𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

Chapter 39

A few months later...

The air buzzed with laughter, music, and the sweet scent of mehendi. Bright marigolds hung from every corner of the Singhania mansion as guests bustled around, dressed in vibrant hues, dancing, chatting, and waiting for the bride-to-be to arrive.

Rudra stood near the balcony, dressed in a bottle-green kurta with intricate golden embroidery, sleeves rolled slightly—looking dangerously handsome and effortlessly royal. His eyes were trained on the main entrance like a man on a mission.

"Relax, bhai. Mehendi lagwa rahi hogi. (She must be getting her mehendi done)," Veer teased, offering him a glass of juice.

"I'm relaxed," Rudra muttered, clearly not relaxed.

And then—she appeared.

Maya walked in, draped in a stunning lime green lehenga, her hair braided delicately with jasmine strands, hands already adorned with half-finished mehendi.

But it wasn't the outfit or the flowers that took Rudra's breath away—it was her.

That signature confidence, those eyes scanning the crowd until they locked with his.

She smirked. He raised a brow. The chaos was inevitable.

Maya sauntered toward him and said, "You look decent, Mr. Khadoos."

He leaned forward slightly and whispered near her ear, "And you look like trouble, Mrs. Khadoos-to-be."

She rolled her eyes, pretending to fan herself. "Wow, now you're trying to flirt at a family function too?"

Rudra smirked. "I'm not trying. I'm succeeding."

Just then, the mehendi artist called Maya back to finish the design, and she took a seat. Rudra, ignoring the elders' amused glances, crouched beside her and asked softly, "Where's my name hidden?"

"You'll have to find it later," she teased.

"Oh, I will," he murmured, his voice deep and suggestive enough to make her cheeks color despite the crowd.

Maya swatted his arm. "Behave. My whole family's here."

He leaned back with a lazy grin. "They better get used to it. You're marrying a Khadoos flirt, after all."

Just then, the music changed to a peppy number and the cousins dragged both of them to the dance floor. The function turned chaotic with lots of giggles, offbeat dancing, teasing cousins, and stolen glances between the soon-to-be bride and groom.

And under all the madness, Rudra's hand found Maya's for just a second—warm, steady, and soft.

He squeezed it gently, and she smiled.

This was their beginning.

I sat cross-legged on the cushion as the mehendi artist worked her magic, the cooling paste curling around my fingers like art, and my cousins buzzing around like caffeine-fueled bees.

"So, what name should I write for your groom?" the artist asked, tilting her head.

I smirked.

"Write Mr. Khadoos," I said with a smug grin.

The poor artist blinked at me in confusion. "Sorry?"

"Mr. Khadoos," I repeated, biting back a laugh. "Don't worry, he'll know."

My cousins who overheard nearly choked on their drinks. Diya looked at me like I'd gone insane. "MAYA! That's your wedding mehendi!"

"Exactly," I said sweetly, waving my half-done hand. "Why should Rudra Singhania get the credit when the world needs to know I'm marrying the grumpiest man alive?"

They all burst out laughing. I could already imagine Rudra's face when he finds out later tonight. Eyes narrowing, jaw clenching, then that smirk—the one he tries to hide but fails miserably.

God, I loved that smirk.

And if he dared to tease me about it? Well, he better be ready for the chaos I'll unleash at the sangeet.

I looked down at the artist finishing her swirls and whispered to myself, "Let the hunt for Mr. Khadoos begin."

Because honestly? He'd never find his name in there.

Because technically...

...it isn't there at all.

The mehendi function had reached its full bloom—cousins laughing over inside jokes, aunties competing for the loudest gossip, dhol beats syncing with thumping hearts, and somewhere amidst it all, the bride and groom finding small worlds within each other's presence.

Rudra, usually the composed, terrifyingly unreadable Professor Singhania, now stood in the corner watching his bride-to-be giggle with her cousins.

His gaze softened in a way only Maya could bring out in him.

His hand itched to pull her close, to whisper more sarcasm wrapped in sugar, to sneak another smile out of her.

But even he knew—tonight, it was Maya's kingdom. And he was just a willing subject.

From a distance, Veer watched the pair with narrowed eyes and a lazy grin. "Bhai looks like he's seconds away from kidnapping his own fiancée," he muttered, elbowing Diya who snorted into her drink.

