Chosen Love

💌-CHAPTER 40

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In the chilling cold of January, things no longer felt new. Just like that it was more than six months they got married and looking back, a lot had changed.

Quite Literally

She was not the only one who left everything behind for him, for them to build something together and more importantly both had done it on a leap of faith on each other, which was now love.

The walls didn't echo anymore—they held voices, routines, unfinished conversations, and the quiet certainty of two people who had stopped trying and simply begun to be.

Sunlight would slip in through the curtains just as she stood before the mirror, gathering her hair into a loose knot, her bangles pushed up her arm absentmindedly.

Behind her, he would be moving through the room with that half-awake urgency—looking for his watch, his phone, something he had definitely left somewhere obvious.

"Did you see my—"

He would pause, glance at her reflection, and for a moment the rush would still.

Sometimes he would step closer, pulling her into him by her waist or just teased her with casual touches, which she very unwillingly avoided when running late

But what followed was—a brief press of his lips to her forehead before he left. Always

Not deliberate anymore. Not ceremonial.

Just... theirs.

The kitchen became their shared territory in ways neither of them had planned.

He would sometimes directly taste from the pan, while she glared. At other days, he was a chef at her service.

It was a Tuesday, Shivansh was the first one to be at home, He had discarded his blazer on a barstool, his expensive white shirt unbuttoned halfway, sleeves shoved up to reveal the heavy veins of his forearms as he stirred a pan of curry

Ruhika walked in, her heels clicking on the marble before she kicked them off.

She didn't say a word, she simply walked up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her face into the firm, warm expanse of his back.

"Rough day?" Shivansh murmured, his voice a low vibration she felt through her cheek. He didn't stop stirring, but he leaned back into her, his body acting as a grounding weight.

"Too many meetings, not enough you," she muffled into his shirt, her hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady, powerful thrum of his heart.

Shivansh turned in her arms, the spatula forgotten.

He hoisted her up onto the marble kitchen island, her legs instinctively locking around his waist. The cold stone against her thighs was a sharp contrast to the furnace-like heat radiating from him.

He leaned in, his hands framing her face, his thumbs tracing the tired lines around her eyes until they softened.

They drifted into the living room, the space lit only by the amber glow of the city lights, Ruhika was casually telling him about a new project, pacing the length of the rug, her silhouette elegant and vibrant.

But Shivansh wasn't listening to the words. He watched the way her silk robe caught the light, the way she moved with a confidence and grace

He caught her mid-sentence, his hand snagging her wrist and pulling her into a slow, rhythmic sway. There was no music, but the faint music of their conversation and breathing

There were no locks to check twice. The thrill of being outside the bedroom, of claiming the very center of their home, added a sharp, electric edge to the air.

They didn't realise when they collapsed onto the oversized velvet couch, the cushions swallowing them both. The playfulness of the kitchen had matured into something deeper, more sultry.

Ruhika was draped over him, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at the nape of his neck, while his hands moved with a possessive, commanding grace over the curves of her body

"We're not in the room," she breathed against his lips, the realization sending a shiver of pure, unadulterated adrenaline through her.

"We own the house, Ruhi," Shivansh rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, possessive undertone that made her blood turn to liquid fire. "Every inch of it."

He traced the curve of her hip through the thin silk, his palms searingly hot.

He wasn't just touching her; he was marking her, his grip firm and certain.

He navigated the slope of her waist and the swell of her breast with a hunger that had been simmering since he had seen her leaning against the kitchen counter.

The make-out session was devastating. It was a slow-motion collision of teeth and tongues, tasting of the red wine they had shared and the salt of a long day's end.

Shivansh was relentless, his mouth moving from her lips to the sensitive hollow of her throat, his stubble grazing her skin with a delicious friction.

Every time she let out a soft, broken moan, he swallowed the sound, his thumb sweeping across her jaw to tilt her head further back, exposing the long line of her neck to his ministrations.

The anticipation was a physical weight between them. The sheer space of the living room—the high ceilings, the shadows dancing in the corners—made their entanglement feel daring

He pinned her deeper into the velvet, his thigh sliding between hers,

He pulled back just an inch, his eyes black with a primal, focused intensity. He looked at her—flushed, radiant, and completely undone on their sofa.

"Upstairs," he commanded, the word a ragged, beautiful promise.

He didn't wait for her to stand. He scooped her up, her silk robe fluttering like the wings of a fallen bird, and carried her toward the stairs. The night was nowhere near to its end yet

_______

He reached for the silk tie he had discarded on the armchair earlier—a deep, midnight blue that felt like a feather in his hands.

"I want to show you something," he murmured, his voice dropping into that dark, possessive register that always made her pulse spike. "But I want you to feel it, not see it. Do you trust me?"

Ruhika looked up at him, her eyes wide and luminous. Without a word, she tilted herself and pulled him towards herself own

He leaned in, the scent of his sandalwood cologne enveloping her as he slid the cool silk over her eyes, knotting it gently at the back of her head.

The world vanished. Suddenly, every other sense Ruhika possessed was dialed to a thousand.

She felt the dip in the mattress as he knelt before her, the heat radiating from his body, and the ghost of his breath against her cheek.

"Don't move," he commanded softly.

He began to worship her with an agonizingly slow, sensory precision. Because she couldn't see

His fingertips traced the line of her jaw, the shell of her ear, and her belly. He used the blindfold as a barrier, making every touch a surprise—a searing trail of fire across her collarbone, a sudden, deep kiss on the inside of her wrist.

