Happy Readingđź“– đź’•
This chapter contains 16+ scene, mature contain. Read at your risk. If you are nit comfortable then don't read it..
Author's POV
The early Parisian light slipped through the sheer curtains like a whisper, spilling golden hues across the white bedsheets and over the man lying tangled in them. Shivansh stirred, a faint crease on his forehead as his hand reached across the empty side of the bed. His fingers grazed the cool sheet-no warmth, no Isha.
His brows furrowed.
Still half-asleep, his hand wandered once more, blindly seeking her presence. But the silence of the room answered louder than any alarm. He blinked his eyes open, the soft light brushing against his lashes, and glanced around.
No sign of her.
The space still smelled like her-vanilla and warmth, but her absence echoed louder. He pushed the sheets off his frame, sitting up slowly, hair tousled, voice groggy.
"Isha?"
No response.
A hint of panic tugged at his chest. He rose, pulling up from the bed and padded out of the room. His steps were slow, calculated, until the scent of fresh bread and butter pulled him toward the open kitchen downstairs.
And there she was.
Standing in nothing but his oversized white shirt, her bare legs peeking out as she stood on her toes, flipping something on the pan. Her hair was messily tied, a few strands falling against her cheek, and the sunlight framed her like art. She was humming softly under her breath-unaware, untouched by the world.
He paused at the entrance, watching her.
Peace.
That's what she looked like. And love. And everything he never knew he craved.
With a quiet step, he approached her from behind. Before she could even sense him, his arms snaked around her waist, and he pulled her flush against him.
She gasped, her body jolting in surprise. "Shivansh! what the hell!"
He buried his face in her shoulder, chuckling sleepily. "And you scared me when I woke up and didn't find you in bed." His voice was low, rough from sleep, lips brushing against her neck.
"I wanted to surprise you with breakfast," she said, swatting his arm lightly. "You've officially ruined it."
"I'd rather be surprised by your lips on mine when I wake up," he murmured, not letting her go. "Not an empty bed."
"You're such a baby in the mornings," she muttered with a small smile, turning off the gas.
Startled at first, Isha gasped lightly, then immediately relaxed, recognizing his touch.
"Good morning," she whispered, her voice soft like the steam rising from the pan.
"Not yet," he murmured into her neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. "Now it is."
Isha turned her head slightly, her cheek brushing against his stubble. "You scared me," she chuckled.
"You left the bed early," he said, his voice gravelly from sleep but still tender. "I wanted to wake up with you beside me."
In one smooth motion, he lifted her and set her gently on the kitchen counter. She blinked at him, surprised, then laughed again as he settled between her legs, his hands resting on her hips, grounding her. Her legs dangled on either side, brushing softly against him.
and then-effortlessly-lifted her and placed her on the counter.
"I want you to be near me when I wake up," he said quietly. "That silence without you...it felt too loud."
Isha cupped his cheek with her hand. "Then from now on, I won't leave-even for a second."
The shirt slipped slightly off her shoulder, revealing soft skin kissed pink by the morning chill. He stood between her legs, close, warm, and absolutely unhurried.
"I missed you," he said, brushing his thumb over her cheekbone, tilting her face toward him.
"I was just here," she smiled, her hands resting on his bare chest.
"And that felt too far," he whispered.
She flushed slightly but raised a brow. "Okay, rana sa. Then go sit. I'll bring your so-called ruined breakfast."
"And you're wearing my shirt with nothing under it. You think I'll care about toast and butter when you're standing here looking like... that?"
He shook his head, stepping in front of her now, his eyes dark with something more than hunger.
"I'm not hungry for breakfast."
Her lips parted slightly. "Then what-?"
"I'm hungry for you."
And before she could respond, his mouth was on hers-firm, demanding, full of yearning.
The kiss was warm at first, a gentle press of lips, but it deepened quickly. His hand cupped the side of her face as his thumb brushed her cheek, and she leaned into him, letting him pull her closer. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, clutching the soft fabric of his shirt.
When his lips parted, hers followed instinctively, like they were made to move with his. The kiss turned slower, deeper-his tongue tracing hers in a rhythm that made her knees weak. It wasn't just a kiss; it was a confession. Every movement spoke of how much he missed her, even after just a night.
He broke the kiss only to trail down her jawline, his lips pressing soft, lingering kisses along her cheek, down her neck, and toward her collarbone.
She let out a breath, shaky and soft, her eyes fluttering closed as he whispered against her skin, "You taste better than any breakfast."
He pulled back for a brief moment, his forehead resting against hers, both of them breathless.
"Still want to cook?" he asked with a grin.
She chuckled. "We can eat in a few minutes."
