Chapter 41 A Good Morning, Until It Wasnt
The mirror showed her collarbone first. Then the soft swell of her neck. The skin carried his memory - not in fragrance, not in fabric - but in bruised circles he'd left with his teeth, each mark a quiet claim. Iva traced one with her fingertip, half in pain, half in pride.
He never said "I love you." He never had to.
His silences lived inside her now - curling in her breath, tugging at the hem of her control.
The room smelled of clay, citrus soap, and a hint of firewood - him. She wrapped her arms around herself, not to cover, but to feel something of him again. Something still warm.
In Adwait's room, Adwait sat on the floor, elbows on his knees, his head bowed into his palms like it weighed more than it should.
"Main usse door rehta hoon, taaki uska dil bacha rahe...
par har baar uske paas jaata hoon, jaise uski barbaadi meri aadat ho."
(I stay away to protect her... yet I return every time, like her destruction is my addiction.)
His knuckles were white. Not from anger. From restraint.
Because when she leaned her head into his shoulder, he wanted to bury his entire soul into her throat.
Because when she whispered his name, he didn't just hear it - he felt it like a plea scratched onto his spine.
What was she, if not his ache?
What was he, if not her habit?
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The air in the palace always smelled like sandalwood and silence.
Iva walked through the quiet corridors of west wing like she belonged there, because she did-at least in this hour, in this hidden slice of the day that was just hers and Adwait's.
She reached the inner sanctum, the puja room turned into a private ritual chamber. Not religious. Something else.
Adwait was already there, dressed in a charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled up. He held a brass plate-clay lamp flickering, red tilak waiting. His face lit up-not dramatically, but with the kind of softness that only she saw.
Neither of them spoke.
She tilted her chin up, eyes closed. Offering.
He placed the red tilak on her forehead gently, thumb lingering on her skin a second too long. His touch-always reverent, never rushed.
This had become their ritual.
Not a mark of devotion. A promise.
She never questioned it. She accepted it. Knew what it meant to him.
A beginning. A blessing. A claim.
Afterwards, he didn't pull back. He simply looked at her like she was more than real. More than morning.
"I'll drop you," he said.
She smiled. Not coy. Just... happy.
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Iva rested her hand on his thigh, then let her nail trail lightly up the side of his neck-slow, deliberate. She drew circles near his collar with just her index fingernail, eyes forward, face innocent.
Adwait shifted in his seat.
"Don't," he said, voice tight. "I'm driving."
"Exactly," she whispered, lips parted in a smirk.
He gave her a sideways look, then groaned softly. "You'll kill me."
She laughed-a full, melodic sound that filled the car like jasmine.
Then, unexpectedly, he reached for her hand. Intertwined their fingers.
Even when he shifted gears, he didn't let go. He just used their joined hands to steer, to shift, to drive.
"I like this," she said quietly.
"Woh kuchh kehti nahi... par uski ungli ki har harkat, dil pe aise dastak deti hai," He smiled to himself, not turning to look at her, just letting her nail dance lightly on his skin - like she always did, unknowingly, and yet entirely aware.
["She never says anything... but every movement of her finger knocks on my heart,"he smiled to himself, not turning to look at her, just letting her nail trace lightly across his skin -he way she always did, unknowingly, and yet fully aware.]
"Stop at Café Viraha." She said it like a ritual, one of their quiet customs now. He didn't respond. Just pulled over smoothly, like it was already part of his route - part of him.
The owner - Jatin, almost expecting them, handed over a familiar paper cup. Adwait took it, and along with it, a napkin - folded into a slightly crooked triangle.
No name written. No words. Just something handmade, imperfect. Like a keepsake.
"Coffee," he said, passing it to her like it was more than a beverage. Iva arched a brow, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "You remembered?" He didn't answer.
Just looked ahead, calm and quiet - but his silence wasn't empty. It was full of her.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice low.
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The glass fa?ade caught the soft blue of the sky, clouds drifting like thoughts across mirrored panels. The engine fell into silence, a low exhale.
Iva moved to unbuckle, hand reaching for the door. But his fingers found her wrist - not abrupt, just enough to pause her.
"Wait," Adwait said, voice lower than usual, like he was handing her a secret.
He leaned toward the glovebox - no rush, like he'd done this before, or thought about it many times before he finally did. From within, he drew out a rose.
Just one. Crimson, impossibly vivid. Fresh dew still clung to its petals like memory.
No wrapper, no bow.
The thorns trimmed - carefully, like someone had touched every inch of it before letting it leave their hands.