Back near the seating area, Maya was now admiring her dried mehendi. The reddish-brown stain had turned darker than expected. A good omen, the elders would say. But Maya? She was just excited for Rudra's reaction.

Because as the lights dimmed for the dance performances, Rudra walked up to her slowly—his hands tucked behind his back, mischief dancing in his eyes.

"Didn't find it, did you?" she whispered smugly.

"Oh, I searched. Thoroughly," he replied, eyes scanning her hands again. "But apparently, my bride has a flair for mystery."

"I do," she said, sipping her juice, "but you love the chaos."

Rudra stepped closer, voice low but teasing, "I love you, Mrs. Khadoos-to-be. Chaos and all."

And just like that, Maya's heart skipped one of those dangerous beats—the kind she'd never admit out loud but always felt when he looked at her like that.

Before she could reply, Raj came barreling in with a mic, yelling, "AND NOW, THE SANGEET BEGINS!"

The spotlight cut them off, and the cousins dragged Maya away for her performance. Rudra stepped back, hands in pockets, watching her dance under the golden lights, surrounded by love and madness and everything that made her Maya.

He could feel it in his bones.

This wasn't just a beginning.

This was the beginning.

And it was going to be one hell of a ride.

The music was loud.

Too loud.

People dancing, lights flickering, the beat dropping—but none of it could drown out the singular thought pounding in my head since the moment I saw her walk in:

She wrote Mr. Khadoos.

Not Rudra. Not even R. Singhania.

Mr. Khadoos.

Of course, she did.

Typical Maya.

And now, after her little stunt and that smug look she's been throwing every five minutes, I couldn't hold it in any longer.

So I waited. Waited until she was done with her cousin's forced dance, until she had stepped away to catch her breath and sip on some juice. That's when I swooped in—casually, silently, like a man on a mission.

"Maya," I said, low and close to her ear.

She jumped slightly, then smirked without turning. "Yes, Mr. Khadoos?"

"Come with me," I said, already taking her hand before she could reply.

She barely managed to put down her glass before I tugged her through the crowd, weaving past aunties, dancers, and Veer—who raised a brow but wisely said nothing.

I pulled her into a quiet corner of the mansion, near the back garden where fairy lights twinkled on the trees and the music was just a dull thud in the distance.

Maya crossed her arms, trying to look unimpressed. "Ab kya? Dragged me here for revenge?"

I stepped closer. "I'm here to investigate a crime."

She blinked, amused. "What crime?"

"You murdered my name, and buried it under sarcasm," I said, grabbing her hands gently. "Where. Is. It."

"Hmm," she hummed, pretending to think. "Maybe on your luck?"

I narrowed my eyes and began tracing over her mehendi slowly, scanning every swirl and curve on her palm. She tried to hold back a giggle as I turned her hand over, my thumb brushing her wrist.

"You're ticklish," I noted, with a dangerous grin.

"You're nosy," she replied, breath catching when I held her hand a little tighter and leaned in even closer.

"I'm determined," I whispered, now raising her other hand and inspecting it just as thoroughly.

"No name," she said smugly.

"I'll find it."

"You won't."

"Wanna bet?"

Before she could answer, my fingers brushed over a small, subtle curl of design that almost looked like an R. Hidden inside the lace of vines, barely visible unless you were searching like a man obsessed.

I looked up. "Found it."

Her eyes widened. "No way!"

I smirked. "Way."

And before she could think of a comeback, I leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her palm—right over the hidden R.

She froze.

The moment stretched—warm, slow, electric.

"You cheated," she whispered, voice shaky.

"Nope," I said, pulling her closer, hand now cradling her cheek. "I'm just really, really good at finding what's mine."

And then—I close the distance between us pressing my lips to her in a gentle kiss.

Gently. Not rushed. A soft claiming of lips that had teased him for months, that had driven him mad with every smirk and taunt.

Her hands, still decorated in dried mehendi, clutched his kurta lightly.

And in that quiet corner—under fairy lights and jasmine-scented air—Professor Rudra Singhania kissed his chaos with the gentleness of a man who had waited long enough.

And Maya?

She kissed him back like he was the only answer she'd been trying to solve.

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