Ruhika's breath hitched, her fingers digging into the velvet duvet. The anticipation was erotic, a high-tension wire pulling tighter with every second he remained silent. She was a map he was redrawing in the dark, his touch marking her as his exclusive territory.

As the robe slithered off her shoulders and pooled around her hips on the mattress, Ruhika let out a soft, jagged exhale.

Without her sight, the cool air of the room hitting her bare skin felt like a physical touch, followed immediately by the radiating furnace of his proximity.

"Shivansh..." her voice was a broken thread, more a plea than a name.

"I'm right here, Ruhi," he rasped, his breath ghosting over her collarbone.

Her world narrowed down to the searing points of contact. His mouth found the hollow of her throat, his tongue tracing her pulse point with a rhythmic, demanding pressure that made her head toss back against the pillows.

Without the anchor of her vision, her reactions became raw and uninhibitedly vocal. Every brush of his lips, every graze of his teeth against the slope of her breast, elicited a soft, melodic whimper that echoed off the dark wood of their headboard.

She wasn't just feeling him; she was vibrating with the sheer anticipation of where he would claim next.

He moved lower, his hands framing her waist with a possessive, crushing strength that anchored her to the bed. When his mouth replaced his hands, claiming the velvet skin of her inner thigh, Ruhika's back arched to reach him closer

She let out a long, shuddering moan, her fingers clawing into the duvet, her knuckles white. The darkness made the sensation feel bottomless—a freefall of pure, electric pleasure.

"Please," she gasped, her legs trembling against his shoulders. "Shivansh, I can't... I need to see you."

"Not yet," he commanded, his voice a dark, velvety growl that vibrated through her entire frame. He caught her wrists, pinning them gently above her head, his thumbs stroking the frantic beat of her pulse.

He was relentless, using the blindfold to strip away her defenses until she was nothing but raw nerves and honeyed heat.

He entered her while claiming her lips softly her eyes remaining shut, his movement taking her to heights of ecstasy while he followed later

The blindfold remained, a strip of cool silk that turned Ruhika's world into a landscape of pure sensation. But as she lay there, vibrating from the aftershocks of his touch, she felt a surge of reclaimed power.

She didn't want to just be the one receiving; she wanted to feel him crumble beneath her. She slowly removed the silk from her eyes and reached out, her fingers grazing the heat of his abdomen before sliding lower.

Shivansh let out a sharp, hissed intake of air as her palm found the heavy, pulsing reality of him.

"Ruhi..." His voice was a warning, a dark, granular rasp of pure shock.

She didn't pull back. Instead, her grip closed around him with a soft, tentative strength that quickly grew more certain.

For the first time, she was the one exploring, her thumb tracing the velvet heat of him, discovering the frantic rhythm of his pulse through his skin.

She began to stroke him—a slow, rhythmic glide that mimicked the way he had been worshiping her all night.

Shivansh's reaction was visceral. His head fell back against the pillows, a low, guttural groan ripped from his chest—His muscles coiled like high-tension wires, his abs rippling under her other hand

Ruhika leaned forward kissing him, through his jaw and moving to his Adam's apple

She increased the pace, her movements becoming more fluid, more demanding. She felt the way he vibrated under her touch, the way his breath hitched into jagged, broken gasps every time her hand reached the peak of its stroke.

He was a storm held back by a single thread. He was unraveling, his body arching toward her touch as he surrendered his control to her. He let out a long, shuddering sound—a mix of a growl and a plea—as he felt the friction of her palms. And it was the most beautiful sight she had ever seen

"More," he rasped, his hand coming up to cover hers, not to stop her, but to urge her on, his fingers lacing with hers to show her the depth of his need.

In that moment, the power dynamic in the room shifted.

As she continued to pleasure him, listening to the way he called her name, she knew this man was her undoing and she was his.

_________

The following weeks went by in routine, they were now habitual of multitasking, managing work but did always carve out time for each other.

The evening in their apartment was draped in a serene, domestic quiet, the kind of stillness that felt like a luxury after a long day of work. Shivansh was leaning against the kitchen island, a phone pressed to his ear as he listened something Rohan mentioned that needed his signature the next day.

His voice a steady, authoritative rumble that filled the open space. The doorbell's chime cut through his professional monologue just as a food delivery arrived.

Ruhika headed to the door, expecting a simple hand-off, but the delivery executive hesitated, mentioning a lack of online system and discrepancy in the change for the pay-on-delivery order.

Ruhika fumbled with her own small purse, realizing she was short of the exact amount.

Hearing the slight commotion, Shivansh didn't break his stride or his conversation but his eyes were on her, understanding what happened, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his sleek leather wallet, and extended it toward her.

It was a gesture of absolute domesticity and unthinking trust.

As Ruhika, opened the billfold to pull out the cash, her breath caught.

There, tucked securely into the primary transparent slot, was a photograph of her.

It wasn't a professional shot from their wedding or a posed portrait from a gala; it was a candid, grainy photo he must have taken himself on one of their dinners.

She was laughing, her eyes sparkling with a raw, unfiltered joy, and face illuminated by the candlelight.

A wave of profound emotion crashed over her. In her girlhood dreams, she had imagined a love so steady that she would be the first thing a man saw when he opened his world, but she had never dared to believe, that someone would carry her in such a routine, almost forgotten part of his belonging.

It was a quiet, private shrine to her, hidden away from the world but carried close to his heart every single day. Her heart didn't just tug; it ached with a terrifyingly beautiful realization of how deeply she was cherished.

She barely registered the delivery man's thanks as she handed back the change and the wallet. The door clicked shut, she placed the food packets on the kitchen counter and waited until she heard the low click of Shivansh ending his call.

