Misha climbed the stairs to her room, her face clouded with a dull, tired look. She let out a heavy sigh as she shut the door behind her. The weight of the message from Aadhiran lingered in her mind like an unwelcome guest. Her first thought had been to confide in Arthi, the only person who knew about Aadhiran besides herself. But the moment she saw Arthi downstairs, glowing with happiness and preparing to go out with Aranv, she froze.
The hall had been filled with cheerful chatter about Arthiâs upcoming outing. Misha couldnât bring herself to ruin her sister-in-lawâs joy with her own burdens. At least Arthi deserved this small moment of happiness-a dreamlike outing with her husband, something Misha could hardly imagine for herself.
"Mr. Ice," Misha muttered under her breath, her tone dripping with annoyance as she plopped onto her bed.
Aranv, at least, seemed to understand the responsibilities of being a husband. Unlike Abhimanyu, Misha thought bitterly. "I donât even feel like I have a husband," she whispered, the words carrying a deep sadness that she didnât want to acknowledge.
Her gaze drifted to the window as she stood and walked toward it, the cool breeze brushing her face. "I really want to hit that Abhimanyu so hard," she said through gritted teeth, her frustration bubbling over. "Such a jerk."
The anger in her voice masked the underlying ache in her heart, a mixture of resentment and sadness she refused to dwell on. But her irritation wasnât solely because of Abhimanyu. The message from Aadhiran had unsettled her, pulling her into a web of emotions she didnât want to face.
"What do I do now?" she asked aloud, her voice tinged with frustration as she paced the room, her thoughts spinning in every direction.
Her eyes narrowed, and she came to a halt near the window. "Should I go?" she asked herself, the question laced with fear and uncertainty. Aadhiranâs words replayed in her mind, leaving her no choice. She knew she had to go, no matter how much dread churned in her stomach.
Taking a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and steeled her resolve. "I have to end this," she said firmly, her voice carrying a newfound determination.
Misha walked to her closet, pulling out a simple but sharp outfit. As she dressed, her mind raced with plans for what to say and how to handle the situation. Despite the fear gnawing at her insides, her resolve only grew stronger.
Grabbing her handbag, she took one last look around her room before heading out. Her footsteps echoed in the silent corridor, each one firmer than the last. She didnât glance back as she exited the mansion, her focus entirely on the decision she had made.
Sliding into the car, Misha gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she pushed the fear aside. There was no going back now. She had made her choice.
The car sped down the road as she drove toward the location Aadhiran had given her. Her mind churned with a mix of anxiety and determination, but one thought remained clear-this had to end here, once and for all.
Misha arrived at the designated place Aadhiran had mentioned. She stepped out of the car, her expression betraying her unease despite her best efforts to maintain a cold facade. With deliberate steps, she entered the dimly lit Ever Café, her eyes scanning the nearly empty space. A few scattered patrons occupied the tables, lost in their own worlds. Her movements slowed as she took in the quiet ambiance, the faint hum of conversation barely audible over the soft background music.
"Looking for someone?" a low, familiar voice whispered beside her.
Misha flinched, startled. She turned sharply to see Aadhiran standing just inches away, a smirk playing on his lips. His dark eyes glinted with amusement, as though he had been waiting for this moment.
Her heart clenched uneasily, but she straightened her posture, frowning at him. "Youâre enjoying this, arenât you?" she muttered, her voice edged with irritation.
"You came, didnât you?" Aadhiran replied smoothly, his smirk widening. "Youâre looking for me." His tone was light, almost teasing, but the glint in his eyes held something more menacing.
Grinding her teeth, Misha forced herself to stay composed. She refused to let him see how much his presence unsettled her.
"Letâs sit," Aadhiran suggested, gesturing toward a table in the corner. Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his movements deliberate and confident. Misha hesitated for a moment before following, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. She sat opposite him, her posture rigid.
"I must admit," Aadhiran began as he leaned back in his chair, his tone casual, "I didnât think youâd actually show up. I thought you might ignore my message."
Mishaâs glare sharpened. "I should have," she muttered under her breath, but Aadhiranâs ears caught the words.
He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "But you couldnât, could you? You canât refuse my orders, Misha." His smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a hardened expression. "You never could." His tone like mocking her weakness
Her fists clenched under the table, nails digging into her palms. She wanted to snap back, but she held her tongue, knowing it would only fuel his arrogance.
"Aadhiran," she finally said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside her.
He raised an eyebrow, his expression feigning innocence. "Yes?" He waited for a speck even he don't care what she says as he knew what will she say.
Her gaze darkened. "Abhimanyu-my husband-he almost got into an accident recently. That was you, wasnât it?" Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning beneath the surface.
Aadhiranâs smirk returned, though his eyes remained cold. "An accident? Oh, Misha, donât be so quick to assume. It wasnât me." He leaned forward slightly, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. "If it had been me, trust me-he wouldnât have walked away alive." His eyes were having a glint of mock and his tone was clear about that.
Her anger flared, and her nails bit deeper into her palms. "Donât you dare," she hissed, her voice low but brimming with fury.
Aadhiran leaned back again, feigning surprise at her outburst. Then he chuckled, the sound grating against her nerves. "Relax," he said dismissively. "Youâre too tense. Letâs order something. What would you like?" He said being causal.
"I donât want anything," Misha snapped, her patience wearing thin.
Ignoring her, Aadhiran raised his hand to call the waiter. "Two coffees," he said smoothly before turning back to her. "Now, where were we?" He looked at her.
Her frustration bubbled over. "Why are you doing this, Aadhiran?" she demanded, her voice tinged with desperation. "Why are you following me again? Why are you targeting me and my family?" Her tone full of frustration.
He tilted his head, as if pondering her words. "Targeting you? Misha, I think youâre mistaken. Iâm not following you." He said being not so caring about her accusing him
"Donât play dumb," she shot back, her tone sharp. "Youâve done this before, and now youâre doing it again. What do you want from me?" Her eyes waited for him speck with fury
Aadhiranâs smirk vanished, replaced by an intense, serious expression. "You," he said simply, his voice firm. "I want you, Misha." He is tone causal but with hint of seriousness.
