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Author's POV
Just then, a calm but authoritative voice broke the moment.
"Ah, Shivansh."
They both turned. A tall, regal-looking man with silver hair and a deep red embroidered stole was approaching them. His posture was still royal, even though his crown had long been passed on-the former king of Udaipur.
"Your Highness," Shivansh greeted him with the respect that echoed his own lineage, dipping his head slightly.
"Relax," the man chuckled. "I may be a former king, but tonight, I'm just another guest at your wonderful party."
He shook both their hands with warm familiarity, then stood beside them, observing the glowing celebration from afar. "You have done well, Shivansh. Your generation carries the weight of our traditions-and yet, you've built something global, something modern."
"Thank you, sir," Shivansh said, a hint of pride in his voice.
"But tell me," the older man continued, his eyes sweeping the crowd, "there's someone here who caught my attention. The young lady who brought in the cake. Who is she? The one managing everything like a queen."
Shivansh's lips parted slightly.
He hesitated.
Because the answer-no matter how simple it should've been-suddenly felt too loaded.
Before he could form the words, Dhruv spoke beside him.
"She's my sister, Isha," Dhruv said proudly. "She helped organize most of tonight, actually. You could say she saved this evening."
The former king raised his brows in admiration. "Ah... well then. You must be very proud, young man. She carries herself with such quiet strength. Remarkable."
Shivansh looked toward the center garden, eyes scanning.
And then... he saw her.
Isha was standing beside his father now, her posture graceful, smile gentle but alive. She looked radiant. Even from across the room, she was magnetic-like a spark in a chandelier.
His father appeared to be introducing her to a well-dressed group-two men and a woman, all dressed in sleek modern couture with subtle flashes of royalty in their pins and cufflinks.
He narrowed his eyes.
And then his chest tightened.
Among those guests, he recognized the face of the man his company had been in talks with-Mr. Kapoor, a powerful industrialist from Mumbai. A major potential investor. And beside him... stood his son.
Young, tall, confident. And worse, he was smiling at Isha. Smiling a little too comfortably.
Shivansh didn't realize how fast his feet moved until he was already beside her.
"Excuse me," he said smoothly as he entered the conversation circle, stepping slightly-just slightly-closer to Isha than necessary.
"Oh! Shivansh," his father said. "You've already met Mr. Kapoor, haven't you?"
"Yes, of course," Shivansh greeted with a firm handshake, the curve of his smile tight.
"And this is his son, Riaan," his father added.
"Pleasure," Riaan said, extending a hand.
Shivansh shook it. Coldly.
"We were just telling Miss Isha here how impressive she is," Mr. Kapoor said. "Didn't realize such grace and intelligence would be found at such party. She's not just beauty, she has brains too. She could probably run an empire."
Isha gave a small laugh, trying to brush off the compliment. "You're being too generous."
Mr. Kapoor's wife asked "btw who are you with," Shivansh said sharply before anyone could speak again. "And she's my friend's sister. She was just helping out for the night."
"Oh!" Mr. Kapoor said, nodding. "Well, the night is unforgettable. We hope to see more of her."
Shivansh forced a smile again, but his entire body was a furnace of silent rage.
Isha looked up at him-smiling, yes, but her eyes? They were playing with fire. She knew. She knew. She had seen that flicker of jealousy in his eyes the moment Riaan spoke to her. And she was enjoying it.
"Well," Riaan added casually, "if we ever collaborate, I'd love to get her perspective on things. I like women who know how to lead without raising their voice."
Isha tilted her head. "That's funny. I like men who know how to respect the silence of strong women."
The group chuckled politely.
Shivansh clenched his jaw.
"Excuse me," he said finally, looking at Mr. Kapoor, "We'll catch up later, I'm sure."
He placed his hand very gently-but very deliberately-on the small of Isha's back as he guided her away from the group.
"Shivansh," she said with a sweet smile once they were a few steps away, "Was that necessary?"
"Don't start," he said through gritted teeth, though his tone stayed smooth. "You knew exactly what you were doing back there."
"I was being polite."
"You were being strategic."
She turned her face slightly toward his. "And what are you being right now? Possessive?"
He stopped walking.
She turned to face him fully, that same mischievous, glowing smile curving on her lips.
"You know..." she said softly, "if Mr. Kapoor's son wants to work with me, maybe I should say yes. After all... you told the world I'm just your friend's sister."
And just like that, she walked away-her dupatta fluttering behind her like a flag of victory.
Shivansh stood frozen.
Furious.
Stunned.
Jealous.
And completely captivated.
Because she wasn't just playing the game anymore.
She was winning it.
The evening was glowing, literally and emotionally. Warm lights danced between tree branches like fireflies in celebration, and the garden had turned into a fairytale-beautifully arranged, but full of life and laughter.
Then suddenly, the lights dimmed slightly, leaving a soft golden hue across the garden.
Isha stepped onto the small stage.
