Throne and Thread

Chapter 39 Miles and Pastel Pink Towel

In every reunion, rrthere's a whisper of all the moments we missed.

- Author

I wasn't supposed to update this chapter today - but it's my friend's birthday.

One of my two constant supporters since the Silk and Smoke days, my early draft reader who caught my errors, hyped my words, and helped me promote tirelessly on Instagram.

This entire book is dedicated to her -

but this chapter, especially, is for @purplevalley09,

on her birthday. ??

She zipped the bag and looked at him.

"Packed your luggage," she whispered.

He waited for her to react - but she didn't.

He took her hand, gently pulled her into his arms, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Now my wife is behaving like a wife," he teased, but she only tightened her hold.

"Next thing you'll be saying - 'Suno ji, khana time se kha lena, time se so jaana, aur apna dhyaan rakhna,' right? Ever since Anamika Chachi mentioned you being a bahu, I swear I feel like I'm living in an Indian TV show," he joked, but she just let out a quiet chuckle.

"Want to say something?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Bye," he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Her fingers clutched his collar, holding him there for a second longer. He pulled back slightly, but her eyes kept him close.

"Bye," she murmured with a small smile.

He picked up his bag and left.

She moved to the balcony, watching as he stepped out of the house with Rawat. Karma leaped at him playfully, and he bent down to pat him before Rawat led the dog away.

After a moment, she turned back inside the room. Just as she entered, her phone began to ring. She saw his name flash on the screen, picked it up, and walked back to the balcony.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothing. Take care," she said softly.

"Come down," he said softly.

For a second, she didn't move - then a smile tugged at her lips before she even realized it. Her heart began to race. She ended the call, turned, and ran.

Down the stairs, her dupatta brushing against the walls, her breath catching somewhere between excitement and relief.

By the time she reached the door and saw him standing there, she was breathless - and smiling in a way she hadn't since morning.

He handed her his lighter. She gripped it tightly, as if holding a piece of him. Her cheeks flushed when she noticed his shoelaces were undone.

Just then, his phone rang again. He took the call, distracted.

She bent down and quietly tied his laces. The simple act caught him off guard - the way she was, right there at his feet, tender and unguarded. His security looked away politely, pretending not to notice.

He ended the call and touched her shoulders.

"Don't," he murmured, glancing around.

"It's fine," she whispered, smiling. "Biwiyon wali harkate karne ka haq hai."

(I have the right to act like a wife.)

He leaned closer, his voice low. "I really feel like touching those landmines."

She knew exactly what he meant - the tiny moles on her neck - and her blush deepened.

"Patiyon wali harkate karne ka haq mujhe bhi hai," he added with a wink.

(I have the right to act like a husband too)

She gave him a mock glare, failing to hide her smile.

Rawat returned, signaling it was time to go. Vritant sat in the car, but before closing the door, he hooked his finger through her bracelet, tugging her wrist closer - and kissed the back of her hand softly.

Her heart raced. She pulled her hand back, still blushing, and closed the door.

He laughed quietly, the sound lingering in the air as the car rolled away.

??? V ? A ???

She tossed and turned on her bed while Karma slept peacefully beside her.

Since Vritant had left in the morning, she'd barely spoken a word.

It felt like she was slipping back into being the old Adhrita - the one who lived quietly inside her shell.

Maybe in front of Vritant, she had been more herself, more alive.

She closed her eyes and her thoughts wandered back to the riots. The last time he had gone out of Delhi, she had been in trouble. A sigh escaped her lips.

She threw off the comforter and reached for her phone. 1:00 a.m. Unable to stay still, she got out of bed and went downstairs.

She opened the fridge, stared inside for a moment, then shut it again. She wasn't hungry - just restless. She poured herself a glass of water, took a few slow sips, and turned to go back upstairs.

As she climbed the last few steps, she noticed that the door to the private terrace was slightly open. She walked toward it, meaning to close it - but stopped.

Devika Dadi was standing there, looking around for something under the dim terrace light.

"Dadi, what are you looking for?" Adhrita asked softly.

Devika Dadi turned, surprised to see her at this hour.

"I was looking for my spectacles," she said with a gentle chuckle.

Adhrita couldn't help but laugh. "They're on your head, Dadi."

Devika touched her hair and laughed, realizing. Adhrita reached up, took the spectacles off her head, and handed them to her.