She walked into the space where he stood, her eyes shimmering with a light he couldn't quite place.

Before he could ask if something was wrong, she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that was desperate, sweet, and overflowing with all the words she couldn't find.

It was a kiss of deep gratitude and fierce possession.

Shivansh let out a low, surprised huff of laughter, his hands instinctively finding her waist to steady them both. As they pulled apart, that rare, boyish dimple carved deep into his cheek, casting a shadow of playfulness over his handsome face.

"Well," he teased, his voice husky and eyes dancing with amusement, "to what do I owe this sudden, delightful pleasure?

Ruhika leaned her forehead against his, her heart finally finding its rhythm again.

She matched his playful tone, though her voice still carried the weight of her discovery.

"Nothing," she whispered, a secret smile playing on her lips as she tightened her hold on him and handed him the wallet back "Just for being mine. "

By February, the house felt lived-in—scented with Ruhika's jasmine candles and the lingering aroma of Shivansh's morning espresso.

Valentine's Day wasn't a spectacle.

Instead, Shivansh returned home to find the lights dimmed and a single, handwritten note on the foyer table. It led him to the balcony, where Ruhika had set up a low seating arrangement with floor cushions and a delicious meal

I thought we should skip the overpriced set menus," she said, leaning against the railing in a simple red silk slip dress.

He didn't give her a diamond necklace; he gave her a new mobile phone, the latest model as he saw last week how her older one was draining out of battery too soon.

They spent the night under a shared blanket, watching the city lights, the romance quiet and unshakable, when she presented before him a huge bouquet of roses as well, bending down on one knee, he smiled, his ears turning pink, but too him nothing could match this, what she was trying to give him, pure love and a normal life, woven in moments like these.

______

A few weeks later, Shivansh's firm secured the audit contract for a global tech giant, a move that guaranteed That their presence would be unmatched, it would take him to new heights of success.

To celebrate, Ruhika decided to tackle her greatest nemesis: the oven.

When Shivansh was back, still in his charcoal power suit, looking every bit the high-stakes auditor who had just conquered the corporate world.

Yet, as he looked at Ruhika—hair escaping her clip, a stubborn streak of cocoa powder across her forehead, and a lopsided chocolate ganache cake sitting proudly on a ceramic stand

He was moved beyond words

Ruhika leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over her flour-stained apron.

"I followed a YouTube tutorial very strictly, Shivansh.

I paused it seventeen times. I measured the flour with scientific precision," she defended, though her eyes were dancing with a radiant, exhausted pride.

"And even if the middle is slightly sunken, the ganache is professional grade.

He didn't wait to taste the cake. He moved into her space, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush against his chest. He didn't care about the flour transferring to his bespoke blazer; he only cared about the woman who had spent her afternoon battling a whisk for him.

"I don't care about the cake, Ruhi," he whispered, his nose grazing hers. "I care that you did this. For me."

He broke away just long enough to cut a generous, messy slice. He ate it standing right there at the counter, leaning back against the marble and pulling her into the crook of his arm.

He took a bite, the rich, dark chocolate melting on his tongue. It was slightly too dense, and the middle was definitely underbaked, but to Shivansh, it was the finest meal he'd ever had.

"It's perfect," he said, his voice low and sincere. Between bites, he kept his arm hooked around her neck, anchoring her to him, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he smeared her cheek with chocolate to which he shrieked.

The victory at the firm felt miles away; the true triumph was this—the domestic peace of a woman who loved him enough to try something she hated.

Once the plate was cleared, Ruhika reached into the drawer of the kitchen island. "I have something else," she said, her voice turning soft, almost shy.

She handed him a small, heavy box wrapped in simple cream paper. Inside, nestled on velvet, was a vintage, silver-cased pocket watch. It wasn't just a timepiece; when he clicked it open, he saw an inscription engraved in delicate, flowing script on the inner lid:

The silver watch was heavy in his hand, a symbol of his professional height, but the flour-dusted woman in his arms was the only height that truly mattered.

________

Life was not always easy, work took its toll and sometimes when the moments we look forward to are ruined, it hurts more than expected

it started with the silence of a cold dinner and the glow of a laptop screen.

It was 9:30 PM on a Thursday. Ruhika had spent the evening trying to make their home feel like an escape

She'd picked up fresh peonies, dimmed the lights, and prepared a simple pasta they both loved.

But Shivansh had walked through the door of the study room at 10:00 PM, his phone pressed to his ear, his eyes glazed with focus that left no room for her.

He hadn't even changed out of his formal shirt. He sat at the kitchen island, typing furiously, his dinner sitting untouched and congealing in the bowl she had set out for him.

"Shivansh, it's been five days," Ruhika said, her voice steady but laced with a sharp, brittle edge. "Five days where we haven't had a single proper conversation

He didn't look up. "Please Baby, the transition after the audit contract is massive. I'm literally restructuring the firm's internal logic. I need another hour."

"I am doing this for us!" Shivansh finally snapped, his head snapping up, his eyes tired and defensive

"And you're building it so high that I can't even see you behind it!

" Ruhika's voice rose, her eyes flashing with a radiant, hurt anger.

"In providing independence your presence should not be optional for me, I understand work, trust me I do, but I want my husband at dinner, is too much to ask for? "

Ruhika didn't storm off with a scream; she retreated with a heavy, hollow silence. She settled onto the velvet sofa, pulling a heavy comforter to her chin, her eyes fixed on the dark Delhi skyline.

Every nerve in her body was tuned to the sound of his footsteps, waiting for the heavy thud of the laptop lid closing

Instead, an hour later, she heard the bedroom door open.

