chapter 23
Author’s POV
The moment Rudra stepped out of the mansion, the warmth he wore around Ishni melted into the misty night. The softness in his gaze vanished, replaced by a deadly calm — the kind that made grown men shiver before he even spoke a word.
He wasn't her husband now.
He was Rudra Singh Rajput — the man whose name silenced bullets, whose presence made even the shadows kneel.
He slid into his SUV like a storm entering its eye. The city lights reflected off his sharp features, his mind no longer tangled in sweet kisses or her soft laughter — now, it burned with purpose.
The engine growled to life as the vehicle sped through dark, deserted roads, devouring the distance between him and whatever hell awaited.
And then he arrived.
An old abandoned mansion — cracked walls, rusted gates, vines swallowing history and secrets alike. The kind of place where screams once echoed and never left.
He stepped out, black boots hitting the ground like thunder. No hesitation. No fear. Just ice in his veins and blood on his mind.
He pushed the heavy gate open.
It groaned.
Not just from rust… but as if even the steel knew who had come.
The moment Rudra’s eyes landed on Vipul and his men standing outside the cracked mansion, the air turned molten.
His fists clenched, jaw ticking — not from surprise, but pure rage.
His voice thundered, loud enough to make the crows flee the trees above.
"How. Did. This. Happen?"
His tone wasn’t questioning. It was an execution waiting for a name.
Vipul flinched, his throat going dry. “Boss… we—we don’t know. Just an hour ago, we got word… the goods from Italy—”
He swallowed hard, unable to meet Rudra’s burning gaze.
“They were burnt. Everything’s gone.”
Silence.
But not the peaceful kind.
The kind that came before a storm, before blood was spilled on cracked tiles and regret painted the air red.
Rudra stepped forward slowly, his black coat swaying like a reaper’s shroud.
"You lost my shipment..."
His voice now quieter, deadlier.
"...without even knowing who lit the fire?"
The men looked at each other, terrified, trembling.
“Boss… someone leaked it. It was planned. Perfectly timed. We’re tracking—”
Rudra slammed his fist into the side pillar — concrete cracked beneath his knuckles.
“You were tracking it after it turned to ash?” he growled.
The silence said everything.
Rudra turned his face slightly, his expression unreadable — except for the storm in his eyes.
Then, slowly, he pulled out his gun.
His men stiffened.
“Get me a name…” he whispered coldly.
“Before I start carving one out of your skin.”
Just as Rudra’s fury threatened to ignite the very air around him, Vipul, with trembling hands and eyes glued to the ground, stepped forward.
"Boss... we got this."
He held out a folded piece of paper, edges burned, soaked faintly with the scent of smoke and gasoline.
"It was left near the ruins of the shipment. From... K."
Rudra’s eyes snapped to the letter.
That damn letter.
He snatched it from Vipul’s hands, unfolding it slowly — the paper crinkled like bones under pressure.
His gaze flicked across the jagged, deliberate handwriting.
"You took what wasn’t yours, Devil.
Now I’ll take what is yours.
– K."
The moment he finished reading, something in Rudra shifted.
Still.
Dead silent.
His knuckles whitened as the paper crumpled in his palm.
Then, a bitter smile crawled on his face — the kind that sent shivers down even the most loyal man’s spine.
"So the rat finally crawled out of its hole…" he whispered, eyes gleaming with fire.
He turned to Vipul, voice colder than death.
"Put every informant, every mole, and every contact on this. I want K’s name, blood, and past on my desk by sunrise."
“Yes boss.” Vipul nodded immediately.
“And Vipul…”
Rudra’s gaze sliced through the dark like a blade.
“If I find out anyone from our own was involved…”
He leaned close, voice dangerously soft.
“…then your letter will be next.”
Vipul froze.
Rudra tossed the crumpled note into the flames nearby, watching it burn with eerie calm.
It was midnight — the hour when even shadows sleep. The mansion stood still under the moonlight, cloaked in silence, save for the distant ticking of an old clock on the hallway wall.
Rudra pushed open the door to their bedroom slowly, careful not to make a sound.
His shoulders were still heavy with the weight of the night — betrayal, fire, and a name scribbled in smoke: "K". But the moment his eyes landed on the bed, everything else dissolved.
There she was.
His jaan.
