Inline comments would be appreciated:)
(Target pura hoga ki nahi is Janam mai, chapters mai💁🏻♀️ *sighs*)
After the little celebration with everyone, Rashvik's chachu and chachi stayed back for dinner. The family simply refused to let go of the baby girl, each one taking turns to cradle her, teasing Manya with playful grins and exaggerated affection.
"We're keeping her," Rakshit declared, snuggling the baby tighter, "You can come visit on weekends!"
Manya rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. "Haan haan, as if I'll let her go even for a second."
Most of the evening, however, the baby stayed nestled in Rashvik's arms. He held her gently but firmly, refusing to part with her for even a moment. His gaze was soft, full of wonder and tenderness, his entire being wrapped around the presence of the tiny soul in his arms.
Rashvik had always been fond of children. But ever since the arrival of Pichu, he'd come to deeply understand what it truly meant to have and raise a child-the weight of responsibility, the immeasurable love, the small joys hidden in everyday chaos.
Sarakshi watched him the whole time, admiration shining in her eyes and a gentle smile plastered on her face. To her, there was nothing more beautiful than seeing the man she loved become the kind of father every child deserved.
After dinner, as people gathered near the door to leave, Rajiv suddenly held up a hand. "Wait, wait!" he said, disappearing upstairs.
He returned moments later, carrying a bundle of crisp notes wrapped neatly in an envelope. Without a word, he placed it gently on the baby girl's chest and bent down to bless her forehead.
"Bade papa, what is this!" Manya protested, her eyes widening in mock disapproval as she glared at him with a playful daughterly gaze.
Rajiv smiled, hugging her sideways. "Ssshhh... It's for my granddaughter," he said fondly, patting her back. As she bent down to touch his feet, he stopped her mid-action, shaking his head.
"And this is from mami-mamu," Sarakshi added, stepping forward with Rashvik by her side. She opened a small box, revealing delicate silver accessories-tiny bangles, a pair of anklets, and a thin gold chain. each one crafted with love and care. The family jeweller had delivered them that very moment, just as they'd planned.
Manya stared at them in disbelief. "Why are you all doing this?" her eyes asked, and before the words left her lips, Rashvik shot her a warning glare that made her clamp her mouth shut.
"Ab nahi aungi main yaha," Manya said dramatically, crossing her arms, "Aap log bina matlab ke gifts dete ho!"
(I'll not come here, You people give gifts for no reason!)
A burst of laughter echoed through the room.
One by one, the family trickled out with warm hugs and lingering goodbyes. And suddenly, the house felt quiet not the kind of silence that weighed heavy with sorrow, but a stillness that came after a day full of warmth and celebration. It was a silence filled with meaning of new beginnings, of lives forever changed.
Yet, the family knew how to fill the quiet. They always did.
Later that night, after the last of the laughter had faded and the clinking of dishes had quieted in the kitchen, the house settled into a warm, sleepy hush. The glow of ceiling lights cast a golden sheen across the living room, and for a few moments, all that could be heard was the soft murmuring of conversations.
Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Rakshit reached for the remote and turned on the speaker. A sudden blast of music-rhythmic and infectious-broke through the silence.
"Chalo, sab uth jao!" he called out. "Celebration abhi khatam nahi hua!"
(everyone, get up!)
Before anyone could protest, he was already dragging Reyansh into the center of the room, their feet tapping along to the beat. The others were quick to follow-Rajiv shaking his head with a grin as he clapped along from his seat, but soon joined in, swaying and laughing as the music picked up pace.
What started as a casual moment turned into an impromptu dance floor right in the middle of the hall. No one was spared, chuckling as the younger ones pulled each other into silly steps.
With arms flailing and laughter bubbling in waves, the room came alive again, bursting with warmth and playful chaos. There was no choreography, no effort to impress just the shared joy of family, dancing not for the world, but for each other.
Despite the carefree celebration, it was clear the day had taken its toll. Slowly, the dancing dwindled, and one by one, they returned to their cozy spots.
The family reassembled around the central tea table in front of the television, their bodies tired but their spirits still buzzing. The air smelled of leftover sweets, the remnants of celebretaions lingering in every corner.
The living room had its own rhythm now, the television blared familiar Bollywood tunes while Rakshit queued up a playlist that needed no introduction. These were songs everyone knew by heart, melodies woven into the fabric of their memories.
The ambiance was lively, yet cozy-a perfect blend of sound and comfort.
Rakshit and Reyansh sat cross-legged on the floor right in front of the TV, deep in conversation. As usual, they had abandoned the sofa, choosing instead to gather around the tea table.
On opposite sides of the table, Sarakshi and Rashvik had taken their spots, facing each other. Sarakshi was scrolling absentmindedly through her phone, her attention split between the glowing screen and the animated chatter around her.
Across from her, Rashvik sat with a soft, almost dreamlike smile on his face, his gaze fixated on her. He wasn't trying to hide it; his eyes brimmed with quiet admiration and a tenderness that seemed to radiate from his very soul.
Sarakshi felt the weight of his gaze, and when she finally looked up, her breath caught. Their eyes met, and Rashvik's smile deepened, his expression so full of love that it made her heart skip a beat.
A shy smile crept across her lips, her cheeks warming under the intensity of his look. Embarrassed but delighted, she lowered her eyes, her fingers fumbling with her phone. Rashvik chuckled softly, the sound low and affectionate, his chin coming to rest on his folded knees.
Without realizing it, she mirrored his posture, her head tilting slightly to the side as their gazes locked once again.
The opening notes of the next song filled the room, breaking the spell but only just. The familiar melody brought matching smiles to their faces-it was one of their favorites. Rashvik's lips began to move, mouthing the lyrics, his eyes never leaving hers. Each word seemed meant for her, filled with sincerity and devotion.
"Koi bhi aisa lamha nahi hai
Jismein mere tu hota nahi hai"
Sarakshi's gaze softened as he lip-synced, every line carrying an unspoken promise. His voice wasn't audible, but his meaning came through loud and clear. A faint blush spread across her cheeks, and she shyly looked away, only to glance back at him moments later, drawn to the intensity of his gaze.
Every word he mouthed was deliberate, meant only for her. His eyes stayed locked on hers, the emotion behind them unmistakable.
Sarakshi felt her heart stutter, her eyes shining under the warm lights. His silent singing wasn't a performance, it was a confession. With every line, he was telling her what she hadn't yet dared to name: that he loved her. That he had, quietly, deeply, for a while now.
"Main so bhi jaaun raaton mein lekin
Tu hai ki mujhmein sota nahi hai"
She was still watching him, caught in the sincerity of his gaze, her heart threatening to burst. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. A part of her wanted to hide, but another part-a braver part-couldn't stop looking back at him.
"Tu hai ki mujhmein sota nahi"
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink as he continued, his lips moving effortlessly with the melody. She could feel her heart racing, the lyrics resonating with a truth she hadn't fully acknowledged until now.