"No," he smirked, "I already had my first bite."
He kissed the hollow of her neck, his hands resting at her waist, thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of his shirt. Isha's breath hitched when his lips paused right above her collarbone, and she gently gripped his hair.
"Shivansh..."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at her. Her lips were swollen, cheeks flushed, breath uneven-but her eyes were soft, full of trust, full of him.
He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Too much?"
She shook her head slowly.
"Then let me love you," he whispered.
He hugged her then-arms wrapped tight, anchoring her safely against him. She buried her face into his shoulder, still trying to catch her breath, and he pressed slow kisses into her hair.
"I'm here," he murmured, rubbing her back gently. "Always."
He dipped down, teasingly kissed the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, then lowered... but before things deepened again, Isha stopped him with a finger to his lips, blushing.
"Countertop's not safe," she whispered, eyes wide.
He raised an eyebrow. "Then let's take this to safer ground."
She frowned, puzzled. "but breakfast"
He leaned back just enough to look into her eyes and whispered, "You forgot, sweetheart-I just had the sweetest breakfast I could ever ask for."
Her cheeks flushed deep rose. "You're impossible," she whispered, playfully pushing at his chest.
"And yours," he added.
He scooped her into his arms before she could respond, her laughter echoing against his chest. She didn't protest when he carried her away from the kitchen, back through the sunlight-drenched hallway to their bedroom-where the rest of the morning was still waiting to be written.
With that, he gently lifted her again, carrying her through the morning light that filtered in like a soft blessing. The breakfast remained warm behind them-but what awaited them in the bedroom was warmer still.
The soft morning light melted through the curtains, casting a golden halo around them as Shivansh carried Isha in his arms - her laughter still lingering like a perfume in the air. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was a gentleness now, a calm after the teasing storm. He entered their room, the door quietly clicking shut behind them as if sealing a secret meant only for the two of them.
He carried her in his arms, still flushed from their shared breathless laughter and kisses. Isha's head rested on his shoulder, fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. Her cheeks were warm, heart racing-not from embarrassment, but from the softness of being held like something precious.
He pushed open the bedroom door with his foot, eyes never leaving hers, and laid her gently onto the bed like she was something delicate-too beautiful to rush, too cherished to fumble.
Shivansh leaned down, brushing her hair from her face, his voice a murmur against her skin. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever touched."
Isha blushed, eyes fluttering closed as his lips met her forehead.
He laid her down on the bed with the kind of care that spoke of reverence - not just love, but awe. Isha's fingers curled into the sheets as he hovered above her, brushing the hair from her forehead with a tenderness that made her chest bloom.
Without a word, he pressed a kiss to her temple - slow, grounded. Then one to her cheek. Her breath caught as his lips descended to her neck, warm and unhurried, marking her skin with devotion and presence. Each kiss was a promise. Each pause, a moment to feel her heartbeat under his mouth.
"You feel like home," he whispered against her skin, voice low and hoarse - not with desire alone, but with something deeper. Need. Emotion.
His hands found the hem of her shirt and paused.
"Can I?" he asked.
She gave a shy nod, the slightest movement of trust-and that was all he needed.
He pulled the shirt up slowly, reverently, exposing inch by inch of her skin like uncovering a sacred story. As the fabric left her body, he kissed the path it revealed. Her shoulder. Her clavicle. The swell of her chest.
He kissed her collarbone, lingering. The dips and rises of her body were a map, and he traced it with his mouth, never rushing, never greedy. On her chest, his lips grew softer still.
With each kiss, he left a trace-a whisper of his presence on her skin. And then-lower-he let his lips find her ribcage, her side, her stomach. Every press of his mouth was filled with warmth, with worship, as if he wasn't just kissing her-but saying something with every mark.
Then came the claiming.
He pressed kisses over her heart - one, then another - like he was listening to the rhythm of her soul through skin. When she arched into him, he responded only with more quiet fire, leaving the faintest mark - not to hurt, but to claim gently, like rain claiming earth.
He kissed her neck again, slower this time, his lips pressing a little harder-leaving a faint blush on her skin. A mark.
"You're mine," he whispered.
He moved lower, his mouth caressing one breast, then the other, his kisses soft at first... then deeper, leaving delicate love-bites just enough to be seen later-a reminder of his devotion.
Her breath shivered in her throat, and her hands found his hair again, holding onto him like he was gravity.
He kissed over her heart. "I want to be written all over you," he murmured. "So you remember, even when I'm not near, who you belong to."
Isha smiled, eyes glistening.
"And I'm yours," she whispered back.
