Chapter 38 The Godless Spinner
Every cage has two keys - one that locks, one that comforts.
- Author
"Mam, there's no movement in the party - only whispers.
Everyone's saying Vritant Vardhan is stepping into politics.
Of course, with the Rashtradhara Party. But he's denying the rumors.
He hasn't visited any office, met any of our leaders...
nothing," Sudarshan ji said, standing near the Prime Minister's desk.
Vedashree Vardhan didn't look up. She kept signing document after document until the last page was done. Then, closing the file with deliberate calm, she slid open the drawer, pulled out another file, and finally rose from her chair.
"Sudarshan ji," she said, her voice smooth and sharp as glass, "agar uski aawaz nahi aa rahi hai toh samajh lo - woh kisi aur ko nacha raha hai." She started toward the door.
(If you can't hear his voice, understand this - he's making someone else dance.)
"But ma'am, how will we know if he's actually entering politics or not?" he asked, worry edging his tone.
Vedashree paused at the doorway, turned slightly, and said, "He hates politics more than anything in this world. If he's letting rumors spread that he's joining it, then it only means one thing - he already has. Just not in the way we expect."
She left the office.
By the time she reached home, the clock had struck nine. The house was quiet, the kind of quiet that holds its breath. She sank into the sofa, closing her eyes for a brief moment - until she heard the faint sound of footsteps.
Vritant entered, coat draped casually over his arm, exhaustion written across his face.
"Vritant," she called.
He stopped, looked up at her - his gaze calm, unreadable.
"Here's a list of all your clubs and racing tracks," Vedashree said, holding out a file. "You know I can shut them down with a snap of my fingers."
He walked closer, took the file from her hand, and flipped through it.
"You missed Nirvana Club," he said dryly. "Close that one first. I lost a hand there."
He placed the file back on the table.
"Well, I've heard you're not fit to enter politics," she said with a faint smile.
He pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, and slipped it back into his pocket.
"Medical reports," he said, his tone layered with mock courtesy. "They say I'm perfectly fit to continue your legacy."
Her phone pinged. The message was from him.
Just then, Shaurya and Adhrita entered, sensing the tension in the room.
"Stay away, Vedashree," Shaurya said firmly. "Please - be busy taking care of your country. Because of your politics and your mercy, I already lost one son. I won't lose the other."
Vedashree turned to him with that same poised smile - the one that didn't reach her eyes.
"Toh dusra kyun politics mein aa raha hai?" she asked softly. "Aakhir mera hi beta hai - kab tak door rehta?"
("Then why is the other one entering politics?" she asked softly. "After all, he's my own son - how long can he stay away?")
Neither of them replied. She smiled again, this time sharper, and walked away.
??? V ? A ???
Late that night, Vritant was still in his office, papers scattered across the desk and a faint hum of the city outside. The door opened, and his uncle, Dev Vardhan, walked in, placing a file on the table.
"Here - your reports," Dev said, and then lightly smacked the back of Vritant's head.
"Agar Shaurya bhaiya ko pata chal gaya na ki main tumhara kaam kar raha hoon, tu aur main dono pit jaayenge."
(If Shaurya bhaiya finds out that I'm doing your work, both of us are going to get beaten.)
"Chachu, please," Vritant said with a grin. "Aap apne bete ka kaam kar rahe ho, isme papa kya bolenge?"
(You're doing your son's work - what will dad even say about this?)
Dev folded his arms. "Tu karta kya hai poora din office mein? Adhe se zyada kaam toh mujhse karwata hai."
(What do you even do all day at the office? More than half of your work, I end up doing.)
Vritant chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Chachu, mera dhyaan toh racing pe hi rehta hai."
(Uncle, my mind is only on racing anyway.")
"Haan, us din kaam tera tha, mujhe pakda diya aur biwi ko race pe le gaya tha na?" Dev teased.
(Yeah, that day it was your work, I got, and you took your wife racing, right?)
"Kaha, chachu! Woh toh inner circle testing tha cars ka. Main apni biwi ko thodi racing pe le jaunga," he said with a mock-serious tone, as if revealing state secrets.
