Chosen Love

💌-CHAPTER 34

Song- O Maahi

Movie- Dunki

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The car stopped outside the house, The iron gates of the house didn't just swing open, they seemed to exhale

Shivansh didn't kill the engine immediately. He sat for a heartbeat, his hand still firmly interlaced with Ruhika's, his thumb tracing the delicate line of her knuckles.

Sunita was in the living room, with a cup of tea, her posture rigid. As she saw them together, she felt nothing,she knew this would happen ultimately.

Not that she wanted her son to be alone, neither she could keep them apart, she wanted him entirely to herself, being the son and following what she presumed to be the best for all, even Ruhika.

She didn't wish ill for her, but she wanted her to be just another being existing with her son, while she dictates their life in the name of love and protectiveness as if they were her mere possessions

She looked for the awkwardness of a couple who had spent "space" apart, the jagged edges of a reunion fraught with unspoken apologies or lingering discomfort.

She found none.

Instead, she watched Shivansh lead Ruhika in, his hand a permanent, possessive fixture on the small of her back. They didn't look like a couple recovering from a rift, they looked like a unit.

Shivansh had smoothly lied to Aarav and his father, that the reason for Ruhika's departure was her father's ill health, though none believed him, but they didn't want to add to the couples' distress saying things out loud.

Aarav, practically vaulted down the grand staircase the moment he heard the car honking outside

"Finally!" he exclaimed, his grin wide and infectious as he reached the foyer.

He threw a cheeky, knowing look at Shivansh, who actually let out a short, genuine laugh—a sound that made Sunita's tea cup rattle slightly

Despite the warmth of the welcome, an undercurrent of caution remained. Everyone in the house felt the carefulness that followed

Sunita, for her part, was a masterpiece of civil restraint. She didn't snipe, she didn't criticize. Instead, she practiced a form of polite exclusion, she discussed work with Shivansh even Aarav but didn't wait for opinions around.

It wasn't hatred but it was the calculated maintenance of boundaries. She was waiting for Ruhika to slip up, to lose control so that she could prove things that only her mind accepted.

Ruhika, sensitive to the fragile truce Shivansh had negotiated, moved with a deliberate, soft touch. She didn't challenge Sunita's authority over the house, she never felt the need to.

Still, she felt the weight of every gaze. She found herself over-thinking the simplest actions—should she pour the tea, or would that look like she was usurping Sunita's role?

Should she suggest a change to the dinner menu, or would that be seen as "taking over"?

She made a conscious effort to adjust, stepping back during the afternoon, She spent more time in the evenings sometimes visiting Meera and Ahaana, she was less around the house, something Sunita wanted without realising she was silently being a block to his son's happiness

Aarav, meanwhile, became the house's primary source of noise. He played his music a little louder, joked a little more boisterously at the table, and constantly pulled Ruhika into trivial debates about movies or technology

He was trying to drown out the silence, into something that sounded like a normal family dinner. Every time he glanced at Shivansh—whose eyes were constantly searching for a wife who was making herself invisible—Aarav's heart sank.

He was fighting a war against a silence that was winning.

Vikram noticing all of this, was deeply disappointed. Later that evening, in the privacy of their room, Vikram finally spoke. He watched Sunita arrange her jewelry, her movements fluid and satisfied.

"You've won, Sunita," he said, his voice a low, resonant rumble that lacked its usual warmth. "The house is quiet, moving as you like, but no one's happy, besides yourself.

Sunita froze, a diamond earring halfway to her ear. "I don't know what you mean, Vikram. I am merely maintaining the structure of this family."

Vikram didn't look away. He stood by the heavy oak wardrobe

He stepped closer, his gaze steady and unforgiving. "Is it too difficult for you to let your son be a husband as well?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Sunita turned back to the mirror, her fingers trembling slightly as she finally clicked the earring into place.

She didn't want to admit that to her, "Husband" felt like a competitor to "Son."