"Haan tu hai, haan tu hai
Meri baaton mein tu hai
Meri khwaabon mein tu
Yaadon mein tu
Iraadon mein tu hai"
Her lips parted, a soft breath escaping, as if her heart had finally caught up to what was happening. Her fingers trembled around her phone, which she quietly set aside.
Unbeknownst to the couple, Rakshit, Reyansh, and Rajiv were silently watching them, their expressions a mix of surprise and pure delight. The way Rashvik and Sarakshi were lost in each other's presence was mesmerizing-a love so genuine it demanded admiration. Finally, Rakshit broke the spell, his voice light and teasing.
"Bhai, bhabhi, ek dance toh banta hai," he said with a cheeky grin.
(Bhai, bhabhi, one dance is a must!)
The comment brought them crashing back to reality. Sarakshi's blush deepened as she hid her face in her palms, letting out a soft, embarrassed laugh.
Rashvik looked away for a moment, a shy smile tugging at his lips, but the playful twinkle in his eyes betrayed his mischief. Without hesitation, he stood, walking toward her with an outstretched hand.
"Shall we mam?" he asked softly, his voice just for her.
Sarakshi looked up, heart racing. His hand hung in the air, waiting. After a moment's hesitation, she slid her hand into his. He helped her up gently, letting him guide her to her feet pulling her into the center of the room.
Time seemed to slow as they moved closer, their eyes meeting once again. His hand found its place on her waist, firm yet gentle, while hers rested on his shoulder. Slowly, they began to sway to the rhythm of the song, their nervous giggles mingling with the melody.
Rakshit and Reyansh whipped out their phones, eager to capture the rare moment. They exchanged knowing smiles, still in disbelief that their bhaiya and bhabhi were finally acting like a couple.
As the song came to an end, Rashvik pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. Sarakshi buried her face in his chest, overwhelmed but happy, her arms wrapping tightly around him. The room erupted in cheers, the younger ones clapping and whooping.
"Bhaiya! Bhabhi!" Reyansh called out, laughing. "How romantic!". They continued to tease them with cheesy comments.
Their teasing made Sarakshi pull away slightly, her face redder than ever, but Rashvik only tightened his hold, smiling at her before turning to his brothers with a mock-serious look. "Aur kitna chhedoge?" he asked, though his tone held no heat.
(How much more will you tease?)
"Jitna chhedne ka mann kare," Rakshit shot back with a cheeky grin.
(As much as we feel like)
Laughter filled the room again, playful, bright, endless.
As everyone laughed, Sarakshi peeked up at Rashvik, her eyes softening as she saw the happiness on his face. Despite her initial shyness, she couldn't deny that this was one of the most precious moments of her life. And as Rashvik looked down at her with that same tender gaze, she realized he felt the same way.
The night continued with laughter, teasing, and more music, but for Rashvik and Sarakshi, the moment they shared on the makeshift dance floor lingered like the sweet melody of their favorite song-a memory they would treasure forever.
A quiet milestone.
A shared heartbeat.
A love that had, perhaps, always been there, just waiting for the music to begin.
After a while, the house finally began to quiet down. The echoes of laughter, the music, and the rustle of conversations slowly faded, leaving behind a serene stillness that gently wrapped the home in peace. The chaos of celebration had dimmed into a soft silence-the kind that settles over a house when hearts are full and the day has been well spent.
Rajiv, visibly tired from the whirlwind of activity, let out a quiet yawn as he stood up from his seat. His shoulders sagged slightly, not from burden but from the satisfying fatigue that only comes after a day filled with joy, family, and endless teasing. He gave a contented nod to the others, before retreating to his room.
Pichu had long surrendered to sleep, nestled securely in Sarakshi's lap. His tiny fingers twitched occasionally, lips parted slightly, a peaceful expression gracing his baby-soft face. He looked utterly serene, as if even in dreams he knew he was safe, wrapped in his mother's warmth and scent.
Rashvik stood beside her, one hand resting on the back of the couch, his eyes solely on them. In that moment, with his son asleep in Sarakshi's arms and the house finally still, he felt something profound-a peace that couldn't be bought, a sense of completeness he never knew he craved so deeply.
Without needing to speak, Sarakshi met his eyes. He gave her a small nod, and together, with slow and careful steps, they stood up. Rashvik held her hand as she gently adjusted Pichu in her arms, making sure not to wake him. As they made their way to the room, the only sound was the gentle creak of the floor beneath their feet.
Reyansh and Rakshit still lingered, sprawled on the carpet with the last stage of their game. They had fallen quiet too, their earlier jokes replaced with soft sighs and content smiles. The day had been long, but perfect-full of memories they'd store away and recall for years to come.
After few minutes they retreated back to their rooms.
Rashvik reached the door first, pushing it open silently, and they entered the room with reverence.
Sarakshi stepped quietly into their dimly lit room, her arms carefully cradling Pichu's tiny form against her chest. The soft rustle of fabric and the rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing were the only sounds.
She made her way to the bed and gently lowered him onto the mattress, placing him in the center like the most precious treasure. Her hands moved with practiced tenderness, arranging soft pillows around him like little fortresses of safety and comfort.
Pichu stirred lightly in his sleep, his tiny brows furrowing for a second. Then, with a sleepy pout, his hand reached out, clutching the edge of Sarakshi's sleeve in his tight little fist, silently pleading for her not to move.
On instinct, she froze. A second later, his other hand found Rashvik's shirt and held on just as firmly, his grip surprisingly strong for such a tiny being.
The parents exchanged a glance-one of pure wonder.
They remained still, heads bowed, each softly stroking their baby's chest and hair, coaxing him back into deeper sleep. Their foreheads met gently in the dim light above Pichu's peaceful form, their breath mingling in a quiet, sacred moment. A smile formed on both their faces, one of awe, affection, and something deeper that words couldn't quite name.
"I can understand, baby," Rashvik whispered softly, glancing at their son with a smirk. "Who would want to let go when you have a pretty mumma like this?" he added, his eyes flicking toward Sarakshi with teasing affection.
She shot him a glare, though a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "But baby," she whispered playfully to Pichu, "you can let go of this ugly dadda," her voice light with mischief.
"Shut up," Rashvik hissed in mock offense, reaching over to pinch her nose a little harder than usual, making her yelp and scrunch her face.
"He looks so cute, doesn't he?" Rashvik murmured, melting again as he pressed a loud kiss to Pichu's cheek. The baby stirred slightly, but settled quickly under his father's affection.
"Hm... he is," Sarakshi agreed softly, a smile playing on her lips. Then after a beat, barely above a whisper, she added, "...like his dad."
Rashvik's eyes lit up like Diwali lights. He straightened a little, leaning in closer, ears perked. "Hmm? What did you just say? Say it again," he grinned, nudging her shoulder with boyish excitement.
"What? I said nothing," Sarakshi shrugged, standing up smoothly as Pichu's grip finally loosened, allowing his parents to retreat.
"Aye, come on! I heard you say I'm cute," Rashvik pouted, reaching for her dupatta and tugging her gently toward him. She stumbled slightly, landing against his chest, palms pressed flat against him for balance.