She wasn't dressed like a host, yet she looked like the center of it all. Her soft saree swayed with the breeze, and a gentle smile touched her lips as she picked up the mic.
She tapped it once, then leaned forward slightly.
"Excuse me, everyone... Can I have your attention for just a moment?"
The crowd quieted. Glasses were placed down. Conversations paused.
"I promise it won't take long," she said with a little grin, "but I do need your silence for something... very special. So if you could all please turn toward the screen behind me..."
She took a step back and looked up.
The large screen flickered to life.
The music faded into the background.
And the story began.
It wasn't just a video-it was a journey.
A montage began, not of Isha and Shivansh-but of Shivansh's mother and father.
It started from the black-and-white charm of their wedding. She looked shy and graceful. He, dashing and confident. The camera caught moments that weren't staged-her laughter when her veil flew off, him fixing her bangles when she wasn't looking.
Then came the years.
Clips and photos blended seamlessly. Raising children. Traveling. Laughing together at home. Sitting at the breakfast table while reading newspapers. Dancing awkwardly during a cousin's wedding, being teased by their children. Shivansh's mother hugging him on his graduation day. His father teaching Dhruv how to tie a tie.
And then... a newer clip. A candid one.
The two of them sitting quietly on a bench in their garden, her head resting on his shoulder. They weren't speaking. Just... existing. Side by side. Still together.
The instrumental music matched every beat of their timeline. Warm. Nostalgic. Romantic.
And in the last frame-
"To the two hearts who taught us what love really means."
"Happy Anniversary, Maa sa and baba sa."
The screen faded slowly.
There was complete silence.
Until people began clapping softly. Then louder. Then cheering.
Isha stepped forward again, trying not to let her voice waver.
"So... this evening, this celebration, this entire night... is for them," she said, looking toward Shivansh's parents. "For everything they've taught us about love, partnership, and the beautiful madness of marriage."
The crowd looked toward the royal couple-Shivansh's mother had her hand over her mouth, eyes glistening. His father had his arm gently around her shoulders.
And then, Isha smiled.
"Now... we want to invite our anniversary couple to the dance floor. It's your day, and your dance will open the celebration tonight."
She turned toward them, extending her hand warmly.
"Maa sa, baba sa... please?"
For a second, they hesitated.
Then, hand in hand-just like they did years ago-they made their way to the center of the floor.
The music shifted-something soft and classic-and they began to dance. Not perfectly. Not rehearsed. But beautifully.
People clapped, smiled, recorded it on their phones. Some wiped tears. Some laughed at the way Shivansh's father pretended to dip his wife, only to stumble.
And in the background, Shivansh stood quietly.
Watching.
Isha stepped beside him. He looked at her.
"You did all this?" he asked, his voice low, almost husky.
"Of course," she replied softly. "For them. They deserved a moment like this."
He didn't say anything else. Just looked at her.
Proud. Grateful. Maybe even in awe.
As the song ended, the applause grew.
And just before the next track could begin, Isha took the mic one last time.
"Now it's time for all of you to join. No excuses!" she laughed. "Grab your partners, your siblings, your friends-and dance. Tonight is about celebrating love in every form!"
The floor flooded.
Lights danced again.
Laughter returned.
But for Shivansh... it was her. Just her. The girl who somehow made even his parents fall in love again.
The garden was now a celebration of movement-warm lights above, music swaying through the air, laughter spinning like confetti.
Isha stood off to the side, her hands gently clasped in front of her. The video had ended, the tribute had been received with tears and joy, and now everyone was dancing.
Her eyes wandered across the floor, silently taking in the beauty of the scene she had orchestrated.
First, she saw Shivansh's parents, dancing hand in hand. They weren't trained dancers, but every move of theirs sang comfort and history. His mother was laughing about some joke his father whispered, and his father looked like he was exactly where he belonged.
Then her gaze shifted and softened-her own parents were now joining them. Her father, always reserved, looked awkward at first but gave in to the music as her mother gently nudged him along.
And then came another surprise-Shivansh's chote papa and choti maa a more reserved pair from the extended family, were pulled in by someone younger. His chote papa resisted, only to be playfully dragged in by his wife. Isha chuckled quietly at the sight.
Even the elders of the family-the grandparents-weren't left out. Dadi, her silver hair pinned neatly, tapped her feet while holding hands with Dadu, who for once didn't complain about his knees.
And then came the others.
Arav prisha, always full of energy, twirled someone around, laughing loud enough to fill the entire garden. Aviyansh and ishika had joined in too, smiling, dancing, capturing moments with their phones and still not missing a beat.
Even people Isha didn't recognize-maybe distant relatives or guests-were now part of this wave of love and music.
She watched all of them.
With pride.
With quiet contentment.
Until someone gently tapped her shoulder.
She turned.
It was Mr. Kapoor's son, dressed in a sharp navy suit and holding his hand out with a polite, slightly crooked smile.
"Ms. Isha?" he asked. "Would you honor me with a dance?"
Isha blinked in surprise.
"Oh," she smiled warmly. "Of course."
