Chosen Love

10. Save the Date

Ruhika's POV

A few days after the engagement, routine had resumed.

It was a usual Thursday, Ruhika sat at her desk, budget quotations open, presentation slides half-done, emails blinking impatiently in her inbox.

Her left hand rested near the keyboard.

The ring caught the office light differently than it had under ceremonial lamps. There was no music here. No relatives. No applause.

Just white LED light and spreadsheets.

She turned her wrist slightly.

Tilted it.

The stone flashed.

It still startled her — not because it was extravagant, but because it was there. Constant. Visible. Reminding

She tried typing. Her fingers paused mid-sentence.

A colleague passed behind her and stopped.

"Still admiring it?" Neha smirked.

Ruhika quickly withdrew her hand as if she'd been caught doing something indulgent.

"I wasn't admiring. I was checking if it's practical for typing."

Neha laughed. "Bridal brain already?"

Ruhika's lips curved faintly. "Boardroom first. Bridal later." And she meant it.

She pulled up her calendar and resumed work.

Presentation next week.

Client review next month.

Quarter closing mid-June.

She worked with precision. Engagement had not slowed her pace. If anything, she felt a sharper urgency.

Marriage would come. But she would not enter it trailing unfinished ambitions.

Still, when no one was looking, her thumb brushed the ring again.

Two months. Maybe three. Everything is about to change.

She didn't feel fear. She felt awareness.

By the time Ruhika reached home, she knew something was different.

The front door was half-open. Slippers lined the entrance in uneven pairs. The faint smell of cardamom tea drifted into the hallway.

Voices overlapped in the living room — her father's measured tone, her mother's polite agreement,

A deeper male voice she had begun to recognize instinctively. She paused before stepping in.

He stood near the sofa, sleeves rolled up as if he just had come straight from work without stopping to adjust himself, unaware as much as she was.

His watch sat slightly crooked on his wrist, and there was a faint crease between his brows — the kind that came from a long day, not from stress.

Their eyes met. No smile. No exaggerated acknowledgment. Just that quiet, grounding recognition.

The priest sat cross-legged on the rug, almanac open, glasses slipping slightly down his nose. Both families leaned in, seriousness settling over the room in waves.

Dates were read out. Planetary positions discussed. A few were dismissed. A few considered.

Ruhika sat down beside her mother, smoothing her pants over her knees. She could feel Shivansh's presence across from her without looking.

Then the priest cleared his throat.

"18th July," he announced. "Very auspicious. Strong alignment. Good for long-lasting unions."

There was a half-second of silence.

And then the room burst.

"18th July!"

"That's perfect, mid-month!"

"Time will fly!"

Aarav leaned back dramatically. "Bhai, countdown begins."

Shivansh shook his head lightly but didn't protest.

Ruhika didn't react immediately.

18th July.

The number felt solid. Specific.

Not vague like "sometime in July."

Her gaze lifted before she could stop herself.

Shivansh wasn't grinning. He wasn't flushed or startled. He simply nodded once, slowly.

As if he had already accepted it the moment the priest began reading dates. As if his mind had already begun rearranging itself

Her mother's eyes brightened immediately. "18th July... that gives us enough time."

Shivansh's mother smiled, already mentally planning. "Yes. Comfortable. Not rushed."

Aarav, sitting at the arm of the sofa, only raised a brow at his brother. Not teasing — just that look siblings share when something shifts permanently.

Two months.

Shivansh's mother turned toward him, half amused, half sentimental. "Bas do mahine aur," she said gently.

Ruhika lowered her gaze briefly, hiding a small smile.

Across from her, her father adjusted his glasses. "Good. 18th July then. Enough time for everyone to prepare properly."

Ruhika felt it settle deeper than the teasing had. Prepare for what?

She became acutely aware of the ring again — not flashy, not dramatic — just present on her hand as she folded her fingers together.

Her mother squeezed her knee lightly. "You're quiet."

"I'm listening," Ruhika replied.

And she was. Listening to how calmly this was being decided.Listening to how steady Shivansh looked across the room.