Her breath hitched, and she stared at him in disbelief. "You donât âlikeâ me, Aadhiran. Youâre obsessed with me. Thereâs a difference," she said firmly, her tone laced with irritation. "And this obsession of yours-itâs toxic." She said trying explain him the difference between the both.
Aadhiranâs gaze darkened, but he said nothing.
Misha leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a softer, more pleading tone. "I have a family now, Aadhiran. Iâm married. And your obsession-itâs not just wrong; itâs dangerous. Youâre hurting innocent people." Her tone desperate him to understand what she saying.
A flicker of something-anger, perhaps-crossed Aadhiranâs face. He clenched his fists on the table, but his voice remained calm when he finally spoke. "If itâs your husband youâre worried about," he said, his tone icy, "donât be. Heâs insignificant." He said with darkened eyes.
Mishaâs patience snapped. "Donât even think about hurting him," she said, her voice low but deadly. "If you so much as touch him, I donât know what Iâll do, Aadhiran. Just stay away from me and my family." Her eyes fire with the warring as she glared at him.
The waiter arrived then, placing two steaming cups of coffee on the table. Misha ignored hers, her focus unwaveringly on Aadhiran.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair as if considering her words. "You might be right," he said at last, his tone contemplative. "Maybe Iâve been going about this the wrong way." His expression one of thinking about what she said but is he.
For a fleeting moment, hope flickered in Mishaâs chest. Was he finally listening? But as she studied his face, she saw the smirk returning, the cold glint in his eyes still there.
She realized, with a sinking feeling, that nothing had changed.
Misha sat by the window, her gaze fixed on the world outside. The faint reflection of her face in the glass betrayed her turmoil-her clenched jaw, the tight set of her lips. She kept her hands on the table, trying to mask her unease as the air between her and Aadhiran grew colder by the second.
Across from her, Aadhiran's expression darkened. His smirk vanished, replaced by something far more menacing. His fingers tapped against the table, a calculated rhythm that mirrored the storm brewing in his mind. He ground his teeth silently, his eyes narrowing as he stared at her.
And then, as if making a decision, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. His hand moved swiftly, tipping the coffee cup toward her. The steaming liquid spilled over the rim, cascading onto her delicate hand resting on the table.
The scalding heat seared her skin.
Misha gasped, her breath hitching as the sharp pain tore through her hand. she cried softly, her voice barely audible but laced with agony. Her other hand instinctively shot up, fanning the burning skin, but the pain was relentless. Tears pricked her eyes as she bit her lip, trying to suppress the sob threatening to escape.
"M-Maâ¦.." she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling as tears welled up in her eyes. The burn was unbearable, the skin already reddening from the heat.
Aadhiran feigned shock, his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stood. "Misha! My God, what happened?" he exclaimed, rushing to her side with exaggerated concern. He crouched beside her, gently taking her injured hand in his. His touch was deceptively tender as he examined the burn, a frown etched on his face.
Misha bit her lip, trying to stifle her sobs, but the pain was too much. Her tears flowed freely now, streaking her pale cheeks.
Misha recoiled slightly, but he was too quick. He gently took her hand, inspecting the burn with a furrowed brow. "Tsk, look at this," his expression fake worried.
Aadhiran sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Look at this. All because of your carelessness," he muttered, his tone laced with mock disappointment. His eyes flickered with something darker as he glanced up at her tear-streaked face.
Misha gulped, her fear returning in full force. She had tried to hide it, to stand strong against him, but now it was surfacing. She knew that look in his eyes-the look of a predator who had found his prey.
Her lips parted in disbelief, her pain momentarily forgotten as she stared at him. "Youâ¦.. You did this," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Aadhiranâs grip tightened slightly, and his expression hardened. "Me?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You think Iâm the problem here?" His eyes bored into hers, and for the first time that evening, she felt the full weight of his obsession.
"You called me obsessed," he continued, his tone chillingly calm. "You said I was toxic." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If this is what you call obsession, then so be it. I am obsessed with you, Misha." His tone full of order.
His fingers dug into her burned hand, and Misha cried out, her tears spilling over as the pain became unbearable.
"How can you say Iâm obsessed with you?" Aadhiran asked, once again his voice soft but laced with menace. His grip on her hand tightened, making her wince. "If this is what you call obsession, then fine. Let it be an obsession." He said again like confirming this to her as he also accepting what she said and it's the truth.
Mishaâs breath hitched as she looked at him, her fear unmistakable. She struggled to free her hand, but his grip only grew firmer.
"I am obsessed with you," he continued, his voice rising slightly as his anger seeped through. "And I donât like it when you talk about other men. Especially about your husband." His teeth clenched as he ground the words out, his jaw tight with barely contained rage.
"Aadhiran, please," Misha whimpered, her voice trembling. "Youâre hurting me." Her tears fell faster now, her pain etched into every word.
"Aadhiran, pleaseâ¦.." she sobbed again, her voice barely a whisper. "It hurts. Please stop." Her tone almost drained out.
He tilted his head, feigning confusion. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "I didnât realize." His grip tightened further, and Mishaâs body tensed, her free hand clutching the edge of the table as she struggled to pull away.
"You talked about your husband, Abhimanyu, as if he matters more than me," Aadhiran spat, his voice rising slightly. "Do you think Iâll let you talk about another man while sitting in front of me?" His eyes looking at her as if boring holes in her.
"This is how I feel every time you talk about him," Aadhiran hissed, his tone venomous. "Every time you look at someone who isnât me. It burns, Misha. Just like this." His face full of range.
Her tears blurred her vision as she shook her head, trying to plead with him. "Aadhiran, stopâ¦.. pleaseâ¦.." as tears fell down.
Mishaâs breaths came in shallow gasps, her chest heaving as she fought to hold back the scream threatening to escape. "Aadhiranâ¦.. pleaseâ¦.. let goâ¦.." she begged, her voice breaking.
"Whereâs that fire from earlier?" he taunted, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Werenât you the one threatening me? Telling me what youâd do if I hurt your precious husband?" He leaned closer, his voice a deadly whisper. "Youâre all bark and no bite, Misha. You should know better than to challenge me." His said warning her.
