The marble floors of Rathod Corporation shimmered under the afternoon glare pouring through the glass walls. Everyone walked a little faster-partly because of deadlines, partly because the heat had made tempers short and patience shorter.
Rida was already on edge.
Her argument with Prakhar had ended just five minutes ago, but her pulse hadn't slowed. Her eyes were sharp, steps quick, thoughts tangled. She had her phone in one hand, her file in the other, and a volcano in her chest.
Just as she turned the corridor -SPLASH.
Cold, pulpy liquid hit her right arm. She froze.
A mango smoothie.
She blinked in disbelief.
Standing in front of her was a tall, striking woman in heels and a slate-grey dress that looked effortlessly expensive. Her sleek hair was pulled back into a low, immaculate bun, not a single strand out of place. Her hoop earrings glinted faintly beneath the warm lights, adding a touch of quiet boldness.
Her eyes-rich brown and razor sharp-locked on Rida with a precision that didn't welcome apology, only calculation.
And her expression? Pure, mild annoyance.
Not guilt. Not concern. Just the kind of composed irritation.
Naisha Reddy..
Not the kind of woman who apologized quickly.
And certainly not the kind who believed in apologizing to strangers.
She tilted her head slightly, assessing Not hostile. Not friendly. Just... quietly unimpressed.
"Maybe try watching where you're going?" she said-calmly. Not kindly, not rudely either.
Rida stared down at her mango-slick sleeve, then back up at the woman blinking at her like she was the problem.
No apology. Not even pretend concern.
"Excuse me?" Rida's voice dropped low, laced with sarcasm.
Naisha's tone remained even. Barely a ripple. "I said..Be careful. These hallways are busy. And-"
"You spilled your drink on me," Rida cut in, eyebrows raised.
"And I'm the one who should be careful?"
Naisha gave a small, dismissive smile. "It wasn't intentional. Accidents happen."
"That's usually followed by 'sorry' ", Rida said, her voice sharp-like broken glass under silk.
Naisha sighed lightly, tone professional and composed-like she'd been through boardrooms, not hallways full of accidents.
"You okay?"
Rida gave a humorless laugh, stepping back slightly. The sun glared in through the window behind her, casting a glow over her annoyance.
"Well," she said. "I was."
Naisha took her in now-finally registering the irritation in Rida's posture, the messy bun coming loose, the file nearly torn at the edges & the eyes that said: Not today, Satan.
Naisha tilted her head, lips curving just slightly, "Relax. You don't need to get dramatic. It was a minor accident. People like you overreact too easily -thinking confidence is the same as competence."
Naisha chuckled softly, still composed, still untouchable.
"But it's okay!! You're stressed. Clearly. Maybe you need some meditation. Or a demotion."
That one stung.
But Rida? She didn't flinch. Instead, she stepped forward-the heat outside now mirrored in her voice.
"And you must be one of those people who confuse arrogance with class."
Naisha's smile didn't waver.
"People with class don't get rattled over fruit pulp."
Rida exhaled through her nose, slow and hard. Her fingers curled around her file, knuckles whitening.
"And people with sense don't spill drinks and walk off like they own the place."
"Well," Naisha shrugged, "maybe I'm just used to environments where people take accountability-without needing drama."
Rida's lips twitched. Not into a smile.
Into something sharper.
"You mean environments where people are too scared to talk back."
Naisha didn't blink..
"I mean environments where emotions don't override efficiency."
Their eyes locked.
Naisha, cool and calm, finally asked-
"Do you even know who I am?
Rida didn't miss a beat.
"No. But judging by the entitlement and the bad aim, I'd say someone whose daddy spent a lot on image and very little on humility."
Naisha's gaze sharpened.
But Rida wasn't done.
"Better yet-go ask your mommy. She might remember."
Naisha's voice went flat.
"Be careful with your words. Arrogance doesn't suit your position."
Rida's chin lifted. A strand of hair stuck to her cheek from the heat.
"And yours doesn't suit your intelligence. So either wipe that smug look, or next time-"
BOOM.
Right then, as if fate wanted to stir the pot-
The intern came sprinting around the corner with a tray of iced coffees and tripped.
Straight into Naisha.
A wave of cold brew splashed across her silk blouse and shoulder, dripping in dark, humiliating streaks.
Another pause.
Naisha shut her eyes for half a second. When she opened them, she looked down-expression blank. The once-smooth fabric now clung to her skin, utterly ruined.
"I expected Rathod Corporation to have responsible employees," she said, voice tight with restrained fury.
Rida, smoothie still drying on her own sleeve, gave a calm, neutral smile.
"You know," she said lightly, "that's actually less sticky than the smoothie."
Naisha let out a clipped, sharp laugh. "You have a very sharp mouth."
"Only when someone mistakes silence for submission."
The air between them shimmered with unspoken challenge.
Even the intern with the tray slowed felt the temperature drop.
Rida took a step forward-measured, not threatening. Her voice soft, but every syllable landed like steel in silk.
"Since you expect responsibility from employees here..."
She paused, her head tilting just slightly.
"Try showing a little of it yourself too."
And she didn't wait for a reply.
