Chapter 27

Ruhika's POV

"Butterfly mujhe muh dhone ke liye kuch do na... maine apna samaan kuch bhi nahi laya hai. And can I use your products to wash my face?"

(Butterfly, give me something to wash my face with... I didn't bring any of my things. And can I use your products to wash my face?)

His voice drifted through the room, warm and effortlessly familiar, pulling my attention away from the mirror in front of me. I was standing before the dressing table, gently drying my damp hair when I heard him. For a fleeting moment, I simply stared at my reflection, noticing the faint flush that had settled over my cheeks for reasons I didn't want to acknowledge. Slowly, I turned toward him and gave him a brief nod.

"Upper right cabinet mein shower gel aur shampoo wagera honge aur uske side wale cabinet mein face cleanser hoga. Aap use kar lijiye."

(There should be shower gel and shampoo in the upper-right cabinet, and the cabinet beside it has the face cleanser. You can use them.)

I said it as casually as I could before turning back toward the mirror. Picking up my moisturizer, I dispensed a small amount onto my fingertips and began spreading it across my skin, deliberately focusing on the simple routine.

I was still pretending to be absorbed in my skincare routine when his voice reached me again.

"Butterfly..." (Butterfly...)

I closed my eyes for the briefest moment, suppressing a sigh before turning toward him.

"Haan?" (Yes?)

His brows were furrowed in genuine confusion, and there was something almost boyishly innocent about the expression on his otherwise composed face. My gaze immediately dropped to the bottle in his hand, and I understood the problem.

"Butterfly isme toh jhaag hi nahi aa raha..."

(Butterfly, this isn't foaming at all...)

I frowned at his words, turning my head towards him with an expression of pure disbelief before getting up and walking towards the bathroom. The sight in front of me was honestly enough to test my patience.

Arnav was standing there with my cleanser spread all over his face, rubbing it between his palms and against his cheeks with an irritated expression, as if the poor little bottle had personally offended him.

I stopped at the open bathroom door and leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest while staring at him. His brows were furrowed, his lips were pressed into a thin line, and he looked genuinely confused by the fact that absolutely no foam was appearing on his face.

"Aap sach mein doctor toh ho na..." (You really are a doctor, right?)

I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He immediately turned his head towards me, still rubbing his face as though somehow rubbing it harder would magically make the cleanser start foaming.

His irritated gaze met mine, and I had to press my lips together to stop myself from laughing. There was something ridiculously funny about watching a man who could handle complicated medical emergencies look completely defeated by a bottle of cleanser.

I shook my head, looking at him as though I had finally discovered the truth behind all the rumours about him.

"Shivansh bhaiya na sahi kehte hain... aap na farzi ke doctor ho."

(Shivansh brother is absolutely right... you're a fake doctor.)

His expression immediately hardened at my words, and the way he looked at me made it obvious that my teasing had hit a nerve. But instead of being intimidated, I simply rolled my eyes and walked closer to him, my gaze dropping to the cleanser in his hand.

Before he could say anything, I reached forward and snatched the bottle from his hand, holding it against my chest as I gave him an unimpressed look.

"Aur Dr. Sharma, cleanser mein jhaag nahi aata..."

(And Dr. Sharma, cleanser doesn't produce foam...)

I paused for a second, looking at his still-irritated face before adding with a small, victorious smile,

"...buddhu kahin ke."

(You silly idiot.)

I shook my head at him, unable to believe that I actually had to explain something this simple to a doctor.

He huffed at my words, clearly offended by my teasing, before hurriedly splashing water onto his face. The sound of water hitting the sink filled the brief silence between us as he washed away the cleanser, wiping his face roughly with his palms before reaching for the towel.

"Mere wale mein toh aata hai." (Mine does.)

He said it with such certainty that I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Of course it did. Apparently, his cleanser had decided to respect him while mine had chosen to disappoint him.

He grabbed the towel and wiped his face before looking at me with that annoyingly smug expression. I shook my head, already turning on my heels to leave the bathroom.

"Sarojini Market se liya hoga phir aapne woh..." (Then you must have bought that one from Sarojini Market...)

I hadn't even managed to finish the sentence when a warm hand suddenly wrapped around my wrist.

My breath caught.

Before I could even understand what had happened, I was gently but firmly pulled back, the sudden movement making me lose my balance for a second. Another warm hand immediately settled against my waist, steadying me before I could stumble.

My eyes widened. And then his voice came.

"Kuch kaha aapne, Rooh..." (Did you say something, Rooh?)

The whisper was low, dangerously close, and the sudden change in his tone sent an unexpected shiver through me. The teasing smile that had been lingering on my lips disappeared instantly as I looked up at him.

He was close. Far too close.

My breath hitched when I realized just how little distance remained between us. Instinctively, both my hands landed against his chest, my fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his shirt as I tried to steady myself. I could feel the warmth radiating from him, and the closeness only made my heartbeat become embarrassingly loud.

For a second, neither of us moved. The playful irritation from moments ago had vanished completely, replaced by a silence so heavy that I could almost hear every uneven breath between us.

I swallowed, trying to gather enough courage to push him away.

"Aru..." I whispered, my voice coming out much softer than I intended.

I placed my palms against his chest and tried to create some distance between us, but before I could properly move away, he turned me around.

My back met the edge of the sink, and I froze. His hands came down on either side of me, braced against the counter and effectively blocking my escape without actually touching me. My eyes widened as I looked from one hand to the other before slowly lifting my gaze back to his face.

He was watching me. Quietly. Almost amused. And that look alone was enough to make my heart stumble over itself.

I instinctively straightened, my hands still resting against his chest as I stared at him, suddenly forgetting every clever comeback I had prepared only seconds ago.

"Rooh..." he murmured again, his voice carrying that same teasing softness.

"A... aur kya kar rahe hain aap?" (A... what else are you doing?)

The words stumbled out of my mouth, each syllable betraying just how flustered I suddenly was. My hands were still resting against his chest, and I could feel the steady rhythm beneath my palms, which somehow only made my own heartbeat sound louder in my ears.

He smiled. Not that small, restrained smile of his. He actually smiled.

The sight alone made my heart skip, but then one of his eyebrows slowly lifted, amusement dancing unmistakably in his eyes. It was the kind of teasing expression that immediately made me suspicious, because I knew that look far too well.

"Apni biwi ko pyaar..."

(Loving my wife...)

He deliberately paused, his lips curving further as he leaned just slightly closer, making my breath catch all over again.

"...ya yun kahe..." (Or rather...)

His gaze remained fixed on mine for a moment before he finished, his voice dropping into a playful whisper.

"Continuing the thing you left undone in the garden, wifeyyy..."

My lips parted in a startled gasp. My eyes instantly snapped towards him, disbelief written all over my face. The memory he had just brought up flashed through my mind, and suddenly I became painfully aware of how close we were.

But then I noticed his gaze had dropped. He was staring at my hand. More specifically, at the hand that was still resting against his chest.

I immediately swallowed and tried to pull it away, my cheeks warming despite my desperate attempt to maintain some dignity.

"M... mujhe... haan... woh Arthav ko call karna tha..." (I... yes... I had to call Arthav...)

I stammered, struggling to put together a coherent sentence while trying to push him back at the same time.

"Usne meri madad karni thi Civil Procedure Code subject mein." (He was supposed to help me with the Civil Procedure Code subject.)

The excuse came out far less confidently than I wanted. Instead of moving away, however, his expression changed. The teasing smile remained, but something possessive flickered across his eyes the moment I mentioned Arthav again.

Before I could properly process it, his hands settled around my waist and he pulled me closer into his arms. I froze. My hands instinctively pressed against his chest again as I looked up at him, completely caught off guard by the sudden movement.

He lowered his head slightly, his voice turning into a quiet, dramatically offended whisper.

"Again him, Rooh..." (Again him, Rooh...)

There was an unmistakable complaint in his tone, almost as though Arthav had personally committed the greatest crime imaginable.

"Subah bhi iski kamine ki wajah se mujhe meri biwi se mera pehla hug nahi mila..." (Even in the morning, because of this same bastard, I didn't get my first hug from my wife...)

He tightened his arms around me just enough to make his point, his expression turning into one of exaggerated annoyance.

"...abhi bhi yeh kamina mujhe apni biwi ko hug karne nahi de raha hai." (And even now, this jerk isn't letting me hug my wife.)

My breath hitched at his words, and strangely, it wasn't only his words that had affected me. It was the nickname he had used for me so effortlessly..Rooh. Something about the way it sounded when he said it made my heart behave differently. Softer. Warmer. As if that single little name carried a closeness between us that I wasn't quite ready to acknowledge yet.

"Idc, Rooh... can you please give me my hug? Just one, please. I swear, in exchange, I will wipe Kiki's potty for a whole month... even though I hate that little creature."

For a second, I simply stared at him. Then a small chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it. I couldn't help it, not when I saw the way his nose scrunched up at the mere mention of Kiki, his expression twisting into such genuine disgust that he somehow looked far more adorable than annoyed.

"Haan, aur uske baad aapki ultiyaan kaun, Kiki saaf karega?" (Yes, and after that, who's going to clean Kiki's vomit-and yours?)

I replied, trying not to laugh at the horrified expression that immediately crossed his face.

Without even realizing what I was doing, my fingers reached up and gently pinched both his cheeks. The action was so instinctive that I didn't even think before doing it. His face squished slightly between my fingers, and the sight made my smile widen.

"You look so cute when you're annoyed, Dr. Sharma,"

I whispered, still holding his cheeks between my fingers. For a moment, he simply stared at me. And then I noticed it.

The faint redness creeping across his face. Even the tips of his ears had turned slightly red. My fingers slowly loosened, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. The man who always seemed so composed, so confident, so impossible to embarrass was suddenly looking anywhere but directly at me.

"Ahem..."

He cleared his throat, his gaze flickering away as though the bathroom wall had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the entire world.

"B... butterfly..."

I stared at him, completely stunned. For a moment, I genuinely wondered if I had heard him correctly. Was he... nervous? The great Dr. Arnav Sharma..the great surgeon who could remain calm in the most stressful situations, who could walk into an operating room with everyone's lives depending on him and still look completely composed..was actually standing in front of me struggling to form a sentence.

My lips twitched. Oh, this was priceless.

"Kya hua, Aru? Aap itna laal-peela kyun lag rahe hain?" (What happened, Aru? Why are you looking so red and flustered?)

I asked innocently, tilting my head slightly as though I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. In reality, I was biting the inside of my cheeks so hard to keep my laughter under control that they were beginning to hurt. The amusement threatening to escape my throat was becoming almost impossible to contain, especially when I saw his expression after my question.

My words only seemed to make his condition worse. The faint redness on his face deepened, and he immediately pulled his hand away from my waist as though he'd suddenly remembered that he was standing far too close to me. He took a step backwards, cleared his throat for what felt like the hundredth time, and avoided my eyes.

"It... it's so hot here... l-let's return to our room."

He stammered the words out so quickly that I almost burst into laughter right there. Before I could even respond, he practically escaped through the bathroom door.

I immediately followed him out, my heart practically screaming at me not to let this opportunity disappear. How often did the supposedly fearless and perfectly composed Dr. Sharma actually get this flustered? If I had somehow discovered this very rare weakness of his, then obviously I was going to take full advantage of it.

"Aree, Aru..." (Hey, Aru...)

I called after him, quickening my steps to catch up with his long stride.

"Kahan hai garmi? Aur aapko toh hug karna tha na mujhe... uska kya?" (Where is the heat? And you wanted to hug me, didn't you... what about that?)

I deliberately dragged out the last word, my voice filled with teasing amusement.

"Hmm?"

He didn't answer. Of course he didn't. He simply continued walking, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand while stubbornly keeping his gaze ahead. The sight made my smile grow wider. He was clearly trying to pretend that nothing had happened, but his ears were still carrying that faint reddish tint, completely betraying him.

I quickened my pace and caught hold of his free wrist, gently stopping him in his tracks. He halted. I stepped around him and positioned myself directly in front of him, forcing him to stop avoiding me. Then I looked up at him with the most innocent expression I could possibly manage, my lips pressed together to hide the mischievous smile threatening to appear.

If he thought he could escape that easily, he clearly didn't know his wife well enough yet.

I huffed dramatically, deliberately pushing my lips into a pout as I stared directly into his eyes. My heart was still beating far too quickly from the way he had been teasing me, but somehow I managed to gather enough courage to tease him right back.

"Yaha hum aapko hug karne ke liye khud ko prepare kar rahe the aur aap..." (Here I was preparing myself to hug you and you...)

I began, letting the sentence trail off dramatically as I gave him an exaggeratedly offended look.

My words died on my lips.

Two warm hands suddenly wrapped around my waist and pulled me towards him with such unexpectedness that my mind barely had a second to process what was happening. One moment I was standing in front of him, ready with another teasing remark, and the next I was securely held against his chest.

Before I could react, he lowered his face into the crook of my neck, almost burying himself there as he finally got the hug he had been shamelessly asking for. His chest was pressed against mine, his arms wrapped firmly around my waist, holding me close enough that there was barely any space left between us.

