## Ishita Sharma’s Perspective —

Something had definitely changed.

No, not suddenly. Slowly. Gradually. Like warm sunlight creeping in through a curtain, brightening my whole world.

We were still respectful. Still kept our distance in public. Still said **"*aap*"** to each other like we were guarding a sacred space.

But between us… there was something unspoken, a current that ran deep.

He wasn’t just Rudra Singh Rathor anymore—the untouchable business tycoon, Reet’s mysterious investor, the man everyone feared but obeyed.

He was **mine**, in a way that wasn’t loud or announced. He was the man who waited for me after long shoots. Who noticed if I missed meals. Who had started replying to my random, chaotic voice notes—even at 2 a.m. *Usually, his messages were just "Understood" or "Noted," but the fact that he replied at all was huge.*

And I had changed too. I started noticing his moods, how his jaw tightened when stressed, how he pinched the bridge of his nose when deep in thought. I started carrying protein bars in my bag—not for me, but for him, just in case he missed his rigid schedule.

We hadn't crossed any lines, but we had started walking so close to them.

Every morning, when his car waited outside the studio, I’d pretend I was surprised. Every night when he dropped me near home, I’d pretend I wasn’t looking back at him in the rearview mirror until he was gone.

One day, while waiting for Reet to finish up, we both sat quietly on the studio stairs. No one else around. Just silence.

**Ishita:** **“*Thoda thak gaye ho aap,*”** I said softly, noticing the faint tiredness under his eyes. *The tiny lines around his eyes were the only evidence of his exhaustion.*

He glanced sideways, a small, subtle smile tugging at his lips—the one reserved only for me. **“*Aur aap thakti nahi ho? Roz shoot, rehearsals, modeling, aur… mere nakhre?*”** (And you don't get tired? Daily shoot, rehearsals, modeling, and... my tantrums?)

I laughed under my breath. **“*Main toh superwoman hoon. Meri energy toh Rajma Chawal se chalti hai.*”** (I'm a superwoman. My energy runs on Rajma Chawal.)

**Rudra:** **“*Main jaanta hoon,*”** he said. **“*Par superwoman ko bhi paani peena chahiye.*”** (But even a superwoman should drink water.)

He didn't hand me a regular bottle. He reached behind his seat bag and pulled out a bottle of water. It had small slices of **lemon** floating in it.

I looked at it, surprised. **“*Yeh toh… lemon water hai.*”** (This is... lemon water.)

**Rudra:** (He shrugged slightly, looking away, pretending it was nothing) **“*Haan. Garmi hai. Achha hota hai health ke liye. Abhi aaya hai. Pi lo.*”** (Yes. It's hot. It's good for health. It just arrived. Drink it.)

I didn't press him. I knew he didn't drink lemon water. He was doing this *for me*. It was his new, quiet way of caring.

**Ishita:** **“*Theek hai. Main peeti hoon. Lekin agli baar aap bhi mere saath mein pani peeyenge.*”** (Okay. I'll drink it. But next time, you will also drink water with me.)

**Rudra:** **“*Bohot demanding ho gayi ho.*”** (You've become very demanding.)

But his tone was soft, almost pleased. There was no flirting. No touching. Just… presence, and a shared, secret glass of lemon water.

## Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective —

I never thought someone like her could become… familiar. Not in a possessive way. In a **peaceful** way.

She never asked me to change, but I had. In ways even I didn’t notice until people started pointing it out.

I smiled more now. Reet had asked me just last week, “*Bhai, aapko kya ho gaya hai? Aap to meetings mein bhi gussa nahi karte.*” (Brother, what happened to you? You don't even get angry in meetings.)

I didn't answer her. How could I tell her that **Ishita’s voice, her random Kathak twirls, her dimpled smile,** had become the only part of my day that felt... warm?

We had boundaries, yes. Strong ones.

I didn’t touch her hand unless absolutely needed. She never called me by nickname or first name—always “*aap*.” We kept our conversations simple in front of others.

But between the silences, we had created a world. Just ours.

I’d find myself standing near her when she was shooting, not to supervise, but just to make sure the light didn’t bother her eyes or that her water bottle was close.