They both smiled - two night wanderers sharing a quiet, tender moment under the sleeping sky.

"Dadi, you should sleep," Adhrita said softly, sitting beside her on the sofa.

"You didn't sleep either? Scared to sleep alone?" Dadi teased.

"Dadi..." she murmured, blushing a little.

"I'm just glad my daughter-in-law is happy," Dadi said with a smile. Then, after a pause, added, "Don't mind Anamika, okay?"

"Dadi, it wasn't like that..." Adhrita began, but Dadi gently placed her wrinkled hand over hers.

"I know, beta," she said, patting her hand affectionately. "Mere baad wahi toh hai jo iss ghar ke saare riti-riwaz aur zimmedariyaan sambhal rahi hai. Jaanti ho, pehle aisa nahi tha..."

(After me, she's the one managing all the traditions and responsibilities of this house. You know, it wasn't always like this...)

"Phir kaisa tha, Dadi? Mummy is hardly part of this family. And Vritant is..."

(What do you mean, Dadi?)

"...not part of this family," Dadi finished her sentence softly.

Adhrita only nodded - as if silently agreeing.

"Vritant ko lagta hai ek hadse ne uski zindagi badal di hai," Dadi said, her voice heavy with memory. "Par beta, jab ghar mein koi hadsa hota hai na... toh ghar ke sab logon ki zindagi badal jaati hai sirf ek ki nahi."

("Vritant thinks one accident changed his life," Dadi said, her voice heavy with memory. "But, my dear, when an accident happens in a family... it changes everyone's life, not just one person's.")

"Dadi, please... aap apne aapko takleef mat do," Adhrita said, worried.

(Dadi, please... don't stress yourself)

"Takleef toh ab hum Vardhans ki zindagi ka ek hissa ban chuki hai," Dadi sighed. "Jaanti ho, kitna khubsurat tha yeh ghar?"

("Pain has become a part of the Vardhans' lives now," Dadi sighed. "You know, this house used to be so beautiful?")

Adhrita shook her head.

"Bahut khubsurat," Dadi continued, her eyes glistening. "Main aur Raj sab sambhalte the. Do bete, do bahuyein, aur unke teen bachche. Aise rehte the jaise agar kisi ne bahar se dekh liya toh nazar lag jaaye..."

("Very beautiful," Dadi continued, eyes glistening. "Raj and I used to handle everything. Two sons, two daughters-in-law, and their three children. We lived in such harmony that anyone seeing us from outside would have envied our happiness...")

"...Aur phir Vedant," Adhrita said quietly.

(And then Vedant,)

"Haan," Dadi nodded, her voice trembling. "Woh hum sabko chhod ke chala gaya... aur hum sabki zindagi hamesha ke liye badal gayi.

Tere Dadaji - Raj Vardhan - ne office jaana hi chhod diya. Kehte the, 'Jo insaan apne parivaar ko nahi bacha saka, uske liye paisa kamane ka kya matlab?'

Shaurya ke upar sab zimmedariyan aa gayi. Do bete kho diye aur biwi ko bhi. Shaurya ne apna office hi apni zindagi samajh liya.

Vedashree ne politics ko apni zindagi bana liya - jaise iss ghar mein ab uske liye kuchh bacha hi nahi. Saalon tak woh government quarters mein rehti rahi.

Aur Dev... mera baccha, bas jitna sahi ho sake utna karne mein lag gaya. Us chakkar mein Anamika aur Aaradhya, dono se door ho gaya.

Aaradhya badi hoti gayi, aur apni badi maa ke kadmon par chalne lagi. Aur reh gayi bas Anamika... aur main.

Main toh bhagwan ko yaad karte apna waqt kaat leti hoon, par Anamika... usse apni beti ko door dekhna bardasht nahi hota. Usne Vritant ko apna beta banane ki koshish ki, par tu jaanti hai na... woh kaisa hai."

("Yes," Dadi nodded, her voice trembling.

"He left us all... and our lives changed forever.

Your Dadaji - Raj Vardhan - stopped going to work.

He used to say, 'If a man can't protect his family, what's the point of earning money?

'

All responsibilities fell on Shaurya.

He lost two sons and even his wife. Shaurya made his office his entire world.

Vedashree turned her life into politics - as if nothing remained for her in this house.

For years, she lived in government quarters.

And Dev... my son, he just kept doing whatever seemed right, but in the process, he grew distant from both Anamika and Aaradhya.