Rida adjusted the file under her arm, turned on her heel, and walked away with the kind of grace that didn't ask to be seen-it demanded it, without a single word.
Naisha stood still.
Watching.
Silent.
But something about that walk...
That mouth...
That defiance wrapped in elegance...
It didn't just irritate her.
It intrigued her.
********
The cabin was silent.
Not peaceful- loaded.
Only the rhythmic tick of the wall clock dared fill the space and the faint scratch of Prakhar's pen gliding across paper like it was slicing tension instead of ink.
He was seated-rigid, elegant, composed to the point of suffocation.
A man carved from ice, fury hidden beneath pressed cuffs and perfected posture.
But then again, chaos rarely knocked.
It sauntered.
And right now, it was lounging- legs crossed, collar popped, sinfully casual as if it owned the damn oxygen in the room.
Sprawled across the couch, shirt inky black and sinful, hugging biceps that didn't need permission to flex. Top buttons open like like rules never applied to him..
RISHAB PARMAR.
His Bestfriend.
The man, the myth, the menace with a smug charm, broad shoulders lounging like a king..One arm thrown over the couch's headrest, the other resting lazily over his thigh, veins running like they knew they were sexy...
A devil-may-care smirk played on his lips, cocky and boyish all at once.
His fingers drumming an offbeat rhythm meant solely to annoy.
His energy? Disruptive.
His presence? Undeniable.
"Acha bas kar ja, drama queen," he drawled, voice husky and amused.
"Kya bacchon jaisa muh phula ke baitha hai? Ab kya diary likhega-Dear Rishab ne mujhe dard diya?"
Prakhar didn't react.. Didn't acknowledged him. He was still as a tombstone. Colder than the iceberg.
But Rishab? He was unbothered. No, worse-energized.
"Antarctica ka temperature bana ke rakha hai!"
Prakhar expression didn't twitch. Not a muscle. He just sat there. Like silence itself had hardened into a wall between them.
Rishab leaned forward, elbows on knees, tongue grazing his bottom lip like he was gearing up to sin.
"Rathod sir itna bhi fragile hai, yeh toh pata nahi tha. Shall I bring tissues or wine?", he teased..
Nothing
Still no eye contact..no emotions.
Cold.
But not the usual Rathod cold.
This was personal.
Rishab exhaled dramatically, flopping back on the couch like a Victorian woman having a moment.
"Bro I swear to God, I've seen corpses react more than you."
A beat of silence.
Then he stood. Walked to the desk with that signature panther-like grace, slow, deadly, intoxicating. He placed something right in front of Prakhar with a little smirk that dared him to react.
A polaroid.
A newborn baby boy-fists curled tight, a wild puff of hair, eyes scrunched like he was already annoyed at the world. The universe's smallest threat in a diaper.
Beneath it, scrawled in Rishab's mercilessly confident handwriting:
"Rivan Parmar - Junior Devil in the Making."
Prakhar's eyes flickered. The barest twitch.
Rishab saw it. Of course he did.
He grinned like he'd won.
"Naam suna? Rivan. Because I wanted him to have the same 'R' ke letters like his sasuraal waale Rathod."
He chuckled. "Dekha, kitna pyaar karta hoon main tujhse? Tere naam se matching baby bana diya. Matching initials, Matching destinies. Bilkul humari legacy ke according. "
Prakhar's nostrils flared..
Rishab leaned in and sofly.
"Tu nahi tha. I get it. You're hurt. You're pissed. But tu mujhe jaanta hai, Prakhar. I wasn't thinking. I was scared. She was screaming, I was crying. Main toh khud baby se pehle almost delivery kar baitha tha panic mein."
Still silence.
But his pen? Tightened grip.
So Rishab did what Rishab does best.
He pushed the limit.
"I mean... sach bolun toh, tu hota bhi toh kya hi karta? Wahi... delivery room mein gir jaata, bolta-Doctor mujhe oxygen do, main SASUR hoon."
That did it.
Prakhar finally looked up-a glare that could murder.
Rishab's smirk spread wider than ever. "Arre wah, Aankh se Aankh mila..Prem badh raha hai!!"
"Rishab," Prakhar growled..
"Yes, meri jaan?" Rishab purred, voice dipped in sugar and sin.
"Get. Out."
But Rishab only smiled- slow and victorious.
"See, Ab lag raha hai mera Prakhar wapas aa gaya hai. Welcome back, statue-man."
He turned... only to pause dramatically & face him again..
"Waise... agar thoda aur delay karega na, toh Rivan tujhe 'Papa' bolne lagega.."
Prakhar looked at him with deadpan eyes..
Rishab winked.
"Just prepping for the merger, bro."
"You're delusional," his voice deadpan.
"I know, but you still didn't throw it away."
Rishab grinned...Slow. Devilish..
Then, just when Prakhar's knuckles cracked against the desk-
Rishab casually picked up a protien bar from his drawer like he owned it, ripped it open, and took a bite.
"You're welcome, by the way," he said.
"If you ever do have a daughter... She's basically betrothed. My son's got exquisite taste. Runs in the blood. Like father, like-"
"SHUT. UP."
Prakhar growled again..
Rishab threw up both hands like a man wrongfully convicted.