She had spent thirty years being the sole architect of Shivansh's world. To see him defer to Ruhika—to see him check his watch not for a board meeting, but to see if his wife was home from visiting Meera—felt like a personal demotion.

She wasn't just maintaining dignity, she was maintaining a monopoly on his devotion. By making the house "careful," she had forced Ruhika into the shadows, and in doing so, she had turned her son into a stranger.

Vikram continued, Ruhika isn't a distraction, Sunita. She is his strength. I see her stepping back, I see her spending her evenings away from here just to give you 'peace.' She is giving you a chance to be a mother-in-law, and you are using it to be a warden."

He watched her reflection, seeing the flicker of stubbornness in her eyes. "If you keep this up, you won't have to worry about the noise anymore. You'll have a house full of perfect, dignified silence, but no soul

___________

The amber liquid in the heavy crystal glass remained still, a stagnant pool reflecting the low, recessed lighting of the room, Shivansh rarely drank at home.

But tonight, the silence of the house felt less like prestige and more like a shroud, and the burn of the scotch was the only thing that felt grounded.

He swirled the glass, the ice clinking with a hollow, lonely sound. He wasn't drinking for pleasure, he was drinking to numb the jagged edge of a realization that had been cutting into him for days

He had noticed the way Ruhika now moved through the house. She didn't walk; she hovered. She had developed a subconscious habit of checking the sightlines before entering a room, ensuring she wouldn't accidentally intrude on one of Sunita's carefully curated silences.

She had stopped leaving her work notes on the mahogany coffee table; she had stopped humming melodies under her breath in the kitchen.

He would mostly find her at work or confined to their room, to maintain the peace of this house, as if trying to camouflage herself against the neutral, dignified palette of his mother's world.

His heart twisted with a sharp, localized ache. This house—his legacy, his pride—had become a place where his wife was afraid to be herself.

He saw her adjusting,and while a part of him was profoundly grateful for her grace, a larger, more primal part of him was humiliated.

He was the man who could move markets with a phone call, yet he was watching the woman he worshipped minimize her existence just to keep the calm in his own home. Every time she slipped away to see Meera and Ahaana, he knew she wasn't just visiting a friend, she was escaping a cage.

The irony was a bitter pill to swallow. The moment they crossed the threshold of their bedroom and the heavy oak door clicked shut, her carefulness evaporated.

Behind those closed doors, they had a perfect, incandescent marriage. There, she was the fierce, laughing woman who challenged his every thought.

There, she would drape herself over his lap and tell him about her day with a vibrancy that could light up a city. Behind the doors of their room, they were just Shivansh and Ruhika, two souls who fit together with a terrifying, beautiful precision.

But the second morning broke, he watched the mask slide back on. He watched her spine stiffen as she prepared to face the dining room, feeling like a guest in her house.

Shivansh took a slow, deliberate sip of the scotch, the heat spreading through his chest

He was hurt—for her, because she deserved to be celebrated in every corner of this house, and for himself, because he was failing in his most basic duty, to make his wife feel like a queen in her own kingdom.

He set the glass down on the desk with a definitive thud, the liquid sloshing against the rim. He wasn't going to let another week pass like this.

It was time that things were spoken out, resolved clearly

________

The next few days were a study in silent, hopeful observation for Shivansh. He moved through the villa like a man watching a slow-motion collision, his gaze constantly drifting between the two most important women in his life.

He watched Ruhika with a heart that felt both swollen with pride and bruised by her restraint. She was a whirlwind of professional brilliance, her work desk light burning late into the night as she prepared for the final pitch of the season.

Yet, the moment she stepped out of that room, she folded herself back

Shivansh found himself looking at his mother, searching for a crack in the armor. He hoped, with a desperation he would never admit, that Sunita would see what he saw.

That she would notice the grace in Ruhika's distance, the kindness in her silence, and the sheer, undeniable excellence of the woman he had chosen.

But Sunita remained indifferent

___________

It was a Tuesday evening, just as the golden hour was bleeding into a bruised purple sky.