"Whereâs that fearless woman now?" he taunted, his smirk widening. "The one who said sheâd do something to me if I hurt her precious husband? Hm? What happened to her?" He said like mocking her again and again, he know she is weak in fornt of him.
Misha squeezed her eyes shut, her body trembling as she tried to endure the pain. "Pleaseâ¦.." she cried softly. 'It hurtsâ¦.." It's was too much for her to bear the pain and burning on her hand.
Her tears streamed freely now, her body trembling as he finally released her hand with a sharp jerk. Misha immediately cradled it against her chest, blowing gently on the reddened skin, her sobs silent but wrenching.
"See?" Aadhiran said casually, stepping back and folding his arms. "This is what happens when you push me. Donât make me do this again, Misha. I donât want to hurt you-not even a little." His tone was calm, almost nonchalant, as if her pain was an unfortunate consequence rather than a deliberate act.
"Donât test me again, Misha," Aadhiran said coldly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "You wouldnât like to see what Iâm capable of." His tone cold and sharp.
He leaned closer, his eyes locking onto hers with a dangerous intensity. "I donât want to hurt you," he said, his tone eerily calm. "But look at what youâve made me do." His words were casual, as though he wasnât to blame.
Mishaâs heart pounded in her chest as she glared at him, her eyes brimming with anger and disgust. Tears continued to spill down her cheeks, but her gaze didnât waver.
"I donât want to hurt you again," Aadhiran repeated, his tone almost patronizing. "So stay away from that husband of yours. Until I get you out of that house and take you with me, you belong to me." He stated like she was his in real but is she.
Misha looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, her expression a mix of anger, fear, and disgust. "Youâre a monster," she whispered, her voice trembling but laced with venom.
Aadhiranâs smirk returned, colder this time. "Monster? Perhaps. But youâll come to realize, Misha, that this monster is the only one who truly cares about you." He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Stay away from Abhimanyu. Iâll take you away from him soon enough. Until then, remember this pain." His tone one of ordering around like.
Her body stiffened, but she didnât respond. She couldnât. The fear had taken root too deeply.
"I hope you understand what Iâm saying," Aadhiran added, a smirk playing on his lips. "Because if you donât, you know what will happen." He trailed off giving her space to think what he is capable of.
His words sent a chill down her spine, but she bit her lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.
"You understand me, donât you?" he asked, tilting his head as he studied her. When she didnât reply, he leaned down slightly, his eyes boring into hers. "Answer me, Misha." His tone slightly rised than a whisper.
Her lips trembled as she nodded weakly, her voice failing her.
"Good." Aadhiran straightened, his smirk widening. "Now go home and rest. Youâve had a rough day." His voice was almost cheerful, but the malice behind his words was unmistakable.
Misha clenched her teeth, her hands trembling as she tried to calm herself. She wanted to scream at him, to fight back, but she knew it would only make things worse.
"It might hurt for a while," Aadhiran said with mock concern. "You should go home and rest." His voice softened, but the smirk never left his face.
Misha stood shakily, cradling her injured hand as she stumbled toward the door. Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to let him see her break down any further, as she turned and walked out of the café. She didnât look back, even as she felt his gaze following her every step. Tears blurred her vision as she climbed into her car, struggling to grip the steering wheel with her wounded hand. The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the turmoil in her heart.
As she drove home, her tears fell freely, her sobs muffled by the hum of the engine. The once-strong woman she tried to be now felt broken, shattered by the man who refused to let her go.
Back in the café, Aadhiran sat down, his expression unreadable as he casually sipped his coffee. His eyes lingered on the spot where she had sat moments ago, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
Roohi woke up to the soft morning light filtering through her window. She stretched her arms lazily and let out a small yawn, her gaze falling on the quiet, familiar room. Another day, she thought, another day spent in the same routine. Yet, a faint sigh escaped her lips as she reminded herself to cherish what she had now.
Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled to the bathroom. The warm shower water cascading over her skin helped shake off the remnants of sleep. She emerged feeling refreshed, slipping into a misty-shaded dress that complemented her gentle features. Standing in front of the mirror, she carefully adjusted her dress, her fingers smoothing the fabric. A soft smile tugged at her lips as a memory from yesterday surfaced-her sister had taken her out shopping, showering her with gifts and affection.
For the first time in a long while, Roohi felt the warmth of family. It was a feeling she had long craved. But even in this happiness, a shadow lingered. Thoughts of her uncle and aunt surfaced, and a pang of longing pierced her heart. She missed them dearly, yet here, with her newfound parents and sister, she felt something she had thought sheâd lost-love and belonging.
Roohiâs smile deepened, though a trace of melancholy remained. Her sister, Tara, had become her pillar of strength. Without her, Roohi wasnât sure she would have found the courage to face the challenges life had thrown her way.
Her eyes shifted to her reflection in the mirror. As her gaze fell on her neck, her smile faltered. There, barely visible beneath the neckline of her dress, was the thin chain holding her mangalsutra. Her fingers instinctively reached for it, brushing against the cool metal. It wasnât just a symbol of marriage-it was a promise. But to her, it felt like a broken one.
A single tear escaped, trailing down her cheek as her lips trembled.
"Aap mujse itna kyon nafrat karte hain?" she whispered, her voice laden with pain. Her husbandâs face flashed in her mind-a face she had seen for only a fleeting moment, yet one she could never forget. His eyes hadnât held love or warmth. Instead, they were filled with anger, hatred, and something else she couldnât name.
"What have I done to deserve this?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible. "If you didnât want this marriage, why did you marry me?" Her tone was filled with desperation, yearning for an answer she would never receive. To him, this marriage was nothing more than a mistake, a business arrangement-or worse, something he didnât even care about.
The questions hung heavy in the air, unanswered as always. Roohiâs reflection stared back at her, the hope in her eyes a bittersweet contrast to her sorrow.
"Will you ever come to take me back?" she murmured, her voice tinged with desperation. It had become her daily ritual, this silent plea to the man who had left her behind.