(Where, uncle! That was just inner-circle car testing. Why would I take my wife for racing?)
Dev shook his head with a half-smile. "Agar kabhi Shaurya bhaiya ko pata chala ki yeh kaam main kar raha hoon, tujhe sach mein pitwa doonga," he warned before walking out.
(If Shaurya bhaiya ever finds out that I'm doing this work, I'll make sure you really get thrashed)
After a while, Anamika chachi entered, holding a glass of milk. She placed it on the table gently.
"Vritant, have it," she said softly.
He looked at her and frowned, clearly irritated. "Why do you keep forcing me?" he snapped finally.
"Because I'm like your mother," she said with a sigh. "I'm sure bhabhi is too busy taking care of the nation, and no one's left to take care of you, my son. But don't worry - your chhoti maa is here."
"Chachi," he said dryly, "I'll pray to God to bless you with a son, so you can do all this with him. I really don't need another mother."
"Vritant, of course I worry about you - your health, your habits, everything. Please, let me take care of you," Anamika said earnestly.
Just then, the air shifted - Vedashree walked in.
"Why don't you take care of your own daughter instead?" she said sharply.
Anamika turned, letting out a bitter chuckle.
"How can I, bhabhi? She's completely in your control. She's not my daughter - she's badi maa's daughter," she said, her tone dripping with resentment.
Vedashree's eyes narrowed. "So you want to control my son instead?"
"Why would I control your son?" Anamika replied with a mocking smile. "Every child needs a mother. And I'm sure if he had to choose between us, he'd pick his chhoti maa."
Vritant leaned back, amused. "Aapne woh Kabir ka doha suna hai, chachi?" he asked, picking up the paperweight from his desk.
(Have you heard that Kabir couplet, aunt?)
Anamika frowned in confusion.
He smirked. "Maa chhoti maa dono khade, kisko Vritant paaye? Balihari main biwi ka - biwi hi mujhko bhaye."
(Mother and aunty both stand there - whom did Vritant choose? I bow to my wife - it's my wife I adore.)
He burst out laughing at his own impromptu verse, while both women stared at him - one furious, the other humiliated.
Anamika left the study without another word.
Vritant opened his bag, pulled out a knight carved from bone-white ivory, and walked to the corner table where an old wooden chessboard sat - black pieces intact, white ones scattered, a few missing. Then, he placed it deliberately on the board.
He returned to his chair and leaned back casually, as if they were merely discussing business instead of barbed truths.
"Aap chachi ko yeh batane toh nahi aayi ki- Anamika main hoon Vritant ki maa main?" he asked, his voice dripping with mock drama.
(You didn't come to tell aunt that - 'Anamika, I am Vritant's mother'?)
"Nahi," Vedashree replied calmly, taking a seat. "Main apne bete ko batane aayi hoon ki uski maa kaun hai."
He let out a short, sarcastic laugh. "Bete ko batana pad raha hai... that says a lot."
(Having to tell your own son... that says a lot.)
"Why did you go to Abhijeet Bapat's birthday party?" she asked coolly, watching him.
He leaned forward in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "If you're asking that question, you already know the answer."
"I didn't expect any less," she said. "Yes, I know why you went - and I also know he isn't the culprit."
"So then tell me," he said with mocking curiosity. "Who's really against Prime Minister Vedashree Vardhan?"
"The real question," she countered, "is who's against both - PM Vedashree Vardhan and businessman Vritant Vardhan."
He arched a brow. "Suddenly you care about my wife's security? So that's why your people are stationed outside her hospital in civilian clothes?"
"I like to stay updated," she replied, twirling the paperweight in her hand. "This generation doesn't tolerate weak leaders. Imagine what they'd think if the Prime Minister couldn't even protect her own family - how would she protect the country?"
"Always the throne," he murmured, his tone laced with scorn. "Tell me, do you ever feel your son's blood on that throne?"
"Vritant!" she snapped, her composure cracking.
