⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔𝟏˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
Ritvika's sobs slowly faded into uneven breaths.
She stayed curled against Vidyut, his hand still moving through her hair, slow and grounding. When he felt her body relax, he leaned back just enough to look at her.
Her eyes were swollen, lashes clumped with tears, nose slightly red.
Vidyut lifted a hand and brushed his thumb gently under her eye, wiping away the last tear that slipped down.
"There," he murmured. "Storm over."
She did not reply, just stared at him, exhausted.
He bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. It was not rushed, not dramatic. Just warm and steady, like a promise.
"You scared me," she whispered finally.
He huffed lightly. "Says the woman who just gave me a lifetime worth of heart attacks in ten minutes."
That made her blink.
"You were crying like I told you I am sending you away forever," he continued, his tone gentle but teasing. "At one point, I thought I should call a doctor for myself."
She looked at him for a second, then frowned weakly. "You are terrible."
"Very," he agreed easily. "And still I'm your husband."
Her lips twitched despite herself.
He noticed it instantly.
"There," he said, pointing at her face. "That. I like that version more."
She tried to suppress it, but a tiny smile slipped out.
"I look horrible," she said, touching her cheek self consciously.
He tilted his head, inspecting her seriously. "Red nose. Puffy eyes. Hair everywhere."
She groaned and turned her face away.
"And still," he added, placing a finger under her chin and gently turning her back to him, "unfairly pretty."
She slapped his arm lightly. "Do not lie."
"I never lie," he said calmly. "I exaggerate sometimes."
That earned him a small laugh, soft and broken but real.
He leaned back on the bed, relaxing beside her. "Now," he said, "you are officially done crying for the day."
She raised an eyebrow. "And if I cry again."
"I will remind you," he replied, "that you still owe me one peaceful evening."
She shook her head faintly. "You are unbelievable."
"You are married to unbelievable," he corrected.
She glanced toward Tara sleeping peacefully on the bed, then back at him.
"Stay," she said quietly.
He did not even hesitate. He lay down beside her and pulled the blanket up, tucking it around both of them carefully.
"I am not going anywhere," he said.
Ritvika rested her head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, calmer now, steadier.
Vidyut felt her shift slightly against him.
"But Vidyut..." she said softly, looking up at him. "Why suddenly?"
He exhaled, already prepared for this.
"It is not sudden," he replied calmly. "And it is not happening right now either. This is only a possibility, not a decision written in stone."
She watched his face carefully.
"If everything stays stable, if the medicines continue to work the way they should," he continued, keeping his voice steady, "then maybe we will not need it at all. I told you only because you deserve to know. Nothing else."
Ritvika processed his words slowly.
Then she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered.
Relief loosened something in his chest.
Silence settled for a few seconds. Too quiet.
Then suddenly she spoke again.
"Vidyut..."
"Yes."
"I missed Tara's birthday," she said, her lips pouting without her even realizing it. "And mine too."
He looked down.
Really looked.
The pout. The slightly scrunched nose. The soft complaint in her voice, like she was accusing the universe of being unfair.
He cleared his throat and looked away deliberately.
"Hmm," he hummed, pretending to think. "So what do you want, hmm?"
Her eyes lit up just a little. "Can we... celebrate?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Both birthdays?"
She nodded quickly. "Together."
He tilted his head, amused. "You are very demanding for someone who just cried for an hour."
"I had a valid reason," she defended.
"I am sure you did," he said dryly, then looked back at her. "And what exactly does madam want for this birthday celebration."
She thought for a moment, then smiled softly.
"Nothing big," she said. "Just... you, Tara, cake. At home."
He studied her face.
"That is it?" he asked.
She nodded. "That is more than enough."
His expression softened.
"Fine," he said finally. "But do not think you are getting out of this easy."
She frowned instantly. "What does that mean."
"It means," he replied, leaning back slightly, "I get to choose the cake."
Her eyes lit up. "Okay. Strawberry."
He blinked. Once.
"No," he said flatly. "Chocolate."
She stared at him like he had committed a crime. "Why chocolate."
"Because I like chocolate."
"But it is my birthday too," she protested, lips forming that familiar pout again. "Strawberry is my favorite."
"And I am the one arranging it," he countered calmly. "So chocolate."
She crossed her arms. "No."
"No?" he repeated, amused.
"No," she said firmly. "Strawberry."