"Relax, Man! Main toh sirf rishta leke aaya hoon. Sanskaar ke saath. Blessings included."
There was a beat of silence after the teasing..
Prakhar lifted his gaze slowly.
Icy.
Calculated.
Still holding that dangerous stillness in his aura-the kind that makes the air tremble without even moving.
And then...
With that soul-cutting calm
"If you forgot, Rishab... Navya tied me Rakhi."
"That makes me her brother."
It should've ended the conversation.
But not when the man across from him was Rishab Parmar.
The smirk didn't even twitch.
Instead...
He chuckled. A low, husky, devil-may-care sound that slid through the room like silk dipped in sinhal.
He stepped forward, leaned on the desk with both hands and tilted his head-mocking brilliance in his dark eyes.
"Bhool toh aap rahe hain, bhai sahab...", he said, voice laced with exaggerated innocence.
"Woh rakhi nahi thi... Mauli thi."
Then, pressing each letter slowly-"M. O. L. I."
He grinned wider, like a wolf baring teeth.
"I never made her tie you a rakhi, bro...She tied you mauli. Aur Woh toh Navya meri bhi baandhti hai. Aur mujhe kisi ne bhaiya nahi bola."
He stood straight, chest puffed slightly in proud confidence, fixing his collar like he'd just won a legal case in Supreme Court.
"So... there's still a chance for my son."
And then, casually-like it was just an observation.
"Good genes deserve a legacy. And I'm clever enough to make sure Rivan gets the best."
Prakhar sat there still..That little vein in his jaw? Popping.
Done.
So done.
"Prakhar"
"Believe me... You & Navya have a very pure, almost divine kind of relation."
"But I'm sorry..."
"I can't let it be brother & sister."
Beat.
"Because that would mean my son doesn't stand a chance."
Rishab blinked.
Now he began circling his desk, fingertips grazing the wood like whispers, casual... calculated.
Predator circling a king.
"Just look at him," he murmured, pointing toward the polaroid.
"Rivan Parmar. Stormy eyes.
Already too handsome for his age-"
"Think of him in his prime," Rishab smirked.
"He'll be just like me. Cheeky..Charming..Dangerously unforgettable. A little devil with his father's madness-"
His eyes flicked to Prakhar, voice dropping like a blade-
"-dangerous like his Sasur & hopefully not emotionally constipated like you".
Prakhar's jaw ticked..Rage bubbling.
Then with all the theatrical timing of a devil in designer clothes, Rishab dropped another onesie onto the desk.
The words screamed in bold :
"Reserved for Rathod Princess -Future Mrs. Parmar"
Prakhar's head snapped up like a shot fired.
Eyes? Murderous.
Aura? Radioactive.
His voice came out low-deadly calm, but venom laced in every syllable.
"GET. OUT."
Rishab tilted his head, eyes narrowing with that signature mischief that always meant trouble was coming.
"I know exactly why you're so damn frustrated lately."
His voice? Low. Smooth. Lethal.
"It's written all over your constipated royal face."
"Actually... tu isliye chidh raha hai kyunki abhi tak biwi ko honeymoon pe leke nahi gaya aur main already sasur banne ke dreams dekh raha hoon."
He smirked.
"Kya karein... kuch log naturally ahead hote hain."
Prakhar's fingers tightened. Rage inching, slow and silent, under that ice-cold facade.
Rishab casually walking around the desk, picking up a paperweight and inspecting it like it was made of gold.
"Pta hai?"
Voice dipped. Devilish.
"Shaadi karke bhi tu abhi tak 'Single Vibes' de raha hai."
He stepped closer, eyes locked on his best friend's thunderstorm soul.
"Mard ban, yaar. Accept kar... ki tu usse pyaar karne laga hai."
A pause.
And then he grinned.
Prakhar's voice sliced through the tension-sharp, low, laced with fury held together by sheer will.
"Don't act smart with me."
"
Rishabh"
But Rishab only tilted his head, voice dipping into a smooth, almost concerned murmur.
"Kya hua bhai..." he said, eyes twinkling with mock pity.
"Itni chidh hai toh honeymoon- woneymoon pe jao. Meri bahu ko plan karo.."
Then he paused.
Smirk deepening.
A devil in every breath.
"Ya phir..." he drawled, letting the words drop like poison-laced petals,
"...tu isliye frustrate hai kyunki 'I do' sirf mandap mein bola tha... lekin bedroom mein ab tak bas 'Don't touch me' chal raha hai?"
Prakhar didn't say anything.
Rishab, never one to let silence win, cocked his head and poked
"Kya Hua? Rathod legacy sirf boardroom mein hi chalani hai? Yaa Bedro-"
CRACK.
Before the last word even settled-
Prakhar's pen slammed down.
Not dropped.
Slammed.
The sound sliced through the room sharp..
"STOP IT!"
The words exploded out of him-sharp, thunderous, final.Eyes blazing. Chest rising like something was barely being held back.
"Stop spitting rubbish Rishab!! Or should I throw you out myself and ban you from this office permanently?"
His tone?
Not a threat.
A promise.
But Rishab?
He only smirked harder. A devil thriving in dangerous terrain.