She placed her hand in his, and the two moved toward the dance floor.
She didn't notice the quiet footsteps approaching her from behind.
She didn't sense the pair of eyes that had locked on her the moment she smiled.
And by the time Shivansh reached her corner of the garden, she was already gone.
Already... dancing.
Already lost in music that wasn't his.
He stood still.
A full glass in his hand. Still.
Until the cracks began.
He stared.
At her.
At the way she laughed at something Kapoor's son said.
At how her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
At how his hand-his hand-was now placed around her waist.
At how they moved.
Perfect rhythm. As if rehearsed. As if they belonged.
If anyone saw them-without knowing names, without knowing the thousand moments before this-they'd think the same thing:
They looked like a couple.
Shivansh didn't move.
But his jaw did.
Clenched tight. One muscle twitching dangerously.
A waiter passed by.
He turned sharply. "Give me that." His voice was calm, but the edge in it could've sliced marble.
The waiter paused, handed over a glass of water with slightly wide eyes. Shivansh took it, nodded, and looked away.
The glass in his hand had no idea how close it was to becoming shattered crystal.
His fingers gripped it so hard his knuckles turned pale.
He. Was. Not. Okay.
He wasn't angry.
No, no. Not just angry.
He was furious, confused, hot, silent, and worst of all-jealous.
The one emotion he despised in others, now claimed his every cell.
He didn't even drink it. Just stood with it in his hand.
Like holding something would stop him from doing something else.
Like it would cool him down.
But then, the music shifted.
A softer tune.
He looked back up.
Isha was still laughing.
Still moving.
Still dancing-with someone who wasn't him.
Kapoor's son leaned in, saying something that made her shake her head with that radiant smile.
Shivansh's fingers around the glass curled again.
A voice behind him whispered-"Possessiveness doesn't suit you, Rana sa."
He turned slightly.
Dadi sa.
Smirking.
"She's not even yours officially. Why so angry?"
He didn't answer.
Because even he didn't know.
Maybe because she was never "his" to begin with. But in this moment, it felt like someone had stolen something that always belonged to him-even if he never claimed it.
And now, as he stood alone in the shadows with a glass in one hand and fire in his chest, watching her spin in another man's arms...
All he could think was:
"She was supposed to dance with me."
She wasn't sure when it began.
That feeling.
That heat crawling up her spine like invisible fingertips.
A flicker of tension across her shoulder blades. A whisper of air, though no one had said her name.
Isha turned her head-slowly-half-lost in the rhythm of the music and laughter, her smile lingering from something Mr. Kapoor's son had just said.
But then...
Her eyes met his.
Shivansh.
Across the garden. Half in the light, half in shadow.
Watching her.
And not just watching-consuming her.
His jaw was clenched so tightly, she could see the hard line twitch.
His hand-his left one-was twitching too, fingers curling and uncurling like they didn't know what to do with themselves.
And his eyes...
Oh God.
His eyes weren't just looking-they were tracking. Every. Single. Movement.
Every laugh she gave. Every step she took. Every innocent touch between her and the man she was dancing with.
Was it really innocent? her mind asked. Did it look that way to him?
Isha's heart began to thump harder. Not from fear-but something else.
Something dangerous.
Something that felt like it was unraveling her slowly in the middle of a crowd.
"Everything okay?" Mr. Kapoor's son asked beside her, noticing her stiffened posture.
"Huh?" Isha blinked. "Yeah, yeah. All good."
But her foot said otherwise.
A single misstep on the turn, and she lost her balance for a split second. Her heel twisted-and before she could correct herself, Mr. Kapoor's son reached out instinctively.
"Whoa there!" he caught her, his hand lightly pressing against her back as she steadied herself.
"I'm fine," she said quickly, brushing her hair away and stepping back with a small laugh. "That was embarrassing."
"No harm done," he smiled charmingly. "You sure you're alright?"
But before she could respond, another voice cut through the music.
Deep.
Sharp.
Unapologetically possessive.
"She is now."
She turned.
And there he was.
Shivansh.
Walking across the dance floor like he owned every inch of it-and maybe, just maybe, he did.
His face was unreadable. His pace calm. But the storm beneath his skin? It was all too clear.
Without asking, he came right up to her and Mr. Kapoor's son.
Without blinking, he reached for her arm.
And then-lifting the light mask that was hanging off her forearm-he said coldly, "You can find a new partner. She's dancing with me now."
"Excuse me?" Mr. Kapoor's son raised an eyebrow. "I don't think-"
"You heard me," Shivansh's tone didn't rise, but it cut through like steel. "She's with me."
Isha blinked in shock. "Shivansh, what-"
But before either man could argue further, his hand was already at her waist, pulling her close with a firm grip that made her stumble into him.
And then, they were dancing.
Right in the middle of the dance floor.
No words.
Just heat.
He raised her hand above her shoulder, spinning her slowly, before pulling her back with a swift tug that made her gasp.
