## Rudra’s Private Confession 🎸

The drive back to the mansion was a blur. The cold, calculated facade I wore for the world was thoroughly annihilated, broken down by a small girl's stubbornness and a spoonful of *rajma-chawal*. Her teasing confession—that I was an **"adorable health freak"** who couldn't live without her—was the only thought looping in my head.

I dismissed Laksh at the door with a terse wave and went straight to my soundproof master bedroom. The space was enormous, designed to be an absolute sanctuary from the world—a place where noise, emotion, and vulnerability simply ceased to exist.

I stripped off the fitted black shirt, tossing it onto the pristine white chaise lounge, the heat of the day and the recent confrontation still burning beneath my skin.

I walked over to the corner where my acoustic guitar—a beautiful, dark wood instrument I hadn't touched in months—sat silently on its stand. I picked it up, the familiar weight and cold strings a grounding comfort.

I sat on the edge of the bed, the Delhi skyline muted outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. The silence was absolute, save for the furious rhythm of my own heart. I needed to release the turmoil, to give voice to the love I couldn't yet confess to her face.

I ran my fingers over the strings, the soft, rich notes echoing in the quiet room. I closed my eyes and let the simple, profound lyrics that had taken root in my soul since that day at the temple flow out.

The song was an old one, a classic of pure, gentle, unexpected love—a song that felt utterly ridiculous for the **ruthless, cold-hearted prince** to sing, yet it was the only truth I possessed now.

My voice was rough, unpracticed, but heavy with the weight of my secret devotion.

**Rudra:** (Singing softly, his voice deep and slightly strained with emotion)

*Akhiyaan de kol reh jaane de*

(Let me stay close to your eyes)

*Kahna hai jo kah jane de*

(Let me say what I need to say)

*Tere khayalon mai*

(In your thoughts)

*Beete yeh raatein*

(Let these nights pass)

*Dil mera maangein*

(My heart asks for)

*Ek hi dua*

(Only one prayer)

*Tu samne ho aur*

(That you are in front of me and)

*Karun mai baatein*

(I can talk)

*Lamha rahe yun*

(That the moment stays)

*Thehra hua*

(Frozen like this)

I stopped, pressing my forehead against the cool wood of the guitar neck. *She is my responsibility. I can't live without her.* The lyrics were hauntingly true.

I strummed again, the chords now flowing with a gentle certainty, leading into the core confession.

*Pahle to kabhi yun*

(Never before)

*Mujhko na aisa kuch hua*

(Did anything like this happen to me)

*Deewani lahron ko*

(To these crazy waves)

*Jaise sahil mila*

(It's like they found the shore)

I lifted my gaze, staring at my own reflection in the dark glass. The coldness was gone. All that remained was raw, overwhelming love.

*I am the crazy wave, and she is my inevitable shore.*

*Ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga*

(When I saw a girl, I felt like this)

*Ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga*

(When I saw a girl, I felt like this)

*O mere sohneya ve*

(Oh, my beloved)

*Chhadd saari galiyaan mai*

(Leaving all the lanes)

*Naal tere turr chala mai*

(I have started walking with you)

*Le chal tu mujhko duniya se door*

(You take me far away from the world)

I wasn't just singing the words; I was speaking my absolute truth. I was ready to leave the empires, the cold perfection, the ruthlessness—I would throw it all away, if she just gave me the word.

*Rang jaani re marjaani ra*

(Oh, my colorful one, my captivating one)

*Kahni jo thi keh do woh baat*

(Say what you had to say)

*Rang jaani re marjaani ra*

(Oh, my colorful one, my captivating one)

*Kahni jo thi keh do woh baat*

(Say what you had to say)

*Ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga*

(When I saw a girl, I felt like this)

*Ek ladki ko dekha toh aisa laga*

(When I saw a girl, I felt like this)

The final chord rang out, vibrating in the complete silence of the room. My chest felt empty, yet full.

I had loved her from the first moment she fell into my arms at the Mandir. My coldness was a defense against that love, a desperate attempt to survive. But now, it was useless.

