Chapter 18 Not so aesthetic Diva
Next Morning - Ivikaa's Bedroom
Ivikaa stirred awake to a strange stillness. Her eyes fluttered open, the late morning light pouring through the curtains. She blinked, confused, and glanced at the wall clock.
10:02 AM.
Panic hit her like a slap. What the hell? She couldn't remember the last time she'd woken up this late. Then it happened-a sudden, sharp cramp sliced through her lower stomach. She winced and curled up. A few seconds later, she felt something wet beneath her.
She pulled the sheets back and saw the blood. A lot of it.
For a moment, everything stilled. And then it didn't.
Tears welled up without warning. Her chest tightened as the pain grew worse, cramping her entire body in waves. Her hormones-already perched on the edge-tipped over. She sobbed, clutching her stomach, ashamed, frustrated, exhausted.A knock echoed at the door.
"Iva? It's me, Maya."
"Go away!" Iva cried, her voice thick and broken.
Maya froze outside. Something was wrong. "Iva, open the door. Please."
"I said leave me alone!" Her voice cracked mid-sentence, drowning in sobs.
Maya's heart thudded. She waited a moment, hoping Iva would calm down, but the crying didn't stop. It got worse. She bolted downstairs, the marble floors cold under her feet as she scanned for help. That's when she spotted Martin in the corridor.
"Martin! Is there a spare key to Iva's room? She's locked herself in-she's not okay."
Martin's expression darkened with concern. Without another word, he turned and walked briskly down the hall.
"I'll go get Sir ," he said, already halfway to the west wing.
Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway.
Adwait reached the room, his face unreadable but his stride urgent. Maya was pacing restlessly. Maria had joined, trying to calm her down. The sobs from inside hadn't stopped.
"She won't let anyone in. I think-something's really wrong," Maya whispered, guilt and fear mixing in her voice.
Adwait didn't hesitate. He slid a key card from his hoodie and quietly unlocked the door.
He opened it just wide enough to see inside-then his entire body froze for a beat.
Ivikaa was curled up on her bed, surrounded by blood-stained sheets, shaking with silent sobs. Her face was pale, her fists clenched. The scene was raw, vulnerable, heartbreaking.
Adwait turned around and raised a hand to block Maya and Maria.
"Stay outside."
The command in his voice was soft but absolute.
"Maya, you go I will see. Maria, stay close. Martin-bring warm water, towels, and ibuprofen. Now."
They nodded without question.
Adwait closed the door behind him and walked toward her slowly, the way someone walks into a sacred place. He didn't say anything. He just knelt beside the bed and gently brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"Ivikaa," he whispered, stepping closer to the bed. But she turned her face away and snapped between sobs, "Go away."
Adwait didn't flinch. He rose from the floor and gently sat beside her on the edge of the bed. When he reached out again, she slapped his hand away. "Don't touch me. I'm a mess... just look what I did-"
Her voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears burst forth. Her face was blotchy, red, soaked in grief and pain. Her hair tangled across her cheeks, the bedsheet twisted around her legs like chains. The bed itself-stained with blood-looked like a battlefield.
Still, Adwait moved gently. He reached out and brushed the hair from her forehead, not to fix her, but to see her properly.
"Ivikaa," he whispered again, "meri taraf dekhiye."
(Look at me.)
She shook her head, burying her face deeper into the cushion, clutching her stomach as another cramp twisted her insides.
"Pehle rona toh bandh kariye," he said softly and cupped her damp cheek, lifting her face just enough to see her swollen eyes.
(First stop crying.)
"Adwait ko nahi batayegi kya hua hai?" he asked.
(You won't tell me what happened?)
At his words, something inside her gave way. She dropped the pillow and collapsed against him, hugging his waist as if her pain could melt away there.
He held her. Said nothing. Just let her cry into him until the tremors of her sobs eased. Then, gently, he shifted her posture.
"Dard ho raha hai na? Pehle thik se baithiye." He placed a few cushions behind her back and adjusted the comforter tangled around her legs.
(It's aching no so sit properly.)
"Don't, Adwait... it's messy," she mumbled, hiding her face again, ashamed.
He paused only for a moment, then knelt beside her and wiped her tears with the edge of his sleeve.