Shivansh was in the main living room, standing by the tall windows and discussing something about policy change, suggested by Aarav

He stopped mid-sentence.

The heavy, sound-proofed front doors didn't just open, they were flung wide with a reckless, wonderful lack of decorum.

Ruhika didn't walk into the hall, she charged into it. Her hair was windswept from the evening breeze, her professional blazer unbuttoned, and her eyes were lit with a fire that hadn't been seen within these walls for weeks.

She didn't pause to check the sightlines for Sunita. She didn't look to see if the staff were watching.

Her voice rang out, clear and melodic, vibrating through the stagnant air of the room.

Shivansh turned, his heart leaping into his throat. Before he could look at her properly , she was across the marble floor.

She didn't slow down as she reached him,she simply launched herself forward, leaping into his arms with a joyous, uninhibited force.

He caught her instinctively, his large hands anchoring her to his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The impact forced him to stumble back a step, but he didn't care about his balance. He only cared about the bright, silver sound of her laughter against his skin.

For a heartbeat, the room went perfectly still. Shivansh didn't look at his father, who had stepped out of the study at the sound of the commotion.

He didn't look at Sunita, who had appeared out of the kitchen, her hand tightening on the railing of the staircase beside her

He only looked at the woman in his arms who was finally, gloriously, being herself again.

He didn't set her down, he tightened his hold, his forehead dropping against hers as he inhaled the scent of her success. "Congratulations Meri Jaan, you deserve every bit of this, you've earned it."

"Bhai, if you don't put the Senior Lead down in the next five seconds, I'm going to have to start charging for the PDA. Some of us are single and trying to maintain our dignity here."

Shivansh let out a short, rough laugh—a sound of genuine release—and slowly lowered Ruhika until her heels clicked against the floor, though he kept his arm draped firmly around her waist, pulling her into his side.

"Shut up, Aarav," Shivansh muttered, though his eyes were bright with a rare, relaxed warmth.

"Make me!" Aarav shot back, before stepping forward and pulling Ruhika into a brief, exuberant hug.

"Seriously, Bhabhi, this is huge, Congratulations! I expect a very expensive dinner from you to finally tell that I'm the favorite brother." He continued

Vikram moved toward them then, his stature as the patriarch shifting into that of a proud father. He reached out, placing a steady, blessed hand on Ruhika's head, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Congratulations, Bacche," he said, his voice resonant and thick with sincerity. "To achieve this while managing... everything else... it shows the strength. I'm proud of you

Even Sunita, moving slowly, moved towards Ruhika and blessed her, to achieve more such milestones

________

The following week brought with it the 10th December, her first birthday since they are together.

For Shivansh, this wasn't just a date on a calendar or a social obligation; it was a mission of the heart.

He moved through the days with a quiet, fervent intensity, treating the planning not as a logistical exercise, but as an act of action

He spent his late nights in the glow of his study lamp, not looking at market reports, but tracing the map of her joy. He didn't want a grand, cold ballroom or a stiff guest list of power players. Instead, he reached out to Aarav, Isha, Mehak and Rohan.

He wanted to celebrate her, and with something he knew she would love, he chose their vast lawn to be converted into a memory lane.

Shivansh went to his father, Vikram, and made a quiet, firm request. "Make sure Mom lets her guard down just for this one day," he had asked.

He didn't want Ruhika looking over her shoulder or tempering her laughter. He wanted her to feel at home.

_______

Two days prior, he was with Aarav, Isha and Rohan scrutinizing the cake—a delicate, multi-tiered masterpiece of chocolate, strawberry and hazelnut.

Each flavour he knew she deeply craved, in her ice cream, fruit bowl and coffee.

Shivansh finalised the cake, and ignoring the jabs he grew habitual of more in the past week, he said "I told you to look into the flowers, what about that?"

Rohan ended the call just then, snapping his phone shut with a weary exhale. "The caterer is officially terrified of me, Shivansh. Are you happy?

