45 parti In corso BL story ha haryanvi🫣
> Rana: "Tu soch le Chaudhary, yah zameen Shekhawaton ki hai. Tere baap ki kursi ab purani ho li, aur tu... tu bas uske naam ka sahara le rha hai."
(Think twice, Chaudhary. This land belongs to the Shekhawats. Your father's chair is old now - and you're just hiding under his name.)
Devraj didn't flinch - just that faint smirk playing on his lips.
> Devraj: "Naam purana sahi, par izzat aaj bhi naye note jaise chamak rahi hai, Rana. Aur kursi ke neeche sab jhukte hain... chahe Shekhawat ho ya Sher."
(The name may be old, Rana, but the respect still shines like new money. And under the chair of power, everyone bows - whether a Shekhawat or a lion.)
A short silence.
But the way they looked at each other - it wasn't just rivalry.
It was something darker... heavier... almost magnetic.
Rana took a slow step forward, his eyes burning through Devraj's calm.
> Rana: "Tere jese log vote se chalenge, main to jazbaat se chalta hu. Aur jab dil me aag lag jaave na, to kursi bhi jhukh jati hai."
(Men like you run on votes, I run on emotions. And when the fire burns in my heart, even the throne bows down.)
Devraj leaned in just enough - enough for the air between them to turn dangerous.
> Devraj: "Bas farq itna hai, Rana - tu aag se khelta hai... aur main aag ko apne liye nachata hu."
(The only difference, Rana - you play with fire... I make fire dance for me.)
Their shoulders brushed as Rana passed by, eyes still locked - a silent promise, a war waiting to explode.
Politics was never this personal before.
But now... it was.
Because under the Power,
lay something far stronger - Pyaar.