He moved further, slowly down - the hush between them louder than words. Isha's breath became shallow, her fingers twining in the sheets again, not from uncertainty but from surrender.
His hands held her like something sacred, his lips writing poetry across her abdomen, trailing warmth and intention lower, until she trembled beneath his mouth - not from fear, but from being fully, wholly seen.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, then looked up. Not for permission, but connection.
And when he gave her everything, it wasn't just about hunger or heat - it was about love, trust, and the quiet kind of intimacy that could only exist in the spaces between two souls who knew each other entirely. She reached for him as he lingered there, and he didn't stop until she gasped his name like it was a prayer.
After, he lay beside her, brushing away a strand of hair from her face.
"Now that," he said, breathless and warm, "was the sweetest breakfast I've ever had."
They laughed, tangled together, lost in warmth - their bodies close, their hearts closer.
The warmth of the moment still lingered in the room like a delicate perfume - soft, heady, and full of something unspoken. Isha lay against the pillows, her breathing steady now, but her skin still humming from his touch. Shivansh kissed her forehead, fingers gently brushing along her side, then slowly got up.
"I'll prepare a bath for us," he murmured, reaching for the towel slung on the chair nearby.
But as he turned, Isha's gaze flicked down - and paused. The fabric of his pants stretched unmistakably tight across him, and for a moment, she felt her breath hitch in surprise... and something else. Her eyes lifted back to his face, cheeks a soft shade of rose.
"Wait..." she said quietly, voice trembling with more curiosity than fear.
He turned, towel in hand. "Hmm?"
"I saw... you. I mean... you're still..." Her voice broke into a whisper. "Hard."
There was silence for a heartbeat. Then Shivansh offered her a warm, knowing smile. "That's... normal."
Her lips parted, unsure. "But... you did everything for me. I mean... I want to do something for you too."
He blinked, a touch of surprise softening his face. "Isha," he said gently, walking back to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his thumb along her cheek. "You don't have to. You're not ready for that. And I don't want you to rush anything. Just being close to you is enough for me."
She looked down, fiddling with the edge of the bedsheet. "But... what if I want to try? I want to make you feel the way you made me feel. I may not know how, but... you can guide me."
She said in low voice. "I know I'm not ready for everything... but maybe I can help in another way. You can guide me."
His jaw tightened slightly, not out of frustration-but to hold back the rush of emotion she triggered with that innocent offer. For a second, he looked at her as if searching for hesitation. There was none.
Shivansh could feel the tension coiling in every muscle-tight, heated, barely contained. His hands twitched at his sides, craving to touch her, to reclaim control. But something in her eyes told him to surrender. For once, he didn't have to be the king. Not here. Not with her.
He exhaled slowly, touched by her vulnerability - and the quiet courage in her voice. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.
"There are... other ways," he said softly. While her hand "Ways that don't have to go further than you're ready for. If you want, we can take it one step at a time."
She looked up, her eyes wide and curious. "Like... how?
He said with smile " You can use your hand for that. "
She said in a nervous tone " like... with my hand?"
He smiled, the edges of his lips lifting in both affection and admiration. "Yes," he whispered. "That's one of them. If you're sure, I can guide you how. But only if it's something you want."
"I want to learn," she said, voice steadier now. "I want to make you feel good too."
There was something profound in that moment - not desire alone, but trust, the kind that knits two people even closer together.
His lips parted, a slow breath slipping out of him. "Isha..." he said softly, almost a warning-but not out of resistance. Only because her softness unraveled him more than anything ever had.
She gently pushed him back, and he allowed himself to sink into the bed, propped against the pillows. She climbed into his lap, uncertain but determined. Her hands, trembling slightly, rested on his chest first-feeling the warmth of his skin beneath the thin layer of fabric.
Isha's fingers traced along his skin with reverence and purpose, exploring the lines of him like a map she'd long memorized in dreams but was only now allowed to touch.
She leaned in, her breath warm against his neck. Her lips brushed softly across his skin, teasing, tasting. A quiet moan escaped him-half surprise, half need. He never imagined how quickly she could undo him. Not like this. Not with just her hands and a gaze that held more command than any throne ever had.
"You don't have to-" he began, but she placed a finger on his lips.
"I want to," she whispered. "I just... need you to show me how."
Shivansh took her hand with a tenderness she hadn't known he carried. Slowly, he brought it toward the waistband of his pants.
His breath hitched as he nodded slowly. His hand took hers-careful, slow, cherishing every inch of her comfort-and guided it inside to the waistband of his pants.
He reached insise, slowly guiding her hand with his. The room felt wrapped in a golden hush - no urgency, no pressure. Just exploration, care, and the warmth of mutual giving.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she began, and Shivansh breathed in sharply - not just from the sensation, but from the sheer intimacy of it. She was touching him not out of obligation, but with intention, with love.