He just held it out to her - the way he held space for her, always.
Iva's brows lifted, the smallest tease in her smile.
"A rose?" she said, not surprised - more like she wanted to hear him say it.
His face barely moved. Just the faintest quirk at the corner of his mouth.
But his eyes?
They were all confession. A storm in still water.
Then, softer, almost to himself-like a prayer that escaped instead of words meant to be heard: "Aaj bhagwan ko gulab chadaya hai."
["Today, I offered a rose to God."]
She took it, slowly. Her fingers brushed his - and something electric passed between them, quiet but undeniable.
She looked at him, startled by the simplicity and weight of it.
No grand declarations. Just that.
A rose not as a gift, but as worship. As surrender.
And for a second-just a second-she forgot where she was.
Because in his eyes, she wasn't being adored.
She was being offered.
She twirled the rose once between her fingers - absentmindedly, reverently - then brought it to her lips and let the petals rest against her mouth.
Not like a kiss.
Like a promise.
Like sealing something sacred in silence.
Then, without a word, she leaned in - slow, unhurried - closing the fragile space between them.
Her lips met his cheek.
It wasn't a kiss.
It was something far more dangerous.
A decision.
She stayed there longer than she should have - her breath a soft heat against his skin, like the echo of something not yet spoken.
When she pulled back, there was no mask on her face.
Just her. Bare. Unshielded.
"You're ruining me," she whispered.
Adwait's fingers gripped the wheel, knuckles tightening - as if the only way to keep himself from touching her again was to anchor into the leather.
As if her words had found a place inside him he'd never let anyone touch before.
And now it was wide open.
He breathed out slowly. A sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sigh.
A half-smile ghosted across his lips - but his eyes were firelight.
"Go," he said, voice rough, thick with things he didn't say. "Nahi toh main aapko jaane nahi dunga."
["Otherwise, I won't let you go."]
Her fingers froze on the door handle. For a second, neither of them moved.
Then he leaned in - just a fraction - and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his touch deliberate, lingering, like he was memorizing her face by feel.
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The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Iva stepped out into the sleek, sunlit reception of her office floor.
Her heels clicked against the marble, a quiet confidence in each step.
The rose still in her hand, she finally tucked it gently into her leather tote, as if placing a memory there.
Maya, her assistant, approached the moment she entered her cabin.
"Good morning, Iva," Maya said briskly, holding a tablet. "We have a meeting scheduled on the 12th floor in twenty minutes-with the full label strategy team."
Iva glanced at her watch. Still a bit of time.
"Okay," she said, unbothered. "Bring my Mac, my notes, and a bottle of water. I'll meet you there."
"Yes, Iva."
As Maya turned to leave, Iva added, "I'll just check on Devaki aunty first. She's in today, right?"
"Yes. Her cabin's just across from the boardroom."
Iva gave a small nod, then turned toward the private glass elevator nestled in the corner of her cabin. Unlike the main lifts, this one was keyed only for her use-her own vertical gateway to every floor she ruled.
She stepped in.
The doors closed with a soft whisper behind her, cocooning her in mirrored silence. Her reflection stared back-composed, graceful, touched by something warm and lingering that still lived on her skin from the morning.
She pressed the button for the 12th floor.
The elevator ascended.
And somewhere in her chest, the memory of his hand over hers-still warm on the gearshift-followed her up.
Iva stepped into the private elevator, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floor of the lift.
She barely noticed her reflection in the golden-paneled walls, distracted by thoughts of her last moment with Adwait - the rose still tucked carefully in her bag, the warmth of his touch still lingering between her fingers.
The doors closed with a quiet hiss.
A gentle hum began as the elevator ascended toward the 12th floor.
She took a slow breath, adjusting her dupatta. Just as she was about to glance at her phone-
A sharp, sickening sound echoed from above - metallic and final.
Before her brain could even process the noise, the floor lurched violently beneath her.
Then everything dropped.
The entire lift plummeted.
Gravity tore her upward - her feet barely brushing the ground. A scream clawed up her throat but didn't make it out. Her nails scraped the wall as she tried to grab something, anything, the speed of the fall sucking the air from her lungs.
Lights above her burst, showering faint sparks as the cabin careened downward.
And then-
THUD.
The elevator slammed to a jarring stop with a bone-rattling force, somewhere in the unseen depths of the building.
Iva was thrown sideways - her shoulder crashed against the wall, and her forehead struck the mirrored panel with a sharp, ringing crack.
She gasped.
Silence.
Not the calming kind.
The suffocating, screaming kind.