Shivansh walked toward the kitchen, his phone still wedged between his shoulder and his ear.

"No, the risk assessment doesn't account for the regional fluctuations," he said, his voice clipped, professional, and entirely devoid of the warmth she was starving for.

He didn't even glance at the sofa. He grabbed a glass of water, his laptop tucked under his arm like a shield, and headed back into the room.

The click of the door was the final straw. Ruhika buried her face in the silk pillow

Inside the bedroom, the blue light of the screen was the only thing cutting through the darkness. Shivansh sat on the edge of the bed, his fingers flying across the keys, but his legendary focus was fracturing.

He had read the same paragraph four times. His ears were straining for the sound of the front door, or better yet, the sound of her footsteps returning to their bed.

By 1:30 AM, the call ended, and the laptop was finally shut.

But the silence that followed was worse than the argument. The bed felt like a cavern.

He shifted to her side, his hand brushing the cool, empty silk of her pillow. The efficiency he boasted about earlier felt like a mockery.

What was the point of securing a future if he was losing the person he was building it for in the present?

At 2:30 AM, Ruhika was still awake, her limbs stiff from the cramped position on the couch. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that makes you overthink every word said in anger.

She felt a shadow fall over her before she heard him.

Shivansh stood over the sofa, his T-shirt rumpled, his hair a mess where he had been running his hands through it in frustration.

He didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her—small, stubborn, and heartbreakingly beautiful in the dim light.

For a moment he almost smiled at how cute she looked, before reminding himself why he was here

"I can't do it," he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of exhaustion and defeat.

Ruhika didn't move. "Can't do what? The audit? Try again,you will figure it out by morning" She almost mocked him angrily

He shook her head, a ghost of a smile lingering on the corner of his lips, "I can't sleep in that room without you," he admitted, "I tried to work. I tried to ignore the fact that you were out here. I failed."

He leaned down, and before she could protest or tell him she was still mad, he slid his arms beneath her. He scooped her up, lifting her with an effortless, grounding strength.

Ruhika instinctively looped her arms around his neck, her forehead resting against the cool skin of his collarbone. "I'm still mad at you"

The weight of him behind her was the only thing that could have quieted the restless storm in her chest.

As Shivansh pulled her flush against his body, his large hand splaying over her waist to anchor her back to him, the cold, sharp edges of her anger began to soften.

She stared at the faint shadows on the wall, her lips twitching with the ghost of a smile she was too stubborn to let him see just yet.

She didn't turn around, but she didn't pull away either. Instead, she let out a long, shuddering breath, her tension bleeding into the mattress as she leaned back into his heat

He tightened his hold, tucking his chin over her shoulder, his breathing finally slowing as he found the peace that had eluded him all night.

The argument wasn't resolved—the calendar invites were still there, and his work-life balance was still a mess—but the distance between them had been bridged.

They drifted off in a silent truce, two people who had realized that while they could survive the world alone, they couldn't survive the silence of their own home.

__________

The air in their house, was different this March—it smelled of sandalwood, dried hibiscus, and the intoxicating promise of a first. For Shivansh and Ruhika, Holi didn't come just a festival, it was the first time they were painting their world in colors they chose themselves.

The sun had barely kissed the marble floors of their bedroom when Shivansh woke up, He didn't reach for the light he reached for the small bowl he sneaked last night to the bedside when she was asleep.

Ruhika was a vision in a simple white cotton kurti, her chooda muffled against the pillow. Shivansh leaned over, his breath hitching at the peace on her face. With a finger dipped in fine, organic scarlet gulal, he traced the line of her jaw, then feathered a soft stroke across her cheekbone.

The touch woke her, She blinked, her brown eyes meeting his dark, hooded gaze.

"Happy Holi, Meri Jaan," he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep.

Before she could respond, he leaned down, pressing his cheek against hers, the friction transferring the red powder from his skin to hers. It wasn't a splash, it was an embrace. Ruhika laughed—a sound that Shivansh had vowed to protect with his life—and reached for the bowl herself.

"Happy Holi, Shivansh. Thankyou for being the brightest colour of my life"

She didn't just apply color; she turned it into a tease.

Her powder-coated fingers traced the column of his throat, lingering over his heartbeat, before she playfully smeared a handful over his chest. The morning devolved into a slow-motion chase through the quiet house, ending with them breathless against the kitchen counter, their white clothes now a canvas of soft pinks and deep reds, the air heavy with the scent of roses and raw devotion.

By 11:00 AM, their home was officially invaded.

Aarav and Rohan burst in first, armed with high-pressure water guns and buckets of chilled saffron water.

They practically dragged Shivansh out out the house, dumping a bucket of purple water over his head. "You thought you would have a peaceful Holi? Not on my watch!" Aarav yelled

Later they went to Ruhika and three of their faces were gently coloured with colours of blue pink and green

Isha arrived shortly after, looking elegant in a white suit herself until she saw Ruhika. The two women shared a look of pure mischief and ran after each other with hands full of colour.

The terrace of the duplex was transformed into a sun-drenched riot of music and mist. When Isha stepped out, her pristine white suit lasted all of five seconds.

Aarav set the speakers were thumping with music, They were a blur of white cotton and neon dust.

At one point, everyone retreated to the snack table, breathless and clutching plates of spicy aloo chaat and honey-soaked gujiyas.

"My face is blue, Isha! I look like an Avatar character," Ruhika laughed, trying to wipe her cheek with a napkin that was already soaked in green water.

"Wait," Isha giggled, grabbing a fresh handful of pink. "Balance is important."