I started keeping two bottles of water in my car. One plain, chilled—for me. The other, always with fresh **lemon slices**—for her. She never noticed how I always replaced it fresh, ensuring the temperature was just right.

Once, her scarf was caught in the car door. I could’ve pulled it out myself—but instead, I asked her gently, **“*Main nikal doon?*”** (Shall I take it out?) She nodded, and I handed it back to her carefully, making sure *not to brush her fingers.*

Even our silences had meaning.

Like that evening on the stairs. When she told me I looked tired, something inside me melted. *She noticed.*

When I offered her the lemon water—a clear breach of my 'no personal services' rule—she accepted it with that trusting, innocent curiosity.

**Rudra:** (I watched her take a sip) **"That upma you made yesterday,"** I said, suddenly needing to acknowledge the quiet gift. **"It was perfect."**

**Ishita:** (Her face instantly lit up) **“*Sach mein? Aapko achha laga?*”** (Really? You liked it?)

**Rudra:** **“*Haan. Bilkul asli food jaisa tha.*”** (Yes. It was exactly like real food.)

She punched my arm lightly, a soft, friendly gesture. **“*Aapko taste se dushmani nahi hai!*”** (You don't have an enmity with taste!)

I felt a genuine, deep breath of peace. She was comfortable, safe, and close.

---

## Together, Yet Apart — In Limits, but Closer

We didn’t hold hands.

We didn’t say “I love you.”

We didn’t label anything.

But our hearts spoke in a different language. One only we understood.

In limits.

In pauses.

In eyes meeting across rooms.

In the small slice of lemon that was always present in her water bottle.

In quiet compliments exchanged under the excuse of a project.

And even if no one else noticed—*we* knew.

We were falling. Quietly. Carefully. Deeply.

## Rudra's Cabin: A Public Breach

The entire afternoon had been busy. Ishita was reviewing her lines for the next scene, perched on the edge of the large, expensive couch in my cabin while I finished a crucial video conference. We were back to our separate bubbles, the silent connection the only shared thing in the room.

Reet walked in with Laksh, armed with documents and her usual bustling energy.

**Reet:** **“Rudra Bhai, I need your final sign-off on the budget before I leave. And Ishita, we have a fitting in ten minutes! You need to hurry, we're already running late.”**

Ishita stood up instantly, grabbing her bag and tucking a stray piece of paper—her handwritten script notes—into the inner pocket of her kurta.

**Ishita:** **“Okay, coming! *Ek minute. Bye, Rudra.*”**

She threw me a quick, professional smile, ready to rush out and maintain the *distance*.

I, however, was still staring at the monitor, my mind fully engaged in the complex details of the merger I was finalizing. My focus was absolute, ruthless, and utterly automatic.

As she stepped past my desk, her long, flowing *dupatta* (the one that smelled faintly of jasmine and laundry detergent) **swished across my shoulder**.

It was a small, accidental touch, an easy physical brush that happens daily on a crowded set.

But in that instant, my corporate mind, driven by the protective instinct that had been roaring since the night before, completely misfired.

Before I could process the move, my hand shot out—not to stop the *dupatta*, but to gently, firmly **catch her wrist**.

**Rudra:** **“Don't move so fast.”** My voice was low, automatic, and authoritative.

Ishita froze instantly. Her eyes, wide and startled, darted from her wrist—which was completely engulfed by my large hand—to my face.

Reet and Laksh, who were busy sorting papers by the door, also froze. The silence was immediate and deafening. This was not the boundary we maintained. This was a direct, public breach.

**Reet:** (Her voice was a small, confused squeak) **“B-Bhai? Kya hua?”** (Brother? What happened?)

My mind finally registered the scene: my staff, my desk, the unexpected physical contact, and Ishita's palpable shock. I could feel the warmth of her pulse under my thumb.

I immediately released her wrist, but the damage was done. My cold control had slipped, revealing the fierce possessiveness underneath.

**Rudra:** (I had to think fast, regaining my composure instantly, though my voice remained slightly deeper than usual) **“Nothing.”** I cleared my throat, picking up my pen and staring sternly at the monitor. **“Ishita, you forgot your notes. They were sticking out. You need to be more organized. You know how important accuracy is.”**

I pointed to the paper, which was indeed slightly protruding from her pocket. The lie was thin, ridiculous, but it was the best I could do in the moment.