Curled beneath the blanket, sleeping peacefully — her face soft, lips slightly parted, hand resting beside his empty spot.
A sigh left him. Not one of frustration, but relief.
The tension in his jaw loosened, the monster inside him growing quiet just by watching her.
She looked untouched by the chaos of the world.
Untouched by the sins he carried.
Like a prayer he didn’t deserve… yet was selfish enough to keep.
He stood there for a minute — maybe more — just admiring her. How someone like him, born of darkness and revenge, could ever have someone like her wrapped in his world, still amazed him.
Quietly, he grabbed his towel and moved into the bathroom.
The cold water hit his face like ice, washing away the blood, the ash, the venom.
When he stepped out, clean but still wearing that lingering storm in his eyes, he returned to her side — and whispered as he pulled the blanket over her again,
“You’re the only reason I keep coming back home.”
He gently laid down beside her, careful not to wake her up, just resting there in the silence, listening to her heartbeat… the only rhythm capable of taming the devil within.
Next Morning
Ishni’s POV
Suddenly, I felt a strange stickiness down there. My brows knit together in irritation as I slowly stirred awake. Blinking through the soft morning light, I turned my head toward him—Rudra. He was still asleep, one hand lazily draped across the pillow beside me.
“When did he come back?” I mumbled under my breath. I must’ve dozed off before he returned.
Yawning, I sat up and stretched—only to pause, a sinking realization hitting me.
Fuck.
I looked down.
Of course. My periods.
“Ughhh,” I groaned quietly, careful not to wake him. I slowly got up and went to the bathroom, changing into something more comfortable—a soft oversized tee and warm cotton shorts. My body already felt heavy and sluggish, the way it always does on the first day.
When I came back into the room, my eyes instantly landed on the bed.
The stain. A small but very visible patch of blood had soaked through the sheet.
“No no no,” I whispered, panicking. With slow, careful steps, I tiptoed toward the bed, silently praying Rudra wouldn’t stir. I tried pulling the sheet off gently, hoping to take care of it before he noticed.
But of course, the universe had other plans.
A deep voice behind me said, “Jaan...”
I froze. Turning slowly, I saw him already sitting up, watching me.
Shit.
“I—I was going to clean it,” I stammered, suddenly hyper-aware of the redness in my cheeks. “It’s nothing, really—”
Without saying a word, he got up and walked toward the bed. He didn’t look annoyed. He didn’t even flinch.
Instead, he carefully helped me pull the stained sheet off and replaced it with a fresh one from the closet, doing it with such casual ease that I was left stunned. Like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers anxiously playing with each other, still feeling small, embarrassed.
He noticed. Of course, he did.
He walked over and sat beside me, his body warm and close. He reached for my hands and gently untangled my fingers, then laced them with his.
“Jaan,” he murmured, “why are you so quiet?”
I hesitated. “It’s just… I don’t know. Embarrassing, I guess.”
He tilted his head. “Because of a stain?”
I nodded slightly, not meeting his gaze.
He cupped my cheek and turned my face to his. “You’re not allowed to feel ashamed for something so natural. You hear me?”
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupted gently. “You bleed, you ache, and you still wake up like a queen. That’s not embarrassing—that’s power.”
My heart swelled. Damn him.
“And besides,” he added with a playful smirk, “do you really think a little stain would scare a man who’s burned down warehouses and faced bullets?”
I burst out laughing despite myself.
He stood up then, ruffling my hair and leaving the room. Before I could ask where he was going, he returned with a hot water bottle, a packet of chocolate, and warm water.
I blinked. “You…”
“Emergency period survival kit,” he said proudly, tucking the heating pad behind me and handing over the chocolate.
I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder.
“You make it way too easy to love you,” I whispered.
“And I plan to keep it that way,” he said, wrapping his arm around me.
“Okay, so I’m not going anywhere,” he said softly, tucking the blanket around me with such gentle care it made my chest ache a little. “I’ll be in the study room. If you need anything, just call me, okiee?”
I gave a small nod, still wrapped in the warmth of his presence. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, lingering for a second longer than usual, as if sealing a silent promise in that touch.
Then he stood up and left the room, leaving behind the faint scent of his cologne and the echo of his care.
I watched the door for a moment after he left, the corner of my lips curving into a soft smile.
It had been hours since he left, and no matter how much I tossed or closed my eyes, sleep simply refused to come. The cramps had dulled a bit, but my mind? Restless.