**Rudra:** (I whispered into the silence, a final, fierce confession, knowing only the soundproof walls could hear) **"I love you, Ishita Sharma. You are the only thing real in my entire world. And I will burn it all down if it means keeping you safe."**

My heart belonged to the middle-class dreamer who fought with me over vegetables and shattered my control with a laugh. **She was my *marjaani*, my chaos, my reason for breathing

I sat in the car, the leather cool and expensive beneath my fingers, the engine idling silently. It had become a non-negotiable routine: my **black SUV waiting outside the studio** until the final light was switched off and she finally stepped out.

I didn’t even realize when my carefully compartmentalized days began revolving around her schedule. I used to schedule my meetings precisely; now, my entire evening was simply marked: **WAITING FOR ISHITA.**

And when she emerged—long braid swaying, heels clicking on the pavement, that **ever-present spark in her eyes** even after hours under the lights—the weariness I carried from my own ruthless day instantly evaporated.

Sometimes we drove in silence. Her silence was rare, meaning she was truly exhausted, and I respected it by turning the music low and simply driving. Other days, she’d chatter non-stop—animatedly telling me about her assistant's clumsiness, or a new makeup hack that went viral. And I'd just listen.

**Rudra:** (I recalled her anxious question one evening) *"Aap bore toh nahi ho rahe?"* (You aren’t getting bored, are you?)

**Rudra:** (I had answered quietly, truthfully, eyes on the road) **"No. *Main bas sun raha hoon. Aur jab aap bolti ho toh sab kuch theek lagta hai.*"** (I am just listening. And when you speak, everything feels right.)

But the routine always ended the same way.

**Ishita:** *"Yahi rok dijiye, please."* (Stop right here, please.)

No matter how many times I offered to drop her to the gate, she would smile politely, sometimes nervously, and insist. I knew what it meant. She was protecting our unnamed bond from **judgmental eyes**, from assumptions, from labels that would instantly tarnish her image in her modest colony.

And as much as I wanted to break through that wall and drag her into the unshakeable safety of my world, I respected it. Because **I loved her too much** to make her uncomfortable.

So I watched her walk away each night, disappearing into the narrow *galli*, her silhouette shrinking until she turned a corner. And I’d exhale only when I saw her **bedroom light flick on** through the second-floor window. That small light was my beacon, the final confirmation that my chaos was safe for the night.

## Ishita Sharma’s Perspective:

I still don’t even remember how this started.

How a man like him—the **Rudra Singh Rathore**, the cold prince who should only be discussing stocks and mergers—started picking me up and dropping me off daily.

It felt completely surreal.

He never said much in the car, but his silence wasn’t heavy. It was **warm. Safe.** It was like a protective bubble I didn’t know I needed, where the demands of the camera and the stress of the city couldn't reach me.

Some days, I’d talk nonsense just to hear him make that deep, quiet sound of amusement in his chest. Other days, I’d sit quietly, letting the constant hum of the car and the solid, reassuring weight of his presence calm the exhausting chaos of my working world.

But no matter what, when we neared my lane, I always straightened up.

**Ishita:** *"Rok dijiye. I’ll walk from here."*

He never argued. Never asked why. But I know he understood completely. My world and his—the world of simple hopes and the world of billion-dollar ruthlessness—they were still miles apart. And this street, my modest *colony*, was filled with people who knew me, who would whisper and gossip at the first glance of a man like him.

I didn’t want their poisonous labels to touch the quiet, beautiful thing we were growing.

*What was this even?*

We didn't hold hands. We never said the word "love." But he noticed when I was tired. He brought *rajma-chawal* when I skipped meals. He looked at me like I was the most important, vital thing in his entire existence.

And I?

I checked his schedule with **Reet** to sneak an extra few minutes around him. I looked out for his name in the finance articles. I’d even learned how to make black coffee—strong, just the way he liked it.

**Ishita:** (I'd asked him once, tracing the rim of the cup) **"Is that really your favorite?"**

He had just smiled that rare, intense, private smile.

And I had fallen—deeper than I ever thought possible, into the silence of his secret love