"Just be gentle," he murmured, voice raspy.
When her fingers touched him, even through the fabric of his booxer, a sharp breath escaped his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if grounding himself.
"Move slowly," he guided, his voice low, velvet soft. "Feel... don't rush."
Her fingers brushed against him-over the fabric-and he inhaled sharply, a soft, broken sound that made her cheeks burn.
"Isha," he whispered, almost like a warning, or maybe a prayer.
She didn't pull back. Just looked up at him with wide, sincere eyes. "Teach me."
He guided her hand slowly inside his boxer "Like this," he murmured, his voice low, a little shaky. "Not too fast. Just... feel."
She moved as he instructed, watching him more than her own hand. His head leaned back slightly, lips parting, chest rising heavier with each stroke. Her name fell from his lips again, breathless. "Isha..."
She followed. And he let go. Not just of her hand, but of control. Of pride. Of everything.
Now it was her moment-her rhythm, her curiosity, her care. He leaned his head back into the pillows, letting every breath become a memory.
Her heart was thundering.
"You're doing perfect, baby" he whispered, wrapping his hand briefly over hers to steady her rhythm.
"Isha..." he whispered, her name slipping from his lips like a blessing.
Her strokes were unsure at first, but his quiet encouragement, the way he said "just like that," made her more confident. And he-he was undone. Every now and then, his hand would brush her thigh, not to guide but to ground himself. His lips parted, eyelids fluttered, heart thundering.
She tried to focus, but the way he looked at her-like she held some kind of magic-made her forget everything else.
His breath was erratic now, chest rising and falling in sharp waves. "Isha..." he whispered, her name breaking apart on his tongue.
Suddenly, he took a sharp breath and caught her wrist, stilling it. "Stop," he whispered. "I'm close."
Before she could react, He gently lifted her hand, placed a kiss on her fingers, and he gently let go, turned slightly, and reached for a shirt lying nearby. With his back half-turned, he finished, quietly, respectfully.
When it was over, he didn't speak immediately. He cleaned up silently, then turned to her, eyes soft-still dazed from the moment.
He walked up, pressed a hand to her cheek, and said only one thing-
"You're incredible. And more gentle than I ever deserved."
And she smiled. Not because she had done something right-but because she had felt everything right.
He didn't rush her. He whispered when to move slower, when to press a little firmer, his voice low and careful. And when he finally closed his eyes, letting out a soft groan of release, it wasn't just relief - it was reverence.
When it was over, she looked up, unsure if she'd done it right.
But he leaned in, kissed her - long, tender, and deep.
"You were perfect," he said, brushing his nose against hers. "Absolutely perfect."
She smiled, a little shy, but proud. And as he finally rose to prepare their bath, she lay back against the pillows, feeling not just love - but a quiet power blooming within her.
He let his head fall forward, resting his forehead against hers, his voice rough with need. "You're ruining me."
Isha smiled, a slow, seductive curve of her lips. "Good."
The quiet lingered like an echo of everything they just shared-raw, tender, unrehearsed. Shivansh lay beside her for a few moments more, letting the rhythm of her breathing settle his own. Then, without a word, he tucked a soft strand of her hair behind her ear, kissed her forehead, and whispered, "Wait here. I'll prepare the bath."
Isha nodded, her fingers still warm from the way he had held them.
Shivansh disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of running water soon filling the air. She sat there, in the glow of low lamplight, knees drawn to her chest, hugging them gently. The room smelled of comfort-his cologne lingering on the sheets, her hair damp with emotion.
A few minutes passed, and then he returned, now a towel hung in his waist, a soft towel in one hand, his gaze wrapped in admiration.
"It's ready," he said, voice deeper than before, soaked in intimacy.
Then he drap a towel around her.
She stood up slowly. Their eyes met-shy again, despite everything. He took her hand like it was made of glass, delicate and treasured, and led her to the steamy warmth of the bathroom.
The lights were dim. Candles flickered near the edges of the tub. Steam rose, curling like silk through the air. The water was infused with rose petals and a hint of sandalwood.
"Come," he said gently, stepping into the tub first and settling into the water with a soft sigh. Then he reached for her, both hands open. She placed hers in his, and he slowly guided her in, settling her between his legs, her back resting against his chest.
Warmth enveloped them both-water and silence and something unspoken.
His arms wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, slow and content.
"You're too quiet," she whispered, her fingers playing with his under the water.
He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against her wet shoulder. "I'm afraid if I speak, this moment will end."