Aaradhya grew up and began following in her elder aunt's footsteps.

And then, there was just Anamika... and me.

I pass my time remembering God, but Anamika...

she can't bear to live away from her daughter.

She tried to make Vritant her own son, but you know... how he is.")

Adhrita stayed silent.

"Vritant do saal coma mein raha," Dadi went on, her tone quieter now. "Aur jaise hi hosh aaya, Shaurya ne usse sabse alag kar diya. Sab se door. Saalon tak aise hi chalta raha... aur phir ek din, Vritant wapas aaya.

Hum jaante the - woh ab pehle wala bachcha nahi raha."

("Vritant was in a coma for two years," Dadi went on, her tone softer now. "And the moment he woke up, Shaurya isolated him from everyone - kept him away from the family. It went on like that for years... and then one day, Vritant came back. We all knew - he wasn't the same boy anymore.")

"Dadi... mat takleef do apne aapko," Adhrita said gently, her voice breaking a little.

(Dadi... please don't hurt yourself talking about all this,)

"Takleef toh hogi na, beta," Dadi whispered. "Jaanti ho... Vedant aur Vritant dono kaise the?"

("Pain is inevitable, beta," Dadi whispered. "Do you know what Vedant and Vritant were like?")

Adhrita shook her head.

"Bilkul ek jaise," Dadi smiled faintly, "bas kuch chhoti-chhoti baaton ko chhod ke. Ek bahut mastikhor tha, toh ek bahut disciplined.

Ek ko businessman banna tha Shaurya ke jaise, aur ek ko Vedashree ke jaise politician. Ek ko paneer paranthe pasand the... aur ek ko bilkul nahi."

("They were exactly alike," Dadi smiled faintly. "Except for a few little things. One was mischievous, the other disciplined. One wanted to be a businessman like Shaurya, the other a politician like Vedashree. One loved paneer parathas... and the other couldn't stand them.")

"Vritant ko paneer paranthe pasand the na?" Adhrita asked softly.

(Vritant likes paneer parathas, right?)

Dadi smiled faintly. "Vedant ko the..."

(Vritant likes paneer parathas, right?)

Adhrita froze. The realization hit her - she had made paneer paranthe that morning, and he'd eaten them without a word.

God, she thought, how dumb could I be?

She quickly pulled out her phone and sent him a text: "You hate paneer parantha?"

A few seconds later, his reply popped up.

"I told you I hate Indian food."

Her heart softened. He had eaten his twin's favorite food - just because she made it.

"Dadi," she said after a pause, "Vedant kaisa tha?"

(what was Vedant like?)

Dadi's eyes warmed with memory.

"Vedant? Bada shaant aur disciplined tha. Padhai ka bahut shaukh tha - matlab ek ideal bachcha samajh lo iss ghar ka. Aur Vritant... utna hi mastikhor, shaitaan aur ziddi."

(Vedant? He was calm, disciplined - loved studying. The ideal child of this house, you could say. And Vritant... just the opposite - mischievous, playful, and stubborn.)

"Gadiyon ka shauk tha usko?" Adhrita asked curiously.

(He liked cars, right?)

"Woh sab Vritant ko tha," Dadi chuckled. "Cars, cards, aur politician banne ka bhi. Par ab woh politics se nafrat karta hai... aur apne saath apne bhai ki bhi zindagi jee raha hai. Shaurya ne uss hadse ke baare mein kabhi baat nahi ki, aur kisi aur ko bhi karne nahi di."

(All that was Vritant," Dadi chuckled. "Cars, cards, and even politics. But now he hates politics... and he's living both his and his brother's life. Shaurya never spoke about that incident - and never let anyone else talk about it either.)

"Aap miss karti hain na twins ko?" Adhrita asked gently.

(You miss the twins, don't you?)

Dadi's eyes glistened. She nodded.

"Mujhe pareshan karne wala koi hai hi nahi ab. Ab yeh buddhi Dadi bas bhagwan ko yaad karke waqt nikaal rahi hai... aur tere Dadaji se thodi bahut ladai karke," she said, laughing softly at her own humor.

("There's no one left to trouble me anymore," she said with a soft laugh. "Now this old grandma just spends her time remembering God... and occasionally fighting with your Dadaji.")