He watched her for a few seconds, pretending to weigh his options, then sighed dramatically.
"Fine," he said at last. "Strawberry."
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
"Yes," he added quickly, pointing a finger at her. "But only because I am a very generous husband."
She grinned, instantly victorious. "Thank you."
"And," he continued, "next year the cake will be chocolate."
She leaned closer, smiling mischievously. "We will discuss that next year."
He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips, and pulled her closer again—already knowing he had lost the argument the moment she pouted.
Two days later.
Vidyut came home later than usual, his footsteps soft as he entered the room. The sight in front of him slowed him down instantly.
Ritvika was sitting on the bed, Tara between her legs, a notebook spread open. Tara was holding a pencil with dramatic seriousness while Ritvika patiently guided her tiny fingers.
"No, sweetheart, this is A," Ritvika said gently. "See, one mountain, then another."
Tara squinted at the page, then at Ritvika. "A," she repeated proudly, as if she had just solved a great mystery.
Vidyut leaned against the doorframe, watching them. For a moment, he forgot the weight of the day.
Ritvika noticed him and smiled. "You are back."
She got up, brought him a glass of water, and handed it to him. He took it, drinking slowly.
"I have a surprise for you," he said casually.
Her reaction was instant.
Her eyes widened, her lips parted, and her whole face lit up. "A surprise? What surprise?" she asked eagerly. "Tell me."
He smiled, reached into his bag, and took out a card. He held it out to her.
Ritvika blinked and took it. "For me?"
"For us," he corrected gently.
She opened the card.
Her smile slowly faded—not because of sadness, but shock.
Her eyes moved over the words again and again.
"Reception..." she whispered.
She looked up at him, stunned. "Vidyut... this is—"
"Our reception," he said calmly. "The one we never had."
Her throat tightened. "But... why now."
"Because you deserve it," he replied simply. "You deserve to be welcomed properly. To be celebrated. To be introduced as my wife to the world."
Tara peeked at the card. "Pretty paper," she declared.
Ritvika barely heard her.
"You planned all this without telling me," she said, voice soft.
"I wanted to see this face," he admitted. "This exact expression."
Ritvika's excitement lingered for a few seconds longer... then slowly, almost imperceptibly, her smile faded.
Vidyut noticed it immediately.
He straightened, concern flashing across his face. "What happened?"
She did not look at him.
"Do you not want it?" he asked carefully. "It is okay, Ritvika. We can cancel it. Right now."
She shook her head quickly. "No. No, I want it."
"Then what is it?" His voice softened. He stepped closer. "Talk to me."
She swallowed and clasped the reception card tighter in her hands.
"At the reception... there will be so many people," she said quietly.
"So what," he replied without hesitation.
She took a slow breath, eyes dropping to the floor. "I mean... I was a single mother. Widowed." Her voice trembled slightly. "People will ask questions. They will whisper. They will look at me like I am something to discuss."
Her fingers curled into the card. "I do not want you to feel embarrassed because of me."
That did it.
Vidyut moved closer, gently lifting her chin until she was forced to look at him.
"Listen to me," he said, firm but calm. "If anyone dares to question you, they will be questioning me."
Her eyes filled. "You know how people are."
"I know," he replied. "And that is exactly why this reception is happening."
She frowned slightly, confused.
"I am not doing this to impress anyone," he continued. "I am doing this to make one thing clear. You are my wife. Tara is my daughter. Your past is not something to hide."
She shook her head faintly. "They will talk."
"Let them," he said. "They talked when you survived. They talked when you stood back up. They talked when you chose to live. And you are still here."
He paused, his voice dropping lower. "I am proud of you."
Her breath hitched.
"You did not come with baggage," he added. "You came with strength. Anyone who cannot see that does not matter."
Tears slipped down her cheeks now. "I am scared."
He pulled her gently into his arms, resting his forehead against hers. "You do not have to face anyone alone. Not now. Not ever."
She clutched his shirt, voice muffled. "Promise?"
"I promise," he said without a second of doubt. "And if you want, I will stand beside you the entire evening and glare at anyone who even blinks wrong."
A small, watery smile appeared. "You will scare people."
"That is the plan."
She let out a soft laugh through her tears.
"And Ritvika," he added quietly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "You are not something people get to judge. You are someone people get to witness."
Her eyes softened completely.