Frustrated, I kicked the blanket off and slowly padded toward his study room, the silence of the mansion making my steps sound louder than usual.
Opening the door gently, I peeked in.
There he was—my Rudra—his brows slightly furrowed, talking with sharp precision on a business video call. The cold and ruthless mafia expression sat perfectly on his face. My lion.
He turned toward the door sensing my presence instantly. Our eyes met.
He reached for the laptop, ready to close it without a second thought.
I quickly raised my hand, giving him a small wave and a reassuring smile. “Continue… I’m fine,” I signed silently with my eyes and lips, walking inside.
Without another word, I curled up on the large leather couch across from his desk.
My eyes landed on his phone, resting quietly near the edge of the table. Curiosity tugged at me. Gently, I reached for it.
Of course, the wallpaper was me—laughing. A soft smile tugged at my lips. The password? My birthday. This man.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get more typical Rudra, I opened the last-used app—Google.
My brows knit in confusion.
What was he searching for?
And then I saw it.
Line after line of search history that hit me like a wave I didn’t see coming:
Can I punch periods for hurting her?
Do cuddles help in periods? (asking for me)
Period pain location so I can massage properly
How to be the best husband when she’s bleeding and I’m useless?
What happens in menstrual cycle?
Which sanitary napkins are best for her with no side effects?
Best snacks to make her smile during periods?
I froze.
My heart… It clenched so painfully and so beautifully all at once.
This man.
The one who burns cities with a blink. The man whose name is enough to make grown men kneel. The same man was here, googling how to comfort his bleeding wife.
Blinking rapidly, I set the phone down gently, like it was something sacred.
And I looked at him.
He was still on his video call, speaking in his low, commanding tone. Brows furrowed. Posture straight. Power radiating off him like wildfire.
But all I could see was him.
My man.
I was so lost admiring him that I forgot everything—my pain, my periods, even the dull ache in my back. Nothing existed beyond the sight of him, sitting there, trying to learn the science of comforting me like I was a mystery worth solving.
And suddenly—he was in front of me.
I blinked.
Before I could say anything, he gently placed his laptop on the table and walked over, eyes unreadable, soft yet intense. Without a word, he sat down beside me and effortlessly pulled me into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around my waist.
“Am I looking that good,” he whispered near my ear, his breath warm and teasing, “that you’ve been admiring me for so long?”
I laughed under my breath, cheeks heating up as I tried to look away. “Shut up,” I muttered, burying my face in his neck.
He chuckled, a low, husky sound that vibrated through his chest. “Caught you, jaan.”
I didn’t say anything—just rested there, in his lap, in his arms, where nothing else mattered.
It’s just my second day of periods, and my dramatic husband? He literally took an off from office.
“Rudra, I’m not dying. It’s just cramps.” i said,
Rudra: (pouting dramatically) “Cramps hurt, jaan. And when you hurt—I go crazy.”
Every night, he massages my legs and stomach gently with oil.
Me: “You’ll get tired, Rudra.”
Rudra: “I don’t get tired. I get worried.”
He even showers me with flowers randomly.
Me: confused “Why so many flowers?”
Rudra: “Because even goddesses deserve petals.”
And chocolates? Snacks? Even if I whisper in sleep, he’ll be in the kitchen.
Me: half-asleep “I want chips…”
Rudra: already handing it over “Your wish, my command, My Queen.”
Honestly, sometimes I feel like wishing my periods never end just for this care.
But then again, even without them—he still makes me feel like I’m the most precious thing in his world.
He’s not just my husband.
He’s my home.
Time Skip
Ishni’s POV
I was sitting in my office, surrounded by piles of files related to a sensitive case. My head was already heavy, and my eyes burned from reading too much.
Suddenly, my phone rang again. I sighed, knowing exactly who it would be.
“Rudra… from morning this is the 20th time you're calling me,” I said, rubbing my forehead.
There was a pause before I heard his voice, laced with worry.
"Jaan, I'm just… I don’t know. I feel like something is off. I can’t focus—I’m worried about you,” he said softly.
My heart melted a little at his concern. Even in the chaos of his empire, I’m always on his mind.
I smiled and said gently, “My dear husband, nothing will ever happen to me… not as long as you're with me.”
He exhaled a breath of relief.