His hand found her waist again-tighter this time. Possessive.
"You're mine." The words were whispered into her ear, low and raw. "Don't ever let someone else put their hand where mine belongs."
"Shivansh-" she hissed, shocked. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
He twirled her again, then caught her with both hands-one gripping her back, the other entwined with hers.
"I don't like sharing," he growled. "Especially not when it comes to you."
Isha's breath caught in her throat.
But the music didn't stop.
So neither did the dance.
Their steps became sharper, faster. Matching the building emotion.
Spinning, pausing, swaying-until-
The music stopped.
Just a soft song hanging in the air.
She tried to pull away. "Enough, Shivansh."
He didn't let go.
"I said let go," she snapped.
"No."
"I'm serious."
"I know."
She pushed.
He still didn't move.
"Shivansh-"
But somehow, she managed to twist out of his hold-her heart racing, cheeks flushed. She didn't look back. She couldn't.
She darted to the far corner of the courtyard, her breath hitching in her throat.
What was that?
What just happened?
Before she could think more, she heard a voice behind her.
"i will handle everything here, you take her with you cause," Dhruv whispered to Shivansh. "You both need to talk. Not dance, not stare-talk."
Shivansh didn't answer him.
Because he already knew.
This couldn't go on.
He had to talk to her.
Now.
Before things spiraled further out of control.
And so, without a second thought, he walked toward her-deliberately, with that same unnerving calmness.
She sensed him approaching, turned, ready to protest-
But then-he lifted her.
"Shivansh! What the hell-put me down!"
"No."
"People are watching!"
"No, they're not."
He slipped through the side of the courtyard, behind the heavy curtain of ivy and trees. The back path-dimly lit, meant for staff.
"I swear to God, Shivansh, I will scream."
"Then scream. But we're not doing this again-this 'running away' game. You and me-we're going to talk."
She beat her fists against his chest, but he didn't flinch.
His grip was solid.
His mind even more so.
He reached the guest wing, kicked open the back door of the chamber, and stepped in.
Only then did he put her down-on her feet.
She stumbled slightly, furious, cheeks burning.
"You've lost your mind!"
"Maybe I have," he admitted. "But you drove me to it."
"ME? You don't get to control who I dance with-"
"I'm not trying to control you. I'm trying to protect what's mine."
"I'm not yours!"
His eyes locked onto hers.
And for a second-just a breath between silence-
He whispered, "Then why does it feel like you are?"
She froze.
Torn between fury and confusion.
He moved closer.
Close enough for her to feel the heat of his words again.
"Tell me. Right now. When he held you-did it feel right?"
"Shivansh-"
"Don't avoid it. Tell me. Did you like dancing with him more than you liked dancing with me?"
"I didn't think about it like that-"
"But I did."
She looked away.
He stepped even closer.
And softly, more vulnerable than she expected, he murmured-
"I see you, Isha. All of you. Even when you try to hide."
The heavy silence of the chamber clung to the air like mist - thick, unmoving, breathless.
The door clicked shut behind him. He had carried her in despite her protests, through the back corridors like a man possessed, shielding her from curious stares, from noise, from the world. But now, there was nowhere left to hide.
Shivansh stood there, hands balled at his sides, chest rising and falling. His mask lay discarded on the floor like the last remnant of pretenses.
Isha was pacing.
Not crying. Not yelling.
But pacing - with a storm building in her eyes that even kings wouldn't dare to face.
He took a breath. Then another. But no words came.
And she didn't offer any either.
Finally, his voice cracked through the stillness. "Say something."
She turned. Sharp. Calm. But her tone could cut through armor. "What exactly do you want me to say?"
His throat burned. "Anything. Scream at me. Curse me. Throw something. Just don't walk away without saying something-anything."
She laughed then. Bitter. Dry. "That's rich. Coming from you. You screamed at me like I was some servant. In front of everyone. You humiliated me, Shivansh. You. The one who said he'd never raise his voice on me, did it in a dinning area where your family, and bulters were there. In front of every one you shout at me for what?!"
He stepped forward. "It wasn't-"
"I don't want your justifications," she snapped. "It was what it was."
"I panicked. I lost control. I thought you were-"
"You thought," she repeated coldly. "Yes, you thought. And as usual, your thoughts were more important than me."
Silence.
For the first time in years - maybe ever - Shivansh Raghuvanshi bent his head down.
He sat on his knees for her, lowering his head, just to beg her.
Not in arrogance. Not in defeat.
In remorse.
His voice dropped to a whisper, like he is begging to her to talk to him. "Please... just talk to me, Jaana."
She flinched.
Not at the word. But at the way he said it. Not as a king. Not as a powerful man.
But like a broken man who knew he was losing her.
"I'm talking, aren't I?" she replied, softer now. "But what do you want to hear? That it's okay? That I forgive you already? That it didn't hurt? It did. It does."
"I was frustrated," he said. "You don't know what i looked like... then suddenly you snatched my phone and I snaped.. I was so frustrated at him and I take that out at you."