Even after everything-after he had abandoned her on the very night of their wedding, leaving her stranded on a desolate road-she couldnât bring herself to hate him. She didnât know why. All she could do was wait, though she had no idea if this endless wait would ever end.
Sighing, Roohi tucked the mangalsutra beneath her dress, hiding it from the world as though shielding her vulnerability. She turned back to the mirror, forcing a small smile to her lips, but froze when she heard a firm voice from the doorway.
"What are you doing?" A voice interpreted her thoughts.
Her heart skipped a beat, her breath hitching as she turned to see Tara standing there, arms crossed, a frown creasing her sisterâs forehead. Roohiâs pulse quickened, her fear rising. Did Di see the chain? Did she notice the tears? The questions swirled in her mind, making her uneasy.
Tara walked into the room, her sharp gaze fixed on Roohi. She stopped in front of her, the frown on her face deepening. "Whatâs going on, Roohi?" Tara asked again, her tone laced with concern.
Roohi dropped her gaze, a nervous smile flitting across her lips. "Di, I was just getting ready. What else would I be doing?" she said, her voice hesitant.
Tara raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I can see that. But why are you still up here? Itâs already breakfast time. And why do you look so...... dull? Her voice softened at the end, worry replacing her earlier firmness.
Roohi sighed, her smile faltering for a moment. "I...... I overslept, Di. Thatâs all. Iâm fine, really," she said, trying to mask her emotions with a cheerful tone.
Tara studied her for a moment, her sharp eyes searching for the truth. Finally, she nodded, though the concern didnât leave her face. "Alright. But you know how Mom is. Sheâs going crazy downstairs because youâre late. She thought you might be unwell." She said chuckling.
Roohi chuckled softly, the sound light but forced. "Iâm fine, Di. Just give me a minute." Her face lit up with smile now.
Tara shrugged, though her frown lingered. "Hurry up, then. Momâs waiting." She smiled at her as Roohi nodded.
Roohi turned back to the mirror, slipping on her earrings and fixing her hair. "Okay, letâs go," she said, her smile more genuine now as she turned to Tara.
Tara nodded, looping an arm around her younger sisterâs shoulder as they walked downstairs. Their laughter echoed softly in the hallway, a fragile moment of lightness that Roohi clung to. Yet, deep inside, the weight of her unanswered questions and unspoken pain remained, hidden behind the facade of her smile.
Aranv drove the car with his usual composed demeanor, his hands steady on the steering wheel. His sharp gaze occasionally shifted to the passenger seat where Arthi sat, her expression a mix of lingering annoyance and quiet frustration. The irritation that had marked her features earlier had softened, but the annoyance still lingered, evident in the way she pressed her lips together and kept her focus firmly on the passing scenery outside the window.
Arthi, on the other hand, felt her irritation growing with each passing second. The silence in the car was deafening, and Aranv hadnât uttered a single word to her since they left. Not even a compliment on how she looked, despite the effort she had put into dressing up for this outing. Her thoughts swirled in her mind, her frustration building.
He hasnât said a word. Not even a âyou look nice,â she thought bitterly, sighing as she stared out of the window. Misha and Isha were right-I shouldnât forgive him so easily. I have an ego for a husband, she added, twisting her lips in annoyance, unaware that Aranv was glancing at her.
Aranv, ever observant, caught the subtle shifts in her expressions. The way her brows furrowed slightly, the twist of her lips, and the way her fingers drummed lightly against her lap. It all amused him, and though he remained silent, a faint smile tugged at his lips. She was fuming, and he knew it.
Suddenly, Aranv pulled the car to a halt. The abrupt stop startled Arthi, who snapped her head toward him with a frown.
"Why did you stop the car?" she asked, her voice sharp, but Aranv didnât respond. Instead, he opened the door and stepped out without a word.
"Where is he going now?" Arthi muttered under her breath, leaning slightly to peer through the window, but she couldnât make out where he had gone. Her irritation spiked again. "Canât he at least tell me where heâs going? What kind of outing is this? It feels more like a business trip than anything else," she mumbled, folding her arms as she sank back into her seat, staring out of the window in exasperation.
Minutes later, Aranv returned, his movements calm and measured as he got back into the car. Arthi sensed his presence but refused to look his way, still sulking. She heard the faint rustle of something, but before she could fully process it, a bouquet of white tulips appeared in front of her, held out by Aranv.
Her eyes widened in surprise, the sight of the delicate flowers momentarily stealing her breath. White tulips-pure, elegant, and unexpected. Her irritation melted away in an instant as her lips curved into a soft smile. Slowly, she turned to face Aranv, who was watching her with an unreadable expression, his eyes steady and intent.
"Are you going to take them, sweetheart, or just keep staring at them?" Aranv teased, his voice low and smooth, snapping her out of her trance.
Realizing she had been staring, Arthi quickly reached out and took the bouquet from him, her fingers brushing against his briefly. She clutched the flowers close, her smile widening. The anger and frustration she had been harboring evaporated, replaced by a warm feeling she couldnât quite name.
"Aranv Ji, these are beautiful," she said softly, her voice tinged with genuine appreciation as she admired the tulips.
"Indeed they are," he replied, his tone equally soft but with a teasing edge. "Just like you." He looked at her as he know the truth that she is the most beautiful then those flowers, and though he fought to maintain his composure, his resolve crumbled under the weight of her presence. She wasnât just beautiful; she was breathtaking, an enigma of light and shadow that seemed to outshine everything else in his world. It was as if she had woven a spell around him, a binding force that left him utterly captivated. Yet, he found no desire to escape it-how could he? Her very existence consumed him, filling the empty corners of his soul with a yearning so fierce it left him breathless. Every glance, every delicate movement she made, only deepened his enchantment, making him crave her like a man lost in the desert craves water.
Arthiâs cheeks flushed a deep pink at his words, and she looked away shyly, unable to meet his gaze. Aranv smirked, satisfied with her reaction, and started the car again, the engine purring as he steered them toward their next destination.