She blinked up at him, startled at first, then amused. "Where are you going?" he asked with a playful grin, tightening his hold around her waist, his breath warm against her cheek.
"Leave me," she demanded half-heartedly, lightly hitting his chest like a feisty kitten.
"First say what you said earlier," he insisted, his tone a whisper, his grip pulling her impossibly closer.
"I don't repeat myself, Mr. Singh," she said with mock arrogance, raising a brow and confidently looping her arms around his neck.
"Oh really?" he quirked an eyebrow, pretending to consider that. "But your husband wants to hear it again. Wouldn't you do that for him?" His voice dropped, soft and dangerously persuasive, their foreheads nearly touching once again.
"Your wife wants you to let go. Wouldn't you do that for her?" Sarakshi shot back sweetly, fluttering her lashes with exaggerated innocence.
Rashvik chuckled, poking his cheek with his tongue, clearly defeated.
"There's no way I can win against you, right?" he muttered in surrender before leaning forward and nuzzling her neck with a playful growl.
She burst into laughter, the kind that made her throw her head back and clutch at him tighter.
"You want to win against me!?" she asked through giggles, eyes wide in mock shock, brows lifting high.
"Obviously not!" he replied quickly, dramatic as ever. "It's my pleasure losing against my pretty wife. I should thank God everyday for this big blessing of life He gave me so that I can lose, again and again against my wife." His tone was so over-the-top sincere, he sounded like a motivational speaker on a relationship podcast.
Sarakshi stared at him, unimpressed.
"Aap nahi sudhroge," she mumbled, shaking her head before cupping his cheeks in her hands and leaning in for a warm, quiet hug.
(You'll never change)
"Kya sudhar lana chahengi aap mujhme?" he asked cheekily, voice muffled against her hair.
(What change would you like to bring?)
"Nothing!" Sarakshi replied, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "Stay crazy, idiot, cheap flirter and absolutely adorable like this." She ruffled his hair proudly, her smile practically glowing.
"Adorable and cute are the same thing for me. Yayyy! My wife said I'm adorable!" Rashvik cheered, bouncing in place like a delighted child.
Sarakshi burst into giggles again, shaking her head. "Now leave me," she said, wiggling out of his arms.
"Where are you even going?" he asked, scrunching his nose in confusion.
"Washroom," she replied flatly, "to change and freshen up. Some people like to sleep comfortably, you know?"
"Oooo... toh... chalu kya sath mai? You know, for help?" he grinned shamelessly, his face breaking into a ridiculously cheesy smile.
(Should I come with you? You know for help?)
"Shut up!" Sarakshi squealed, slapping his arm, face red with laughter. "Chi! Besharam!" she scolded, running off toward the wardrobe.
(Ew! Shameless)
Rashvik burst into another fit of laughter behind her.
"Are maine hi saree pehnaya tha!" he shouted in defense, loud enough to echo across the room.
(Hey I helped you in wearing the saree)
"Shut up!" she yelled from inside the wardrobe, her voice muffled but laughing.
And with that, Rashvik collapsed onto the bed, covering his face as giggles overtook him again-his heart full, his night perfect.
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Sometime later, Sarakshi stood in the balcony, wrapped in a quiet moment with herself. The sky above was a deep blue, dotted with a few stars, and the gentle rustling of leaves created a soft hush all around. The early winter breeze played with her hair, brushing against her cheeks with icy fingertips. Her light white T-shirt fluttered lightly in the wind, sending goosebumps skittering across her arms.
She stood still, lost in a memory-one that brought a tender smile to her lips. Her fingers absentmindedly reached for her forehead, right where Rashvik had applied sindoor earlier that day. She could still feel the warmth of his touch, see the emotion in his eyes, and remember the curve of his smile as he had leaned forward, reverent and gentle. Her Mr. Rude, who looked like he'd found his entire world in that one moment.
A small, content laugh escaped her lips, and she hugged herself, arms curling tight around her torso as if she could trap that memory in her heart forever.
Unbeknownst to her, Rashvik-who she'd assumed was fast asleep-had stepped into the balcony. A thick blanket draped carelessly around his shoulders, his hair tousled and a mischievous smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn't make a sound as he approached her, steps slow and deliberate.
Sarakshi was too lost in her thoughts to notice.
Rashvik stepped right behind her and, without a word, opened the blanket wide and wrapped it around both of them, cocooning her in his warmth. His chest pressed against her back, arms looping around her waist. She flinched slightly at the sudden touch, then relaxed instantly, her body melting into his.
She nudged him playfully with her elbow, a soft smile forming on her lips. The blanket became their shared bubble of warmth in the chilly night.
"Hi wifey," he whispered near her ear, his voice a low hum that sent shivers down her spine. He tilted her head slightly with his nose and placed a soft kiss on her cheek, his grip instinctively tightening around her.
"I thought you were asleep," she murmured, her voice feather-light as she leaned back, her head resting comfortably against his chest.
"How can I, without my head massager?" he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting as she rolled her eyes.
"Hahaha, very funny," she deadpanned, shooting him a tight-lipped smile, her voice laced with mock hurt.
"Mai na mon vrat dharan kar leta hu, jab bhi kuch bolta hu tum naraz ho jati ho," Rashvik muttered with an exaggerated pout, his tone dripping with theatrical sadness.
(I think I should just take a vow of silence, every time I say something, you get upset)
"Aj se hi ki kal subah se?" she asked innocently, her eyes wide as she looked over her shoulder at him.
(From today or tomorrow morning?)
He grit his teeth and tickled her sides in mock annoyance, making her squeal and squirm in his arms.
"I know, I know, you don't care about what your husband do. You don't have to make it obvious," he said dramatically, clutching his chest like a tragic hero.
"Why do I care about you, hn?" Sarakshi scoffed, turning toward him slightly. "I clearly remember-it was before my first day of college-somebody said he doesn't care about me," she added, arms folded across her chest, her voice teasing, though her eyes were soft.
Rashvik rested his chin gently on her shoulder and went quiet for a beat, the silence stretching between them before he whispered,
"Sorry," his voice barely audible.
"Oyee, mazak karri hu, don't be sad," she said quickly, turning around and pinching his cheeks like he was a grumpy little boy. Her fingers lingered there for a second longer than needed, her expression guilty.
"I shouldn't say all this now," she added quietly.
(Oyee, I'm just joking)
She turned fully toward him, still bundled in the blanket together, her eyes flickering between his and the floor.
"My timing is wrong actually, kuch bhi kabhi bhi bol deti hu sorr-"
"Shh..." he whispered, placing his finger gently on her lips, shaking his head slowly. Their faces were now just a breath apart. The quiet settled around them again, heavy with feeling, warm with unspoken things.
"I said earlier-no sorry," he murmured, lowering his hand as she slowly nodded, her eyes locked in his, drowning in the depths of his gaze.
His arms found their way around her waist again, pulling her a little closer, like he couldn't bear to leave even a sliver of space between them. They stood like that, eyes locked, wrapped in each other and the comfort of the shared silence.