"And instead of softly saying, you shouted at me."
"I wasn't thinking. I-" He stopped himself.
She stared at him for a long moment. "Exactly. You weren't thinking. And if this is how you react every time something goes wrong... then maybe we shouldn't be in this."
He looked up. Sharp. Pierced. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," she exhaled, "maybe we need a break."
His jaw clenched. "Don't. Don't say that."
"You want honesty?" she said, fire flashing in her voice now. "I'm tired. This is moving too fast. I don't even know what the hell we are doing anymore. We're not a couple. We're a damn battlefield."
"I love you," he said roughly. "I've never said it before I like, but there. I said it. I love you, Isha. Madly. Blindly. Dangerously. And maybe that's my flaw. I don't know how to love halfway."
Her lip trembled.
But she held firm.
"And I'm not asking for halfway love. I'm asking for healthy love," she said. "The kind where you talk, not explode. The kind where you don't scare the one you love to the point where she doesn't feel safe enough to collapse in front of you."
His face twisted with shame.
She stepped back. "What if you do something like that again, Shivansh? What if you lose it in public again? In private? What am I supposed to do then? Cry for you?"
He opened his mouth. But she didn't stop.
"Yes, I'll cry. Don't flatter yourself. I will cry for you," she said, voice breaking but growing in power, "but I won't let myself break for you. You want a girl who bends and bends until she disappears? I'm not her."
His heart beat louder than the thunder outside.
"I don't want anyone but you," he whispered.
She took a shaky breath. "Then you need to change. And fast."
"I will," he said. "I swear on everything I have. I will learn to talk. To listen. To think. Just... don't walk away from me."
She stared at him. Eyes glossy. Arms folded.
"You bowed your head to me, ansh," she said softly.
He nodded, painfully.
"You know what that means?" she asked.
"I don't care what it means to the world. I'll bow again if it makes you stay."
"It means," she said gently, "you're already becoming the man I deserve."
That's when her voice cracked.
But before the tears could fall, he stepped forward and caught her wrists.
"I'm not letting you go," he whispered. "Not now. Not ever."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't pull away.
The silence didn't stay silent for long.
It cracked beneath the weight of her breath - shallow, uneven - and the soft sound of something breaking quietly inside her.
A sob. So faint, so hidden, it was almost a whisper.
Shivansh heard it.
And his heart split open.
He stepped closer. Carefully. Like approaching something sacred. His hands came up, hesitating just for a second, before they cupped her cheeks gently. "Hey..." he whispered.
Isha shook her head. "Don't. I'm fine."
"You're not," he said. "And you don't have to be."
She tried to look away - she always did that when her tears came - but he tilted her chin back, eyes searching hers. "Don't hide it from me. Not this, Jaana. Not now."
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
But it never touched the floor - because he kissed it away before it could.
"I let you down," he murmured into her skin. "I can't undo it, but let me hold you through it."
Her arms finally moved - slowly, shakily - and wrapped around his waist. Her forehead pressed to his chest, and she finally let the tears come.
Not sobs. Not wails.
Just quiet. Deep. Shattering.
His hands moved across her back with slow, tender strokes, like he was trying to remind her of every calm memory they had, fighting the chaos they'd just survived.
"I don't want us to burn, Shivansh," she whispered, voice broken. "But I feel like I'm standing in a fire."
He didn't say anything for a moment.
And then, he leaned back just enough to look at her.
"No," he said, his voice low, rough with emotion. "You are fire. And you're the most beautiful thing I've ever been terrified to touch. But God, I'm tired of running from the burn."
Her breath caught.
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and whispered, "Look at you. Even with tear stains, with fury in your eyes, you look like the goddess of storms. You're not in the fire, Isha... you are the damn fire."
She closed her eyes, chest trembling.
And in that second - that fragile second - something changed.
The fight didn't end. But the war softened. Like two soldiers lowering their weapons at the same time.
Their foreheads met again. Their breaths mingled - fast, uneven, scared.
They weren't lovers right then.
They weren't enemies either.
They were just two broken kids - full of memories, pride, mistakes, and a hunger they didn't know how to name.
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"Me too," he replied, his hands finding hers, intertwining their fingers tightly. "I don't know what I'm doing. I'm scared I'll lose you every time I speak. Every time I breathe wrong."
She let out a soft laugh - teary and cracked. "We sound like idiots."
He smiled faintly. "Two idiots in love."
And then - without even realizing who moved first - they kissed.
It wasn't perfect.
It wasn't slow.
It was urgent. Desperate. Full of apologies that didn't need words.
His mouth claimed hers with feverish need - not dominance, not possession - just need. Her fingers twisted into his shirt as she kissed him back like she had been holding her breath for days.
He kissed her like she was his air.
They pulled apart only slightly, breathing hard, eyes locked - both stunned by how much pain and comfort a single kiss could hold.
"Isha..." he whispered, his voice hoarse.
