♡~°~♡𝓜𝓔𝓔𝓣 𝓐𝓖𝓐𝓘𝓝 ♡~°~♡

Jay shree krishna🦚🧿

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Author's P.O.V.......

Morning arrived like a storm waiting behind silk curtains. At sharp 06:00 AM, the Randhawa Mansion was already bursting with movement. Servants rushed across corridors, decorators carried ladders and garlands, and the entire estate vibrated with preparation. Today was Haldi, and by evening—the wedding.

The mansion garden, vast and trimmed like a royal courtyard, was now being re-decorated. The mehendi decorations were already removed at dawn, replaced with fresh marigold curtains, jasmine ropes, pale-gold drapes, and strings of fairy lights stretching like stars trapped in vines. The air itself smelled of haldi, roses, mogra, incense, and morning dew.

Inside the temple, Apurva and Mahima were busy preparing for the morning aarti—

Apurva wore a soft peach Banarasi saree with scattered zari florals and delicate pearl-gold jhumkas.

Mahima wore a mustard yellow silk saree with a broad red border, her hair tied in a bun, adorned with a gajra and heavy temple jewelry.

In the main hall, Nayantara supervised the decorators, her voice sharp yet graceful.

She wore a deep emerald green Patola saree with ruby earrings and a thick gold kada set—strict, elegant, and impossible to argue with.

On the third floor, Rudraksh’s alarm rang—a low metallic sound echoing through his large bedroom. He was sprawled across the king-sized bed, sheets tangled around him like he’d fought ghosts in his sleep. His eyes opened slowly, heavy from a night without rest, and he stretched his neck with a soft groan.

The first thing he saw was Eric, perched at the foot of the bed, tilting his head like a curious guardian.

“Morning,” Rudraksh muttered, voice still husky from sleep.

Eric replied by spreading his wings and giving a soft, affectionate chirp.

Rudraksh smirked faintly and dragged himself to the bathroom. He took a cold shower, letting the icy water clear the fog in his mind before he stepped out and dressed for the day.

He wore a deep burgundy shirt, tailored black trousers, a charcoal waistcoat, and his signature black blazer. His cufflinks were platinum—the limited edition collection. His watch was an ultra-rare Audemars Piguet Royal Oak, and his shoes were polished Italian leather.

Eric flew into the walk-in closet and landed on the counter, watching him silently like a silent vow of loyalty.

Today was Monday—Rudraksh’s fast day.

past fourteen years, since childhood, he had observed a strict Monday fast for her. Rudika.

A vow carved into his bones:

He would never enter a temple until she held his wrist and took him inside.

He came out of his bedroom and stepped into the elevator. The moment the doors opened into the hall, he walked straight toward the temple.

So he stopped at the temple entrance while everyone else went in. He stood outside, hands clasped behind him, expression unreadable.

His biggest challenge was not food.

It was his anger.

On Mondays, he had to control:

• no yelling

• no swearing

• no violence

• no smoking

• no drinking

• no murders

For anyone else, impossible.

For her? He could do anything.

After the aarti ended, Rudraksh stood in the garden, phone pressed to his ear.

“I told you, I can’t come today,” he said, voice cold, controlled, but dangerously close to snapping.

(Translation: “I told you, I cannot come today.”)

He didn’t want to miss work—but if he left the mansion, Apurva would drag him back with her bare hands.

“Okay, cancel the deal for now. After this shits, I’ll see what will do. For now, don’t irritate me,” he said before hanging up.

He sighed and glanced toward the Haldi decorations again—his eyes landing on a familiar figure.

Kritika

Kritika stood under the Dog Tree, beside the ancient Tulsi plant, where a diya burned continuously—even during storms. Her peach-yellow lehenga shimmered in the early sunlight, embroidered with silver beads. A pair of oxidized silver earrings brushed her neck, and her long hair was left open, swaying gently in the morning breeze.

She looked… lost.

Her gaze fixed on the Dog Tree as though the branches whispered secrets to her.

Rudraksh walked toward her, slipping his phone into his pocket, hands shoved deeper into it. Even from a small distance, he could sense her sadness—though her pride would never admit it.

Typical Kritika Mukherjee.

He looked at the Dog Tree, standing beside her.

“Mera baare mein complain kar rahi ho?”

(Translation: “Are you complaining about me?”)

His voice was calm, controlled… too controlled.

Kritika jerked slightly, surprised, then schooled her expression and looked back at the Dog Tree.

“Kaas, kaas main usse tumhara baare mein shikayat karti aur bo humesha ke tarah chala aata aur mujhe samjhata.”

(Translation: “I wish… I wish I could complain about you to him, and he would come running like always and explain everything to me.”)

Her voice was too calm. Calm like someone who had cried all night.

Guilt stung her worse than grief.

She hadn’t done anything—yet she stood like a criminal every time Mahima blamed her.

Rudraksh’s jaw clenched.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, knuckles tightening in his pockets as anger for his father twisted inside him. The man had been selfish—and now Kritika bore the wounds of his actions.

He exhaled slowly.

“Tum mujhe pagal bolti ho na… mujhe lagta hai badi pagal to tum ho.”

(Translation: “You call me crazy, right? But I think the bigger idiot here is you.”)

She raised a brow—How?

He didn’t wait.

“At least mujhe itna to pata hai ke bo jaha bhi hogi, aakhir zinda to hogi. Aur tum?”

(Translation: “At least I know wherever she is, she must be alive. And you?”)

He glanced sideways at her, eyes sharp.

“Tumhein to pata bhi hai ki bo mar chuka hai. Still, you’re waiting for him? Unbelievable.”

(Translation: “You know he is dead. Still, you’re waiting for him? Unbelievable.”)

She stared at the flame of the diya.

“I know he’s dead. But I’m not believe it until I saw his dead body.”

(Translation: “I know he’s dead. But I won’t believe it until I see his dead body.”)

Stubbornness anchored her words.

“Tum is aurat se jeet nahi sakte ho, Mr. Soon-to-be Groom.”

(You can’t win against this woman, Mr. Soon-to-be Groom.)

A teasing yet amused voice floated from behind them. Rudraksh and Kritika instantly turned, both recognizing the tone before they even saw the face.

“Akanksha!” they said together.

A woman in her late twenties stood at the hallway entrance. She wore a soft beige knitted top tucked neatly into high-waisted black trousers, paired with a long charcoal shrug that brushed her calves. Comfortable white sneakers and minimal gold jewelry—small hoops, a thin chain, and a sleek watch—completed her elegant, western, effortless look.

This was Akanksha Luthra—the second daughter-in-law of the Randhawa family, once destined to marry the second Randhawa son, now long gone. CEO of Luthra Industries, co-founder of Gyan Foundation with Kritika.

She approached them with confident steps and pulled Kritika into a warm embrace. Kritika immediately wrapped her arms around her, relief softening her features.

“So, finally you have time for the wedding?” Akanksha asked, her voice laced with playful accusation as she pulled back. Her gaze shifted sharply to Rudraksh—who subtly tried to step out of her line of sight.

He failed.

Akanksha caught his wrist with quick fingers. “Ahh, ahh, you can’t escape now. Can you?” she teased, watching him exhale an annoyed grunt.

"Hamesha bolte the— ‘shaadi nahi karunga, nahi karunga’… aur aaj dekho, shaadi kar hi rahe ho.”

she mocked him with a dramatic sigh, earning a glare.

(You always said, ‘I won’t get married, not ever’… and look at you now—getting married anyway.)

“Mujhe toh laga tha, meri shaadi ke baad tum dono ki hogi.” she added lightly.

(I actually thought after my wedding, you two would be next.)

Rudraksh’s head snapped toward her, surprise flickering across his face—surprise, and something that almost resembled relief.

“You’re getting married?” he asked, voice low, startled.

Kritika stepped closer, equally shocked. “Yeah? Finally you agreed for marriage?” she asked, hope slipping into her tone. Maybe—just maybe—the pain she once caused Akanksha by taking away her happiness and love… maybe fate would return something to her now.

Akanksha looked at both of them for a quiet moment before giving a small, steady nod.

Kritika and Rudraksh immediately pulled her into a tight hug—one from each side—holding her in genuine happiness.

“It’s really good news,” Kritika whispered. “Choti Mami bohot khush hogi.” (Choti Mami will be very happy.)

“Yeah… finally some good news,” Rudraksh murmured under his breath.

Akanksha leaned away and gave him a mock glare. “Toh tumhari shaadi ho rahi hai… yeh good news nahi hai kya?”

(So your wedding is happening today… isn’t that good news?)

“Shut up,” he growled, stepping back to fix his blazer as if that would restore his dignity.

Akanksha laughed softly. “Kritika, tum sure ho na? I mean… aaj shaadi hogi. I bet Rudraksh will run.”

(Kritika, are you sure? I mean… the wedding is today. I bet Rudraksh might run.)

Kritika snorted. “Exactly. I am more confident about my wedding than his.” She exhaled, rolling her shoulders. “Achaa, ab andar chalo." Kritika said.

(Alright, now let’s go inside.)

"Yeah, I’m tired—long flight from Singapore." she said.

The three of them walked inside the mansion together, slipping into easy conversation about the flight, the chaos of the wedding preparations, and the hundred things waiting to be handled.

On the other side of the city—

The steady hum of machines echoed through the stark white emergency ward of Another Life Hospital. Inside one of the rooms, under the pale glow of overhead lights, a doctor stood with a thick file clutched in his hands, speaking in low, serious tones with a nurse.

On the hospital bed lay Radhika, an IV drip attached to her hand, the soft beeping of monitors tracking every fragile breath. Her hair was scattered across the pillow, her face pale, eyelashes trembling.

Slowly—painfully—she opened her eyes. Her head felt unbearably heavy, her lashes glued by exhaustion. She blinked several times, trying to adjust to the brightness, shapes blurring into clarity.

“Mm…” A faint grunt escaped her lips.

Both the doctor and the nurse turned toward her instantly.

The doctor hurried over, gently lifting her wrist to check her pulse. “How are you feeling?” he asked calmly.

“Better… but my head is hurting…” Radhika whispered, her voice raspy with pain.

She swallowed and looked around the unfamiliar room. “Who… who brought me here?”

Just then, the door opened. Sunaina stepped inside, holding a packet of medicines which she immediately handed to the nurse.

“Your friend,” the doctor replied, gesturing toward Sunaina.

Sunaina gave a warm, relieved smile and moved closer.

The nurse helped Radhika sit up slowly, supporting her back with careful hands. Radhika leaned against the pillows, breathing deeply. “Sunaina… thanks,” she murmured.

The doctor folded the file. His voice turned professional. “She brought you in time. You were unconscious since last night. If she hadn’t found you, anything could have happened. Your mental condition is not stable. You shouldn’t stay alone.”

Radhika nodded weakly as last night’s horror returned—the man’s scream, the cold threatening voices, the deafening gunshot. The echoes still crawled beneath her skin, tearing through her soul.

After a few more instructions, the doctor left. The nurse continued adjusting the equipment and preparing medicines.

Radhika looked toward Sunaina, who had taken the chair right beside her bed.

“Tumhein kaise pata chala?” Radhika asked softly.

(How did you find out?)

Sunaina’s lips curved in a small smile. She typed quickly on her phone and held the screen out to her.

“Aaj saari buses aur cabs band thi. Main car lekar aayi thi, aur mujhe yaad aaya ki tum bus se aati ho. Maine tumhe call kiya, par tumne phone nahi uthaya. Toh main seedha tumhare apartment aa gayi. Doorbell bajayi, lekin tumne door nahi khola. Mujhe kuch galat laga, isliye maine tumhare padosiyon ko bulaya. Unhone owner ko bulaya… aur jab door open kiya, tum floor par behosh padi thi. Main hi tumhe hospital le aayi.”

(All the buses and cabs were shut down today. I had brought my car, and I remembered you came by bus. I called you, but you didn’t answer. So I came to your apartment. I rang the doorbell, but you didn’t open the door. Something felt wrong, so I called your neighbors. They called the owner… and when he opened the door, you were lying unconscious on the floor. I brought you to the hospital.)