She turned slightly, just enough to catch his eyes. "Then let's not speak."
He smiled. "Deal."
They stayed like that for a while-her legs stretched along his, his hands occasionally running up and down her arms or over her knuckles underwater. No urgency. No pressure. Just presence.
At one point, he took a handful of water and let it trickle down her back, his fingertips following the path, making her shiver. "Too hot?" he asked.
"No," she murmured. "Perfect."
Then, with gentle fingers, he picked up a loofah and began to lather soft foam over her arms and shoulders. Not in haste, not with heat-but with reverence. She closed her eyes, leaning fully into him, letting herself be cared for.
When the bath was over, he stood first, reaching for a fresh towel and wrapping it gently around her, lifting her out like she weighed nothing. Their foreheads touched as she stood on the rug, her heart still fluttering.
"Let's get dry before you catch a cold," he said softly, rubbing her hair with the towel like a child. She giggled, swatting his shoulder.
And just like that, the tension slipped into laughter, the intimacy folded into comfort.
He helped her into his oversized shirt again, one that fell nearly to her knees, and then into the warm folds of their bed. She curled beside him, one leg tucked around his, her head resting against his chest.
"morning felt like a dream," she whispered.
He kissed the top of her head and answered, "Then don't wake up."
The bathroom still hummed with the lingering warmth of steam and whispers. Isha sat cross-legged on the soft rug, wrapped in his oversized shirt, cheeks slightly flushed from the bath, hair damp and curling against her neck.
Shivansh stood nearby, towel draped over one shoulder, fingers already dialing a number.
"Indian veg platter. And quickly," he ordered with ease, the voice of a king still threading through his calm tone. The guard on the other side understood-his orders were always executed without hesitation.
Then, with a look that softened as it landed on her, he stepped behind her and picked up the hair dryer.
"Turn," he said gently.
She blinked. "Hmm?"
"Your hair," he murmured, brushing his fingers through the wet strands. "You'll fall sick, sweetheart."
And so she turned. Sitting on the edge of the dressing area, feet swinging just slightly, she closed her eyes while he carefully dried her hair-first with his fingers, separating each strand like a delicate thread, and then with the warm hum of the dryer. She smiled at the sensation: a blend of warmth, care, and something so intimately ordinary that it felt like magic.
When he was done, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.
"There," he said. "Now you won't shiver."
"Still cold," she teased.
He smirked, bent down, and picked up a thick woolen blanket from the nearby rack. Then, laying it down on the cozy dry corner of the dressing area floor-where the sunlight peeked through the tall windows-he made a little nest.
"Come here," he said, guiding her like one would guide something precious. "It's the warmest corner. And this floor heating's no joke."
She smiled and sat, curling up inside the blanket, hugging her knees again.
"You're really good at this," she said.
"Which part?"
"Taking care," she whispered.
Before he could reply, a soft ring break the silent echoed.
He picked up the call and the call was for informing them that their food was ready.
He opened the main door to find his guard standing with a silver tray, perfectly balanced, two plates covered in cloches, fresh naans, bowls of sabzi, dal and a warm pot of coffee. Without a word, the tray was handed over and the door quietly shut behind.
Shivansh brought the food in, placing the plates down near the small table in there room. "Perfect timing," he said, lifting the lids with a dramatic flair. "Brunch is served, Rani Sahiba."
Isha giggled, "You sound royal now."
He glanced at her with a mock wink. "I am royal."
They both laughed, their stomachs growling louder than their pride.
Sitting beside each other, fingers brushing occasionally as they reached for a piece of naan, the moment felt wrapped in something unspoken. Not just comfort. Not just hunger. But a promise-that even in their quietest hours, they'd always feed each other's souls.
She leaned her head on his shoulder halfway through, murmuring, "I don't want to go to them now. Let's just... stay."
He kissed her temple. "As you wish."
"I'll sleep," she whispered, curling again into the blanket after finishing. "Evening we'll go to everyone. Right now, I need rest. Too many emotions for one morning."
"Sleep, love," he said softly, cleaning up their plates with quiet movements. "I'll be here."
And she did. Within minutes, the gentle rise of her chest slowed into the rhythm of dreams.
Shivansh stood by the window for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching her. The king in him had kingdoms to manage. But the man in him-he only had eyes for the sleeping girl wrapped in his blanket.
Still shirtless, he stepped into the adjacent study space, turned on his laptop, and leaned into his work.
His world could pause for her. But not stop.
The room was quiet now.
The kind of quiet that seeps into the bones-not silence, but stillness. A pause in time. A moment stretching between heartbeats.