They lost count of the reset trips. Every hour, they would retreat to the water pipe, scrubbing their faces raw just to see the clear skin for a second before running back out to be painted anew.

By 4:00 PM, the guests had trickled out, leaving the terrace a beautiful, muddy mess of rainbow puddles. The adrenaline faded, replaced by a heavy, contented exhaustion.

In the master bathroom, the steam was thick, smelling of expensive sandalwood soap and lemon oil. Shivansh stood behind Ruhika in front of the vanity mirror. Her hair was a tangled nest of purple and gold; his arms were stained a stubborn shade of sunset orange.

"Stay still", he murmured, his voice a low vibration against her neck.

He took a cotton pad soaked in oil and began to gently trace the curve of her ear, removing the stains she couldn't reach.

Ruhika closed her eyes, leaning back into his chest.

"You missed a spot"," he whispered, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that vibrated straight through her.

He dipped his hand into the pocket of his kurta and smeared her yet again with a deep purple sensuously till the hollow of her throat, the friction of his skin against hers sparking a slow-burning fire.

His touch moved lower, tracing the delicate line of her collarbone, his thumb lingering where her pulse thrashed like a trapped bird.

Ruhika's hands reached back, her fingers tangling in his damp hair, pulling him closer.

"Shivansh..." she breathed, a warning and an invitation all at once.

He didn't stop. He turned her in the narrow space between the vanity and his chest, his hands sliding down to her waist, the white fabric of her kurta translucent from the dampness.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against the purple stain he had just made before taking her in for a kiss

As the kiss deepened, his hands found the hem of her damp chikankari kurta. The fabric, heavy with water and weighted by layers of gulal, gave way easily as he skimmed it upward.

Ruhika didn't pull away; instead, she arched into him, her fingers working the buttons of his own now multicoloured kurta with a frantic, matching intensity.

When the wet fabric finally pooled on the marble floor, the sight of her made his breath catch. Her skin was a living masterpiece—streaks of sunset orange, emerald green, and that singular, royal purple stain at her throat.

He reached for more colour now sitting on the vanity. He didn't sprinkle it; he took a handful and pressed it against the curve of her waist, the fine dust silkily coating her damp skin.

Ruhika let out a low, shaky laugh, reaching for a smudge of deep crimson on his shoulder and dragging her nails lightly through it, leaving four pale tracks in the pigment.

She turned the tables then, grabbing a stray mug of water and pouring it slowly over his chest.

The liquid chased the orange stains down his torso, and she followed the path with her palms, feeling the hard, frantic rhythm of his heart beneath her touch

He pulled her back into the spray of the shower for a second, the water turning the colors into swirling, psychedelic rivers at their feet.

He pinned her gently against the cool tile, his lips finding the curve where her shoulder met her neck, whispering promises that were far more colorful than the powder they had played with.

Ruhika's head fell back, her eyes fluttering shut as she felt the sheer weight of his devotion. But as his hands slid lower, the memory of the ticking clock finally broke through the haze of sandalwood and steam.

"Shivansh," she gasped, her voice fracturing as she felt the heat of his skin. "We are already running an hour late,to meet everyone"

"No," she laughed with the effort to be the voice of reason. She planted her palms firmly against his wet chest and gave a determined shove

"Out!" she commanded, pointing toward the door with a trembling finger, a playful, breathless smirk on her face. "Go get freshened up, I need exactly fifteen minutes to turn back into a respectable woman before I lose my nerve."

Shivansh stood there for a moment, drenched, multicolored, and looking thoroughly undone. He let out a long, defeated exhale, running a hand through his dripping hair.

"This isn't over," he warned, his eyes dark with a promise that made her knees weak even from across the room. "The visits are just a break, tonight, the rules of this house return"

He finally stepped out, the click of the door echoing in the quiet room, leaving Ruhika to lean against the vanity, trying to catch her breath while the scent of him lingered in the steam.

Shivansh walked into the family mansion alone. The air here was heavy, smelling of expensive lilies and old traditions—a sharp contrast to the earthy, wet-dust scent of the day's play.

Sunita met him in the living room, before she simply touched a small dot of tilak to his forehead with a hand that trembled slightly. He wasn't there to ask for forgiveness; he was there to show he was still a son

Two hours later , Shivansh's car pulled up to Ruhika's parents' home. He stepped inside, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. Here, the Holi colors were still splashed across the porch, and the sound of laughter was unrestrained.

Ruhika was in the living room, looking radiant in a fresh, deep blue suit that made the red of her chooda pop. When she saw him, her entire face lit up—a small, private smile that only he was meant to decode. Her parents welcomed him with a genuine warmth

They fed him another piece of gujiya and laughed about how clean he looked compared to their chaotic morning.

Shivansh watched Ruhika interact with her mother, seeing the peace in her eyes, and knew that every sacrifice had been worth this one look of contentment.

"Ready to go home?" he asked softly, his hand finding the small of her back as they said their goodbyes.

As the car pulled away and the city lights blurred past, the silence between them was comfortable. The formal world was behind them, leaving the night ahead

__________

_________

There were days when Vikram used to visit them, observing the life his son and daughter-in-law had built away from his shadow. He watched Ruhika navigate the space with a quiet, glowing authority—not the practiced poise of a socialite, but the ease of a woman who was truly at peace.

He watched as Ruhika moved through the living room, effortlessly adjusting a stray cushion before handing him a cup of tea she had brewed herself.

"Papa you have to tell him," Ruhika started, a playful glint in her eyes as she sat on her chair beside him, he should be home back on time, since the new project inko bas office hi dikhta hai"

Shivansh let out a low, genuine laugh, shaking his head, "Guilty as charged, Madam. Some days are really demanding but does that mean you'll complain to him now, what is this a Parent-Teacher Meet?"