Radhika read slowly, her eyes stinging. “Thank you, Sunaina.”

Sunaina typed again and showed it to her with a soft grin.

“Mention not.”

After completing the discharge formalities, a final round of check-ups, and receiving medicine instructions, Sunaina helped Radhika out of the hospital. Her steps were slow, unsteady, but improving.

Outside, Sunaina guided her into the passenger seat and then rounded to the driver’s side.

“Tum mujhe ghar chhod do,” Radhika said quietly. "Main thodi der baad office aa jaungi… ab mujhe bohot better feel ho raha hai.”

(You can drop me home. I’ll come to the office in a while. I’m feeling much better now.)

Sunaina nodded without arguing.

The car halted in front of Radhika’s building. Sunaina supported her all the way upstairs, making sure she reached her room safely before finally leaving her to rest.

  On the other side, inside Randhawa Mansion—

The mansion was alive with voices and movement, grand corridors echoing with laughter as Akanksha come inside the mansion. The moment she stepped into the hall, Mahima and Apurva were the first to rush toward her, pure happiness written across their faces.

Before anyone else could speak, Rudraksh—standing tall in his crisp outfit—announced calmly, “By the way, the very good news is… Akanksha has finally found someone.”

Kritika stood right beside him, and instantly a loud chorus of teasing erupted from Vaidehi and Aditya.

“Ooho! Love! Marriage? Who’s the man?” Aditya asked eagerly as he walked toward Akanksha.

“Yes, yes, who is the person?” Nayantara added with a wide grin.

Akanksha’s cheeks flushed a warm pink at the eagerness surrounding her. “Not now,” she said with a mischievous smile. “He’s coming in the evening. I’ll introduce you all to him then—not now.”

Everyone groaned in disappointment—except Rudraksh. He simply adjusted his cufflink, not bothered at all.

Because he knew himself well: before evening, he would already have the man’s entire background checked. After all, Akanksha was his friend And he would never let her marry someone random.

Vaidehi, Aditya, and Nayantara slumped dramatically.

“At least give us his name,” Aditya pleaded with puppy eyes.

“Nope. Not now.” Akanksha refused playfully, loving the suspense she was creating.

“Yaar, this is going bad,” Vaidehi muttered.

Mahima stepped forward, using her ultimate weapon. “At least say his name to me. I’m your mom. Right?”

Akanksha paused… then bent forward and whispered the name softly into Mahima’s ear.

Aditya, Vaidehi, and Nayantara leaned dangerously close, desperately trying to hear—but Akanksha whispered so quietly that it was like smoke.

Mahima pulled back with a glowing smile. “Wonderful name.”

“This isn’t fair,” Aditya complained, throwing himself onto the couch and crossing his arms like a sulking child denied chocolate.

Swastika cleared her throat sharply. “Okay, that’s enough.”

Her tone was firm, instantly grounding everyone.

“Akanksha, go to your room and freshen up before the haldi starts.”

Before Akanksha could reply, Abhimanyu stepped forward. “Maa, I’ll come with you.”

“No need,” Swastika said. “Mujhe bas haldi mandir mein puja karwaani hai.”

( I just want to go to the temple for the haldi puja.)

“Maa,” Abhimanyu insisted, “Aapki tabiyat theek nahi hai. Ya toh main aapke saath aa raha hoon… warna aap kahin nahi ja rahi.”

(You’re not well. Either I go with you, or you’re not going anywhere.)

“Maa, Abhi is right. “Aapki tabiyat theek nahi hai,”,” Apurva added gently.

You’re not well

“Achha, theek hai" Swastika sighed, giving up.

(Alright… fine)

Meanwhile, Rudraksh checked his phone. “I have some work at the office. I’ll be back soon.”

Everyone stared at him.

“Kritika, see? I told you—this man is planning to run,” Akanksha teased loudly.

“No. Today you’re not going anywhere,” Apurva ordered, her voice leaving no space for argument.

“Mom, it’s important,” Rudraksh argued.

Apurva glared. He stopped.

Abhimanyu exhaled slowly, then said, “Let him go. He’ll be back before haldi.”

Apurva wanted to argue again but finally nodded sharply. “And if he gets late… you BOTH will regret it,” she warned.

Rudraksh gave a short nod.

Just then, Sameer arrived and greeted Abhimanyu and Swastika.

And from the elevator, Shivaay walked out.

Wearing a White straight-fit pants, lavender silk kurta embroidered lightly along the neckline, paired with a white Nehru jacket and polished shoes.

Nayantara’s eyes narrowed instantly. Her lips pressed into a thin warning line.

“Sarkar,” she called. Her voice was calm—too calm. The kind of calm before a deadly storm.

(government)

Shivaay, who had been fixing his wristwatch, froze. A shiver ran down his spine.

“Daddy, I guess you’re in trouble,” little Mihika whispered with a giggle.

Nayantara crossed her arms over her chest and gave Shivaay a full up-down glare. “What are you wearing?”

“Uh… clothes?” Shivaay said, trying to sound cool.

Nayantara sucked in a long breath and marched toward him.

“Main ek yellow kurta rakha tha. Aur tumne yeh lavender wala kyun pehna?

Kis se pooch kar pehna?” her tone sharpened.

(I kept a yellow kurta for you. And why are you wearing this lavender one? Who gave you permission to wear it?)

“I like the color,” he argued weakly.

“Go and change it before I tear it here,” she warned.

Shivaay smirked. “Ooho, control. We can’t start here in front of everyone. Can we?”

Nayantara’s cheeks flushed instantly.

Around them—

Aditya and Vaidehi pretended to be extremely busy explaining wedding details to Akanksha.

Apurva and Mahima examined decorations with great interest.

Kritika pretended she was adjusting her watch.

Mihika watched like she was enjoying a romantic serial.

Rudraksh was talking to Sameer, completely ignoring the chaos.

“Kitna kamina ho tum,” Nayantara burst out.

(You’re such a jerk)

The smirk vanished from Shivaay’s face. Then he burst into amused laughter. “Wait… what? Tumhe yeh Hindi gaali kisne sikhayi? "

(Who taught you that Hindi abuse?)

Because Nayantara barely knew Hindi words.

Rudraksh, hearing kamina, suddenly remembered Radhika—that girl—and the night she said it to him.

He looked at Nayantara.

“Bhabhi?”

(Sister-in-law)

Nayantara panicked. “Mujhe yaad aaya—mujhe garden ki tayari dekhni thi.” She attempted to escape.

(Oh—I just remembered. I have to check the garden decorations)

Mihika, however, remembered the slap video.

“Chote Daddy!” she called loudly.

Everyone froze.

Nayantara, Aditya, and Vaidehi went pale.

Sameer muttered internally, “bas mera hona-wali baby se milne se pehle hi mar jaaunga.

(I’ll just die before meeting my future baby at this rate.)

“I watched—” Mihika began.

Before she could finish, Nayantara slapped a hand over her mouth. “She watched a horror movie!” she said with a nervous smile.

Everyone nodded desperately.

“Boss, let’s go. We’re getting late,” Sameer said quickly, trying to drag Rudraksh away.

But Mihika shouted louder—

“CHOTE DADDY!! That girl SLAP YOU!!”

Silence.

Absolute, blood-freezing silence.

Everyone stopped breathing.

Sameer’s soul left his body.

Nayantara, Aditya, and Vaidehi hid behind Mahima and Apurva like scared children.

Mihika climbed onto the couch, looking furious.

Shivaay’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What?”

Akanksha’s eyes widened—she pressed her lips tight to hide her smile.

Kritika stared between Mihika and Rudraksh. “Someone slapped you?” Shock and anger burned in her eyes.

Rudraksh’s jaw tightened. But he controlled himself.

He slowly turned, eyes sweeping the room. “Who told you all?” he asked, voice calm—dangerously calm.

Everyone looked at Sameer.

That was enough.

Sameer froze, back still turned.

Akanksha slid to his side with pure mischief glowing in her eyes. “Hey! I didn’t see it. Mujhe bhi dekhna hai. Show me.”

(Hey! I didn’t see it. I want to watch it too. Show me.)

Sameer gave her a helpless, dying look—but he still played the video.

Shivaay watched.

Kritika watched.

Vaidehi, Aditya, Nayantara, Apurva—everyone leaned in.

The girl cursed Rudraksh.

Argued with him.

And then—slap.

The crisp sound echoed through the hall.

Rudraksh didn’t move. Not a flinch.

But that slap… rang in his ears again.

Yet he kept control.

Barely.

Kritika’s expression sharpened instantly, her voice cutting through the room like a blade.

"Who's the girl?" she asked, her eyes locked on Sameer with an intensity that made him swallow hard.

“Ma’am, the girl’s name is Radhika,” Sameer replied, his gaze flickering nervously between Kritika and Rudraksh.

Aditya stepped closer, reminding them with calm clarity, “You know this girl is the same one, Bhaiya—the one who wrote that article about Mahadev Group of Pharmaceutics. It took the first place in the newspaper… and the wedding news got pushed to the second column.”

Rudraksh stood frozen, his body tense, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might snap. Rage simmered beneath his skin—cold, silent, and controlled only by a thin strand of willpower.

Before anyone could ask anything, before a single syllable could leave their lips, Rudraksh turned sharply on his heel. Without looking back, without offering even the smallest acknowledgment, he strode out of the mansion, leaving behind a thick, uneasy silence.

Aditya exhaled softly and placed a sympathetic hand on Sameer’s shoulder.

“Sameer, tum bohot achhe insaan ho. Mujhe lagta hai tumhari zindagi ka safar yahin tak tha,” he said, his tone grave enough to make Sameer’s brows knit together in pure dread.

(Sameer, you’re a very good man. I think your life’s journey ends here.)

Vaidehi added with a dramatic sigh, “Sameer, agar tum aaj zinda bach gaye… toh hum celebrate karenge.”

(Sameer, if you survive today… we’ll celebrate.)

She looked at him with theatrical seriousness—as if he were walking toward his own execution.

Nayantara stepped forward, offering what she thought was comfort. “Sameer, daro mat. Tumne Rudra ke liye kitne saare kaam kiye hain.”

She paused, thinking hard for something more encouraging to add.

“…“Aur… tum uske assistant ho. Daro mat. Usse kehna ki tumhe thodi aasaan maut de.” she finished, giving him a look filled with pity more than reassurance.

(Sameer, don’t be scared. You’ve done so much for Rudra.And… you’re his assistant. Don’t worry. Just tell him to give you a slightly easier death.)

Sameer’s eyes welled up. “Ma’am… meri biwi ke baare mein toh sochiye. Mera hone wala bachcha…

main usse abhi tak mila bhi nahi hoon.” he cried, his fear spilling out uncontrollably.

(Ma’am… at least think about my wife. My unborn child… I haven’t even met them yet.)

Akanksha folded her arms and nodded once, solemn and amused all at once. “All the best, Sameer.”

Akanksha, Aditya, Vaidehi, and Nayantara all raised their thumbs at him in unison, like a bizarre farewell gesture.

Sameer gave each of them one last, trembling glance—half pleading, half resigned—before turning around and walking out of the mansion to face whatever storm Rudraksh was becoming.

»»————>☆<————««

On the other side of the city—

𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖 𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖

𝙎𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙗𝙮 𝘽𝙖𝙗𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙖𝙣 𝙈𝙤𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙉𝙞𝙗𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙖 ‧ 𝙢𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙚: 𝙇𝙚𝙠𝙝𝙪 𝙇𝙚𝙠𝙝𝙪 𝙇𝙚𝙠𝙝𝙞 𝘿𝙚𝙡𝙞.

𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖 𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖.

Radhika unlocked the door with trembling fingers and stepped inside.

The familiar four walls suddenly felt too small, too tight—almost suffocating.

She closed the door behind her and scanned the room. Everything was exactly where she had left it. Yet somehow everything felt painfully different.

𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖 𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖.

Slowly, she walked toward the canvas lying on the floor.

Those eyes—those impossible, alluring eyes—still made her breath hitch.

She bent down, lifted the canvas and the photo frame, holding them both as if they were fragile truths she was scared to drop.

The eyes stared back at her, unblinking, silent, consuming.

𝙀𝙠𝙖 𝙀𝙠𝙖 𝙢𝙪 𝘼𝙙𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙖 𝙉𝙖𝙞 𝙆𝙪𝙡𝙖

𝙠𝙞 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙟𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙧𝙖…

“Kaun ho tum?” she whispered, voice breaking.

“Kya chahiye tumhe mujhse? Kyun tum jaa bhi nahi rahe ho… aur mujhe chhod bhi nahi rahe ho? Problem kya hai tumhari?”

(Who are you?

What do you want from me? Why won’t you leave… and why won’t you let me go? What is your problem?)

Her words fell into the air like small, helpless confessions.

𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣…. 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….

𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪… 𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪.

The silence stared back at her.

The room felt heavier, the pain sharper—yet she couldn’t escape it.

She didn’t know how.

“Tum mujhe milne waale ho ya nahi?

Are you even coming for me… or not?”

(Are you ever going to come to me?)

Her voice trembled.

“Yeh intezaar khatam hoga ya nahi?”

(Will this wait ever end or not?)

A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.

𝘾𝙝𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙞 𝙏𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙖, 𝙆𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙞 𝙢𝙪 𝙂𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖…

And then she felt it.

A presence.

A warmth.

An invisible someone beside her.

Her mind—she knew—was tricking her again.

But the hallucination felt too real, too tender.

An arm around her shoulders, a soft wipe of her tears, a silhouette holding her like she wasn’t breaking alone.

𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙗𝙪, 𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙏𝙤𝙧𝙖.

Radhika buried her face into that imagined chest, clinging to a comfort that didn’t exist.

𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝘼𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞 𝙈𝙪𝙣….

“I know,” she murmured.

“I know you’re not here. I’m just imagining you… but it feels too real.”

𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….

The moment shattered.

Reality snapped back.

She blinked—hard—and found herself alone again, in her room, with nothing but the canvas and the photograph staring up at her.

𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪… 𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪.

Her heart panicked.

Her breath staggered.

Her mind twisted—again, again—pulling her into fear.

But she still forced herself.

𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖 𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 ……..

Today was Monday.

Her solah somvar vrat.

For fourteen years she had kept it—

No water.

No food.

No medicine.

Only devotion.

𝙍𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙩𝙖 𝙅𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙚 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖

𝙆𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙞 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙖 𝙨𝙖𝙧𝙖...

Radhika moved to her wardrobe and began getting ready.

Radhika wore a deep marigold–yellow anarkali suit, the fabric flowing around her like warm sunlight. The anarkali was soft, pleated, and full, brushing against her ankles with every step. The neckline was simple but elegant, bordered with fine golden detailing that caught the morning light.

Her dupatta added a burst of colour to her entire presence—

a vibrant patchwork of teal, red, pink, mustard and soft blue, each square framed with delicate gota work. The golden edging shimmered faintly as she lifted the dupatta over her shoulders, its colours brightening her tired eyes and pale morning face.

𝙍𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙩𝙖 𝙅𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙚 𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙖 𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙖 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖

𝙆𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙞 𝘽𝙖𝙩𝙖 𝙨𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙝𝙤𝙤....

She paired the outfit with wide palazzo bottoms in the same marigold shade, their loose fall giving her an easy, graceful movement.

Her jewelry was minimal but beautiful.

Large chandbali earrings, heavy with pearls and tiny golden beads, framed her face and brushed softly against her neck.

A thin gold bangle set clinked gently on her wrist, the sound soft and comforting.

A small round maroon bindi sat between her brows, giving her face a serene devotion and a quiet longing.

Her hair was parted neatly and tied back in a simple style, leaving a few loose strands that framed her cheeks naturally.

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙝𝙖 𝙉𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙧𝙚 𝙠𝙪𝙝𝙪𝙡𝙞 𝙠𝙪𝙝𝙪𝙡𝙞

𝙅𝙖𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞 𝙢𝙪 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙧𝙖…

𝙅𝙖𝙡𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞 𝙢𝙪 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙨𝙖𝙧𝙖.

She looked like a blend of devotion and vulnerability, wrapped in sunlight and colour—yet carrying a heaviness in her heart that even her bright attire couldn’t hide.

She adjusted her sleeves carefully, making sure they covered the old scars on her wrists.

Inside—

the syringe

the liquid

the choice she never liked making.

She filled the injection and slid the needle into the vein of her left arm.

𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙟𝙖 𝘼𝙨𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙅𝙖𝙝𝙣𝙖 𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙐𝙞𝙣

𝙆𝙖𝙝𝙞𝙗𝙖𝙠𝙪 𝙠𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙞,𝙈𝙪 𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙞 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙣

𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞 𝙈𝙪𝙣.

Her breath shuddered.

Fasting meant she couldn’t take her regular medication, the one she needed as much as breathing itself.

So she took the injection instead.

Painful.

Necessary.

Silent.

Yet her faith never cracked.

Her devotion never wavered.

𝘽𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙝𝙖 𝙉𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙧𝙚 𝙠𝙪𝙝𝙪𝙡𝙞 𝙠𝙪𝙝𝙪𝙡𝙞…

With the puja thali in her hands, Radhika stepped outside into the harsh 10 a.m. sun and walked toward the Shiv–Parvati temple.

𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….

The moment she entered the temple, relief washed over her like cool water.

She bowed her head, letting the sanctity wrap around her aching heart.

𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣… 𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪…

She opened her eyes and looked around.

Her gaze searched desperately for a face she had never seen—

never known—

but somehow waited for it.

“Beta, prasad.”

(Child, take the prasad.)

She accepted the bael leaf, placed the thali down, and bent to touch the priest’s feet.

“Tumhara vrat safal ho.

Aur jis naam ko dil mein rakha hai… wahi tumhaari kismat ban kar aaye.”

(May your fast be fulfilled.

And may the one whose name you hold in your heart… become your destiny.)

𝙈𝙖𝙣𝙖 𝙢𝙤 𝙠𝙖𝙝𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞, 𝙚𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙠𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞

𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙪 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖..

The blessing made her chest tighten.

She lifted her eyes to Shiv and Parvati.

“Mujhe nahi pata mujhe kya chahiye… bas woh chahiye. Agar woh mere liye sahi hai, toh use mujhe de dijiye.

Zyada nahi maang rahi—puri zindagi ke liye sirf ek hi aadmi maang rahi hoon.”

(I don’t know what I want… I just want him.

If he is right for me, then give him to me.

I’m not asking for much—

just one man, for my entire life.)

Her voice cracked.

Her hope didn’t.

𝙆𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙞 𝙟𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙗𝙞, 𝙠𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙡𝙚

𝘿𝙚𝙠𝙝𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙗𝙖 𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙞 𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙖

𝘿𝙚𝙠𝙝𝙖 𝙝𝙚𝙗𝙖 𝙥𝙪𝙣𝙞 𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙖.

She moved toward the Tulsi plant, circling it seven times, pouring water gently each round.

Then she lifted the lota, letting water stream toward the sun.

And again—

she felt him.

Arms around hers.

Hands guiding hers.

A presence flowing through her like truth.

She closed her eyes.

It was beautiful.

It was a lie.

She didn’t care.

𝙎𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙋𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚, 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞 𝙢𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙚

𝙃𝙖𝙩𝙖 𝙙𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙞 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙖, 𝙣𝙚𝙞𝙟𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙚

𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙖𝙠𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙝𝙞 𝙈𝙪𝙣...

When she opened her eyes—

he was gone.

Of course he was.

Her hallucinations stayed only long enough to break her a little more.

𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙈𝙪𝙣….

𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪..𝙆𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙞 𝙩𝙪

𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖 𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖.

Radhika stared at the crowd—

strangers praying, talking, living—

while her own eyes searched for a ghost

her heart refused to stop loving

a man she had never met.

A man destiny owed her.

𝙃𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙖𝙮𝙖 𝘽𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖 𝙆𝙝𝙤𝙟𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙎𝙖𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖……

Two cars rolled to a stop outside the same Shiv and Parvati temple.

The first was a black SUV; its doors opened and the guards stepped out with practiced precision, scanning the quiet morning surroundings. Only when they were satisfied did one of them move to the sleek white BMW and open the back door.

Abhimanyu stepped out first.

The sunlight glinted off his sunglasses, catching the sharp lines of his suit as he adjusted his coat and buttoned the middle clasp with effortless authority. His presence carried the air of a man who had always lived with power—quiet, unquestioned, inherited.

He circled the car, opened the other door, and Swastika stepped out gracefully. Her hands held a silver plate—carefully arranged with a haldi bowl—while Abhimanyu carried the puja basket.

They walked toward the temple entrance. A few guards remained outside, and some followed silently behind.

“Maa, iski koi zarurat nahi hai.” Abhimanyu murmured.

(Mom, there’s no need for this.)

“Nahi,” Swastika replied firmly. “Main yeh teri biwi ko dena chahti thi… par ab main yeh Rudraksh ki biwi ko dena chahti hoon.”

(No,I wanted to give this to your wife… but now, I want to give it to Rudraksh’s wife.)

She shifted the plate slightly—and beneath the haldi bowl lay the pair of bangles.

The bangles glowed like captured sunlight—two heavy circles of pure, ancient gold, crafted in a style almost lost with time. Each curve was alive with intricate artistry:

coiled vines, small lotus motifs, tiny celestial figures carved with microscopic precision.

But the center…

The center was what made them priceless.

Each bangle held a majestic twin makara face—half-lion, half-elephant—its jaw open in divine ferocity, shaped from thick layers of gold. Embedded within were rubies the color of sacred kumkum, each stone glowing like a flicker of fire. Between the rubies were miniature green stones, subtle but rich, like crushed emerald leaves.

These weren’t ornaments.

They were legacy.

Royal. Ancestral. Reserved only for the woman Swastika accepted not just as a daughter-in-law—but as her chosen one.

She had never given them to Apurva.

She had given Apurva respect, status, every right in the Randhawa family—but not these bangles. Not the symbol of the daughter-in-law she had always dreamed of.

“Aap yeh Apurva ko bhi de sakti hain.” Abhimanyu said softly, walking up the temple steps.

(You can give it to Apurva too,)

“Tujhe pata hai…" Swastika sighed, “maine yeh Apurva ke liye nahi banwaya tha.”

(You know very well…

I didn’t have this made for Apurva.)

A flicker of guilt crossed her features. Apurva had shed blood, sweat, and pieces of herself for this family. Still Swastika’s heart had never been able to let go of the girl she once chose for Abhimanyu.

“Maa, woh ab kabhi nahi aayegi.

Us aurat ko bhool jaaiye.” abhimanyu muttered.

He didn’t even want to speak her name. Thinking of her brought back memories filled only with fear and darkness.

(Mom, she’s never coming back.

Forget that woman.)

They stepped inside and joined the morning rituals. Swastika handed the haldi thali and the puja basket to the priest before folding her hands before the deities.

“Maine hamesha Apurva ko apni beti maana hai… lekin dil abhi tak usse bhool nahi paaya.

Mainne Rudraksh ke liye Kritika ko chuna hai.

Mujhe pata hai Rudraksh shaadi nahi karna chahta… lekin Kritika usse bohot pyaar karti hai.

Mere Rudraksh ko uski khushi de do, Bhagwaan ji…”

(I always considered Apurva my daughter… but my heart still hasn’t forgotten her.

I chose Kritika for Rudraksh.

I know he doesn’t want to get married… but Kritika loves him deeply.

God, please… give my Rudraksh his happiness.)

Beside her, Abhimanyu closed his eyes.

“Kuch bhi ho jaaye… Rudika ko Rudraksh se door rakhna.

Mera beta usse bohot pyaar karta hai…

lekin Rudika sirf dard degi usse.”

