Soft rays of early morning sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, painting golden streaks across the marble floor. The storm had long retreated into silence, leaving behind dew-kissed air and the scent of wet earth.
Myra stirred.
Her lashes fluttered like reluctant wings, brows faintly furrowing. Her body ached—shoulder stiff, ankle sore, and a dull throb beneath her ribs—but it wasn't the pain that made her still.
It was the warmth.
A chest, steady and solid beneath her cheek. A heartbeat beneath her ear—slow, calm, grounding.
She opened her eyes fully and blinked.
She was wrapped in Ranvijay's arms, cocooned in the quiet strength of his hold, his chin resting gently atop her head. Their legs were tangled beneath the silk blanket, and one of his hands was still around her waist, the other curled protectively near her wrist as if even in sleep, he couldn't stop guarding her.
Myra's breath caught.
She hadn't meant to stay like this.
Last night had been a haze—fear, thunder, darkness—and somewhere in that storm, she had reached for him. She remembered the way her hands had found his shirt, her heart panicking like a bird in a cage.
And now…
She slowly, carefully moved—her fingers brushing over the coarse fabric of his black shirt, her cheek grazing against his skin as she shifted.
Ranvijay didn't move.
Still asleep.
Still holding her like something he'd die before letting go of.
Her gaze softened.
There were shadows under his eyes, the kind that come from too many sleepless nights. His jaw was rough with stubble, and a faint red mark curved beneath his collarbone—evidence of a wound he hadn't even flinched from.
He didn't leave my side… not even for a moment.
Her hand hovered over his chest for a second, unsure, before she gently rested it there—just to feel it, that rhythm of his heart, slow and fierce beneath her palm.
It made her eyes sting.
She didn't say anything. Not even to herself.
Because she didn't trust her thoughts anymore.
And because this—this moment where his walls were down and hers had quietly cracked—was too delicate to name.
But then—
He shifted.
His eyes opened, slow and dark and focused only on her.
Their gazes met.
Myra's breath hitched.
And then she did the most natural thing in the world.
She tried to move away.
But his grip didn't loosen.
"Don't," Ranvijay whispered, his voice thick from sleep. "Just... not yet."
Myra froze.
"I didn't mean to—" she began, flustered, "It was just the thunder and—"
"I know," he said, his thumb brushing her back.
She looked away quickly. "It won't happen again."
His gaze never left her face. "It can. As many times as you need."
She swallowed. "You should get up."
"I did," he said softly. "When you held me like that last night—I got up from a place I didn't even know I was buried under."
Her fingers clutched the blanket tighter.
He slowly sat up, letting go of her carefully, as though the act itself was sacrilege.
They didn't speak for a long moment.
Until Myra whispered, without meeting his eyes, "Thank you… for last night."
Ranvijay didn't smile.
He just nodded. A slight, almost reverent dip of the head.
"Always."
And whispered to himself
"You'll fall for me, Myra. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But one day, when you least expect it… and it'll wreck everything you thought you knew about yourself."
-------------
The room was quiet except for the ticking of the antique clock on the far wall. Myra sat near the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing the embroidery on her dupatta, heart restless. She could hear laughter faintly trickling in from the hall—family, life, warmth.
And she wanted to be a part of it again.
She hesitated.
Then, gently, "Ahmmm…"
Ranvijay turned from the balcony where he stood like a dark silhouette against the morning light. The moment he heard her voice, his posture shifted, gaze snapping to her like a compass to its true north.
His footsteps were slow but certain, his presence overwhelming even in the stillness.
"I… I want to go outside," she said, her voice hushed, like a confession. "Just for a bit… to sit with everyone."
A breath passed between them. His eyes didn't leave hers.
Without saying a word, he walked toward her. She blinked in confusion as he crouched beside the bed. She instinctively leaned back.
"I can walk," she said, startled. "I just—"
He didn't let her finish.
In one seamless, powerful motion, he slipped an arm beneath her knees, the other curling firmly around her back. Her breath caught in her throat as he lifted her off the bed, effortlessly, as if she weighed nothing. Her body tensed in reflex, hands flying to his chest.
"R-Ranvij—" she started, but the name didn't quite leave her lips.
"I'm not letting you limp out there like this," he said, voice like velvet wrapped around steel. "You're hurt."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her cheek was near his neck now, her eyes caught on the steady pulse in his throat. The scent of sandalwood and something darker clung to him—stormy and familiar.
"You didn't even ask," she whispered.
"I didn't need to," he murmured, his breath brushing her hair. "You're mine to carry."
She stiffened, her fingers curling into the fabric of his black kurta. "Th-That's not—"
But his grip only tightened.