"Worry about your wife, not me," She shot back. "If someone could link Abhijeet Bapat to the riots, that person's smart enough to cover his tracks. You have Agnivanshi. I have India's best intelligence network. If neither of us can find the culprit..."
"The culprit is one of us," he cut in sharply.
Vedashree froze.
"You heard me right, Prime Minister," he said coldly. "Everyone's under scrutiny now. The culprit could be you. Me. Any Vardhan. Any Malhotra."
"How can you be so sure?" she demanded.
"The orders for the riots came from Maharashtra. Either the person's from there - or it's another trap like Abhijeet Bapat."
"I want us to work together on this," she said firmly.
"Someone really bruised your ego," he replied dryly.
"Someone shouldn't touch Vedashree Vardhan's people without her permission."
He gave a humorless smile. "I wish I'd seen this version of you years ago. Back then, you were too timid to-"
He stopped mid-sentence when he saw her glance toward the door.
Adhrita stood there, silent, watching them.
Vedashree's expression tightened; she turned and walked out without a word.
Adhrita entered quietly, pushing the food trolley inside. She sat on the sofa and began serving his plate - warm Punjabi food filling the air.
He joined her, sitting beside her as she tore off a bite of roti and fed him. He smiled and playfully bit her finger.
"You really sent me tiffin for lunch?" he asked, still half in disbelief.
"Of course," she said, arching a brow. "Did you finish it?"
He nodded too quickly - like a guilty child.
"Liar," she murmured and fed him another bite.
"I gave some to the pigeons," he confessed, earning an immediate glare from her.
When they finished dinner, they went to their room. Adhrita was already waiting on the bed when Vritant came out of the washroom and jumped beside her.
"Now comes dessert time," he said with a teasing grin, pulling her into his arms and attacking her neck with playful bites.
But before he could continue, Karma barked sharply.
Vritant froze, glanced at the dog, and sighed.
"Seriously?" he muttered. "Five minutes of peace, and I'm competing with him now?"
Karma barked again, louder this time - accusing, protective.
Adhrita laughed breathlessly, brushing her fingers over Karma's head. "He thinks you're hurting me," she managed between soft, shaky breaths.
"I'm not," Vritant said, his voice softening. "But clearly, he doesn't trust me."
Karma stood his ground, glaring like a tiny guard dog. Adhrita stroked his fur until he finally settled between them - a vigilant barrier of fur and suspicion.
"How was your day?" Vritant asked suddenly, his tone unexpectedly gentle.
Adhrita turned to him, surprised - as if the question itself was fragile, rare, and precious.
"It was good," she whispered, moving closer until he pulled her head against his chest.
"Still thinking about the patient you couldn't save?" he asked, absentmindedly tracing her nails with his thumb.
"It's part of my profession," she whispered. "But yes... I still feel I failed him."
He hesitated. "Was it because of me?"
She looked up, startled. "Why would you say that?"
"I hurt you... and you went straight into surgery. Did your hands tremble while operating on him?"
"Vritant," she said gently, "why are you thinking like this?
And no - my hands didn't tremble. I keep my professional life separate.
Once I'm in doctor mode, I'm in control.
Yes, you hurt me, and it affected me - but my hands were steady.
I couldn't save him because he was too damaged, not because of you. "
She lifted their joined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles softly.
He didn't reply - just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead, holding her closer, as if that small gesture could erase everything they both left unsaid.
"Vritant, who prescribed you the sleeping pills?" she asked quietly.
"Dr. Radhika Mehta," he answered without hesitation.
"You went to her for treatment?"
He nodded.
"Then why did you leave? Was she not-"
"She started reporting my case to PM sahiba," he interrupted, bitterness cutting through his voice.
Adhrita exhaled. "Why are you so bitter about mummy? She's your mother. Parents have a right to know what their child is going through."
She already knew the answer - at least part of it - but she needed to hear him say it.
"Because of her, I lost my brother," he said flatly.
"Her and her father, Nandish Deshmukh - their decision destroyed the Vardhans.