“Still, if anyone even breathes wrong near you, I swear I’ll—”
“Okay okay, devil king,” I chuckled. “I promise I’m okay. Now let me work, or your lawyer wife will sue you for overprotectiveness.”
And just like that, I could almost hear him smile through the phone.
Rudra’s POV
After hanging up the call with my jaan, a small smile lingered on my lips. Her voice—soft, calming—was the only thing that could untangle the storm inside me.
But that peace didn’t last long.
Vipul knocked and entered with a grim look.
“Boss, the Italian mafias are on conference call. They’re waiting for you,” he informed.
I gave a single nod, my smile vanishing instantly. That warmth in my eyes turned cold. Ruthless. I stood up, fixing my sleeves.
“Let’s go.”
Moments later, I stepped into my private chamber—the soundproof room where no one enters without permission.
The screen lit up with faces I didn’t trust—Italian dons with fake smiles and bloody hands.
---
Meanwhile, Somewhere Unknown
A dimly lit room.
Swetha—nervous, sweating—paced around the room.
“I... I don’t know what to do. Every time I plan a trap, he escapes somehow,” she stammered.
The man growled. “I don’t want excuses, Swetha. You contact ‘K’ immediately… or I swear I’ll kill both of you with my bare hands.”
The call cut.
Swetha stared at the screen, terrified, her breath shaky.
It had begun.
The storm was rising—and Rudra Singh Rajput was at the center of it.
A sudden knock echoed on Swetha’s door, making her flinch.
She quickly composed herself, dabbing her forehead with trembling fingers. The door creaked open and a man stepped in, tall, with sharp eyes and a twisted smirk playing on his lips.
“You’re sweating,” he said, his voice calm but mocking. “Why?”
Swetha turned pale. “You… Nothing! I was just…” she stammered, trying to act normal, but her hands gave her away—fidgeting, trembling.
“Still couldn’t find the perfect plan to kill Rudra, huh?” he asked, taking slow, dangerous steps toward her.
Her eyes widened in horror. “No… I… I didn’t mean—”
“Shhh…” he cut her off with a chilling smile. “Relax. I have a better plan.”
Swetha stepped back slightly, fear etched across her face. “You… Who are you?”
The man chuckled, the room suddenly feeling ten degrees colder.
“Yes,” he whispered, bending down to her ear, “it’s me…”.
The blood drained from her face.
“And this time, Rudra Singh Rajput won’t see it coming.”
Rudra POV:
I was deep in the meeting, voices buzzing, charts on the screen, my mind focused—but only half. The other half always belonged to her.
Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone. I glanced down casually, but the moment I saw her name, everything else faded.
"Rudra… I might get late today… actually the staffs planned to have dinner together so eat yourself."
I stared at the message for a good minute. What?
Eat myself?
Dinner with staff?
Without me?
I clenched my jaw, earning a glance from Vipul. I subtly turned my phone over and said in my coldest tone, “Meeting over.”
“But boss, we still haven’t—”
“I said. Over.”
I stood up, slipped my phone into my pocket, and walked out of the meeting room.
Nobody keeps my wife away from me during dinner. Nobody.
I walked toward the exit gate, my strides sharp and impatient. My jaw was still clenched when suddenly, my phone rang.
Her name flashed on the screen — Jaan.
I picked it up instantly, trying to mask the slight frustration in my tone.
Before I could even say a word, her voice came through the speaker, soft but stern.
“Rudra, zyada drama mat karo... I’ll be home soon. So you better go home directly.”
I stopped in my tracks.
A small smile tugged at my lips.
Dramatic? Me?
Maybe I was. But only for her.
I exhaled through my nose, shaking my head slightly. “Fine. But the moment you enter, you're not stepping out of my arms.”
She laughed. “Possessive much?”
I whispered, “Only when it comes to you.”
And with that, I turned around and walked toward my car, already counting down the minutes till she was in my arms again.
Time skip
“Fuck... fuck…” I muttered under my breath, pacing like a madman.
It had been over an hour.
Still no sign of her.
She said “soon,” didn’t she?
Clearly, her definition of soon and mine were miles apart.
Was she... having that much fun without me?
I dropped onto the couch dramatically, arms crossed like a heartbroken teenager.