He wasn't overwhelmed. He wasn't restless. He looked... anchored. That steadiness grounded something inside her. It grounded the swirl of adjustment in her chest. If he had looked unsure, she might have felt unsettled.

But he didn't. He looked like someone who accepted responsibility the moment it was placed before him.

And for the first time since the engagement, she felt something subtle shift inside her.

She pulled her gaze toward him longer than necessary.

After two months, things will change.

After two months, I won't just return to my room after evenings like this. I'll return somewhere else.

She imagined, His house. His routines His mother's morning tea.

A wardrobe that would no longer be only his. walking into a room that wasn't built around her habits.

Her eyes lingered on him again.

He was speaking now — something practical about work schedules, about ensuring leave was aligned well in advance.

And then another thought surfaced, softer, more personal. After two months, I'll wake up knowing this man is my husband.

The word didn't feel romantic. It felt weighty. She tried to picture him in that role.

Would they adjust easily? Would they still speak this calmly when the novelty faded?

Across the room, almost as if sensing her gaze, Shivansh looked up.

This time she didn't look away quickly. She let the moment sit. Let the reality sit between them.

After two months, this won't be glances across rooms. It will be shared rooms. Something subtle shifted in her expression — not softness exactly, but acknowledgment.

______________

Shivansh's POV

The week after the engagement resumed with the same structure it always had.

Monday Morning. His alarm rang at 6:30 a.m. as usual. He got up without snoozing it. Showered. Dressed. Checked overnight emails while sipping tea his mother had left on the dining table.

Nothing had changed externally.

And yet— Something had.

He noticed it when he reached for his phone before stepping into his first meeting.

There was a message from Aarav in the family group — some unnecessary meme about "married life loading."

He muted the group.

But he didn't ignore the fact that the word married now applied to him in future tense.

That evening, when he returned home, his mother asked casually, "Did you speak to Ruhika today?"

"No," he replied.

There was no expectation in her tone. Just habit forming. He realized something quietly then —

For years, his daily updates had ended at work. Now, there would be someone else who might eventually ask about his day and expect an answer longer than "fine."

The thought didn't make him uncomfortable. It made him pause.

On Wednesday, he found himself opening their chat window once during lunch. No new messages.

He almost typed something — Then closed it.

There was no urgency. This wasn't infatuation.

This was something being built slowly. And he preferred it that way.

On Thursday evening, just as he was finishing a supplier call, his mother's name flashed on his screen.

"Beta, finish up and come directly to Ruhika's house."

He straightened slightly in his chair. "Today?"

"Yes. Pandit ji is coming. We'll see dates."

By the time he reached Ruhika's house, evening had settled into that warm hour when lights begin replacing daylight.

The door was slightly open. Voices flowed outward.

He stepped in, greeting her parents respectfully before taking a seat near the sofa. He didn't adjust his appearance. He didn't feel the need to.

Then she walked in. He noticed before anyone spoke her name. She paused at the doorway. Work bag still on her shoulder. Hair slightly loosened.Face composed.

Their eyes met.

And beneath that — something unspoken.

He looked away first, attention returning to the priest. Dates were read aloud. He listened — but not with the detachment he usually carried into discussions.

18th July. Very auspicious. Strong alignment. Good for long-lasting unions."

The words settled. Shivansh didn't speak immediately.

The date didn't feel symbolic. It felt close.

Aarav leaned toward him slightly. "Bhai," he murmured under his breath, "two months and you're officially a married man."

Shivansh's gaze shifted back to her. He thought about it honestly. Not about ceremonies.Not about guests.About mornings. About coming home.

About someone sitting across from him at dinner. He wasn't used to imagining that. But now, unexpectedly, he was.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

Her books on the side table. Her voice in the background while he answered emails. Her silence matching his when neither felt like speaking.

There was something different in her gaze now. Not shyness. Not excitement.

Awareness. As if she, too, understood that this was no longer abstract.

In two months, we won't stand across rooms. We'll stand beside each other. The thought lingered longer than it should have.

Aarav nudged him lightly again. "At least pretend to smile, bhai. It's your wedding date."

A faint curve touched Shivansh's lips. "I am smiling."

"Internally?" Aarav teased.

"Yes."