And just like that, the fear loosened its grip, replaced by something warmer. Safer.
Night had settled quietly over the house, but sleep refused to come to her.
Ritvika lay still beside him, eyes open, staring at nothing. Vidyut noticed it long before she thought he would. The way her breathing was uneven. The way she shifted ever so slightly, again and again.
Without saying anything, he adjusted her gently, pulling her closer. Tara was not between them tonight—she was sleeping with Aarush—so there was no space to hesitate.
Ritvika instinctively rested her head against his chest.
His hand came up, slow and familiar, fingers moving through her hair in steady strokes. Calming. Grounding.
"What are you thinking?" he murmured.
She stayed quiet for a few seconds, listening to his heartbeat.
"Our reception is finalized," she finally said softly. "After three days."
He hummed in response, low and reassuring, his hand never stopping.
She swallowed.
"And..." Her voice wavered. "People will be there."
"Yes."
She shifted slightly, her fingers curling into his shirt. "They will look at Tara."
His hand paused for just a fraction of a second.
"And they will say she is not your biological daughter."
The air changed.
Vidyut's chest rose sharply beneath her cheek.
He did not raise his voice. He did not push her away. But when he spoke, the firmness in his tone made her stiffen.
"I hope this is the last time you ever say this," he said.
Ritvika lifted her head slightly, startled.
He looked down at her, eyes dark, unflinching. "I do not want to hear this again. Not from anyone. And especially not from you."
Her lips parted. "Vidyut, I did not mean—"
"Listen to me," he interrupted, controlled but intense. "Tara is my daughter. Blood or not does not change that."
He placed a hand over his heart. "She is mine here. And that matters more than anything else."
Ritvika's eyes filled instantly.
"And you," he continued, his voice softening just a little, "are my wife. Not because of society, not because of ceremonies, not because of what people accept."
His thumb brushed a tear from her cheek. "You are my wife because I chose you. Every day."
Her breath broke.
"Do not ever make my daughter or yourself smaller in my life," he said quietly. "You both are the center of it."
She nodded, tears slipping freely now. "I am scared," she whispered.
He pulled her back against his chest, holding her tighter this time. "Then be scared here. With me."
Her hands clutched him as if he was the only solid thing left.
"I am not going anywhere," he added. "And neither is Tara. Anyone who cannot accept that does not belong in our world."
Slowly, her breathing evened out.
His fingers continued to move through her hair, steady and patient, until her body finally relaxed against him.
By the time sleep claimed her, she was no longer trembling.
And Vidyut stayed awake a little longer, staring into the dark, already prepared to stand against the entire world—if that is what it took to protect the two people breathing softly in his life.
Reception day had finally arrived.
And somehow, after all the planning, fittings, approvals, and trials... Ritvika was not satisfied.
Not even a little.
She stood in the middle of the room surrounded by garment bags, hangers, fabric swatches, and a visibly nervous designer who had already shown her many options.
Too pastel.
Too dull.
Too heavy.
Too loud.
None of them felt right.
Vidyut was seated on the couch, calm as ever, watching the scene unfold with mild amusement. He knew this look on her face—the furrowed brows, the slightly pursed lips, the way she tilted her head while evaluating each outfit like her life depended on it.
This was not about fashion.
This was about feeling right.
Ritvika sighed and turned away from another rejected saree when her eyes suddenly caught something hanging slightly apart from the rest.
Golden.
Not loud gold. Not flashy. But a deep, shimmery, warm gold that caught the light softly, almost glowing.
She walked toward it slowly, fingers brushing the fabric.
Her expression changed.
"This," she murmured.
The designer immediately straightened. "Yes, ma'am. That one is a hand-worked golden shimmery saree. Heavy, but balanced."
Ritvika didn't even reply. She had already lifted it, holding it up against herself, imagining.
Then her eyes shifted—another garment bag beside it.
A tiny golden gown.
For Tara.
Ritvika's lips parted in a smile that reached her eyes.
She turned around sharply, excitement lighting up her entire face.
"Vidyut," she called.
He looked up.
And then actually stood up when he saw what she was holding.
She walked toward him, almost bouncing, holding the saree out in front of her like a child showing a prized possession.
"Look," she said softly, but her eyes were sparkling. "This one."
He glanced at the saree. Then at the tiny gown. Then back at her.
"And this," she added quickly, lifting the gown a little. "For Tara."