Isha slept soundly, curled into the thick woolen blanket, her face soft with dreams, strands of hair messily falling over her cheek. The softest part of her breath made the faintest sound-like wind through silk.
And he just stood there.
Shivansh. The king. The man who could command an army, sign deals worth crores, shut down industries with a blink-stood there frozen for a second longer than needed.
He looked at her the way poets write about stars they can never reach.
And then he moved.
Not abruptly, but slowly. Quietly. Respectfully. Like a storm whispering so it wouldn't wake a single rose.
He walked into the small private study area just beyond the arching frame of the bathroom suite. There was no need to check his watch; he never missed time. His fingers tapped his laptop awake, screen flooding blue light into the warmth of the room.
But the moment his fingers rested on the keyboard, something shifted inside him.
And this is where the author pauses with you.
Because now we see the man, not the king.
Now, we watch as Shivansh tries to balance two worlds.
One-a ruthless empire built on numbers, rules, perfection.
And the other-a sleepy girl in his shirt, who doesn't even know how much she's unlearning his pain.
His eyes flickered between spreadsheets and her sleeping form.
And something inside him-something quiet and ancient-whispered...
This is what home must feel like.
For a moment, his fingers stilled above the keys. The business meetings waiting for him. The emails blinking like impatient messengers. But he didn't care-not right now.
Because she was here.
Wrapped in his warmth.
Safe in his space.
Breathing in peace he didn't know he could offer.
He thought of how she held his hand earlier. How she touched him, not like she was exploring power, but connection. How she looked at him not like a king, but a man. A man who could be shaken by the softest whisper of his name from her lips.
She didn't know how deep she went. How easily she bypassed every wall he'd built. How willingly he gave up control in that moment, just so she could learn, explore, and feel safe with him.
She touched him, yes. But he was the one undone.
He'd taught her slowly, guided her hands with care, not demand. And when she touched him, he felt something crack open inside-something so raw, it frightened him. Not because it was intense... but because it was real.
He wanted to protect her from that.
From himself, even.
That's why he stopped her before the end. That's why he turned away and held himself back in that final moment-because she wasn't ready to see him like that. Not yet.
He'd always protect her dignity-even from the parts of him that burned for her.
And now, he worked. Quietly. Methodically. Every time he glanced up, it was to ensure she was still asleep, still warm, still peaceful.
Because for once, the king worked not just for his kingdom...
...but for the girl asleep in his shirt, who made him believe love didn't always have to roar.
Sometimes, it could breathe. Whisper. Wait.
And sometimes, it could look like this:
His girl sleeping under sunlight, and a king working in silence-not because he must...
...but because he chooses to.
The golden afternoon sun slipped quietly through the sheer curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Isha stirred beneath the warmth of the blanket, the delicate scent of sandalwood and cologne lingering in the air. Her lashes fluttered open slowly, and the first thing her eyes landed on was him-Shivansh-sitting a little distance away, lost in his world of numbers and business calls.
He hadn't noticed her yet. His sleeves were rolled up, collar slightly open, revealing the curve of his strong neck. His brows were furrowed in focus, lips moving in soft murmurs as he handled yet another deal with his signature calm.
From under the blanket, Isha's heart smiled.
There was something about watching him like this-so unaware of her gaze, so immersed in his purpose-that made her fall all over again. She tucked her knees closer, resting her chin atop them, a slow smile curling her lips. How can someone be so royal even while just typing on a laptop?
After a few seconds, her voice broke the silence, soft as a feather.
"Aren't you tired of always saving the world, Mr. Cold monster?"
Shivansh looked up instantly. And just like that, the tiredness in his eyes melted. His gaze softened, and the edges of his lips lifted.
"Only when you're not in it," he replied with a smirk, closing the laptop gently.
Isha sat up, the blanket still wrapped around her like a cocoon.
"I was watching you," she admitted, her voice playful but sleepy.
"And what did you see?" he asked, moving closer, crouching beside the bed.
"A man who probably hasn't blinked in the past thirty minutes."
He chuckled softly and ran a hand through her tousled hair.
"You didn't sleep well?" he whispered.
She shook her head.
"I did. But then I missed you."
He paused. His hand lingered on her cheek, thumb stroking gently.
"I'm right here," he said quietly.
"I know. That's the problem," she teased, her eyes twinkling.
"You make it very hard to stay mad at you."
Shivansh smiled. "Then don't be. Just... stay here."
He kissed her forehead, lingering for a second longer than usual.
They sat in silence for a moment-her wrapped in warmth and sleepiness, him wrapped in her. In that quiet space, no business call mattered, no kingdom, no responsibility-just this sacred pause in time.
