𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐀

Ch21 Accepted by All, Denied by One #3

I turned toward Rivanya and said firmly,

“I need to talk to you. Finish whatever you’re doing and come to the room.”

Without another glance at Pratap Vardhan, I walked back inside.

In my room, I waited.

After some time, Rivanya entered quietly.

“Yes,” she said softly. “What did you want to talk about?”

I stepped closer to her.

“Tell me something first,” I said. “Where is your focus right now?”

She looked confused.

“What do you mean? My focus is right here.”

I took her hand and led her in front of the mirror.

“Look carefully,” I said. “Don’t you feel something is missing?”

She looked at her reflection, puzzled at first then realization dawned on her face.

“Oh!” she exclaimed softly.

“I didn’t apply sindoor. How could I forget?”

The words lingered in the air heavy, symbolic, painfully intimate.

And for a brief moment, neither of us spoke.

Rivanya stood still in front of the mirror, her eyes fixed on her own reflection. The faint crease on her forehead deepened as realization settled in she truly had forgotten to apply sindoor.

Before she could move, before she could turn away to pick it up herself, I spoke.

“Don’t.”

My voice was low, controlled but firm enough to stop her mid-motion.

She froze.

Slowly, she turned to look at me, confusion flickering across her face.

“Don’t… what?” she asked softly.

I didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, I stepped closer.

Close enough for her to feel my presence without me touching her. Close enough for the air between us to grow heavy, charged with something neither of us was ready to name.

I reached toward the dressing table and picked up the small box of sindoor.

That simple action made her breath hitch.

Her eyes widened not in fear, not in shock but in disbelief.

“Rudra…” she whispered. “You don’t have to...”

“I know,” I cut her off quietly.

I met her gaze in the mirror. My eyes were steady, unreadable, yet burning with an emotion I refused to let surface.

“But since you forgot,” I continued, “I’ll do it.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something anything but no sound came out.

I opened the box.

The vermillion glowed deep red under the soft light, a color far heavier than it appeared. It wasn’t just tradition. It wasn’t just ritual. It was identity. Belonging. A mark the world recognized even if the heart resisted.

My fingers hesitated.

Just for a second.

That second felt like a lifetime.

Then, with deliberate control, I dipped my finger into the sindoor.

Rivanya’s breath trembled.

She didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

She simply lowered her gaze those eyes that never bowed before anyone, now falling on their own when I stood this close.

Slowly, carefully, I raised my hand.

My fingers brushed against her hairline, just above her forehead.

The moment my skin touched hers, something shifted.

Her body stiffened not in rejection, but in shock. Her pulse fluttered visibly at her throat. I could feel her warmth, her nervousness, her silent emotions screaming louder than words ever could.

I applied the sindoor gently.

One clean, steady stroke.

No hurry. No hesitation.

Just presence.

Just intent.

The red line settled perfectly in the parting of her hair bold, undeniable, final.

I withdrew my hand instantly, as if staying a second longer would shatter the fragile control I had over myself.

For a moment, neither of us moved.

The room was painfully silent.

Rivanya stared at her reflection, her eyes slowly filling not with tears of pain, but something far more dangerous.

Hope.

Emotion.

Belonging.

She swallowed hard.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked away.

“Because,” I said evenly, “whether I accept this marriage or not, the world does. And as long as you carry my name, no one will ever question your place.”

She turned toward me then, her eyes searching my face desperately.

“Is that all?” she asked softly. “Just… responsibility?”

My jaw tightened.

“Yes,” I replied after a pause. “That’s all.”

The lie tasted bitter.

I stepped back, increasing the distance between us before my resolve weakened any further.

“Get ready,” I said coldly. “Guruji and Gurumaa will be here soon.”

And with that, I turned and walked away.

I didn’t look back.

Because if I had, I knew I wouldn’t have been able to leave.

And Rivanya stood there, staring at her reflection at the sindoor I had applied with my own hands her heart trembling between truth and denial, between duty and something far deeper that neither of us was ready to face.

A little while later, I stood outside the mansion, waiting to welcome Guruji and Gurumaa. They were about to arrive any moment now. I had already sent cars to bring them everything had to be perfect. There was no room for even the smallest mistake today.

Soon enough, the cars returned and came to a halt in front of the mansion.

The doors opened.

First, Guruji stepped out an eighty-year-old man dressed in a simple white dhoti and kurta, his presence calm, dignified, and deeply rooted in spiritual authority. Right behind him came Gurumaa.

Where Guruji smiled the moment his eyes fell on me, Gurumaa’s face remained unreadable stern, composed, and devoid of any warmth.

I walked toward them and bent down to touch their feet, taking their blessings with due respect.

Guruji placed his hand gently on my head and said with a warm smile,

“May you always be victorious, Rudraksh. May Mahadev bless you to raise the name of the Vardhan family even higher.”

Gurumaa, however, merely nodded and said in a flat tone,

“Stay blessed.”

Nothing more.

Understanding the gravity of the moment, I straightened up and said respectfully,