But she silenced him with another kiss - deeper, slower this time. And when her teeth grazed his bottom lip, something inside him cracked open.
He kissed her back harder - his hands moving to her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left to hide.
And when she gasped - "Shivansh, I... I can't-breathe-"
He didn't let go. Not yet.
Instead, he moved his mouth from her lips to her jaw - feather-light kisses trailing toward her neck.
His voice vibrated against her skin. "Then don't. Just feel."
She whimpered softly as his lips traced down to her collarbone. He didn't rush. He didn't devour.
He explored.
Worshipped.
Every soft inch of her like he was memorizing a map back to home.
"I never learned to do this gently," he whispered, lips brushing her pulse. "But I swear, for you... I'll learn."
Her hands tangled in his hair, anchoring him there - not to stop him, but to ground herself.
Because for the first time, the pain didn't feel heavy.
It felt like healing.
She pulled back slightly, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone.
"You scare me," she whispered.
"You terrify me," he replied.
And then they both smiled - tiny, trembling things - like two kids finding each other in a storm.
And somehow, in the silence of that small room, with tear stains and unspoken fears between them...
They found a kind of peace.
Not perfect.
But real.
It didn't start with lips.
It started with eyes.
His - wild, disheveled, wrecked. Hers - glassy, stubborn, shaking.
A single breath passed between them.
Then - no warning, no hesitation - he kissed her again.
But this time, it wasn't soft. It wasn't just lips pressing in apology.
It was hunger.
It was ache.
It was every minute they'd spent angry, shattered, screaming inside themselves - now pouring out in a kiss so deep it made the walls pulse around them.
Her fingers gripped his shirt, yanked him closer.
His hands were in her hair, tangled, lost.
Their mouths moved like they were telling a story - not a happy one, not yet - but one filled with broken sentences, torn chapters, and a desperate wish to rewrite the ending.
Her teeth grazed his lips. He groaned against her mouth.
She pulled him in harder.
Like she wanted to climb into his skin, rip out the distance, destroy every barrier that dared to live between them.
And he let her.
Because God, he was just as lost.
The kiss deepened - messier, hotter, like the first storm after a drought.
It wasn't romantic.
It was reckless.
Beautifully reckless.
A war and a prayer rolled into one.
She gasped, trying to pull back - but he chased her, lips dragging across her jaw, down her throat.
Her back hit the wall with a soft thud. He pressed into her, kissing down to her collarbone, leaving fire behind.
"Shivansh..." she whispered, breathless.
"Don't stop me now," he rasped, voice raw. "I've waited too long... I can't-"
She grabbed his face again and kissed him so hard it made both of them stumble.
This wasn't just passion.
This was relief. That they were still here. That after everything - after the shouting, the silence, the near-collapse - they still wanted each other. Still chose each other.
She bit his bottom lip lightly. He growled - literally growled - and slammed his forehead to hers.
They were both panting.
Both trembling.
And he couldn't stop looking at her. Couldn't stop breathing like she was the air after a battlefield.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her lips - swollen. Her hair, wild. Her eyes, fierce. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a dream and into a war.
And he had never, never, wanted anyone the way he wanted her now.
Still holding her waist, he backed off just a little, his chest still heaving.
And then he said it - almost laughing, almost crying.
"I thought I had control now..."
She blinked, dazed. "What?"
He shook his head, smiling breathlessly. "I thought I had control. But now... looking at you like this? I don't even remember what control feels like."
She swallowed, lips still tingling.
His voice dropped lower - deep, hoarse, haunted.
"I just want to forget. Everything. The morning. The shouting. The anger. The way I lost you for a minute today... I just want to erase it. Please. Let me just live in this - this second - where it's just us."
A soft spoken words.
He stepped forward again, their noses brushing.
"Because I don't want to remember the man I was this morning. I only want to be the man who holds you right now."
She looked up at him - her eyes trembling but burning.
And then her arms slowly, quietly wrapped around his neck.
"Then stop talking," she whispered.
"And show me."
The air between them hung thick, laced with all the things they hadn't said, with the heat of anger turned to longing, pain turned to closeness.
Isha stood there-shaken, her breaths shallow, her eyes stormy with confusion and tenderness all at once. Her hands trembled slightly as they pressed against his chest, but not to push him away. It was as if her palms needed to be there-needed to feel his heartbeat, needed proof that he was real and right in front of her.
And Shivansh... he was looking at her as if she was the only thing anchoring him to earth.
Her cheeks were still warm from the tears that had dared to fall, but when he looked at her like that-like she was fire, like she could burn him but he'd gladly be reduced to ash-something inside her softened and crumbled.
"Isha," he whispered her name, like a prayer and a promise all at once.
She didn't reply. Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.
He reached out slowly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingers gentle like a painter tracing art, and then they rested on her jaw. "You don't even know what you do to me," he murmured, voice low, almost trembling.
She was still. Watching him. Daring him to speak.