He saw the way they shared a private look over the rim of their teacups, a silent conversation of inside jokes that excluded the rest of the world.

He hadn't seen his son this unburdened since he was a child.

"You both have done well with this house" he said setting his cup down with a deliberate, soft click.

He looked around the room, noting the stray book on the coffee table and the pair of Ruhika's heels kicked off near the foyer.

"It feels... like a home. Not just an address.

It has a soul that the mansion hasn't seen in a very long time. "

It was a staggering admission. Shivansh went still, the weight of the compliment landing heavily. For a man who measured success in numbers for most of his life acknowledging the soul of a space was a tectonic shift.

As the evening wound down and the elder man stood to leave, he paused at the door, looking at the two of them framed by the warm light of their hallway. He looked at Shivansh, seeing the tension gone from his jaw replaced by the face of a man who was finally, truly content.

"The Sundays feel very quiet without your bickering, with two of my children missing from the table" the elder man admitted, the closest he would ever get to a confession of loneliness.

He looked at Ruhika, then back to his son. Then, with a faint, rare ghost of a smile, he shook his head. "I miss you both. I really do. But...

He trailed off, looking back at the cozy, lived-in warmth of their living room.

"I won't tell you to be back. Not yet, at least," he finished softly. "You've found something here that is far more important than a family dinner. Stay here. Grow into this. I would rather miss you and know you're this happy than have you home and see that mask on your face again."

He turned and walked toward the elevator before they could respond, leaving a profound, emotional silence in his wake.

Shivansh reached out, pulling Ruhika back against his chest as the elevator doors chimed shut. "Did he just... give us his blessing to stay away?"

Shivansh buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of jasmine and the home they had built. "I like who we are too, Ruhi.

________

The heavy, stagnant heat of a Delhi May pressed against the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city outside shimmering in a hazy, golden afternoon glare. Inside the bedroom, the air conditioning hummed a steady, cool rhythm, creating a private bubble of frost against the sweltering world.

Both of them were at home, working from the comfort of their space.

Shivansh found Ruhika not at her desk or in the living room, but curled into a tight knot in the center of their bed.

She was wearing one of his white button-down shirts—the linen thin and soft from a dozen washes—that hung off her shoulders and swallowed her small frame.

It was her hiding outfit, a silent signal that she needed to feel his presence even when he wasn't there.

He didn't need to ask. He saw the discarded tissues on the nightstand and the soft, red puffiness around her eyes—the tell-tale signs of a week where her body felt like a battlefield and her emotions like raw glass.

"Hey," he murmured, sitting on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight, and he reached out, his fingers threading through her tangled hair. "Rough day?"

"I'm just being dramatic," she sniffled, trying to pull a brave face while wiping away a stray tear that had escaped over a stupidly sentimental commercial. "Everything is fine, Shivansh. I'm just... tired."

He leaned down, his mouth grazing her temple with a lingering, protective heat. His hands slid to her waist, his touch habitually seeking the spark they always shared.

For a heartbeat, his thumb brushed the skin beneath the thin linen of her shirt—a silent, familiar invitation. But as Ruhika gave a small, involuntary wince, her posture stiffening against a sharp wave of cramping, and she said, "Please Don't, Not Today"

Shivansh stopped instantly There was no ego in his withdrawal, no flicker of hurt or denied control.

Instead, he simply adjusted. He shifted behind her, pulling her back against his chest and tucking her head under his chin.

"You're not being dramatic, Ruhi. You're human," he whispered into her hair.

He spent the next hour in a comfortable silence, his large, warm hands moving in slow, rhythmic circles against the small of her back, the heat of his palms seeping through the shirt.

He didn't try to fix her mood or talk her out of her exhaustion he simply provided the sanctuary she needed.

In those quiet moments, as her breathing finally evened out and the tension left her shoulders, Shivansh realized a profound truth loving her meant knowing exactly when to be her lover and when to be her anchor.

By evening, he knew she was on her period, something he gathered in all these months when she's easily exhausted or complaining, he stacked her bedside with chocolates, heating pad and make her the special ginger tea she began to like everyday for the week

"Do you know what today is?" Ruhika asked, leaning back against him, her heels discarded somewhere inside. She held up her left hand, where the diamond caught the moonlight.

He looked at her, and pulled her closer to himself by wrapping her close when he smiled and said,

"May 13th"One year since we said yes in front of the world, Our engagement

Shivansh let out a low, vibrant chuckle that she felt through her entire spine.

He took her hand in his, his fingers tracing the ring that had been something they chose together, first decision of many "And I thought you were a firebrand who was going to make my life

Interesting and worth it, You're living upto the expectation Mrs Kapoor" He winked

He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers as he exhaled a breath he seemed to have been holding for a year.

"You made it impossible for me to go back to the man I was. You made it impossible to live in a house that didn't have your jasmine scent or your messy bookshelves.

Ruhika reached up, her palms framing his face, her thumbs stroking the sharp line of his jaw. "Good. I like the man who replaced him much better."

They stood there for a long time, until he leaned down to claim her lips in a slow, deep kiss

________

It was a weekend, when like all alternate weekends Aarav arrived, it was a ritual they followed and he looked forward to spending two weekends a month this both of them.

And they were more than happy to have him

Whenever he came it was with the entitlement only a younger brother could possess.

The Saturday ritual had become sacred: a mountain of spicy takeout containers scattered across the marble island, a movie playing at a negligible volume in the background, and a relentless stream of banter.