"Pehle toh yeh rona bandh kariye," he whispered, offering her a small smile. She leaned into his hand, more child than woman now.
(First stop crying.)
"Adwait, dekho na maine kya kiya..." she sniffled, like a five-year-old owning up to a crime.
(Adwait, look at the mess I created.)
"Periods hain. Normal hai," he replied-calm, clear, completely unaffected.
That stunned her. She stared at him. How? How did he never make her feel gross or lesser? Not when she vomited on his shoes, and not now when she was drowning in pain and blood.
(Periods. It's normal.)
"Periods normal hain, but this?" she gestured around the bed, her voice laced with embarrassment.
(Periods are normal, but his?)
"Kyun? Insaan ko takleef nahi ho sakti? Dard nahi ho sakta?" he said with such ease, such grace, that her shame had nowhere left to hide. "Waise hi aapko hui hai. Aur sabse pehle toh... let's go to the washroom."
("Why? Can't a man feel pain? Can't he suffer?" he said with such ease, such grace, that her shame had nowhere left to hide. "The same way you felt it. And first of all... let's go to the washroom.")
He stood and held out his hand. She hesitated.
"Chaliye," he insisted gently, but with a firmness that made her feel safe.
(Let's go)
She shook her head again and gripped her stomach. "You go away, Adwait..." she whispered, tears rising again.
Instead, he slowly bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Reflexively, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her forehead against his collarbone as if hiding from the world.
He carried her into the bathroom, careful and composed, and sat her down gently in the empty bathtub.
Then he turned on the warm water and let the sound fill the silence.
"Pehle thoda dard kam kar dete hain, hmm?" he said, his tone more balm than words.
(Let's ease the pain a little first, hmm?)
Iva gripped his hand tightly, her lips trembling. "Adwait..." was all she managed to whisper.
"Ivikaa," he replied with a smile so soft it could unmake storms. He wiped one last tear from her cheek, then stood.
"Main bahar hoon. Call me if you need anything," he said, and quietly stepped out, closing the door behind him.
(I am outside. Call me if you need anything)
Outside, he leaned against the wall, staring at nothing-his hands loosely in his pockets, his jaw tight with unspoken emotion.
Inside, Ivikaa sat in warm water, letting it soothe her body as her mind slowly surrendered to the rarest kind of comfort-being cared for, without being judged.
Just then, Adwait heard the soft click of the bathroom door opening. He looked up and froze.
Ivikaa stood there in a white bathrobe, clutching the sash tightly at her waist, her face still pale but calmer. "Can you... pass me the bag? Third shelf, left side in the wardrobe," she said, voice low, almost timid-an unfamiliar sound coming from her.
Without a word, Adwait nodded and went to her wardrobe. He found the bag, brought it to her, and silently handed it over. She took it and quietly closed the door again.
A while later, she emerged-now dressed in a soft co-ord set, her face still carrying traces of emotional fatigue. Her eyes flicked to the bed. The sight of it made her tense again.
Adwait, calm as ever, moved toward the bed and began to strip the bloodied bedsheet. "Adwait, don't-!" she blurted out, alarmed, horrified at the thought of him touching that.
He turned, unfazed. "Did you brush your teeth?" he asked, holding the bundled sheet.
She blinked. Nodded.
"Good. I'll be outside. You change." And he disappeared into the hallway, not allowing space for further protest.
He gave her a quiet nod, then stepped out-carrying the stained bedsheet with him.
He walked to the guest washroom at the end of the corridor, filled a bucket with warm water and detergent, and knelt by it.
With sleeves rolled up and jaw set, he began gently scrubbing away the stains-not out of obligation, but out of silent devotion.
This wasn't about the blood. It was about letting her keep her pride.
When he was done, he hung the sheet out to dry where no one else would notice. Then he returned to her room, like nothing happened.
Ivikaa changed quickly, then called him in. Adwait entered with Maria, who looked concerned but said nothing.
"Fresh bedsheet. Please clean the room thoroughly and freshen up a bit not strongly.," Adwait instructed her. Maria nodded respectfully and got to work.
Meanwhile, Adwait took Ivikaa gently by the hand and led her to the private terrace. The morning light was soft, and the city skyline far quieter than usual. He guided her to the cushioned sofa and sat her down.