Then she added, "Shweta jab Aryan ko leke aati thi, tab usne bahut koshish ki thi iss ghar ko phir se khush karne ki. Par koi kuch bolta nahi... aur na hi kisi ke ghaav bhare."

(When Shweta used to visit with Aryan, she tried so hard to bring happiness back into this house. But no one speaks anymore... and no one's wounds have healed.)

"Par Dadi, aapko strict hona chahiye tha na?" Adhrita said without thinking.

(But Dadi, you should've been stricte)

Dadi looked at her for a moment - then laughed.

"Thik hai, shuruaat tujse hi karti hoon. Kal se roz mujhse milne aayegi, samjhi?"

(Alright then, I'll start with you. From tomorrow, you'll come see me every day, understood?)

"I will, Dadi," Adhrita whispered with a smile.

"Arey mera bachcha," Dadi said fondly, touching her cheek. "Tu apne kaam mein hi itni rehti hai... aur hum nahi jaante kya? Humare Vritant ko sambhalna kitna mushkil hai! Vedashree bhi gussa ho jaati hai usko dekh ke."

(You're always so busy with your work... and don't we all know how difficult our Vritant is to handle! Even Vedashree loses her temper when she sees him.)

Both laughed quietly.

"Chal, ab ja so ja," Dadi said finally, getting up.

(Come on, go to sleep now)

"Aap bhi chaliye," Adhrita replied, standing to help her.

(You too, Dadi)

Arm in arm, they walked out of the private terrace - two generations bound by silence, memory, and the shared weight of love that refused to fade.

Adhrita went back to her room and glanced at her phone.

Three unread messages blinked on the screen:

"Why are you still up?"

"What happened?"

"Night shift?"

Without replying, she hit the video call button, lay down on the bed, and set the phone beside her pillow. He picked up after a few seconds.

He was lying on his bed too - hair messy, eyes half-open.

"Did you take your pills?" she asked softly.

He shook his head.

Adhrita noticed a blue dupatta in his hand. Her blue dupatta.

"We have security at home, Ace," she said with a smile. "You don't have to take over their job."

Even half-asleep, he smirked.

"Even in sleep, he is sarcastic," Adhrita chuckled quietly and pulled her comforter over herself.

"I'm missing you," she whispered after a pause.

His eyes opened instantly, fully awake now.

"Pyar karne lage ho?" he teased, his voice low and teasing.

(Fallen in love, have you?)

She quickly shook her head. "No."

"Biwi banne ka shauk hai?" he asked, still smiling.

(Or is it that you just enjoy playing the wife?)

She nodded slightly, cheeks turning pink.

"When are you coming back?" she whispered.

"What?" he asked, pretending not to hear.

"Nothing," she said quickly.

He yawned. "How was your day?"

She smiled, her voice soft and sleepy as she began telling him about her day - the little things, the moments with Dadi, the silence of the house.

He listened, murmuring a word or two between yawns. And somewhere in the middle of their conversation, both drifted off - the call still connected, their breaths quietly syncing across miles.

??? V ? A ???

The next few days passed in a blur.

One night, while getting ready for bed, Adhrita walked into the dressing room and opened her wardrobe. Inside, she noticed a bundle of money placed neatly on one of the shelves.

She frowned, picked it up, and then smiled.

Pocket money from Papa. He finally gave it back.

But the smile faded as quickly as it came. She missed him - deeply, silently.

She placed the money safely in the locker and noticed three bunches of keys lying beside it. She picked them up, curiosity sparking in her mind. Each key had a small number engraved on it.

She tried a few on her own wardrobe - one fit perfectly. Then, she turned toward Vritant's wardrobe. Another key worked there too.

Only one was left.

She tried it on almost every drawer and locker in the room, but nothing worked. Just as she was about to give up, she slipped the key marked 77 into a small lock on the corner cupboard - and it clicked open.

Inside were toys, old notebooks, and scattered pieces of childhood. The twins' belongings.

There was even a small locker. For a moment, she hesitated. It felt like stepping into a part of him she wasn't meant to see. She started to close the door - but stopped herself.

You're not invading his privacy, she told herself. He'll never talk about this... never come out of his own labyrinth.

She opened the locker and took out a thin file. School records.

Her eyes widened.

Failed - Class 6

He failed? she thought, then realization struck - he was kidnapped that year.

She flipped through the rest - family photos, report cards, notes scribbled in childish handwriting. The numbers carved inside the cupboard matched some written on the backs of the pictures - perhaps memories coded to moments.