Aarav laughed softly. "God help bhabhi."

Shivansh sat back slightly, listening to the elders discuss venues, but his mind had moved elsewhere.

In two months, she will be my wife.

If she hesitates, I'll notice. He hadn't expected that instinct — that quiet awareness that he would be watching not to control, but to ensure she didn't feel alone in the adjustment.

When the priest finally stood and families began gathering near the doorway, the energy softened into the kind that follows decisions.

Sweets were passed around. Blessings were exchanged

Shivansh's mother was already speaking to Ruhika's parents about the next steps — venues, decorators, how soon the invitation list would need to be drafted.

Shivansh found himself a little apart from it all, standing near the hallway that led to the entrance.

She was there too.

Not deliberately — they had both just ended up there, maybe needing a breath between the noise and what had just settled between their lives.

For a moment, they didn't speak. The rustle of conversation behind them faded into something distant.

Then he said quietly, almost testing the sound of it, "18th July."

She looked at him, and this time her expression held something steadier than before. "Yes."

He studied her face — searching not for excitement, but for resistance. He found neither.

"Does it feel close?" he asked.

She tilted her head slightly. "It does now."

The shift. Her posture changed first — shoulders no longer as relaxed. Her fingers, which had been loosely clasped, tightened together. Her gaze drifted briefly — not away from him, but inward.

For him, it meant addition. For her, it meant transition. The weight was not equal.

Ruhika," he said gently.

She looked back at him. "It may feel rushed" he continued, "but are you happy?" He asked

Her brows softened slightly, surprised by the direction.

"Yes," she said instinctively.

He didn't look convinced.Not because he doubted her. But because he wanted the answer beneath the reflex.

"With the date?" he clarified. "With... us?"

She held his gaze longer this time. "I am," she said more steadily.

And if any part of it feels rushed," he added calmly, "it can wait."

Her eyes widened just slightly. "The wedding?" she asked.

He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice just slightly. "After marriage," he said steadily, "you're not losing your home."

She looked at him carefully. "You're expanding it."

"You'll still come here whenever you want," he continued. "You'll still sit in your room. You'll still argue with your mother about cupboard space. Nothing disappears overnight."

Her throat tightened slightly — not in sadness, just in recognition.

"And at my place," he added, "Nothing changes without you being ready for it."

Then she tilted her head slightly. "You really aren't scared?"

He considered that honestly. "I am ," he said. "But I am also aware."

"Of?"

"That I'm not the one leaving a childhood room behind." "And that, he added gently, "means I'll probably need to be a little more patient than usual."

That made her smile faintly. Then, with the faintest hint of mischief in her eyes, she said — "Congratulations."

He raised a brow. "For?"

"For fixing your wedding date."

A slow smile formed on his face. He folded his hands loosely behind him, studying her. "Congratulations to you too."

"For what?" she asked, pretending innocence.

"For deciding to marry me on 18th July."

Her lips curved despite herself. "I see. So this was my decision?"

"You said yes," he replied calmly. "Twice."

From inside, someone called their names. He stepped back slightly, restoring distance. But before turning, he said one more thing — almost casually, but not quite.

"And just so you know...If you ever wake up after marriage and feel like it's too much..."We'll make tea and ignore the world for a day."

She stared at him for a second. She shook her head, smiling.

"Goodnight, Shivansh."

As he turned to leave, he glanced back once at her before stepping out into the night with a faint, unguarded smile. Not because the date was fixed.

But because it felt right.

__________

Once the date got fixed, everything got accelerated . Their mothers talked like long lost best friends over simplest things such as wedding cards, guest lists to the wedding shopping

It was one such day everyone cleared their schedule to go for shopping.

The boutique was louder than either of them expected.

Velvet trays spilled over with jewellery.

Mirrors framed in warm yellow bulbs reflected ten versions of the same moment.

Stacks of red, maroon, wine, rust — all labeled bridal, all somehow different.

Both the mothers had occupied the central sofa like a panel of judges.

"Not that shade."

"Too orange."

"This embroidery is outdated."

"Pastel is more in trend now."

"Deep wine looks richer on camera."