Sarakshi blinked and finally looked down, her cheeks turning a soft pink as she ducked her head, her fingers lightly gripping the edge of his blanket.
"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice sincere, as he pulled her into a tight embrace. He adjusted the blanket to make sure she was fully wrapped in it, cocooned in his arms. Her head found its place on his chest, where the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothed her like a lullaby.
"I know," she said softly, her hand gently rubbing his back. "You are really sorry for whatever happened. It's my fault-I should not bring it up again and again."
"No, it is not," he said firmly, his voice filled with certainty. "My wife has all the right to tease me, scold me, whenever she wants, whatever the topic is."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head. She chuckled, shaking her head slowly.
"Cheap," she muttered into his chest.
And both of them burst into quiet laughter, their bodies gently rocking with it, the night wrapping around them like a secret.
She leaned back against the balcony railing, her gaze rising to meet his. The night wind tousled her hair, and the blanket that had cocooned them slowly slipped from their shoulders, letting the cold breeze dance across their skin.
Rashvik stepped closer, placing both his hands on the railing-either side of her-caging her gently. Their faces were close, breath mingling, the blanket forgotten as warmth passed between their bodies in another way entirely.
She instinctively slid her arms around his neck, fingers brushing through his hair. He lowered his head and pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead, lingering just enough for her breath to catch.
"So..." he began, voice slightly hesitant, eyes flickering away before clearing his throat and looking back at her with a small smile.
"Mrs. Sarakshi Rashvik Singh," he said, the formality deliberate, charming, "will you go on a date with me-that is, your husband-Rashvik Sarakshi Singh?" His voice carried the regal tone of a king asking his queen for her hand.
"A date?" Sarakshi asked, eyes narrowing teasingly, the corners of her lips twitching upward.
"Yes, my dear love. A date," he replied, leaning in with a raised eyebrow and a lopsided smirk.
"Hmmm... man nahi hai," she replied with a mischievous glint in her eye, scrunching her nose just to rile him up, even though her heart was doing flips.
(Hmmmm...not interested)
"Utha ke le jaunga samjhi," he growled playfully, gripping her waist and pulling her into him, making her burst into laughter.
(I'll carry you away, understood)
"So... date tomorrow?" she asked, now twirling a lock of his hair around her finger.
"Yes ma'am," he replied with a nod, the smirk still playing on his lips.
"That day, I saw a lot of flowers in the backseat of your car. Were they for me?" she asked softly, recalling the chaos of that day with her stepfamily.
"Obviously, love. They were all for you," he sighed, "but everything just went against my plan."
"But there were so many," she said, eyes wide with wonder, "like you ordered the whole flower shop."
"I ordered every kind I could," he admitted sheepishly. "I didn't know which flower you loved."
"Well... I like all kinds of flowers," she said, a thoughtful pause, "but roses... a little more."
His grin widened.
"Thanks for letting me know, sweetheart. A very useful piece of information for tomorrow." He bowed dramatically, and she broke into giggles again.
"My gift is still pending too, from that day," he added, his voice dreamy, gaze playful.
"You bought a gift too?" she asked, brows raised, genuinely surprised.
"Hmmm," he trailed off, suddenly looking away, knowing exactly what she'd do next.
"What gift? Tell me!" she pressed, her puppy eyes on full display.
"It's nothing grand... just a small, simple gift," he replied, scratching the back of his head and smiling like a shy schoolboy.
"Come on, now tell me na, please," she said, pouting, leaning in.
"Tomorrow. Have patience, meri jaan," he said gently, rubbing her back in circles. "And it's a very basic thing-you could probably guess it."
"I don't want to guess. Fine. I'll wait," she huffed, crossing her arms in mock annoyance.
"Thank you," he said, chuckling, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek.
"What should I wear?" she asked suddenly, her pout returning as she looked up at him.
"Whatever you want to. You look good in everything," he replied honestly, his voice low and sincere.
"Fine. I'll think about it," she muttered, nodding to herself.
"Mai white shirt pehnu?" he asked, his tone teasing, knowing exactly how weak she was for him in white.
"I'll select what you're wearing, so don't worry about it," she shot back confidently, ruffling his hair.
"Okay, ma'am," he said obediently, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Let's sleep now," she said, unwrapping herself from his hold and turning toward the door.
But before she could take a step, he caught her wrist and gently pulled her back. Slowly, he leaned down, his eyes scanning her face, then dropping to her lips. His breath tickled her skin, and her heartbeat quickened.
She stepped back slightly, tilting her chin up with a warning look, one brow raised. A silent command.
He raised his own eyebrow, wordlessly asking for permission.
She shook her head slowly-firm, teasing, unyielding.
Like the devoted husband he was, he nodded and backed off... or so it seemed.
Then, suddenly, he dipped forward and pressed a soft peck just below her lower lip.
Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide. A soft gasp escaped her lips as the warmth of that unexpected kiss seared into her skin.
She stood frozen, momentarily stunned. He took her hands in his, gently leading her inside as she touched the spot he'd kissed, the feeling still lingering. A shy smile crept onto her face, and she leaned her head against his arm.
"Idiot," she whispered, more to herself than to him, laughing quietly.
They slipped into bed, Pichu already fast asleep between the pillows, his tiny hands curled into soft fists.
Rashvik made sure they were properly covered with the quilt before settling in beside them. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of Sarakshi's hair behind her ear.
"I love you," he whispered softly.
"I love you more. Goodnight," she murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the back of his hand and another on Pichu's cheek.
Usually, he coaxed her to stroke his hair until he fell asleep but tonight, he found his fingers threading gently through hers instead, softly brushing her scalp, calming her to sleep.
Soon, her breathing evened out, lost to dreams.
Rashvik lay still, watching her... then turned to look at Pichu. His gaze lingered between the two, his wife and their child both fast asleep.
He smiled to himself, then turned over, dimmed the lights, and settled back in place, again adoring the two people who are his everything.
His world...his everything, was here, under one roof, sleeping peacefully. And that was more than enough.
RASHVIK'S POV
I stepped out of the bathroom, steam still swirling behind me, the sharp winter morning breeze brushing against my damp skin and sending a chill down my spine. The room was empty-but instead of the usual ache that came with such silence, a smile spread across my face.
My outfit for the day was neatly laid out on the chair beside the wardrobe-crisp black shirt, a matching blazer, and grey pants. On top of it, a sticky note.
My chotu and her chotu chotu gestures, hayee!
Never in my life did I think I-Rashvik Singh-would end up like this. The same man who once scoffed at the idea of love... now utterly ruined by one girl's smile. This girl does something unexplainable to my heart.
Even just a glimpse of her from across the room sends my pulse racing. She's changed me-yes-but somehow, being with her also reminds me of who I really am underneath it all.
I picked up the note, my heart already full before I even read it.
'Umm... since you have a meeting today, I'm picking this for you to wear. You'll look a little less bad-like, you know, you don't look that good but this shirt will make you look better :)'
This girl.
