52
SHIVANI
I bury my face in Rudraksh’s chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. His arms are strong and warm around me, holding me close like I belong there. I close my eyes and inhale his scent—it’s a mix of his cologne and the familiar musk of his skin. This is what home feels like.
"Did you know?" I whisper, my voice barely audible. "You're the first guy to ever touch me." It’s not just about the physical touch. It’s the emotional weight behind it. The safety. The intention. Dr. Mehta told me in one of her therapy sessions that the people who used me without consent don’t matter. That they don’t deserve a space in my story if I don't want them in it.
So I will only keep the ones who love me; they truly get to stay.
Though my therapy isn't completed yet—I attend the session twice a week. Rudra always makes sure that I am comfortable before and after the session.
Dr. Mehta made me understand so many things about the trauma I went through. I am so grateful to her, because now I know that this happiness is mine and only mine. My past shouldn't hold me back from embracing my happiness. And that was happening because I was letting it happen—not anymore.
Rudraksh pulls back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes. There’s so much tenderness in his gaze it makes my chest ache. "So, I’m considering this as my teenage love," I tell him softly. "I’m just in my twenties anyway."
He smiles at that, shaking his head. "But there's a problem," I continue.
I watch the way his brow immediately creases.
That little concerned frown he does—it gets me every time.
Before he can ask, I continue, "You give me butterflies in my stomach so easily.
What can I do to give you that same feeling? "
I read it on the internet while researching for one of the books I am writing, and apparently butterflies in my stomach actually means anxiety.
But I don't believe it. It’s not anxiety—I know the difference.
Anxiety feels like a storm, heavy and choking, but this…
this is light. A flutter full of warmth.
Like tiny wings brushing against the inside of my stomach every time Rudraksh looks at me like I matter, like I’m his entire world.
These butterflies aren’t fear; they’re anticipation. Hope. That makes you crave more.
Rudraksh’s frown softens into a small, warm smile. He brushes a loose strand of hair from my face, his fingertips trailing lightly across my skin. It sends a shiver right down my spine.
"You don’t have to do anything," he whispers.
A frown covers up my face. "What do you mean? I have to do something," I insist, sitting up a little.
"Nope." He shakes his head, his tone light but firm. "Every time I see you, I feel that way. Whether you’re sleeping with your hair all messy, wearing mismatched pajama pants and my shirt... you still give me butterflies. You’re the cutest, most beautiful, most amazing person I’ve ever known."
My heart flutters at his words, warm and tingly and full. It’s like someone’s pouring sunlight into my chest.
"You really think that?" I ask, a smile already tugging at the corners of my mouth even before I finish the sentence.
Rudraksh grins, his eyes twinkling. "Of course I do," he admits, his voice full of warmth, tugging me closer. "I love seeing you in my clothes, all messy and adorable. It's like my own personal brand of cuteness overload."
I laugh. And then he adds, "And more than that, you turn me into a teenage girl. I want to squeal and giggle when you're around. It's fucking ridiculous."
A giggle erupts from my mouth and soon turns into full-blown laughter. "I think it's hilarious."
"Oh yeah? You find it hilarious?" He asks, and before I can blink, he pins me down on the bed. His body hovers over mine, eyes gleaming with playful challenge.
"Let me show you—wait—" I gasp, laughing, and push him back. He falls onto the bed beside me, his expression caught between surprise and amusement.
"That would make a good scene for my next book!" I say, jumping off the bed and rushing to grab my diary. My brain is already racing with ideas.
"Are you kidding me?" He groans from behind me. Amusement lacing his voice.
“Just a moment!" I call over my shoulder, scribbling furiously. I can practically feel his eyes on me, equal parts amused and exasperated.
"You just killed the mood, you know that?" He mutters when I finally look back.
I giggle and hop back onto the bed beside him. "You know, you're going to owe me big time for being your muse," he beams, grinning.
I lean in and peck his lips lightly. Rudra responds instantly, deepening the kiss.
His lips are warm, insistent, and full of tender urgency.
It’s not rushed. It’s like he’s pouring every unspoken feeling into that moment.
I melt into him, letting him cradle my face, our bodies aligning in a quiet rhythm.
"I love you," I breathe out against his lips.
He kisses the tip of my nose. Then my eyes. My cheeks. His beard tickles my face.
"Stop it," I giggle, squirming. "You're tickling me."
He laughs and pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me protectively. There’s silence for a moment, the kind that feels safe and soft.
"If you were a number, what number would you be?" I ask, voice muffled against his shirt.
He groans into my hair. "Please don't tell me you have an answer for that."
I swat his chest, laughing. "Shut up! I just feel like everyone relates to a number. Like... a number that represents who we are—our values, our strength."
He hums, thinking. Or pretending to. "I don't know about me, but you would definitely be a ten. Because you're a ten."
I grin, rolling my eyes at his flirty tone. A smile lingers on my face as I tell him. "And you would be the ‘one'. Because you're the one."
Rudraksh’s eyes widen slightly, and I swear he flushes just a little. He tries to hide it, but I see it—the faint pink dusting his cheeks, neck, and ear tips.
"Oh, shut up," he grumbles and looks away, trying to hide himself. "That was disgustingly cheesy, you know that?"
"What can we do? You started it." I nudge him.
He sits up slightly, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Oh, I’ve got another one. Go and grab your damn diary. Add this one in too."
I raise a brow, already laughing. "Oh no. What now?"
He leans in, pretending to peer into my imaginary notebook. "If I were to pick a number for you, it would be infinity. Because that's how long I want to be with you."
I blink, caught off guard. My heart actually skips. "That’s... actually really good, Rudra."
"Just don’t forget to give me credit when your book becomes a bestseller." We both burst out laughing. God, I love this. I love him. This little us.
"I mean it, though," he says, quieter this time. "Every word I said just now."
"Okay, fine. I’ll give you the credit," I tease, swatting his arm again.
"No, Shivani," he says, more seriously now. He takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. "I mean that I do want to be with you. Forever."
My chest tightens, my throat a little too thick to speak for a second.
"I love you, Rudraksh," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion.
He just smiles and holds me closer. Like there’s nowhere else either of us would rather be. And that's true.