Her chest heaved, but the air around her felt thinner - stale, metallic, hot. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her vision blurred slightly, and a dull throb began at the side of her head.
"No..." she whispered, voice trembling.
She staggered to the panel, her finger mashing the emergency button again and again.
Nothing. Not a buzz. Not a blink.
Her phone - no signal. Not even a single bar.
She tried to slow her breathing. "Okay... calm down. Someone will notice... It's just a power failure... They'll fix it..." she told herself.
But her voice sounded foreign. Hollow.
The air inside the lift was now oppressive, like it was pushing down on her chest. Each breath came shorter, quicker. Her fingers trembled as they gripped the railing, the cool steel slick with her palm sweat.
Her mind began racing.
Images of being stuck. Alone. Forgotten. Buried alive.
No. No, stop.
She pressed her back to the wall, sinking slowly to the floor, clutching her knees to her chest. The red emergency light flickered above her, casting her face in blood-tinted shadows.
Her thoughts flashed to Adwait. His fingers brushing her forehead this morning as he applied the red tilak. His voice murmuring, "Yeh maathay pe laal rang... mere liye toh poori pooja hai...."
Her throat tightened.
The memory burned more than comforted.
Her body trembled harder. She pressed her palm to her chest, trying to stop the panic building like a wildfire. It didn't help.
A drop of blood ran slowly down her temple from the bump on her head. She didn't even feel it.
All she could feel was her heartbeat - erratic, hammering, screaming.
Like it knew time was running out.
The red emergency light above continued to flicker in an irregular rhythm, casting dancing shadows across the walls like silent witnesses.
Iva dragged herself up with shaky arms, her breath now rapid, shallow, desperate. Her hands fumbled with the emergency phone - dead. She slammed her fist into the panel.
"Help! Is anyone there?" she cried out, her voice bouncing against the metal walls. "Hello?! Please, someone-! I'm stuck-!"
She banged the door with both hands, over and over.
"PLEASE!" her voice cracked.
But nothing answered her but the suffocating silence.
Her breath hitched. The air felt thicker now, like it was shrinking. Her lungs strained, trying to find oxygen that didn't seem to exist.
She pulled at the collar of her shirt, suddenly feeling choked, like invisible hands were gripping her neck. Her chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, a soft wheeze escaping her lips.
Her vision blurred again.
A drop of sweat traced a path down her spine.
She staggered back, leaning against the wall, eyes darting around like a cornered animal.
"Adwait..." she whispered, brokenly. "Adwait..."
She reached into her bag with trembling fingers - found the rose he gave her. Its petals, soft and red, now looked almost cruelly vibrant against the dim light.
Her body slid down again, her back scraping the panel. Knees pulled to her chest, the rose clutched against her heart.
Her fingers trembled as they pawed at her throat, as if trying to clear a blockage that wasn't there.
She couldn't breathe.
Tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the sweat and the blood slowly drying on her temple. Her lashes fluttered.
Her surroundings dimmed. Sounds became distant.
The last thing she saw was that tiny red light above flickering once...
...then again...
...then-
darkness.
Her head rolled to the side, the rose slipping from her fingers onto the cold elevator floor.
Everything fell silent.
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Through layers of red tape and security protests, Adwait reached the top of the elevator shaft. He had connections. He had power. But what mattered most now - was speed.
A worker was fumbling with his harness when Adwait brushed past, pulling a utility belt from the rack.
"Sir, you can't go down there-!"
Adwait turned, his eyes blazing. "That's my life down there."
He didn't wait for a reply.
Strapped in with minimal support, he rappelled down the narrow shaft. Dust clung to the walls. The smell of burnt rubber and oil coated the air - the brake system had been intentionally jammed.
His eyes scanned the shaft quickly. The emergency rail clamp had caught - just barely. The elevator hung precariously, suspended just a few feet above the shaft's mechanical basement.
His voice echoed, full of urgency.
"Ivikaa! Ivikaa, can you hear me?"
Nothing.
His breath quickened. Every worst fear clawed at his chest.
With swift, trained movements - from years of sport, danger, and discipline - Adwait unclipped and dropped to the top of the elevator cabin, his boots landing with a dull thud.
He knelt, checked the tension cables - the damage was clean, deliberate. Sabotage.
He searched for the emergency access panel, fingers moving instinctively. Found it. Hooked two fingers under the metal grip and yanked.
It resisted - jammed from the outside.
Gritting his teeth, Adwait jammed the edge of a metal crowbar between the seams. Sparks flew. With a grunt of effort, he wrenched it open.
A rush of stale air greeted him.
