R U D R A K S H

I raise my fist to strike him again, but soft hands grasp my arm, halting me.

"Rudra! Stop!" Sitara’s voice is breathless, urgent.

My muscles tighten, my body still thrumming with rage.

"What if he hurt you?" My voice is sharp, dangerous. The thought of him being this close to her makes my blood boil.

She looks at me like I’m the one losing control. Like I’m the one scaring her.

"Why would he?" She asks, incredulity lacing her voice.

As if on cue, the bastard tries to run.

Not on my watch.

I grab him by the collar and yank him back, my grip closing around his throat, ready to crush him.

"Stop it, Rudra!" Sitara pleads, tugging at my arm. "There are children here!"

The sharpness in her voice pierces through my fury.

Then he speaks.

"Sita." His voice is weak, yet laced with arrogance. "Your husband isn’t a good man—"

I don’t let him finish.

My fist collides with his mouth, the sickening crack of bone ringing in the air.

"Please, stop!" Sitara cries, tears streaming down her face.

That’s what stops me.

Not his pathetic pleas. Not the horrified stares of the children.

But her.

I turn to her, my breathing heavy, hands shaking with restraint. But she moves back, eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

My chest tightens painfully.

I hurt her.

And then—

"Sita, listen to me." The bastard croaks, blood dripping from his split lip.

I don't even turn to him. My focus is solely on my wife.

Because if he speaks the truth right now, everything will be over.

Sitara stiffens.

"I realized something..." His voice trembles, but it’s not fear. It’s something else. Desperation.

"I realized that I love you."

Her breath hitches.

"I never loved Neha!"

My jaw clenches so hard it aches.

Sitara stares at him as if she’s seeing a ghost. Frozen.

But I can’t look away from her.

I need her to look at me.

"When I heard you were getting married, I was there, Sita. I watched your wedding." His words scrape against my nerves, each syllable a blade cutting into my skin.

"At that party, when I saw you with him, it hit me. You were the only one who truly cared for me."

He doesn’t deserve to say her name.

He doesn’t deserve to breathe in her presence.

I think God is punishing me.

Making me witness this.

My wife’s past. His confession.

And I stand here like an audience to my own tragedy.

"I love you, Sita." He pleads, his gaze flicking to me, and his eyes darken with hatred.

"You know what he did on your wedding—"

"Shut up."

Her voice calm, yet sharp cuts through the chaos like a dagger.

The bastard freezes.

So do I.

"What—" He stammers, but she lifts a palm, silencing him.

"Shut. Up."

She steps forward, closer to me.

And then, her hand slips into mine.

Relief crashes over me like a tidal wave.

She chose me. She did.

"You love me?" She asks, her voice edged with something unreadable.

He nods eagerly, like a desperate man clinging to his last hope.

She laughs.

Cold. Unforgiving.

"No. You don’t."

His face pales.

"You used me, Nikhil. There’s a difference."

"That’s true, but I realized—"

"You realized nothing." Her voice is steady. Unshaken.

"You saw me happy. With my husband. And you couldn't fathom the idea that I moved on."

I feel my chest tighten.

"I never knew what happiness was until Rudra showed me."

My breathing stutters.

"You made me abhor love." She says, her voice thick with emotion. "But he... he makes me wish I could fall in love."

My heart slams against my ribs.

She’s not saying she loves me.

But it’s a start.

"You are not even half the man he is."

I swear my soul ignites.

Right now, all I want to do is kiss her.

"You don’t know what he did—" Nikhil starts again, anger creeping into his tone.

She stops him with a firm shake of her head.

"I don’t care."

He flinches.

"He is my husband," she declares, her fingers tightening around mine. "And I believe him more than a man who used me for his own gains. Who came back crawling to me when the girl who was sleeping with him, married someone else."

"Neha is a bitch. I truly love you. You can't choose him over me—"

She pulls me in tighter, eyes locked on him. “My husband raised the bar so high that I can’t even look down to see how low you’ve stooped.”

And just like that... bam!