(Whatever happens… keep Rudika away from Rudraksh.

My son loves her too much…

but Rudika will only give him pain.)

He finished his prayer and leaned toward Swastika.

“Maa, aap yahin rukiye. Main abhi aata hoon.”

(Mom, stay here. I’ll be back.)

She nodded without looking away from the idol.

Abhimanyu slipped into a small stone chamber inside the temple—cool, dimly lit, scented with sandalwood and ancient silence.

There, on a raised mat, sat the man people called Baba.

He was impossibly old—his skin folded like dried leaves, his beard flowing like white river silk. He wore simple gerua robes, handwoven and faded with age. A set of rudraksha mala hung across his chest, each bead worn smooth by decades of fingers and prayers.

He was deep in meditation—yet he felt Abhimanyu enter.

Abhimanyu sat before him, folding his hands.

“Pranam.,” he whispered.

(Greetings.)

The old priest raised one frail hand in blessing.

“Kalyaan ho.”

(Blessings upon you.)

He already knew why Abhimanyu had come.

“Aaj mera beta Rudraksh ki shaadi ho rahi hai Kritika ke saath." Abhimanyu said.

(Today my son Rudraksh is getting married to Kritika.)

The priest nodded gently.

“Aaj shaadi hone ke baad… Rudika kabhi Rudraksh ki zindagi mein aa nahi payegi. Hai na?” Abhimanyu asked, voice careful, almost pleading.

(Once this wedding happens… Rudika will never be able to enter Rudraksh’s life again.

Right?)

The old man spoke without blinking.

“Pehle shaadi hone toh dijiye,” he said calmly.

“Shaadi hogi… par abhi tak hui nahi hai.”

(Let the wedding actually happen first.

It will happen… but it hasn’t happened yet.)

Abhimanyu clenched his jaw.

“Baba, main Rudraksh aur Rudika ko door rakhne ke liye bohot kuch kar chuki hoon.

Bas… aaj Rudraksh aur Kritika ki shaadi ho jaaye.”

(Baba, I’ve done everything I could to keep Rudraksh and Rudika apart.

I just want this wedding with Kritika to happen today.)

The priest opened his ancient, knowing eyes fully—eyes that seemed to hold centuries.

“Tum jitna prayas karo un dono ko alag rakhne ke liye…”

his voice deepened—

“…jiska milna kismat mein hota hai, unhein koi rok nahi sakta.

Rudraksh ki kismat Kritika ke saath nahi…

Rudika ke saath hai.”

(You may try everything to separate them…

…but when two people are destined to meet, no one can stop it.

Rudraksh’s destiny is not tied to Kritika…

but to Rudika.)

The words struck like thunder.

“Un dono ko koi alag nahi kar sakta.

Swarg ka Bhagwaan bhi nahi.”

(No one can separate them.

Not even God Himself.)

Silence.

Sacred. Heavy.

“Rudraksh ka path chahe jaisa bhi ho…” the priest concluded softly,

“…uski manzil sirf Rudika hi hai.”

(Whatever path Rudraksh takes…

his destination is only Rudika.)

He closed his eyes again.

“Tum kuch nahi kar sakte.

Phir bhi… prayas karti raho.”

(You cannot change that.

But… you may keep trying.)

The soft fragrance of incense still lingered in the air when Swastika finished her puja. She looked around the quiet sanctum, her brows creasing when she noticed Abhimanyu hadn’t returned yet. 

With a slight motion of her fingers—regal, instinctive—she beckoned the two guards standing near the door. They approached instantly.

“Go and see where’s Abhimanyu,” she ordered, her voice calm yet commanding.

The guards bowed and hurried away.

The priest walked forward moments later, placing the prasad in her palms, then carefully setting the haldi thali and puja basket into her hands. Swastika adjusted her hold, feeling the familiar weight settle against her wrists, and stepped out of the temple.

The morning sun had brightened fully, bathing the stone staircase in gold. She began her descent slowly, the haldi thali and puja basket making each step heavier than the last. Her health had not been steady in months—each breath carried that unspoken reminder.

Across the courtyard, Radhika had just finished her Tulsi puja. After offering water to the rising sun, she turned toward the stairs—and paused.

An elderly woman was descending alone, struggling under the weight of a large thali and basket.

I think I should help her, Radhika thought, lifting the long flare of her Anarkali gown as she hurried down.

Swastika’s foot slipped slightly.

Before the haldi thali could tilt or the puja basket could fall, Radhika reached her—an arm instantly wrapping around Swastika’s waist, steadying her with surprising strength.

Her other hand caught the puja basket, but the haldi thali leaned to the side, spilling a smear of bright yellow haldi onto Radhika’s neck and jaw.

“Dadi ji, aap thik hain?”(Grandma, are you okay?) Radhika asked, not caring at all about the haldi staining her skin and dress. Her eyes were full of pure concern.

Swastika didn’t reply at first. She simply stared at Radhika’s face—struck by a strange, aching familiarity.

“Maha Rani…” Swastika whispered.

(Queen)

Radhika blinked, confused.

“What? Maha Rani? Main? Nahi, nahi Dadi ji, main kaun si Maha Rani hoon.” (What? Great Queen? Me? No, no Grandma, I am not any Great Queen.)  she said softly, gently placing both the haldi thali and puja basket back into Swastika’s hands.

Before anything more could be said, the guards stationed outside noticed Swastika and came running up the stairs—four large men in black suits, boots thudding, weapons subtly visible.

Radhika froze for a second—then immediately stepped in front of Swastika like a fierce little shield.

“Hey, hey! Who are you?!” she shouted, extending both arms defensively.

“Door raho!!” (Stay away!!) Her voice trembled with fear wrapped in unexpected confidence.

The guards stopped abruptly, exchanging confused glances.

Swastika let out a small, amused snort.

“Beti, they are with me. Don’t worry.”

(Child,)

She waved, and the guards bowed their heads in apology.

Radhika looked foolish for a heartbeat—then straightened, puffed up her confidence, and glared at the men.

“Aisa Pakdo,” she commanded, thrusting the haldi thali into one guard’s hands and the puja basket into another’s.

(Hold it)

Hands on her hips, she added sharply,

“Tum logon ki aadhi salary kaat deni chahiye.”

(Half of your salary should be cut.)

The four towering guards exchanged another helpless glance.

Swastika watched her with a fond, quiet smile.

Eyi ladki puri uske tarah hai… wahi badi-badi aankhein, kisi se darti nahi… puri uski tarah…

(This girl is exactly like her… those big eyes, fearless… just like her…) , she thought, her heart stirring.

Radhika continued scolding the guards like they were schoolboys caught stealing candy instead of fully trained men who could snap her in half without blinking.

“Bas beta, ho gaya.”

(Enough, child, it’s done.,)

Swastika finally intervened.

“Tum log jao.” (You all may go.)

The guards practically sighed in relief as they retreated.

Radhika immediately turned back, holding Swastika's arm gently as she guided her to sit on a lower step.

"Dadi ji, aap thik toh hain na?”

(Grandma, you’re okay, right?) she asked, kneeling in front of her.

“Haan, haan, main thik hoon.” (Yes, yes, I’m fine.) Swastika chuckled softly. “Bhagwan tumhe lambi umar de.”

(May God bless you with a long life.)

“Dadi ji, lambi umar ka kya karun jab Shiv ji mujhe mera pasandida aadmi hi nahi de rahe?”

(Grandma, what will I do with long life when Lord Shiva isn’t giving me the man I like?) Radhika complained with childlike honesty, making Swastika laugh even more warmly.

“Toh tumhe tumhara pyaar jaldi mil jaye.”

(Then may your love come to you soon.) Swastika blessed.

"Dadi ji, aapko itni saari cheezein pakad kar stairs se utarna nahi chahiye tha.”

(Grandma, you shouldn’t have climbed down the stairs holding so many things. ) Radhika scolded softly, shifting the topic.

Swastika sighed. “Woh beti, mujhe pyaas lag rahi thi tho main car ki taraf ja rahi thi."

(Child, I was feeling thirsty so I was going towards the car.)

Radhika nodded, instantly opening her bag and pulling out her Bliss START Glass Penguin Cartoon Water Bottle.

“Dadi ji, yeh lijiye paani.”(Grandma, here—have some water.) she said, unscrewing the penguin head—adorably shaped like a cup—and pouring water.

Swastika stared at the bottle. Then around. Then at the bottle again.

“Beta… mujhe aise pina padega?”

(Child… do I really have to drink like this?)

she asked hesitantly.

“Ji, aapko aise hi pina padega.”

(Yes, you have to drink it like this.) Radhika confirmed, offering the penguin cup proudly.

Swastika took it with a sigh and drank.

Nearby, a small girl tugged on her mother’s dupatta.

“Mummy, I want a water bottle like this!”

Radhika instantly hid her bottle behind her bag like a possessive child, making Swastika laugh openly.

She returned the cup, and Radhika tucked it back safely.

“Tum humesha aisi baccho jaisi cheeze—”

(You always like these childish—)

Swastika stopped when Radhika’s eyes narrowed.

“I mean…” she corrected quickly.

“Aree, Maine bola na, Dadi jii, mujhe humesha aisi cheezein achhi lagti hain."

(I told you, grandma, I always like such things) Radhika said with a cheeky smile.

Swastika just shook her head, smiling.

"Bas, agar aap yeh soch rahi hain ki main thodi si gareeb types hoon... you know"

(Just in case you're thinking I'm some poor-type girl...you know ) Radhika glanced at Swastika’s rich saree and jewelry.

“Bilkul nahi. Tum toh bahot pyaari ho.” swastika said sincerely.

(Not at all. You are very sweet.)

“Aap kitni achchi ho…”(You’re so nice…) Radhika murmured—thinking of last evening, of that arrogant Rudraksh.

“Kuch ameer log toh aise hotay hain ki gareeb ko apne juto ki dhool samajhte hain.”

(Some rich people think the poor are nothing but the dust of their shoes,)

she said bitterly.

“Acha?” Swastika raised a brow." Toh aise logon ko achcha sabak sikhaana chahiye.”

(Oh? Then such people should be taught a good lesson.)

If only she knew Radhika was insulting her own beloved grandson.

“Aapko pata hai, usne mujhe bola ki main uske ghar ki naukrani banne ka layak bhi nahi hoon."

(Do you know, he told me I'm not even worthy of being his housemaid) Radhika added indignantly.

“Kya!!? Itni pyaari si ladki ko aisa bol diya?us ladke ki aankhein kharaab honga"

(What?he said that to such a sweet girl? That boy's eyes must be damaged.) Swastika exclaimed.

Radhika nodded firmly.

"I just slap him hard on his face and break his largest ego" Radhika said proud on herself.

"You did good, if I ever meet him then I'll slap him too" Swastika said, voice firm and deadly serious.

Then she noticed a tiny cut on Swastika’s palm.

“Dadi ji, aapko toh cut lag gaya.”

(Grandma, you got a cut.) she said, immediately pulling out a Doraemon bandage and placing it gently on the wound.

“Lo, ho gaya.”

(There, done.)

Swastika felt strangely touched—like she was talking to a lively little girl, not a grown woman.

“Waise beta, tumhara naam kya hai?” she asked softly.

(By the way child, what’s your name?)

“Mera naam Radhika hai." she replied proudly.

(My name is Radhika.)

“Karti kya ho?” she asked.

(What do you do?)

“Journalist hoon. In the Criminal investigation team mein.”

(I’m a journalist.) Radhika said with confident pride.

“Kya? Mujhe laga tum college mein ho.”

(What? I thought you were in college.) Swastika teased.

Radhika sighed—used to this.

“Dadi ji, main journalist hoon.”

(Grandma, I’m a journalist.) she repeated, sounding like a sulking child.

Swastika laughed. “Tum mujhe kisi ki yaad dilati ho…”

(You remind me of someone…)

“Kaun?”

(Who?) Radhika tilted her head, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Chhodo ye baatein.”

(Leave it.) Swastika said, brushing it away.