My father's life fell apart beyond repair.
I lost my family, my home, my peace. Her decision carved so deep into our souls that neither Papa nor I could ever see her as family again. "
Adhrita just stared at him, silent.
"What?" he asked when she didn't respond.
"First time you've talked about your past," she said softly. "First time you actually replied to me."
He smiled faintly. "I don't want you to ever feel you don't deserve to ask."
"And I'll never manipulate you into sharing," she whispered. "It's not that you don't want to talk - it's that staying still long enough to remember hurts. You don't want to face it again."
She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. His heartbeat steadied her.
After a long pause, he said, "Remember on the cruise, when I said every man should marry a doctor?"
She nodded against him.
"I was wrong," he laughed softly. "Ek toh biwi, upar se doctor, upar se itni sensible - matlab, ab pati kya kare?"
(First, a wife, then a doctor on top of that, and on top of that, so sensible - I mean, what is a husband even supposed to do now?)
Adhrita laughed, her voice small but warm.
"Focus on yourself, life wifey," he teased, holding her face between his hands before biting her cheek lightly.
"Bada pati banne ka shauk chadha hai," she retorted, swatting his arm. For the first time that night, their laughter didn't sound borrowed from better days.
(Looks like someone's developed a taste for being a perfect husband.)
"I'm going to Australia," he said suddenly. Her smile faded mid-breath.
"When?" she asked.
"Next week."
"Okay," she murmured after a pause.
"I'm also going somewhere," she said quietly.
He brushed her hair back. "Where?"
"Rajasthan," she replied softly.
His brow furrowed. "Why? What's there?"
"Hospital work," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'm the owner, remember?"
He watched her for a long moment, reluctant but understanding, and finally nodded.
Within minutes, Adhrita drifted into deep sleep - her breathing calm, her hand still loosely in his.
But Vritant lay awake beside her, his thoughts restless, circling her name like a prayer he couldn't let go of.
??? V ? A ??
The next morning, he woke to find her sleeping in his arms - peaceful, her breath warm against his chest. He smiled faintly and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. She stirred, frowning in her sleep, and tucked her face into the crook of his neck.
"Ace," he whispered near her ear.
She grumbled something incoherent, tightening her hold on him.
"Ace," he whispered again, his voice barely audible but laced with amusement.
Her sleep broke this time; she blinked groggily, then pulled the comforter over their heads and murmured, "Sleep, Ant."
"We're getting late," he said, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face.
"Late?" she mumbled, cracking one eye open.
He nodded, and she reluctantly pushed the comforter down, glancing at the wall clock. 7:00 AM.
"It's just seven," she whispered, closing her eyes again and tugging him closer. "You never wake up this early."
"We're going to Gujarat for Navratri," he said casually, as if announcing the weather.
Her eyes shot open instantly. "What?"
"I've got some work there," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "So we're going to Gujarat."
"But-hospital..." she started to protest.
"Navratri," he interrupted simply, giving her a knowing look - the one that said he already knew what she was about to choose.
Her lips twitched. "I haven't been to Gujarat for Navratri since I left for the U.S.," she whispered, almost to herself.
"Then let's fix that," he said, his voice gentle but sure.
She instantly sat up, her sleep completely gone, and dashed toward the washroom without another word.
Vritant chuckled softly, watching the trail of her hurried footsteps. He shifted slightly, and Karma - who had been sleeping loyally at his feet - lifted his head and then clambered onto his chest.
"Biwi hai meri," Vritant said, scratching the dog's head with mock seriousness. "Jaise chahe pyaar kar sakta hoon, samjha?"
("She's my wife," Vritant said, scratching the dog's head with mock seriousness. "I can love her however I want, got it?")
He gave Karma a playful tap on the head.
Karma let out a low, disgruntled bark - somewhere between protest and resignation.
Vritant grinned. "Tujhe toh jealousy ka treatment chahiye."
(You need a treatment for jealousy)
Karma blinked at him once and then dramatically turned away, plopping his head back on Vritant's chest - as if making it clear he wasn't forgiving him that easily.