A moment later, Isha added, " Jiju, party is fine but have you got a gift for her"?

Shivansh's hand paused for a fraction of a second—the only tell-tale sign that he had heard her.

He straightened his cuffs, his expression shifting back into that impenetrable, cool composure that usually preceded a billion-dollar closing.

"I have it handled, Isha," he said, his voice dropping

Isha whispered loudly to Rohan, pointing at Shivansh.

"He's too smug. It's definitely something sentimental that's going to make her cry and make the rest of us look like heartless amateurs. Is it a star, Jiju? Did you name a star after her?"

Shivansh watched them scatter toward the lawn, their teasing voices fading into the hallway.

He reached into his pocket once more, his thumb tracing the cold metal of the keys.

He didn't need to tell them.

He just needed the clock to strike midnight, so he could show her that in his world, she finally had a place that was irrevocably her own.

_________

Shivansh had cleared the evening with a finality that brooked no argument from the office or his family.

He had spent the last hour in their room, dimming the lights until the room was bathed in the amber glow of a dozen beeswax candles, their scent mixing with the faint, heady aroma of the white lilies he had placed on the vanity.

Ruhika was already nestled under the heavy duvet, asleep, had no clue about how transformed their room looked at the moment or that the man standing over her was currently looking at her with a devotion so fierce it felt like a physical weight in his chest.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, the weight of his body causing the bed to dip ever so slightly. He didn't want to startle her, he wanted to pull her gently from the world of dreams into a reality he had spent a week building just for her.

She stirred, a soft, questioning sound escaping her as her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks. Slowly, her eyes opened, blinking against the soft, golden haze of the room.

She looked at the dozens of flickering flames, the lilies on the vanity, and finally, at the man sitting beside her, his dark eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made the air in the room feel thin.

"Shivansh?" she whispered, her voice thick with sleep.

"What...Are you okay?" She questioned out of instinct

"It's midnight," he said, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheek. "Happy birthday, Meri Jaan."

He reached for the small, simple bento cake he had hidden on the nightstand—a dark chocolate and sea salt creation that was just for the two of them.

He lit a single, slender candle, the flame casting a bright, singular spark in the reflection of her widening eyes.

Ruhika stared at it, at him, her breath hitching as the fog of sleep fully cleared, replaced by a stinging, sweet heat behind her eyes.

With everything going around in the house, the caution, the tension, this felt like a heist—a stolen moment of pure, quiet belonging.

"Shivansh," she breathed, her voice cracking slightly.

She looked from the candle to him, finding his dark eyes already fixed on her face with a terrifying, beautiful intensity

Right now, he was just her husband, his hair slightly rumpled, his shirt open at the collar, watching her as if she were the only thing in the world worth observing.

"Make a wish, Ruhika," he demanded softly, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress.

She didn't close her eyes. She kept them locked on his, making a silent vow that had nothing to do with luck and everything to do with the man holding the cake.

When she leaned forward and blew out the candle, the thin, grey spiral of smoke drifted into the scent of the lilies, and for a heartbeat, the darkness felt absolute and safe.

She pulled his hand in hers to cut the cake, and was offered a small piece and a smile she could die for.

Shivansh set the small bento cake aside on the nightstand, his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't reach for her immediately.

Instead, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and produced a small, velvet-lined box. He placed it in her palm, his fingers lingering against her skin, grounding her.

"This is for you"

Ruhika's fingers trembled as she clicked opened the box, inside lay a pair of keys, heavier than any jewel could ever be.

She looked at it, then up at him, confused

She looked down at the silver key, then back at Shivansh, her eyes wide and stinging with a sudden, overwhelming heat.

Her life had something common with Shivansh, it carried the weight of expectation.

But this? This was a piece of the earth that belonged only to her.

It was the one thing she had sacrificed when she walked into the villa: a sense of her own four walls.

"You... you gave me a home?" she whispered, her voice cracking as the first tear escaped, tracing a hot path down her cheek. "Outside of this house? Outside of the family?"