Arthi sat back in her seat, the bouquet resting gently in her lap. Her fingers traced the soft petals, and a small, contented smile played on her lips. For the first time that day, she felt a lightness in her heart, her earlier frustrations forgotten. Aranv, meanwhile, kept his eyes on the road, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he stole occasional glances at her, knowing he had managed to win her over, at least for now.
Aranv kept his eyes on the road, his face calm, but his mind was anything but. He stole a glance at Arthi, who was seated beside him, holding the bouquet of white tulips. Her fingers lightly brushed the petals as her eyes caught something tucked within them-a card. Frowning, she picked it up, her expression softening as she read the words scrawled on it.
It was an apology.
Not once, but written over and over, as though he was trying to pour every bit of regret into that small piece of paper. Arthiâs lips parted slightly, her heart fluttering. She glanced at Aranv, who remained focused on the road ahead, his face unreadable. But as her lips curved into a gentle smile, he noticed. He always noticed.
A calmness settled over Aranv as he saw her reaction from the corner of his eye. He hadnât apologized to anyone in years-perhaps ever. And yet, here he was, pouring his emotions into words for her, the woman who had somehow stirred something deep within him. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips. The ruthless man he had always been was now reduced to this-seeking forgiveness from his wife in the simplest yet most heartfelt way.
When Aranv brought the car to a stop, Arthi looked at him with a frown, unsure of his next move. He turned to her, his eyes holding a glint of something she couldnât quite place.
"Get down, sweetheart," he said softly, stepping out of the car. Arthiâs confusion only grew as he walked around to her side and opened the door for her. She stepped out hesitantly, her eyes scanning the surroundings. The place looked vintage, almost timeless, with an old-world charm that seemed to belong to a forgotten era.
"What is this place?" she asked, her frown deepening.
Aranv straightened his coat, his lips curving into a small smile. "Shall we?" he asked, offering his hand.
Arthi looked at his extended hand and then at his face, her irritation momentarily giving way to something softer. She placed her hand in his, and he led her toward the store. Her heart fluttered again, a dreamy smile gracing her lips as she walked beside him.
The store was filled with earrings, bangles, and accessories that seemed to glimmer in the soft, warm light. Arthiâs eyes widened in surprise as she took it all in.
"Aranv Ji....." she began, her voice filled with disbelief.
"Yes, sweetheart?" he asked, turning to her.
"How did you know I like these?" she asked, pointing at the delicate earrings and bangles that adorned the shelves.
Aranvâs lips curved into a faint smile. "I have my ways," he whispered, leaning close to her ear.
The warmth of his voice sent a shiver down her spine, and her cheeks flushed a deep red. She looked away, unable to meet his gaze, while he smirked at her reaction.
In truth, he had spent sleepless night planning this. Over the past two months of their marriage, he had noticed the way her eyes lit up when his sister, Isha and Misha, showed her similar earrings. She had admired them quietly, not saying much, but her longing had been clear to him. He wasnât one for such things, but for her, he was willing to step out of his comfort zone.
"Sweetheart, do you just want to look at them, or are you planning to buy some?" Aranv's teasing voice broke Arthi's trance as she admired the intricate earrings displayed in the vintage shop. She turned to him, her wide eyes brimming with surprise.
"Can I buy them?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief, as if the idea of indulging herself was too foreign.
Aranv sighed, shaking his head slightly, his gaze softening. "Why canât you buy them? Are they only for looking?" he asked, his tone casual, though his sharp eyes studied her reaction.
He didnât understand why she hesitated. The earrings werenât anything extravagant or out of reach for him. If he had wanted, he could have taken her to a high-end jewelry store and bought her diamonds and gold. But Arthi wasnât that kind of woman. Her simplicity, her unassuming elegance-it was what made her different. Still, he thought, if there were rules about not buying such accessories, heâd just buy the whole store to ensure she had whatever she desired.
"Itâs not like that, Aranv ji," Arthi said with a soft chuckle, her voice pulling him from his musings.
He frowned. "Then what is it?"
"I didnât bring much money with me today," she admitted meekly, lowering her gaze as if ashamed of her confession.
Aranvâs calm expression turned cold in an instant, his jaw tightening as he glared at her.
"So what? We have mine," he said in a clipped tone, making her gulp nervously.
"Aranv ji, but itâs... I mean, I can-" she stammered, only to be cut off as he stepped closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over her.
His voice dropped to a deep, commanding tone. "Sweetheart, what is mine is yours. Whatever it is, it belongs to you. So donât make me angry. Just buy what you want."
Arthi nodded quickly, knowing better than to argue with him when he used that voice. He wasnât a man who liked being questioned, and she didnât want to provoke his temper further.
"And," he added, his tone softening slightly, "I have enough to buy you all of this-or more than this. So donât worry about it."
Arthi swallowed her hesitation and moved towards the earrings. As she began selecting, she found herself unable to decide. Every piece seemed beautiful, and the more she looked, the harder it became to choose. She glanced back at Aranv, who stood a few steps away, speaking on his phone.
When he noticed her troubled expression, he ended his call and walked towards her, his brows furrowed.
"What happened, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.
She bit her lip nervously, hesitating before speaking. "I..... I canât decide between them. They all look beautiful."
Aranv sighed, relief washing over his face. "Is that all?"
She nodded.
Without missing a beat, he said, "Alright, then weâll buy all of them."
Her eyes widened in shock. "Aranv ji! I didnât mean that!" she exclaimed, rushing after him as he strode towards the shopkeeper.
"Pack them all," Aranv instructed, his tone firm and decisive. "My assistant will come to collect them."
The shopkeeper nodded, clearly stunned by the order, while Arthi tugged at Aranvâs coat, trying to stop him.
"Aranv ji, this isnât what I meant," she protested, but he turned to her with a calm yet unyielding expression.
"I know," he said simply, handing over his payment.
As they left the store, Arthi reached out to grab his coat hem, stopping him in his tracks. She looked up at him, her face a mix of irritation and disbelief.
"Aranv ji, there are so many of them-more than fifty pairs, maybe more! What will I even do with all of them?" she asked, her voice exasperated.
He smiled, his lips curving into a smirk that made her heart flutter.