Ishita, still dazed, reached a shaky hand to check the pocket.

**Ishita:** (She looked utterly bewildered) **“O-oh. Yes. *Haan, main... main thodi jaldi mein thi.* Thank you.”** (Yes, I... I was in a hurry.)

She was confused and blushing, knowing full well I had grabbed her wrist, not just pointed at her pocket.

**Laksh:** (Laksh, ever the diligent assistant, tried to diffuse the situation with a forced cough) **“Yes, Ishita Ma’am. Accuracy is key. Especially in high-value projects. Come, let’s go for the fitting.”**

Reet, however, was not easily fooled. She simply stared at me, her expression a mix of suspicion and dawning realization.

**Reet:** (She lowered her voice, leaning toward me as Ishita hurried out the door with Laksh) **“Bhai, your explanation was about her *notes*. But your hand was on her *wrist*. *Yeh kya chal raha hai?*”** (What is going on?)

I didn't answer. I just picked up my coffee cup, took a long, cold sip, and fixed my eyes back on the screen.

**Rudra:** **“The budget, Reet. Let’s talk about the *budget*. And stop wasting time on irrelevant details.”**

The coffee tasted bitter, but the lingering warmth on my hand—from the brief, accidental contact with her skin—was all I could focus on. I had just broken my own rule, publicly, and now the entire team knew that Ishita Sharma was more than just an asset.

The night was cool, the air crisp. I was leaning against the cool metal of the black SUV, phone in hand, pretending to check emails. But my eyes were fixed on the studio door. I felt a weird mix of tension and longing after the incident in the cabin. I had completely exposed my hand—literally—in front of Reet and Laksh.

I was adjusting my bangles—a soft, metallic chime announcing her arrival. I stopped right in front of him planting my feet confidently on the pavement, my eyes bright with a dangerous mix of teasing and curiosity.

Ishita: (i tilted my head, a mischievous smile playing on her lips) “So, Mr. Rudra Singh Rathor.”

I paused for maximum effect, my voice low and dramatic.

Ishita: “Kya chal raha hai? Ek hug kya de diya us raat, aap toh peeche hi padh gaye!” (What is going on? I gave one hug that night, and you've become completely obsessed!) “Haath tak pakad liya aaj toh!” (You even grabbed my hand today!)

I took a step closer, my voice dropping to an exaggerated whisper.

Ishita: “Chalo, pakad liya toh pakad liya... I mean, it's a very nice hand, so I understand the temptation.”

I made a show of admiring my hand.

Ishita: “Lekin... un dono ke saamne! Ufff!” (But... in front of those two! Ufff!)

I shuddered dramatically.

Ishita: “Aapko nahi pata kya, hamari friendship secret hai?” (Don't you know our friendship is a secret?) “Unhe nahi pata chalna chahiye ki main aap se nahi darti, baakiyon ki tarah!” (They shouldn't find out that I'm not scared of you, unlike everyone else!)

I finished the sentence and started laughing—a clear, unrestrained sound. To prove my point, i drew back of my  small hand and aimed a playful hit at his massive bicep.

Thud.

The impact was negligible for him, but my hand immediately recoiled.

Ishita: “Ouch!” i yelped, rubbing my fingers dramatically, tears almost coming to my eyes from the sheer force of hitting solid Rajput muscle.

Ishita: (Stopping mid-laugh, wincing and grabbing her hand) “Ouch! Hey Bhagwan! (Oh God!) Yeh toh loha hai! (This is iron!)”

I started rubbing my stinging knuckles furiously, still chuckling through the pain.

Rudra: (Finally speaking, his voice deep and completely flat, like he’d been waiting for this exact outcome) “Done?”

Ishita: (Still rubbing her hand, pouting) “No, not done! Rudra Ji, aap steel ke bane ho kya? Bada darr lagta hain aapke muscles se (Are you made of steel? Your muscles look scary big.)”