Every single thing whispered the same story: Vedant and Vritant Vardhan.

Two halves of one world that never came back together.

Gently, she placed everything back and locked it again.

Then she opened another of his wardrobes - and froze.

It was full of her dupattas.

She let out a small laugh.

Thank God he didn't start Vardhan Laundry and Dry Cleaning, she thought.

As she looked closer, she spotted a small photo tucked in the corner - her photo. From the day she became a doctor. She remembered standing alone with her certificate, smiling through tears.

"He got everything from my life," she whispered, a faint ache in her voice.

She picked up her lipstick, flipped the photo over, and scrawled in small, playful letters: 'Love me?'

Then she laughed quietly and put it back where she found it.

What a stupid thing to do, Adhrita. You're behaving like a teenager, she scolded herself silently.

But the laughter faded as the silence returned - and she remembered he wasn't there. The emptiness of the room wrapped around her again.

Just then, a knock came on her door.

Startled, she quickly put everything back, locked all the wardrobes, and stepped out.

Aasha Tai stood there. "Tai called you," she said briefly.

Adhrita nodded and followed her down the corridor.

They entered Vedashree's room, where she was busy sorting through her wardrobe.

"Aapne bulaya?" Adhrita asked softly.

(You called?)

Vedashree turned around, holding a few jewelry boxes. "Kal Karwachauth hai," she said matter-of-factly, handing them to her. "Jo pasand ho, bata do. Aur saari chahiye ki-"

(Tomorrow is Karwachauth, Tell me which one you like. And do you want a saree or-)

"Saaree..." Adhrita whispered.

She opened the boxes one by one, running her fingers over the ornaments, then picked one and handed it to her mother-in-law. "Yeh..."

(This)

Vedashree nodded approvingly.

Later, Adhrita returned to her room and lay on the bed. One week. One whole week since he'd left for Australia.

She unlocked her phone and scrolled through the gallery - wedding photos, candid moments, his face.

Karwachauth fast without him? she thought. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it.

She closed her eyes and let her memories play out - their first awkward meeting, the wedding that neither of them wanted, the silence, the arguments, and the strange, fragile connection that grew between them.

Forced or not, it had become something more. Something she couldn't define - but could no longer deny. Because somewhere between all the chaos, she had fallen for him.

Just then, her phone rang.

She sighed. Must be the hospital. She was far too tired for another night shift.

But when she glanced at the screen, her heart skipped - Vritant.

A small, involuntary smile curved her lips as she answered.

"Hello," she said softly.

"Why is Karma on the balcony?" he asked, his voice calm but teasing.

Frowning, Adhrita turned toward the balcony - and saw Karma barking furiously. Confused, she rushed over to check what had caught his attention.

Then she froze.

Down below, under the silver wash of the porch lights, he was standing there - with that familiar half-smile on his face.

Her breath caught. The call ended as she hung up, barely aware of her own movements.

She unlatched Karma's leash, patted him once, and then ran.

Barefoot, heartbeat racing, she flew down the stairs - skipping steps, clutching the banister just to keep her balance.

And there he was - right near the staircase, looking up at her.

The moment she reached him, she couldn't hold back anymore.

She threw herself at him - a blur of relief, warmth, and unspoken longing.

He caught her mid-rush, his arms closing around her as he lifted her off the ground, holding her tight against him.

Her feet dangled a few inches above the floor, her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, while his grip said everything he didn't - I missed you too.

Then, slowly, he let her down. Her feet found his, still reluctant to move away, and for a brief moment they just stood there - close enough to feel each other breathe.

He noticed the shimmer in her eyes and reached up, brushing her tears away with his thumb.

A faint smile curved his lips as he said, half-sarcastic, half-tender,

"Perfect. I'm back for five minutes and you're already in tears - exactly the welcome I imagined."

She didn't say anything. He gently slipped a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze.

"Chaliye," he said softly, taking her hand and leading her to their room.

"Freshen up," she murmured, reaching to remove his tie.

"Too tired," he replied, resting his forehead on her shoulder.

She started unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers working carefully, while he nuzzled the curve of her neck. He looked at her, and she offered a small, forced smile - her eyes still glistening, betraying how much she had missed him.

He held her wrist lightly and guided her to the washroom. The warm water cascaded over them as he turned on the shower.