The lehenga for the wedding was traditionally from his side. Which meant today, technically, she was their responsibility.

Ruhika stood on the raised platform while the first lehenga was pinned at her waist.

Isha stood near the mirror, arms folded, already invested like this was a personal mission.

Shivansh stayed slightly behind at first. Just watching.

The first lehenga was beautiful. Intricate. Grand. Heavy.

She smiled when her mother said, "It looks lovely."

But her shoulders didn't drop. Her hands kept returning to the waist unconsciously.

When Isha caught her reflection, she mouthed, Too much?

Ruhika gave the faintest shrug.

That was enough. Shivansh stepped forward. "Walk in it," he said calmly.

She blinked at him through the mirror. "Now?"

"Yes."

She walked. The lehenga moved beautifully.She didn't. Halfway across, she adjusted the waistband again.

Both mothers looked up — not defensive, just attentive.

"It's slightly heavy," Ruhika admitted this time without forcing a smile.

"She'll be wearing it for hours," he added gently.Not correcting anyone but reminding.

His mother nodded thoughtfully. "Then we'll try something lighter."

The lehenga was removed. The next few options were discussed more thoughtfully.

Then a softer rose tone was brought out. It was understated. Fine threadwork. Pearls instead of heavy zari.

"It's very elegant," her mother said, fingers lightly brushing the dupatta.

Ruhika stepped out wearing it. It suited her.

Delicate. Graceful. Almost ethereal. For a moment, the room simply watched.

Isha tilted her head slightly. "It's pretty."

Ruhika turned toward the mirror. The color softened her features. The embroidery shimmered gently under the lights. It was nice. Refined. Safe.

But as she looked at herself, something inside her stayed still. This looked like a bride.

She didn't fidget this time. The lehenga was comfortable. Easy to carry. But she didn't glow either.

Shivansh wasn't studying the embroidery. He wasn't nodding at the craftsmanship. He was watching her face.

Not for approval. For truth.

"What do you want?" he asked quietly. The question wasn't loud.But it shifted the air.

Ruhika's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the dupatta.She didn't answer immediately. She looked at herself again.

And this time, she didn't see the boutique lights.She saw fifteen-year-old her sitting cross-legged on the floor during a cousin's wedding.

Watching a bride walk in — wrapped in deep red silk, gold catching fire under mandap lights. She remembered how her younger self had whispered to her mother that day— "I want to look like that."

She took a small breath. "I want red," she said softly.

Both mothers looked at her — curious, open.

"Proper red," she clarified gently. "Not too dark. Not muted." Her voice didn't shake. But it carried something tender. "I always wanted to be a red bride," she added, almost shyly. "Ever since I was little."

It was a small dream being spoken aloud. Her mother's eyes softened instantly. His mother's expression changed too — not in surprise, but in understanding.

"Classic bride," his mother smiled faintly.

Ruhika's lips curved. "Yes."

Shivansh watched her for a second longer. Something about the way she said always wanted did something to him.

He nodded once. "Show us your brightest red," he told the attendant.

_________

When the red lehenga arrived, it didn't whisper. It entered the room.

Rich. Warm. Undeniable.

The kind of red that didn't need explanation.

When she turned toward the mirror, something shifted immediately.Her posture changed.Not because she was trying to look regal. Her eyes brightened — not dramatically, just enough.

Her mother pressed her lips together, holding back emotion. His mother leaned forward slightly.

Shivansh didn't react right away.

He didn't step forward.He didn't fill the silence. He just looked at her.

It wasn't the overwhelming kind of moment people describe.

She didn't suddenly look like a bride walking toward a mandap.

But the red did something gentle.It didn't costume her.

It warmed her. It brought out the quiet steadiness in her face — the part of her that didn't speak loudly but meant everything she said.

She took one small breath, then looked at herself again.

Then at him.

"This is it," she said softly.

_______________

It was done.

The lehenga was final.

Ruhika stepped down from the platform slowly, red fabric gathered lightly in her hands so she wouldn't trip. The attendants began unpinning the dupatta to take it back for finishing.

For the first time since she had worn it, she wasn't facing the mirror.

She was facing him.

There was no audience in that angle.