"Wear them," he said in a low, husky tone, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. "Every day. And Iâll be ready to see you in them.....every day."
Her cheeks flushed a deep red as his words sank in, her irritation melting into a shy smile. He looked so calm, so handsome, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.
Taking her hand, he led her back to the car. Arthi followed quietly, her heart racing as she wondered what else he had planned for her. She could sense that this day was far from over, and for the first time in a long while, she felt a giddy excitement bubbling within her. Whatever he had in store, she was ready for it.
Aranv stood outside the car, his phone pressed tightly to his ear as he spoke in a low, authoritative tone. The call was important-too important to ignore-which was why he had stopped the car in the first place. His expression was serious, his sharp features set in concentration as he paced a few steps away from the vehicle.
Meanwhile, Arthi wandered a little away from the car, her eyes sparkling as they caught sight of something familiar. She clasped her hands together, her lips curving into a soft smile.
"How many days has it been?" she murmured to herself, her voice filled with nostalgia. Her gaze was fixed on what she considered her treasure, her eyes shimmering with joy.
Her gaze remained fixed on the cart ahead, its tiny wheels propped on the uneven street, and the vendor swiftly serving crispy, golden golgappa to a small crowd.
Arnav ended the call and turned toward her, his face softening as he saw her standing there, lost in her thoughts. "Let's go, sweetheart," he said gently, walking toward her. But when she turned to him, her smile was wide, her excitement contagious.
"Arnav ji, look!" she exclaimed, pointing eagerly toward the golgappa cart. "There! Golgappa!"
Arnav followed her gaze, his brows drawing together in a mix of confusion and disbelief. "So?" he asked, his tone flat, clearly unimpressed.
Arthi sighed dramatically, placing her hands on her hips. "What do you mean 'so'? Let's go!" She grabbed his hand, her enthusiasm pulling him a step forward.
"To where?" Arnav asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He had a sinking feeling he already knew the answer, and he was determined to put an end to it.
"To eat golgappe!" Arthi declared with uncontainable excitement. Her eyes sparkled like a child who had just discovered their favorite treat.
Arnav froze, his expression aghast. "That?" he asked, pointing at the cart as though it were some kind of alien contraption. "You want to eat that?" His tone was incredulous, his disbelief written all over his face.
"Yes, of course!" Arthi replied, her brows knitting together in irritation.
"Forget it," Arnav said firmly, his voice brooking no argument.
Her eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as though he had just committed the gravest sin. "Forget it?" she echoed, her voice rising. "Forget golgappe? Are you serious, Arnav ji?"
"Arthi," he began in his usual no-nonsense tone, "that doesnât look healthy. Do you have any idea how unhygienic street food can be? Itâs not hygienic at all. I canât let you eat something like that," he said, his voice stern and unyielding.
Arthi rolled her eyes, letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Seriously, Arnav ji? It's the best street food in the city-no, in the whole world! You have no idea what youâre missing!" Her tone one of mocking.
He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "Youâre being ridiculous," he said sharply, glaring at her as though she had lost her mind.
"And you," she countered, her finger poking his chest lightly, "are being impossible!"
"Sweetheart, we are not eating that," Arnav said with finality, his tone firm.
Arthi's lips quivered as she clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture. "Please, Arnav ji," she said, her voice soft and sweet, her eyes wide with hope. "Just one bite? Please? I promise youâll love it."
He turned his head away, trying to resist the effect of her puppy-dog eyes. "No," he muttered, but his resolve was weakening.
"Arnav ji," she pleaded again, tugging at his arm like a child begging for a treat. "Just once. For me?"
Aranv clenched his jaw, trying his best not to look at her face. He knew that if he so much as glanced at her pleading eyes, he would lose this battle.
And thatâs exactly what happened.
Moments later, Aranv found himself standing awkwardly beside the golgappe cart. He crossed his arms, his sharp eyes scanning the area as though expecting someone to jump out and take pictures of him in this compromising situation.
Arnav and Arthi stood by the street food cart, an unusual sight for someone like Arnav, who prided himself on his impeccable standards, a top businessman and most of all a mafia. Yet here he was, having given up after her relentless pleading and that heart-melting look she had perfected. While Arthi excitedly placed the order as her smilewas positively glowing with excitement. She chatted animatedly with the vendor, placing her order with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she wanted and Arnav stood stiffly, his hands in his pockets, his gaze darting around the street as though ensuring no one he knew would witness this "scandalous" event.
Arthi stole a glance at him and stifled a laugh. He looked completely out of place-like a lion forced to play among lambs.
The vendor handed over a tray of freshly prepared golgappe, their crispy shells glistening with tangy water and spices. Arnav eyed the tray with suspicion, as though it contained some alien substance.
"Sweetheart," he began in a tone laced with exasperation, "donât eat this. If you really want golgappa, Iâll take you to the best hotel in the city and buy as many as you want. But not here. Not on the street." His voice was a mix of concern and desperation as he tried one last time to reason with her.
Arthi raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on her lips. "Even the fanciest restaurant canât match the taste of these," she said, her tone teasing yet confident.
Arnav sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he realized there was no convincing her. He watched helplessly as she popped the first golgappa into her mouth, her eyes lighting up with delight.
"Arnav ji, try this!" Arthi said, holding out one of the golgappa toward him, her face glowing with excitement. "Itâs so much fun and so tasty!" Her eyes sparkling.
Arnavâs brows shot up, his expression one of utter disbelief.
"You want me to eat this? This?" he asked, pointing at the golgappa as though it were some unthinkable crime. "On the street? Sweetheart, I have a reputation to uphold! What will people think if they see me eating street food? Iâm a businessman-a top for Godâs sake! This isâ¦.. this is rediculios!" Aranv said with irritation as he looked away.
Arthi giggled, clearly amused by his dramatic protest. "Arnav ji, no one cares about your reputation here. Just try one. For me?" Her eyes pleading.
He opened his mouth to argue, but the look in her eyes silenced him. With a resigned sigh, he reached for the golgappa, his movements hesitant as though he were being coerced into committing a crime.
