She stepped out of her room with her breath not quite steady, her mind still reeling from the last encounter. The hallway outside felt colder, emptier—but only for a second.
Before she could take more than three steps, a hand caught her wrist.
Warm. Firm.
She gasped softly and turned.
Rudra.
Standing there, eyes unreadable, lips almost amused, fingers wrapped gently around her wrist—not pulling, not forcing, just stopping her.
"I'm going to drop you," he said, voice calm, low. "But after dinner."
His hand didn't leave hers. Instead, it slid slowly down, linking fingers with hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. As if they did this every evening. As if he always held her hand like that.
And maybe he had. Maybe not like this. Not with the same weight behind it.
Her throat went dry, but she didn't argue. Her fingers didn't pull away.
He turned and began to lead her down the hall.
Down the stairs.
Down through whatever invisible line they had both been toeing for months.
She followed him, one step behind, hand still in his. Her eyes dropped to where their fingers intertwined, and a heat bloomed low in her belly—not from the touch, but from what it meant. It wasn't possessive. It was familiar. Warm. And real.
They moved together in quiet synchronization, the sound of their steps echoing gently against the high ceilings as they descended the winding staircase. The banister gleamed beside them. The evening lights in the mansion had dimmed to a golden hue. Everything looked cinematic, surreal.
And yet, it felt realer than anything.
She blinked.
It was almost six months.
Six months since the wedding.
Six months since her world shifted.
And only now—only now did it feel like her heart was catching up with her body. Like she was suddenly aware of being his wife. Not in documents. Not in family gatherings. But here, in this moment, where her hand fit in his like it belonged.
There was no rush in his pace. No tension in his grip. It was easy. Controlled.
But her heartbeat wasn't calm. It drummed in her ears, fast and unsteady. As if there were music playing in the background of her mind—soft, emotional, rising with every step. A score only she could hear.
And it played for him.
When they reached the last step, the soft hum of voices floated through the wide hallway into the grand living room.
Komal was standing near the sofa, her bright dupatta swaying slightly as she laughed with Rakhi. Misha was lounging with Ria on the armrest, scrolling through something on her phone, both of them glancing up when they heard footsteps. Ravi stood near the dining table, adjusting the sleeve of his kurta, looking half-bored, half-amused.
Only one person was missing.
Aarav.
"Where's Rudra?" Komal asked casually, not glancing up yet.
Ravi, without missing a beat, replied, "He had a meeting, left for it."
"At 7 p.m.?" Rakhi frowned, looking mildly surprised.
Then shrugged. "Ohhk, let's eat. He'll probably be late."
Ria smirked as she noticed them approaching. She tilted her head and looked at Anaya.
"Tum bhai ka haath ab chhod sakti ho," she said with a teasing smile.
Anaya blinked and immediately glanced down, startled by the realization that she was still holding Rudra's hand.
Or rather, that he was still holding hers.
In his other hand, he was carrying her handbag and laptop case effortlessly, as if it were second nature to do so.
She tensed slightly, but Rudra didn't even flinch.
Instead, he shifted his grip with casual ease, walked to the edge of the living room, and placed her bags down beside the couch.
Then turned back and said smoothly, "Let's have dinner, guys."
His voice was normal, even light. But the air around him held the faint imprint of something heavier. A trace of what had just passed between them upstairs.
The others nodded.
Misha and Ria exchanged a look, whispering something under their breath that made them both grin.
Komal chuckled and leaned into Rakhi. "Aww… mere cute couple," she said under her breath.
Anaya's face flushed instantly. She looked away, adjusting her dupatta like she needed something to do with her hands. Rudra said nothing, but she noticed the faint quirk of his lips—like he enjoyed this, even the teasing.
He moved toward the table first, drawing a chair for her without a word. A small gesture, but enough to draw glances from every corner of the room.
She sat, unsure if her heart was still beating where it belonged.
______..______..______.OwO.______..______..______.
Dinner began with clinks of cutlery, quiet conversation, and the soft clatter of serving spoons. Ria passed the paneer to Misha. Ravi grumbled about the rice being too soft. Komal and Rakhi were laughing about something that happened at the boutique earlier that day.
And Anaya?
She couldn't stop noticing him.
Across the table, Rudra was silent for the most part. But every so often, his eyes would find hers. Not openly. Not long enough to be caught.
Just glances.
Calculated.
Deliberate.
Every time she looked up, he was already looking away.
But she knew.
She could feel it.
It was like sitting beside lightning. Beautiful, unpredictable, and deadly if you got too close.
He served her water without asking. Nudged the salt closer when she reached for it. Light things. Thoughtful. But in her mind, they thundered.
And beneath it all, the earlier words kept circling back.
"You're running from me."
Maybe she was.
Or maybe she just didn't know how to stand still when someone looked at her like that.
The dinner ended slowly, laughter trailing behind spoons and napkins. The family lingered for a while, talking in low voices, making plans for the next day. Komal reminded them all about Dadi's call. Misha joked about turning the guest room into a gym. Ria snuck an extra gulab jamun onto her plate when no one was looking.
It felt like home.
But Anaya's heartbeat didn't match the rhythm of the room.
Because somewhere in her mind, one thought pulsed loudest:
He hadn't told them he was here.
He hadn't told them he was not at a meeting.
He hadn't told them he was going on the trip with her.
And that meant—
He was planning something.
He was waiting.
And she didn't know if she was terrified…
Or excited.
.______..______.(^///^)(^///^).______..______..______.