He then reached out—not quickly this time, but slowly, giving me time to retreat. He gently took the hand that I was rubbing and turned it over in his own. His thumb, large and warm, began to soothe the spot where I had hit him.

Rudra: (His voice dropped, regaining that soft, quiet tone he reserved only for me) “Your secret is safe. Main sab sambhaal lunga. (I will handle everything.) Reet aur Laksh ko lagta hai ki main bahut gusse wala hoon aur meri concentration break ho gayi thi. (Reet and Laksh think I am very angry, and my concentration was broken.) And that I only held your wrist to remind you of professionalism.”

He lifted his eyes from my hand to meet mine, the warmth of his thumb contrasting sharply with the coldness of his words about professionalism.

Rudra: “But you know the real reason, right? You know what breaks my focus.”

He didn't release my hand. Instead, he just kept stroking my sore knuckles with his thumb, completely ignoring the broken boundary of public touch, because they were finally alone.

Ishita: (My heart fluttered. I couldn't keep the drama up anymore) “Haan, I know. Aapko… aapko meri zaroorat hai.” (Yes, I know. You… you need me.)

Rudra: (His grip tightened slightly, his eyes holding mine fiercely) “More than you know, Ishita Sharma. Now, stop hitting me and let’s go home.”

He finally let go of my hand, but not before lifting it briefly, almost reverently, to his lips and pressing a tiny, warm kiss onto my sore knuckles. A secret act. A silent promise.

Ishita: (Still rubbing and laughing at her own misfortune) “Uff, aap toh insaan ho hi nahi. Aap toh patthar ho!” (Uff, you aren't even human. You're stone!)

I watched the entire performance—the accusation, the fake outrage, the failed playful hit, and the subsequent injured drama. I felt a slow, amused resignation settle over me.

Rudra: (I finally spoke, my voice devoid of emotion, though my eyes were warm) “Are you done, Ishita?”

Ishita: “No! I am not done! You broke the rule! You grabbed my hand, and then you lied! Notes ka bahana! Seriously? You, Mr. CEO, using a notes excuse!”

Before I say something she continued

Ishita: (She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up again) “Haan, haan, protocol! That's what you tell yourself. Sach toh yeh hai ki aapko mera haath pakadna achha laga.” (Yes, yes, protocol! The truth is, you liked holding my hand.) “And by the way, agar main itni important asset hoon,” (if I am such an important asset,) “then why are you making me stand here and waste my energy? Open the door, driver.”

I didn't argue. I didn't correct her. She had won the round with her outrageous comedy and her unexpected directness.

I simply walked to the passenger door, opened it for her, and gave her a look that promised consequences later.

Rudra: “Get in, my necessary inefficiency.”

Ishita: (She grinned, satisfied, and slid into the car) “Good. Now that’s a compliment I can work with!”

My cheeks were on fire. That tiny, warm press of his lips felt ten times more intense than the public wrist-grab. He had reduced me to a **blushing, speechless idiot**.

I had to get my composure back. And there was only one way: **attack with noise and drama.**

I settled back into the plush leather seat of the car which was now moving quietly through the dark city streets. I turned to look at him, still seated perfectly straight, the picture of cold royalty.

**Ishita:** (Sighing loudly) “*Yaar*, aapko junk food se problem hai, normal *khana* (food) se problem hai, *chalo theek hai*. But **hansi (laughter) se bhi problem hai kya?** *Haste hi nahin ho!*” (But do you have a problem with laughter too? You never laugh!)

He kept looking straight ahead, his profile sharp and imposing against the city lights.

**Ishita:** “You know what? **Apni friends group mein main funnest hoon!*vo log *Hass hass ke pagal ho jaate hain* (They go crazy laughing) when I’m around! And look at you. *Aur ek aap ho… ek smile bhi nahi!* **Charge karte ho kya hasne ka, haiiinnnn?**” (And then there's you... not even a single smile! Do you charge money to laugh, hmmm?)

Silence. Just the low hum of the car engine.

**Ishita:** (Poking his arm lightly with her index finger, which she immediately regretted, remembering the ‘iron bicep’) “*Aree, bolo na!* **Speak up!** Are you plotting a corporate takeover or just deciding whether to acknowledge my existence?”