How much she loves teasing me. And how much I've come to adore being teased by her. She's the only person in this entire world who could say things like this to me and get away with it. And I'd accept it-every time. Like the obedient husband I've somehow become.
Yesterday, she called me a good husband.
Me.
A "good husband."
And she meant it.
That one sentence, so simple, did something to me. I never expected to hear those words from her, not in this lifetime, not after everything that happened between us. But she said it. And I can't stop playing it over in my head.
I love her. I....I just love her. Immensely.
She's awakened something in me-something I was too afraid to feel, too used to suppressing. And now that I've embraced it, it feels like I'm the luckiest man on Earth.
I picked up the clothes she chose for me and started getting dressed, my hair still damp and messy. As I slipped on the shirt, her choice, her voice echoed in my mind. That teasing tone. That soft smirk on her lips when she knows she's gotten under my skin.
I'm ready to wear whatever she picks for me for the rest of my life.
She has every right. After all-I'm hers. Proudly, Completely.
She owns me. My soul. My life. Me.
This feeling... this joy... it's new. For both of us, I know. I've been in relationships before. I was even married before.
But I've never felt what I feel with her. She brings life to my life.
This is what it means to fall in love.
I shook my head, smiling like a complete idiot hopelessly in love as I buttoned my cufflinks.
I can think about her all day. Actually, I do think about her all day.
Fully dressed and still smiling to myself like a man freshly struck by love (because let's be honest, I am), I ran a hand through my slightly damp hair, trying to tame the wild strands that refused to settle. She likes it messy, I remembered, and left it just as it was.
Grabbing my watch from the bedside table, I strapped it on and glanced at my reflection once more. Not bad. Not bad at all.
Thanks to her.
I stepped out of the room, quietly descending the stairs. The warmth of home wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the chill in the air. The faint clinking of utensils came from the kitchen, and I could hear Pichu's soft giggles echoing through the hallway.
God, that sound could fix anything.
As I reached the living room, I spotted them.
Sarakshi was standing by the dining table, in one of her loose black cotton suits, her hair tied in a lazy bun, a spoon in one hand and a frown on her face as she blew lightly on something in Pichu's bowl. Our little boy was seated on the high chair, his chubby hands slapping the table in impatient excitement.
Rakshit and Reyansh are ready in their uniforms, faces etched with annoyance. I mean who likes school anyways! Papa was in the kitchen, the old man is always working.
I stopped at the bottom step, taking the moment in.
This is it.
My home. My everything.
"Bas karo Pichu, mumma is not a machine," Sarakshi said, laughing as he tried to grab the bowl. "Thoda patience sikho mere sher."
(Enough Pichu)
"Looks like the lion is hungry," I said, walking in with a grin.
Both their heads turned toward me-hers with a raised brow and his with an excited squeal of "Dadda!"
My heart melted instantly.
I walked over and picked him up in my arms. "Good morning, mera bacch," I cooed, peppering kisses all over his chubby face as he laughed loudly, arms wrapping around my neck.
"Don't teach him your antics this early in the morning," Sarakshi warned, but her smile betrayed her annoyance. Her eyes scanned me head to toe.
"Nice shirt," she said, pretending to be casual, but the smile tugging at the corner of her lips told me she was satisfied with her choice.
"Wonder who picked it," I teased, smirking. "Some fashion icon, I suppose."
She rolled her eyes, scoffing, "Clearly. Imagine what you'd wear without me."
"Heartbreak, probably," I replied smoothly, leaning down to steal a quick kiss on her forehead, and standing back straight before anyone could notice.
"Ugh, stop being cheesy in front of the child," she said, turning away to serve breakfast, but I saw the way her ears turned red.
"Aksh, that is my place from now on," I said, pointing at the chair beside Sarakshi-the one this bandar had casually claimed. A teasing smirk tugged at my lips. No way this overgrown monkey would let me sit next to my own wife.
Reyansh giggled immediately, clearly enjoying the tension brewing. Aksh gave me a deadpan look, already tired of my drama. But before he could open his mouth, my dear chotu, always ready with her sword out for her cutie squad, jumped in:
"Why? Apni jagah par hi baitho, mujhe nahi baithna apke bagal mai," she snapped, eyes narrowed with just a hint of annoyance.
(Sit in your place, I don't want to sit beside you)
Somebody remind her she's my wife, not Aksh's personal bodyguard.
From across the table, I heard Dad scoffing, clearly biting back a laugh while casually pouring juice for everyone like the chaos was background music.
Somebody also remind him he's my dad!
It's tough, man... being Rashvik Singh and living in this house. Constant roasting, zero respect, no seat beside your own wife, and unsolicited side-eyes from toddlers and old men alike.
"Sorry ma'am, galti ho gayi," I muttered with mock seriousness, placing Pichu back in his chair like an obedient civilian under military orders.
(Sorry ma'am, I made a mistake)
And then we settled back into the gentle chaos of our morning-
Sarakshi feeding Pichu with one hand while scolding him for playing with his food, me sneaking bites directly from the bowl when I thought she wasn't looking...
...and getting death stares in return when I got caught.
Just another morning in the Singh household.
Home wasn't just a place anymore. It was this-
Her loud scolding. Pichu's innocent giggles. The other three enjoyed seeing me getting roasted.
And me, hopelessly wrapped in all of them. Honestly, I wouldn't want it any other way.
"You're not going to college?" I asked, eyeing Sarakshi as I sipped my juice.
She shook her head instantly, flashing that toothy grin that could power the entire city if needed.
"Ananya is not here so how can I go without her?" she said adorably, and I swear-my heart melted faster than ice cream in May.
"Then come with me to office," I suggested, smirking.
She puffed her cheeks in dramatic disapproval.
"I'll be here with Pichu," she declared proudly, like some national duty had been assigned to her.
Oh, this adorable girl...
"Okayyyy," I chuckled, the kind that only husbands in love do. I pushed my plate away-first one to finish breakfast, as usual-and stood up, making my way upstairs to grab my office bag, wallet, and tame my hair a little. No matter how much my wife loves it messy, I can't walk into boardrooms looking like I walked out of a rom-com.
Descending the stairs again, I announced casually, "Bye everyone."
They all smiled and waved, expecting me to head straight to the door.
But nope-detour. Mission Red Cheeks is live.
I made my way to my chotu, the love of my life, pretending it was just an innocent goodbye.
She looked up, a little confused.
I leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead and just like that, boom-her cheeks flushed the exact shade of a ripe cherry. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, a scandalized nudge followed immediately. The others tried pretending they hadn't seen anything, but their teasing glances betrayed them.
"Bye. Will come early today. Don't forget-we're going on a date," I added with full innocence, as if I hadn't just lit her face on fire.
"I-I know," she stuttered, flustered beyond words. "Go now!" she said, pushing me away and shooting invisible daggers at me.
Mission successful.
With a soft laugh, I turned and walked out the door, the grin still playing on my lips.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day passed in a blink. Not because the work was less-meetings happened, deadlines loomed, and calls buzzed nonstop-but because my mind was never really there. It was... somewhere else.