My breath caught at the sudden closeness, and my hands instinctively hovered for a moment before settling against him.

His voice came out rough and hoarse beside my ear.

"Do you have any fucking idea how many times I've imagined this moment with you, Mrs. Sharma?"

He murmured, his words carrying a rawness that immediately wiped the teasing smile from my face.

"And today, you yourself gave me the consent... so there is no fucking way I'm going to leave you alone for even a single second now without clinging to you."

My heart stumbled.

His voice was low, almost muffled against my neck, and when his lips accidentally brushed the bare skin near my shoulder while he spoke, a shiver travelled straight down my spine. I went completely still in his arms, my fingers tightening slightly against his shirt as his words replayed inside my head.

He had imagined this. This simple hug. Us. The realization alone made my heartbeat grow impossibly louder.

I stood frozen in his embrace, completely forgetting the clever comeback I had been preparing only moments ago. Meanwhile, he seemed perfectly content holding me as though he had finally gotten something he had been waiting far too long for.

Then his voice dropped even lower, amusement slowly returning to it.

"Tsk... Butterfly..." (Tsk... Butterfly...)

He shifted slightly, still refusing to let me go, his tone turning teasing once again.

"Weren't you practicing to hug me just a moment ago?" he murmured.

"Abhi kya hua?" (What happened now?)

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he continued, clearly enjoying my sudden silence.

"Why aren't you hugging me back? Backing out from your words so fast?"

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. How could I possibly respond to that? I had only been teasing him. I genuinely hadn't expected him to take my words so seriously, let alone pull me into his arms as though that simple hug had been something he had been waiting for forever.

I tried opening my mouth again, ready to come up with some clever excuse, but once again, nothing came. Every teasing remark seemed to have disappeared from my mind.

All I could focus on was how strangely good it felt to be held like this. His arms were warm around me, his presence comforting despite the chaos he had created inside my head, and for once, I didn't feel like pulling away. I simply stood there, quietly letting myself feel the warmth of the moment.

After a few seconds, he slowly lifted his face from the crook of my neck, but his arms remained securely around my waist. He looked down at me, his lips curved into the faintest smile. The redness that had earlier covered his face hadn't completely disappeared; instead, his cheeks carried a soft glow that somehow made him look even more handsome.

My eyes met his for a brief moment before, almost against my own will, my gaze dropped.

To his lips.

Those soft, pink lips.

I swallowed.

And then, completely out of nowhere, the most ridiculous thought crossed my mind.

If just a hug feels this good... then how would it feel when he finally kisses me with those plump lips?

My eyes widened. Wait. I immediately looked back at his face, horrified by my own thoughts.

And... is he even a good kisser?

A sharp gasp escaped my lips. My entire face instantly turned bright red. What on earth was I thinking?

I could feel the heat rushing all the way up to my ears as I quickly tried to look anywhere but at his lips again, silently cursing my own brain for choosing that exact moment to betray me.

And then I heard his chuckle, low and almost unbearably amused, the sound instantly making my already-flustered heart stumble inside my chest.

"I am sure I won't disappoint you, Rooh... par haan, the only problem is once I start, I won't stop until you're begging for your breath."

(But yes the only problem is, once I start, I won't stop until you're begging for your breath.)

My face turned crimson in an instant, and I gasped so loudly that even I felt embarrassed by my own reaction. What the freaking marshmallow?! Had he heard me? Had he somehow heard the ridiculous thought that had just crossed my mind? There was absolutely no way he could have known what I had been thinking, right? Right?

I silently prayed to Maa Kali to save me from this humiliation because, at this point, disappearing from the face of the earth seemed like the only reasonable solution.

"I... ch... chii... besharam..." (I... ew... shameless.)

I whispered, desperately trying to gather whatever little dignity I had left. Or perhaps I had already lost all of it the moment my eyes had betrayed me and wandered towards his lips. Either way, there was no recovering now. He looked at me for a moment, clearly enjoying every second of my embarrassment, before the amusement in his eyes deepened.

"Bas itne mein hi chii?"

(You're saying ew just at this?)

He asked, his voice dripping with teasing amusement.

"Miya-biwi aur bhi bohot chii wali cheezein karte hain, Butterfly..." (Husband and wife do many more 'ew' things too, Butterfly.)

He deliberately paused, watching my expression as if he were waiting for my brain to completely short-circuit before adding, with an infuriatingly innocent expression,

"I think I should give you a biology book as a gift for your birthday."

My eyes widened so dramatically that I was practically convinced they were going to pop out of their sockets. What the hell was wrong with this man? And why was he suddenly acting so shameless around me? Did he even understand what his own words meant, or was he simply enjoying watching me struggle to find a response?

I wasn't even sure which possibility was worse. I opened my mouth to argue, but no words came out. My brain had apparently abandoned me at the exact moment I needed it the most, leaving me standing there with nothing but a burning face and an increasingly chaotic heartbeat.

Before I could recover from the shock, he suddenly reached forward and gently pinched my cheeks, his fingers pressing into them with that same playful affection that somehow made my embarrassment even worse. Then, without warning, he slowly loosened his hold and untangled himself from me, taking a few steps backwards.

The moment his warmth disappeared, I became strangely aware of the emptiness between us. Only seconds ago, I had been complaining about how shamelessly close he was standing, and now that he had actually stepped away, some ridiculous part of me already wanted him closer again.

My heart was apparently determined to betray me at every possible opportunity. I watched him quietly, expecting him to finally let the topic end and perhaps go to sleep on the couch so I could recover from the emotional destruction he had caused.

For one brief moment, I genuinely believed I had survived. But then his eyes met mine, and that particular grin slowly appeared on his face. The kind of grin that immediately told me he was definitely planning something. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously, but before I could ask him what was going on, he casually picked up the glass of water resting on the side table.

His gaze flickered towards me for half a second, and then, with the most suspiciously innocent expression imaginable, he deliberately pretended to slip. The next second, the entire glass of water flew from his hand and splashed directly onto the couch.

My eyes widened in complete disbelief as I stared at the now-soaked couch and then slowly looked back at him. He stood there with an expression that was far too innocent to be genuine, while I could practically see the mischief dancing in his eyes.

He did that on purpose.

There was absolutely no doubt about it. He had just destroyed his own sleeping arrangement deliberately, and I knew exactly why. I pressed my lips together, trying desperately not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of his plan, before finally blurting out,

"Aru... yeh kya kiya aapne? Ab aap sowoge kidhar?" (Aru... what did you just do? Where are you going to sleep now?)

My voice carried a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and accusation as I stared at him.

He then turned towards me with the most innocent expression he could possibly manage, so innocent that I almost wanted to laugh at the sheer audacity of this man. His eyes briefly met mine before he slowly shifted his gaze towards the bed, as though he were genuinely considering his options and had absolutely no hidden agenda behind that suspiciously calm face.

"Waisa bed do logo ke liye bada toh hai... par phir bhi agar meri biwi ko meri buddhi haddiyon ki koi parwah nahi hai, toh main zameen par so jaunga..."

(The bed is big enough for two people... but if my wife doesn't care about my old bones, then I'll sleep on the floor.)

He delivered the entire sentence with such dramatic sadness that anyone unfamiliar with him might have actually believed he was preparing himself for a tragic night on the floor. With an exaggerated sigh, he picked up the blanket from the bed and slowly bent down as though he were genuinely going to spread it across the floor.

But he never actually placed it there. Instead, he paused halfway, glanced at me from beneath his lashes, and then continued pretending to arrange an imaginary sleeping space on the floor. When I didn't react, he lifted the blanket again and repeated the performance, each attempt becoming increasingly ridiculous. Once. Twice. Three times.

Every single time, his eyes secretly searched my face, waiting for me to surrender and invite him onto the bed, while I stood there watching his terrible performance with growing disbelief.

I finally rolled my eyes so dramatically that I was certain he had to understand exactly what I thought of his little act.

"Kisine aapko bola hai kya aap bahut ghatiya acting karte hain?" (Did someone ever tell you that you're a terrible actor?)

I asked, folding my arms and giving him a pointed look. For a moment, he simply stared at me, and then the corners of his lips slowly lifted into the most sheepish smile. There wasn't even a hint of shame in his expression; if anything, he looked ridiculously pleased with himself for being caught.

Without saying another word, he suddenly abandoned his entire performance, tossed the blanket aside, and practically jumped onto the bed as though he had been waiting for permission that I had never actually given him.

I stared at him in disbelief as he comfortably settled himself against the pillows, looking far too satisfied with how easily his little scheme had worked. Then, with the confidence of a man who had absolutely no intention of admitting defeat, he looked at me and replied,

"Meri biwi hai ek sundar si ladki... unhone bola hai bas abhi... ab unhone bola hai toh compliment hi hoga."

(My wife is a beautiful girl... she just said it herself... and if she said it, then it must be a compliment.)

I stared at him blankly for a few seconds, completely stunned, thoroughly flushed, and more than a little annoyed by how effortlessly he managed to turn every single conversation into something that left me speechless.

I folded my arms across my chest and narrowed my eyes at him, trying to gather enough composure to fight back instead of standing there like an idiot while he enjoyed my embarrassment.

"Maine toh aapko bed mein sone ko bola bhi nahi abhi tak..." (I haven't even asked you to sleep on the bed yet...)

I reminded him, my voice carrying an unmistakable hint of irritation. His response, however, was nothing but a quiet chuckle.

He pulled the blanket all the way up to his head as though he had already settled into his rightful place and had no intention whatsoever of acknowledging my complaint. Then, from beneath the blanket, his voice emerged, unbearably calm and smug

"Bola toh aapne yeh bhi tha ki aap mera naam apni hatheli par nahi likhengi... par dekhiye, aapke ring finger ke side par kisi ne 'Aru' ki 'Ruhi' likha hain..." (You had also said that you wouldn't write my name on your palm... but look, someone has written 'Aru' and 'Ruhi' beside your ring finger...)

I gasped, my eyes instantly dropping towards my hand before snapping back to him. How did he even see that? I had been so careful. I had deliberately written it in the tiny space between my fingers, where I thought nobody would notice unless they were specifically looking for it.

I had even kept my hand positioned in a way that would hide it from everyone else. Yet somehow, this man had noticed it anyway. My face instantly heated, and I quickly curled my fingers inward, trying to conceal the evidence as though hiding it now would somehow erase the fact that he had already seen it.

"Kuch bhi... woo b... bas Saanvi bha... bhabhi ne likh diya tha..." (It's nothing... I... it was just Saanvi bhabhi who wrote it...)

I stammered, the excuse tumbling out far too quickly to sound convincing even to myself. The moment I said it, I knew I had made the mistake of trying to explain myself because the tiny smile playing at the corner of his lips told me he wasn't buying a single word.

I quickly turned away before he could question me further and walked towards the bed, climbing onto the opposite side and settling beneath the covers, deliberately keeping my face turned away from him as though that would somehow protect me from his teasing.

A soft chuckle escaped him as he reached over and switched off the lights, leaving the room wrapped in darkness broken only by the faint silver glow of moonlight spilling through the enormous balcony windows.

For a few moments, everything became strangely quiet. I could hear nothing but the subtle sounds of the night and the steady rhythm of my own breathing. Then I felt his gaze on me. Slowly, I turned my head towards his side, and the sight that greeted me made my heart forget its rhythm for a fleeting second.

The moonlight falling through the balcony window illuminated his face with a soft, ethereal glow, tracing the sharpness of his features and making him look even more radiant than he had under the warm room lights. His eyes were fixed on me, calm and impossibly tender, and for once there was no mischievous grin on his lips. He simply looked at me, as though the rest of the world had quietly disappeared around us.

"Kehete hain hatheli mein naam likhne se aap ussi insaan ke ho jaate hain, Mrs. Sharma." (They say that writing someone's name on your palm means you belong to that person, Mrs. Sharma.)

His voice was softer this time, stripped of the playful arrogance from moments ago, and somehow those simple words carried far more weight than they should have. My fingers instinctively curled into my palm again, suddenly conscious of the tiny letters hidden there.

I didn't know whether the warmth spreading through me came from his words, his gaze, or the realization that something I had tried so carefully to hide had somehow become something he had noticed anyway.

My stomach erupted with a thousand restless butterflies at his words, each one fluttering wildly against my ribs until I could barely remember how to breathe normally.

I instantly averted my gaze from his, suddenly finding the blanket far more interesting than the man lying beside me, and quickly pulled it up to my shoulders, almost snatching it from his side as if hiding beneath it could somehow protect me from the effect he was having on me.

"Main nahi maanti yeh sab..." (I don't believe in all this...)

I murmured, trying my best to make my voice sound firm, unaffected, and completely uninterested in whatever ridiculous romantic theory he had just presented. But even I could hear the lack of conviction in my own words. He didn't argue.

He didn't tease me. He simply smiled, and somehow that smile did something far more dangerous to my heart than his teasing ever could. I could practically hear my own heartbeat echoing inside the silence of the room, each beat growing louder and faster as warmth spread through my body.