"You think that can stop me?"
He raised both brows in mock surprise.
"Don't test me."
His voice-No longer calm. No longer composed.
"Iss tarah 'Emotionally Unavailable Rathod' banke kuch nahi hone wala, dost."
He shrugged, casually-
As if he hadn't just thrown gasoline on a ticking bomb.
"Dekh...Rivan ke bachpan ka best friend, uska support system, uska future, bas Rathod factory mein tayaar hoga. Tujhe sirf thoda effort daalna hai..."
His smirk deepened.
"Romantic wala, not PowerPoint wala."
A beat.
He leaned forward, elbows on Prakhar's desk, voice softer now like a devil whispering bedtime stories.
"Main toh vision board leke chal raha hoon. Tu bas ek vacation plan kar... preferably one where phones are off and candles are on."
Prakhar didn't reply.
But his Adam's apple shifted.
Barely.
And that alone told Rishab he'd hit something.
Then Prakhar's voice came low, even, but with that razor-sharp burn behind every word.
"Either you're an idiot... or a fool. Expecting useless things... even after knowing everything."
That was his warning.
But Rishab?
He wasn't done poking the bear.
He leaned back lazily, fingers steepled, eyes gleaming like a man watching his favorite drama unfold.
"Why?"
"Still sleeping six feet away on the bed? Or do you two just do dramatic staring contests till sunrise?"
He let out a mock sigh.
"Romantic, bro. Netflix should hire you for horror romance."
Prakhar stayed silent.
Too silent.
That twitch in his jaw returned_sharp. Telling.
And Rishab?
He saw it.
Which meant it was time to throw in the final matchstick.
"Waise..." he began, voice dipping into something far more lethal-
"...kya problem hai?"
Still no reply.
So, he whispered the most dangerous line of all-
"Ya fir... sach mein tu usse pyaar karne lag gaya hai... aur apni ego ko hazam nahi ho raha?"
Prakhar's knuckles whitened..
Jaw locked.
Breath shallow.
Rishab winked.
"Let me know when you finally stop sleeping with your pride and start sleeping with your wife."
SLAM.
The drawer slammed shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the cabin.
Prakhar's eyes?
Blazing.
Rage written in the tight pull of his jaw, the storm barely leashed behind his stare.
But Rishab?
He just raised his brows, all innocent-like.
"Oh? Sensitive topic? I thought this was a safe space, yaar. Main to sirf encouragement de raha hoon."
After a heavy beat of silence, Rishab couldn't help himself.
"Waise tu chahe na chahe, she's already gotten under your skin."
Prakhar closed his eyes for a brief second, jaw tight-like the words had hit deeper than he'd ever admit.
Rishab exhaled slowly, dropping back onto the couch..
"You know what's wild?" he murmured, voice dipped in unfiltered truth.
"Tu jitna zyada usse door bhaagta hai na, utna hi obvious hota jaa raha hai... ki tu usse pasand karne laga hai."
"Tu protect karta hai... but accept nahi kar sakta."
"Bas ek baat bata de..."
"Tu usse dard se bacha raha hai?"
"Ya khud ko pyaar se?"
That landed hard.
Prakhar's fingers twitched..
Still not looking.
But he didn't have to.
His silence was louder than any outburst.
"You know..." Rishabh continued, sighing with exaggerated exhaustion, "I thought shaadi ke baad tu thoda mellow ho jaayega. Par tu toh aur bhi dry ho gaya hai, bro. Ekdum Sahara."
He leaned forward slightly, tapping the polaroid on the desk.
"Come on, future sasurji..."
"Be a man. Fall in love. Make a baby. And stop giving emotionally-divorced-at-thirty energy."
Then his voice came out-Clipped.
Like a scalpel slicing through a wound that hadn't even healed.
"I don't love her."
"So stop imagining things that are never going to happen."
Silence fell again...
Rishab gave a short, humorless chuckle, shaking his head like he couldn't believe the emotional idiot in front of him.
He reached for the glass of water, took a sip, and said-
"Let's see."
He swirled the water slightly, eyes far away now.
"Ek din tu khud... apne baby ko godh mein uthake pura office dikha raha hoga."
"Wo bhi khushi se."
His smile was wistful now.
"Proud papa mode pe."
"And that baby? That'll be your lifeline."
Prakhar's mouth parted slightly.
Like there were words he wanted to say.
But then-
Knock knock.
A perfect crack in the moment.
A twist of fate with impeccable timing.
Rishab's voice dropped-low, steady.
Not mocking anymore. Not teasing.
Just a quiet warning from a man who'd watched storms form behind his best friend's eyes more times than he could count.
"Don't waste your precious time hating her uselessly..."
He let the words sit.
"...and wasting your good genetics too."
A muscle ticked near his temple.
A flicker of breath caught in his throat.
Not pain. Not love.
Something dangerously in-between.
He didn't answer.
Just said-
"Come in."
Two simple words.
But they didn't sound like permission.
They sounded like distraction.
Like armor.
Like the final thread before it all snapped.
The door opened.
Naisha stepped in-confident, composed, that soft silk blouse slightly wrinkled from the coffee-cleanup chaos, but her chin was high.
