Chapter Three
Ria Malhotra’s POV
Every morning before college, I came here.
To Vrindavan Mandir, tucked between dusty orchards and crooked stone walls, where the city’s noise hadn’t yet learned how to enter. My secret little escape before lectures, assignments, or crowded buses.
Not everyone understood why. But I did.
It wasn’t that I was overly religious. I didn’t come to beg for miracles or cry over fate. I came for peace. I came to speak.
To the silence. To God. To myself.
Siya always tagged along, though mostly for the street chai after.
Today, the air was particularly crisp, and the sky wore that soft pre-monsoon blue. I wore my black shalwaar khameez with a matching dupatta. Fresh jasmine in my braid. Kohl in my eyes. Simple. Effortless.
“I swear you’re the only girl who wakes up to have deep conversations with God,” Siya mumbled as we approached the temple steps.
“And you’re the only one who thinks the chai stall outside is holier than the temple,” I smirked.
We both laughed, but then I slipped off my sandals and walked ahead—this part was always mine alone.
I folded my hands, stepped into the cool marble corridor, and greeted the idol with a quiet gaze. I whispered my usual words under my breath:
"Oh lord, please protect my family and always keep us on the right path."
Same prayer. Every morning.
---
I was just turning away when I saw him—an elderly man, tall and commanding even in his simple white kurta-pajama, making his way slowly up the side steps near the bell tree.
He walked alone. One hand on a cane, the other gripping the side railing.
He didn’t look fragile, but his leg betrayed him. It bent unexpectedly, and a sharp wince broke across his otherwise strong face.
“Sir? Are you alright?” I asked instinctively, rushing over.
He turned, surprised.
I held out my hand gently. “Please sit. Just for a minute.”
For a second, I thought he’d refuse. He looked like the kind of man who didn't accept help easily. But something in my tone—maybe the softness, maybe the firmness—made him nod.
“Careful,” I said, guiding him to the bench beneath the bell tree. “The steps can be tricky.”
He settled down with a sigh.
“People don’t usually speak to me like that,” he said after a pause.
“Maybe they should,” I replied, offering him my bottle of water. “No one’s too important to slip on temple steps.”
That made him chuckle. “And you? Do you come here often to save foolish old men?”
“Every morning,” I smiled. “Saving people is a bonus.”
He watched me. Carefully. Not in a strange way, but like someone trying to read a book by its spine.
There was something old-world about him. Elegant. Regal. But I didn’t care for names or backgrounds in temples. In this space, we were all just people.
“Come on,” I said, standing up. “You still want to pray, right?”
He nodded.
I helped him walk to the sanctum. Held his elbow gently. Stayed behind while he stood in front of the idol with his eyes closed.
I lit my own diya in the corner. Not in the front. I never liked being seen when I prayed.
We came back down together, the marble cool under our feet. At the last step, he turned to me.
“You didn’t ask me my name,” he said, almost curious.
I tilted my head. “Would it change who you are?”
He smiled. This time, something warmer in it.
“What’s your name then, bitiya?”
“Ria Malhotra,” I said. “Have a good day, sir.”
And I walked away before he could reply, my marigold dupatta catching the wind behind me.
---
Pratap Rathore’s POV
I built that temple.
Thirty-five years ago, stone by stone, as a promise to my late mother. But I never wanted it plastered with our name. It wasn’t about power—it was about peace.
And today, in the very temple the Rathores own, I sat as just a man. And she saw me as just that.
Ria Malhotra.
She didn’t bow. She didn’t flatter. She didn’t care for who I was or what I controlled.
She offered help without hesitation. Spoke without fear. Moved like she belonged here, and yet she didn’t even know it was mine.
That made her rare.
She wasn’t trying to impress. But she had.
She wore a color which compliments her fair skin and walked with purpose. Her voice had softness, yes—but it also carried iron. She didn’t ask me questions. She answered the ones I hadn’t said aloud.
And when she left, she didn’t look back.
I stayed seated for a while. Watching the breeze move the leaves. Listening to the same bells she heard just moments ago.
Ria Malhotra.
I whispered the name again. It felt right in my mouth. Too right.
For a man like me, few things are unknown. Fewer are unexpected.
But this girl?
She was both and I immediately wanted her to be the daughter in law of the Rathore's
Ria's outfit
Hey guys, how do you like it so far and i know its quite boring but bare with me. Its a slow burn so am taking time but we are almost there. Stay stuned and please leave comments????