But she wasn’t ready to leave Radhika empty-handed.

Swastika gestured to the guard holding the haldi thali. He stepped forward. Swastika took the heavy, intricately crafted gold bangles—the same ones she had intended for her eldest daughter-in-law—and gently took Radhika’s wrists.

“Main tumhe kuch dena chahti hoon.”

(I want to give you something.)

“Kya?” (what?)  Radhika asked, eyes widening like a child about to receive chocolate.

Swastika took out the gold bangle and slipped it onto Radhika’s wrist.

“Dadi ji! Yeh kya kar rahi ho? Mujhe yeh nahi chahiye!” Radhika protested weakly.

(Grandma! What are you doing? I don’t want this!)

“Kitni pyaari lag rahi ho. Aisa lag raha hai yeh tumhare liye hi bana hai.”

(You look so lovely. It seems like this was made just for you.) Swastika said with a proud smile.

Before Radhika could argue further, a familiar voice cut through the air.

“Maa.”

(Mother)

Abhimanyu’s voice cut the air.

He strode forward, eyes landing on the unknown girl wearing their bangle.

Radhika faced him instantly. “Aap kaun hai?”

(Who are you?)

“Main unka beta hoon.”

(I am her son.) he replied in his signature arrogant tone.

Abhimanyu didn’t spare her a second look.“Aapko pata hai, Dadi ji abhi-abhi gir jaati agar main nahi aati toh.”

(Do you know, Grandma would have fallen just now if I hadn’t come.) Radhika said sharply.

Abhimanyu turned to Swastika. “Maa, aap thik hain?” (Mother, are you okay?)

“Main thik hoon.”

(I’m fine.) she assured.

Then he noticed the Doraemon bandage.

“What’s this?”

Radhika blinked innocently.

“Uncle, aapko dikhayi nahi de raha?”

(Uncle, can’t you see?)

Abhimanyu glared. "I can see it."

Swastika shot him a warning look.

Radhika pressed her lips together.“Acha, Dadi ji, main chalti hoon. Aap na apna dhyan rakhiyega.”

(Okay Grandma, I’ll leave now. Please take care of yourself.) Radhika said, rising to her feet.

She took a few stairs down, then suddenly paused and turned back.

Pointing at Abhimanyu, she said seriously.

“Dadi ji, aapka beta hai na… yeh bhi kadwa hai. Inko paani mein honey daal kar dena.”

(Grandma, your son… he’s bitter too. Make sure you give him water with honey)

Abhimanyu’s jaw dropped.

Swastika burst out laughing.

Radhika grinned mischievously, waved, and ran down the steps—leaving the temple, leaving chaos, leaving a trace of haldi on her skin…

…and unknowingly leaving her mark on all of their lives.

She leave the temple steps—unaware of just how deeply she had already stepped into their lives.

After Radhika was gone completely, Abhimanyu’s gaze slowly drifted toward Swastika. She was still standing in the quiet courtyard of the temple, eyes fixed on the empty space where Radhika had just disappeared.

There was something unreadable in her expression—almost as if time had stopped for her.

“Why did you give the bangles to her?” Abhimanyu finally asked. His voice was low, laced with confused disbelief. “Jo kangan aapne ghar ke kisi ko bhi nahi diya, us kangan ko aapne us ladki ko de diya jisse aap aaj aur abhi mile ho?”

Those bangles…

The ones she made with her own hands—meant only for a woman whose existence was a wound, a question, a shadow. Alive or dead, no one knew. And yet, Swastika had never given them even to Apurva or Mahima.

But today, she placed them in the hands of a stranger. A girl she had met only moments ago.

Swastika let out a soft sigh. A very rare, almost fragile gentleness flickered in her eyes when she spoke.

“Mujhe us ladki ko dekhkar uski yaad aa gayi…” she whispered.

The way she said her—there was a buried pain there, an old fracture that had never healed fully.

Abhimanyu’s jaw tightened instantly. He looked away, voice suddenly firm.

“Maa… mat yaad dilaye uske. Now let’s go.”

He never wanted to think about that woman—someone who was nothing less than a nightmare for him and for the entire house. A wound they all wanted to forget.

He gently held Swastika’s arm and guided her toward the car. The temple bells rang behind them as they walked out, but none of that sacred peace reached them.

»»————>✾<————««

On the Other Side —

Delhi’s roads were choking with traffic, horns blaring, engines humming in frustration. Long lines of vehicles stood like prisoners, trapped for hours. School buses, office commuters, delivery vans—everybody was stranded, restless, angry, late.

The heat, the impatience, the helplessness—everything mixed into an unbearable morning chaos.

Radhika walked along the roadside, returning from the temple toward her small apartment. She still couldn’t understand why only near her area the traffic was frozen like this—especially the alley leading to her building.

That’s when she noticed an ambulance stuck among the motionless cars. A woman lay inside, unconscious, her breathing shallow. Her husband was pacing frantically outside, running up and down the lane with wild fear in his eyes.

“Sir, please clear the traffic!” the man pleaded to a policeman standing near the barricades.

“My wife is in the ambulance—she needs medical treatment, please!”

The officer didn’t move. His voice was detached, almost robotic.

“Sorry sir, protocol. We can’t clear the road. A scientist is passing through this route. Everyone has to stop.”

“But at least let the ambulance go!”

The man’s voice cracked.

People around him protested too.

“Haan, ambulance ko toh jaane do!”

“You can’t stop an ambulance!”

The officer finally looked around at the crowd and spoke loudly, as if announcing something divine.

“You know who the scientist is?

Mr. Rudraksha Singh Randhawa.”

Silence.

A terrifying, heavy silence.

Every face that was complaining a moment ago suddenly dropped its voice. Courage evaporated. Nobody wanted to challenge a man whose mere gaze could break someone. People would rather stay stuck in traffic than risk Rudraksha’s wrath.

But Radhika…

Radhika felt anger burst like fire inside her chest.

She stepped forward.

“Why is an ambulance stopped for a person?” she demanded.

“When an ambulance doesn’t stop for anyone—then why for him?”

The officer stared at her as if she had gone insane. Someone daring to raise her voice against him—against the man who needed only one second to destroy a life.

“Ma’am, agar itni himmat hai,” he challenged,

“toh jaake khud road barrier hata do.”

He thought she would step back.

Everyone thought she would step back.

But she didn’t.

Radhika walked straight toward the barricades. A few constables instinctively moved to stop her, but the senior officer lifted a hand, signaling them not to interfere. Curiosity and fear spread like ripples—everyone waited to see what she would do.

Without hesitation, Radhika grabbed the heavy iron barricade, lifted it with effort, and dragged it aside.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

Her sheer audacity stunned everyone.

The husband rushed back into the ambulance, and it sped away instantly—its siren cutting through the stunned silence.

But at that exact moment—

Rudraksha’s cars arrived.

And stopped.

Because the barrier that was meant to clear his path… had been moved.

His guards jumped out immediately, weapons ready. Zarrar, leading them, froze when he saw Radhika. He recognized her.

The girl from the video.

The one who had slapped the Devil himself.

And today, she had stopped his motorcade.

Rudraksha stepped out of the black car. His presence itself seemed to suck the air from the road. His anger was already simmering—his family had seen the video earlier, and now this girl had dared to defy him again.

Sameer spotted her too, and his soul nearly left his body.

As the ambulance disappeared in the distance, Radhika turned and glared at the guards—then met Rudraksha’s eyes.

Two icy storms.

Colliding.

Rudraksha clenched his jaw so tightly it could crack. Fury clawed at him, demanding to be let loose. But he inhaled sharply—he had to control himself today. At least today.

And then, to everyone’s shock, he turned and slid back into the car.

“Clean the road,” he ordered flatly.

Sameer nodded so fast his neck almost snapped and signaled the officers. They hurried to remove the remaining barricades.

As the convoy began to move, Rudraksha’s gaze shifted out the window—

Straight at Radhika.

And she stared right back.

Unwavering.

Unafraid.

“Kanha ji kare usko bhi pata chale kaisa lagta hai jab koi apna maut ka mu pe hoga aur woh kuch bhi nahi kar sakta hoga…”

Radhika murmured under her breath, practically cursing him, eyes still fixed on the road where Rudraksha’s long line of black cars had disappeared moments ago.

Her pulse was still fast—anger, helplessness, disbelief—everything mixing in her chest like a storm refusing to settle.

Traffic finally started moving again. People rushed, engines roared back to life, and Delhi returned to its usual chaos.

But Radhika walked back to her apartment slowly, lost in thoughts, still replaying everything—the ambulance, the officer’s cold arrogance, Rudraksha’s emotionless expression… and the silent war between their eyes.

By the time she reached her building, her mind was still tangled in that incident.

Suddenly her phone rang, cutting sharply through her thoughts.

She glanced down at the screen and groaned.

Yuvi Bro.

Yuvraj Singh Thakur.

Of course.

She didn’t want to pick up—actually, she wanted to throw the phone out the window—but ignoring him wasn’t an option.

With a resigned exhale, she answered.

“Who the hell do you think you are?!” a sharp, earsplitting roar blasted from the other end, forcing Radhika to yank the phone away from her ear.

She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, then pressed the phone back.

“Yuvi bro… if you want me not to hang up the phone, then don’t rage your voice at me.”

Her tone was firm, steady—the kind of authority she alone held over him.

On the other side, Yuvraj took a slow breath, trying—and failing—to control his temper. His voice came out hoarse, still rough with anger.

“Why did you block all my cards?”

He ground out each word through gritted teeth.

“Because you’re wasting money which isn’t yours.”

Radhika sat down on the edge of her bed, rubbing her temple.

Yuvraj—just like his father—had always been spoiled. Spending money he never earned. Money that belonged to Vikramaditya Singh Thakur and Luv Singh Thakur. Money built on sweat, sacrifice and sleepless nights.

And Yuvraj used it the way people used tap water.

“Excuse me?” he barked.

“I’m the owner of the company too!” he snapped, reminding her proudly.

Radhika let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Owner? Oh please. Tell me—how many board meetings did you attend? How many nights did you spend in the lab? How many deals did you crack? Except using the company money, you never even came to the office.”

Her tone was dry. Brutally honest.

A heavy silence followed. For once, Yuvraj had no comeback.

“…Fine. Don’t unblock my account. I’ll take money from Dad.” he muttered.

Radhika smiled darkly.

“Oh really? For the record—I blocked everyone’s accounts. Except Rana Bhai Sa and Luv Bhai Sa. Everyone. Even Rajmata, Bada Mama, Mami, Chote Mama, Choti Mami… even Mrinalika’s account too.”

“You can’t do this!” Yuvraj snarled.

“I can. And I did it.” she replied, voice clipped, calm and merciless.

She paused.

Then an idea slipped into her mind—clean, sharp, and effective.

“By the way… I can give you some money, if you do a favor for me.”

“Never.” Yuvraj shot back instantly.

“Think again, Yuvi bro. Because if you want money, then you have to do what I tell you.”

Her voice turned cold, authoritative—irresistible.

Another pause.

Radhika smiled to herself. She knew exactly where to press. Aaina had taught her that.

Finally Yuvraj exhaled sharply.

“Fine. What’s the work… and how much money are you giving me?”

His voice was no longer angry—more like defeated, submissive.

“Ten lakh.” Radhika said.

“What? Ten lakh?! No—I want more.” he snapped, but softer this time, irritated but controlled.

“Ten lakh is enough for you. Now listen to the work.”

Yuvraj fell silent.

He hated it, but at least he was getting something.

Even if the amount was painfully small for his taste.

»»————>❖<————««

On the other side—

Rudraksha sat in the backseat of the car like a storm wrapped in human skin. His silence—dangerous, heavy—made Sameer feel as if he were sitting beside a wounded tiger, one that could snap any second.

Rudraksha’s jaw was locked tight, his fingers digging into his own palms where they rested on his lap, knuckles stiff and white. He looked like he wanted to break something… or someone.

