CHAPTER 71
Paris
“This is our home,” Rudra Raheja declared, standing in the middle of the expansive living room, with Kashish by his side. They had just arrived after a long flight, and the air between them buzzed with excitement of new beginnings.
Kashish looked around, her eyes taking in every corner of the beautiful space.
“So, this is where you stayed last time?” she asked, her voice soft.
“And the time before that… and the time before that too,” he replied with a touch of nostalgia. “It feels like I’ve lived here my entire life… it holds all my growing years.”
Kashish shook her head slowly knowing why Rudra had escaped to Paris, distancing himself from his own family, and from her. This house, spacious yet intimate, had been his refuge when he lacked the courage to face the world—especially her. But now, standing here together, it felt different. It was no longer just a house. It was their home.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe.
“Not as beautiful as you,” Rudra murmured, cupping her face before pressing a hard, passionate kiss to her lips, as if sealing his promise to her.
When they finally pulled apart, Kashish’s gaze wandered to the corner of the room, where a guitar rested. The sight of it sent a ripple of memories through her. Rudra had played that very instrument back at Raheja Mansion. Back then, she had slammed her door shut, blocking out both the music and her heart, because she had hated him. But now? Now, he was the man she loved more than anything in the world. It amazed her how much had changed in such a short span of time.
She touched the guitar softly, yearning to hear him play again. Sensing her thoughts, Rudra wrapped his arms around her from behind, pulling her into a tender embrace.
“The bedroom’s upstairs,” he whispered against her ear.
Before she could respond, he lifted her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs to make love and more love.
********************
Two Days Later…
They stood together before the Eiffel Tower, its towering presence casting a spell over them both.
“It’s magnificent,” Kashish whispered feeling awed of the tower.
Rudra couldn’t take his eyes off her, though. As she admired the view, he kept capturing moments, his camera clicking away. When she realized what he was doing, she pulled him close and took a few selfies, her laughter filling the air.
“Give me some expressions, Mr. Raheja,” she teased, as she tried to take another picture.
“You want expressions?” he murmured, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her cheek just as she clicked the camera again. “I’m only expressive when I’m romantic.”
She giggled, the moment feeling utterly perfect.
For the next two days, Rudra made sure to show her every hidden gem and iconic spot in Paris. They dined at luxurious restaurants, indulging in exquisite French cuisine, but also tasted the vibrant street food, experiencing both sides of the city’s culture. They wandered through the opera houses, explored museums, and marveled at the grand monuments. Paris unfolded before Kashish like a dream she never wanted to wake up from.
“You’ve shown me an entirely new world,” she whispered one evening, her cheeks flushed with happiness.
“Stop flattering me, Mrs. Raheja,” Rudra smirked.
She reached up, touching his face. “This stubble is getting spiky,” she muttered, rubbing her hand over his jaw.
“You don’t like it spiky?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.
“I do,” she admitted, blushing. “But it pricks,” she added with a playful pout.
Rudra chuckled, his lips curving into a mischievous grin. “Consider it trimmed,” he promised, flashing her a smile before dragging her back to their car, ready to head home.
*******************
The next morning, Kashish woke up to find the bed empty beside her. Groaning lazily, she called out, “Rudra… come back.”
When there was no response, she got up, slipping on her slippers. The faint sound of a guitar playing softly drifted through the air. Curious, she followed the music to the living room, where she found him sitting on a recliner, completely lost in the melody he was playing. He looked so effortless, so serene as his fingers moved across the strings. The notes were gentle, soothing, and filled the room with warmth.
Kashish stood at the doorway, leaning against the wall, simply watching him. Something stirred deep within her as she admired this new side of him, and she couldn’t resist walking over to him. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she pressed a soft kiss to his jawline.
“You play beautifully,” she whispered.
Rudra grinned, still holding the guitar.
“I thought you hated when I played?”
Kashish frowned, shaking her head.
“I pretended to hate it,” she admitted.
He turned her around, pulling her to sit between his legs.
“Want to learn?” he asked, placing the guitar on her lap.
She nodded, excitedly. Rudra guided her hands over the strings, and together, they played a soft, romantic tune. Neither of them realized when the music shifted into something deeper, more passionate, until they found themselves back in their bedroom once again, lost in each other.
*****************
The next morning when Kashish woke up, she heard Rudra on the phone. Her first thought was of Jay. If there was anyone who could stir a flicker of jealousy in her heart, it was Jay .
Jay got to hear Rudra’s voice more than anyone else, spent more time with him than anyone else. Not even their honeymoon in Paris could break that tradition—Rudra always made time for work, be it through phone calls or video conferences.
She rubbed her sleepy eyes and slid out of bed. As much as she was enjoying their time together in Paris, she couldn’t help but miss Shekhar and Anjali, and she was certain Rudra missed them too. Most of all, he must miss Daadi.
In four days, they’d be returning to Delhi, and she already knew she would miss this time dearly.
Tiptoeing to the bathroom, she quietly pushed the door open. Rudra stood in front of the large mirror, probably interrupted during his beard trimming by the call. As she listened closely, Kashish realized this wasn’t Jay he was talking to—it was Daadi. That surprised her. Rudra spotted her through the reflection in the mirror and motioned for her to come inside. She walked over and perched herself on the marble counter in front of him, tucking him between her legs, her eyes never leaving his as he continued his conversation.
“In four days, we’ll be heading back,” Rudra informed Daadi over the phone.