Actually, not somewhere-with someone.
Her.
Her smile had played on a loop in my head like my favorite playlist on repeat. Her voice-soft, sweet, sometimes annoying when she yells at me for stealing bites from her plate echoed louder than the project updates in the boardroom. Every time someone said "sir?" in a meeting, I blinked like I'd just returned from a very beautiful daydream.
And now, finally done for the day, I stepped out of the building, loosening my tie and rolling my sleeves. The sun had already dipped low, casting that golden glow that turns even dust into something magical.
Just as I exited the parking lot, in the nearby large shop I saw it.
A mannequin in a boutique window, wrapped in a simple, soft white saree, lightweight, elegant, almost glowing in the fading sunlight.
And in a blink, she replaced the mannequin in my mind.
Sarakshi, in that white saree.
Hair bouncing off her shoulders, looking like a goddess. A few strands loose on her forehead. Her usual silver jhumkas. That soft flush on her cheeks when I stare too long. And that little "hmmph" she gives when she tries to act angry but fails miserably.
I stopped there, hands tapping the steering wheel, staring.
I had told her she could wear whatever she wanted. And I meant it. But now? Now I wanted her in this.
Without thinking twice, I walked into the shop. Five minutes later, I came out, a neatly packed box in my hand, the softest smile on my face.
I tossed the box on the passenger seat carefully like it was made of glass and turned the keys, already imagining her reaction. She'll puff her cheeks. Roll her eyes. Call me "drama king". Might even hit me for surprises at the last minute.
But she'll wear it.
And tonight, I'll fall in love with her all over again.
Just like I do every day.
As I stepped into the house, an unusual calm greeted me. No chatter, no clinking utensils, not even Pichu's babbles. Just stillness. I took a deep breath and made my way upstairs, the faint sound of a hair straightener crackling guiding me.
And there she was-my queen.
Sitting cross-legged in front of the mirror, straightening her hair with the cutest frown etched across her face, tongue slightly poking out in concentration like she was solving a national crisis.
I leaned against the doorway, watching her for a second. My lips curved into a soft smile. God, she was something else.
She looked up and spotted me in the mirror, and just like that, her face lit up.
"Hiii, welcome bac-wait, what is this?" Her voice trailed off as her eyes landed on the box in my hand.
I smiled, stepping forward and reaching for her hand, squeezing it gently.
"What are you wearing?" I asked, my gaze sliding down to the same comfy kurti she'd been wearing in the morning.
She pouted slightly, already on the defensive. "I was going to wear that dress you bought from Singapore, but it's a bit loose..."
Before she could finish, the words tumbled out of me.
"Wear this. Please." My voice came out low, almost reverent, as I extended the box toward her.
She blinked. "Hm?"
"I told you to wear anything you like, but... I want you to wear this. Surprise!" I added with a sheepish grin, ending on a slightly overexcited chirp.
As expected, she reacted on cue.
She puffed her cheeks and rolled her eyes. "Drama king!" she muttered, swatting my chest playfully. "You should've told me earlier."
I didn't respond, just chuckled as she unexpectedly pulled me into a warm hug, wrapping her arms tightly around me like a child hugging her favourite teddy.
"Thank you for the present," she whispered, looking up at me with a glowing smile that hit me straight in the gut.
I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Open it," I murmured.
She gently untied the ribbon, peeled the paper back, and opened the box. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropping just slightly.
"Mr. Singhhhh," she squealed, holding the white saree up with wonder sparkling in her eyes. "This is beautiful! I'm wearing this. Definitely."
I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. She liked it. That's all I wanted.
And then she ruined it.
"Thank you, Mr. Singh," she said sweetly, with a smile that would've melted anyone else.
But not me.
Not after that line.
Mr. Singh.
My brain short-circuited. My surname had never sounded more... formal. More distant. More not what I wanted to be called by her.
She's not my student. She's not my intern. She's my wife. My chotu. My partner. And here she was calling me Mr. Singh like I'd just handed her a company-issued Diwali bonus.
Mr. Singh? Seriously? I suddenly hate my own surname.
I mean, yeah, okay-I was the one who'd told her not to call me by my name back in the early days. Something about it feeling too personal, too soon.
Idiot. Certified fool, that version of me.
Now? I'd kill to hear her say "Rashvik" once. Just once. Sweet and soft and only for me.
But no. Not today. Not tonight. This wasn't the time to mess it up. Not when she was smiling like that and hugging a saree like it was a treasure chest.
While I stood there having an internal crisis, she danced over to the wardrobe with a bounce in her step and disappeared behind the doors.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, the silence stretching again, but this time it felt warm. Anticipated.
Inside the wardrobe, I could hear faint rustling, hangers clinking, her muttering something about safety pins.
My lips curved again.
A date, a saree, and the girl who made silence feel like music.
Tonight was going to be perfect. Mr. Singh or not.
After minutes, I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard the wardrobe click shut.
She stepped out. And for a full second, I forgot how to breathe.
The white saree draped around her like it was made for her, the fabric catching the light, the soft sheen making her glow even more. Her hair fell in soft waves, still slightly puffed from straightening, a tiny flick of kajal around her eyes, and that red tint on her lips-the kind that makes me forget how to stand properly.
And her cheeks... my God, her cheeks were already flushed. Probably because I was staring like a lovestruck fool.
She fidgeted with her pallu, "Is it too much?"
I shook my head slowly, stepping toward her, eyes fixed on her like she was art hanging in a gallery I'd never afford tickets to.
"It's perfect. You're perfect."
She bit her lower lip and looked down, trying to suppress a smile, her hand automatically moving to adjust her bangles.
I could feel my heart do this weird, jumpy thing inside my chest. How can someone be this beautiful huh?
"You too get ready, I've kept out two shirts-you can wear whichever you want," she said, her voice soft, almost shy, her eyes not meeting mine.
But mine? I couldn't stop staring at her. She was glowing-wrapped in the white saree I'd picked, hair cascading over one shoulder, cheeks flushed with the quiet excitement of the evening. My heart swelled. My wife. My chotu.
With a chuckle and a swift kiss on her cheek, I disappeared into the closet. I chose the first shirt she'd laid out-an off-white one and paired it with black trousers. Simple, clean. Presentable.
When I stepped out, she was already looking at me.
Our eyes met-and for a second, it felt like the room stilled. Her gaze held something intense, something I could never get used to, no matter how many mornings or evenings passed. My heart stuttered, like it always does under her gaze.
I blinked and asked, trying to sound casual, "Ye shirt kaisi hai?" while adjusting my sleeve.
(How's this shirt?)
She didn't answer immediately. She stepped closer, a playful smirk curving on her lips. Her arms looped around me, as they often do these days-this new habit of hers that I'd secretly fallen in love with. My hands found their natural place on her lower back, pulling her in, like muscle memory.
Leaning close to my ear, she whispered, "Mere dil ke liye bilkul bhi thik nahi."