It was ridiculous how easily he could affect me without even touching me. Just one look, one smile, one sentence spoken in that impossibly calm voice, and suddenly I was fighting against feelings I wasn't even sure I was ready to name.

"Main toh maanta hoon..." (I do believe in it...)

He said softly after a moment of silence, and I slowly looked towards him again. His expression had changed; there was no mischief in his eyes now, only a quiet certainty that somehow made every word feel heavier.

"Tabhi toh maine aapka naam apni hatheli par likh diya hai... bilkul jaisa woh dil mein khud hi likh gaya tha." (That's why I wrote your name on my palm... exactly the way it somehow wrote itself into my heart.)

My breath caught somewhere between my chest and my throat. He paused for a moment, his gaze lowering towards his own hand as a faint smile touched his lips before he added,

"Ab toh aap maanti hain main aapka hoon?"

(Now do you believe that I am yours?)

My eyes widened at his words, and whatever attempt I had been making to hide beneath the blanket completely disappeared. My gaze snapped towards him, my heart pounding so violently that I was certain he could hear it from where he lay. He wasn't even looking at me anymore.

Instead, he was staring down at his left hand with that soft, almost private smile, as though the answer to every question between us had been sitting there all along.

Curiosity overcame my embarrassment before I could stop myself. I reached across the space between us and abruptly snatched his hand, making him look towards me in surprise.

My fingers tightened gently around his wrist as I turned his palm upwards, and for a few seconds I simply stared at it, unable to process what I was seeing. There, right in the centre of his palm, written in large, unmistakable letters, was one name.

Rooh.

My heart skipped a beat so violently that for a moment I genuinely forgot how to breathe. My breath hitched somewhere in my throat as I slowly turned my head back towards him, and the sight of him made something inside me soften all over again.

He was staring at me with nothing but softness in his eyes, no teasing, no mischievous grin, no playful arrogance-just a tenderness so raw and sincere that it almost frightened me with how deeply it reached somewhere inside my chest.

"Can I call you Rooh from now on, Butterfly... pretty please?"

He asked, and his sudden request caught me completely off guard. Of all the things I had expected him to say after showing me my name written across his palm, that wasn't one of them.

My heart was already overflowing with too many emotions to understand, and now his simple question somehow added another layer to the storm inside me. I swallowed, trying to find my voice, but when I finally managed to speak, it came out barely above a whisper.

"W... but why?" (But why?)

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he smiled, and that smile was warmer than anything I had seen from him before. Slowly, almost carefully, he reached for my hand, his fingers wrapping around mine with a gentleness that made my heart ache in the strangest way.

He lifted my hand towards himself and rested his forehead against my knuckles, closing his eyes for a brief moment as though simply being able to hold my hand was something he had silently wished for.

He took a deep breath, his warm exhale brushing softly against my skin, and when he finally spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Because that's what you have become to me... My Rooh." (Because that's what you have become to me... my soul.)

My lips parted as I took another shaky breath, unable to look away from him.

He slowly pressed his forehead a little more firmly against my knuckles, as though he wanted to hold on to the moment for just a little longer, before his voice broke the silence again.

"And I want to call you by a name that no one else can call you with... a name that indicates your worth in my life."

His words settled over me slowly, each one sinking deeper than the last.

"Jaise bina soul ke ek insaan ki zindagi adhuri hoti hai... same way, bina tumhare tumhara Aru bhi incomplete hai, Rooh..." (Just like without a soul, a human life is incomplete... in the same way, without you, your Aru is incomplete, Rooh.)

He paused, and I could hear the emotion beneath his voice now, the quiet vulnerability hidden behind all the teasing confidence he usually carried. Then he whispered,

"Please... accept me."

I gulped, my throat suddenly dry as my heart pounded violently against my ribs, each beat seeming to echo through the quiet room. My entire body was trembling faintly beneath the blanket, overwhelmed by the mixture of emotions crashing into me all at once.

Fear, panic, anxiety, hesitation, and a desperate uncertainty that I couldn't silence no matter how hard I tried-all of it pressed against the fragile truth I had been trying to protect inside myself. I didn't want to ask the question.

Every part of me was terrified of hearing the answer, yet somehow the words slipped past my lips before I could stop them, carried by the hesitation of a heart that had already been hurt enough to expect the worst.

"What if I say no, Aru... will you ever force yourself on me?"

The moment the words left my mouth, the air between us seemed to freeze. His head jerked back, and his eyes immediately locked onto mine, the softness in them replaced by something I couldn't quite understand.

By then, my eyes were already glistening with unshed tears, the kind that always seemed to gather whenever emotions became too heavy for me to contain. I hated that my eyes betrayed me so easily. I hated that even when I wanted to appear strong, they always revealed the fear I desperately tried to hide.

My body continued trembling faintly, but I didn't look away. I kept my gaze fixed on him, staring almost blankly as though I were preparing myself for an answer that could either soothe every fragile doubt inside me or shatter whatever little trust I had begun to build.

I wasn't asking because I wanted to accuse him. I was asking because some wounds teach you to question even the gentlest hands before allowing them anywhere near your heart. And now I waited in absolute silence, holding my breath as I waited for his answer..an answer that, somewhere deep inside me, I feared might break my heart all over again.

But instead of answering immediately, his hand slowly slipped beneath the blanket and found my waist. For one fleeting second, my body tensed instinctively, but then his hold remained gentle, careful, and reassuring as he pulled me towards him, drawing me into the warmth of his arms.

I didn't protest. I didn't pull away. I simply let myself be held, letting the warmth of his body settle around me while my trembling slowly began to quiet. Perhaps, at that moment, it was the only solace I could accept..the only warmth capable of reaching the parts of my heart that had remained painfully cold for far too long.

I rested against him without saying anything, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing while the tears continued to gather silently in my eyes.

Then his voice finally broke through the silence, soft but firm, carrying a certainty that left no room for doubt.

"Never, Butterfly... never."

He tightened his arms around me just enough to reassure me, never enough to make me feel trapped.

"Main khud ko duniya ka sabse lucky insaan samjhunga agar tum mujhe apne jooton ki dhool banne ka haq bhi de do..." (I would consider myself the luckiest man in the world if you even allowed me to be the dust beneath your feet.)

His voice trembled faintly with emotion as he continued,

"Aur yahan tum mujhse keh rahi ho ki main tumhare feelings par zabardasti karunga..."

(And here you are telling me that I would ever force my feelings upon you...)

He took a slow breath, his hand remaining steady at my waist.

"Main marna qabool kar lunga, Butterfly... lekin apne dil mein aisi soch ko jagah dene se pehle."

(I would rather accept death than ever allow such a thought to enter my heart.)

_________________________________________

Chapter 28

Ruhika POV

My eyelashes fluttered softly as a gentle yawn escaped my lips, pulling me slowly out of the depths of sleep. My mind was still hazy, caught somewhere between dreams and reality, and for a few precious seconds, I had absolutely no idea where I was. All I could feel was an unfamiliar warmth surrounding me, making me reluctant to open my eyes. There was something strangely comforting about the warmth beneath me, something that made sleep feel far too peaceful to abandon.

"Bholenath, why is this mattress so hard again?" I mumbled sleepily.

(Oh Lord Shiva, why is this mattress so hard again?)

Still half-asleep, I slowly moved my hand beneath me, searching for a comfortable position. My fingers brushed against the strange, firm surface underneath my body.

It was hard, but strangely soft at the same time. Confused and far too sleepy to question it properly, I slowly clutched the substance beneath me, squeezing it once as if testing whether my so-called mattress had somehow changed overnight. When it didn't make sense, I squeezed it again, my eyes still firmly closed, completely unaware of the absurdity of what I was doing.

Then a deep, husky voice suddenly broke through the peaceful silence.

"Taking advantage of your husband while he is sleeping is not good, Rooh..." (Taking advantage of your husband while he is sleeping is not good, Rooh...)

My eyes snapped open in absolute horror.

For a moment, I simply stared ahead, my brain refusing to process what I was seeing. Then slowly, painfully slowly, reality began to register, and every ounce of sleep disappeared from my body at once. I froze so completely that even breathing suddenly felt like a conscious decision. Because the hard mattress I had been complaining about wasn't a mattress.

It was Arnav. My husband.

And apparently, sometime during the night, my sleeping self had completely forgotten every boundary I had ever tried to maintain with this man.

I wasn't merely lying beside him. I wasn't resting my head on his shoulder or accidentally brushing against him. No. When I say I was sleeping on top of him, I mean I was completely on top of him. My entire body was practically covering his, leaving absolutely no respectable distance between us. I had wrapped myself around him like a koala who had finally found its favourite tree and had no intention of letting go.

One of my legs was thrown over both of his, effectively trapping him beneath me, while my other leg was tangled somewhere between us. Both of my arms were tightly wrapped around his torso, my fingers gripping him as though I had been desperately trying to hold him in place even in my sleep. The embrace was so tight that, for one horrifying second, I wondered whether I had been unconsciously attempting to squeeze the life out of my own husband.

But the final blow to whatever remained of my dignity was my face.

My face was buried deep in the crook of his neck. Not near his neck. Not beside his neck. Deep into his neck. My cheek was pressed against his warm skin, my nose dangerously close to his jaw, while strands of my hair were scattered across his chest and shoulder.

His familiar scent surrounded me completely, and the warmth radiating from his body made the realization even more unbearable. I could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath me, could hear the faint rhythm of his breathing, and suddenly every tiny detail I had ignored while sleeping became painfully obvious.

My cheeks began burning almost instantly. Heat rushed up my neck and spread across my face until I was certain I must have turned an alarming shade of red. I wanted to disappear. Preferably immediately. If the earth could simply open beneath me and swallow me whole, I would have accepted that fate without a single complaint.

How had this happened? When had I moved so close to him? Why was I sleeping like this?

My face burned an even deeper shade of red as the reality of my situation finally settled in. How the fuck had I ended up like this?

I had absolutely no explanation for how I had gone to sleep with a perfectly reasonable amount of personal space and somehow woken up practically wrapped around my husband like my life depended on it.

My heart was hammering against my ribs, and before I could embarrass myself any further, I immediately hurried to untangle myself from him, desperately trying to escape the situation before Arnav could say anything else.

But apparently, escaping wasn't an option. The moment I managed to pull myself even a little away from him, his arm tightened around my waist, and before I could react, he effortlessly pulled me straight back into his arms. My body collided with his chest again, leaving me staring at him with wide, mortified eyes while his hold remained secure around me.

"Running off after taking my advantage, wifey... not good." (Running away after taking advantage of me, wifey... that's not good.)

His voice carried that unmistakable teasing amusement, and somehow that made my humiliation ten times worse. I could feel the heat spreading across my cheeks all over again, and for a moment, I genuinely wanted to bury my face somewhere just so I wouldn't have to look at him.

Holy Mother Earth, could you please swallow me right now? I would happily disappear into the ground and remain there until this entire situation became a distant memory.

"I-I thought you were the mattress,"

I stammered, the words escaping my mouth before I could think of a better excuse. The moment I heard myself say it aloud, I wanted to take the sentence back. Out of all the explanations in the entire universe, that was the one my panicking brain had decided to offer him.

For a second, Arnav simply stared at me. Then a low chuckle escaped his lips. The sound vibrated through his chest, travelling straight into me because I was still pressed against him, and the sensation sent an involuntary shiver through my entire body.

I swallowed hard, suddenly far too conscious of how close we were. His amusement only seemed to grow as he looked at me, while I desperately tried to pretend that my heart wasn't behaving like it had forgotten how to beat normally.

I gulped and once again attempted to free myself from his grip, but before I could even figure out how to escape, everything suddenly shifted.

In one swift movement, Arnav turned us upside down. My eyes widened instantly. A startled gasp caught in my throat as my back met the mattress, and before I could comprehend what had happened, I found myself lying beneath him. Arnav's entire bulky frame hovered over mine, his arms braced beside me as he effectively blocked every possible route of escape. The sudden change in position left me completely breathless, my heart pounding wildly as I stared up at him.

He was so close.

Far too close. The playful expression on his face had transformed into something that made my thoughts scatter. His gaze remained fixed on mine, and slowly, the corner of his lips lifted into a thin, knowing smirk. The sight alone sent another nervous flutter through my stomach.

Then he leaned closer. His warm breath brushed against my face, making me instinctively hold my breath. The distance between us disappeared little by little until I could feel the heat of his presence surrounding me. My fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet beneath me, not because he had asked me to stay, but because suddenly I didn't know what else to do with them.

Arnav tilted his head toward my ear, his voice dropping into a low, teasing whisper that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Tsk, wifeyy... itna accha lagta hain kya aapko hamari baahon mein sona ki har baar hamari baahon aapko mattress lagne lag jaati hain?" (Tsk, wifey... do you like sleeping in my arms so much that every time you end up in them, my arms start feeling like a mattress to you?)