"You missed me?" he asked quietly, droplets running down his face.

She nodded, unable to hide it, feeling the heat of the water mix with the warmth of his presence.

He pulled her gently close, wrapping her hands around his neck, and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

She cupped his cheek, brushing it with her thumb, and on tiptoe, leaned forward to press a light kiss to his cheek.

"Don't ever leave me," she whispered, gripping his shoulder so tightly that her nails left faint marks - her heart speaking louder than her words.

He smirked, water dripping from his hair, and said in his classic dry tone,

"Wow. Holding on that tight... I should charge rent for all this affection."

She put her head on his west chest and closed her eyes to feel his heartbeats.

"Let me show you, how much water we have more than whole Rajasthan," he turned on another shower and she felt like she was under waterfall,"

Then he gripped her waist and started pulling out her tshirt above her head and threw it away and kissed her shoulder, then her strap and then another shoulder and turned her and hugged her from behind.

His chest was a solid, familiar anchor against her back.

As his lips found her shoulder, a wave of gratitude washed over her.

It wasn't just the touch; it was the way he moved-slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world just for this.

She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back a fraction, allowing her neck to arc slightly for him.

Then slowly with his teeth he removed the strap from her shoulder and started biting her. He then moved to the other shoulder and with his teeth, he removed it.

He caressed her waist and stomach with his hands, and the water was making them more intimate.

She gripped his hands. Then, with a slow gesture, he turned her again, facing her.

He stared at her and saw her hands were caressing his torso.

He bent down a bit and took her trembling lips in his and took her into a long, passionate, and hot kiss.

The kiss was a sudden release, an explosion of everything they had been holding back. The sounds of the shower faded entirely, replaced by the rush of blood in her ears. She pressed herself against him, the slickness of their wet skin making the contact electrifying. Every breath was a shared gasp.

He broke the kiss only to rest his forehead against hers, their ragged breaths misting between them. His eyes, dark and heavy with desire, searched hers.

"Look at me," he murmured, his voice a low, rough vibration against her skin, "just for a second."

Her hands tightened on his shoulders, grounding herself against his solid form. She met his gaze, unable to look away, and in those eyes, she saw not just want, but utter devotion.

"I-" she started, but the word caught in her throat. She didn't need to say it. The raw, open feeling between them was louder than any sentence.

He smiled-a slow, private, knowing smile that made her heart flip. His one hand slid to the back of her thigh, lifting her slightly, and she automatically wrapped her leg around his upper hip, pulling her flush against him.

Slowly, his other hand moved to her back, and with a small, satisfying snap, he opened the hook of her inner. She hugged him, digging her nails into the wet skin of his back.

"I missed you," he said, taking her long hair in his hand and tugging her head up.

He started kissing her collarbone and moved a bit down, inhaling the steam and the scent of her skin.

He slowly planted her against the cool, tiled shower wall.

She gripped his shoulders, and he took her into another hot kiss.

This kiss was a desperate meeting of need and desire, a collision of two bodies starved for this connection.

There was no gentleness, only urgency. Her mouth opened under the pressure of his, allowing him deeper access as the water streamed over them, doing nothing to cool the rising heat.

Her hands slipped from his shoulders to rake through his wet hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

The world narrowed to the slick press of their chests, the frantic rhythm of their breathing, and the hungry, consuming movement of their lips.

Every movement was a plea, a demand, a complete surrender to the primal language of touch.

He gently took her one hand and released its fierce grip from his hair. He planted her palm on the wet tiled wall above her head and intertwined their fingers, anchoring her there. He bent down and kissed her on the front.

The change in his touch was immediate. The rough urgency of the previous kiss softened into something deep and reverent.

His lips moved with exquisite care, a slow, tracing heat that caused her breath to hitch.

With her arm stretched and pinned by their clasped hands, the rest of her body was utterly exposed to him.

The cool tiles against her back and the relentless heat of his mouth created a beautiful, dizzying contrast.

"Stop me jaan," he whispered and she took him into a hot kiss, and he poured his everything into the kiss.

"You missed me so much," she broke the kiss and whispered, looking at him. He kept staring at her. Then she asked, "Are you crying?"

He didn't say anything. She removed hair from his forehead and again asked, "Are you crying?" He came out of his thoughts and said sarcastically, "It's impossible to make Vritant Vardhan cry."

He said this and pulled her to him, and on her back, he started writing his initials with his wet fingers.