But he held himself back. Barely.

When the car finally stopped outside the towering glass building, Rudraksha stepped out first, long strides full of controlled fury. Sameer and Zarrar followed instantly.

“Tell Aditya to come to my cabin.”

He didn’t even look at Sameer—just threw the order over his shoulder.

Sameer nodded and quickly stepped aside to make the call as Rudraksha headed into the lobby.

Inside his cabin, Zarrar and the guards remained outside.

Rudraksha sat behind his desk, flipping through files, signing documents mechanically. The pen moved smoothly, but the tension in his shoulders never eased.

A knock broke the silence.

“Come in,” he said, not lifting his eyes.

The door opened.

Aditya entered, closing the door behind him.

“Bhai, you called me?”

Rudraksha finally closed the file and rose from his chair.

“Yes.”

Aditya waited. “What’s it?”

Rudraksha walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawling beneath him like a kingdom he owned, hated, and controlled in equal measure.

He slid his hands into his pockets, voice turning to ice.

“I want you to give me every detail about Radhika Swain.”

Aditya choked on his own breath, caught so off-guard he actually stumbled for a second.

“What? But why? Any… personal reason?” he asked, one eyebrow lifting knowingly.

“She’s working in HotTake Daily News. Maybe she received the pendrive. The way she was looking at me today…”

Aditya stepped closer, amusement flickering across his face.

“Bhai… you met her today? Again?”

There was unmistakable teasing in his tone.

Rudraksha’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“Do as I said.” he barked.

Aditya straightened immediately. “Okay.”

Before he could ask anything else, the door burst open.

Sameer hurried inside, breathless.

Rudraksha’s eyes narrowed instantly—razor-sharp, lethal. Sameer stopped in his tracks, swallowing hard.

“Boss, sorry for disturbing, but it’s urgent.”

“What happened?” Rudraksha asked, voice low.

Sameer exhaled sharply.

“Boss, Mahadev Group of Pharmaceuticals’ chairperson filed a loophole complaint against our shipment… and the customs department has captured our shipment for investigation.”

Silence.

Then—Rudraksha snapped.

He grabbed the nearest thing—

a solid pure-gold statue—

and hurled it across the room.

It smashed into the glass door, shattering it.

Employees outside jumped back in terror.

“What’s the fucking problem of that bastard?!” Rudraksha roared.

His chest heaved, breath uneven, eyes murderous.

For a moment he looked like he might tear the entire building apart brick by brick.

Then he closed his eyes.

Forced his breath out slowly.

He whispered—so quietly only someone standing close could hear:

“Rudrika… calm down. For her.”

Her name.

The only thing that could tame him.

For a moment, he stood still.

Then he opened his eyes again—hard, freezing, controlled.

Sameer waited silently, knowing one wrong word could trigger another explosion.

“This company…” Rudraksha muttered, pacing slowly, “Vikramaditya Singh Thakur. I can deal with him. But this new chairperson—who the hell is he? Always poking his nose where it doesn’t belong… always targeting us. And the worst part? I don’t even know who he is. Hidden. Coward.”

He turned sharply.

“How many days will the shipment stay captured?”

“Boss, I’m trying to speed it up, but… at least two days.” Sameer replied cautiously.

Rudraksha inhaled slowly, jaw tightening.

“Fine.”

His voice was clipped steel.

Aditya exchanged a look with Sameer, both sensing the storm tightening around them.

“Those bastards need a lesson.”

Rudraksha murmured, deadly quiet.

A quiet that promised destruction.

“Leave.”

Both men nodded and exited the cabin, leaving him alone with his rage.

And his obsession.

As soon as the door closed behind him, the sharp thud seemed to echo through the office. Rudraksh walked slowly toward his chair, shoulders weighted with anger, exhaustion, and a storm he didn’t want anyone to witness. He lowered himself onto the seat, elbows resting on the armrests as he inhaled a long, steadying breath—one deep enough to force the rage inside him back into its cage.

He reached for his phone almost instinctively.

And there she was.

Rudika—smiling in the photo that had been clicked years ago. Innocent. Soft. Completely unaware of the chaos she had thrown him into. Just one glimpse of her was enough for the tight coil in his chest to loosen. Whatever stress, fury, or suffocating darkness he carried a moment ago seemed to fade like mist dissolving under sunlight. His jaw relaxed. His heartbeat softened. For a heartbeat, he simply… breathed.

Then his phone rang.

The name flashing on the screen was of the man he had assigned to keep an eye on Radhika since yesterday. The moment of fragile calm shattered. A frustrated growl slipped out as he pressed accept and put the call on speaker.

“What’s the update?” he asked, voice clipped, already reaching for another file to distract his mind.

“Boss, actually… last night something happened, I guess,” the man replied, trying to maintain a professional tone.

Rudraksh’s eyes narrowed. His voice sharpened.

“… And what exactly happened?”

“Boss, we were staying outside the building and keeping an eye on the girl. No one entered, and no one left. But in the morning, another girl came and took Radhika to the hospital. I snapped a picture of the girl.”

Rudraksh froze mid-signature.

“Send me the girl’s picture. And why did she take her to the hospital?”

“Boss, I asked some people. They said she was unconscious from last night. Since she stays alone, no one noticed her. Her friend came to the building in the morning and later took her to the hospital.”

The pen slipped from between his fingers and landed softly on the file. His jaw clenched again—this time not from anger but something sharp, something uneasy.

Rudraksh closed the files slowly, a thoughtful expression settling over his features.

“Fine. Anything else?”

“Yes, boss,” the man continued. “In the morning she went to the temple. When we followed her there… she met with Swastika Ma’am and Abhimanyu Sir.”

Every nerve in his body is still.

His brows pulled together.

“What? She met Dad and Dadi? Anything else happened?”

“Sorry, boss,” the man said quickly. “We couldn’t hear the conversation, but we saw Swastika Ma’am give her some bangles. They talked about something before Abhimanyu Sir came, and then Radhika left.”

For a moment, Rudraksh said nothing—just stared at the desk, jaw tight, mind racing. Bangles. Dadi. Dad. The temple.

Why her?

Why now?

His voice returned, controlled but colder than before.

“Okay. Keep an eye on her and give me every small update about her.”

He hung up the phone without another word.

And the room fell into silence once again.

»»————>❁<————««

On the other side—

Radhika still couldn’t stop thinking about Rudraksh. His face, his voice, the way he looked at her in the road kept replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape from. But her thoughts froze the moment she remembered something far more important—

Rana Vikramaditya had sent her the Randhawa family’s classified information.

Without wasting even a second, she shot up from the bed, snatched her laptop, and opened her email.

The Randhawa family file was right there—waiting, heavy, dangerous.

She clicked.

And her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped.

“Bullshit!” she cursed, staring at the first page.

The head of the family—

Swastika Singh Randhawa.

The same elderly woman she had saved at the temple.

The same woman who had blessed her… and slipped expensive bangles into her hands with a warmth Radhika had not expected.

She scrolled down—

And nearly choked.

Rudraksh’s father.

The biggest enemy of her life.

Abhimanyu Singh Randhawa.

The same man she had met this morning.

“Motherfucker!” she hissed.

Her heart started hammering as she kept scrolling, trying to process the web she had unknowingly stepped into.

Then came the financial details.

And Radhika almost fell backward.

The Randhawa's weren’t millionaires.

Not even billionaires.

They were literally trillionaires.

Radhika slapped her forehead and fell back onto the bed.

“Madarchod!!” she yelled under her breath before grabbing the laptop again.

“He’s literally too rich, that’s why he’s too arrogant!! Wait… if he’s a trillionaire, then how much money is even hidden? Was it 500 billion or 5,000 billion or more?” she muttered while scrolling.

Every new line made her heartbeat spike.

“Great scientist, great businessman… and of course a very great criminal too,” Radhika said with bitterness simmering in her voice.

Seven years.

In just seven years, Rudraksh had turned Randhawa Pharmaceuticals into India’s No.1 pharmaceutical empire, with branches spread across the entire country and half the world.

Then came the most horrifying part—

VENOM LAB

His self-built laboratory.

Where he created every kind of venom—potent enough to destroy anything.

Radhika’s breath hitched.

She paused when she came across a post from a news site announcing the launch of a new medicine.

But what caught her attention was the caption beneath it:

“Randhawa Pharmaceuticals didn’t just save lives — it owned them. And Rudraksh Singh Randhawa, the man behind it all, knew exactly how much a human life was worth on a balance sheet.”

Radhika’s eyes burned with anger.

“I swear to God, I want to go inside this laptop and slap the idiot who wrote this,” she muttered.

“He saved life so he can take them later when he needs…” she whispered, bitterness curling through her words.

Scrolling more, she found psychological profiles.

One word repeated too many times:

Control.

Power.

Progress.

And above all — MONEY.

“Money psycho,” she declared, giving him a title that fit him disturbingly well.

Finally, her eyes stopped on the last piece of information— A wedding update.

Rudraksh Singh Randhawa’s marriage.

Today.

To his father’s sister’s daughter—

His childhood friend and lover, Kritika Mukherjee.

Her eyes widened again.

“What? Today’s Haldi and Marriage… yesterday Mehandi and Sangeet finished… and before that engagement? What rubbish? In three days every ritual and marriage today?” she whispered in dumbfound shock.

Closing the laptop with a sharp snap, she stood up. Enough of this.

Time for office.

Radhika changed out of her haldi-stained clothes and wore the—a deep raspberry-pink embroidered Anarkali,

The full-flared skirt brushed her ankles, covered in intricate gold threadwork.

A matching dupatta rested on her shoulder, falling gracefully down her arm.

She braided her hair into two long traditional plaits.

A small bindi on her forehead.

A soft pink lip gloss.

And she was ready.

Ready to face the world.

Ready to face Rudraksh Singh Randhawa again—if fate dared to bring him in her path.

Radhika had to walk nearly ten long minutes just to reach the next bus stop. The early morning sun pressed against her back, warm but strangely heavy, as if it knew the weight she carried inside her. When the bus finally arrived, she climbed in with a tired sigh—luck struck, a vacant seat waited for her. She sank into it, letting her shoulders relax for the first time since dawn.

But peace never stayed long with her.

Her phone vibrated sharply.

The screen flashed: ‘Dr. Masi’.

Radhika’s eyes widened.

“Mala manisha,” she muttered under her breath. “Wait… calm down.”

She inhaled, slow and deep, steadying her heartbeat before answering.

“Jay Jagannath,” she said brightly.

“Jay Jagannath,” came the equally cheerful reply—Dr. Ipsita Patnaik, one of the best psychiatrists in the state, a professor, and Mohini’s oldest friend. The woman who knew Radhika’s mind better than anyone. Too well, sometimes.

“What are you doing?” Ipsita asked.

“Nothing, just going to the office,” Radhika replied casually.

“What’s today?”

That tone—knowing, sharp, unamused.

“T-today? Nothing special.” Radhika’s voice trembled. Her lie trembled with it.

“Today is Monday. Don’t think I forgot.”

The softness vanished; the doctor surfaced. No more aunt. No more family friend. Just clinical authority.

“Dr. Masi, if you’re calling me for this, then I’m not interested.” Radhika’s voice turned cold, dismissive. Whatever happened, she wasn’t stopping the fast. Never.

“At least drink water,” Ipsita urged. Even the doctor’s voice couldn’t hide her worry.

“No. I’m totally fine.” The stubbornness on Radhika’s face could cut stone. Her soul carried the same resolve.

Sometimes, even she knew—this wasn’t devotion anymore. It felt like punishment.

A punishment she didn’t understand, but still inflicted on herself.

Every Monday she fasted, challenging God directly:

Give me what I ask for… or let me destroy myself.

“Do you think doing this will solve your problems? Radhika, it’s 2025. For God’s sake, forget him. You don’t know him. You don’t even know if he knows you. Maybe the person you saw in your dreams isn’t even real. Maybe it’s your brain’s illusion. Maybe the person doesn’t exist.”