My breath halted at his words, confusion and a strange flutter in my heart rushing through me at the same time. I stared at him, completely unable to understand whether he was merely teasing me or whether there was something far more sincere hidden beneath his playful words. My heartbeat seemed to grow louder with every passing second, and suddenly, being this close to him felt far too overwhelming.

"Ma... matlab?" I stammered breathlessly. (W-what do you mean?)

The words barely left my lips before I felt his hands, which had been resting firmly at both sides of my waist, move slightly. His fingertips began tracing slow, absent-minded circles near my waist, and the simple touch sent an involuntary shiver through me.

My body reacted before my mind could make sense of it, my muscles tensing as warmth crept steadily across my skin. I clenched my thighs together instinctively, desperately trying to regain control over the nervous fluttering that had taken over my entire body.

He noticed. Of course he noticed.

A soft, breathless smirk curved across his lips as he watched my reaction, his eyes carrying that familiar mixture of amusement and something deeper that I couldn't quite decipher. He leaned closer, and the slight brush of his lips against my earlobe made my breath catch all over again.

"Matlab kuch bhi ho, par result yeh hai, Mrs. Sharma, ki main surely aapka mattress banne se kabhi mind nahi karunga, agar mujhe har raat aapko isi tarah apni baahon mein pakad kar rakhne ka mauka mile..."

(Whatever the reason may be, Mrs. Sharma, the result is that I certainly wouldn't mind being your mattress if it means I get to hold you in my arms like this every night...)

My stomach dropped.

For a moment, I simply stared at him, my mind going completely blank. His words weren't complicated, yet somehow they had managed to reach a place inside me that I hadn't been prepared to expose.

There was something unbearably intimate about the way he had said them.. not merely the teasing hidden beneath his voice, but the quiet sincerity that seemed to linger between every word.

My throat tightened in a way I couldn't name. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to respond.

I immediately placed both my hands against his chest and tried to push him away, desperately attempting to create even the tiniest bit of distance between us. But the man in front of me was practically a human wall.

Despite putting all my effort into pushing him, Arnav didn't even budge. Not an inch. Instead, he simply looked down at me with an irritatingly calm expression, as though my struggle was nothing more than an amusing little performance he had no intention of letting me win.

"Itni aasani se nahi jaane dunga aaj toh main aapko, Rooh..." he whispered, a slow smile spreading across his face. (I'm not going to let you get away that easily today, Rooh...)

Something about that smile made my heart stumble. There was mischief in it, but there was something else too-something that immediately made my instincts scream that whatever was coming next, I was absolutely not prepared for it. My pulse quickened as I stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on inside that dangerously composed mind of his.

"A... Aru..."

I began, my voice barely more than a nervous whisper. But before I could complete his name, one of his fingers gently came to rest against my lips, silencing the rest of my words before they could escape.

My breath caught.

The simple gesture left me completely speechless, my eyes widening as I stared at him. His finger remained there for only a moment, yet somehow it felt as though every remaining thought in my mind had vanished along with my words.

"Shh... meri jaan," he murmured softly. (Shh... my love.)

My lips parted in a startled gasp the instant I heard those words.

Meri jaan.

Did he really just call me that?

The question echoed through my mind, refusing to disappear. I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly feeling impossibly dry as my heart pounded against my chest with such force that I was almost convinced it was trying to escape my body altogether. I couldn't understand why two simple words had affected me so deeply, but they had.

He had called me meri jaan. Not Rooh. Not wifey. Not Mrs. Sharma.

Meri jaan.

My fingers slowly curled against his chest, and for the first time since waking up, I completely forgot about pushing him away. My mind was too occupied replaying those two words over and over again, trying to understand why hearing them from him felt so different.

"Agar aapko yahan se jaana hai toh karz utaar kar jaana hoga..." he added slowly, his voice dropping into a dangerously soft whisper.

(If you want to leave from here, then you'll have to repay your debt first...)

His finger moved gently across the corner of my lips as he spoke, his gaze never leaving them. The simple touch was enough to make my entire body go still.

My knees felt strangely weak despite the fact that I was lying down, and my heart began pounding so violently that I was certain he could hear it. I swallowed nervously, trying to gather even a single sensible thought, but with Arnav this close, even breathing seemed like an impossible task.

"K... kaisa karz?" I breathed, my voice barely audible.

(What kind of debt?)

The words came out as nothing more than a breathless whisper. I could feel the effect of his presence everywhere-his warmth, his closeness, the intensity of his gaze, and the maddening calmness with which he seemed to be watching me unravel beneath his attention.

I hated how easily he could make me forget what I was supposed to say. One look from him, one teasing movement, and suddenly the carefully composed version of Ruhika I knew seemed to disappear.

His eyes slowly met mine. And whatever I saw there made my heart stumble.

The softness was still present..the same warmth that had occasionally slipped through his teasing..but there was something darker beneath it now. Something intense. Something dangerously confident.

It wasn't threatening, yet it carried an undeniable weight that made my pulse quicken. His gaze shifted between my eyes and my lips, lingering there just long enough to make me painfully aware of where he was looking.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The silence between us felt heavier than words could ever be. Then the faintest curve appeared on his lips before he leaned just a little closer, his voice falling into a low whisper that seemed to travel straight through me.

"Kiss me, Rooh."

I froze.

My eyes widened so much that I was certain they might fall out of their sockets. For a few seconds, I simply stared at him, completely incapable of processing what I had just heard. The words kept echoing inside my head, refusing to make sense. Did he really just say that? Did Arnav seriously just ask me to kiss him?

"Huh..." escaped my lips, except it sounded less like a question and more like a startled scream.

The corner of his lips twitched again, and the amusement in his eyes made one thing painfully obvious..he was enjoying every single second of my flustered reaction. There was no embarrassment on his face, no hesitation, nothing except that maddeningly calm confidence of his, as though asking his wife for a kiss while hovering over her was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"I said, kiss me, wifey... isn't it something basic between two married people, right?"

He said casually, as though he were stating an undeniable fact rather than completely short-circuiting my brain.

I continued staring at him as though I had just witnessed a ghost.

How was he so calm? How could he say something like that so effortlessly while I was struggling to remember how breathing worked?

My lips parted, but no words came out. Every possible response seemed to disappear the moment I looked at him. The more composed he appeared, the more chaotic my thoughts became.

"Accha baba, no more teasing,"

He finally whispered, noticing the absolute panic written across my face. (Okay, okay, no more teasing.)

He gently pinched my cheek, and the unexpected tenderness of the gesture made me release a breath I hadn't even realized I was holding. Relief washed through me, and for one brief second, I thought the entire ordeal was finally over. Maybe he really had only been teasing me. Maybe I could finally escape this embarrassing situation with at least a tiny fragment of my dignity intact.

But that relief didn't even have time to settle before he spoke again.

"Par at least ek peck on my cheek toh main deserve karta hoon na, meri jaan... please. Just one, phir main aapko jaane dunga, promise." (But at least I deserve a peck on my cheek, don't I, my love? Please. Just one, then I'll let you go, promise.)

My breath halted. There it was again.

Meri jaan.

That name somehow affected me differently every time he said it. My heart began pounding so loudly that I could almost hear it ringing in my ears. My throat suddenly felt dry, and I swallowed slowly, trying to steady the storm of emotions he had managed to create with nothing more than a few words.

I looked into his eyes. And this time, there was no teasing hiding behind them. They were soft. Warm. Patient.

Almost as though he wasn't demanding anything from me at all. He was simply waiting, giving me the choice while silently making it impossible for me to ignore the effect he was having on me.

My gaze remained locked with his for several seconds before, almost involuntarily, it began to drift.

From his eyes... Down to the sharp line of his nose... And finally-His lips.

I stopped there.

My heart gave another heavy thud against my ribs as my eyes remained fixed on them, suddenly far too aware of the small distance separating us. I could feel warmth gathering beneath my skin, while my thoughts became an incomprehensible mess of hesitation, curiosity, nervousness, and something I wasn't quite brave enough to name.

"Kali Maa, this isn't a dream, right?"

I whispered, although the words seemed to echo more inside my own mind than in the room.

I couldn't tell whether I was asking the goddess for reassurance or myself. Everything felt strangely unreal..the warmth surrounding me, the intensity in Arnav's eyes, and the fact that the man who had spent so much time teasing me was now looking at me with a softness that made my heart behave in ways I didn't understand.

Without even realizing it, I slowly licked my lips, my gaze involuntarily lingering on his pink lips as the thought of what he had asked me replayed inside my head.

"Let's leave it, Rooh... it's okay if you're not ready yet,"

His voice came softly, almost immediately pulling me back from my thoughts.

That nickname hit me somewhere deep.

Rooh.

The way he said it always carried something different. It wasn't merely a name anymore. Somehow, when it came from him, it felt like a quiet reminder that he saw something in me beyond everything I had spent years trying to hide. And suddenly, yesterday's words came rushing back to me with painful clarity..the words that had left me completely speechless.

"Never, butterfly... never. I will think myself the luckiest man in the world if you even let me be the dust beneath your shoes, and here you are talking about me forcing my feelings on you. I would accept death before that kind of thought even dared to cross my mind."

I remembered the exact way he had said it, the sincerity in his voice, the complete absence of anger or frustration. He hadn't tried to convince me. He hadn't made me feel guilty. He hadn't questioned why I couldn't give him something he wanted. Instead, even while talking about his own feelings, he had somehow made my comfort his priority.

And even then, I hadn't had an answer. Even now, I didn't. That was perhaps what confused me the most.

Arnav was thinking about my comfort when even the people who were supposed to protect me had never bothered to ask whether I was comfortable. He was giving me a choice when others had spent years taking choices away from me. He was standing right in front of me with every reason to demand something from me as his wife, yet the moment he sensed even the slightest hesitation, he was ready to step back.

There was something about that which quietly dismantled me. Maybe that was why his request didn't frighten me the way I thought it should have. Maybe it was because somewhere along the way, he had made me understand that my no would always remain a no with him. That I didn't have to surrender my boundaries simply because we were married. That I could take my time, and he would still be there.

I didn't know what to call the feeling gathering inside my chest. I only knew that it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

My heart fluttered helplessly as I remembered what I had said yesterday, almost without thinking.

"Do whatever you want..."

And then I had immediately turned away, hiding my burning face beneath the blanket because I hadn't possessed the courage to face him after those words left my lips.

He simply chuckled, the sound soft and warm, before wrapping his arms around me from behind and pulling me gently against his chest. His warmth surrounded me again, and for a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to forget everything..the past, the fear, the uncertainty, and all the reasons I had taught myself not to become attached to anyone. His lips came close to my ear, and his voice dropped into a quiet whisper that somehow felt more intimate than any grand confession could have been.

"From today, you are my Rooh... only mine. No one else can call you that except me."

My heart went wild with butterflies. There was something about the possessiveness in his words that should have irritated me, yet coming from him, it felt strangely different. It wasn't the kind of possession that demanded ownership over me or tried to cage me.

It sounded almost like a promise..a quiet declaration that the nickname he had given me belonged to a part of me that he had come to cherish. I didn't know why those simple words affected me so deeply, but I found myself smiling faintly, my heart betraying every carefully constructed rule I had made for myself. But then reality returned.

I felt his warmth slowly disappear.

The arms that had been holding me loosened, and Arnav began shifting away, apparently ready to turn to the other side and give me the space he thought I needed. The sudden loss of his warmth sent an unexpected emptiness through me. It was ridiculous. Only moments ago, I had been desperate to escape his closeness, and now that he was actually moving away, something inside me panicked at the thought of losing it.

Before I could overthink it, my hand moved on its own. I reached forward and caught his hand.

He immediately froze. My fingers tightened around his, and suddenly I found myself staring at him, my heart pounding so violently that I could barely hear anything else. My mind was screaming at me to let go. Every sensible part of me was telling me to stop, to retreat before I crossed a line I might not be ready to cross.

But my heart...My heart was tired of running.

"I never said no, Aru..." I whispered.

The words were soft, almost fragile, but they carried a weight I had been struggling to acknowledge even to myself.

For a moment, I simply held his hand, wondering how something so small could feel like such a massive decision. My heart was begging me to hold on to the warmth I had spent years convincing myself I didn't need, while my mind was desperately reminding me of every reason I should be careful.

I was afraid. Of him. Of myself. Of what trusting someone again could cost me.

But perhaps trust had never meant knowing that you could never be hurt. Perhaps it meant accepting that you could be hurt and still choosing to believe that not everyone would use your vulnerability against you.

And Arnav had given me reasons to believe him.

He had given me choices when others had taken mine away. He had respected my hesitation instead of turning it into an obligation. He had never made my past feel like a burden I owed him an explanation for. And somehow, without even realizing it, he had become the person whose presence made me feel safe enough to question the walls I had built around myself.

So, for once, I decided not to listen to the voice in my head screaming at me to run. I chose to listen to the quiet voice inside my heart asking me to stay. I chose to trust the process one more time.

Because if trusting someone meant risking getting hurt again, then perhaps this time, I wanted to take that risk with the one person I had secretly begun planting feelings for..despite reminding myself a thousand times every single day that I shouldn't.