The sun had dipped just enough for the skies to paint themselves in soft amber and lavender, a mellow evening breeze brushing past the Paris windows. Isha slowly opened her eyes, her body still wrapped in the quiet comfort of the blanket, and her heart wrapped in the peace of having him near.
She blinked a few times and caught sight of Shivansh, his laptop now closed, head tilted slightly as if he'd been watching her even before she woke up.
She stretched lazily, then gave him a small smile.
"I think it's time," she said, her voice gentle from sleep.
"Hmm?"
"Let's go see the others. It's been two days, and we've only video-called them."
Shivansh gave her a look full of mock annoyance.
"So soon? I thought I'd keep you to myself a little longer."
"We'll still have the nights," she teased with a smirk and sat up, combing her fingers through her hair.
The couple moved around their cozy space with easy familiarity-Shivansh choosing a sleek black sweater, Isha pulling on a soft beige cardigan over her floral dress. As they tied shoelaces and fixed hair, an unspoken excitement built between them. It wasn't just a reunion-it was returning to a place where everything between them had changed.
Before heading out, Shivansh paused and asked,
"Should we take something for them?"
Isha blinked. "Like pastries or coffee?"
He nodded. "It's evening. Feels right."
So they stopped by their favorite corner café, one where the barista now knew them by face. With warm croissants, pastries dusted with powdered sugar, and tall cups of frothy coffee packed in a carry bag, they set out toward their old apartment-the one that had become their first unofficial home.
The walk to the building was quiet and nostalgic. Shivansh looked up at the familiar walls, the windows that once flickered with late-night laughter. Isha smiled quietly beside him, lost in her own trail of memories.
As they opened the door, the warmth of inside life greeted them-soft music in the background, and the unmistakable sounds of card shuffling and light-hearted arguments.
The moment they stepped in, a cheer went up.
"Finally!" Ishika stood up dramatically.
"Look who remembered we exist!" Dhruv chimed in, throwing a cushion playfully at Shivansh.
But before either of them could react, the girls swooped down on Isha, dragging her straight to the living area.
"Two days without you is two years," Prisha groaned.
"What even happened between you two?"
Isha, still holding the coffee cups in one hand, rolled her eyes.
"Will you all just let me sit for one minute?" she said, feigning exhaustion.
"Also, behave. There are pastries."
As the group erupted into laughter and chaos over food and teasing, Shivansh stood near the entrance for a moment longer, quietly observing.
He should've joined in. Should've tossed a card, said something funny. But his eyes... they were fixed on her.
Isha.
The way she leaned forward while speaking, how she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way her cheeks turned a shade pinker when someone brought up something embarrassing from their trip. Every detail, every gesture-he was collecting them silently like memories meant only for him.
While everyone else laughed at something Arjun said, Shivansh smiled privately to himself.
She's the only one in the room, he thought, even when everyone else is here.
And in that moment, surrounded by familiar walls, old friends, and the echo of good memories, Shivansh realized-this wasn't just the house where they had once stayed.
This was where he had started loving her in a way he couldn't undo.
The laughter from their visit that evening spilled into the next day, and then the next.
What began as a short catch-up turned into four to five full days of joy, chaos, and memories-each day blooming like spring in Paris, and each night ending with sleepy goodnights and plans for tomorrow.
Mornings started late, always. They would drag themselves from sleep with tangled hair and puffy eyes, grumbling for coffee before anyone said "good morning." But after that? It was all energy.
They roamed the narrow cobbled streets of Paris like locals-no maps, no rush-just hands held tight and eyes wide open. Isha and the girls tried on silly hats from street vendors, while the boys chased them around with crĂŞpes and cold drinks. Shivansh, surprisingly, never once checked the time unless it was to remind Isha to eat something or put on her scarf.
There were shopping sprees that turned into impromptu photo shoots, visits to tiny bookstores that smelled like parchment and cinnamon, and boat rides with laughter loud enough to startle the birds overhead.
And in the middle of all of it, there was Isha. Always smiling, always talking, always glowing.
Shivansh's world kept circling back to her, even in a crowd of ten. Whether she was sitting across a café table trying to explain the difference between a macaron and a macaroon, or dancing like no one was watching on a street performer's beat-she had a way of making every moment look like a movie scene.
At night, the group would gather again in one apartment or another, their jackets strewn on couches, shopping bags dumped by the door, someone always making Maggi or pouring hot chocolate. Conversations ran till midnight-stories from the past, dreams for the future, and teasing confessions in between.
But eventually, reality knocked.
As much as they wanted time to slow, work and responsibilities were waiting in Delhi. College, jobs, firms, family duties, upcoming meetings-it was all starting to pile up in everyone's mind.