??? V ? A ???
She came downstairs, her dupatta neatly draped, and went straight to the temple. The soft clang of the bell echoed through the hall as she performed the morning aarti, the flame swaying gently before the goddess.
"Adhrita," Anamika Chachi called from behind, her tone brisk. "You'll need to make prasad for the next nine days. It's Navratri."
Adhrita blinked, caught off guard by the sudden announcement, but she simply nodded and followed her into the kitchen.
Anamika handed her a pot of milk just as Vritant came down the stairs, adjusting his cufflinks. He paused at the kitchen doorway.
"We're getting late. What are you doing?" he asked, half impatient, half confused.
"Vritant," Anamika interjected, smiling tightly, "ab prasad meri bahu hi banayegi na? Ek hi toh hai. Aur tu toh bhagwan mein maanta nahi, woh toh maanti hai." She handed dry fruits to Adhrita as if sealing the decision.
(now only my bahu will make the prasad, right? There's only one. And you don't believe in God, but she does.)
"Chachi, we're leaving town. Maharaj ji can handle it," Vritant replied flatly.
Anamika lit the stove, her voice sharpening. "Tum jao, Adhrita. Waise bhi bahu wala farz toh iss ghar mein mujhe hi nibhana padta hai. Kitna bhi kar loon, na tumhe iss ghar ki padi hai, na kissi aur ko..."
(You go, Adhrita. Anyway, it's me who has to fulfill the bahu's duties in this house. No matter how much I do, you don't care about this house, and neither does anyone else)
"I'm outside," Vritant said, emotionless, and walked out.
"Chachi, main karti hoon," Adhrita said softly, adding ghee to the pan.
(Chachi, I'll do it,)
"No," Anamika said with a brittle smile. "Chachi hai na, kar legi. Waise bhi, tum kaunsa bahu ka farz nibha rahi ho jo ab nibhaogi..."
(Chachi is here, she'll do it. Besides, which bahu duty are you even fulfilling that you would now...)
"Maharaj ji, tai ka doodh garam rakhiye," Asha tai said, her tone steady but firm. "Aur prasad main bana lungi. Har saal main hi banati hoon, Anamika. Aapka bhi toh 10 baje office hota hai na?"
(Maharaj ji, keep the milk warm," Asha tai said, her tone steady but firm. "And I'll make the prasad. I make it every year, Anamika. You have your office at 10 anyway, right?)
The edge in her voice was subtle but unmistakable. Anamika froze, stung, and quietly stepped back, leaving the kitchen with tears threatening to spill.
Adhrita sighed, poured the milk, and stirred in the rice - the aroma of ghee and cardamom slowly filling the kitchen. By the time the kheer was ready, her thoughts were a blur - a mess of guilt, irritation, and pity.
She placed a small bowl of kheer before the goddess, then packed the rest in a container and left for the garden.
Vritant was waiting near the car, checking his watch. "Where were you?" he asked.
"I was making kheer," she said quietly.
"What was all that drama about prasad? It felt like a scene from a daily soap," he muttered, already annoyed.
She smiled faintly, brushing past his tone.
"It really irritates me, these household operas," he added, sliding into the back seat.
"She was right, though..." Adhrita whispered as she sat beside him, handing the bag to Rawat.
He glanced at her, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Yeah, right. Everyone in this family behaves like they're between ages two and five," he said dryly. "So yeah - you do have to take care of them."
"I don't know why Chachi is behaving like this," Adhrita said after a few minutes of silence. Her voice was soft, thoughtful rather than complaining. "She was always so sweet... so friendly before."
Vritant didn't look up as he opened his laptop, his fingers already moving over the keyboard. "She's irritated that Aaradhya follows her badi maa more than her own maa," he said matter-of-factly.
??? V ? A ???
They reached Ahmedabad by late afternoon, greeted warmly by the Adani family. The house was alive with Navratri preparations - the scent of sandalwood and marigold hanging in the air, the distant sound of garba songs spilling from the courtyard.