He seemed completely taken aback by my sudden move. His lips parted in genuine shock, and for the first time since this entire ridiculous situation had begun, the confident, teasing expression disappeared from his face. He looked at me as though he couldn't quite believe what I had just said..or perhaps what I was about to do.

"No, Rooh... you don't have to force yourself into anything just because I told you. I can wai-"

Before he could even finish his sentence, I leaned upward and planted the softest peck on his cheek.

It barely lasted a second. Barely. It was so quick that even I wasn't entirely sure how I had managed to gather enough courage to actually do it. One moment I was staring at him, listening to him tell me that I didn't have to do anything I wasn't ready for, and the next, my lips had already touched his cheek before my courage could change its mind.

The moment I realized what I had done, panic took over. I didn't wait. I didn't give him even a second to react.

I immediately pushed him aside, scrambled off the bed, and practically sprinted toward the door as though my life depended on it. My heart was pounding wildly against my chest, my face felt like it was on fire, and my legs carried me away before my brain could even process what had just happened.

I didn't dare look back. Because if I saw his expression, I knew there was a very good chance I would completely lose the tiny amount of courage I had managed to collect.

I rushed through the door, my heartbeat refusing to calm down, my cheeks still burning from what I had done. And somewhere between my embarrassment, my racing pulse, and the ridiculous smile threatening to take over my face, a realization struck me so suddenly that I almost wanted to laugh.

My childhood bucket list had just been completed.

Kissing my grumpy crush-check.

A smile finally touched my lips as I hurried away, one hand instinctively pressing against my chest as though I could somehow hold my runaway heart in place.

I had actually done it. After all those years of secretly crushing on the most impossible, grumpy man I had ever known, I had finally kissed him.

Even if it had lasted barely a second. Even if it had been nothing more than a tiny peck on his cheek. It still counted.

And as I disappeared down the hallway with my heart pounding like crazy and my face burning brighter than ever, I couldn't stop the ridiculous little smile that remained on my lips.

Bucket list: completed.

........

Arnav POV

She kissed me.

She actually kissed me. My wife... my wife actually kissed me.

For several seconds, my brain simply refused to process what had just happened. I lay there completely frozen, staring blankly at the ceiling as though it might somehow explain the insanity that had just taken place.

This isn't a dream, is it?

I swallowed hard, my mind replaying those barely-there seconds on an endless loop. Her lips had touched my cheek. Softly. Hesitantly. For barely a heartbeat.

But that single heartbeat had managed to destroy every ounce of sanity I possessed.

My hand slowly lifted on its own, fingertips finding the exact spot on my cheek where her lips had rested moments ago. I touched it almost reverently, as though I could somehow preserve the warmth she had left behind.

She kissed me. She really kissed me.

I had been teasing her. I had asked for nothing more than a tiny peck because I wanted to see her flustered, never actually expecting her to take me seriously. I had already been prepared to let her go the moment I realized she wasn't ready.

And then she had surprised me. That tiny, innocent kiss meant more to me than she could ever possibly understand. Because I knew who I was in her eyes..or at least who I thought I was.

A bastard. A man she had every reason to distrust. A man who had walked into her already shattered world and somehow found himself wanting to become the one person she could feel safe with. I had never expected her to look at me with softness. I had certainly never expected her to willingly close the distance between us.

Yet she had. She had chosen to kiss me. Not because I forced her. Not because I demanded it. But because, for one tiny moment, she trusted me enough to do it herself. That realization hit harder than the kiss itself.

My chest tightened as an utterly ridiculous grin threatened to take over my face. I tried to suppress it, failed miserably, and finally covered my burning face with one hand.

"Oh God... I can't breathe. I might faint now."

The words escaped me in a completely undignified whisper before I practically groaned into my palm.

What the hell was happening to me?

I was a grown-ass man. A twenty-nine-year-old heart surgeon who had spent years keeping his emotions under control, who could stand calmly through the most terrifying situations without letting his hands tremble. And yet one tiny peck from my wife had reduced me to a hopelessly lovesick idiot lying on a bed and staring at the ceiling like he'd just witnessed a miracle.

I dragged my hand down my face, trying desperately to compose myself. It didn't work. The smile returned.

Damn it.

She had no idea what she had just done to me.

My fingers fumbled toward the side table, searching blindly until they found my phone. If I didn't tell someone about this immediately, I was genuinely convinced I might explode from keeping it inside.

I unlocked the screen, scrolled through my contacts, and stopped at one particular name. My asshole best friend. Or, as I should probably call him now... My brother-in-law.

The same bastard because of whom I had somehow ended up with the woman I had loved silently for days. I stared at his name for a second, still wearing the stupidest smile known to mankind.

Then I pressed call.

"Hello..."

Shivansh's voice came from the other end of the call, calm, deep, and as annoyingly serious as always. And here I was... Barely in a condition to speak.

I swallowed hard, still staring at the ceiling like my entire soul had temporarily left my body. My fingers instinctively tightened against the spot on my cheek where my Rooh's lips had rested only moments ago. I could still feel the ghost of that softness against my skin, and somehow that tiny memory was enough to make my already-racing heart go completely insane.

"Book an ER for me as soon as possible..."

I whispered, my voice barely functioning.

"I might be having a heart failure."

There was a brief silence from the other end. I didn't even blame him. I sounded insane.

But what else was I supposed to say?

My heart was beating so violently that I genuinely felt as though it might collapse from happiness before I even made it to the hospital. My breathing had become heavy and uneven, almost like a fish desperately trying to breathe after being pulled out of water. Every inch of my body felt unnaturally warm, as though I had suddenly developed a fever.

And the worst part? I was smiling. Like an absolute idiot.

I pressed my palm harder against my cheek, almost trying to convince myself that the moment had actually happened.

She kissed me. Ruhika kissed me. My wife kissed me.

The same woman who had spent so long building walls around herself had voluntarily crossed one tiny boundary with me. It had lasted less than a second, but to me, it felt like someone had handed me an entire lifetime in the form of a single heartbeat.

"Huh... kya bakwas kar raha hai subah-subah?"

Shivansh barked from the other side, his irritation becoming increasingly obvious.

(What nonsense are you talking about so early in the morning?)

I barely registered his words. He could have insulted me for the next ten minutes and I probably wouldn't have cared.

My mind was still stuck on that tiny kiss. On her shy face. On the way she had kissed my cheek before immediately running away as though she had committed the biggest crime of her life.

"I am serious, Shivansh... my wife kissed me for the first time. And how exactly do you think my heart is supposed to react to that?"

I replied, my voice carrying a mixture of disbelief and genuine helplessness. I took a sharp inhale and slowly turned my head toward the side table, where her photograph rested. The moment my eyes landed on her smiling face, something inside me softened instantly, and a smile automatically spread across my lips.

There she was. My Rooh. The woman who had somehow managed to turn a man who prided himself on his self-control into a complete and utter mess with nothing more than a single kiss.

I stared at her photograph for a few seconds, my thumb unconsciously tracing the edge of my phone while the memory of her lips against my cheek replayed itself in my head. It was ridiculous how quickly my entire mood changed whenever it came to her. One glimpse of her face, one thought of her, one tiny gesture from her-and suddenly the ruthless, composed Arnav Sharma everyone knew seemed to disappear somewhere.

"Oh God..." I breathed, shaking my head with a helpless little laugh.

"I am totally whipped for my wife."

From the other end, Shivansh cleared his throat loudly.

"Ahem..."

I could practically picture the expression on his face. He was probably regretting the moment he had ever decided to answer my call.

"It's just a kiss by your wife,"

He said with the patience of a man speaking to an unusually irritating child.

"Be a man, Arnav. Aur please, apni marital life apne paas rakho."

(And please, keep your marital life to yourself.)

Before I could even defend myself..or remind him that this was entirely his fault for being the reason I had ended up with the woman I had loved for unexpectedly-the call abruptly disconnected.

I stared at the screen in complete disbelief.

"Did he seriously just-"

I stopped myself. The call had already ended. I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen for a few seconds before letting out a disbelieving breath. Typical Shivansh. Huh.

"Aaj toh main poore Delhi mein mithai batwaunga..." (Today, I'm going to distribute sweets all over Delhi...)

I stopped mid-sentence, my eyes widening as another, far more brilliant idea struck me. I sat upright on the bed, suddenly far too excited for a man who had nearly declared himself a cardiac emergency a few minutes ago.

"Nahi, nahi..."

I shook my head enthusiastically, already convinced that whatever I was about to suggest was nothing short of genius.

"Yeh zyada achha karta hoon..." (I'll do something much better...)

A mischievous smile slowly spread across my face as I touched the exact spot on my cheek where my Rooh had kissed me.

"Jis jagah meri Rooh ne kiss kiya hai, wahaan tattoo karwa deta hoon." (I'll get a tattoo exactly where my Rooh kissed me.) "Isse woh nishaan hamesha rahega..." (That way, the mark will stay forever.)

I nodded proudly at my own brilliance. Honestly, what could possibly be more romantic? A permanent reminder of the first time my wife had kissed me.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

I was already reaching for my phone to book an appointment when suddenly-A hand snatched it straight out of mine.

"Aru! Pagal hain kya aap?"

(Aru! Are you crazy?)

I froze. My eyes immediately snapped toward her. Ruhika stood there, glaring at me with narrowed eyes, my phone firmly clutched in her hand as though she had just confiscated a dangerous weapon from a particularly troublesome child.

And the sight of her nearly made me forget what I had been about to say. Her face was still flushed with embarrassment, the soft pink tint across her cheeks giving away just how shy she actually was.

It was almost impossible to connect this blushing, flustered woman standing in front of me with the same girl who had, only moments ago, gathered enough courage to lean toward me and kiss my cheek before running away like she had committed a crime. The contrast was almost comical.

"Hm... ab maine kya kiya, jaan?" (Hm... what did I do now, love?)

I asked, putting on my most innocent expression as I looked at her. I genuinely couldn't understand why she was looking at me like I had just committed some unforgivable crime.

"Accha? Aur abhi yeh tattoo ka kya bakwaas kar rahe the aap?" (Oh, really? And what nonsense were you talking about getting a tattoo just now?) she shot back, her eyes narrowing even further.

A smile immediately broke across my lips. I slowly lifted my fingers and touched the exact spot on my cheek where she had kissed me.

The reaction was instant. The moment my fingertips brushed against that place, the color rushed back into her cheeks. Her eyes flickered away, her confidence from moments ago disappearing as nervousness took its place. She suddenly looked as though she had no idea what to do with herself.

And strangely enough...Neither did I. Despite all my teasing, despite the jokes, despite pretending to be completely unaffected, my own chest tightened at the memory.

It still felt unreal. Like I was going to wake up any second and realize that the entire thing had been nothing more than an overactive imagination.

I looked at her, my expression softening.

"Toh meri wife ne mujhe kiss kiya hai..." (So, my wife kissed me...)

I murmured, my fingers still resting against my cheek.

"Mujhe isse preserve karke rakhna hai." (I want to preserve it.)

A small smile tugged at my lips as I continued,

"I want to treasure it forever."

Her lips parted in disbelief. For a few seconds, she simply stared at me as though she was waiting for me to burst into laughter and admit that I had been joking.

But I didn't.

"Aru, aap aisa kuch nahi karne wale..." (Aru, you are not going to do anything like that...)

She said firmly, folding her arms across her chest as though she had already made the decision on my behalf. I simply shrugged my shoulders, leaning back against the headboard while raising an eyebrow at her, silently challenging her little attempt at authority.

"Aur main kyun nahi kar sakta yeh sab, hmm? Bataiye zara, biwi ji." (And why can't I do all this, hmm? Tell me, wifey.)

I watched her breath hitch for the briefest second. Her eyes widened slightly, and the confidence she had gathered moments ago seemed to crumble almost instantly. She clearly hadn't expected me to call her that. Biwi ji. The way her cheeks flushed made something warm bloom inside my chest. God, she had absolutely no idea what my heart was actually yearning to call her, nor did she have the slightest idea of all the things I wanted to do for her.

I was only holding myself back because I didn't want to scare my little wifey away. She was finally beginning to trust me, finally beginning to let those carefully built walls come down, and I would rather wait for her forever than make her feel pressured into giving me something before she was ready.

"A... Aru, we... lo... log kya kahenge agar aap aisa tattoo lekar ghoomenge gaal par..." (A... Aru, what will people say if you walk around with a tattoo on your cheek...)

She managed to say, stumbling over almost every word as her embarrassment grew. I could see exactly how flustered she was, and the sight almost made me laugh, but before she could finish whatever argument she had prepared, I gently interrupted her.

"And that was the first kiss from my wifey, butterfly,"

I said, my voice softening as my fingers once again brushed over the spot she had kissed. Because that was what made it different. It wasn't simply a kiss. It was her first kiss with me..the first tiny piece of affection she had willingly given me without fear, hesitation, or obligation.

Her lips parted in complete shock as she stared at me, utterly dumbfounded. For a moment, she looked as though she genuinely couldn't believe what I had just said. And, honestly, seeing that expression on her face made me ridiculously satisfied.