He remained silent, the very definition of a **stoic wall**.

**Ishita:** (Throwing her hands up in exaggerated defeat) “**Ufffff!** *Main bhi na… pagal hoon!* (I’m crazy!) **Deewar (wall) se baat kar rahi hoon!**”

I slumped dramatically, making sure my shoulder briefly bumped his.

**Ishita:** “Of course. *Heartless, emotionless man.* They don't have time for jokes, do they? They only deal in billions and boredom.”

I crossed my arms firmly, trying to look incredibly offended.

**Ishita:** “**Fine!** *Mera bhi time zyaada keemti hai.* (My time is also too valuable.) **Main bhi kyun apni energy waste karoon!** I will also remain quiet. *Main bhi chup rahungi.*”

I turned my head pointedly toward the window.

**Ishita:** “*Main*… **nahin, nahin karungi baat!** *Baat hi nahin karungi!* (I will… no, no, I won't talk! I absolutely won't talk!)”

We drove in silence for about thirty seconds. My resolve was already crumbling.

**Ishita:** (Whispering loudly to the window) “*Par aapke muscles sach mein bohot bade hain…* Itni mehnat kyun karte ho? (But your muscles are seriously so big... why do you work so hard?)”

Suddenly, the cold prince shifted. He turned his head fully toward me. The light from a passing streetlight caught his face, and I saw it: **a slow, deliberate, almost imperceptible upturn of his lips.**

It wasn't a smile. It was the **ghost of a smirk**. The kind of look that said, *'I am fully aware of your drama, and I find it ridiculously endearing.'*

**Rudra:** (His voice was surprisingly light, tinged with dry amusement) “**Ishita Sharma, agar main hassunga…** (Ishita Sharma, if I laugh…)”

He paused, letting the tension build.

**Rudra:** “**Toh aapki ‘funniest’ title chhin jayegi.** Aur phir aap chup ho jaogi. *Aur mujhe woh pasand nahi.*” (Then your 'funniest' title will be snatched away. And then you will become quiet. And I don't like that.)

He had just admitted, in his own ridiculously controlled way, that **he liked my noise**. He liked my chaos. He liked my attempts to make him smile.

**Ishita:** (My jaw dropped. I forgot my resolution to be silent) **“What?! You think I’m scared of competition?!”**

**Rudra:** (Turning back to stare ahead, but the smirk was still there) **“No. I think you are a better subject for observation when you are talking.”**

And just like that, the heartless wall had delivered the sweetest, most backhanded compliment, all while reminding me that I was constantly under his **cold, protective scrutiny.**

Ishita: (I threw my hands up in exasperation)

Aap na, chiraand ho puri!"

He paused at a traffic light, turning his head slightly towards me, his ocean-blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

Rudra: (His cold voice was perfectly level) “Chirr what?”

Ishita: “Chiraand,” I repeated, emphasizing the word, puffing out my cheeks

Rudra: “What?” He clearly hadn't heard the strange Hindi word, or perhaps it was so far out of his elite vocabulary that his brain rejected it.

Ishita: (I gave up entirely, sinking dramatically into the leather seat) “Ufff! Nothing, let it be.

Time skip

## **Unconfessed, Yet Closer Than Ever**

Rudra was still the cold tycoon to the world, but to Ishita, he was the man who had learned to listen, and sometimes, to weakly attempt a joke. And Ishita? She was his constant, noisy companion, treating his enormous cabin like her own personal lounge.

---

### 📱 *TEXT CHAT - Late Evening*

**Ishita (typing):**

*Aapne dinner kiya?*

**Rudra (after 1 min):**

*Kiya… thoda sa. Aapne?*

**Ishita:**

*Thoda sa kyu?* 😒

**"Healthy food doesn’t mean starving, Mr. Rathor. Aapki body ko pata bhi hai ki aap ek 'top 5 businessman' ho, ya woh sochti hai aap fasting pe ho?"** (Does your body even know you are a 'top 5 businessman', or does it think you're fasting?)