She lunged forward, throwing her arms around his neck so forcefully they both tumbled back into the soft expanse of the pillows.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sandalwood and the steady, unshakable heat of his skin.

Shivansh let out a short, rough laugh—a sound of genuine, unburdened relief—and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"I'm a businessman, Baby," he teased, his lips brushing her ear. "I know a priceless asset when I see one. I'm just protecting my investment."

He tightened his grip on her waist, his large palms anchoring her against him as if he were afraid she might evaporate into the amber candlelight.

"The returns are unparalleled," he rasped and continued, But I'm a greedy man, Ruhika.

She let out a shaky, breathless laugh, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. "Greedy? You just gave me an entire apartment in South Delhi as a birthday gift

Even in the deep, magnetic pull of the moment, He wouldn't let himself drown in the heat until he knew she was submerged right there with him.

He pulled back just an inch, his dark eyes searching hers in the flickering amber light

Ruhika's response wasn't a word, it was a soft, jagged intake of breath as she arched her back, her fingers tangling desperately in the hair at the nape of his neck to pull him back down.

"Yes," she whispered, the word a shaky, melodic surrender. "Please, Shivansh."

Shivansh didn't just kiss her; he reclaimed her, his mouth crashing against hers with a starving intensity that tasted of the sea salt from the cake.

His large hands sliding beneath the silk of her nightgown to map the familiar, velvet curve of her waist. The silk offered no resistance as he swept it over her head, leaving her luminous in the glow of the candles.

His lips trailed a path of fire downward, his teeth grazing the cord of her neck just enough to make her let out a jagged, melodic moan.

He moved to her breasts, his mouth warm and demanding, his thumb circling the other peak until she was arching off the sheets, her heels digging into the mattress.

He shifted his weight, his large, calloused hand sliding down the flat plane of her stomach, his fingers trailing a path of heat that made her skin prickle and shiver.

When he finally found the damp, velvet heat between her thighs, Ruhika's head tossed back against the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut.

He didn't just touch her,he worshipped her with a precision that was devastating. He slid two fingers inside her, finding the internal rhythm she was already searching for.

He felt her tighten around him, a desperate, instinctive welcome that made his own jaw lock with a reflected hunger.

He leaned over her, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hitching in a way she had never heard

She reached up, her damp palms framing his face, her fingers tracing the hard line of his jaw that was currently tight with a desperate restraint.

She pulled him down until their lips were a mere breath apart, her eyes locked onto his, searching the dark, molten depths of his gaze.

"I'm yours, Shivansh," she whispered, her voice a jagged, melodic vow that broke against his skin

Every slide of his fingers, every brush of his thumb against the center of her heat, sent a jolt of pure, white-hot lightning through her spine.

"Shivansh... please," she gasped, her hips stutter-climbing against his hand as she sought to anchor herself.

He stayed over her, his eyes never leaving hers, watching the way her pleasure clouded her vision. He picked up the pace, replacing his fingers with himself,

his movements becoming more urgent, more possessive, until she was nothing but a litany of his name and broken, breathless cries.

When the tension finally coiled to a breaking point and shattered, she arched beneath him, her world dissolving into a thousand stars

He held her through the tremors, his forehead pressed to hers, his own breath coming in ragged, shallow bursts. He waited until the waves of her release had softened into a gentle, glowing hum

Ruhika's response was a fierce, wordless surge. She grabbed his forearms—corded with tension—and pulled.

Surprised by her sudden strength, Shivansh allowed her to guide him, his dark eyes widening as she mirrored his earlier movement, rolling him onto his back with a sudden, sovereign energy.

Now she was the one hovering, her dark hair falling around them like a silken curtain. She sat back on her heels over him, her skin glowing like burnished honey in the guttering candlelight.

"My turn," she whispered, her voice smoky and thick with a newfound confidence.

His hands, large and trembling with a repressed fever, came up to rest on her thighs, his fingers digging slightly into her soft skin as if to anchor himself to the reality of her.