I was almost certain I had won the argument. With a smug little smile tugging at my lips, I was just about to get out of bed and head toward the bathroom when her next words stopped me so abruptly that I practically forgot how to breathe.

"But it isn't the last one, na, Aru..."

(But it isn't the last one, right, Aru...)

My head snapped toward her so quickly that I nearly gave myself whiplash. My heart seemed to slam against my ribs as I stared at her, wondering if I had somehow heard her wrong. But then her eyes met mine, wide and innocent, those soft doe-like eyes carrying absolutely no idea of the havoc she had just caused inside me. She looked so genuinely innocent that it almost felt unfair. She didn't even realize what those few words had done to me.

"So, as your wife, I am warning you... dare you tattoo it, and I will never kiss you again,"

She added, trying to make it sound like a serious threat. But the warning came out barely louder than a whisper, more like a tiny kitten attempting to scare someone twice her size. Her face turned an even deeper shade of pink as she finished speaking, and I could only stare at her in stunned silence.

My breath caught somewhere in my throat.

Never kiss me again? No. Absolutely not. That was not a threat. That was emotional blackmail of the highest possible level, and the worst part was that she didn't even know how devastatingly effective it was.

"This time, I surely need an emergency admission in a hospital..."

I muttered, mostly to myself, pressing a hand against my chest.

"I think my heart is going to collapse any second."

And then, as though she hadn't just stolen every last ounce of oxygen from my lungs and completely demolished whatever remained of my composure, she simply walked past me toward the bathroom.

Like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't just threatened to withhold kisses from her completely lovesick husband.

I remained sitting there, staring after her with an expression that probably made me look like I'd forgotten how the human brain worked. I was still far too stunned to process what had just happened when she suddenly stopped just before reaching the bathroom door. She didn't turn around. She simply stood there with her back facing me, and for a moment, there was silence.

Then her voice reached me.

"I am going out to the college library today, Aru... Arthav will help me solve the questions I was having difficulties with. Can you please drop me to my college?"

She paused. The silence that followed felt different. Almost as though she was gathering enough courage to say whatever she had been debating inside her head. I watched her back carefully, waiting without interrupting her.

And finally, she spoke.

"You know... I don't want my husband roaming around the hospital with that grumpy face of his, scaring the patients and getting jealous while imagining all sorts of rubbish scenarios again and again..."

Chapter 29

Ruhika's POV:

“Rooh.”

I heard him call me, and my stomach instantly erupted with butterflies at the mention of the nickname. I was sitting beside him in his car, fumbling with the books inside my bag, trying to make sure I had everything I needed before getting out.

The moment that one word reached my ears, however, my fingers seemed to lose their coordination for a second. I quickly composed myself and continued arranging my books as though nothing had happened, refusing to let him see how easily that name could unsettle me.

There was something about the way Aru said Rooh that felt different every time..soft, intimate and strangely personal, as if the nickname carried an affection he didn't need to put into words.

I swallowed the warmth gathering in my cheeks and gave him a small, deliberately casual,

“Hmm…”

He slowly pressed the brake in front of the parking area of my college before turning his attention toward me. His expression immediately shifted into one of reluctant disapproval, as though he had been thinking about something during the entire drive and had finally decided to bring it up.

“Jana zaroori hai kya…? Dekho na, main tumhari studies mein help kar sakta hoon. You know na, main apne batch ka topper tha…” (Do you really have to go? Look, I can help you with your studies. You know I was the topper of my batch.)

He said, looking at me with those unmistakably hopeful puppy-dog eyes.

The confidence with which he presented his qualification was almost amusing. He was a heart surgeon trying to convince a law student that his medical degree somehow made him an appropriate study partner for subjects he had probably never even opened a book on.

I stared at him for a moment, fighting the urge to smile at the absurdity of his reasoning, before folding my arms across my chest.

“Aru, aapne MBBS kiya hai, law nahi.” (Aru, you did MBBS, not law.)

My reply was straightforward enough to leave him with absolutely no room to argue. For a second, he simply looked at me as though I had personally insulted years of his academic achievements. Then he let out an offended huff, his expression making it painfully obvious that he hadn't expected me to reject his offer so bluntly.

I couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at the corner of my lips as I looked at him.

As if his little drama was anywhere near finished, Arnav suddenly clutched his arm with an exaggerated wince, his entire expression transforming into one of unbearable suffering.

“Mera haath dard kar raha hai, Rooh… bohot zyada… Tum mujhe aisi haalat mein chhodke toh nahi jaogi na? Please…” (My arm is hurting, Rooh… very badly… You won't leave me in this condition, will you? Please…)

His voice carried so much unnecessary agony that, for a moment, I simply stared at him in disbelief. The man had gone from complaining about me leaving to apparently being on the verge of death because of an aching arm within mere seconds.

I rolled my eyes at his dramatic performance, already knowing perfectly well that whatever sympathy he was trying to extract from me had absolutely nothing to do with his injury.

Instead of answering his theatrics, I calmly reached for the hand he had wrapped around his left arm and moved it across to his right arm.

“Aapko chot right arm par lagi thi, yaad hai, Dr. Sharma?” (You were injured on your right arm, remember, Dr. Sharma?)

The moment the words left my mouth, the confidence disappeared from his face. I watched the realization dawn on him as his eyes flickered toward the arm he had just been clutching, and for a second, his entire face seemed to lose its color.

I pressed my lips together immediately, biting the inside of my cheek to keep the laughter threatening to escape my throat under control. The expression on his face was priceless. He looked exactly like a child who had been caught red-handed stealing a piece of candy and was desperately searching for an excuse before the evidence could be taken away.

“Haan… dard wahi ho raha hai… bas pakda is haath ko hai,”

(Yes, it's hurting there; I just held the wrong hand.)

He quickly defended himself, awkwardly shifting his hand back toward the correct arm as though that tiny adjustment could somehow erase what had just happened.

His explanation became increasingly unconvincing with every word, yet the confidence with which he tried to rescue himself from his own lie was almost impressive. Then, as though he had finally found the perfect argument to turn the situation around, he looked at me with a completely straight face and added,

“Aur aap emotion ko dekhiye, haath ko nahi, Mrs. Sharma.” (And you should look at the emotion, not the hand, Mrs. Sharma.)

I stared at him for a moment, utterly speechless at the audacity of a man who had just been caught making up an injury and was now trying to distract me with his so-called emotions. Typical Arnav Sharma..when facts failed him, apparently drama was his last surviving weapon.

I rolled my eyes at him, unable to hold back the small chuckle that escaped my lips.

“Mera pati ko doctor ki jagah actor banana chahiye tha Maa Kali ko… pakka Oscar award laate aap.”

(Maa Kali should have made my husband an actor instead of a doctor… you definitely would have brought home an Oscar.)

I shook my head at my own words, still amused by the ridiculous performance he had just given me, before turning my attention back to my bag. I quickly zipped it shut and adjusted the strap on my shoulder, ready to make my escape before he could come up with another dramatic excuse to keep me there. But before I could even turn toward the door, his hand suddenly reached out and caught my wrist.

The unexpected movement made me pause. I frowned slightly and turned back toward him, only to find him looking at me in a way that immediately erased the amusement from my face. His breathing had become quieter, almost shallow, and there was something unusually deep in his eyes. His fingers remained wrapped around my wrist..not painfully, but firmly enough to stop me from leaving.

For a moment, he simply looked at me without saying anything, and the sudden seriousness of his expression left me confused. I raised an eyebrow, searching his face for some explanation before finally asking,

“Kya hua, Aru? Humein der ho rahi hai.” (What happened, Aru? We're getting late.)

He swallowed, his gaze softening as though my words had pulled him into a thought he hadn't expected to reveal. His thumb shifted almost imperceptibly against my wrist, while his hold remained gentle but unwilling to let me go just yet.

There was something almost vulnerable in his expression now, so different from the dramatic man who had been pretending to be injured only moments ago. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a quiet whisper, carrying none of his earlier theatrics.

“Please… say that again.”

I blinked at him.

“Huh?”

I stared at him in utter confusion, genuinely unable to understand what had suddenly possessed him. What exactly was he asking me to repeat? My mind quickly ran through everything I had said, but nothing seemed important enough to explain the strange softness that had appeared in his eyes. I lifted my eyebrow again, impatience beginning to mix with curiosity as I reminded him,

“Kya, Aru? Ya mujhe der ho rahi hai.” (What, Aru? I'm getting late.)

I tried to pull my wrist back slightly, but his fingers remained around it, and the way he continued looking at me made it clear that whatever had caught his attention had absolutely nothing to do with my college schedule.

He shook his head slowly, and the moment his eyes met mine again, I saw a completely different kind of happiness reflected in them. It wasn't his usual teasing amusement or the satisfaction of winning an argument. It was something softer, almost boyishly precious, as though I had unknowingly handed him something he had been waiting to receive for far longer than I realized.

A smile threatened the corners of his lips as he slowly loosened his hold around my wrist, his fingers sliding down until his palm gently captured mine. He looked at our joined hands for a fleeting second before lifting his gaze back to me, and when he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a quiet whisper filled with unmistakable emotion.

“Aapne pehli baar mujhe mera pati pukara hai, Rooh…” (You called me my husband for the first time, Rooh…)

My breath hitched. The realization reached me a heartbeat later, and suddenly, the warmth in his eyes seemed to find its way straight into my chest. I looked down at our hands, remembering how different those words had once felt whenever they had been spoken before. Mera pati. There had been a time when even the thought of calling him that had carried a strange heaviness with it, as though the words belonged to a relationship my heart hadn't yet accepted.

Whether someone else said it or I had to say it myself, there had always been that uncomfortable hesitation, that invisible distance between what the title meant and what I actually felt. But now, standing there with his hand wrapped gently around mine, that heaviness was nowhere to be found.

The words had slipped out naturally, without fear, without resistance, without me having to force myself to accept them. Somewhere along the way, husband had stopped sounding like a title attached to a marriage I was still trying to understand and had simply started feeling like what he was to me.

I slowly lowered my gaze, suddenly far too conscious of the tenderness with which he was looking at me. There was something almost reverent in his eyes, as though those two little words had given him a happiness far greater than they should have been capable of giving.

I could feel my cheeks warming beneath his attention, so I busied myself with our joined hands for a moment before timidly murmuring,

“Toh… apne pati ko main mera pati hi toh bolungi na… aur aap bhi toh mujhe wifey-wifey bulate hain…” (Then… I'm obviously going to call my husband my husband… and you call me ‘wifey-wifey’ too…)

The excuse sounded much more confident in my head than it did aloud, because even I could hear the shyness hiding beneath my words.

A soft chuckle escaped him, low and warm, and his fingers moved over mine with an affection that made my heart stumble in a completely different way.

His thumb gently traced the outline of my knuckles, lingering there as though he had all the time in the world, and there was no teasing in his touch now—only quiet tenderness. He didn't need to say anything else.

The way he looked at me, the softness in his smile and the care with which his fingers rested against my hand told me exactly how much those seemingly ordinary words had meant to him. And somehow, that realization made mera pati feel a little less like a title and a little more like something that had quietly found its place in my heart.

“So whenever I call you wifey, you’ll call me your pati, huh?”

He asked, his voice carrying a teasing lilt that immediately made me realize I had walked straight into his trap.

I went completely speechless. My eyes widened as I stared at him, my cheeks warming under the sheer audacity of his question.

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and finally managed to stumble through the words,

“Me… mera ma… matlab, haan.” (I… my… I mean, yes.)

The answer escaped before my brain could properly process what I had just agreed to.

His smirk widened instantly. He leaned slightly closer, just an inch, barely enough to close the distance between us, but it was more than sufficient to send my heart into complete chaos.

I instinctively held my breath, my eyes fixed on his as he looked at me with that infuriatingly pleased expression. There was something dangerously charming about the way he knew exactly what his proximity did to me and yet continued to test my composure anyway. He didn't even need to touch me; sometimes one look from him was enough to make every sensible thought in my head disappear.

“Haan… bola hai aapne. So this is a done deal. Aaj se jab bhi main aapko wifey bulaunga, aap mujhe my hubby bulana.” (Yes… you said it. So this is a done deal. From today, whenever I call you wifey, you have to call me my hubby.)

He said it with such absolute certainty that for a second I simply stared at him, wide-eyed and utterly stunned. Was he seriously turning one little sentence into a lifelong contract?

I opened my mouth to protest, desperately searching for an argument that could undo my careless agreement, but before I could utter a single word, he casually reached over and picked up my phone from my lap.

I looked at him in confusion as he held it between his fingers, completely unbothered by the fact that I was still trying to process his ridiculous demand.

Then he gave me that sheepish little smile of his..the one that somehow managed to make his entire face look softer, younger and far too lovable for my own good. It was the kind of smile that made it incredibly difficult to stay annoyed with him, especially when his eyes held that unmistakable spark of mischief.

“Please open contact list,” he said.