No reflection.

Just him.

She walked the small distance between them.

The red was still around her shoulders, half-pinned, half-loose — softer now. Less display. More real.

Her voice, when she spoke, was quieter than before. "Did I look okay?"

He looked at her for a long second. Then, very calmly spoke "Do you really want to know?"

She swallowed softly.

"And when you walked out in this one... I saw my bride

For a second, she didn't breathe. Her fingers, still lightly holding the edge of the dupatta, stilled completely.

She had expected something measured. Something restrained. Her eyes searched his face — as if checking whether he realized what he'd just said.

He did. He didn't look away.

A faint warmth crept into her cheeks, but it wasn't embarrassment.It was something deeper.

"Your bride?" she repeated softly, almost testing the sound of it.

He gave the slightest nod. "Haan," he said quietly. "Not just someone standing in red. "Someone walking toward me."

"Ruhika?" the attendant called gently from near the trial room. "We'll take final measurements once more."

She blinked, as if returning from somewhere far quieter than the boutique. "Coming," she replied.

For a brief second before turning, she looked at him again— like she was carrying what he said with her.

Then she disappeared behind the curtain.The red went with her. The warmth didn't.

Shivansh exhaled slowly, hands slipping into his pockets.

____________

Shivansh exhaled lightly and checked his phone out of habit. He didn't get far.

She didn't look at him immediately. She just stood there. Smirking.

He sighed. "Say it."

"Hmm?"

"Whatever you're planning to say."

She turned slowly toward him. "I don't know what you mean."

He gave her a look.

She broke first. "You're very calm for someone who just reorganized the entire boutique dynamic without raising his voice."

He blinked. "That's dramatic."

"Is it?" she tilted her head

He folded his arms now. "She was uncomfortable."

Then she grinned. "You couldn't see her struggling for five minutes," she said, almost impressed. "Four. I counted."

He shook his head faintly. "You're exaggerating."

She leaned closer, lowering her voice teasingly. "You didn't even check your phone properly. That's when I knew."

He gave her a sideways look. "You're enjoying this too much."

"Obviously, Anyway... good job, jiju." The word came out easy. Natural.

He caught it. A slow smile finally surfaced — not wide, but real "Promotion confirmed?" he asked.

"Provisional," she replied instantly.

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice just enough to match her tone. "Good. I prefer high standards."

She squinted at him playfully. "Don't get overconfident."

"Never," he replied smoothly. "Wouldn't want to disappoint my review board."

She tried not to laugh. Failed. "Okay, fine," she said, nudging his arm. "You're annoyingly steady."

"I've been told."

"Yeah?" she challenged. "By whom?"

He didn't deny it this time.

After the fittings were finally done and everyone agreed they deserved a break, the four of them moved toward the mall café downstairs.

Lunch was noisy in the easy way. Two mothers discussing guest lists.

Isha stealing fries from Ruhika's plate.

Ruhika sitting opposite Shivansh, hair slightly messy from trial changes, still glowing faintly in a way that had nothing to do with makeup.

He didn't stare. But he noticed.

When they walked past the jewellery section afterward, both mothers naturally drifted toward one of the stores. Just to "look."

Eventually, her mother checked the time."We should leave now." Isha agreed immediately.

Ruhika turned to him. "You're coming?"

"I'll stay back for a bit," he said. "Need to make a quick stop." Can you drop Maa on your way back ?

She didn't question it. Just nodded.

"Text me when you reach back ," she added automatically.

He gave her a look. "Yes, ma'am."

She rolled her eyes softly, then left with everyone.

He watched until they disappeared into the escalator crowd.

But to a different one entirely. He didn't ask to see the popular designs. Didn't ask what was trending.

He simply said, "Mangalsutras. Something subtle."

The salesman began laying out heavier pieces.

He shook his head. "Not bridal-showcase," he clarified. "Everyday."

They showed slimmer chains. He eliminated anything ornate. Anything that felt like it would sit heavily on her collarbone.

He wasn't recalling a specific piece she had admired. He was recalling her. The way she pushed her hair back when she worked.

The way she preferred light jewellery — barely-there earrings, thin bracelets. The way she disliked adjusting things constantly.