Dinner moved in waves of soft conversation, light teasing, and the rhythmic clinking of cutlery against ceramic. The fragrance of jeera rice, paneer lababdar, and warm rotis curled through the dining space like memory. Plates filled and emptied. The chandelier above cast soft golden halos across faces, glinting off steel tumblers and glass bowls filled with kheer.
Across the table, Anaya sat quiet, composed, but alert—eyes darting between bites. Her body was present. But her thoughts hovered somewhere between the steps she'd just descended and the airport she'd be at soon. Still, she smiled when expected, nodded where needed, and held her fork like she wasn't overthinking every word Rudra had spoken upstairs.
Then she felt it.
A soft jab under the table. Ria.
She glanced sideways just as Ria leaned in, her voice low enough for only her and Misha to hear.
"You're going to Singapore, right? For this work trip?"
Anaya nodded slightly, unsure whether to keep the reply short or expect something more.
Ria smirked and gave her a look. "You already have that passport and all ready? No last-minute drama?"
Anaya let out a quiet laugh. "Haan, sab ready hai."
Their voices stayed hushed, a bubble of sisterly talk beneath the larger family noise.
Misha, spooning kheer into her mouth, joined in under her breath. "Tum meri shaadi ke time aayogi na?" she asked, eyebrows raised.
Anaya's heart dipped for a second. She turned to Misha, a tiny frown of guilt crossing her face. "Sorry di… ye trip ek hafte ka hai. I'll be away. But…" she leaned closer, smiling now, "Main aapke liye kuch aisa leke aungi, jo aap mujhe kabhi bhool nahi paogi."
Misha snorted. "Better be Jimmy Choo, warna bhool jaungi."
"I also want to meet jiju, okay?" Anaya said with mock seriousness. "No skipping that."
The moment felt light. Familiar. But something about it pulled at Anaya's heart—something that reminded her that she hadn't been this relaxed around them in weeks. Maybe months.
Komal chimed in from the other end of the table. "Anaya, you're going to Singapore, so take care of yourself, okay? And work smart. Jaise hamesha karti ho. Live your dream. But also—tell Janvi to visit me when you both come back. She still owes me lunch."
Anaya looked at her with warmth in her eyes. "Yes, Dadi… I'll tell her. Pakka."
Then a new voice, Rakhi's, from the far side of the table. "Rudra, are you dropping your wife to the airport?"
Anaya froze mid-sip of water.
Across from her, Rudra didn't even look up from his plate. "Yes, maa," he said casually.
The room went still for a breath.
Anaya blinked.
So did Rakhi.
Even Ravi looked up from his food.
Not because Rudra was dropping her off.
But because of what he said.
Yes, maa.
The word landed like a soft bell ringing in an empty temple.
Rudra never said that. Not maa. Not papa. Not beta. Not anything that breached the emotional walls he'd kept so neatly intact for years. Normally it was "Mr. Singhaniya" this, "Mrs. Rakhi" that. Formally distant. Deliberate.
But now—
"Maa?" Rakhi echoed, blinking twice.
He lifted his gaze and met hers calmly. "Haan maa," he said again, voice steady.
She stared for a second longer. Then her lips curved into a slow, incredulous smile. "Shaadi ka asar hai," she murmured, shaking her head with a chuckle. "Ye shaadi ka asar hai."
Ria and Misha burst into giggles almost at the same time.
Komal, grinning mid-bite, added, "I like this version of Rudra. Zyada… human."
Rudra shrugged slightly but didn't deny it. His eyes flicked to Anaya for half a second, a flicker of amusement dancing in their depths.
Then Rakhi leaned toward the girls, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"Tum dono ko bhi shaadi karni hai… kya?"
Ria was mid-sip of juice. Misha had just taken a bite of rice.
Both choked at the same time.
Ravi, seated between them, tried to pass them water while failing to suppress his laugh.
Their eyes locked—wide, panicked, half-suspicious.
Ria coughed. "Kya?" she repeated, voice half-choked, half-accusing.
Komal didn't even look up from her plate. "Matalab… karni hi hai, na?" she said coolly, chewing, but clearly in on something.
Ria stared at her, blinking once. Twice.
Her mind screamed one word.
Dadi.
She narrowed her eyes in suspicion, biting her lower lip.
In her head, she was already yelling. Dadi! Aapne kya bola sabko?
But it wasn't anger.
It was that half-annoyed, half-blushing, "I can't believe you did this to me in front of everyone" kind of feeling only grandmothers could inspire.
She cursed Dadi silently with her eyes, eyes that made everyone else at the table snicker all over again.
Across from her, Misha muttered, "I'll never forgive you if this turns into a full-blown rishta talk."
Ria whispered back, "We're already halfway there."
Ravi coughed. Loudly. "Can I be excused?" he asked, clearly ready to run from whatever matchmaking minefield had just detonated.
"No," Rakhi said with a smile. "Finish your kheer."
Anaya sat back, watching it all unfold with a soft laugh she hadn't realized she'd let out. Something warm bloomed in her chest. For a few minutes, the pressure lifted. The air was lighter. The room felt like family. Like home.
And yet—just beneath it—Rudra's earlier words lingered.
Yes, maa.
I'll drop her.
Words simple on the surface. But layered.
He hadn't said them just for Rakhi.
He'd said them for her.
A silent claim.
An announcement.
You're mine. You're not going alone. I'm not letting you go—not without my name, not without my presence.
She looked at him from across the table. He was serving himself daal calmly, unaffected by the fuss. But he knew she was watching.
And when she lingered a second longer—
He looked up.
And he smiled.
The smallest smile.
But real.