As soon as they arrived, Vritant was whisked away by Adhrita's father, Ashwin Adani, and her uncle, Mahir. The three of them settled into a deep conversation about upcoming projects and policy - the kind of talk that made Adhrita quietly slip away.
She walked down the familiar corridor to her parents' room. The air smelled faintly of her mother's favorite lavender oil, though the room had long been kept closed. She opened the drawer by the bedside - neatly arranged, untouched, like a shrine to what once was.
Inside, she found a phone with a small note taped to it.
Vaidehi's.
Her breath hitched. The old number. Her mother's number. Still active - her father must've kept it that way. A bitter smile tugged at her lips as she picked it up, the weight of memory sitting heavier than the phone itself.
Scrolling through the contacts, she paused, then dialed.
"It's me - Adhrita," she said as soon as she heard the familiar voice.
"Ah, you remember me now, Mrs. Vardhan?" Dr. Aneira Bose teased from the other end, laughing.
"I need your help," Adhrita said, her tone so grave that Aneira's laughter stopped instantly.
"Something serious?"
"Yes." She hesitated for a beat. "I'm sending you some reports - old and new. I want you to go through every detail carefully."
Adhrita quickly sent a few images from the old phone - scans of files and medical records she had saved. "Don't contact me on my number," she added quietly.
Aneira was silent for a moment before asking, "Are you... spying on your husband?"
"No," Adhrita said firmly. "But something doesn't make sense.
These reports - they don't add up. He was in a coma for two years, but the data is too clean.
Too consistent. Even after changing multiple doctors, there's no variation.
His latest blood reports only show traces of sleeping pills - nothing else.
No residue from previous treatments, no anomalies despite multiple surgeries.
I can't explain it, but something's wrong. "
"I'll get Justin to look at them too," Aneira said, now completely serious. "You'll have answers soon. But, Adhrita... is your husband okay?"
Adhrita's lips parted, but only silence came out first. Then softly - "He is... fine."
There was a pause on the line, heavy with what neither said.
"Take care," Aneira finally murmured, and the call ended.
Adhrita exhaled shakily, the air catching in her chest. She slid the phone into her purse and zipped it shut, then went back to her room. Pulling open her travel bag, she hid the device in the side pocket - far from where anyone would think to look.
For a moment, she stood still, the hum of voices from the courtyard faint in the background. Then she whispered, almost to herself,
"Something's not right, Vritant..."
??? V ? A ???
She stood before the mirror, struggling with the tiny threads of her blouse, the delicate silk refusing to cooperate. Her fingers trembled slightly, and she glanced over her shoulder - only to find him at the doorway, watching her.
Their eyes met in the mirror. Without a word, she gave a small gesture for help.
He stepped closer, his reflection growing beside hers, until he was standing just behind her. Silently, he gathered her hair and twisted it into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, his fingertips grazing her skin. The brush of contact made her catch her breath.
He undid the first tangled thread and retied it properly, his movements slow and deliberate. Then came the second - a little firmer this time, the tug drawing her slightly backward toward him. Her breath hitched again, but he said nothing.
When he finished, his knuckles trailed lightly down her back, tracing the edge of the fabric - a fleeting, almost accidental touch.
"You're supposed to be helping," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I am," he said softly, a faint smile in his tone. "Just... taking my time."
She tilted her head, half-annoyed, half-lost in the warmth of the moment. "Please, Vritant."
That single word made him step back. He nodded once, tied the last thread neatly, and said, "Done."
Adhrita turned toward the mirror again, fastening her jewelry one by one. He watched as she clipped on her earrings - then, without warning, he flicked one playfully with his finger.
She jumped and looked at him through the mirror, half-smiling. "Stop it," she whispered, laughing softly.
He only smirked and flicked the other one too.
She slipped on her bangles, draped her dupatta, and fastened the waist chain. He reached out, hooked one finger gently through the chain, and pulled her a fraction closer.
"Careful," she said, half warning, half laugh.
He only smiled - the kind that said he'd heard her, but didn't plan to obey.