Her gaze landed on Prakhar.
Not by accident. Not in passing.
Like she meant to look at him first. Like she always does.
Prakhar's expression didn't shift, but something behind his eyes flickered-recognition, maybe... or resistance.
Then her eyes fell on the man seated like a king on the couch, arms spread, fingers casually drumming the headrest-Rishabh.
Her smile faltered.
And then came the line. The trigger.
"What are you doing here?"
A trace of annoyance. A faint frown.
That line landed hard.
Rishab's fingers froze mid-drum.
His eyes, warm seconds ago, cooled in an instant.
He stood.
Slow. Smooth. All six feet of sudden, silent offense.
"Wow," he said, tone deceptively casual. "What I'm I doing here..? I've been here since he was building this empire with blood and silence.
His voice wasn't angry -just dangerously calm.
Naisha blinked, realizing how it sounded, "Rishab, I didn't mean-"
"You meant, that my presence bothers you. That I somehow don't belong..And respectfully I don't care", he cuts in already brushing the moment aside with a sharp, sarcastic smile.
Naisha tried to recover. "I just..didn't expect to see you here. That's all."
"Clearly," Rishab muttered under his breath sitting back on the couch..
The offended best-friend energy clearly radiating from him.
"Don't start", Naisha spoke & turned her gaze to prakhar again.
She smiled, walking forward to prakhar
"I didn't even realize you were back in town. I just got back myself from-"
She was halfway to him. Arms lifting. The kind of hug that says I'm still in your life, right?
And then-
A hand slid in between them.
Firm. Unapologetic.
Rishab.
Standing straight now, arm casually blocking, not aggressive-but there was a sharpness in his tone that didn't go unnoticed.
"Stop hugging him from now on."
"He's married already."
Naisha blinked, confused, amused, and a little caught off guard.
"So what?" she said, tone light. "I'm his friend. There's nothing wrong--"
But Rishab didn't let her finish.
"It is wrong," he said coolly, his head slightly tilted.
"Because he belongs to someone else now."
She looked at Prakhar who said nothing, didn't move then turned to Rishab with a brow raised.
"Seriously? Is this your new job now- personal space police?"
Rishab gave a dry smile.
"No. I just don't like people pretending lines don't exist."
Naisha scoffed. "Wow. Overprotective much?"
Rishab's smirk deepened, eyes dropping briefly to her half-damp clothes
"By the way..." he added with mock concern, "why are you soaking in water?
Or did you try to swim here?"
Naisha finally stepped back, clearly ruffled after being shut down. She let out a breath and waved a hand.
Naisha narrowed her eyes. "Some idiots spilled brew on me downstairs."
Rishab nodded slowly.
Naisha rolled her eyes, dropping onto the opposite couch dramatically.
"You really need to fix your HR..Prakhar..I just bumped into someone who clearly doesn't belong in a corporate setup. I've met cab drivers with more manners than some of the employees here. Especially that girl-some intern or new associate, I don't even know."
Rishab sat up a little straighter, curiosity sparked, a playful gleam in his eye.
"Now that's interesting..." he said, smiling lightly.
"Who's got the guts to piss you off on your grand return?"
Naisha flipped her hair off her shoulder.
"I don't know exactly. I just got a glimpse of her ID badge-something like... Riya? Or Riva? "
"Riva Thakur, I think."
But across the room-Prakhar's head slowly lifted.
He hadn't reacted through most of the back and forth. Not when she walked in. Not when she reached to hug him. Not even when Rishab cut her off.
But now?
His gaze sharpened.
Riva Thakur.
Or was it...
Rida Thakur.
A familiar whisper of a name coiled in his chest that burned and healed all at once.
She wrinkled her nose.
"God, she had such a bad mouth. Like someone handed her a mic and never taught her fear... or basic manners."
Rishab let out a low chuckle, brows arching in amusement.
"That bad?"
Naisha rolled her eyes, clearly still annoyed.
"Kept arguing. I swear, she missed her true calling-should've been a lawyer. In this corporate setup, she's just a disaster wrapped in confidence."
Rishab said thoroughly entertained.
"Damn. Okay, I like her already. She's got potential."
Naisha turned to glare at him.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
He lifted his shoulders in an unapologetic shrug.
"Little bit. You make it easy."
Naisha leaned back into the couch, placing a cushion on her lap.
"Anyway..." she said lightly, too lightly.
"I thought the paperwork was already on track."
A beat.
"Didn't she... sign the divorce papers?"
The kind of silence that follows wasn't ordinary.
It didn't blink.
It stretched-just a second too long to be harmless.
Prakhar's fingers paused mid-paper.
His jaw clenched. Barely. But enough.
Rishab's head turned-so fast the air seemed to shift with it.
"What?"
His voice came low. Measured. Dangerous.
"What did you just say?"
Naisha blinked at him, too innocently.
Rishab stood. Not with drama-
But that quiet fury that hums louder than a scream.
"You got the papers ready."
His voice like a blade, cutting clean.
"Didn't you?"
Naisha's lips parted.
"Yeah-! I only expedited the process... as said by Prakhar."
Rishab's voice dropped to a deadly edge.