His gaze softened instantly.
"And you," she continued, now fully in her element, pointing toward another outfit the designer had pulled out—a perfectly coordinated golden suit for him. "This will match. All three of us."
She looked up at him, suddenly a little shy. "Not same-same. Just... together."
For a moment, Vidyut didn't say anything.
He was looking at her—not the clothes.
The way her fingers clutched the fabric like it mattered.
The way her eyes were searching his face for approval, reassurance.
The way she wasn't thinking about trends or people—just them.
"You didn't like the earlier ones," he said calmly.
She nodded. "I know we finalized them already but... today it didn't feel right."
"And this does?"
She nodded again, more firmly this time. "Yes. Very much."
He stepped closer, took the edge of the saree from her hand, feeling the fabric once before letting it fall back.
Then he looked at her.
"If this makes you happy," he said simply, "then this is it."
Her face lit up instantly. "Really?"
He nodded. "I don't care what we decided before. Today matters."
She smiled—wide, genuine, relieved.
"And Tara?" she asked softly, almost cautiously.
He glanced at the gown again and smiled faintly. "My daughter will look perfect."
That did it.
Ritvika hugged the saree to her chest, eyes misting just a little, overwhelmed in the best way possible.
"Okay," she said, turning to the designer with sudden determination. "We'll take these."
As the designer moved away to make arrangements, Ritvika turned back to Vidyut once more.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
He leaned in slightly, voice low so only she could hear.
"You don't need to thank me for choosing us."
And for the first time that day, Ritvika felt it completely—
This wasn't just a reception.
It was their beginning.
The evening was slowly settling in.
Even though the reception was being hosted at the Rajvansh house, right now the entire house was busy with preparations—staff moving around, calls being made, cars coming and going.
But Vidyut and Ritvika were still at their house, getting ready before leaving together.
Inside the bedroom, Ritvika was almost done. Tara stood near the bed, already dressed in her little golden gown, humming nonsense words and trying to spin around.
Ritvika smiled softly at her.
Everything was perfect.
Until she suddenly looked down.
"Oh no..." she muttered under her breath.
Her gaze fell on her bare toenails—and then on the nail paint bottle kept near the bed.
"I forgot to apply nail paint..." she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.
She carefully sat on the edge of the bed and tried to bend forward, but the heavy shimmery saree kept getting in her way. The pleats slipped, the fabric irritated her, making the simple task unnecessarily difficult.
She tried again.
Still no success.
A small frustrated sigh escaped her.
Just then, the door opened.
Vidyut walked in.
His steps slowed as soon as he saw her sitting there, struggling. His eyes flicked from her face to the nail paint, instantly understanding the situation.
Without saying anything, he walked closer.
Before Ritvika could react, he quietly picked up the nail paint bottle from beside her.
"Vidyut—?" she said, startled.
He sat down in front of her.
Then gently lifted her feet and placed them on his thigh.
Ritvika froze.
Her breath hitched as she stared at him in disbelief.
"What are you doing?" she asked softly, her voice unsure.
He didn't answer. He simply opened the bottle, dipped the brush, and began applying the nail paint—steady, careful, completely focused.
Ritvika watched him silently.
Her heart raced.
The man who barely showed emotions... was sitting on the floor... painting her toenails.
She swallowed hard.
"This is unnecessary," she murmured.
He glanced up at her briefly. "You were struggling."
That was all.
Tara waddled closer, watching with wide eyes. She pointed at Ritvika's feet and clapped her hands excitedly, babbling something unintelligible.
Ritvika's eyes softened.
All her nervousness, all her insecurities about the reception waiting for them at the Rajvansh house... faded for a moment.
Right now, it was just this.
Quiet. Intimate. Safe.
Vidyut finished applying the nail paint and carefully closed the bottle.
He set it aside and slowly rose to his feet.
That's when he saw them.
Ritvika stood near the mirror, adjusting the pallu of her saree, while Tara stood right beside her, holding onto the fabric with her tiny fingers. The golden shimmer of their outfits caught the light—matching, glowing, perfect in their own ways.
For a moment, Vidyut forgot to breathe.
They looked... unreal.
His eyes moved from Ritvika to Tara, then back again, as if his mind was trying to register the sight properly. His gaze softened, something warm and heavy settling in his chest.
He didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Two people who had quietly become his world—standing together, looking like they belonged there... like they belonged to him.