Aranv sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Finally, he took the golgappa from her hand, his expression one of utter resignation. With great reluctance, he popped it into his mouth.
Arthi watched with barely contained laughter as he took a cautious bite. His face contorted immediately-a mix of shock and confusion. He chewed slowly, his eyes narrowing as the tangy, spicy flavors hit him all at once.
"How is it?" Arthi asked, her voice filled with curiosity and amusement.
Arnav swallowed, his face still grumpy. "Wellâ¦. itâsâ¦. great," he admitted reluctantly, "but this is insane! How do you even eat this? Itâs soâ¦chaotic!" His tone grumpy yet disdain.
Arthi burst into laughter, the sound bright and infectious. "You have to let the flavors mix, Arnav ji! Itâs supposed to surprise you-thatâs the whole point!" Her tone was suggesting.
Arnav shook his head, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief he had promptly pulled out of his pocket. "You owe me big time for this," he muttered, his tone half-serious, half-mocking.
Arthi chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, come on, Arnav ji. You survived. Thatâs what matters." Her smile one of winners.
As she finished the last of her Pani puri the two got back into the car. Arnav immediately pulled out his phone, calling his assistant with an authoritative tone, clearly trying to reassert his usual composed demeanor.
They returned to the car. As Aranv started the engine, he called again to his assistant, issuing instructions in his usual commanding tone. Arthi leaned back in her seat, a contented smile on her face.
Arthi, meanwhile, sat back with a satisfied smile, her heart warm with the memory of Arnav stepping out of his comfort zone just for her.
The car began moving toward their destination, but Arnav couldnât resist one last grumble. "Next time, weâre sticking to proper food. This Pani puri adventure ends here." It was like a warning.
Arthi simply laughed, leaning closer to him. "Weâll see, Arnav ji. Weâll see." She laughed, a sound so natural that even she didnât realize how much more herself she had become around him. Arnav watched her, captivated by the way her fear seemed to melt away. She wasnât the timid, cautious version of herself anymore-she was free, unguarded, and he liked her like this. No, he loved her like this. Her laughter was music to his ears, a melody that soothed something deep within him. He sighed softly, his gaze lingering on her, savoring the moment as if it were the most precious thing in the world.
And though he sighed in exasperation, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he glanced at her. She was chaos, but she was his chaos, and for her, heâd do it all over again.
Aranv and Arthi arrived at the fancy restaurant, its vintage ambiance oozing a dusty, nostalgic charm. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to a bygone era. As Aranv opened the car door for Arthi, she glanced at the building, immediately recognizing the kind of luxurious setting he would choose. She couldnât help but sigh softly, knowing that for him, extravagance was always the choice. As they walked toward the entrance, Arthi couldnât shake off the feeling that this night would be one to remember.
Once inside, they were seated at a cozy table, with a dim, intimate light casting soft shadows around them. Aranv ordered food tailored perfectly to Arthiâs preferences, and as she saw the spread, her smile widened, touched by the thoughtfulness of his gesture. But as much as she loved the food, there was a problem: she filled up quickly, especially after the golgappa. She didnât want to disappoint Aranv, so despite feeling full, she continued to eat, forcing herself to enjoy the meal.
As they finished, Arthi leaned back in her chair, feeling a slight discomfort in her stomach but trying not to show it. She caught Aranv looking at her intently, his eyes soft yet filled with curiosity.
Aranvâs gaze never wavered as he watched her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. When she finally met his gaze, he slowly placed a small box in front of her. Arthi frowned, puzzled.
"Open it, sweetheart," Aranv said, his voice low, urging her to take a look.
Arthi hesitated, unsure of what to expect, but slowly reached for the box. Her fingers trembled slightly as she opened it, and her breath caught in her throat. Inside was a stunning coffee table book titled Centuries of Style. It was an architectural masterpiece-expensive, rare, and exactly what she had been wanting for years.
Her eyes widened in disbelief as she looked up at him.
"Aranv Ji..... how did you.....?" she stuttered, struggling to find the right words. "Iâve wanted this book for so long....." Her voice trailed off, the shock still registering on her face.
Aranv chuckled softly, his eyes glinting with a mix of affection and amusement.
"Thatâs why I got it for you," he said with a warm smile, leaning in slightly, as if to make sure she could feel the sincerity in his words.
Arthi was speechless for a moment, overwhelmed by his thoughtful gesture. "Thank you so much," she whispered, her voice soft and filled with gratitude. Her eyes shimmered with emotion, but Aranv only narrowed his gaze, as if to study her reaction. He didnât say anything further, but his expression spoke volumes.
"Letâs go now, shall we?" Aranv said with a sigh, his tone shifting as if the moment had passed. Arthi nodded, clutching the book tightly to her chest as they stood to leave.
As they made their way out of the restaurant, Arthi felt a warmth spread through her chest. Aranv had truly surprised her, and it was clear how much effort he had put into making this evening special for her.
But as they reached the car, Aranv paused, his hand slipping into his jacket pocket. He pulled out another small box and handed it to her. Arthi frowned again, a little confused by the gesture.
"Another one?" she asked, her tone skeptical yet intrigued.
Aranvâs smile widened, but he said nothing, simply gesturing for her to open it.
Arthi took the box from him, her curiosity piqued. As she opened it, her breath caught once more. Inside was a Montblanc pen-one she had admired for years but could never bring herself to buy. The first Montblanc pen she had owned was bought with her own hard-earned money, but she had lost it not long ago, and it had broken her heart. The idea of replacing it had seemed impossible, especially since it was so expensive. But now, this limited-edition Montblanc pen sat in front of her, gleaming with an elegance she could hardly believe.
Her heart raced as she gently lifted the pen, running her fingers over the sleek surface. She felt a rush of emotions flood her. This was the pen she had dreamed of, the one she thought sheâd never have again. She turned it over in her hands, examining every detail with awe.
"How did you know?" Arthi whispered, her voice filled with wonder and disbelief.
Aranv simply stood there, watching her reaction closely. His gaze was warm, his smile knowing, as if he had always understood her desires better than she realized.