When she was done, she reached for her bindi - but he took it from her fingers, peeled it carefully, and placed it himself between her brows.
"There," he said softly. "Now you look like trouble."
She smiled, applying a faint line of kohl and a touch of lipstick. He didn't look away once - his gaze calm, steady, yet too intent to hide.
"Is it okay?" she asked finally, turning to face him.
He reached out, brushed his thumb lightly across her lips to fix a tiny smudge, and murmured, "More than okay."
For a moment, neither moved. The air between them held its breath - charged, unspoken, impossibly close.
He didn't wait for words. His thumb still resting beneath her chin, he tilted her face up, closing the last inch between them. The kiss came sudden - hungry, desperate - as if every unsaid word, every restrained touch finally found its way out.
Her breath caught against his lips, then melted into his rhythm. He deepened the kiss, tracing her lower lip with quiet urgency before claiming it again, slower this time - deliberate, intoxicating.
For a moment, the world outside that mirror ceased to exist. Her fingers clutched the front of his shirt, his hand still curled around the chain at her waist - neither willing to let go, neither daring to break the spell they'd both fallen into.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, his breath uneven but his voice low and steady.
"Your lipstick," he murmured with a smirk.
She frowned in confusion until she caught his reflection in the mirror - his lips were completely smudged with her lipstick, while hers looked deliciously ruined.
He picked up the end of her dupatta, turned it in his hand, and wiped his lips clean with a careless ease.
Then, as if nothing had happened, he adjusted the dupatta back into place, perfectly neat.
He reached for the kohl from the table and leaned closer again, his breath brushing against her skin. With deliberate care, he dotted a small black mark behind her ear.
She smiled faintly. "For nazar?"
He smirked, eyes glinting with mock seriousness.
"Vritant jaisi bala ko dur rakhne ke liye?" She laughed softly, shaking her head as he picked up the small knife wrapped in a handkerchief and tucked it carefully inside her ghaghra skirt.
"Keep it. Some dancers here are more dangerous than the dandiya sticks," he said quietly, his tone serious now - the teasing gone.
Her heartbeat quickened - not from fear, but from the strange mix of protection and possession in his voice.
??? V ? A ???
Adhrita was lost in the rhythm of garba at the private event, spinning and clapping with abandon. Vritant sat nearby with Rawat but couldn't help stealing glances at her. Seeing her so free, so alive, a rare smile tugged at his lips.
Suddenly, he got up and walked toward her. She blinked in surprise as he reached her, unsure how he intended to join. Instead of expertly dancing, he merely mirrored her steps awkwardly, and she couldn't help laughing.
"Come on, let me teach you," she teased, guiding his hands and correcting his missteps. After a few faltering rounds, he relaxed into simpler movements, managing to keep pace with her.
As they spun together, she leaned closer and whispered, "Someone was a non-believer of God."
He arched a brow, the corner of his mouth curving just slightly. "Still am," he said, his voice low. "But watching this-" his gaze swept over her, the swirl of her dupatta, the light in her eyes "-I might start believing in well-crafted illusions."
She scoffed. "This is called faith."
He stepped closer, matching her rhythm just enough to make her notice. "Faith looks suspiciously like chaos with better music."
"Then why are you here, Mr. Monk?" she challenged.
He leaned in, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. "Someone had to keep God entertained."
Then, without warning, his hand slipped around her waist, steadying her spin. She froze mid-step as he drew closer, the air between them thick with rhythm and something unspoken.
"Monk, huh?" he murmured near her ear, voice low and edged with amusement. "You have an odd way of tempting saints."
She looked up at him, eyes glinting with mischief. "Then I'm sorry, Ant," she said, the nickname slipping out like a spark.
Before he could react, she laughed - that carefree, defiant kind of laugh - and spun away into the crowd. He didn't follow. He just stood there, the ghost of her laughter lingering - and the word Monk burning louder in his head than the music ever could.
"So much for monks and miracles," he murmured, eyes following her. "Both overrated."
One twirl, one smirk, and a world-class skeptic on display.
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