My heart goes and does some fucking circus act. Double, triple, whatever flip. It’s ridiculous.

Those so-called butterflies shit? Yeah, they didn’t flutter, they fucking exploded. Like fireworks. In my gut.

Disgusting, I know.

And now I’m standing here, feeling like a damn king.

King to my queen.

That’s it.

He lost.

He knows it.

His lips part, but before he can spit another word, guards appear, grabbing him by the arms.

"Sita, please! Give me a chance!" His screams are cut off as he’s dragged away.

I don’t watch him leave.

Because the moment he’s gone, she turns to me.

"You’re bleeding."

Her fingers ghost over my knuckles, gentle despite the madness I unleashed moments ago.

As if I hadn’t just caused a scene at her workplace.

"Can someone bring the first aid kit?" Sitara calls out, her voice shaky as her trembling hands hold mine.

I don’t even register the pain in my knuckles. Not when my chest is still burning with the weight of her confession.

"But he... he makes me wish I could fall in love."

Her words echo in my mind, settling deep into the parts of me that have always longed for her.

"Is it hurting, Rudra?" Her voice is small, hesitant, like she’s afraid of the answer.

I shake my head. "No."

Not my hand. Not my body. But my heart.

The ache there is unbearable.

A man hands her a small box before stepping away, leaving us alone in the classroom.

She sniffles, carefully tending to my wounds, her hands featherlight against my bruised skin.

I bring my free hand to her face, wiping beneath her eyes. I can’t stand her tears.

"Are you mad at me?" I murmur as she secures the bandage with careful precision.

"I am." Her voice is tight, restrained. She still refuses to meet my eyes. "But I’ll be angry another day because right now, you’re hurt. You need medical attention."

Even when she’s upset, she takes care of me.

She finishes wrapping my hand and I smirk. "You should’ve seen the other guy."

A small, reluctant smile tugs at her lips.

"No fighting hereafter. This is the last time, alright?" She scolds, her voice strict.

I nod, humoring her. "Yes, ma’am."

Then I lift my bandaged hand toward her lips, nudging it lightly.

She blinks at me. "What?"

"Kiss it better."

Her lips part in surprise before she huffs a soft laugh. But she doesn’t hesitate.

She leans in and presses a featherlight kiss to my knuckles.

Something inside me settles.

"Are we still going on that date today or am I on probation?" I tease, needing to lighten the heavy air between us.

She shakes her head. "Ahana and Krish would shun me out of the friend zone if I canceled."

"Thank God."

She narrows her eyes at me. "And how exactly did you know that Nikhil was here?"

I tense. It lasts only a second, but I immediately cover it with a lazy smirk.

"I just wanted to see you." I say smoothly, wrapping my arms around her waist.

She immediately shoves at my chest, cheeks tinged pink as she glances around.

"You just saw me this morning." She argues.

"A moment isn’t enough. I want you in my vicinity. Every second."

She rolls her eyes, "Stop being so corny, Mr. Suryawanshi."

I tilt my head, smirking. "Stop being so beautiful, Mrs. Suryawanshi."

And just like that, she laughs.

A real, genuine laugh that makes my heart feel too full.

At least for now, she’s happy.

But if Nikhil had told her the truth today...

This moment wouldn't exist.

S I T A R A

Ahana fixes my dress and then we both stare at ourselves in the mirror.

"Wow," she whispers, and we glance at each other in the reflection, giggling like a couple of schoolgirls who just shared a secret.

"We look pretty," she says, and I nod, agreeing without hesitation.

She’s wearing her signature pink saree, graceful, vibrant, and oh-so-Ahana.

And then there’s me, wrapped in a beautiful pastel green saree that I never would’ve managed without her help.

"Thanks for helping me with the saree," she says, smiling up at me.

"You look stunning," I complement her, genuinely meaning it.

She smirks, "I can’t wear a saree even if my life depended on it. And if I asked Yuvraj for help, that would probably end up with him touching me somewhere inappropriate and me  climbing up on him—"

Before she can finish the thought, I slap my hand over her mouth. "Too much information," I say, my cheeks instantly flushing.

