually fall for him?

I scoffed internally.

"Accha?"

I muttered, taking another sip of my juice, though my eyes remained fixed on that so-called competition.

"Toh phir duniya mein ladkiyon ki eyesight itni kharab kab se hone lagi?" (Oh, really? Then since when did the eyesight of girls in this world become so terrible?)

Vivian burst into laughter beside me. And somehow, that only made my mood worse.

My jaw clenched so tightly that I could almost hear my teeth grinding against each other. I shot Vivian a murderous glare before pushing him aside and walking toward the juice counter, doing everything in my power to control the urge to strangle him right there in the middle of the hall.

"Woh sports car na... ab tera Arthav se hi maangna tu." (That sports car of yours... now you better ask Arthav for it.)

I muttered bitterly, grabbing a glass of water from the counter and gulping it down in one go. I needed something cold to cool down my temper before I ended up committing a murder at a family function.

"Aree jiju, main toh bas mazaak kar raha tha..." (Oh, brother-in-law, I was just joking...)

Vivian quickly defended himself, following me to the counter. He then dramatically placed a hand on my shoulder and continued,

"Woh Arthav aapke aage til ke daane jaisa hai. Aap jaisa handsome, smart, dashing toh koi ho hi sakta nahi." (That Arthav is nothing compared to you. No one can possibly be as handsome, smart, and dashing as you.)

I rolled my eyes at his overacting and immediately shrugged his hand off my shoulder.

"Bas kar apni makkhanbaazi..." (Enough with your buttering me up...)

I muttered, turning toward the bartender before Vivian could start another speech praising my apparently unmatched beauty.

"A fresh mango shake with extra almonds and a topping of vanilla ice cream... aur no sugar." (And no sugar.)

The bartender paused for a second, staring at me with the strangest expression, as if I had just ordered some kind of medically questionable experiment instead of a mango shake. I simply stared back at him with a straight face.

Weird, I know. But what could I do? It was my wife's favourite.

Fresh mango shake, extra almonds, vanilla ice cream on top, and absolutely no sugar. I knew her preferences down to the tiniest details, even the ridiculous combinations she liked. And apparently, remembering what my wife liked had become another full-time job for me.

The bartender finally gave me one last confused look before nodding and turning around to prepare the shake. I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest, while my eyes instinctively wandered back toward the other side of the hall.

Toward her. My wife. And, unfortunately, toward that mosquito-like creature standing somewhere in her vicinity too.

My jaw tightened again.

Why the hell was Arthav everywhere? Couldn't the man breathe from a distance for five minutes?

I sighed heavily, already regretting the fact that I had let Vivian get into my head in the first place. Yet despite all my irritation, there was one thought that kept making me secretly smile.

At least Ruhu would get her favourite mango shake. And if that earned me even one tiny smile from her... Maybe, just maybe, my bruised husband ego would survive the evening.

"Waise, jiju..." (By the way, brother-in-law...)

Vivian started again, but one sharp glare from me was enough to make him immediately zip his mouth shut. Good. At least he had finally learned that there were certain moments when it was better for his own safety to remain quiet.

But then something else caught my attention. My eyes drifted past him toward a small side table nearby, where several mehendi cones were lying beside the other supplies.

I stared at them for a few seconds. And then... An idea struck me. A brilliant idea. Perhaps the most brilliant idea my brain had produced all evening.

"Agar woh mera naam ki mehendi nahi lagana chahti... toh main toh uske naam ki mehendi laga sakta hoon na... uska hone ke liye." (If she doesn't want to get my name written in her mehendi... then I can get her name written in mine, right... to show that I belong to her.)

I whispered the thought to myself, my eyes still fixed on those mehendi cones. A slow, satisfied smile spread across my face as I nodded to myself.

Of course. Why hadn't I thought of this earlier? If my wife didn't want my name adorning her hand, then fine. I would simply put her name on mine.

Problem solved. And suddenly, the stupid disappointment that had been sitting heavily in my chest seemed to disappear. My mood lifted instantly, replaced by a ridiculous amount of satisfaction. I nodded again, as if I had just discovered the solution to some international crisis instead of figuring out how to get my wife's name written in mehendi.

"Yes, Arnav... absolutely brilliant,"

I murmured under my breath. Unfortunately, Vivian was still standing beside me. And apparently, he had been watching my increasingly suspicious expressions.

"Jiju..." he called cautiously.

I ignored him.

"Jiju?"

Still nothing.