Kashish sighed as she picked up the trimmer that Rudra had abandoned. When he noticed, he raised a brow and shook his head, clearly unsure if she could handle doing this but when she pouted, giving him her best pleading eyes, he finally gave in. With a relieved sigh, she turned on the trimmer again, carefully beginning to trim his beard. Her hands trembled at first, but she soon found her rhythm. Rudra, ever the multi-tasker, continued speaking to Daadi, asking if she was taking her medications, attending her Satsang, and keeping her doctor’s appointments. Kashish marveled at how effortlessly he managed to juggle so many relationships with such care. When he finished his call and set the phone aside, she was halfway through.
“How’s it looking?” Kashish asked, admiring her handiwork.
Rudra ran his hand over his jaw, examining her work in the mirror.
“You’ve got skills, Mrs. Kashish Rudra Raheja,” he teased with a satisfied smirk.
His compliment fueled her confidence, and she resumed her task with renewed focus. A few moments later, Rudra broke the silence.
“You were snoring last night,” he teased.
“I was tired,” she muttered defensively, still concentrating on the trimmer.
“Tired?” Rudra teased. “I don’t see you doing anything so strenuous that would make you tired at night.”
Kashish’s cheeks flamed, her face heating up at his playful accusation. She shot him a warning glare.
“Don’t tempt me to cut your skin,” she threatened him.
Rudra laughed, the deep sound rumbling through the bathroom.
“Alright, alright. Continue.”
Once she finished, Rudra wiped his face with a towel and took a good look in the mirror, clearly impressed.
“Mind-blowing,” he said. “You’ve got the job—you’re trimming my beard for the rest of my life.”
Kashish pressed a finger to his lips, her expression softening.
“Our life,” she corrected him with a smile.
Rudra’s gaze softened as well. “Yes… our life,” he agreed, pulling her into a warm embrace.
She sent him off to shower, deciding to surprise him by laying out his clothes—something he never let her do. He was always so self-sufficient, never needing anyone for the little things. But today, she wanted to do this for him. As she opened his closet and started picking out a T-shirt and pants, something fell—a diary. She bent down, picking it up curiously.
“What’s this?” she murmured to herself, flipping it open.
It was filled with Rudra’s handwriting, a collection of heartfelt poetry. Kashish stared in amazement. She never knew he could write like this. Shayari, full of depth, longing, and unspoken emotions. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the pages.
‘Zakhm jo jism pe hai, unhe dikhana aasaan hai,
Par dil ke dard ko kaise bayaan karun?
Woh thi meri kahaani ka har ek hisa,
Kaise main chand lafzon mein usse bayaan karun?’
(It’s easy to show the scars that mark the skin,
But how do I express the pain within?
She was woven into every part of my story,
How do I summarize her in just a few words?)
Kashish’s heart clenched as memories flooded back—of the day he was sentenced for his crime, of the stone she threw at him, leaving a permanent mark on his forehead. This was his way of coping, of giving voice to the pain that had haunted him all these years. She flipped through the pages, skimming some of the older pieces until one caught her eye—one from after they had met again, after 11 long years of silence and distance.
Paas hoke bhi dur hoon uske bina,
Woh hai meri taqdeer ya khuda se maangi hui ik dua.
Koi aake yeh samjha de mujhe zara,
Kya kehte hai isse hi mohabbat bepanaah
(I find myself, yet feel distant without her,
Sometimes you seem like my destiny, other times just a prayer to God.
Can someone come and explain this puzzle to me,
Just tell me—if this is what it means to be in love?)
Kashish’s breath hitched. Just as she was about to read further, Rudra appeared out of nowhere, snatching the diary from her hands.
“What the—” she gasped. “Rudra! You write so beautifully!”
“You weren’t supposed to read that,” he snapped, though his eyes softened almost instantly.
“Why not?” she challenged, crossing her arms.
He quickly locked the diary back in the closet, his jaw tightening. “Because it’s personal. My pain… my thoughts. They’re not meant to be shared.”
Kashish stood her ground.
“Everything that’s yours is mine now, Rudra. Your name, your pain—everything. I don’t want you to hide from me.”
Rudra sighed, stepping closer.
“Since you’ve accepted my love, there’s no more pain left to hide. Everything in that diary was from before. Before you came back into my life.”
Kashish cupped his face.
“But it’s still beautiful. I’m so proud of you, baby.” She kissed the tip of his nose, making him close his eyes for a moment.
She poked him playfully.
“Are you sure you didn’t write anything after we got back together?”
He smirked, his eyes twinkling.
“Once. After I came back to Paris.”
“What did you write?” she asked, eyes wide with curiosity.
Rudra hesitated for a second but then gave in with a sigh. “Fine… here it goes.”
He recited the lines, his voice deep and resonant.
Meri har subah teri ek tasveer se shuru hoti hai,
Jaise chaand ki roshni se raat mahakti hai.
Teri khamoshi bhi mere dil ki zubaan ban gayi hai,
Tere bina har ehsaas adhoora sa lagta hai.
(Every morning of mine begins with a glimpse of you,
Like the night blooms with the light of the moon.
Even your silence has become the voice of my heart,
Without you, every feeling feels incomplete.)
Kashish’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears as she clapped.
“Brilliant. I didn’t know you loved me this much.”
“There are no limits to how much I love you, Kashish. It’s infinite. And it will stay that way… forever,” he promised, leaning in to touch his forehead to hers.