He dropped down inside.
Iva lay crumpled on the floor, her hair spilled around her, a single red rose wilted by her side.
For a split second, everything inside Adwait shattered.
He dropped to his knees beside her.
"Ivikaa-" his voice cracked.
He cupped her face, saw how pale she looked, how sweat glistened on her brow. He placed two fingers gently on her neck.
Faint pulse.
Still there. But weakening.
He pulled her into his arms. She was warm but fragile. Her breathing shallow, uneven.
"No. No, don't do this." He whispered, brushing her hair from her forehead.
"You are not allowed to leave me, jaan. Not like this. Not ever."
He loosened the neckline of her kurta slightly, trying to cool her down. From his jacket, he pulled a small inhaler - a remnant from his own past of panic attacks.
"Take it... come on... breathe for me," he begged, placing the mouthpiece to her lips, gently coaxing her jaw.
Still nothing.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
His voice now trembling - low, broken:
"You said you wanted every morning with me."
"You said the red tilak meant you were mine - and I meant I would protect you. I failed..."
He clutched her tighter, whispering against her cheek, heart pounding.
"Don't make me carry your memory instead of your hand."
Then-
A soft cough. A gasp.
Iva twitched slightly.
Adwait's heart stopped for a second - and then surged with life.
He looked down to see her fluttering lashes, her dry lips parting faintly.
"A-Adwait...?"
"Yes, yes! I'm here," he choked, lifting her closer.
"You came," she murmured, almost inaudible.
"Hamesha." His smile trembled through his tears.He pressed her hand to his lips and held it there.
[Always.]
Outside, workers were finally securing ropes and pulling the cabin up manually.
But inside that broken elevator... Two hearts had just come back to life.
Together.
The elevator doors screech open manually as emergency responders stand by. But before anyone can react - all eyes turn as Adwait emerges, carrying Iva in his arms.
Her head rests against his chest, barely conscious, while his jaw is clenched - eyes fierce with a singular focus: get her to safety.
Gasps ripple through the lobby.
Everyone had gathered near the elevator, the air thick with panic, whispers, and uncertain eyes.
And then, the doors gave in.
Out came Adwait.
Covered in dust and soot, sleeves rolled up, a faint scratch bleeding on his forearm - but all eyes fell on the woman in his arms.
Ivikaa.
Limp. Breath shallow. Her face pale against the darkness of his shirt. Her head rested against his shoulder like that's where it belonged. Her fingers had curled instinctively around the edge of his collar. Even in her unconsciousness - she knew it was him.
He walked through the corridor, holding her like she was something the gods had entrusted to him and only him. The world parted before him.
Olivia stood frozen, her heels silent against the marble floor. Her eyes-wide, unbelieving-locked on the way Adwait held Iva.
It was Maya who broke the silence first, rushing to him. "Is she okay?"
But Iva stirred at the voice and pressed her cheek deeper into Adwait's shoulder, her body seeking his warmth like it was the only thing it knew.
"She's holding on to you," Maya whispered, afraid to even raise her voice.
"I know," Adwait said quietly, voice like a torn whisper. "She's safe. And she stays with me."
Olivia took a step forward, but paused. Something about the moment silenced her. Her throat tightened at the way Iva clung to him, at the way Adwait looked down at her - like she was the only thing keeping him breathing.
Her fingers clenched around the edge of her coat. "Adwait..." she called, softly, unsure what she was even asking.
But Adwait didn't stop.
He just shook his head once, as if to say not now. Not her.
And without another word, he walked past Olivia.
She turned slowly, eyes still stuck on them as they disappeared into the hallway like a shadow swallowed by light. For the first time in years, Olivia felt it - the ache of not being chosen.
Adwait didn't let go.
Even when they reached the parking lot, even when someone offered to take Iva, he just slid into the backseat of the SUV with her still in his arms.
Ivikaa's eyes fluttered open for a fraction of a second. Unfocused. Dizzy. But her fingers still gripped his shirt, as if her body feared waking up to anyone else.
"You're alright," he whispered, bending close. "I'm here."
She stirred-just barely. A flicker of breath, a twitch of her fingers.
Adwait exhaled, forehead pressing to hers, careful to avoid the fresh gash streaking red across her skin. His hand trembled as he wiped the blood, staining his fingers crimson.
He looked down at her-pale, breath shallow, unconscious but alive.
His voice came low, hoarse, threaded with something that cracked under the surface: "Next time you want my attention, Ivikaa... just send a text."
This wasn't how he imagined dropping her at work. But then again, she never did anything ordinary.
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