Without asking, he took her towel and began drying her damp hair with the gentlest strokes, his fingers threading through the strands with quiet attention.
Moments later, Martin arrived with medicine and a glass tumbler of steaming tea.
"Gud ki chai," Adwait explained. "It helps with cramps."
(Jaggery tea.)
Ivikaa looked from him to Martin and back at the cup like it contained betrayal.
Martin, wisely silent this time, vanished without a single sarcastic jab.
Iva took the medicine without a fight, but the first sip of tea made her wrinkle her nose. "It's medicinal," Adwait deadpanned, unbothered.
Maria returned. "Room's cleaned." Ivikaa didn't look up-she just shook her head silently.
"Maria, bring the heating pad. And tell Martin-poha," Adwait added, cool and composed.
It struck everyone how the room's usual power dynamics had shifted-Ivikaa silent, Adwait running the show.
She turned away, muttering, "Adwait, this is embarrassing..." She left the terrace and returned to her bed, curling up, eyes shut tight.
Adwait followed her in, picked up a comb from the dresser, and sat beside her without a word.
He gently began combing her hair, untangling the knots with slow care.
"What exactly is embarrassing?" he asked, finally. "Having periods? Bloodstains? Or that people saw the mess?"
She opened her eyes slowly. "You don't get it, Adwait. People have never seen me a bit out of line. And now this? This-bed, crying, everyone knocking-this is not how I exist. It's fucking humiliating."
He didn't laugh. Didn't tease.
"Ivikaa," he said quietly, "what's so embarrassing?"
She looked away. "Everything."
He didn't let her escape.
"Like what?" he asked, softly at first. Then, a bit more firmly: "Like not being the epitome of beauty? Like not a perfect princess? Like-God forbid-a hair out of place? A crease on your blouse? The wrong breath, a slipped posture, a wrong look or word or bite of food?"
She said nothing. Her throat tightened.
"Like you could never create a mess? Like you're not allowed to behave like a human being? Like pain isn't meant for you because you carry the title of perfection?"
He gently took her hand and added, "You're not just a global fashion CEO, Ivikaa. Or a daughter. Or a sister. Or a diva on magazine covers. You're... you. A person. Allowed to feel, to bleed, to cry. And to be cared for."
Ivikaa looked at him, finally, tears welling again-this time, not from pain, but release.
"I'm not used to this mess... not even for myself," she whispered, her voice almost ashamed.
Adwait moved beside her again, looking at her with a patience that only came from knowing someone deeply.
"You've spent years building this image of perfection," he said quietly, comb still in his hand. "So much so that you won't even allow yourself a moment of humanity. You've made yourself so flawless, Ivikaa, that now... you're embarrassed to feel pain. To be seen bleeding, or crying."
She blinked, her lashes heavy with fresh tears.
"You don't have to be picture perfect every second of the day," he said, beginning to gently braid her hair. "You don't have to carry the Ambani Princess title on your shoulders all the time."
He leaned closer, voice softening to a near-whisper. "You're Ivikaa too. Just Ivikaa. Not Iva, not Ivikaa Viren Ambani. Just... Ivikaa."
He whispered her name like a secret, like a song only he knew how to sing.
Each word landed like balm. She didn't speak-only absorbed. It was as if he saw through every layer, past every stitched smile and graceful gesture, right into her soul.
Just then, Martin arrived with her breakfast tray, and Maria followed with the heating pad. They quietly set everything on the table beside the terrace sofa.
Adwait glanced at them and nodded. "Tell Maya not to disturb," he instructed in a low tone.
Martin nodded back. The two left, quietly.
He stood and extended his hand toward her. She looked at it for a second, then placed hers in his, letting him guide her up from the bed. As they passed by the mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself-her hair now tied back in a soft, neat French braid.
She smiled faintly, touched the braid with her fingers, and followed him.
He led her to the terrace sofa and served her a plate of poha, waiting for her to sit. But instead, she moved to him and sat beside him slowly-then gently buried her face in his chest, the facade finally breaking.
"It hurts, Adwait," she whispered, trembling in his arms. "I've never felt period pain like this..."
He held her, hands stroking her back in steady circles. "It's okay," he said softly. "Thik ho jaayega. And if it doesn't, we'll go see a doctor. Alright?"