“She doesn’t love me anymore,” I mumbled to myself, glancing at the untouched food on the dining table. “Cruel woman… doesn’t she remember her poor husband is waiting, starving, emotionally betrayed…”
I dragged my gaze away, sighing like the lead actor of some tragic drama.
“No... she’s probably just stuck. Maybe traffic. Maybe one more slice of cake with her ‘staff friends’...” I rolled my eyes, then caught my own reflection in the mirror — looking like a pouting man-child.
Keeping my thoughts aside, I finally opened my laptop with a huff and clicked into the conference meeting I had left earlier.
But not without muttering one last dramatic line:
“Jaan, just wait till you get home. I’m not giving you cuddles for five whole minutes.”
Marco Romano (Italian mafia boss):
“Rudra… always a pleasure. Though I heard one of your shipments from Italy didn’t quite make it.”
Rudra (calm, dangerous tone):
“It didn’t. Which is why this call is happening. You were the one who guaranteed safe passage.”
Giovanni (smirking):
“Are you accusing us, Indian devil?”
Rudra (leans forward, voice cold):
“If I was accusing you… you wouldn’t be breathing to hear it.”
Luca (nervous):
“We’ll find out who touched your shipment, Rudra. No one wants war.”
Rudra:
“You don’t want war. I don’t mind it. I build empires in blood.”
Marco (clearing throat):
“Let’s talk business. The new port in Sicily. You wanted in.”
Rudra:
“15% of all exports move through me. Weapons, codes, identities. I want 30%.”
Giovanni:
“30%? That’s suicide!”
Rudra (chuckling darkly):
“No, Giovanni… suicide is not giving me what I want.”
Marco (after a long pause):
“We’ll discuss it internally.”
Rudra (sips whiskey):
“You have 48 hours. After that, I make my own ports… from your ashes.”
My phone rang.
My heart jumped—hoping it was her. But the number was unknown.
I frowned and ignored it.
It rang again.
And again.
Frustrated, I picked it up, my voice sharp.
“Who the fuck is this—”
“Mr. Rajput…”
A pause.
“This is Inspector Kulkarni from the South Precinct. Your wife… she’s at the police station.”
Silence.
My entire world went blank for a second. My grip on the phone tightened.
“What. Did. You. Just. Say?”
I didn’t even let him finish. I slammed the laptop shut, standing so fast the chair behind me screeched and fell over.
Every cell in my body was burning.
If someone even breathed wrong near her—
If they dared touch a single strand of her hair—
They'd beg for death by the time I was done.
“Vipul!” I roared.
“Yes, Boss?”
“Car. Now.”
He didn’t ask questions. My men followed as I stormed out of the mansion, my face unreadable, jaw clenched, hands fisted.
They wanted to play games with my wife?
They just declared war.
We reached the station.
The moment the car screeched to a halt, I stormed out—doors slamming behind me, my men flanking both sides. No time to wait. No time for protocols. The officers outside recognized me, their spines straightening instantly, fear flashing in their eyes.
“Where is she?” I growled.
“In that room, sir—”
I didn’t wait.
I pushed open the interrogation room door, and there she was.
My jaan.
Sitting on the desk. Hair messy. Her pout deeper than the ocean. Waving her hands animatedly at the officer in front of her.
"Te...tell... d-dinas...aurs...are...pink!” she declared proudly, pointing a finger at the officer, who looked completely lost.
The officer looked like he had just seen a ghost and was seriously reconsidering all his life choices. My wife, meanwhile, was on a mission.
"I’m telling you..." she slurred, pointing a dramatic finger at the terrified officer, "...my husband will kill you all if you don’t agree that dinosaurs were pink and glittery... so better nod and say yes.”
Poor souls nodded like their lives depended on it—which, frankly, they might.
I sighed, massaging my forehead as I walked toward her. "Jaan..."
She turned to me, eyes narrowing like a tiny, drunk detective. “Who... are you?”
I blinked. Did my wife just forget me?
"Jaan, it’s me—Rudra."
She gasped, stumbling back a bit, placing her finger on her lips. "Shhh... only my husband calls me that name."
I stared at her, stunned.
“He’ll kill you, okay? He’s very possessive,” she said, standing wobbly on the chair like she was delivering a TED Talk on "My Scary Husband 101". “One time someone just looked at me... he broke his hand... not mine... his.” She beamed with pride.