"Ruhika," he rasped, her name sounding like a prayer and a surrender all at once. His dark eyes were blown wide, tracking the predatory, beautiful grace of her.

She didn't let him speak. She leaned forward, her lips grazing the shell of his ear, her voice a velvet hum that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to his core.

"You've spent the whole night giving to me, Shivansh. The lilies, the candles... the key. Now, let me give you this."

She began to move, a slow, provocative tilt of her hips that forced a jagged, guttural groan from deep in his chest. It was a rhythmic, agonizingly sensuous torture.

Ruhika took the lead with a confidence that was entirely her own, mapping his body with her palms, feeling the corded tension of his stomach muscles ripple under her touch.

She watched him—watched the way his jaw locked, the way his head tossed back against the silk, and the way his eyes squeezed shut as she dictated the depth and the heat of their collision.

He was used to being the protector, the fortress, but under her, he was finally allowed to be just a man. He reached up, his knuckles white as he gripped the headboard, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts that mirrored the frantic skip of her heart.

The air in the room grew thick and humid, heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the musk of their shared skin. Every downward press of her body was a reclamation; every slide against him was a wordless vow.

Shivansh surged up to meet her, his hands sliding up to frame her face, his thumbs catching the tears of pure, overwhelming sensation that tracked down her cheeks.

When the world finally shattered, it was a collective collapse—a soul-searing alignment that left them both breathless and trembling in the fading candlelight.

In the heavy, golden aftermath, Ruhika slumped against his chest, her heart drumming a frantic rhythm against his own. Shivansh wrapped his arms around her

The room was silent, save for the sound of their shared breath and the distant click of the clock moving further into her birthday.

He pressed a long, worshipful kiss to the crown of her head, his voice a rough, beautiful whisper in the dark.

"Happy birthday, my love," he murmured, his arms tightening around her.

____________

The sunlight filtered through the heavy curtains in soft, dusty shafts of gold, a stark contrast to the amber candlelight of the night before.

Ruhika stirred against the warmth of Shivansh's chest, the steady, rhythmic thud of his heart the first thing she felt.

She felt a soft pressure on her temple—a lingering kiss that tasted of sleep and deep affection.

Shivansh's voice was a low, morning gravel near her ear. He tightened his arm around her waist, anchoring her back into the silk sheets.

Ruhika shifted, squinting at him with a sleepy, radiant smile. "And what about the MD'? Is he taking a day off too?"

"The MD is currently off-duty," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw. "Today, I'm just a man celebrating his wife."

When they finally rose, the atmosphere was thick with a lazy, domestic intimacy.

Shivansh didn't leave for his study or reach for his laptop,instead, he lingered,

watching her from the armchair as she came out

dressed in a light Anarkali suit, set to visit the temple, an yearly birthday ritual she followed

Ruhika stood before the ornate vanity, the scent of lavender still heady in her hair.

She picked up the small, silver ornate box of sindoor, a smile lingering on her lips.

As she touched the vermilion to the parting of her hair, she felt a presence behind her.

Shivansh had moved silently. He stood reflected in the mirror, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on her, intense and unblinking, tracking the vivid red streak against her fair skin.

"Ruhika," he said, his voice a low, vibrating chord. He didn't move his gaze. He looked at her as if he were seeing the woman he had married for the first time.

He leaned down, his chin brushing her shoulder, his eyes still locked on hers in the glass. "You look... ethereal. Every time I think I've memorized you, you prove me wrong.

He reached out, his thumb gently smoothing a stray grain of red powder near her hairline. The touch was possessive yet profoundly tender. For a long minute, they simply stood there in the mirror's reflection, a man and his wife anchored in a moment of shared, sacred silence.

Suddenly, Ruhika's phone vibrated, seeing the group caller ID- Mumma Papa"—a genuine, childlike radiance broke across her face

Shivansh, noticing the shift, stepped back instinctively to give her space, but stayed close enough to be around.