He leaned slightly closer, studying my face before his eyes widened dramatically.

"Aap jis tarah ke expressions abhi de rahe hain..." (The kind of expressions you're making right now...)

I slowly turned my head toward him. He clutched his chest dramatically, taking a step backward as if he had just discovered something horrifying.

"Kahin aap meri di par koi kala jaadu-tona toh nahi karne wale na?" (You're not planning to put some kind of black magic spell on my sister, are you?)

I stared at him. For a solid three seconds.

Was this boy actually serious?

My lips twitched despite my best efforts to remain annoyed. I slowly shook my head, wondering how someone could have such a spectacularly stupid imagination.

"Tera dimaag sach mein kharaab hai..." (There is seriously something wrong with your brain...) I muttered, rolling my eyes.

Vivian continued clutching his chest, looking genuinely scandalised, while I glanced once again toward the mehendi cones.

No. Definitely not black magic. Just a very innocent husband trying to put his wife's name on his hand. At least, that was what I was telling myself. Or that only for now.

I rolled my eyes at him before finally turning toward the little menace.

"Agar tu mere paanch ginne tak meri nazar se gayab nahi hua na, toh tere woh limited-edition wale sports shoes bhi cancel hain tere birthday ke liye." (If you don't disappear from my sight by the time I count to five, those limited-edition sports shoes you wanted for your birthday are cancelled.)

I didn't even have to finish my warning.

The moment Vivian heard the words limited-edition sports shoes, his eyes widened in pure panic. His entire expression changed as though I had just threatened to take away his oxygen supply. And before I could even begin counting, the brat turned around and practically sprinted away from me.

I watched him disappear into the crowd and finally let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Finally..." I muttered, rubbing my forehead.

"Ek musibat toh gayi." (At least one troublemaker is gone.)

My gaze instinctively drifted back toward the small side table where the mehendi cones were kept. The thought from earlier returned to my mind, and before I could even think twice about it, my feet automatically started carrying me toward them.

The closer I got, the more determined I became.

"Meri Ruhu..." (My Ruhu...)

The words barely escaped my lips before my voice died in my throat. My jaw clenched. That damn nickname.

I could still hear that third wheel calling my Butterfly by it so casually, as if he had some kind of right to call her that. Ruhu. The same soft nickname that belonged in my voice, in my mouth, between us-not his.

My fingers curled slightly at my sides as irritation rushed through me all over again.

"That unwanted bastard..."

I muttered under my breath, glaring toward the other side of the hall where Arthav had been roaming around earlier.

"Har jagah chipakne ki kya zaroorat hai isse?" (Why does he have to stick around everywhere?)

I clenched my fist tightly, my jaw tightening as I muttered under my breath, still glaring in the direction where that irritating third wheel had disappeared.

"Kutta kahika... meri biwi ka nickname bhi chura liya." (What a damn dog... he even stole my wife's nickname.)

I shook my head in disbelief, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. Seriously, did that man have to copy everything? First, he had to keep hovering around my Butterfly, then he had the audacity to call her by a nickname that had started feeling far too personal to me.

I knew it was just a name, just a few letters put together, but somehow hearing it from someone else's mouth irritated me more than it probably should have. And, as a doctor, I was painfully aware that jealousy was not exactly a medical emergency... but at this point, my possessiveness was definitely showing symptoms.

I slowly bent down and picked up one of the henna-filled cones from the table, carefully turning it between my fingers. The moment I brought it a little closer, the familiar earthy aroma of mehendi reached my nose, and something about that scent instantly hit a nostalgic corner of my heart.

For a brief moment, my thoughts drifted away from Arthav and back toward her-my Ruhu, my Butterfly, the woman who somehow managed to make even the most ordinary moments feel special without even trying. A small, knowing smile gradually appeared on my lips as another thought crossed my mind, and suddenly the irritation in my chest began to disappear.

"Chalo, koi nahi..."

I murmured, looking down at the henna cone with a mischievous glint in my eyes.

"Waise bhi main usse kuch aise naam se bulana chahta hoon jo sirf mera ho... meri..." (Well, it's fine... anyway, I want to call her by a name that belongs only to me... my...)

I deliberately let the word trail off, my smile growing wider as I searched through my mind for something that would be uniquely hers, yet uniquely mine to call her. Something no one else had ever called her. Something that would make her blush every single time she heard it.

My lips parted as the perfect beginning of a name slowly formed in my mind, and I whispered with a soft, almost dreamy smile,

"Ro..."