"I've seen you skip through the hallway in your socks because Bhabhi screamed seeing a lizard. Your mystery is gone. Your aura is compromised."

Ruhika laughed as she reached out for chips, "Even with all the chaos, I have mental footage"

An hour later, they were bored of the movie when the three of them were sprawled around the low marble coffee table, deep into a cutthroat game of Monopoly.

It turned out, the auditor was surprisingly ruthless with colorful paper money.

"Bhai! , you literally just bankrupted your own brother," Aarav groaned, throwing his plastic car onto the board. "Where is the family loyalty? Where is the mercy?"

Ruhika laughed, tucked into the crook of Shivansh's arm. "Don't look at me, Aarav. He tried to negotiate my utilities ten minutes ago. He has no soul when there's a pair of dice involved."

Once they were done, and he was decided as the ultimate winner, the trio sat together and just talked

"Tu thik hai na Aarav? Everything fine? I know work is hectic since the past few months you are compromising on your free time, I see you coming early to work and leaving late, don't escape, that place is still our home, the one where we grew up.

Ruhika piped in, And what about you? Not the firm, not the logistics, not the game. How are you doing, Aarav? Any girl we should know about, or are you still pretending to be a bachelor of the year?"

Aarav fidgeted as his ears turned a tell-tale shade of pink. "Nothing serious," he insisted, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. "Just... seeing someone. It's new. I'm trying to keep it quiet, so don't go announcing

Aarav grinned, finally looking up. "She is from the office, actually. And sure, I'll let you know if I hit a wall."

Shivansh, who had been leaning back raised a sharp, skeptical eyebrow. He looked at Ruhika, his gaze trailing over her animated face.

"Help? Tumhe bada pata hai Since when are you a love guru?"

He turned his focus back to his brother, his voice dropping into a more grounded, cautionary tone.

"Look, Aarav, just don't do anything that takes you somewhere difficult. Be patient

Ruhika and Aarav exchanged a long, bewildered look before turning back to Shivansh.

"Shivansh," Ruhika said, her voice dripping with dry amusement. "He's asking about dating, not preparing for the UPSC exams. You don't need a five-year plan for a second date."

Aarav chuckled, emboldened by his sister-in-law's support.

"Exactly. And besides, Bhai, Bhabhi is younger, and a woman—of course she's the one to help me. Waise bhi aap to purane ho ,You're obsolete now

Ruhika threw her head back and laughed, the sound bright and musical, clearly enjoying the sight of Shivansh being knocked off his pedestal.

Shivansh didn't join the laughter. He leaned in closer to Ruhika, his hand finding the nape of her neck, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin behind her ear.

"Don't you dare team up with him," he muttered in a low, vibrating voice meant only for her, "or I'll have to show you exactly how obsolete I am,tonight. "

The laughter died in Ruhika's throat instantly. Her eyes widened, and she went incredibly still, the blush creeping from her neck to her cheeks in a frantic wave and suddenly the wall clock seemed to be more fascinating

Later that night, when Aarav retired to the bedroom he reserved for himself, Ruhika was in the kitchen, stacking up glasses in the overhead cabinet when a shadow fell over her.

Shivansh didn't give her a chance to turn around. He stepped into her personal space, his hands finding her waist and hoisting her up onto the cold marble counter in one fluid motion.

He stood between her knees, caging her in with his arms, his face inches from hers.

"Still think I'm obsolete?" he murmured, his voice a dark, velvety rasp that echoed the threat he'd made earlier.

"I didn't say it, Aarav did," she whispered breathlessly, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on his broad shoulders. Her heart was hammering against her ribs, the playful energy of the evening shifting into something far more potent.

They jumped apart, Ruhika nearly sliding off the counter in her haste

Aarav was standing in the kitchen doorway, an empty water bottle in his hand and a look of mock horror on his face.

"I come in for some water and I find these two lovestruck teenagers," Aarav groaned, shielding his eyes with his free hand

Ruhika's face was practically glowing a fiery red as she scrambled off the counter, swatting Shivansh's arm and bolting past a laughing Aarav toward the safety of their bedroom.

"We've a house, Aarav! Go to sleep or I'm doubling your workload on Monday!" Shivansh shouted after her, a triumphant, boyish grin lighting up his face as he watched his wife disappear and followed her the next minute

______

Almost a month later, on a Sunday night when the reality of the outside world came crashing back when the clock struck 2:10AM

Shivansh and Ruhika were non existent to the world, tangled together in the cool sanctuary of their high-thread-count sheets, when the silence was fractured. It wasn't a polite chime or a buzz—it was a frantic, rhythmic pounding on the front door that vibrated through the hallway.

Shivansh was awake in an instant. He didn't fumble; he rolled out of bed, grabbing a T-Shirt kept nearby and sliding into his slippers with a grim, alert efficiency.

"Shivansh?" Ruhika's voice was thick with sleep, her heart racing as she sat up.

"Stay here," he commanded softly, his voice already dropping into that protective, low-frequency hum.

He reached the foyer just as the knocking turned into a desperate scraping sound. He looked through the security feed—and his blood ran cold. He wrenched the door open.

Isha didn't walk in, she practically dragged herself in and collapsed on the couch.

He was a ghost of the vibrant girl. Her hair was matted from the humidity, and her eyes were raw, obsidian pits of grief.

She was clutching a single, haphazardly packed duffel bag—the kind you grab when you're leaving a life behind in five minutes.

"Isha?" Ruhika's voice came from the hallway, filled with instant, sharp alarm. She ran to her friend's side, catching her before she could sink to the floor.

"He... he told me I was delusional, Ruhika," Isha whispered, her voice a fragile thread that snapped mid-sentence.

