CHAPTER 38! SECOND DAY #2
Aryav stepped up to the edge beside her, his posture entirely relaxed. He didn't look at her. He simply watched the drop.
"Jump," he said calmly.
She snapped her head around, staring at him.
Aryav turned his head, his dark eyes trapping hers with a cold, unyielding pressure. "Or don't."
The fear in her chest instantly wrapped itself around a hot spike of ego.
Her jaw tightened.
She turned back to the ledge, closed her eyes, and stepped off.
The wind ripped the breath straight from her lungs as the cord snapped her back upward, the world spinning in a blur of sky and river.
When her boots finally touched the wooden platform again, Aadhira's legs shook like water.
Her knees nearly buckled. Before she could stumble, a heavy hand closed tightly around her elbow.
Firm. Steady. Grounding.
Aryav held her in place, his grip ensuring she was actually standing, whole and unbroken.
He looked down at her, his dark eyes intense and unreadable.
"You were afraid," he said quietly, his voice cutting through the rushing sound in her ears.
He paused, letting the weight of his gaze hold her still.
"You jumped anyway, you really love danger."
He released her arm and stepped back, turning toward the rest of the family without another word.
Reyansh was laughing so hard he was physically leaning against a wooden pillar for support, and Aadhira immediately threatened him with severe physical violence, her voice raspy but alive.
By sunset, they finally reached the ancient stone ghats for the Ganga Aarti.
The evening sky was a bruised canvas of deep gold and burnt orange above the wide expanse of the river.
Thousands of tiny clay diyas, wrapped in marigolds, floated across the dark water like a displaced galaxy of scattered stars.
The heavy, resonant sound of bronze bells and chanting priests echoed through the cool air, thick with the scent of incense and camphor.
The crowd saw worship.
Aryav automatically counted exits.
Three main stairs.
Two blind corners behind the pillars.
One man by the lower platform watching their group just a fraction too long. Habit.
As the crowds began to disperse and the family prepared to head toward the mountain restaurant for dinner, Aadhira stepped closer to the edge of the stone steps. She didn't look back as she spoke.
"Can we stay here little more?"
Aryav looked at her. He stepped beside her, his hands remaining deep in his pockets, his shadow overlapping hers on the ancient stone.
Behind them, the rest of the family stopped in their tracks.
"We'll bring dinner," Kashvi announced abruptly, breaking the gathering silence. "For both of you."
Shaurya paused, his eyes sliding directly to Aryav. His voice carried a dry, protective warning wrapped in steel.
"Don't throw eachother into the river. Dragging bodies out of the Ganga is paperwork and I am on leave."
Aadhira didn't turn around until the sound of their footsteps finally faded into the bustling noise of the upper ghats.
Silence reclaimed the space. Somewhere above them, temple bells echoed across the black water.
The river moved.
Time moved. Neither of them did.
Five minutes passed in total, unbroken quiet.
"Look at me," Aryav said.
He didn't turn his head.
His eyes were fixed entirely on the floating diyas drifting down the current.
Aadhira stayed rigid, her profile sharp in the dimming gold light. She didn't move.
He finally shifted, his dark eyes locking onto hers with cold, absolute certainty.
"Avoiding me won't erase last night."
Aadhira looked away.
Not because she wanted to leave, but because if she kept looking, she wasn't entirely sure she'd remember why she had decided to avoid him in the first place.
The distant temple bells echoed softly across the dark water, their rhythm carried by the cold night breeze.
Aadhira sat two steps below Aryav, her elbows resting lightly on her knees.
Thousands of floating diyas drifted across the Ganga, tiny flames disappearing slowly into the vast darkness.
For several long moments, neither spoke. Then, quietly-
The question sliced through the silence. Aryav's eyes shifted toward her.
Only for a second. Only for a moment. But it was enough. Aadhira caught the flicker-surprise, gone immediately. His expression returned to its usual calm stillness.
"Nothing."
Aadhira frowned. "Nothing?"
Aryav looked back toward the river. "Revenge is loud. I prefer memory."
"Meaning?"
"I will make sure they carry that mistake longer than they carry their own name," Aryav's voice was almost thoughtful, his gaze remaining fixed on the black water.
"I'd make them relive that decision until they wished I had killed them."
The words landed softly. Dangerously.
Aadhira's stomach tightened.
"And if they regret it?"