“Dr. Masi, I saw him. I feel him. How could you say I’m an illusion? No. I’m not illusion.” Radhika’s voice was firm—unshakeably firm.

Maybe Ipsita was right. Maybe reality and her heart lived in two different worlds.

But the heart doesn’t care.

Her heart refused reality.

“Fine, you’re not illusion,” Ipsita conceded. “For you, he exists. But what if he doesn’t know you? What if you just saw him once in childhood and kept imagining him? Radhika, try to understand. Your condition isn’t good.”

“You need someone who’ll take care of you.”

Radhika leaned back in her seat, staring outside the bus window.

“You know… I vow… I’ll never get married to anyone. And I’ll never love someone else.”

Her voice was soft—but final.

“Radhika, love is something you can’t control. Tumhe pata bhi nahi lagega when you fall in love.”

“I already fell in love,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “And the only person is he. If it’s not him, then I don’t want anyone else.”

“Radhika! Don’t be ridiculous!” Ipsita snapped, then exhaled sharply. “What if he loves someone else? What if he marries someone?”

“I don’t know,” Radhika admitted, staring at the blazing sun. “If he loves someone else or if he marries… I don’t know what I will do. But I don’t want anyone else. I just want my big sun.”

“Why him? What if he’s a bad person? Smoking, drinking… what if he’s a criminal? What if he’s a manwhore?”

“Dr. Masi, you’re so negative.” Radhika groaned, annoyed. “I don’t think so. And first let me find him. Then I’ll see what he is or what he isn’t.”

“Radhika, tell me honestly. What do you want in your man?”

It was a question the doctor had held back for years.

“I want him not perfect,” Radhika began softly, “because no one is perfect. I’ll accept all his flaws. He smokes? Then I’ll massage his head and tell him don’t stress, talk to me—then he’ll need me, not a cigarette. If he drinks? I’ll tell him drink in your limits. If he’s a manwhore? Then I’ll cut his dick. So problem solved.”

Dr. Ipsita burst out laughing despite herself.

“…If he’s a criminal,” Radhika continued, “I’ll tell him never hurt innocent people. I want a man who’ll understand my silence more than my words. I want he’ll understand me before I explain. I don’t want a toxic relationship. Yes, he can be possessive, but I don’t want he control me. I don’t want dominant. I don’t want he said I belong to him. He said—he belongs to me.

I want my own identity. He won’t force me to stay under him.

He can be jealous—it shows fear of losing me. But I don’t want he feel so jealous that he’ll stop me from doing something I want.

I don’t want any prince. I don’t need princess or queen treatment.

I want goddess treatment.

Is it more I want?”

Silence stretched. Heavy. Thoughtful.

“Radhika, you can’t find everything in one person. It’s not 1880. Ram, Krishna, Shiv—they don’t exist.”

“I don’t want Ram or any God in him. I want only him. I want respect, love, care, loyalty. And I swear I’ll stay with him forever—even in his worst time.”

“I want he’ll love me in a way no one ever loved anyone. He can die for me without thinking.”

“So you want your love story like—Laila–Majnu, Romeo–Juliet, Heer–Ranjha…?”

“No. I don’t want a sad ending. I want my love story like Savitri–Satyavan, Nala–Damayanti, Odysseus–Penelope, Salim–Anarkali, Prithviraj–Sanyogita.”

Another long silence.

“Radhika, it’s been fourteen years now. Ram–Sita also returned after fourteen years of vanvaas. When will you complete your vanvaas? At least Ram and Sita were together. You’re alone.”

“Dr. Masi,” Radhika whispered, “Aapne Urmila & Lakshman Bhagwaan ka naam to suna hoga?”

Ipsita froze, taken aback.

“Urmila waited fourteen years. And me? I can wait my whole life.”

Her next words fell like broken glass:

“By the way… I don’t have a long life. Just some months… maybe more than a year…”

“…Anything else left?” Ipsita asked, her sarcasm a thin cover for fear.

Radhika thought. Then added shamelessly,

“Yes, I want him to make tea for me at least four times a day.”

“Impossible. A man will never make tea.”

“Then I don’t want him.”

“Radhika, so baat ki ek baat—Tu shaadi karega.”

“No. Shaadi means sacrifice. Marriage will kill him. I’ll never give him my curse. I love him. That’s it.”

“Then why are you praying to God for him? Why do you want your sun? Zidd mein suraj ko maang rahi hai. Agar woh mil gaya toh kya karegi?”

“I know I’m asking someone who isn’t good for him. Maybe I sound selfish. Yet… I want him.”

“You still didn’t answer me. What if he loves someone else? What if he marries someone else?”

A sharp ache stabbed her chest—unfamiliar, unbearable.

“Then I’ll step back,” Radhika whispered. “I just want to see him… tell everyone he’s real, not my imagination. If he loves someone else then it’s best for him… because I’m not good for him. I want to see the girl’s hand, uska paas etni achi kismat kaisa hai. Main bhi woh lakeer dekhna chahti hoon.”

The bus rattled softly as it made its way through the narrow lanes, sunlight spilling through the dusty windows in trembling streaks, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes fixed on nothing—lost in a place no one else could see.

“Aaga… wo tera lakir mein nahi hoga to?”

The question hung between them like a blade.

Radhika didn’t blink. Didn’t think.

Her answer came like breath—natural, instinctive, ache-filled.

“Mujhe wo lakir bhi nahi chahiye.”

Her voice was soft, but the conviction in it trembled like a vow taken at the edge of heartbreak.

𝘋𝘪𝘭 𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘺𝘢

𝘈𝘶𝘳 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘣 𝘣𝘩𝘪 ‘𝘢𝘺𝘦 𝘬𝘩𝘶𝘥𝘢’

𝘗𝘩𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘩 𝘥𝘪𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘺𝘶𝘯…

𝘑𝘰 𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘣 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘯𝘢𝘪?

She swallowed the tightness in her throat.

Finally, she whispered—voice quivering, words breaking open like wounds:

“Main uske liye uska pair padh sakti hoon…

Main bhagwaan se bhi lad loongi…

par agar uska milna matlab usko khona hai…

mujhe manzoor nahi hai.”

The confession shook her entire being.

“I can’t marry him… but I can’t stop loving him. Even though he’s not mine.”

Her gaze dropped to her hands. Her fingers were cold.

A long, aching pause followed. The bus hummed, turning a corner, but inside their small two-seat world—time felt suspended.

Dr. Ipsita exhaled sharply.

“Why don’t you just forget him?”

She asked, trying—desperately— to pull Radhika out of that bottomless devotion.

Radhika looked up, eyes already glistening.

“How could I just forget him? I can’t.

Forgetting him isn’t something in my hand.

Forget him which means move on.

Move on means love someone else…

and if I love someone else, that means I never truly loved him.

And that’s impossible.”

Outside the window, trees blurred into green streaks, but inside her chest everything felt painfully clear… painfully still.

𝘒𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘩𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘩𝘰𝘳 𝘥𝘶𝘯

𝘛𝘶𝘮𝘩𝘦 𝘫𝘢𝘯𝘢…

𝘛𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪 𝘻𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘨𝘪 𝘬𝘪 𝘢𝘥𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰…

𝘋𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯…

𝘋𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯 𝘬𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘮𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘪…

𝘛𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪 𝘢𝘢𝘬𝘩𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰…

Radhika tried to breathe, to hold herself together—but a single hot tear escaped, followed by another. She wiped them away quickly.

“He’s my first love… and my last love.”

Something inside Ipsita snapped with helplessness.

“Radhika, bhool ja usko. Koi nahi aayega.

There is no hope in your love.”

Her voice turned strict—almost commanding—

because watching this girl destroy herself over a shadow was unbearable.

A person no one knew.

A love that existed without name or face.

A devotion that made no sense… except to her.

Still, Radhika accepted the waiting.

Accepted the pain.

Accepted the loneliness of loving a ghost in destiny.

“Nahi hoga mujhe sha…” she murmured.

𝘒𝘦 𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘰 𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪 𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘫𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘬𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘪…

𝘔𝘶𝘫𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘳𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘪 𝘬𝘰𝘪 𝘯𝘢𝘩𝘪 𝘬𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘢𝘬𝘵𝘢

𝘑𝘪𝘵𝘯𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘱𝘺𝘢𝘢𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘺𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘪…

𝘝𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳 𝘫𝘢𝘨𝘩𝘢 𝘭𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘨𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘭…

𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘢𝘣 𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘳𝘢𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘪 𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘢

𝘑𝘢𝘣 𝘬𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘸𝘢 𝘬𝘢𝘳 𝘢𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘨𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘭…

𝘈𝘣 𝘫𝘪𝘴𝘬𝘰 𝘫𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘩𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘪 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘫𝘩𝘰…

𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘭 𝘩𝘶𝘯 𝘺𝘢 𝘱𝘺𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯…

𝘜𝘴𝘬𝘢 𝘢𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘬𝘢 𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘬𝘢𝘮 𝘩𝘢𝘪, 𝘮𝘶𝘫𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘪…

𝘔𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘩𝘪 𝘶𝘴𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘻𝘢𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘪𝘯 𝘩𝘶𝘯…

When she finished, the bus slowed, arriving at her stop. She stood, wiping her tears quickly before anyone noticed, and stepped out.

carrying her heartbreak like a quiet, unshakeable destiny.

“Dr. Masi, main thik hoon. Don’t worry. Kanha ji will take care of me. If He doesn’t give me what I ask, it’s for my own good. Okay, I’ll call you later.”

“Take care. Eat something. Drink water properly. Take therapy in the evening—you’ll feel much better.”

“Yes, therapy is the best thing.”

A wicked idea sparked in her mind—dangerous, stupid, and hilarious.

“Dr. Masi… now that you said about marriage… I think I should consider it.”

“Really?”

Hope bloomed in her voice.

Radhika smirked. The devil in her woke up.

“Why should we search outside? What about Mehul?”

Silence.

A deadly silence.

She had dropped two atomic bombs:

Hiroshima—Dr. Ipsita’s shock.

Nagasaki—Mehul’s future rage.

“Mehul? You like him? I’ll talk about this as soon as possible!” Ipsita declared and cut the call.

Radhika rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Great,” she muttered. “Now I’m dead.

»»————>★<————««

On the other side, the Randhawa mansion glowed like a fresh marigold under the bright, honey-gold morning light. Every corner of the estate seemed to hum with quiet excitement. The decorators had worked through dawn, and now the garden looked like a dream dipped entirely in shades of yellow.

Garlands of marigold and white mogra hung from the pergola beams, swaying gently in the crisp breeze. Ribbons of sunflower-yellow drapes flowed from the trees like liquid sunshine. Low wooden tables were adorned with brass lamps, haldi bowls, and petals scattered like blessings.

In the very center of the garden, two large urli bowls filled with rose petals, turmeric water, and floating candles glimmered softly, while two carved wooden stools were placed beside them—ready for the ceremony.

The grass smelled of earth and flowers. The air held the scent of haldi, sandalwood, and sweet anticipation.

In the quiet chaos of preparation, Kritika stood alone under the shade of the dogwood tree, right in front of the tulsi plant. The small diya burning near the pot flickered gently, casting a tender golden glow on her face as she stared into the flame, lost in her thoughts.

She looked breathtaking—

Draped in a marigold-yellow lehenga, embroidered in delicate white threadwork, Kritika looked like she had stepped out of a painting. Her long braid was adorned with fresh jasmine, her wrists decorated with floral jewellery. Her smile was soft… but her eyes carried a depth that didn’t quite match the festive colours around her.

The peaceful silence broke with the sound of approaching footsteps.

Akanksha came to stand beside her—effortless, composed, and stunning in her own way. She wore an elegant yellow outfit, the structured blouse paired with a flowing skirt and a delicate net dupatta embroidered with silver edges. A soft floral accessory tucked into her bun, and the subtle shine of her headpiece made her glow in the diffused morning sunlight.

Kritika turned to her with a small, knowing smile.

"You look much good in Indian clothes." she complimented softly.

Akanksha rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips. She gave Kritika a quick glance from head to toe.