**Rudra:**

*Main bhi wahi keh raha tha aapse kal… jab aap shoot ke baad bina khaye chale gayi thi.*

**Ishita:**

*Touche.* 😅

*Okay okay, I’ll eat now. Swear.*

**Rudra (typing... then stops... then sends):**

*Pinky promise isn’t valid until you meet me and do it properly.* **"I need concrete, verifiable proof of dietary compliance."**

**Ishita:**

*Oh ho! The CEO needs proof! Fine!* **"Aapko proof mil jayega... but woh Pinky Promise *properly* karne ke liye aapko pehle smile karna padega."** (You'll get proof... but to do that Pinky Promise properly, you'll have to smile first.) 😌

---

### 📞 *CALL - Next Night, 11:47 PM*

*(after a long day of shoot – both tired but still calling each other)*

**Ishita (yawning):**

“Aap soye nahi abhi tak?” **“*Waise bhi, aapki toh alarm clock bhi stock market ki opening bell hogi, so I get it.*”** (Anyway, your alarm clock must be the stock market opening bell, so I get it.)

**Rudra (voice soft, a bit husky):**

“Aap bhi to nahi soyi… bas aapka call ka wait kar raha tha.” **"My alarm clock only rings when I hear your voice, Ishita."**

**Ishita (softly smiles):**

“*Aap jaise log wait nahi karte.* Aapko sab kuch milta hai demand pe.” **“*Main agar aapko demand karoon, toh milega kya?*”** (If I demand you, will I get you?)

**Rudra (after a pause, the depth of his voice catching her):**

“*Mujhe har cheez nahi milti, Ishita.* But if you demand me… perhaps I am the one thing I cannot deny you.”

(Silence between them for 5 seconds—a shared breath of unspoken truth)

**Ishita (quickly changing subject, tapping into her defense mechanism: comedy):**

“Toh aaj aapne kitne logon pe gussa kiya?” **“*Ya, Rudra, be honest, aaj aapne kitne files ko dekhkar sar pe haath maara?*”** (Or, Rudra, be honest, how many files did you look at and hit your head?)

**Rudra (chuckles, a rare, low sound):**

“*Ek bhi nahi. Meri patience improve ho rahi hai... I wonder why.* Perhaps I am learning that some chaos is necessary.”

**Ishita (teasing):**

“Kisi special ke wajah se?” **“*Woh special insaan toh bilkul superwoman hai, jo aapko hansna sikha rahi hai!*”** (That special person is totally a superwoman, who is teaching you how to laugh!)

**Rudra (lower tone, serious):**

“*Shayad. Aur uss special insaan ki awaz mujhe sone nahi deti.*” (Maybe. And that special person's voice doesn't let me sleep.)

---

### 🌅 *Few Days Later – Studio Garden Area – After Rehearsals*

They’re sitting side by side on a bench. Her hand brushes his while adjusting her *dupatta*. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he shifts slightly, reducing the gap between them.

**Ishita (nervously):**

“*Aapko pata hai, pehle mujhe aap se thoda dar lagta tha.*” **“*Aapki aankhein aisi thi jaise abhi fire ho jayega.*”** (Your eyes were like a fire was about to happen.)

**Rudra (smiles, the rare expression melting the cold):**

“Ab bhi lagta hai?”

**Ishita (playfully):**

“*Ab thoda kam.* Aap scary se sweet lagte ho kabhi kabhi.” **“*Jab aap mujhe lemon water dete ho, tab aap Mr. Sweetheart ban jaate ho.*”** (When you give me lemon water, you become Mr. Sweetheart.)

**Rudra:**

“*Bas kabhi kabhi?* I am always sweet when it comes to you.”

**Ishita (shrugs):**

“*Dekhiye na… aap smile bhi rarely karte ho.* Only small, secret smiles.”

**Rudra (turns to her, his gaze steady and intense):**

“*Aap mujhe hasati ho.* But I don't need to smile to feel it. **Your laughter is my smile.**”

She doesn’t say anything, just looks down, biting her lip, hiding a huge, secret smile.

He gently places his hand on hers, interlocking their fingers without saying a word. His palm is warm, rough, and completely consumes her smaller hand. After a moment, she lets her head **lightly lean onto his broad shoulder**. It’s a natural, easy fit.