(Definitely not good for my heart)
Her voice-a soft tease wrapped in affection sent shivers down my spine. My cheeks grew warm before I could help it.
"Are you flirting with me, jaan?" I asked, breath catching as our bodies pressed flush, the air between us vanishing.
"Learning from you, jaan," she whispered back, and then-then-she pressed her lips to my nape.
I swear to God.
My knees buckled slightly. I was this close to collapsing into a pile of mush. Her voice, her breath, that word in her voice. Jaan. It never sounded that beautiful. I was a goner. Gone. Completely and utterly destroyed in her love.
She pulled back just a little, her eyes wide and innocent. "Are you okay?" she asked, blinking like she hadn't just set off fireworks in my chest.
"Stop teasing me, love," I whined, burying my face into the crook of her shoulder. Her scent enveloped me-soft, warm, home. My pulse, chaotic a moment ago, found calm in her touch.
"Now get ready properly," she said, pulling away with a grin.
"I am ready," I replied, giving her a boyish look. "I look handsome, right?"
I knew the answer. I knew she wouldn't give it to me.
"In your dreams, Mr. Singh," she replied coolly, lips twitching.
"Kabhi toh apne handsome pati ko handsome keh do," I pouted dramatically, sticking my lower lip out like a sulking child.
(At least once, call your handsome husband handsome)
She burst out laughing, shaking her head as she reached up to pinch my cheeks.
Only if you knew, baby. I've read that diary of yours-the one where you called me "ridiculously handsome" and said my sleepy face makes your heart ache.
If only you knew.
I smirked to myself.
Oh, this evening was already perfect-and we hadn't even left the room.
Just as we were about to step out, she suddenly pulled me back by the arm, her pout full and determined.
"You didn't ask me properly for the date," she said, her palms clutching my upper arm like she was anchoring me to the moment. "You just casually mentioned it yesterday. That doesn't count!"
I blinked, still processing her adorably serious face, when the door burst open.
Aksh barged in like a wild gust of wind, his eyes widening dramatically at the sight of us. "Woahhh! You guys look like you walked straight out of a romantic movie!" he exclaimed, holding his chest like he was about to faint. "Bhabhiii, you're looking sooo prettyyyyy!"
He rushed in to side-hug her, all dramatic and loud, and I stood there... blinking. I thought the house was empty?
"Thank you, bachu!" Sarakshi cooed, giggling as she placed a loud kiss on his cheek. That too with so much affection
Bhai hai karke, I'm letting it slide.
Aksh turned to us, completely unbothered by the death stare I was shooting in his direction. "Why haven't you guys left yet?"
Before I could speak, she did.
"He didn't ask me properly for the date," she said again, folding her arms, lips pushed into another pout like I'd committed some serious crime.
Aksh facepalmed. "Offfhooo, bhai! Say this" Then, with all the dramatic flair in the world, he stepped forward, arms spread like a Bollywood hero, and said in an exaggeratedly cheesy tone:
"Khaane se bharta hai pet..."
A pause.
"Khaane se bharta hai pet! With me, will you go on a date?"
(Food fills the stomach! Will you go on a date with me?) !!it's a word play!!
...
There was silence.
I blinked.
My jaw dropped.
I stared at him like I was about to commit murder. My brain was already plotting twenty creative ways to kick him out of this universe.
And then... she clapped.
She. Clapped!?
"Wah mere bache!" she chirped like he'd recited Shakespeare.
Seriously?! Hello ma'am, that was rubbish!
I stepped forward and rested my hand on his shoulder, smiling eerily.
"piche mud aur nikal is room se, seedhe mai hain gate," I muttered through clenched teeth as I spun him around, gave him a firm push, and marched him out the door.
(Turn around and leave, the gate is in front)
"Idiot," I grumbled under my breath while he walked away laughing his lungs out.
Turning back to my little firecracker, I raised an eyebrow. "Chalein?"
"First say that shayari for me," she said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. Her smile-playful, victorious, a little smug.
I stared.
"Seriously?"
She nodded enthusiastically, eyes dancing.
I sighed, dramatically fisting my palm like a defeated hero.
Then, with a deep breath and a straight face, I extended my arm toward her like Aksh had, and recited in the most serious tone possible:
"Khaane se bharta hai pet..."
"Khaane se bharta hai pet!"
"But only your 'haan' will fill my dil, my jaan... Will you go on this date with me?"
There was silence.
She blinked. Then she burst out laughing.
"You're unbelievable," she said between giggles, holding my arm and leaning her forehead on my chest.
"But still..." she whispered, looking up, eyes shining, "Yes, Mr. Singh... I'll go on this date with you."
My heart did a flip.
"And for the record," she added, pulling me closer by my collar, "I loved that shayari, drama king."
With that, she slipped her hand into mine, and we finally stepped out, I draped my jacket around me before exiting, leaving behind the laughter, the teasing, and the drama-for now.
The evening air carried a soft breeze as I drove, one hand steady on the wheel, the other holding hers, a silent electricity passing between us every time.
The road was familiar. Quiet. Dotted with memories.
She hummed softly beside me, her gaze outside the window, the wind teasing strands of her hair. The soft white saree she wore fluttered delicately, making her look like she belonged to the moonlight itself.
"You're quiet," I said, breaking the comfortable silence.
She turned to me, eyes sparkling. "I'm just... soaking it all in. You, me, this... this feels perfect."
I smiled, fingers brushing hers again, this time deliberately. "Wait till we get there."
Her eyebrows raised, playful suspicion creeping in. "Where are we going, Mr. Singh?"
"You'll know," I said with a smirk, pressing down gently on the accelerator.
A few minutes later, we turned onto the narrow path, the one lined with tall trees and wildflowers, the one only we knew led to the old lighthouse.
She gasped the moment it came into view, a breathy sound of pure delight. "Mr. singh" she whispered, almost reverently. My chest tightened in the best way possible.
I parked the car, got out, and rushed to open the door for her. Her saree rustled as she stepped out, the breeze catching it, wrapping it around her frame like poetry.
The lighthouse stood tall and familiar against the golden hues of dusk, worn but beautiful, just like the countless memories our family had made there.
She stood beside me, her fingers still tucked in mine, eyes drinking in the scene as if she were memorizing it all over again.
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of what I was about to say settle on my chest but it was the kind of weight you carry with love.
"You know," I began softly, "I never told you this before, but..." I looked out at the horizon, then back at her, "...this is where I wanted to propose to you."
Her head turned sharply toward me, surprise widening her eyes. "What? Here?"
I nodded, lips curving into a faint smile "Yeah. I had it all planned out that day." I shrugged, letting the memory settle.
She stared at me, emotion flashing across her face, shock, fondness, and then that familiar softness I'd fallen in love with a hundred times.
"But this place..." I turned to face her fully, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "This was always supposed to be our moment."
She nodded with a smile and brushed my nose against her, making her giggle. The very next moment I picked her up in my arms, taking her on top of the lighthouse. She slipped her hands around my neck, not protesting this time for picking her up and just looked at me with love.