Ritvika noticed his silence and turned slightly. "Vidyut?" she called gently.
No response.
She followed his gaze and then looked back at him, a faint, shy smile touching her lips.
"You are staring," she said softly.
Still, his eyes never left them.
Tara suddenly lifted her little arms toward him, making soft whining sounds, demanding attention.
Only then did Vidyut blink.
He walked toward them, bent down, and lifted Tara into his arms. She instantly settled against him, resting her head on his shoulder as if that was her rightful place.
Ritvika watched them, her heart full.
!!!!
The car slowly rolled to a halt in front of the Rajvansh mansion.
Lights illuminated the entire driveway, turning the night into something dazzling. The moment they stepped out, a hush spread for half a second—then chaos followed.
Cameras flashed relentlessly.
Shutters clicked one after another, blinding lights bursting in quick succession. Guests turned, heads tilted, whispers blooming in every corner.
"They're here."
"That's Vidyut Rajvansh."
"And her..."
"The little girl—"
Tara was securely in Vidyut's arms, her tiny hands gripping his collar as she looked around with wide, curious eyes, fascinated by the lights and people. Ritvika walked by his side, her hand lightly holding onto his arm.
The attention was overwhelming.
So many eyes.
So many murmurs.
So many unspoken questions hanging in the air.
Ritvika's steps slowed without her realizing it. Her fingers clenched tightly around the fabric near his sleeve, her breath turning shallow as the crowd pressed closer.
Vidyut felt it instantly.
Without breaking his stride, he shifted slightly and placed his hand firmly on her waist, pulling her closer to him—close enough that she could feel his warmth, his presence grounding her.
He leaned down just enough for only her to hear.
"Stay close to my side."
The words were calm. Assured. Unyielding.
Ritvika looked up at him for a brief second.
And nodded.
With Tara in his arms and Ritvika held securely beside him, Vidyut moved forward—unbothered by the cameras, indifferent to the whispers, his focus fixed only on the two people who mattered.
And just like that, surrounded by flashing lights and curious eyes, Ritvika felt it—
She wasn't alone.
The photographs went on for a while.
Vidyut stood composed, Tara still in his arms, while Ritvika stayed beside him—her posture elegant, her smile polite and measured.
One by one, people began approaching.
Businessmen stepped forward first—some with genuine warmth in their greetings, admiration clear in their eyes, while others hid their envy behind forced smiles and rehearsed compliments. Hands were shaken, pleasantries exchanged, and quiet assessments passed through glances.
Ritvika noticed everything.
Especially the looks.
A small group of young women stood a little away from the crowd—three of them, all slightly older than her. Their eyes followed her every movement, scanning her from head to toe, smiles stretched too tight to be real.
Polite.
Cold.
Jealous.
They approached eventually, offering congratulations that sounded sweet but felt hollow. Ritvika returned their smiles with calm grace, unaware that Vidyut had already noticed the way their eyes lingered—calculating, envious.
The reception continued smoothly.
Music flowed softly in the background. Servers moved around with trays of drinks. Conversations overlapped in low murmurs, laughter echoing from different corners of the grand hall. Tara was eventually taken by Aarush, who proudly carried her around, showing her the lights and decorations.
And that was when Parul decided to intervene.
She clapped her hands lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Enough talking now," she announced. "It's time for the couple to dance."
Vidyut's expression hardened instantly.
"No," he replied calmly but firmly.
Parul raised an eyebrow, clearly not ready to accept that.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said, already reaching for Ritvika's hand. "At least let her dance. People are waiting."
Before Vidyut could say anything, Parul gently pulled Ritvika toward the stage.
Ritvika turned back instinctively.
And Vidyut felt it.
The moment her hand slipped from his reach, something shifted inside him.
He didn't think.
He moved.
Long strides carried him across the floor, his presence commanding enough that people stepped aside without realizing it. The music softened, conversations quietened, eyes following him as he reached them.
He caught Ritvika's hand.
Parul paused, surprised.
Vidyut didn't say a word. He simply took Ritvika from her, placing one hand at her waist, the other holding her hand securely.
The music changed.
Slow.
Soft.
Graceful.
And just like that, the dance began.
They moved together effortlessly, as if they had practiced this moment a hundred times in silence. Vidyut guided her gently, careful and attentive, making sure her steps were slow enough, steady enough.