They don’t look at each other. It’s quiet. Birds chirping. The faint sound of someone packing lights in the distance. They are simply *home*.

---

### ☔ *One Rainy Day — His Car, Outside Her Studio*

She runs into his car, slightly wet, hair a little messy. He holds out his handkerchief. She takes it, laughing.

**Rudra (softly, his voice full of concern):**

“*Aapko baarish mein chalne ka itna shauk hai?* You will catch a cold, Ishita.”

**Ishita (laughs, leaning her head on his shoulder already):**

“*Bachpan se!* Baarish aur Kathak… *dono mein ek hi rhythm hai!* Slow, fast, dramatic! You wouldn't get it, Mr. Spreadsheet.”

He watches her, completely spellbound by the genuine joy and the trusting weight of her head on his shoulder.

**Ishita (playfully, noticing his stare):**

“*Aap aise kya dekh rahe ho?* Do I have *poha* stuck in my hair?”

He swallows. Looks away, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart. Starts the car.

But his hand remains on the gear... and hers rests just beside it. She doesn’t move. Neither does he. **Their fingers touch slightly, a constant, low-voltage connection.**

She closed her eyes, but a moment later, she started humming a cheerful Bollywood tune.

Rudra: (After a full minute of agonizing, perfect silence) “Ishita.”

Ishita: (Muttering) “Shhhh. Statue is sleeping.”

Rudra: “You are singing.”

Ishita: (Lifting her head, looking utterly confused) “Oh, sorry! I forgot I was a silent statue. See, Rudra Ji, my soul has too much rhythm. Aap jaise deewaron (walls) ke liye nahi bani main. (I wasn't made for walls like you.)

I finally allowed myself a small, internal surrender. This woman was impossible. And yet, the warmth of her head resting against me was the most relaxing sensation I had felt in years.

Rudra: (My voice softer than intended) “...Just sing softly then. And don't move your elbows.”

Ishita: (She beamed up at me, a genuine, delighted smile spreading across her face) “Aap toh andar se itne sweet ho! (You are so sweet on the inside!) Thank you, my personal pillow!” She settled back down, humming a quiet melody.

📞 Early Morning Call - Rudra's Office

I was in my twenty-fifth-floor office, reviewing a multi-million dollar proposal. The phone rang. I saw her name. I answered instantly.

Rudra: “Good morning.”

Ishita: (Sounding wide awake and mischievous) “Rudra Ji, aaj toh bohot bada problem ho gaya! (There's a huge problem today!)”

Rudra: (My heart rate instantly accelerated. Instinctive panic over her well-being) “What happened? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

Ishita: (She burst into a fit of laughter) “Arre, ruko, ruko! Chill, Mr. CEO! Nothing serious! I just dreamt about you!”

I leaned back heavily in my chair, trying to control the rush of adrenaline.

Rudra: (My voice was tight with annoyance, covering my relief) “Ishita, that is not a ‘big problem.’ That is a common psychological phenomenon.”

Ishita: “Aap kitne boring ho! (You are so boring!) It was a very important dream! You were trying to laugh, and you needed my help! You were practicing smiles in the mirror, and I had to show you the right way! It was a comedy lesson from Ishita Sharma to the Cold

Prince!”

Rudra: (I couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped me) “I was certainly not. You must have confused me with a character from your show.”

Ishita: “Nahi, nahi! (No, no!) It was you! And you know what the best part was? You had paid me one rupee for the lesson! That’s how cheap you are with your smiles!”

Rudra: (A genuine, visible smirk was definitely on my face now) “If I paid you one rupee for every attempt you made to make me laugh, you would be a billionaire by noon. I am not cheap with smiles, I am discerning. And my dreams are my own.”

Ishita: “Accha? (Oh really?) Then tonight I’ll dream that you are laughing so hard, you fall out of your chair! See you later, Mr. Dream-Boy!”

She disconnected the call, leaving me staring at my phone, the faint echo of my own suppressed laugh still lingering in the quiet, corporate air.

I was falling. Hard. And the only thing keeping me from confessing was the terrifying knowledge that Ishita Sharma deserved a grand, safe love, not the chaos of my heart. But every joke, every lean, every silly text was wearing down my resistance.