"Woh toh tumhe gutter mein girne ko kahega, toh tum waha bhi gir jaogi?"
Naisha sat up, rage flickering behind her eyes.
"Stay in your limits, Rishab."
"I just asked a question. Isn't that what's happening anyway? The divorce-"
Rishab stepped forward. Slowly.
Every movement a warning.
"Why?"
His tone cracked through the tension.
"Why the hell would you bring that up?"
Naisha looked stunned-like the air had been punched out of her.
"Wait! Are you accusing me of something?"
"Yes," Rishab snapped.
"Because that wasn't curiosity. That was provocation."
"And don't play innocent. You knew exactly what you were doing."
Naisha's eyes widened, the hurt blooming fast.
"Are you serious right now?" she fired back.
"Why would I provoke him? I've told him, so many times-to give his marriage a chance. I said it before and I'll say it again."
She turned to Prakhar now.
Her voice softened. Vulnerable.
"Prakhar..."
"Will you say something? He's making it sound like I wanted you to get divorced."
He looked up.
Eyes emotionless, yet carved with weight.
The room held its breath.
Then-
Prakhar rose from his chair.
No aggression.No sharp breath.
Just the rustle of his shirt sleeve and the shift of his weight as he walked slowly toward the window.
He stood with his back to them both hands in his pockets.
And then...
"I don't want to talk about any of this."
Soft. Firm. Final.
The words felt like a wall.
Not slammed down.
But built so high it made even Rishab fall quiet.
He finally turned looked at Rishab who was about to speak, but stopped.
"NO!!."
This was Prakhar's full stop.
And with that, he turned away again.
His back to them both.
.......
Sheenam, Yash, Mansi, and Veer returned by 5 PM after spending a few months abroad..
A short while later, Shweta and Ruhani followed - their presence quieter, but no less significant.
Ruhani had been away for an elite fashion mentorship, a high-pressure, off-grid project bound by NDAs and silence.
Sheenam accompanied her, staying by her side as quiet support through the intense journey.
Dinner had just ended but no one had the heart to leave the room. The warmth of family, food, and long-missed voices hung in the air like the scent of roasted spices still clinging to the marble floor.
The grand living room was dimly lit with gold-toned lamps. A soft breeze teased the sheer curtains, letting the sounds from the garden drift in.
Rida, Mansi, and Akansha sat sunk into the large couch , hair loosely pinned, their slippers half-off, dupattas slightly wrinkled, comfort blooming around them like second skin-post-dinner softness wrapped around them. The little 3-year-old, Aarav had made himself comfortable, half-sprawled between Mansi and Rida..She chuckled as he poked her cheek, flopped onto their laps like his personal trampoline and occasionally poking Rida's arm to demand attention.
From the other end of the room, Sheenam arrived, her presence always like the breeze before rain-calming, familiar. She was carrying a tray of mango shakes & placed it on the center table.
"You know," she said, handing one to Mansi.
"Jab hum US mein the na, har din sochti thi Ansh yahan hota toh kaise drama karta mango shake ke liye. Roz ki ritual thi uski natakbaazi."
Mansi let out a laugh. "Aaj bhi waisa hi hai, Maa. Bas ab thoda aur professional ho gaya hai natak mein."
Just then, a hum broke the silence. A rhythm of approaching steps.
Shivansh strolled in from the hallway, wearing an oversized t-shirt that somehow fit perfectly on his broad frame. His headphones hung around his neck like a lazy badge of rebellion. His gaze scanned the room, pausing at the sight of the cozy chaos-and a soft, knowing smirk tugged at his lips. The kind that hides affection under layers of swagger.
"Dekho kaun aaya," Mansi teased Aarav with a raise of her brows..
Sheenam's eyes instantly lit up. Without waiting, she strode toward him, and in one swift, motherly motion, she cupped his cheek and placed a kiss there, not a loud one, but the kind that lingers..
"Did you miss your chachu, hmm?" he asked kneeling slightly to play with the kid, who now jumped toward Shivansh's legs like a puppy seeing its favorite toy.
"Mujhe toh iska alarm clock yaad aata tha," Shivansh said, ruffling Aarav's hair.
"Roz 6 baje-'Tachu, wate up! Wate up, or I'll jump on you!'"
The kid giggled, clearly proud of the legacy.
Sheenam laughed, walking over, handing him the mango shake she had lovingly prepared.
He gave her a raised brow, half-grin.
"You remembered?"
"Every damn time. You haunted the blender in my dreams.", she replied with a smirk.
Shivansh chuckled. "This is why you're my favorite."
Her smile softened. For Sheenam, Shivansh was the son she never gave birth to-but had claimed with pride, heart, and more than a little fierce affection.
Sheenam then walked around the table and settled down opposite Rida, her eyes taking in the young woman with warmth and a touch of admiration.
"You're turning more and more beautiful, beautiful lady" she said, voice teasing yet sincere.
Rida, caught off guard, shook her head and let out a shy smile. "You flatter too much..."
Sheenam winked, "Mai Sach bol rahi hoon... you've got that post-marriage glow..Love story bloom kar rahi hai..Hmm? "
Rida gave a faint smile, eyes briefly shadowed. That glow, she knew, was more complicated than it looked.