She grins wickedly, "As if you don’t do those things."

My face burns at the thought of yesterday night when Rudraksh did some very dirty things to me.

I was in the kitchen, shaping gulabjamuns with sticky fingers, trying to apologize for my screw-up two days ago, when he silently snuck up behind me.

“Rudra! You can’t do that to me when I’m cooking!” I gasped, squirming as his arms snaked around my waist, pulling me flush against him.

“I actually can. Anytime, anywhere I want,” he murmured, lips pressing hot, feather-light kisses along my neck.

“Because you’re my wife. And bonus point? This house is ours.” He tightened those veiny forearms around my stomach, and I froze, my breath catching.

“Aren’t you too happy now that we’re alone?” I muttered, trying to sound grumpy, but my voice quivered.

"Besides… we’re not really alone. We’re now mommy and daddy, remember? What if Snowball saw us like this?” I teased, pressing a playful grin against his shoulder.

Ever since I’d brought that little furball home, Rudraksh had glared at it like it personally offended him.

“That intruding little shit takes your time too much,” he growled, jaw tight. “He better behave.”

“Don’t call him that! He’s my sweet cupcake!” I protested, letting out a sharp yelp when he pinched my waist.

“Ahh!”

“You better not use nicknames for anyone but me,” he muttered into my neck, his voice low, dangerous, and possessive.

I leaned back, wiggling against him teasingly. “Don’t worry, my sweet cupcake, my sour cookie, my sugar pudding. Only you get those.”

For more dramatic effect I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his stubbly jaw.

He groaned, a sound that made my knees weak and his hands began to roam, slow, deliberate, gripping my curves.

"Aren’t you a little too mouthy now?” he asked, voice husky, suddenly squeezing my breasts through the flour-streaked apron.

“Rudra!” I gasped, a shiver of pleasure thrumming through me when I felt his male anatomy press against my spine.

“Fuck, why don’t we buy that bunny fucker a wife and let them fuck so we can fuck like rabbits too?” he muttered seriously, and I couldn’t help bursting into a laugh despite myself.

That's too much f-bomb for my mental health.

“Let me finish my apology dish,” I breathed, voice shaky and hot, as his hands kneaded my breasts like they owned me, never stopping his torturous kisses on my neck.

“Oh, an apology dish, huh?” he whispered into my ear, teeth grazing the shell of it. “How about I have my own dish?”

“What—” I started, breath catching, before he cupped my hips, lifted me effortlessly, and tossed me on the counter.

“Rudra, you can't—”

“Shh,” he cut me off with a scorching kiss, lips claiming mine. “Let me take the apology owed to me.”

His eyes... those deep, brown, impossibly beautiful eyes locked onto mine, dark with hunger.

And... oh God, he kneels infront of me with wicked intentions shining his eyes.

My core pulsed as his fingers hooked into my waistband, sliding them off with maddening slowness, teasing me, dragging me to the edge of fire I could barely control.

Then—

“Earth to Sita.”

Ahana’s raspy voice shattered the moment, yanking me back from my very improper memories. My face immediately ignited in flames.

“Ooohh, I can see that Rudraksh is giving you some good orgasms—”

“Ahana!” I snapped, heat crawling all over me.

“It’s getting late,” I hurriedly said, trying to change the subject, desperately dodging her mischievous grin. “Let’s go.”

“Whatever you say, bestie,” she teased, and I ignored her, heart still racing, body still burning at the memory of just how dirty Rudraksh had been.

We decided on a desi date tonight, ditching the fancy restaurants we had originally planned.

Instead, we chose a cozy, traditional Indian food restaurant, wanting to keep things simple and real.

The idea of just spending time together, enjoying good food, and laughing at our own antics felt more perfect than anything else.

Ahana walks out first, still grinning at me, and I check myself in the mirror for a final time.

Hair in place, makeup perfect though my confidence seems to have taken a brief vacation.

Exhaling a breath, I step out, bracing myself to meet my husband.