"I thought I could control it. Everything. My temper. My distance. But when I see someone else near you, when I saw him put his hand on you..." His eyes darkened as his jaw clenched, and then-he exhaled. "It's like something in me snapped."
She blinked, her throat dry. "That's not fair," she finally whispered.
"I know," he admitted, nodding. "I know, and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have raised my voice. I shouldn't have walked away like that."
Her eyes fluttered shut. "And I shouldn't have danced with him. I did it because I wanted to feel seen. Not... not to hurt you."
Their foreheads met. That quiet collision of breath, of regret, of ache.
"You looked like you were on fire tonight," he said, his voice hoarse with honesty. "Everyone saw it. I saw it. And I..." He paused, swallowing hard. "I was jealous. God, I was madly jealous."
"I noticed," she said, her voice softer now, almost teasing. "Your glass was going to shatter."
He chuckled-just a faint sound, but genuine. "I almost did too."
Their laughter faded into a silence that was no longer uncomfortable, but warm.
Then, slowly, he leaned in. His lips met hers-carefully, at first. There was no rush. No pressure. Just the gentle ache of two people finding their way back to each other. The kiss deepened, grew more desperate-not of lust but of need. Of apology. Of longing. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her gently toward him, and her hands tangled in his hair, grounding herself there.
They broke apart just enough to breathe.
"I thought I'd lost you," he confessed against her lips.
"You almost did," she replied honestly, but her hands never left him.
"I don't want to remember anything about today except this moment," he said, holding her gaze. "Let me forget the fight. The shouting. Everything. Let me just hold you."
And she let him.
He wrapped her in his arms as if he was afraid she'd vanish again, and she sank into him like a home she didn't know she missed. There was no noise around them now-no music, no voices, no memories. Just them.
She looked up after a long moment, her eyes searching his.
"Do you think this will last?" she asked, voice fragile, hopeful.
He smiled-one of those rare smiles that reached his tired eyes. "If we keep choosing each other, even on the hard days... I think it will."
She nodded, and for once, there were no more words needed.
The storm had passed.
And they stood together, heart to heart, soul to soul-two broken pieces learning how to fit together again.
And they both are standing in the middle of the living area of their chamber, then shivansh eyes looked at her and his eyes searching her for any discomfort and back step but found none.
Then he kissed her like some hungry person who he eat anything.
Shivansh tilted his head, deepening the angle, his tongue brushing against hers in a way that sent a jolt of heat through isha's body. She gasped softly, the sound swallowed by the kiss as she matched his fervor.
Isha's hands slid into his hair, tugging gently, urging him on, and Shivansh groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her lips. His grip on her waist tightened, pulling her flush against him, their bodies pressed so close she could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching hers.
Finally, they broke apart, gasping for air, their foreheads pressed together as they tried to catch their breath.
His hands moved to her waist, strong and sure, and in one swift, effortless motion, he lifted her, setting her gently onto the side drawer. The cool wood pressed against the backs of her thighs, a stark contrast to the heat radiating between them. Isha's breath caught again, her hands gripping his shoulders for balanceas she looked up at him.
Shivansh stepped closer, his body slotting between her legs as he leaned in, capturing her lips again. The kiss reignited, fiercer than before, a collision of need and passion. His lips moved against hers with a desperate edge, sucking gently on her lower lip before his tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her in a way that made her head spin.
Isha kissed him back just as fiercely, her lips pressing hard against his, tongue tangling with his. It was like they were devouring each other, each movement of their lips and tongues a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging gently, urging him on, and Shivansh groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her lips, sending a thrill through her.
His fingers, still resting on her bare waist, tightened briefly, savoring the softness of her skin before they slid upward, slow and deliberate. The thin straps of her blouse left her back exposed, and his hands found the smooth, warm expanseof her bare back. His touch was gentle at first, fingertips tracing the curve of her spine, sending shivers racing across her skin.
Shivansh leaned in, his breath hot against her skin as his lips found the bare curve of her shoulder again. The kiss was soft at first, a gentle press that sent a shiver racing through isha's body.
His mouth lingered, warm and deliberate, brushing along the smooth skin just above her blouse strap. Each kiss was slow, sensual, a quiet worship that made isha's fingers tighten on his arms, her nails digging lightly into his shirt. He moved to the other shoulder, his lips tracing the delicate line of her collarbone, kissing the edge where fabric met skin, then pressing deeper against her bare shoulder.
Isha's hands rested on his arms, her fingers tightening slightly as his kisses continued, mapping the bare expanse of her shoulder. He paused at the edge of her saree, still draped loosely over her other shoulder, his eyes flicking up to meet hers in a silent question. His handhovered near the fabric, fingers brushing the edge but not pulling, waiting for her permission.
Isha's heart pounded, her cheeks flushing as she held his gaze. With a small, deliberate movement, she reached up, her fingers trembling slightly, and slid the saree off her shoulder, letting it fall to her lap.