(It will be fine)
She nodded wordlessly, tears still slipping quietly down her cheeks. She slid onto his lap now-seeking comfort, not ceremony-and he simply held her closer.
"I'm just Ivikaa now, Adwait. Just Ivikaa. Mujhe abhi princess nahi banna," she said, her voice fragile. "Yahan dard ho raha hai." She took his hand and placed it gently on her stomach.
("I'm just Ivikaa now, Adwait. Just Ivikaa. I don't want to be a princess right now," she said, her voice fragile. "It hurts here." She took his hand and placed it gently on her stomach.)
He started caressing her belly with care. "It will be okay... hmm?"
She looked up at him, and for a second, he could see a flicker of the real her beneath all the polish and weight.
"Adwait," she murmured. "I'm hungry."
He nodded toward the plate. "There. Go on."
She smiled faintly, picked up the plate and started eating slowly.
"now fine?" he asked, still massaging her stomach.
"Yeah," she replied mid-bite, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
"Gud ki chai always works. Tried and tested on Raha," he added playfully.
(Jaggery tea)
She chuckled. "Raha is your guinea pig, isn't she?"
Then after a small silence, her voice turned soft again. "Adwait... promise me you won't leave me."
He looked at her, eyes unreadable.
"Promise me," she insisted, raising a spoon dramatically, "jab bhi mujhe dard hoga, tum meri help karoge."
He let out a tiny breath, smiled, and held her gaze. "I promise. I'll always be there in pain."
Then, arching a brow, he added, "But... aaj ek sath itna sara Hindi?"
Her eyes widened. "It's all because of you!"
She smacked his shoulder playfully and laughed-and just like that, Ivikaa was back. Maybe not the flawless princess. But the real one. And maybe, just maybe, the stronger one.
Then, without a word, Adwait helped her up and led her back to the bed.
She looked tired, the kind of tired that wasn't just from pain-but from holding up too many things for too long.
He placed the heating pad gently on her stomach and pulled the comforter over her like a soft shield from the world.
She watched him silently, eyes half-closed, heart full.
"Now rest for a while," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face. Then, softly, he placed his warm hand over her eyes to block out the light.
Her lashes fluttered against his palm, but she didn't protest. Just as he began to rise and turn away, her fingers caught his wrist-barely a whisper of a touch.
"Stay..." she murmured, almost unintelligible.
But before he could answer, her grip loosened and she drifted into deep slumber.
Adwait stood there for a moment, watching her breathe, letting the silence linger like a promise. Then, gently, he untangled his wrist from her fingers and tiptoed out of the room-closing the door with the same reverence one uses at temple.
Later, around 2:30 PM, Ivikaa stirred as the door creaked open gently. She blinked, still drowsy, and spotted Maya entering with a tray in hand.
"Lunch," Maya said softly, her voice barely above a whisper-as if speaking too loudly might trigger another wave of cramps.
"Where's Adwait?" Ivikaa asked instantly, her voice hoarse but curious.
Maya raised an eyebrow. "Wow. And here I was thinking you might be happy to see me for once."
Before Iva could answer, Martin stepped in with his signature poker face, carrying a glass jug of water like he was presenting a royal offering.
"It's not like that, Maya," Iva mumbled. "Anyway... what's for lunch?"
"Well," Maya smiled, "Martin made dal chawal for Adwait. And, shockingly, he was kind enough to share a portion with the rest of us lowly mortals. So I brought you some."
Ivikaa blinked. "Wait-Martin shared Adwait's food? Are you feeling okay? Was it the solar eclipse or did Adwait finally bribe you with a raise?"
Martin, cool as ever, replied, "It's just lentils, Miss. Ambani Not state secrets."
"Still," Iva said, narrowing her eyes playfully, "you guarding Adwait's meals is practically a full-time job. I thought touching his plate without a password was a capital crime in this house."
Martin gave a faint shrug. "Today's an exception. You looked half-dead this morning. He figured saving you was more important than guarding the dal."
Iva smirked and took the tray. "Touché."
Maya just shook her head. "Honestly, you two need your own sarcastic sitcom."
Iva smirked and thought -
I always knew I'd fall someday. Just didn't think it would be into a plate of dal chawal... and oddly, it felt like home.
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