I stared at him. And judging by that dangerously innocent smile, I already had a feeling I was about to regret ever saying haan I never even said in the first place.

I stared at him, completely flushed and utterly confused, still trying to understand where exactly this conversation was heading. I was about to protest and demand an explanation when he beat me to it, leaning back slightly with that infuriatingly confident expression.

“Meri jaan, jaldi… aapko der ho rahi thi, bhool gayi aap? Waise, agar aapka plan change ho gaya ho toh I don't mind. Hum U-turn bhi le sakte hain abhi.”

(My love, hurry… you were getting late, remember? By the way, if you've changed your mind, I don't mind. We can still take a U-turn right now.)

His words instantly widened my eyes. The audacity of this man was truly unmatched. He knew perfectly well that I couldn't afford to be late, yet he was casually using my own schedule against me just to win an argument. I gave him a disbelieving look, realizing that if I continued arguing, I would probably end up even later than I already was.

With a resigned sigh, I unlocked my phone and opened the contact list for him, although I still had absolutely no idea what he was looking for.

“Here,”

I murmured, handing it over while watching him suspiciously. Arnav took the phone from my hand with a victorious smile, his fingers moving across the screen as he began searching through my contacts.

For the first few seconds, there was an almost childlike excitement on his face, as though he had discovered a secret mission and was thoroughly enjoying himself. But then, quite suddenly, that smile disappeared. His expression went completely still before turning cold enough to make me wonder what on earth he had found.

His gaze snapped toward me, narrowing with such intensity that I instinctively swallowed. The playful man from a moment ago had vanished, replaced by someone whose expression looked almost murderous. I stared at him in confusion, my brows drawing together as I tried to figure out what I could possibly have done this time.

“K-kya h-huwa, A-aru?” (W-what happened, Aru?)

I stammered, genuinely nervous under the intensity of his stare. He let out a sharp huff, looking back at the phone before turning the screen toward me with the expression of a man who had just uncovered a deeply personal offense.

“Koi bhaiya nahi hoon main tumhara… aur na tumhara bachcha mujhe mamu ya uncle pukarega.” (I am not your brother… and neither will your child call me uncle or maternal uncle.)

His voice carried an unmistakable irritation, the kind that surfaced whenever he became even slightly possessive about the idea of being my husband. Before I could fully process what had triggered that sudden declaration, he added with absolute certainty,

“Haan, par hamara bachcha tumhe Mamma zaroor pukarega.” (Yes, but our child will definitely call you Mamma.)

I simply stared at him.

For a moment, my mind seemed to stop functioning altogether. My face immediately warmed, and I could feel the blush spreading across my cheeks as my lips parted in sheer disbelief at the audacity of the man standing in front of me. Bachcha. And then Mamma.

Those two words echoed through my mind, absurdly vivid despite how casually he had thrown them into the conversation. It was such an outrageous thing to say, especially with that complete certainty in his voice, as though he had already written an entire future for us and was merely informing me about the details.

We hadn't even had a proper kiss yet. A proper kiss. And this man was already planning the arrival of our future child.

Baccha kya Flipkart se order karega? (Is he going to order the baby from Flipkart?)

The thought flashed through my mind so suddenly that I almost wanted to laugh. Arnav had somehow managed to leap several chapters ahead of the story while I was still trying to understand the previous page. One moment we were arguing over what to call each other, and the next he was casually assigning us the roles of Papa and Mamma as though it were the most obvious progression in the world.

It should have sounded ridiculous. And it did. But beneath the embarrassment and the sheer chaos of his words, something else stirred quietly inside me. I didn't understand it. The thought of a little child running toward him and calling him Papa, then turning toward me with an innocent little voice and calling me Mumma, created a strange softness in my chest.

It wasn't something I had imagined before, at least not seriously. My future had always seemed like a distant, blurry thing..something I was supposed to figure out one step at a time. Yet for one fleeting moment, Arnav's words painted a picture I hadn't asked for but somehow couldn't immediately push away.

A tiny pair of footsteps. A little voice calling him Papa. Someone calling me Mumma. And Arnav standing beside me with that unbearably proud smile of his. The image was so unfamiliar that I didn't know what to do with the feeling it left behind.

I quickly pushed the thought away before it could settle any deeper. Still, my silence betrayed me. I had absolutely no answer for him. So I simply sat there, speechless, my embarrassment written far more honestly across my face than anything I could have possibly said aloud.

Meanwhile, Arnav behaved as though he hadn't just dropped a sentence capable of turning my entire face crimson. He calmly returned his attention to my phone, his fingers moving across the screen with deliberate concentration.

Whatever he was doing seemed to require his complete focus, and within moments, a small, triumphant smile settled across his lips. He looked entirely satisfied with himself as he finally pushed my phone back into my hands. I glanced down at the screen, expecting absolutely anything after the chaos he had already created, only for my eyes to land on the contact name he had changed.

My Hubby…

My lips parted again, but this time a tiny smile threatened to appear instead of words. He had actually done it. He had taken my phone, gone through my contact list and changed his name himself, apparently deciding that my husband was no longer simply a relationship status but an official contact designation.

I stared at those two words for a few seconds, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through me. There was something strangely intimate about seeing it written there in my own phone, something that made the title feel more real than it ever had before.

Before I could say anything, Arnav suddenly placed his own phone into my hand. I looked up at him, confused by the sudden exchange, but he only watched me with that quiet, knowing expression.

“The pattern is our marriage date, Rooh,”(The pattern is our marriage date, Rooh.)

He whispered.

Something warm settled deep inside my chest at those words. Our marriage date. He had chosen it as his phone's security pattern, something so ordinary and yet so quietly personal that I didn't know what to do with the feeling it created inside me.

I stared at the locked screen for a moment, completely frozen, my fingers resting against the phone without knowing whether I should smile, speak or simply pretend that my heart hadn't just softened at something so small.

Apparently growing tired of watching me stand there in silence, he let out a quiet huff and gently took the phone back from my hand.

“Dekho.” (Look.)

He entered the pattern himself, the digits of our marriage date unlocking his phone almost effortlessly, and then opened his contact list. A second later, he turned the screen toward me. There it was.

My Wifey.

I stared at the name in silence. Two little words. The same ridiculous nickname he had been teasing me with for so long, now saved permanently in his phone.

And somehow, seeing it there felt different from simply hearing him say it. My Wifey. Not a joke. Not merely a teasing name thrown into an argument. It was sitting there among his contacts, attached to my number, as though he had quietly decided that was exactly what I was to him.

My gaze slowly lifted from the screen to his face, and Arnav was already watching me. There was no smugness this time, no dramatic expression, no attempt to tease me further. Just that soft, satisfied look that made me wonder how someone could make something as simple as a contact name feel so incredibly personal.

God, no one could blame me if I looked like a tomato right now. My entire face felt impossibly warm, and I was certain even my ears had turned red. Mera hubby. Just hearing him say it was one thing, but seeing it saved on my phone while knowing he had deliberately chosen that name for himself was something else entirely.

I stared at him, completely speechless, while he looked far too pleased with himself.

“We had a deal na, jaan? Ki agar main aapko wifey pukaru, aap mujhe hubby bolengi. Toh bas maine wahi kiya…” (We had a deal, my love, that if I called you wifey, you would call me hubby. So I simply did what you agreed to…)

He whispered with such innocent confidence that my heart gave another loud, traitorous thud. There wasn't even a hint of guilt in his expression. He genuinely looked as though he had done nothing more than follow the perfectly reasonable terms of an agreement, while I was the one sitting there struggling to process the fact that my husband had successfully manipulated me into saving his contact as My Hubby.

Before I could come up with even a remotely sensible response, he switched off the screen of his phone and gently squeezed the hand he had been holding from the beginning. His thumb rested over my knuckles as he looked at me with that familiar spark of mischief returning to his eyes.

“Jaan, jaiye… isse pehle main aapko na jaane doon aur raat laga doon yahin.” (My love, go… before I end up not letting you leave and make you spend the whole night right here.)

That finally snapped me out of whatever daze I had fallen into. My cheeks were still burning, my lips slightly parted, but this time I didn't wait for him to say another word. I immediately slipped my hand out of his hold, unfastened my seat belt and practically escaped from the car before he could turn another innocent sentence into an entirely new source of embarrassment.

Behind me, I heard his light chuckle, and somehow that only made me walk faster.

“All the best, Butterfly! Acche se padhai karna. Aur maybe I will come home late today, so don't wait for me, okay? Aur specially, don't you dare skip your meal. Main Saanvi se poochunga.” (All the best, Butterfly! Study well. And maybe I'll come home late today, so don't wait for me, okay? And especially, don't you dare skip your meal. I'll ask Saanvi.)

His voice followed me from behind, warm and familiar, carrying that unmistakable husband-like concern he always managed to disguise beneath his teasing. I stopped for a moment and turned back toward him, only to find him still watching me through the open window.

I simply nodded obediently, not trusting myself to say anything after everything he had already put me through. He smiled at me then, holding my gaze for a few seconds longer, before lifting his hand in a small wave.

I smiled back and waved at him, watching as he finally turned his attention toward the road and started the engine. For a moment, I simply stood there, my bag hanging from my shoulder, watching his car pull away while the warmth of everything he had said remained stubbornly behind. And despite the embarrassment still lingering across my face, I couldn't stop the tiny smile that stayed on my lips.

“Jao pehle andar aap…”

(You go inside first.)

He whispered, and I nodded before turning toward the college building, clutching my bag tightly against my chest. A small smile tugged at my lips, and despite my best efforts, the warmth, the blush, the happiness..everything was still there, refusing to disappear.

I shook my head at myself and muttered under my breath,

“Focus, Ruhi…”

I paused for a moment, my lips curving into an even softer smile as my eyes fluttered and lowered shyly. Then I whispered to myself,

“Focus, Rooh… focus. Abhi mujhe padhai pe dhyaan dena hai… apne pati ko proud feel karwana hai na…” (Focus, Rooh… focus. Right now, I need to concentrate on my studies… I have to make my husband proud, right?)

But instead of calming me down, my own words only made my situation worse. My smile widened, and I was almost certain I looked like a complete madwoman, standing there and blushing like a tomato over something as simple as calling him my husband.

But who cared? Before I could even compose myself, I suddenly collided with something hard.

“Aaah!”

I hissed, immediately rubbing my forehead before muttering under my breath, mostly to myself,

“Sacchi kehte hain… pyaar sabko andha bana deta hai…” (They really say love makes everyone blind…)

Still rubbing my forehead, I finally lifted my gaze..and froze.

Arthav was standing right in front of me, staring down at me.

“Oi, Miss World… kahaan dekh kar chal rahi hain, aur yeh itna khud hi khud mein kyun muskura rahi hain tu?”

He asked, raising one eyebrow as he folded his arms across his chest. His tall figure practically towered over me, making me feel small beneath his questioning gaze. I rolled my eyes at him and retorted,

“Kyun? Ab kya tu mere muskurane par bhi tax liya karega, jaise pehle leta tha jab main tere area ke desk mein thoda bhi extra aa jaati thi?”

(What? Are you going to start charging me tax for smiling too now, like you used to when I stayed even a little longer at your desk?)

Saying that, I was about to walk past him and head inside, but before I could take another step, he caught my wrist, making me freeze instantly. A sudden wave of nausea hit me so strongly that my breath caught, and I immediately pulled my hand back, fighting the urge to throw up.

I forced myself to take a long, steady breath, desperately trying to regain control before he could notice the fear bubbling beneath the surface. I couldn't let him see it. Not now. Not when I had barely managed to convince myself that everything was fine.

“Tu na… apne gande haathon se mujhe chhua mat kar,” I muttered, forcing my voice to sound normal despite the slight tremble threatening to betray me.

“Pakka dhoye bhi nahi honge…” (Don't touch me with your dirty hands. You probably haven't even washed them…)

I tried to make it sound like my usual teasing, like nothing had happened and I was merely being dramatic as always, but the moment I looked at him, I knew he hadn't bought it.

His shoulders visibly relaxed at my words, almost as though a weight he had been carrying had finally been lifted from them. The tension that had settled across his posture a moment ago disappeared, and his expression quickly returned to its usual teasing arrogance. He casually ran a hand through his hair, fixing it with an exaggerated amount of confidence before replying,

“Kuch bhi… tera uss doctor pati se toh bohot saaf-suthra hoon main.” (Whatever… compared to that doctor husband of yours, I’m much cleaner than him.)

I rolled my eyes at his ridiculous confidence, but strangely enough, my own body relaxed at the mere mention of Arnav. There was something almost involuntary about it now. Just hearing the word pati attached to him no longer stirred that old discomfort inside me.  Instead, it brought a quiet warmth that settled somewhere deep within my chest.

A small smile found its way onto my lips before I could stop it, and I looked at Arthav with a newfound confidence that I hadn't even realized I possessed.

“Sapne itne bade bhi nahi dekha karte, Topper ji… mere pati ke toh nakhun bhi tujhse zyada sundar honge.” (Don't dream that big, Mr. Topper… even my husband's fingernails would be more beautiful than you.)