He moved to the other shoulder, his lips tracing the delicate line of her collarbone, kissing the edge where fabric met skin, then pressing deeper against her bare shoulder. The warmth of his mouth, the faint scrape of his stubble, sent a wave of heat through her, her breath hitching as she arched slightly toward him.
His lips parted, kissing her shoulder with more intensity, open-mouthed now, his tongue brushing her skin in a way that drew a soft, involuntary moan from her. The sound made shivansh's grip on her waist tighten, his fingers pressing into the soft, bare skin above her saree, anchoring her as he moved to her arm.
His kisses trailed down, slow and deliberate, kissing the inside of her elbow, the sensitive skin tingling underhis touch. Isha's head tilted back, her eyes fluttering closed as she surrendered to the sensation, her hands sliding to his shoulders, pulling him closer.
His lips moved to her throat, kissing the hollow with a slow, open-mouthed press that made isha's breath catch, a soft moan slipping from her lips.
Shivansh groaned low in response, the sound vibrating against her skin as he kissed her throat again, more urgently now, his mouth hot and wet. He moved downward, his kisses growing hurried, open-mouthed and fervent, trailing just above the neckline of her blouse.
Shivansh's hand slid from her waist, fingers brushing the bare skin of her back, tracing the smooth curve above her blouse. His touch was slow, sensual, each stroke igniting sparks that spread through her veins. His other hand found hers, fingers intertwining as he gently lifted her hand, guiding it upward.
He pressed her hand against the wall above her head, pinning it there over the hard wall. The gesture was gentle but firm, a quiet assertion of control that made isha's breath hitch, her eyes locking onto his, a mix of anticipation and desire swirling in their depths.
His lips found hers again, capturing them in a kiss that was all fire and hunger from the start. A low groan rumbled in Shivansh's throat, the sound vibrating against her lips as he pressed himself closer, his body flush against hers.
Isha's free hand tangled in his hair, tugging gently, urging him on, her lips sucking harder on his, drawing a soft moan from her as the kiss deepenedu.
Shivansh's lips left hers, trailing back to her neck, his kisses hotter now, more urgent. He sucked gently at the sensitive skin, his tongue teasing in a way that made isha's head tilt back, a quiet gasp escaping her. His mouth moved lower, kissing along her collarbone, open-mouthed and hungry, each kiss sending a jolt of heat through her.
His hand on her back slid higher, fingers brushing the edge of her blouse's dori, teasing the knot without pulling, the light touch maddening in its restraint. Isha's breath came faster, her free hand gripping his shoulder, nails digging into his skin as she pressed herself closer, lost in the sensation of his lips and hands.
He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin as his lips found the side of her neck again, brushing a soft, teasing kiss that made Siya's breath hitch. His hand on her wrist released her, sliding down to cup her face, his thumb brushing her jaw as he gently tilted her head to the side, exposing the back of her neck. The gesture was slow, deliberate, sending a thrill through her as she felt the warmth of his breath against the sensitive skin.
Then, with a quiet shift, his kisses turned bolder, his lips parting as he grazed his teeth lightly against her skin. The gentle bite was unexpected, a sharp, delicious sting that made isha gasp, her hands flying to his shoulders, fingers digging into his shirt as her body arched toward him.
"Ansh," she breathed, her voice a shaky whisper, laced with need, as the sensation sent a wave of heat throughher. His lips curled into a faint smile against her skin, and he kissed the spot he'd bitten, open-mouthed now, his tongue brushing the tender skin in a slow, sensual stroke.
The kiss was hot, wet, and hungry, his mouth sucking gently, leaving a faint mark,a hickey, that tingled under his touch. Isha's head tilted further, giving him more access, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as his lips moved across the back of her neck, kissing and sucking with a fervor that set her nerves alight.
"Last chance you can go, if not then I will not stop today, I will forgot what control means, " Shivansh whispered, his voice low and rough, thick with desire, but isha leaned in, capturing his lips again in a kiss that ignited like wildfire.
The kiss was fierce from the start, a desperate, all-consuming collision of lips and tongues that felt like they were trying to devour each other. His lips pressed hard against hers, sucking hungrily on her lower lip, tugging it lightly before his tongue plunged into her mouth, bold and unrelenting. Isha responded with equal fervor, her lips crashing against his, tongue tangling with his in a wild, heated dance that left no room for thought, onlysensation.
"Jaana," he murmured into the kiss, the sound muffled as his lips moved against hers, his tongue sweeping deep, tasting her with a hunger that made her head spin. Isha's hands tightened in his hair, pulling him closer, her lips sucking hard on his, matching his intensity as she kissed him back with a desperate need.
Isha moaned softly in response, the sound swallowed by the kiss as her lips sucked on his, her tongue teasing his in a way that drew another groan from him.
Shivansh move back a little to look at her but as his eyes flickered across the delicate expanse of her skin, the faint trail of his kisses, the marks he'd unknowingly left, he paused. A slow smirk crept over his face.
"You are looking beautiful with my art on you, " he whispered, voice deep and low as his gaze lingered with open admiration. Isha look at him in confusion.
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