11
RUDRAKSH
Tomorrow is our wedding.
I didn’t really take part in most of the rituals.
Not because I was being difficult, but because I just don’t believe in them.
Shivani knows this about me. She didn’t mind, and honestly?
That’s all I care about. It’s our wedding, and I don't really care about what anyone else thinks. Nothing really matters but her .
But still, I showed up—only for the important ones, though. Mostly because my mom wanted me to. But if I’m being honest, it wasn’t even about the rituals—it was just an excuse to see Shivani. Watch her smile. Catch her laugh; it’s becoming a bit of an obsession, I think.
Maa told me I’m not allowed to go to the office for a week. “New groom rules,” apparently. So yeah, I’m working from home. It’s not as terrible as I thought. In fact, I think I like it more than I should—because every now and then, I get to steal glances.
I hear her laugh from the other room, and my day feels better. Lighter. Her laughter—it’s the first thing I noticed about her. That one phone call Aryan made to her… she laughed, and I swear, I wanted to bottle that sound. If I could tattoo a sound on my soul, it'd be her laugh.
Since then, I’ve only wanted one thing—to be the reason for her happiness.
Tomorrow, she’ll be living here. With me. In my space. And for the first time in my life, that doesn’t bother me. I want her here. With me. I want to see her every morning. I want her things to be scattered around the bathroom sink. I want to fall asleep next to her and wake up to her voice.
But there’s something else too—something heavier.
Her relationship with her parents? Off. The way she barely talks to them. The way her face drops every time she’s about to leave and go back to that house… I’ve seen it. And that call I overheard— I can’t forget that either. It's fresh and a direct punch to the gut.
I have this gut feeling that Ranveer—her father—isn’t just a jerk.
I think he mentally abuses her. Maybe physically, too.
I hope I’m wrong, for his sake. Because if he has hurt her—if he’s ever laid even a finger on her—I swear he will regret calling himself her father.
I’ll tear down everything he’s ever built.
His reputation, his business, his life. And then I’ll end him.
That bastard was supposed to protect her—not be the villain of her story.
A knock on the door of my office room pulls me out of my thoughts.
Before I can say anything, the door bursts open.
“You don’t need to knock anymore, Bhabhi-ji. He’s your husband now,” Aryan announces with a dramatic grin as he stretches out his hand for her, signaling her to enter the room.
“Right, Raksh?” He questions me with his eyebrows rising.
And then I see her.
Shivani.
Wearing a deep green saree that flutters around her like it’s alive, her hair catching the wind from the open window, and damn—it’s like everything slows down.
She’s so beautiful, it physically hurts.
“I think someone needs to ward off evil eyes from you, Bhabhi,” Siddhant says with a teasing grin.
“Why?” she asks, that adorable little frown on her forehead making an appearance. Blush coating her cheeks.
Sweetcheeks.
“Because of the way Rudraksh is staring at you? I think your own husband might jinx you,” he jokes, and Aryan bursts into laughter beside him. They high-five like the idiots they are, and I shoot them both a death glare.
Thankfully, they get the message and slip out before I actually punch one of them. “Get a room—oh wait, you already have one,” Aryan adds with a wink before Siddhant drags him out.
She walks in slowly, looking around like she’s unsure of something. Nervousness, that's what lingers in her eyes. Then her eyes meet mine.
“Hi,” she says, her voice soft, a little shy.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, honestly.
And I plan on saying that a lot more in the future. Because if she ever doubts it, even for a second, it’s my responsibility to remind her just how stunning she is.
Her cheeks flush. Pink. Pretty. Delicate. It’s insane how just a few words from me can make her react like that. Makes me wonder—how will she react when I touch her?
Okay. Let’s not go there, Rudraksh. Not now. But is it my fault? Nope. I’m not a saint, alright? If my wife is going to look like this around me, then I’m only human.
“Thank you,” she whispers, eyes darting away before she adds, “You look handsome too.”
That makes me smile. A real one. I reach forward, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. Soft. She’s so soft. My fingers tingle as I brush them over her skin again.
“Thank you, darling,” I say, just to watch her blush again. It works.
“You know we’ll be living together now…” I lower my voice, stepping in just a little closer. “Will you still be this shy when I touch you?”
Her eyes snap up to mine like I just committed a crime. Wide and scandalized. God, she’s adorable.
“That’s the thing, baby,” I murmur, “I hate when you look away. I love your eyes. So you better learn to keep eye contact, or I’ll just keep teasing you like this until you do.”
She turns red, her eyes still on mine. “That was shameless,” she mutters under her breath, barely loud enough for me to hear.
I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard—but also impressed. There it is. That spark. Between us.
“That’s more like it,” I say with my lips lifting into a smirk. “I want you to say what you’re thinking. No filter with me. Ever. Confidence suits you.”
In fact, I wouldn’t mind if she tried bossing me around a little during the day. Nights, though? Those are mine—only if she lets me.
“If we keep getting shy like this, how's anything supposed to work, sweetheart?” I say casually, leaning into her personal space.
Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn’t look away this time. And damn, she smiles too. That smile? It’s already my favorite thing in the entire world.
“I’m heading home,” she says softly. Her smile falters slowly. Her shoulders go rigid as if she has just hit reality. She tries to hide her disdain with a fake smile, but I see right through her. Right through her mask.
“You can stay here,” I say without thinking. “You’ll get ready here tomorrow anyway, right?”
What’s the point of going back just to sleep? If she wants, her family can come here too.
“Nah, just a little packing left,” she says, her voice barely convincing. She doesn’t want to go. I can see that in her eyes. But I don’t push her.
If I’m wrong about everything—about her family, her father—I don’t want to cross any lines. Not yet.
“Okay,” I say, then hold out my hand. “Before you go, come with me.”
She places her hand in mine, and I swear, it fits like it was made to be there. So small, delicate. Her fingers tremble slightly as I link them with mine.
We both glance down at our hands—like even they’re surprised by how right this feels.
I lead her into our bedroom and walk her straight to the closet. She looks confused. Her eyes look at me and then at the room.
I slide open the wardrobe door.
“I emptied half the space for you,” I tell her, gesturing to the section I cleared. “Check if it’s enough. I’ll make more room if you need it.”
Her eyes shine bright, and she looks at me like I just hung the moon. Her eyes widen, filling with something I can’t quite name.
Gratitude? Hope?
Before she can say something, I put a finger on her lip. “Don’t thank me,” I say firmly, stepping closer. “And don’t ever hesitate to ask for anything.”
Then I lean in, brushing my lips along her earlobe.
“I’m your husband now,” I whisper, “and I’ll do everything I can to keep you happy. In every way possible.”
Her breath hitches. I pull back, just to see her flushed cheeks, the way her chest rises and falls a little faster—all of these drive me crazy.
And then her eyes open—and damn. The way she looks at me—it sets something off in me. Fire. Hunger.
“You’re mine now,” I whisper, my voice rough. My free hand instantly curls around her jaw as I hold her face in a firm but gentle grip. “And I’ll take care of you. Always.”
She nods and gulps down a lump. She says nothing. And she doesn't have to say anything; her eyes are enough to hold any conversation. Those emotions in her eyes make me feel something.
We’re still standing there, caught in some weird time loop, when her mother’s voice echoes through the house. She pulls away, gently slipping her hand out of mine.
And just like that, she’s gone. Leaving me standing alone in our closet like an idiot. Her presence still lingers in the air as I whiff the last trail of her smell that she leaves behind.
Damn.
That smile of hers is going to haunt me all night. I might need a cold shower just to survive it.