The words slipped out before I could properly think them through, and for a second, even I was surprised by how naturally they had come to me.

I didn't know when this had happened. When had defending Arnav become such an instinctive reaction? Once, the idea of claiming him as my husband had felt like something I had to consciously remind myself of..a relationship defined by circumstances, a title that belonged to a marriage I hadn't completely understood.

But now, when someone teased him or tried to place himself above him, something inside me immediately wanted to make it clear that Arnav was not someone I would casually let anyone compare themselves to. It wasn't about proving anything. It wasn't even about winning an argument. It simply felt right to stand beside him, even when he wasn't there to hear it.

Arthav responded with an exaggerated huff, his eyes narrowing at me as though I had personally committed some unforgivable crime by complimenting my own husband.

His annoyance was almost comical, especially because I knew him well enough to recognize the difference between genuine anger and the wounded pride of a man who had just lost an imaginary competition he had never been invited to.

I couldn't hold back the soft laugh that escaped me. There was something oddly comforting about our familiar banter, even if today it carried a slightly different undertone. Perhaps because, somewhere between all his teasing and my increasingly shameless defense of Arnav, I had begun realizing that my priorities had quietly shifted.

“Chal, andar… waise bhi ek baj chuke hain. Mujhe jaldi ghar bhi jaana hai. Kal haldi ki preparation bhi karni hai Saanvi bhabhi ke saath.” (Come on, let's go inside… it's already one o'clock. I have to get home early too. I have to help Saanvi bhabhi with the haldi preparations tomorrow.)

I said it while turning toward the college entrance again, trying to bring my mind back to the reason I was here in the first place. Law. Exams. Notes. Syllabus. Everything that had existed in my world before one particular doctor had somehow managed to occupy an unreasonable amount of space in my thoughts.

I had barely taken another step when Arthav shook his head, stopping me before I could move any farther. The simple gesture immediately caught my attention, and I halted, turning back toward him with a questioning look, completely unaware of what he was about to say.

“Nahi, yahan nahi… tujhe main kahin aur le jaa raha hoon. Chal…” (No, not here… I’m taking you somewhere else. Come on.)

Saying that, he gestured for me to follow him, already turning toward the opposite direction without giving me much of a chance to argue. I frowned, adjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder as I fell into step beside him.

His sudden change of plan made me suspicious, but I knew Arthav well enough to understand that questioning him was usually pointless unless I wanted another ten minutes of his unnecessary drama. Still, curiosity got the better of me, and I finally asked,

“Par kahaan le jaa raha hai? Yeh toh bata.” (But where are you taking me? At least tell me that.)

He tilted his head toward me, a small, knowing smile appearing on his face as he replied,

“College ke peeche jo chhoti library hai, udhar. Aaj Saturday hai, toh there aren't many people. Aur woh library waise bhi bahut kam log use karte hain. Wahan bohot saari books hain jo tumhari help karengi.”

(The small library behind the college. It's Saturday today, so there aren't many people. And that library isn't used by many students anyway. There are plenty of books there that will help you.)

I gave a small nod, accepting his explanation without further argument. Perhaps he wasn't wrong. With my exams approaching, having access to additional reference books could genuinely make studying easier, and the thought of a quieter place where I could actually concentrate sounded far better than trying to study in the middle of a crowded campus.

We walked toward the rear building of the college, and within barely two minutes, the small library came into view. It was tucked away behind the main college building, almost hidden from the usual rush of students. The quiet surroundings immediately made the place feel separate from the rest of the campus.

As Arthav had said, there were hardly any students around. In fact, apart from a few occupied tables scattered farther inside, the library was nearly empty, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of pages and the faint movement of chairs.

We made our way toward the back and settled into a table where there was no one around us. I placed my bag beside me and began pulling out my books, notebooks, pens and everything else I had brought with me, arranging them across the table so I could finally begin studying properly. But as I reached deeper into my bag, my fingers brushed against something that definitely wasn't one of my books.

I frowned and pulled it out. A hot thermos. For a second, I simply stared at it, confused. Then I noticed the other things tucked neatly beside it..several packets of my favourite chips and, carefully protected in a small box, a cupcake from my favourite bakery. My hands stilled. I hadn't packed any of these.

A soft smile curved across my lips as realization dawned on me. I didn't need to ask who had gone through the trouble of putting all of this inside my bag. There was only one person who knew exactly which chips I liked, which bakery's cupcakes could instantly lift my mood, and the fact that I would probably forget to eat once I became buried in my books.

Obviously, my grumpy husband.

The thought alone made something warm bloom inside me, and I found myself staring at the little box with an embarrassingly fond smile.

I was still lost in that thought when Arthav's voice pulled me back to reality.

“Tujhe kuch dore padte hain kya? Itna khud-ba-khud mein smile karne lag jaati hai, pagalon ki tarah, huh?” (Do you get some kind of fits or something? Why do you suddenly start smiling to yourself like a crazy person, huh?)

I blinked, immediately looking up as a small thud sounded across the table. Arthav had just dropped a thick stack of books and files in front of me, successfully destroying whatever dreamy little world I had been lost in. My eyes widened as I stared at the pile, genuinely horrified by the sheer amount of study material he had apparently decided I needed.

“Itni saari books?” I gasped, my gaze moving from one book to another before landing on the stack of files beside them. (So many books?)

Arthav merely shrugged, completely unaffected by my expression, before pulling out the chair beside mine and sitting down.

“Ji haan, Miss. Aur yeh sab tujhe padhne honge.” (Yes, Miss. And you have to study all of these.)

His tone carried the unmistakable satisfaction of someone who had just successfully sentenced another person to academic suffering.

I gave him the most pitiful pout I could manage before reluctantly settling into the chair beside him. There was no point arguing with him; once Arthav switched into his serious study mode, even my best excuses rarely survived.

He picked up one of the files, opened it, scanned through a few pages and then slid it toward me with the quiet authority of someone who had already planned my entire study session.

“Isme ke saare sections yaad karke mujhe abhi suna. Tab tak let me look over the problems you've marked in your notes, because you were finding them difficult.” (Memorize all the sections in this and recite them to me. Until then, let me look over the problems you've marked in your notes because you were having difficulty with them.)

I stared at the file as though it had personally betrayed me. My eyes travelled over the endless pages, and for one brief moment, I seriously considered pretending that I had suddenly forgotten how to read. But the determined look on Arthav's face made it very clear that there would be no escaping this.

With a defeated huff, I pulled the file toward myself and began going through the sections one by one. The playful thoughts about my husband slowly gave way to the reality of exams, notes and deadlines, and I forced myself to focus on the material in front of me. If I wanted to make Arnav proud..and, more importantly, prove to myself that I could do this..I had no choice but to study.

So, with Arthav quietly going through my difficult questions beside me, I began memorizing every section, determined to get through the mountain of books he had so mercilessly placed in front of me.

The process continued for what felt like an eternity. Arthav showed absolutely no mercy, moving from one section to another, making me memorize endless provisions, cases, and legal principles while patiently clearing every doubt that appeared in my notes. The moment I thought I had finally survived one set of questions, another file would somehow appear in front of me.

He had apparently decided that my brain had unlimited storage, and judging by the mountain of material surrounding me, he intended to test that theory to its absolute limit.

The worst part was that he didn't even allow me to blink for too long. Every time I yawned, his fingers would immediately flick against my forehead, earning an offended glare from me before he ordered me to focus again.

At first, I had tried protesting, then threatening him, and eventually even giving him my most miserable expressions, but nothing worked. Arthav remained completely immune to my dramatics. Whenever I dared to look anywhere except my notes, I would find him already staring at me with that silent, warning look that practically screamed, Don't even think about escaping.

Somewhere along the way, I completely lost track of time. The bright afternoon outside had gradually faded, and the library had grown quieter with every passing hour. My books were scattered across the table, files were stacked unevenly around us, and my handwriting had become progressively messier as my concentration began to drain away.

My entire body felt sore from sitting in the same position for so long, and even my shoulders were beginning to ache, but Arthav seemed determined to squeeze every last ounce of productivity out of me. Apparently, sympathy had never been included in his list of qualifications.

Finally, unable to take it anymore, I let out a tired huff and turned toward him with the most innocent and pitiful pout I could manage.

“Bas na, Arthav… ab toh mujhe bhook bhi lag rahi hai.” (Enough now, Arthav… I'm hungry too.)

I deliberately made my voice softer, hoping that perhaps, after hours of torturing me with sections and cases, he might finally remember that I was a human being and not some legal textbook with legs.

He simply rolled his eyes. His gaze moved toward the empty thermos sitting beside me, then to the crumpled cupcake wrappers and the packets of chips scattered around the table, before finally returning to my face. His expression carried the kind of disbelief usually reserved for someone making an absolutely unreasonable demand.

“Itna sab kuch toh kha liya tune… mango shake, itne chips aur cupcakes… abhi bhi tujhe bhook lag rahi hai?” (You already ate so much… mango shake, so many chips and cupcakes… and you're still hungry?)

I nodded without the slightest hesitation. Apparently, there was no shame left in me. I placed a hand over my stomach and exaggerated my pout even further, silently making it very clear that all the evidence he had just presented against me was completely irrelevant to the current emergency.

Because yes, I had eaten. Yes, I had finished the mango shake. Yes, the chips and cupcakes had disappeared suspiciously quickly. But after hours of studying, memorizing, thinking and fighting for my last remaining brain cell, I had reached a very serious conclusion.

I was hungry again.

He let out a long, defeated sigh, as though my hunger had somehow become another problem he was personally responsible for solving. Then, with the same resigned expression of someone dealing with an especially troublesome child, he pushed his chair back and stood.

Before leaving, he slid another file across the table toward me, the thick bundle of papers landing directly in front of me with a quiet thud. His expression immediately turned serious again, completely erasing the amusement that had been there moments ago.

“Main aate tak yeh case pura solve hona chahiye, aur…” (By the time I come back, this entire case should be solved, and…)

He deliberately paused, his gaze shifting toward me as though he was about to announce another ridiculous rule. Instead, he reached across the table and picked up my phone. My eyes immediately followed the movement.

“Yeh mobile mere saath rahega, tera nahi,”

He continued, slipping my phone into his hand.

“Taaki tu mere jaane ke baad yeh use na kar le. Main aata hoon, kuch khaane ko lekar.” (This mobile will stay with me, not you, so that you don't use it after I leave. I'll be back with something to eat.)

I stared at him in disbelief. Of course. Because apparently, studying wasn't enough torture for the day. Now he had decided to confiscate my only source of entertainment..and, more importantly, my only way of texting Arnav.

I reluctantly pulled the file toward myself, glaring at the pages as though they were personally responsible for my suffering.

" Kutta kahin ka… ab main Aru ko text kaise karungi?"

(What a stupid dog… how am I supposed to text Aru now?)

I cursed him silently, already missing my phone despite it being barely a few seconds since it had disappeared from my reach.

Arthav had already started walking toward the exit when his voice floated back without him even turning around.

“Sun sakta hoon main teri baatein…” (I can hear what you're saying.)

My eyes widened. I immediately snapped my gaze back down to the file, straightened my posture and pretended to become intensely fascinated by the case in front of me. My expression changed so quickly that even I knew how suspicious I looked, but there was absolutely no way I was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had caught me cursing him in my head.

I picked up my pen and began scanning the page with exaggerated concentration, silently praying that my face wasn't betraying me.

He disappeared through the library doors, leaving me with absolutely no choice but to obey his ridiculous instructions. With my phone gone and no other distraction available, I reluctantly pulled the file closer and began reviewing the case.

At first, I forced myself to concentrate, carefully going through every fact, provision, and argument, determined to finish it before Arthav returned. But as the minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the words on the pages slowly began losing their sharpness, my focus slipping further away with every passing moment.

I didn't even realize how much time had gone by. I was nearly finished with the case, yet that idiot Arthav was still nowhere to be seen. My eyes had started to feel unbearably heavy, and every blink lasted a little longer than the one before.

I tried rubbing them and forcing myself to sit straight, but exhaustion had already settled deep into my body after hours of studying. The quiet library, the warmth of the room, and the endless pages in front of me only made the battle against sleep harder.

Eventually, I gave up pretending I could keep my eyes open. I folded my arms on the desk and lowered my head onto them, allowing myself what I promised would only be a moment's rest. A tired yawn escaped me as my eyelids finally fell shut. I meant to lift my head again after a few seconds, just long enough to breathe and gather enough energy to finish the remaining portion of the case.

But sleep had other plans. I didn't know when consciousness slipped completely beyond my reach. The last thing I could register, even through the haze of sleep, was the gentle touch of someone's fingers moving through my hair, slow and careful, almost as though they were afraid to disturb me. The sensation was strangely familiar, comforting in a way that made me sink deeper into the warmth of sleep rather than pull away from it.

Then came a whisper, so soft that it seemed to blend into the quiet around me.

“Will you be angry with me if I stole you from him, Clumsy Princess…?” (Will you be angry with me if I stole you from him, Clumsy Princess?)