⭐

Rudra has not stopped staring. Every time I talk to him in the car, he takes a few extra seconds to respond.

His gaze fixed on me like he’s committing every detail to memory.

"Staring is rude," I say, adjusting my glasses.

"Not when you’re my wife," he counters smoothly, pulling into the parking lot of our food spot.

A small smile tugs at my lips.

Well… as long as I get to stare at him back, it’s fine.

He steps out first, rounds the car, and opens my side of the door with a small smile. His palm is upturned, waiting for mine. "You look breathtaking in this saree."

"That’s probably—" I begin to deny, but before I can finish, he leans in close, his breath ghosting over the shell of my ear.

"And I can’t wait to unwrap you from this tonight."

A shiver runs down my spine, heat creeping up my face.

I scramble to get it together before my best friend hears this.

Ahana would never let me live it down.

Speaking of whom, she walks up with Yuvraj Bhaiyya just as another car pulls in front of us.

A very familiar car.

Krish steps out, looking almost… polished.

A white shirt tucked neatly into his black slacks, his hair styled for once instead of its usual tousled mess.

I’ve never seen him so put together. Not even for a college presentation.

Ahana and I exchange an amused glance as he rounds the other side of the car and opens the passenger door.

My lips part in surprise when Riya Mehra steps out.

She looks stunning in a deep red anarkali, her long hair loose over her shoulders. But it's not her outfit that catches my attention, it's the way she looks nervous, hesitant.

And then Krish does something unexpected.

He slips his hand into hers, reassuringly.

Ahana raises an eyebrow at me, and I make sure to keep my expression neutral as they approach.

"Hey," Krish greets us casually, flashing his signature grin. "So, no need for introductions, I guess?"

Riya tenses when she sees Ahana.

Oh, their brothers are best friends and I don't think Riya’s brother, Aman Mehra would take it lightly if he knows this.

"Nope," Ahana rasps out, her voice unreadable. "Let’s not waste time."

Thankfully, we head inside without any awkward questioning.

I have a million questions, but this is a triple date. Not an interrogation.

We sit at the large table as the food is served, the aroma of rich spices filling the air.

"So…?" Ahana asks, her raspy voice laced with amusement as she eyes Riya. "Should we act surprised?"

Krish smirks, leaning back in his chair. "I would advise you to," he says, throwing a glance at Riya.

"Alright, girlfriend then?" Ahana teases.

Riya blushes furiously. "Umm, Ahana..." she starts, her voice barely above a whisper. She sneaks a glance at Krish before blurting out, "Both Aman Bhai and Kabir Bhai don’t know."

Ahana snorts, taking a sip of water. "No surprise there either."

Since she and the Mehras grew up together, she understands exactly how overprotective they can be.

"I want it to remain that way," Riya adds quickly.

Ahana nods without hesitation. "I understand. I have one of those at home too." She chuckles, clearly thinking about Vihaan Rajputh.

Riya exhales in relief, and Krish takes her hand under the table, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. "Don’t worry. We’ve got this," he murmurs, his voice gentle.

Aww. Although watching Krish act like this is mildly disturbing (who knew he had a soft side?), I can’t help but love seeing him in love.

"Enough. Now I want your attention on me," Rudraksh whispers beside me, his deep voice laced with playful jealousy.

I chuckle, but before I can respond, the waiter arrives, placing steaming plates of Butter Chicken with Garlic Naan, Paneer Tikka, fragrant Biryani with Raita, and Galouti Kebabs in front of us.

Conversation momentarily dies as we dig into the delicious spread.

The date flows smoothly, filled with lighthearted conversation and laughter.

Then, in the middle of eating, Ahana suddenly stops. She nudges Yuvraj Bhaiyya, signing something, her hands moving gracefully.

She’s clearly tired from all the talking.

Yuvraj Bhaiyya nods in understanding before turning to us. "Ahana has an announcement."

I freeze, my fork stopping mid-air as my eyes snap to her.

Wait.

Is she pregnant?

To be continued...