So one lazy afternoon, while sipping coffee from chipped mugs and staring out the window, the decision was made.
"Let's go back tomorrow morning," Arjun said softly.
"Yeah, it's time," Prisha nodded, sighing.
"But we'll go to Delhi first, together," Isha added, looking toward Shivansh.
"And from there, these royal men can go to Jaipur."
It was agreed. No drama. Just understanding. They had lived the pause in time, and now it was time to press play again.
Their Paris chapter wasn't ending. It was being folded carefully and placed in memory-like a letter tucked inside a book.
The mood inside the house was soft that day-not sad, but something quieter than usual. A feeling that everyone knew well: the final-day silence. The kind that lingers in the corners while people fold clothes, seal zippers, and try not to look out the window too long.
It was their last morning in Paris.
Suitcases lay open in every room. One was overflowing with shopping bags, another with mismatched shoes and tangled chargers. Isha sat on the floor near her open luggage, trying to fold her favorite dress but getting distracted by a photo strip tucked inside it-a moment from just two nights ago when Shivansh had pulled her into a booth for silly poses.
Shivansh walked in and watched her for a moment before kneeling beside her.
"You'll take hours if you keep smiling at everything you're packing."
She laughed softly, folding the dress carefully now.
"I just don't want to mess anything up. I want to remember all this exactly as it happened."
"You will," he said gently, "Because I will remind you."
Outside in the living area, the rest of the group was just as scattered. Arjun and Arav were trying to close an overstuffed trolley, while Ishika and Prisha made a list of what snacks to carry on the flight.
Ritwik, surprisingly quiet today, helped Dhruv wrap a fragile souvenir. Even though he seemed mellow, his usual madness was replaced with something more pensive. Maybe Paris had softened him too.
Soon, everyone gathered in the main room, bags lined up like a mini airport terminal.
"So, first stop-Delhi," Arjun announced.
"And then from there, we all will head to Jaipur," added Dhruv.
Isha glanced at Shivansh but didn't say anything. Not yet. That goodbye would come later.
As they left the apartment, Shivansh took one last look back. His fingers curled slightly around Isha's hand, his grip tighter than usual.
"You ready?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away. Then, with a smile that held both peace and nostalgia, she nodded.
"Yes. Let's go home."
Because no matter how magical a city is, some homes aren't made of walls-they're made of people.
It was 7:15 a.m. in Paris. The sky was still dipped in that soft pre-sunrise glow, the kind that makes everything look calmer than it really is. But inside their apartment, the pace was far from calm. It was their final hour in the city. Bags were zipped, passports checked twice, coffee cups half-sipped and forgotten on the kitchen counter.
Two luxury black SUVs waited downstairs, quiet but powerful, their engines humming as the only sign of urgency. The guards-disguised in casual civil clothes-had already scattered themselves smartly around the building, looking like ordinary pedestrians or drivers, but watching every move.
They had done this silently. Without alerting the world.
Because not every goodbye needs a headline.
Isha sat beside Shivansh and Ishika in the first car, her head resting lightly against the window. Her hand, though, was in Shivansh's-firmly interlocked. He sat beside her, occasionally glancing her way like she might disappear if he blinked too long.
Arjun, Dhruv, Ritwik, Aviyansh and Ranveer rode in the second car, talking softly, sharing glances of nostalgia, already missing Paris while still in its streets.
The drive to the private terminal took about thirty-five minutes. And by 8:00 a.m., they were being ushered through the discreet entrance reserved for the ultra-elite. No paparazzi, no fanfare. Just quiet footsteps and velvet-lined lounges.
Their private jet stood proud on the runway, silver and sleek, reflecting the gold of the early Paris sun. The staff welcomed them with practiced smiles, taking their luggage while the group stepped aboard.
By 9:00 a.m. sharp, the engines roared gently to life.
From the sky, Paris began to shrink beneath them.
But none of them looked down. Not even once.
Because when your heart is full, even the most beautiful city looks small.
The sun was just setting over Delhi when the jet landed, casting warm hues over the capital skyline. As the doors opened and they walked down the steps, Isha slowed beside Shivansh.
"You'll leave now, right?" she asked, softly.
He gave her a look-part amused, part tender.
"That was the plan."
She tilted her head with that familiar Isha expression.
"Change it. Please."
He didn't even hesitate.
"Done."
And when she turned to the others and made the same request-"Can you all just stay one more day here?"-none of them said no.
Because it was Isha asking. And when Isha asks with her heart, even the king of Jaipur doesn't refuse.
So they stayed. All of them.
Just one more day.
Because sometimes, just one more day is everything.
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