"Thank you and…" she paused, smirking, "Well, you look enough good for Rudraksh to lose his mind."

She added a playful wink.

Kritika’s cheeks warmed instantly. She sighed, shaking her head gently.

"You're impossible."

Akanksha grinned proudly, thrilled that she managed to fluster her. With an affectionate gesture, she wrapped an arm around Kritika’s shoulder, pulling her close.

"Dream come true. Right?" she asked quietly.

They both stared at the tiny steady flame of the diya, as if it held answers the world didn’t.

After a long moment, Kritika whispered,

"Yeah."

Akanksha knew the storm turning quietly inside her friend. The happiness of the day mixed with an ache she carried, one that she tried so hard to bury beneath smiles.

Akanksha squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Forget about it, move on. Your stubbornness just hurt you nothing else."

Kritika’s eyes remained fixed on the flickering light. Her voice dropped to a fragile whisper, heavy with truth—

"Wo jakham bohot dard deta h jo dikhai nhi dete."

Akanksha turned her head, softening.

"I know." she whispered back.

A distant call from the garden announced the beginning of the haldi rituals.

Akanksha straightened, brushing off invisible dust from her lehenga.

"Haldi suru hoga, let's go." she said, gently tugging Kritika’s hand and pulling her toward the center.

And as they walked, Kritika’s smile returned—but it was the kind that fought its way through pain.

Because no matter how much she tried to hide it…

the hurt lived quietly inside her, refusing to fade.

»»————>♡<————««

In the master bedroom’s walk-in closet, Rudraksh stood before the full-length mirror, his tall frame draped in a mustard-gold silk bandhgala, exquisitely tailored. The jacket hugged his shoulders with princely precision, embroidered delicately near the hem in soft pastels. Beneath it lay a matching silk kurta and fitted trousers, giving him the effortless elegance of a man born to command a room without trying.

His expression, however, was unreadable—quiet, composed, carved from stone—as he fastened his cufflinks with steady fingers. He slipped into his polished shoes, adjusted the fall of his sleeve, and finally straightened his watch with a practiced flick, as though the act itself helped tighten the fragments of his carefully guarded composure.

He reached for his perfume when a tiny, confident voice interrupted him.

“Chhota Daddy, give it to me. I’ll do it.”

Mihika had come merely to call him downstairs—sent by her formidable great-grandmother Swastika—but instead she sat comfortably on the counter, legs dangling, watching him with the entitlement of someone who knew she ruled his world.

She wore a sun-bright yellow lehenga splashed with pink, the skirt flaring around her like a burst of Holi color. Heavy beads adorned her neck, her small wrists jingled with bangles, and oversized sunglasses perched proudly on her little nose.

Rudraksh turned to her, one eyebrow lifting at her bossy tone.

Mihika held out her palm.

“Give me the perfume,” she ordered with a tilt of her chin.

He placed the bottle in her hand and leaned down. She spritzed the perfume on his neck with the seriousness of a professional stylist.

“There,” she announced with satisfaction. “Now you smell good.”

Rudraksh sighed softly, returning the bottle to its place among his expensive collection.

“Let’s go now!” Mihika demanded, impatience bubbling in her voice.

But his phone buzzed.

He glanced at the caller ID, his expression tightening for just a second.

Then he answered.

“Just a moment,” he murmured.

“Chhota Daddy…” Mihika complained dramatically.

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.

“I promise, it’ll be quick.”

He stepped a little away, lowering his voice so she wouldn’t hear.

Mihika swung her legs, bored—until something unusual caught her eye.

The locker.

The private locker.

The one no one was ever allowed to touch.

The one that was always locked.

But today… it stood open.

Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. She looked at Rudraksh—still absorbed in his call—then silently slid off the counter. She dragged a chair over, climbed up, and peeked inside.

Her small breath froze.

A pair of old ghungroo lay inside—one missing its twin. And next to it… a photograph.

A little girl, perhaps six or seven, draped in a sari, adorned with silver jewellery, smiling with dimples so deep they looked like tiny shadows of joy.

A child who looked like she danced with her heart.

Just then, Rudraksh turned—and froze.

Mihika stood in front of his open locker, holding the ghungroo in one hand and the photograph in the other.

His expression darkened instantly. A sharp storm rose in his eyes—rage, hurt, fear, all tangled together.

“Mihika!”

His voice cracked like a whip.

She jumped, the ghungroo slipping from her hands—but he caught it midair, breath harsh, jaw clenched.

“Chhota Daddy… I’m sorry,” she whispered, fear softening her voice.

His face was tight for a moment—too tight.

Then the storm slowly settled. He placed the ghungroo gently on the counter and knelt to her level.

His voice softened to velvet.

“Princess… you shouldn’t touch those things.”

He lifted her carefully and placed her back on the counter.

She looked up at him with wide eyes, then down at the picture in her hand.

“Chhota Daddy… who’s this girl?”

Rudraksh’s throat moved once.

His voice came out low, restrained.

“Someone I love.”

Mihika studied the photo.

“She’s so pretty.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“Is she?”

“Too pretty…” she murmured.

She tilted her head.

“Where is she now?”

He exhaled, a sound full of memory.

“In your Chhota Daddy’s heart.”

She touched her tiny finger to his chest.

“Here?”

He nodded.

Her next question was gentle.

“Do you miss her?”

He took the picture from her hand, his eyes lingering on it as if the past were breathing through the paper.

“No.”

He placed it carefully back in the locker.

His voice dropped to a whisper—soft, aching.

“We miss the people we forget…

But I never forgot her.

She’s always in my mind.

Always… right here.”

Then, under his breath, almost like reciting a memory carved into his soul:

𝘜𝘴𝘬𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘳 𝘺𝘢𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘪…

𝘗𝘦𝘩𝘭𝘪 𝘮𝘰𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘢𝘵…

𝘗𝘦𝘩𝘭𝘪 𝘮𝘰𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘪…

𝘜𝘴𝘬𝘦 𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘢…

𝘌𝘬 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘷𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘬𝘪 𝘬𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘵 𝘬𝘺𝘢 𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘪 𝘩𝘢𝘪…”

He locked the photograph and ghungroo away, sealing the memory where no one else could reach.

He turned to her softly.

“Let’s go.”

Mihika immediately raised her arms.

He lifted her, settling her against his chest.

“Don’t tell anyone about this, okay?”

“Why not, Chhota Daddy?”

He kissed her temple.

“Because it’s our secret. Just yours and mine.”

She nodded solemnly.

“Okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

And with that unspoken promise binding them, he carried her out of the walk-in closet toward the bright, joyful chaos of the haldi ceremony—leaving behind a locker full of shadows and a heart full of unspoken truths.

The garden buzzed with the pleasant chaos that always preceded a haldi ceremony.

Nayantara and Mahima were still adjusting the last-minute decorations, their dupattas fluttering as they moved through the marigold trails. Swastika and Apurva were checking the food and the seating arrangements with military precision—nothing escaped their eyes.

Across the lawn, Akanksha and Vaidehi were busy torturing Kritika with endless photos. Poor Kritika looked ready to jump into a well if it meant escaping one more picture.

And Aditya? He was nearly in tears.

He had clicked over a hundred photos—only for the two women to reject all but five.

“Bas! I’m done!” Aditya declared dramatically, thrusting the phone back at Akanksha.

“Aadi! Come back!” she shouted, but he had already sprinted away, saving his sanity and his life.

Kritika exhaled in relief as the selfie queens finally released her.

Not far away, Abhimanyu stood silently, watching Mahima work with her usual effortless grace.

Abhishak noticed.

“Bhai Sahib, why are you staring at Mahima?” he whispered.

Abhimanyu’s expression didn’t shift. “I’m wondering if she’ll apply haldi to Kritika or not.”

“She won’t,” Abhishak replied instantly. He knew his wife.

“You’ll make sure she does,” Abhimanyu ordered sternly.

Abhishak stared at him. “She doesn’t listen to Maa, she doesn’t listen to Bhabhi… you think she’ll listen to me? Never.”

“I can help,” came a voice from behind.

Both men turned to find Akanksha standing with a mischievous smile.

“I’ll talk to Mom. She’ll apply haldi for sure.”

“Maybe you can manage,” Abhishak said, patting her head as if she were a dependable puppy.

Moments later, Rudraksh and Kritika took their places inside the urlis. One by one, the family members applied haldi—first Swastika, then Abhimanyu and Apurva.

“Maa…” Abhimanyu murmured, remembering something. “That haldi in the temple—the girl dropped it on herself after the puja. Does that mean this haldi ritual already happened?”

Swastika smiled. “I don’t think it’s bad. That girl was sweet. Maybe it was God’s wish."

Mahima stood away, arms crossed, refusing to participate.

Akanksha approached her gently.

“Mom, please… go apply haldi. Kritika will love it if you do.”

“No, Akanksha. I don’t want to,” Mahima insisted.

“At least for Rudraksh? Think of it as applying haldi to his future wife.”

Mahima hesitated, looking at Rudraksh—who, in that moment, raised his voice.

“If Choti Maa doesn’t apply haldi, the ceremony stops here.”

“What! We just started!” Aditya whined, then rushed to Mahima. “Mom, please! He’ll actually stop everything!”

Rudraksh began rising to his feet.

“WAIT!” Mahima snapped, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back down.

Finally, she stepped forward and completed the ritual with Abhishak.

Akanksha winked at Kritika, who fought a smile.

Next came Shivaay, Nayantara, and then little Mihika—who tapped barely a spoonful of haldi on both Rudraksh and Kritika like she was painting a doll.

Then came the devils.

Aditya, Akanksha, and Vaidehi.

From behind, Aditya dumped an entire bucket of haldi water on Kritika, then immediately shoved the responsibility onto the women and ran for cover.

Akanksha and Vaidehi attacked Rudraksh with another bucket.

Both Rudraksh and Kritika sprang out of the urlis dripping yellow, while the trio burst into uncontrollable laughter.

“What the fuck!” Rudraksh barked, haldi sliding down his broad shoulders.

Kritika glared murderously at Aditya, who hid behind the two girls.

“Whose bloody plan was this?” she demanded.

Vaidehi and Aditya pointed at Akanksha.

“Actually…” Akanksha coughed. “Raghav isn’t here, and haldi without fun is boring.”

The chase began.

Kritika leapt out of the urli, sprinting after Akanksha, who shrieked and ran in circles around the pool.

Meanwhile, Rudraksh grabbed Aditya by the collar and tossed him straight into the swimming pool.

“Bhai! I am innocent!” Vaidehi cried, hiding behind Abhimanyu. “Bada Papa, save me!”

Rudraksh shot her a deadly glare.

Aditya emerged from the water, sputtering. “This is unfair! Three people planned this! Why am I the only one punished?”

The garden rang with laughter.

Kritika was still chasing Akanksha—until, suddenly, Akanksha’s foot slipped on the wet tiles.

She gasped, her body pitching forward—

—straight toward the pool.

But before she could fall, a strong hand clamped around her wrist, stopping her mid-air.

The chatter died.

Everyone turned.

And he stood there.

A man in his mid thirties—tall, broad-shouldered, and carved from the kind of confidence that made people instinctively step back. His suit was a deep burgundy, tailored to perfection, hugging the power in his frame. A black shirt sat beneath it, crisp and dark, making him look even more dangerous. Polished oxblood shoes, a gold watch on one wrist, and the slightest smirk lifting at the corner of his mouth.

His green eyes were sharp—cold, calculating, holding a quiet warning that he was not a man to cross.

He pulled Akanksha upright with effortless strength.

She stared at him, breath caught in her throat.

The entire family looked stunned—because the aura he carried was unlike anyone else here.

Elegant.

Dangerous.

Unpredictable.

A man who did not belong to joy—but could destroy it in a heartbeat if he wished.

And standing there with haldi water dripping everywhere, Rudraksh’s jaw clenched hard.

Because this man wasn’t just anyone.

He was someone whose arrival meant trouble.

To be continued............

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