Aryav smiled without warmth, a faint, humorless line cutting his sharp profile.
"Everyone regrets consequences.
That's why it doesn't interest me.
Regret is the receipt, Aadhira.
The purchase has already been made."
"So you will not kill them?"
"No. Death is mercy." He turned his head slightly, his eyes finding hers in the dim light. "I prefer people alive. They understand loss better that way."
The river continued flowing. Aadhira swallowed, the breeze suddenly feeling much colder.
She looked away first. For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt an immense wave of relief when Kashvi's call finally arrived through Shaurya's phone.
Dinner was waiting.
Back at the villa, dinner passed in an unusual silence. Even Reyansh's endless commentary struggled to gain momentum.
Outside the dining room windows, the quiet, synchronized movement of Aryav's security detail shifted through the shadows of the estate-a constant, silent reminder of the world he ruled.
Kashvi frowned when Aadhira pushed away her second roti untouched, but chose not to comment.
Shaurya, however, didn't miss it. He looked at Aadhira, his brow furrowing. "Kha kyun nahi kha rahi?"
"Bhokh nahi hai, bhai," she replied softly.
Shaurya stepped closer, pressing his forehead lightly against hers.
Satisfied she wasn't burning up, he released her chin and studied her for another second.
"Go sleep."
"Bhai-"
"Puch nahi Raha bata raha hu jao"
The words from the ghat followed Aadhira all the way upstairs.
Later that night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling. The room was dark, the children were asleep, and the mountain wind rattled softly against the windows.
Beside her, Aryav had already closed his book.
She had met arrogant men.
Loud men.
Violent men.
Aryav wasn't any of them.
He spoke about destroying lives the way other people discussed tomorrow's weather.
Sleep came in fragments. Every time Aadhira closed her eyes, she heard the same calm voice. No anger. No shouting. Just absolute certainty.
The next morning began with another ambitious family plan. Which, historically speaking, meant disaster was inevitable.
The local mountain market stretched across several winding streets, crowded with tourists, vendors, food stalls, and colorful displays hanging from every available surface.
As they walked, the atmosphere shifted subtly around them. A group of tourists blocked the narrow lane ahead.
Aryav didn't slow down, yet somehow, the crowd naturally parted. He didn't say a word, his dark eyes merely scanning the crowd, identifying exits, and reading every moving target out of pure habit.
The moment they entered the heart of the market, the family lasted exactly four minutes before scattering in different directions.
"A new record," Arjun muttered.
Nobody listened, because directly ahead, Aadhira had spotted gol gappe.
Within seconds, every woman in the family changed direction simultaneously.
"Mujhe bhi chahiye," Reyansh announced.
The girls completely ignored him.
The gol gappa vendor barely had time to react before six women and two children surrounded his cart.
Everyone remained exactly where they were, six feet away.
Watching. Guarding. Nobody noticed the shift, but the dense crowd simply stopped pressing forward, unconsciously choosing another path around him, creating a silent barrier around the stall.
"Extra spicy," Ruhi ordered.
"Pyaaz jada dalna," Myra interrupted.
"Don't listen to either of them, aap aaloo sahi se bharna," Tara added.
The vendor glanced at them once. After that, he stopped asking questions and simply started filling plates.
Ayaan happily accepted his third gol gappa.
"Bas beta, aur khaoge toh mummy daantegi," the vendor muttered with a warm smile as he handed over the puri.
Ayaan looked up proudly.
"Meri mumma nahi daantti."
Vaani accepted her fourth. Vivaan immediately confiscated both. A riot nearly followed.
Further down the street, Kashvi stopped outside a bangle stall. Rows of glass bangles shimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight.
She absentmindedly picked up a deep emerald set.
"They're beautiful," the shopkeeper smiled. "Madam, haath dijiye... pehna deta hoon."
Kashvi extended her hand. Before the shopkeeper could reach forward, another hand moved first.
Vivaan.
Without looking at the shopkeeper, Vivaan took the box from him.
"Main pehnata hu."
Kashvi looked at him, one eyebrow lifting. Vivaan didn't offer an explanation.
He held out his own hand to steady hers, then began sliding the bangles over her wrist one by one.
One of the delicate pieces caught briefly against her knuckles. Vivaan slowed instantly, adjusting the angle with effortless precision rather than forcing it, careful not to crack the thin glass.
The shopkeeper quietly stepped back.