"Aranv ji!" Arthi exclaimed with a wide smile, nearly jumping with excitement as she threw her arms around him in a tight hug. Aranv was startled for a moment but quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin gently on top of her head. He could feel the warmth of her embrace, but as she began to pull away, he tightened his hold on her, not wanting to let go just yet.
"Do you like it?" Aranv asked softly, his voice full of tenderness, his hand lightly brushing her back.
Arthi mumbled against his chest, her voice filled with excitement. "Like it? I love it!" Her words were muffled but full of sincerity, and Aranv smiled, his heart warming at her happiness.
Reluctantly, he let go of her, and Arthi stood back, a blush creeping up her cheeks as she looked at him with a smile.
"Thank you, Aranv ji," she said, her voice soft but filled with gratitude.
But Aranv's expression shifted to something more serious. His gaze became intense as he looked at her, and his voice, when he spoke, was devoid of any warmth. "I don't want that 'thank you,'" he said, his tone colder than usual.
Arthi frowned, a confused expression on her face. "Why, Aranv ji?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.
Aranv sighed deeply, his eyes darkening slightly as he leaned in a little closer. "I just don't want your thank you," he repeated, his voice firm but with a hint of something more playful. "What will I do with that?" He gave a slight smirk, his eyes narrowing as he observed her reaction.
Arthiâs confusion only deepened. "Then what else do you want?" she asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to understand his words.
Aranvâs smirk widened, and he leaned back slightly, his eyes glinting with a mysterious gleam. "Iâll ask when the time comes," he said, his voice teasing but serious, leaving Arthi even more puzzled. She thought to herself, Bada ajeeb sa aadmi hai, shaking her head in mild disbelief, before shrugging her shoulders, unsure of what he meant.
"Now letâs go," Aranv said, his tone returning to its usual casualness, as the night had already fallen.
Arthi, still holding the book tightly in her hands, clutched the hem of his coat as they walked toward the car. "Aranv ji, ice cream?" she asked, glancing up at him with a hopeful smile.
Aranv raised an eyebrow, clearly exhausted by her stubbornness. "Sweetheart, itâs late, and the weatherâs so chilly. You want ice cream? What if you catch a cold?" His tone was serious, almost concerned, as he eyed her with an almost exasperated look.
Arthi sighed dramatically, clearly determined. "Aranv ji, I want it. That's it!" she said, turning away from him, a spark of defiance in her eyes.
Aranv stood frozen for a moment, stunned by her sudden stubbornness. "Sweetheart, stop being stubborn. Letâs go," he said in a firm tone, his words leaving no room for negotiation.
But Arthi didnât budge, her resolve firm. Aranv's face hardened with a warning, his voice deepening. "Sweetheart," he said, his tone strict, "Iâm serious."
The two stood there, glaring at each other, locked in a silent battle of wills. For a long moment, neither of them moved, their eyes locked in a fierce stare. And then, as if the moment had passed, Aranv sighed in defeat.
With a resigned look, Aranv took Arthi to the ice cream parlor, and he bought her the treat she had so stubbornly wanted. As she eagerly rubbed her hands together to warm them, Aranv shook his head in disbelief. "Sweetheart, you are so stubborn," he muttered, his voice tinged with exasperation.
Arthi, with an excited gleam in her eyes, took the ice cream and smiled up at him. "And youâre so sweet," she said, her face lighting up with pure joy. Without warning, she leaned in and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before walking ahead, her excitement evident as she licked her ice cream happily.
Aranv stood frozen for a moment, his face stunned. He felt a soft sensation on his cheek, like a petal of a flower brushing against his skin. He touched his cheek gently, trying to recreate the feeling, unsure if it had been real or just his imagination.
Arthi, oblivious to his lingering thoughts, glanced back and noticed that Aranv hadnât moved. She frowned, wondering why he was still standing there.
"Aranv ji, what are you doing standing there? Letâs go, itâs late already!" she called out, her voice filled with sudden urgency. She didnât quite understand why she had said that, caught up in her excitement and happiness.
Aranv snapped out of his thoughts, his gaze returning to her. He nodded and quickly walked toward her. As they reached the car, Arthi, still in a playful mood, grabbed his hand before he could open the door.
"Letâs walk," she said with a smile, her eyes shining with mischief.
Aranv raised an eyebrow, clearly concerned. "Sweetheart, are you serious? Your feet will hurt if you walk all the way home," he said, his voice full of concern. He gave her a stern look, his brows furrowing.
Arthi chuckled softly, a faint smile on her lips. "Aranv ji, when I said Iâll walk all the way, I meant it," she said, her tone light and teasing.
Aranv frowned, his worry still evident. "Weâll walk until you get tired, then weâll take the car. The weatherâs fresh, please," she pleaded, her voice hopeful, and Aranv sighed in defeat.
"Fine," he said, shaking his head with a smile, though his expression remained serious. "Weâll walk, but not too far."
As they walked side by side, Arthi happily ate her ice cream, chatting about how perfect the day had been and how much fun she had. Aranv, his hands buried in his pockets, listened intently, his gaze softening as he looked at her.
But as they walked, Arthi began to slow down, wincing slightly. Her feet had started to hurt, and Aranv noticed right away. Without a word, he bent down and removed her heels, even though she protested.
"Aranv ji, I can walk!" she said, but he ignored her, lifting her effortlessly into his arms in a bridal-style carry.
"I know that," Arnav said, his tone sharp and commanding as he glared at her, his eyes full of unspoken authority.
Arthiâs protests grew weaker as she saw the strict look in his eyes. She couldnât argue anymore, not when he looked at her like that.
After a few steps, Aranvâs guards arrived with the car, and he gently placed Arthi inside. As he got into the driverâs seat, he couldnât help but glance at her, his heart softening at the sight of her, knowing she was happy-and that was all that mattered.
All of you
This is the longest chapter I've ever written!
What do you think about Arnav and Arthiâs outing?
And if you had to compare Abhimanyu with Arnav-well, ahem, what would you say?
Also, hear me out, guys-what do you think about a book on Aadhiran? Ahem ahem
Let me know your thoughts!
Arthi and Arnav outing!.
Have a great day