Her breath hitched. His thumb lightly stroked the back of her thigh as he adjusted his hold—not to tease, not to provoke—but as if she was something precious, something sacred, too fragile to bear the weight of the floor.
Her gaze fluttered upward—and he was already looking at her.
And in his eyes, she saw it again.
That unbearable emotion he never said aloud.
Possession. Devotion. Fury. Love.
All tangled and burning in silence.
---
As They Entered the Hall
The palace hall was bathed in warm light, the air rich with the scent of marigolds and incense. Conversation halted. Laughter froze. Four heads turned simultaneously toward the doorway.
And what they saw made time stop.
Ranvijay strode in, silent as a shadow, regal and untouchable. But it was the woman in his arms—her head bowed slightly, cheeks burning, fingers clenched around his shirt—that stole every breath from the room.
Anika's eyes widened. Dadi Sa's lips parted in surprise. Rajeshwari gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth.
It wasn't just the act of carrying—it was how he carried her.
As though she was the last prayer left in a godless world.
The royal hall, glowing with soft yellow light and the scent of fresh marigolds, came to an abrupt halt the moment Ranvijay entered—with Myra in his arms.
He stepped in like thunder sheathed in velvet. Composed on the outside, but everyone who knew him could see it—that fierce protectiveness curled in the set of his jaw, the gentleness of his grip.
Myra, dressed in a soft pastel anarkali now, was pressed against his chest, eyes wide with a thousand emotions she couldn't quite name. Her arms weren't wrapped around him—no, she was too flustered for that. But her fingers clutched his shirt like her heartbeat didn't know how to slow down without him near.
"W-what are you doing?" she whispered, cheeks burning as they crossed the threshold.
Ranvijay didn't even glance down. His gaze was forward. Commanding. "You said you wanted to come out. I brought you out."
Her lips parted in shock. "I meant walk… I-I could've walked with help."
He smirked faintly. "I don't like halfway things. Especially not with you."
That's when Anika's voice cut through the silence, sharp and giddy:
"Oh-ho! Look at our warrior prince going full-on lover boy."
Ranvijay shot her a side glance, deadpan. "Say one more word, and I'll have your phone confiscated for the next month."
"Oh? So you admit you're blushing?" she teased, springing to her feet like a cat who just poked a lion and liked it.
"I'm not blushing," he muttered under his breath—but Myra felt the subtle heat rise against her cheek as it brushed his.
Dadi Sa chuckled, clapping her hands in delight. "This palace has seen war and peace… but nothing as satisfying as seeing our Ranvijay finally lose an argument with his wife."
"Dadi Sa!" Myra squeaked, burying her face in his shoulder instinctively. Her fingers curled tighter into his shirt.
Rajeshwari stepped forward, her queenly grace still intact but eyes shimmering. "How are you feeling, Myra?"
Myra peeked up, still in his arms, and gave a soft nod. "Better now… Thank you, maa…"
Rajeshwari touched her cheek gently. "You've always been our strength, not a burden, Myra. You don't need to pretend."
"Exactly!" Anika added, bouncing beside the divan. "And don't think you're getting out of the girls' night stories either, bhabhi. We still have to teach you our secret dessert recipe and hear your side of what exactly happened that night with Bhaiya at the balcony."
"Anika!" Myra gasped again, her entire face turning red.
"She means the thunder night," Rajeshwari clarified, lips twitching with an amused smile.
Ranvijay cleared his throat, finally lowering Myra carefully onto the plush sofa.
Her feet brushed the cool marble; the world felt real again. But not a second passed before he knelt before her and adjusted the soft shawl over her shoulders, as if the mere idea of her catching cold was treason.
"You can rest here a while," he said quietly, only for her. "I'll get your tea."
But Anika wasn't done.
"Wait, Bhaiya, wait—are we going to pretend this isn't the most romantic thing that's ever happened in this house?"
"You're the only one pretending," Shiv said lazily from the side, finally joining. "We're all painfully aware."
Myra tried to hide her smile.
Ranvijay shot him a glare. "Weren't you supposed to be patrolling the grounds?"
"I was," Shiv said, stretching, "but I realized the real fireworks are here."
---
Myra's Thoughts
Her heart was a mess.
She should've pushed him away. Told him he was being dramatic. Told the whole family this didn't mean anything. That she still wasn't sure how to breathe around him without getting dizzy.
But as she looked at his face—his messy hair, the slight dark circles, the dried wound near his temple from the rescue—her chest ached.
He didn't just carry me.
He carried my weight, my silence, my trauma… like it was his own.
And the way he didn't leave her side—not even for a moment—told her something she wasn't ready to say out loud yet.
But her heart already knew.