Something that wouldn't dominate her.Something that would sit against her skin like it belonged there.

"Gift wrap?" the salesman asked.

He considered it. "No," he said finally. "I'll keep it."

____________

That night, he called first.

"Reached?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, sounding tired but lighter than she had in the morning. "My feet hate me."

"What was your 'quick stop'?" she asked casually.

He leaned back against his headboard. "I bought something."

"For?" she asked, instantly more alert.

"For the wedding."

She went quiet. "Shivansh..."

"I didn't ask anyone," he added calmly. "Before you say it."

"You weren't supposed to just—"

Her voice softened slightly. "What did you buy?"

"The mangalsutra."

Silence. Not shocked. Not upset. Just processing."You chose it?" she asked carefully.

"Yes."

He exhaled lightly. "I didn't think about what looks bridal," he said. "I thought about what you wouldn't get tired of wearing."

She didn't speak. So he continued. "You don't like weight around your neck," You adjust it subconsciously. And you don't like anything that feels like an occasion piece."

Her throat felt unexpectedly tight. "You notice too much," she murmured.

"It's simple," he added. "Not loud. Not heavy. Something you can wear to work, to dinner, to nowhere special."

Another silence. This one warmer."You didn't even ask me," she said softly.

"No," he agreed. "I wanted it to be something I chose."

She lay back, staring at her ceiling. "Confident?" she asked lightly.

"Yes."

"You're very sure," she said.

"I know I didn't take you with me.

And if you see it and your heart isn't in it, or if you feel like I took away a choice that should have been yours... I'm sorry."

She felt a flicker of surprise. "Shivansh—It's not like

No questions asked. This isn't bigger than your comfort."

A faint smile touched her lips. "You'd really take it back? After being so sure?" she teased, though her voice wavered.

"You know," she said after a moment, "this is a big thing."

She swallowed. "Why?"

He didn't hesitate this time. "Because it's the one thing I'll put around your neck myself," he said quietly.

"I wanted that choice to be mine."

Her breath caught—not loudly, but enough. There was nothing dramatic in his tone.

After a long second, she asked softly—"Will you show me?"

She smiled into the darkness. "You're too much sometimes."

With their wedding getting closer, both of them were deep headed into work, to manage everything before they go on a break

It was 10:30 PM on a Wednesday. Shivansh had spent the last twelve hours buried in a forensic audit that refused to balance. His day was spent in delegating and reviewing contracts

His head throbbed, but his first instinct wasn't to sleep—it was to check his phone.

"You sound like you're fading away," Shivansh said, loosening his tie. "Still at the venue?"

A long silence followed. "I had a protein bar at three. Honestly, I don't even remember."

Shivansh didn't argue. Instead, his fingers were already flying across his tablet, opening a delivery app searching places serving near her house.

"Okay," he said casually, keeping her on the line. "Tell me about the theme change. What did they pick?"

As she moved into a long, tired explanation of color palettes and floor plans, Shivansh quietly placed the order. He stayed on the call, listening to the cadence of her voice, letting her vent.

Twenty minutes later, a bell rang in the background of her side of the call, "who would be here at eleven?" She spoke out

She was opening the containers and squealed, "Biryani?"

When the screen flickered to life, he saw her sitting on her bed, the bag open. She looked exhausted—hair escaping her clip, eyes a little red—but she was smiling.

On the screen, Shivansh leaned back, his collar unbuttoned, his gaze fixed on her with a quiet intensity.

He wasn't eating anymore; he was just watching her holding a steaming container of her favorite comfort food he'd had delivered.

She felt a flush creep up her neck that had nothing to do with the warm food. "You're starting to collect a lot of data on my habits, Mr. Auditor.

She took a slow bite, the flavors of the food finally grounding her after a day of chaos. For a few minutes, they stayed like that

"Mm?"

He looked at the camera, and for a second, the digital barrier between them felt incredibly thin.

"Don't thank me for that," he said, his expression softening into something she hadn't seen yet. "It's becoming my favorite part of the day—figuring you out."