I choked on a laugh. “Oh baby…”
“You laughin’? He laughs like that too... are you... my husband?” she squinted dramatically.
I stepped closer. “Yes. The one who brings you chocolates and massages your tummy when you curse your periods?”
She gasped like she had a grand realization. “Rudraaaa!” She suddenly tackled me in a hug like a koala. “You came! I told them you’ll kill them. But you didn’t. Why didn’t you kill anyone?”
“I’m considering it,” I muttered under my breath while holding her tightly. “Just deciding who to start with.”
“Start with the one who said pink dinosaurs don’t exist,” she whispered like it was a serious national threat.
“Yes jaan,” I said, nodding solemnly. “He’s number one on the list.”
Picking her up in bridal style, I walked out of the police station like it was our wedding night—not a rescue mission from drunk chaos. She was clearly enjoying the moment, snuggling into my chest with a dreamy smile.
She wrapped her arms lazily around my neck, her face glowing with that cute drunk flush. “Rudra…” she mumbled, playing with the ends of my hair, “why do you... love me?”
I looked down at her, heart melting instantly. “Because you’re my madness... my peace... and my biggest headache.”
She pouted. “Rudraaaa... that’s not romantic…”
I smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Fine... I love you because you're the only chaos I’d gladly choose in every lifetime.”
Her eyes softened. “Even if I say dinosaurs are pink?”
I chuckled, kissing her forehead. “Even if you say unicorns run the stock market.”
“Wow… that’s very sweet,” she sighed, nuzzling her face into my neck. “Marry me again... but with pink dinosaurs this time.”
“Done,” I whispered, tightening my hold on her. “With glitter and sparkles.”
She kept babbling as I carried her outside the police station clearly lost in her own magical little world.
"Rudra… if I eat two ice creams and then cry… does that make me emotionally lactose intolerant?"
I blinked. “What…?”
“Shh! Don’t argue. It’s science.”
I sighed, walking towards the car...“Jaan, I think your brain is currently floating in chocolate syrup.”
“Do you think pigeons gossip about us?” she asked seriously, eyes wide.
“jaan.… please be quite.”
“But Rudra—what if one day I wake up and I’m a potato? Will you still love me?”
I paused. “A boiled one or fries?”
She gasped. “You’re so mean!”
“I’m trying to keep you alive and you’re worried about turning into a potato.”
She looked at me, pout deepening. “You're lucky I'm cute.”
I rolled my eyes with a smile,
She grabbed my collar suddenly. “Wait! One last question…”
“God help me.... I'll kill that bastard who made her drink".
“If we have a baby one day, can we name it Golgappa?”
I stared at her, deadpan. “Jaan, you need holy water.”
She giggled like a child. “You love me tho.”
“Yes. Against my will, against my sanity, and definitely against logic.”
She snuggled in my chest whispering, “You're the bestest husband ever.”
“And you’re the weirdest wife I’m madly in love with,” I muttered, kissing her forehead.
I closed my eyes. I needed help. Or a therapist. Or both.
Rudra carefully opened the passenger door and gently helped her into the seat, securing her seatbelt like she was the most delicate piece of glass.
“There,” he murmured softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her flushed cheeks.
He circled the car to the driver’s side, exhaling slowly. This night was going to be long. As he settled in, about to start the engine—
Plop.
She suddenly slid right back into his lap like gravity had claimed her as its favorite toy.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose while she made herself comfortable on my lap like it was a bean bag.
“Jaan, this is illegal. Also, highly impractical.”
She gave me a sleepy pout. “But Rudraaa… frictional husbands do it all the time…”
“You mean fictional, baby,” I corrected.
“That’s what I said! Frictional,” she nodded confidently like a Nobel Prize winner.
I exhaled a laugh. “And what do these 'frictional' husbands do exactly?”
“They drive with one hand… hold their wife with other… and look hot,” she said dreamily, booping my nose.
I chuckled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Well, I already look hot. But baby, I need two hands to drive and preferably no human on my gear stick.”
“Rudraaaa… just start the car, I’ll navigate,” she insisted, waving her arms like she was directing traffic.
“Navigate what? You can’t even name colors properly right now.”
“They’re just... blurred versions of real colors,” she mumbled.
I sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if we crash, I’m blaming the pink dinosaur.”
She gasped. “Leave Dino out of this!”