Ruhika let out a strangled gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. Isha's boyfriend—Yuvraj

The hospital guy Shivansh had never quite liked—had finally dropped the mask of the charming, busy doctor to reveal a cold, commitment-phobic core.

"He told me to leave," Isha sobbed, the tears finally breaking through again. "He said if I wanted a ring so badly, I should go find a man who wants a trophy wife, that's what he sees me as

Shivansh stood nearby quickly fetching her water, His jaw was set in a way that would have terrified a boardroom.

He didn't offer a lecture on choosing better men. Instead, he stepped forward and took the heavy duffel bag from Isha's trembling hand.

"You always have the doors open,here," Shivansh said

He looked at Ruhika, seeing the fury and heartbreak in her eyes. "Take her to the guest suite. I'll handle the rest."

While Ruhika guided Isha toward the back of the duplex, Shivansh moved with a quiet purpose he moved through the shadows himself.

He brewed a pot of chamomile tea, his movements precise. He found a clean, oversized sweatshirt of Ruhika's and laid it out on the guest bed, knowing Isha needed to feel enveloped in something grounded.

An hour later, Ruhika emerged from the guest room, her expression shattered. She walked straight into Shivansh's arms in the kitchen, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"She's finally asleep," Ruhika whispered, her voice trembling. "She thinks she's a failure, Shivansh. She thinks because she wanted a life with someone, in love that has made her weak.

Shivansh's grip tightened around her waist, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her head. The protective weight of his arm was the only thing keeping her upright.

"She's not weak for wanting a home, Ruhi," he murmured against her hair. "He's just too small of a man to build one."

"Don't thank me," Shivansh replied, his gaze intense and unshielded. "This house... it isn't just for us anymore. It's for whoever we love. I told you once I'd build a wall around this life so no one could touch it. I meant it."

It was a few days later, by the end of June when Isha left her shared apartment with Yuvraj and shifted back to hers, closer to the hospital staff quarters, gathering enough strength to move on unaware that life surprises us in the weirdest ways possible when we least expect it to.

_________

On another fairly normal weekend, they decided to go shop, what caught Ruhika's eye were cute baby clothes which she decided to buy for Ahaana who was the cutest human around them, around seven months old now.

Shivansh and Ruhika moved through the aisles looking for something they could gift her, his eyes scanning the shelves with detail, scanning fabrics, prints

Ruhika, however, was in her element, her fingers trailing over tiny frocks, rompers, shoes and hand-painted wooden toys.

Ruhika's breath caught as she picked up a pair of tiny, lemon-yellow crocheted booties. They were impossibly small, with delicate white ribbons for laces.

"Oh, look at these," she whispered, a soft, wistful glow lighting up her face. "They're so cute ."

Shivansh stepped up behind her, his chest brushing her shoulder as he peered at the tiny things in her palm. "They are"

The sentence hung in the air, unfinished but echoing.

The word "ours" landed with a soft thud in the quiet

Ruhika's heart gave a sudden, violent skip. She realized what she'd said the exact millisecond the sound left her lips.

She felt the heat climb from her neck to her cheeks in a frantic, rosy wave and quickly shoved the footwear back onto the display rack, her movements suddenly very clumsy.

She looked up and saw Shivansh watching her, his head tilted slightly, a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk spreading across his face.

"When it's ours, hmm?" he repeated, his voice dropping into that dark, velvety silk.

"I—I meant... the collective 'ours.' Like, when people have them. General people

she stammered, grabbing a random pair of socks just to have something to hold.

"Ours" he mused, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating off his chest. He leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. "And do also plan on stocking up enough to bankrupt me, or is that a specific trait of the mini-Ruhika you're envisioning?"

He let out a low, vibrant chuckle that she felt in her very bones. He didn't push further, but as they walked to the billing counter, he draped an arm over her shoulder, his thumb lazily stroking her collarbone.

The teasing lasted through the drive, but by the time they reached the duplex and the sun had begun to set over the Delhi skyline, the mood shifted.

They were in the living room, the shopping bags discarded on the floor, the house filled with the warm, amber glow of the evening.

Shivansh was sitting on the sofa, and Ruhika was tucked beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. The silence was comfortable, but the air felt charged with the conversation they'd been dancing around all day.

"You've been quiet since long, Shivansh said softly, his fingers lacing through hers.

"I was just... embarrassed," Ruhika admitted, her voice small. "I didn't mean to blurt it out like that. We haven't really talked about 'us' in that way. About a family."

Shivansh turned her slightly so he could look into her eyes.

The teasing smirk was gone, replaced by a raw, unshielded sincerity. "I liked hearing it, Ruhi. It's been on my mind, too. Not as a responsibility or something that just happens,but because it's you."

He reached up, his hand framing her face. "I spent so long focusing on building my career and this life, but today, when you said 'ours,' it was the first time I actually pictured it. A house that isn't just quiet and perfect, but one with your fire and maybe a little girl with your laugh."

Ruhika felt a lump form in her throat. She leaned into his palm. "I want that too. I want to see you be a dad. I think you'd be the kind who acts all tough but secretly lets them eat chocolate for breakfast."

He pulled her closer, his forehead resting against hers. "There's no rush, Ruhi. I love this—just us. But knowing that you see a future us too... that's the best thing I've heard all year, but everything happens when you're ready, we have not followed timelines ever, remember?

He winked and she laughed

The conversation drifted into a comfortable, romantic haze as he leaned in to kiss her—a slow, deep promise that their "ours" was no longer a slip of the tongue, but a beautiful, inevitable destination.