Ritvika relaxed as she followed his lead.
His hand at her waist was supportive, protective—never demanding. Whenever she faltered, he adjusted instantly, bringing her closer, shielding her from the crowd's gaze.
They didn't try to impress.
They didn't perform.
They simply danced.
Quietly.
Gracefully.
Together.
And as they moved across the floor, Vidyut kept one constant focus—her breathing, her comfort, the way her fingers curled slightly tighter around his when she grew tired.
To everyone watching, it was a beautiful dance.
But to Vidyut—
It was care, trust, and an unspoken promise held in every step.
The moment the dance ended, cheers erupted around them.
Applause followed—loud, warm, appreciative. People clapped, smiled, some even whistled softly. Ritvika felt her cheeks warm as Vidyut gave her a brief, reassuring glance before guiding her off the floor.
Soon after, the cake-cutting ceremony took place.
Flashes went off again, congratulations poured in, and laughter filled the hall. Once it was done, the crowd slowly shifted toward the dining area, and the reception eased into dinner time.
Tara was already seated with Aarush and Lakshay.
Aarush was feeding her enthusiastically, while Lakshay leaned closer, encouraging her with exaggerated expressions and playful comments that made absolutely no sense—but Tara seemed to understand them perfectly.
She giggled, food smeared slightly at the corner of her lips, nodding as if they were discussing something very serious.
Vidyut, meanwhile, was busy at the serving counter.
He carefully chose food for Ritvika—avoiding anything oily or heavy. Steamed vegetables, light curry, plain rice, grilled items. He arranged the plates thoughtfully, making sure everything was balanced and safe for her.
Ritvika was already seated at the dining table when Aarush brought Tara over.
"She stopped eating," Aarush said, handing her gently into Ritvika's arms.
Tara immediately clung to her, resting her head against Ritvika's shoulder.
"What happened, betu?" Ritvika asked softly.
"Mummaa... I will eat with you," Tara said in her wobbling but determined language.
Ritvika smiled, brushing her thumb over Tara's cheek.
"Okay, baby," she said gently. "Your dada has gone to bring food. We'll eat together, alright?"
Tara nodded, satisfied, and settled into her lap.
They waited.
Ritvika glanced toward the crowd instinctively, searching.
And then she saw him.
Vidyut walking toward them with the plates, eyes already fixed on the two of them—his wife and his daughter sitting together, waiting for him.
For a moment, everything else faded.
The noise.
The people.
The grandeur.
All that mattered was that table—and the small family waiting to be complete.
They began eating together.
Vidyut placed the plate in front of Ritvika carefully, then sat beside her. Tara happily poked at her food, occasionally stealing glances at Ritvika's plate as if confirming her mother was actually eating.
Everything was calm—until Ritvika's eyes drifted.
To his plate.
Specifically, to the spicy dish.
She inhaled softly, eyes lighting up.
"That smells... really good," she murmured, pretending to focus on her own food but failing terribly.
Vidyut noticed. Of course he did.
"No," he said calmly, without even looking at her.
Ritvika turned toward him slowly.
"No what?" she asked innocently.
He finally glanced at her, unimpressed.
"No means no. Not today. And definitely not spicy."
Ritvika's lips curved into a pout.
Then came the eyes.
Big. Soft. Hopeful.
She leaned slightly closer, lowering her voice.
"Just a taste," she whispered. "Please... see, it smells so nice."
Vidyut scoffed lightly.
"Nope. Not every time you can blackmail me with those puppy eyes."
She nudged his arm gently with her elbow.
"Pleaseee," she dragged the word, tilting her head. "Only one bite."
He sighed, eyes lifting to the ceiling as if asking for patience.
"One," he warned. "Only one bite."
Her face brightened instantly.
He picked a small piece, very deliberately small, and brought it toward her mouth. Ritvika opened her lips obediently, eyes sparkling as she tasted it.
The moment she chewed—
Her expression changed.
"Oh," she breathed. "That's really good."
Before he could react, she leaned forward again.
"Just one more," she said quickly.
"No," he replied, already pulling the plate away.
She followed it with her eyes, then looked back at him, offended.
"But that wasn't enough."
Vidyut raised an eyebrow.
"You said taste. You tasted."
Ritvika folded her arms slightly, pouting harder.
"I changed my mind."
He let out a small laugh despite himself, shaking his head.
"You are impossible."
— — — —