_________________

They couldn't talk to each other more than 20 minutes at a stretch without interruptions of the personal and professional circus around them

It was Wednesday, They met at a quiet, open-air lounge perched on a rooftop, the city lights flickering like fallen stars below them. Shivansh was already there, his blazer discarded on the chair beside him, looking every bit the weary MD of an audit firm.

But when he saw her walking toward him, his posture shifted—just a slight straightening of the shoulders, a subtle softening of his gaze.

"Long day?" he asked, standing up to pull out her chair.

"The kind where you realize 'logistics' is just a fancy word for 'firefighting,'" she sighed, sinking into the seat. "But it's done.

Shivansh raised an eyebrow, pouring her a glass of water. "How long did you take?"

Shivansh leaned back, his eyes searching hers. "Enough for what? For the wedding? Or for us to figure out how to live in the same house without me annoying you?"

She laughed, the tension in her neck finally snapping.

"Both."

We have a lifetime for the rest. If you need ten more days, take them. If you want to go back to work after five because I'm driving you crazy, I'll drive you to the office myself."

His palm rested face up on the wood, a quiet invitation. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before sliding her hand into his. His fingers closed over hers—firm, warm, and grounding.

"Is there anything else?" he asked, his thumb tracing a slow, rhythmic circle over her knuckles.

She looked down at their joined hands, the honesty of the moment pulling at her. "

Of having to ask for space instead of just having it."

Shivansh didn't offer a quick fix. He just squeezed her hand.

"You aren't a guest," he said firmly. "If you're worried about the house feeling like mine and not yours, then change it.

She blinked, surprised by his bluntness. "That's your space, though. You've had it exactly how you want it for years. I can't take it from you.

"It stops being a sanctuary if you aren't comfortable in it," he said simply.

"I'd rather have your things scattered around than a perfect house where you feel like you have to walk on eggshells. I want it to be our home."

She felt a lump form in her throat. For someone who valued her independence so much, his willingness to simply hand over the keys to his private world was more romantic than any grand gesture.

"I might be a nightmare to live with," she warned, a small smile appearing.

______________

The air between them grew quiet and heavy with a new kind of warmth. But then, both phones on the table buzzed in a frantic, synchronized rhythm. The spell broke.

Aarav: Clear the decks! 5 weeks to the wedding. Before the madness begins. We're going away.

ISHA: Finally! @Ruhika, I've already told your office you're dead to them for this weekend. Mountains Calling!.

Rohan: Wait, I land after four months and find out Shivansh is actually getting married? A woman actually agreed? I need a weekend to process this. I'm in.

Mehak: Villa is booked. No laptops allowed. I'm serious.

Ruhika looked at the screen, then at Shivansh. "They're talking about a villa. Where exactly are they planning to take us?"

"Knowing Aarav and Rohan who I call my best friend? Somewhere with no cell reception so I can't check my emails," Shivansh muttered, though he didn't let go of her hand.

Ruhika started typing into the group.

Ruhika: Wait, hold on. Villa? Where? And more importantly... who is going to talk to the parents about this?

We have a million things to do

Aarav: Already done, Bhabhi! I told Mom it's a 'stress-relief cultural retreat.' She thinks we're going to a spa and a temple.

ISHA : And I told your mom we're just doing a girls' weekend nearby. She said you look pale and need the air.

Ruhika: (to Shivansh) Your brother is a pathological liar.

Rohan: Just pack, guys. Mussoorie is calling. We've got everything sorted. Shivansh, don't even think about bringing a suit.

Mehak: If I see a blazer, it's going down the hills

Ruhika: That's actually... doable. But if my mom finds out there's No temple involved, I'm blaming Aarav.

Aarav: I'll take the hit. Just get here. Friday morning. 8 AM. Don't be late or we're leaving bhai behind and taking you with us

Shivansh groaned, finally dropping her hand to type back.

Shivansh: Try it, Aarav. See what happens to your monthly allowances.

Rohan: Ooh, the MD is getting protective. I love this for us. See you guys Friday!

Ruhika locked her phone and looked at Shivansh, a genuine laugh bubbling up. "A stress-relief cultural retreat'? They're going to get us in so much trouble."

"Just us," he agreed.