She rested her head lightly against my chest as I carried her up the winding staircase, each step echoing softly in the quiet tower. Her saree trailed behind us, fluttering like a whisper, her perfume mixing with the sea breeze-intoxicating.
As we reached the top, she slowly lifted her head-and froze.
Her breath hitched.
The entire lighthouse terrace had been transformed into something straight out of a dream.
Bouquets.....hundreds of them lined the perimeter in soft waves of color. But not just any flowers. Roses. Her favorite. Crimson red, baby pink, pure white, layered like strokes of a painting, breathing warmth into the cold stone floor. The scent of fresh petals filled the air, light and intoxicating, like our first days together.
In the center was a small place for two people to stand, draped in soft fairy lights that shimmered like stars. But the heart of it all what made her cover her mouth with both hands were the two massive flower arrangements standing tall near the edge.
One spelled out in lush, blooming red roses:
SORRY.
And right beside it, even more grand and vibrant, written in pure white petals with a border of baby's breath and blush-pink roses:
I LOVE YOU.
The sea whispered below, the sky above glowed with the last amber hues of sunset, and the candles dancing across the floor flickered as if keeping rhythm with her heartbeat.
She turned to me, her eyes already glistening, mouth parted in disbelief. "Love... this... all of this..."
"I wanted to do this the day I would have asked you to be mine," I said quietly, my voice catching with emotion. "But I guess I needed more time to become the man who could love you the way you truly deserve."
She didn't say a word. Just took a step forward, brushing her fingers gently across the rose petals spelling out I LOVE YOU, and then turned back to me-eyes wide, lips trembling with a smile that was both joyful and overwhelmed.
Without a word, she flung herself into my arms, holding me as if letting go wasn't an option. Her body melted into mine, trembling slightly as warm tears soaked into my shirt. I wrapped my arms around her just as tightly, burying my face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the only scent that ever truly calmed me.
She loved it.
"You've always been that man," she whispered, voice breaking like waves on the shore. "You've always been the man I deserved..."
I pulled back slightly, brushing her tears with the back of my hand, and then gently led her to the center of the circular space right in the heart of the roses, fairy lights glowing around us like tiny stars that had fallen just to witness this.
Still holding her hand, I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles to calm both her heartbeat and mine.
And then, I bent down on one knee.
She gasped, hand flying to her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening as they locked with mine.
"I don't know where to begin, love," I said, voice steady despite the storm inside me. "But if I must start somewhere, let it be with this: I'm sorry."
Her expression softened instantly, and I saw something shift in her eyes-forgiveness, yes, but also faith.
"I was a fool," I continued, heart swelling as I poured everything out. "I pushed away the very love my heart longed for. Despite my mistakes, you accepted me as your husband with patience and love and I promise you'll never regret it. Forgive me, and let me love you as you deserve."
She was crying again, silently, beautifully.
"I promise to spend my entire life proving my love for you."
A small sob escaped her lips as she dropped to her knees and hugged me tightly, like she was trying to fuse herself to my soul. I held her close, the world around us blurring into nothing but her heartbeat thudding against mine.
"I love you," I whispered, pulling back just enough to cup her cheeks in my palms. "I promise, i'll become the man you want me to be. I'll change myself for you-"
She silenced me instantly, pressing her finger against my lips, her eyes fierce and loving all at once.
"Shhh... Aap jaise ho mujhe pasand ho." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Aur aap jaise ho... mere ho."
(Shhh... I like you just the way you are) (And just the way you are... you are mine)
Time paused. My heart? It didn't just flip, it soared. I closed my eyes, letting the moment soak into my soul. Her words were soft as petals, yet heavy with love felt like a balm to every scar I ever carried. I didn't need to change to deserve her. I only had to show up, be real, and love her honestly.
We stayed there, forehead to forehead, breathing each other in.
I'm hers. She's mine.
She loves me-just as I am.
I gently helped her to her feet, our fingers still intertwined, but I remained kneeling, there was still something left to give, something I had kept hidden for the perfect moment.
She looked at me with confusion written softly across her features. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice hushed with wonder.
I didn't answer right away.
Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box "your present" i whispered
Her brows furrowed for a second, but as I opened it and revealed the delicate silver anklets nestled inside, her lips parted in a silent gasp.
They shimmered softly under the glow of fairy lights-dainty, intricate, with tiny ghungroos that would sing with every step she took. I had them custom made, just like she loves to wear. Ananya helped me with it.
"I told you it's nothing like those fancy gifts people give to their partner," I breathed out, watching her with bated breath, "but just a small gesture that carries all my love for you."
She didn't answer right away. Her gaze fell to the anklets, her fingers brushing the delicate silver like they were the most precious thing in the world. Her lips trembled before she whispered, "It is perfect... the best gift of my life."
Those words hit me like a soft storm. I swallowed hard.
"I remembered," I said gently, lifting one anklet from the box, my fingers trembling ever so slightly. I reached down, taking her foot in my hand and resting it gently on my thigh, reverently, like I was touching something divine.
"You once told me," I continued, voice low, "that you loved wearing payal because their sound made you feel like a heroine in a black-and-white film."
She let out a teary laugh, her smile breaking through the shimmer of unshed emotions. "Yes... I did."
I glanced up at her, my heart pounding with nothing but devotion. "And you are my heroine," I whispered, fastening the anklet around her ankle with utmost care, like I was tying a thread of fate itself. "Mine only. You always have been."
As I moved to her other foot, she leaned down slightly, her fingers brushing softly through my hair, tender, patient, full of unspoken love. Her touch made my chest ache, like she was trying to tell me everything she couldn't say aloud in that moment.
I held her ankle gently, as if it was the most fragile thing in the world, and fastened the second anklet. The soft, delicate chime that followed wasn't just silver meeting silver-it was a vow. A quiet promise whispered between hearts under the open sky.
And before I could stop myself, I leaned in and placed a kiss on her foot-soft, reverent, and full of every word I'd ever failed to say right. It wasn't just love. It was surrender. Worship.
She stilled.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. The sea whispered in the distance. The flowers around us swayed as if they, too, were holding their breath. Then she slowly sank down to her knees before me, cupping my face in her hands, her eyes swimming with emotion.
"I love you" she breathed, like a prayer on her lips
"I love you more" I said, getting up and placing a peck on her forehead.
The moment she stood again and took a few steps, the soft, musical ghunghroo sang through the flower-scented air.
She looked at me, smiling through her tears-ethereal in her white saree, wrapped in moonlight, with anklets singing like poetry.
And in that moment, with the lighthouse behind us, stars beginning to light the sky, and her standing there like a dream I never dared to ask for-I knew.
I'd spend a lifetime gifting her moments like this.
Because she was worth every heartbeat, every breath, every single step of forever.
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Chapter Aesthetics 🤍
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Heyy evryone!!
Finally the old vibe is back ig😎
And a long chapter after a long time!
Do let me know how the chapter is!
Btw once again...... disappointed 😔 target not completed
vote target-2.5k
Comments-900+
Thank you
Byee🤍
Ish_~