"I am your Vritant, no need to mark territory," she whispered and bit his nose. Both laughed.

He held her hand and with the other, turned off the shower. Both moved near the mirror, and there was a fog.

The sudden silence was immense, broken only by the rhythmic drip of water from the tap and the sound of their own unsteady breathing.

The air in the bathroom instantly felt cooler, wrapping around their heated skin like a loose, refreshing blanket.

They stood together, steam rising gently from their bodies, facing their reflection-or rather, the thick, pearly-white mist that obscured it.

Vritant released her hand and lifted his finger. Slowly, he drew a small clear circle in the fogged-up mirror. Then he took her hand, guided her finger to it, and together they wrote one word above the circle - "ALWAYS."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, watching the edges of the newly revealed words begin to blur as the steam claimed them again.

It was the deepest kind of communication-the moment of raw emotion followed by a quiet, shared promise.

She could feel the steady beat of his heart against her ear, no longer frantic, but settled.

Vritant grabbed the heavy, cream-colored robe from the hook behind the door. He held it open, and with a mock-serious formality that belied the heat still radiating between them, he guided her arms through the sleeves. He cinched the belt loosely at her waist.

"You should leave before I show you how much I actually miss you and if I show that people will start missing you," he said sarcastically, and her eyes widened. She didn't know whether to blush or kill him.

She took her pastel pink towel from the rack and threw it at him, saying, "You also wear my favorite color."

He laughed-a genuine, deep sound-and easily caught the towel. It was, of course, her favorite color. She gave him one last look-a mixture of irritation and fierce affection-and left the washroom. Vritant then moved toward the shower for a proper bath.

??? V ? A ???

She changed into another pair of night suit and he came out wrapping the pastel pink towel. He dried his hair and jumped beside her on the bed.

"Are you going to sleep like this?" she asked as she turned towards him on the bed.

"Someone wanted me in pastel pink," he said.

"Vritant, I was kidding, go and wear your night suit," she said, and he got up and went to the dressing room and wore some random shorts and came out.

"T-shirt?" she asked, and he pointed at her. She was wearing his t-shirt. Her mouth fell open, and she covered herself with the comforter and shook her head.

"Tired?" he asked, and she nodded her head and started telling about her day.

"Turn," he said, and she turned another side. He pulled her closer to him, hugging her from behind, and started massaging her back.

"Vritant..." she called out his name, and he just hummed while massaging her back.

"I think I..." she couldn't say, and his hands stopped.

"What?" he asked.

"I think I am fal..." she tried again but couldn't say.

"Hrita..." he whispered near her ear, and she closed her eyes as she felt his warmth.

"I missed you," she uttered and turned and hugged him.

"Hrita..." he again called her name, but she whispered, "Sleep, Ant... kal Karwachauth hai I have to get up early."

"Just one question," he said, and she nodded.

"Did you feel forced?" he asked barely, like he didn't want to but he did. Her eyes shot open. She wanted to get angry with him, but it's Vritant.

She pushed back a little, just enough to meet his eyes. The easy warmth they'd just shared broke apart under the weight of his question. Her first feeling was anger-anger that he could doubt her, anger that he still had that worry hidden beneath all his sarcasm.

But then she looked closer. All the usual Vritant arrogance was gone. His eyes were wide, dark, and completely honest. He was letting his guard down in a way his humor never allowed.

"Vritant," she said, her voice quiet and steady. She reached up and put her hand flat against his cheek, running her thumb over his jaw.

"Our whole relationship started with rules, political needs, and things we didn't choose. I can't change that." She paused, her expression serious.

"What happened tonight was with consent and comfort. You didn't force me even for a moment. In fact, you made me feel wanted and loved. Your touch was not forced; it was more like..."

She hesitated, her lips curving into a slow, mischievous smile that mirrored his own. "...how a husband touches his wife. And I felt pati banne ka shaukh aapko bhi hai."

(you also have the desire to be a husband)

Vritant stared at her for a beat, his serious expression melting into a genuine, surprised laugh. The sound was loud in the quiet room. She laughed too, leaning forward and capturing his mouth in a firm, meaningful kiss.

He wrapped his arms around her tightly, pulling her head to rest against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of her hair.

Well, that was way too much of a heartfelt moment. Luckily, I'm very good at being sarcastic to fix it.

────────── ?? ? ?? ──────────