Both of their eyes turning misty, when her father continued, "But thankfully by evening

Shivansh was alerted hearing the words and appeared in front of the screen, Before her father could utter the word party

Shivansh gently tapped the end-call button on Ruhika's screen and hurriedly her downstairs

________

The staircase was filled with warmth today, As they reached the bottom step, the foyer was already buzzing. The staff stood around, "Happy Birthday Ma'am"

Ruhika heartedly accepted the wishes before reminding them, she's not Ma'am in the four walls of her house, and encouraged them to call her Bhabhi or Didi, a habit the staff couldn't form in months as they were too habituated to Sunita, but the difference felt welcomed

As they walked ahead for breakfast, Aarav was the first to spring up, his usual playful smirk softened by a rare, brotherly warmth. He handed her a sleek, minimalist box from a high-end boutique paired with latest noise cancellation headphones

"Happy Birthday Bhabhi"he wished, giving her a quick side-hug.

"Custom noise-canceling headphones. Use them when Bhai starts talking about quarterly projections at the dinner table."

Ruhika laughed, and thanked him deeply touched by the brother he found in Aarav, the sound of laughter bright and unburdened, catching Shivansh's eye as he stood just half a step behind her.

Then, her father-in-law, Vikram stood. He moved around the house calmly, he stopped in front of Ruhika as she touched his feet.

He lovingly blessed her and held out a velvet-wrapped package, its weight suggesting something substantial.

"This is from both of us," he said, his voice resonant.

"To the daughter of this house. May your year be as resilient as your spirit. Happy Birthday Bachche!

Inside the box, lay a heirloom piece of jwellery that belonged to Shivansh's Grandmother.

By passing it to Ruhika, her father-in-law wasn't just giving her jewelry, he was formally handing her the keys to the family's history.

Ruhika turned toward Sunita, her heart hammering a steady rhythm against her ribs as she lowered herself to touch her feet, hoping for some motherly affection

Sunita remained still for a fraction of a second too long, her gaze flickering from the heirloom pearls to the radiant, sovereign glow on her daughter-in-law's face.

The sight of her mother-in-law's own heritage now resting in Ruhika's hands was a bitter pill.

At the temple, the morning air was thick with the scent of marigolds and dhoop the rhythmic chanting of the priests and the clanging of the brass bells created a cocoon of sound.

Ruhika closed her eyes, her palms pressed together in front of the Shiva Idol.

She didn't pray for more jewelry or bigger promotions; she prayed for the strength to keep the light she had found in their room at midnight, and the man beside her to always stand high

Beside her, Shivansh stood tall, his head bowed, he wanted nothing more but the peace he was seeing on her face to remain intact. The rest he could handle

When she opened her eyes, he reached out and took the small basket of offerings from her, his fingers lingering against hers in a silent, sacred vow.

________

They were back home, when Ruhika went to their room briefly, to attend Isha's call, Shivansh found it as the perfect moment

He went to Sunita, talked to her about his plans for the evening, as his father couldn't find a correct time to bring this up, his attempts futile

"Maa, I wanted to do something special today, It's nothing grand, just a party in our lawn. No corporate banners, No show, Just light, music, and everyone we know."

Sunita's brow furrowed. "Shivansh, a party of this scale on such short notice, besides you could take her for a dinner or something ?

Shivansh replied, "Maa, it's not just her birthday, it's the first with me, and she recently got promoted as well, I've invited the partners, the extended family, and Ruhika's team.

I want the world to see her exactly as I see her.

And I would appreciate it if the house reflected that joy tonight. "

Sunita bit her lip, the words of protest dying in her throat. She could see the shift in him. He wasn't asking for permission,he was stating a fact.

For the first time, Sunita saw her son not as a reflection of her own ambitions or control but as a man who had found his own reasoning

The evening was meant to celebrate, but would it truly turn out to be the way he planned?

The bridge he attempted to build was nowhere in sight and no one knew how long could this be handled

__________

Aesthetic