Before she could respond, Shivansh leaned in with a theatrical pout, "Chachi... main bhi hoon yahan!"
Everyone burst into laughter even Aarav, who mimicked Shivansh's pout with exaggerated drama, sending Mansi into another fit of giggles.
And for a fleeting moment, just a breath of time it felt like the world outside had paused. A small, glowing bubble of love, playful teasing, and unspoken healing had wrapped itself around the room, holding everyone in its warmth.
******
T
he sounds of laughter still faintly echoed from downstairs, dulled now by the walls and silence of the upper floor. But their room, the air was sharp.
The closet doors were half-open.
She walked in with a glass jug of water in her hands, humming a soft melody -absentmindedly, a tune from nowhere, calm & comforting... until her eyes landed on him.
Her hum died instantly.
Prakhar was already in the walk-in closet, still in his tailored white shirt from the office, frame angled away as he unbuttoned his cuff with slow, practiced fingers.
Even when alone, the man wore his cold like cologne-expensive, lingering, suffocating..
He turned just slightly, enough for their eyes to meet. He hadn't said a word-but his presence filled the space like a storm cloud.
Silent. Heavy. Ominous.
She looked at him the way one looks at a bruise forming-unwanted, aching, and familiar.. The echoes of their earlier office argument were still fresh in her ears.
His expression?
Cold. Flat. Unapologetic.
That same godforsaken look he wore earlier at the office when he threw his words like knives..
Her expression darkened.That water jug in hand, and for a full, dangerous second-she looked at him like she was mentally calculating how much damage it would cause if she hurled it straight at his head.
Her nostrils flared.But she didn't say anything. She rolled her eyes and shook her head once like his presence was a bad aftertaste she couldn't spit out.
Like she was done with the species called 'Prakhar Singh Rathod'.
She stepped further into the closet, muttering something low under her breath-too quiet to catch, but the tone?
Definitely a curse.
Her cheeks flushed with pure, feral irritation. And those sharp, kohl-lined eyes?
Daggers. Beautiful, shimmering daggers.
Her whole body radiated one clear message -
"You ruin every room you walk into."
Prakhar watched her in silence.
Didn't move. Didn't speak.
His hand froze briefly on the hanger pulling out a fresh grey trouser and a crisp white tshirt, before he turned back with an invisible frown. So subtle, most would miss it.
She placed the jug on the bedside table with just a bit more force than necessary.Her side glance at him carried pure contempt. Her lips twisted slightly in disgust-not the fake kind. The genuine disappointment of being stuck in the same air as him. She didn't bother hiding it anymore. Then without looking at him again, sat down on the bed like she was reclaiming territory.
Prakhar didn't speak. Didn't glare. Didn't offer a single reaction . He simply turned, walked into the attached washroom, the sound of the door closing behind him felt louder than it was.
The room was silent again.
But the silence wasn't peaceful.
It was pressurized.
Unresolved. Heavy. Waiting to burst.
Rida sat still for a moment, staring blankly at the curtains swaying.
Then she whispered to herself, voice dry,
"Badtameez.."
******
The early sun stretched through the high windows of the Rathod mansion, casting long shadows across the polished floors. Inside, near the ornately carved mandir at the far side of the living room, a quiet sacredness had descended. The priest sat cross-legged, preparing the samagri on a copper plate-gangajal, til, kush, and flowers, while Prakhar sat across him barefoot on a sacred aasan.
Clad in a traditional cream dhoti and a fitted white shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to bare the veins of his strong forearms. His usual composed face was tighter today silently following each instruction by the priest who was softly chanting mantra for the sankalp..
The three-year-old, Aarav had padded in quietly, a tiny warrior in a loose kurta and a face full of sleepy rebellion. Without a word, he climbed right onto Prakhar's lap-not playfully, but like it was his home.
His refuge.
Aarav squealed again, trying to climb into his lap like he always did, utterly unaware of the seriousness of the ritual
And without even looking up, he softly murmured with those trembling lips.. "Deth Chi..."
A child's version of "Jethji."
The priest blinked, slightly startled by the interruption.
Aarav had rested his cheek directly on Prakhar's chest, his tiny arms curled around his chest like a koala clinging to its tree, legs half hanging off his thigh.
He always did it whenever he found Prakhar lying back on the sofa or resting in the study. Like a cub claiming his lion.
Without a little bit of fear..
And here's what no one saw-
Prakhar didn't flinch.
Instead, his free hand-still heavy with the scent of sandal and ghee-rose slowly, as if every movement had been memorized through silent habit. His fingers hovered for a breath, then slid gently under Aarav's neck, cradling the delicate curve with that special kind of softness only meant for babies.
It wasn't the kind of softness the world ever saw from Prakhar Singh Rathod.
The mantras echoed behind him, the priest waited but Prakhar didn't rush.
He looked down at the little bundle pressed against his chest.
Aarav's cheek rested right over his heart, tiny fingers knotted into his shirt, and his breath came in soft puffs, warming the fabric. He had curled into him completely like he belonged there.
His thumb instinctively brushed just below the child's ear, soothing the skin there like muscle memory. He adjusted his own posture, slightly leaning back-not for comfort, but to let the child sleep undisturbed. Even the way his chest rose became gentler, breath slower, as if not to jostle the boy.
No words.
No smiles.
But that one hand... cradled like he'd done it a hundred times.. Aarav sighed-a sleepy hum, content-and shifted just enough to snuggle deeper into the curve of his chest.
And Prakhar held him.
Like something priceless.
Something breakable.
But to Aarav, it was a lullaby in touch.
But Prakhar's voice never faltered.
"...karmana shraddham karishyami."
Not once did he stop the chant. Not once did his hand leave the child's neck. As if he knew how to carry both things-grief and comfort, duty and softness at the same time.
And Aarav? He closed his eyes, perfectly content on the coldest chest in the room. His fingers curled tighter into Prakhar's shirt, mumbling again, "Deth chi...", this time slower, fading into a half-sleep.
The priest hesitated, eyes flicking up briefly at the sight-but said nothing. He must've sensed it too. That this... this was not interruption. This was not misbehavior
This is something sacred..
Mansi who came out of the kitchen, hands messy with haldi from prepping the besan ladoos hissed a whisper, "Aarav!"
But it was already done.
She turned slightly toward Rida, who had just stepped out behind her from the kitchen.
"Rida... Zara please use jaake le aao.."
She gestured helplessly toward Aarav.
"Yeh ladka poori raat soya hi nahi... ab dekho jeth ji ko tang kar raha hai."
Her voice came in a rushed whisper, not wanting to disturb the priest..
Her tone wasn't harsh just tired, a mother's exhausted plea wrapped in soft urgency.
Her eyes were drawn immediately to where Mansi had gestured.
And then they stilled-
Catching the scene in silence.
Aarav, safe and snug against a man who claimed to feel nothing.
And Prakhar... unmoved by the gaze of the world, but soft only for one..
Not brushing him off.
Not shifting him away.
Just letting him be there.
Rida's chest tightened-not from hurt, but something else. Something unnamed. Something that unsettled the image she'd drawn of him.
She didn't respond immediately.
Just stood there a moment too long.
Then nodded, her lips curling into a faint, feigned smile.
As she stepped closer, her breath hitched-barely.
A soundless falter.
Because the sight before her...
It wasn't loud.
It wasn't grand.
It was sacred.
And before she even reached them-he sensed her.
Like wind brushing across the surface of still water.
Like the faintest shift in light.
His breath paused-just enough for him to know she was near.
She knelt beside him, knees lowering with care, hands delicately hovering to lift Aarav.
Her golden saree spilled across the white floor like sunlight melting into marble.
Her presence was gentle-quiet.
But her closeness carried a current.
The kind that doesn't shout, but still shifts the air around it.
Unignorable.
He didn't look at her immediately.
His gaze remained on the child.
Then slowly- inevitably- it lifted.
From Aarav's lashes to her face.
And when it did-
It lingered.
Traveled.
Not inappropriately.
Not deliberately.
But undeniably.
In that one second, he took in all of her-
Not a single jewel. Not a trace of makeup.
Only the vivid red of sindoor that split her hairline like a silent vow,
A tiny red bindi that matched it perfectly,
And the soft glint of the mangalsutra nestled just above her sternum.
Her skin glowed in the pale morning light, framed in muted gold.
Her jaw was tense, her eyes still carrying the remnants of a sleepless night-
But the softness beneath them... he noticed.
The breath she tried to steady... he noticed that too.
And her fragrance-
It wrapped around him gently.
Not loud, not floral. Just her.
Familiar.
Like a whisper against a storm.
The moment she reached to lift him, his small hand clutched tighter to Prakhar's shirt-right near his collarbone, fingers curling into the fabric as if resisting.. A soft murmur left him, "Deth chi..."
Rida froze.
So did Prakhar.
Her hand-hesitant, graceful moved to gently unwrap Aarav's fingers from the grip. Her fingertips brushed his chest in the process, where the child's hand had anchored. And for a fleeting heartbeat, her palm hovered over his heartbeat.
They both felt it.
And in that small exchange, their fingers brushed-hers guiding, his resisting only slightly, unintentionally. A touch so soft it felt like silk gliding over raw skin.
Prakhar didn't move back.
And as she lifted Aarav slowly from his lap, his little legs dragged slightly over Prakhar's torso, feet still dangling, his weight pressing briefly into Rida's chest as she pulled him..
And in that second, as she repositioned Aarav, his hand brushed against her fabric-just at the side, where the saree hugged her waist.The fabric slid beneath his knuckles for a second before slipping away again..
It wasn't deliberate.
But it happened.
And he felt it.
She didn't notice.
Her eyes were on Aarav.
Her arms focused on holding him right.
But he-
He registered everything.
The way the fabric curved.
The warmth underneath it.
The fact that it was her.
She rose slowly-her eyes catching his just for a beat.
The child clung to her, yet the electricity of that moment clung harder..
Prakhar's eyes-fixed now on her hand as it softly rubbed Aarav's back.
He didn't breathe until she walked away.
And even then, the air she disturbed stayed around him..
.........
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