### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

Several days had passed since the kiss, days filled with tense, charged glances and highly professional (yet utterly breathless) communications. Rudra hadn't mentioned the kiss, the song, or the weight. He just ensured I wasn't walking alone and sent me extravagant vegan pastries every afternoon.

Then, late one afternoon, he messaged me: *Are you free this evening?*

**Ishita (Text Message):** *Yes. Are you?* (I knew he was free, probably intentionally cleared his schedule.)

**Rudra (Text Message):** *Surprisingly. Let's go somewhere.*

The perfect opening. I had to use this date to normalize our relationship, not formalize it with another five-star dinner.

**Ishita (Text Message):** *Great! We're going to the movies. I need to see the new action flick. Pick me up at 7. Dress casually.*

Predictably, he didn't argue. Rudra Singh Rathor, who probably considered two hours a colossal waste of corporate time, didn't say no to the girl who dared to kiss him.

I spent the next hour getting ready. I chose a sleek, well-fitted pair of dark jeans and a black, off-shoulder top. My hair was pulled back into a high, bouncing ponytail—simple, chic, and completely unlike the heavy ethnic wear he usually saw me in. I perfected my eyeliner and added a bold, deep berry lipstick—a shade that would leave a distinct mark if I got brave again. My long, natural nails were polished a bright red. I was ready.

When he arrived, he was predictably magnificent: a simple dark blue, tailored shirt tucked into perfectly fitted jeans, looking like he stepped straight off a magazine cover, yet still casual.

**Ishita:** **“Ready, Mr. Hulk?”** I greeted him, grabbing my small handbag.

**Rudra:** (He looked me over slowly, his eyes lingering on the lipstick and the high ponytail. A ghost of that stunning smile touched his lips.) **“Always ready for chaos, Ishita. Don’t lean on that heel too much.”**

He offered his arm, and I looped my hand securely through his elbow, fulfilling his strange 'anchor' demand. We walked out of my building, hand in hand, looking like the most mismatched, yet perfectly paired couple in the world.

At the multiplex, he moved through the crowd like a king, his imposing presence clearing a path. He insisted on getting the largest bucket of popcorn and two sodas, even though I knew he wouldn't touch either.

**Rudra:** **“Don't you want the extra-large, Ishita? Your hands are too small to hold the small one, and I don't want you to drop the snacks too.”**

**Ishita:** **“Rudra, I can manage the small one! You just want me to eat more because you think I’m 38 kg!”** I whispered, exasperated, but I let him buy the bucket anyway.

As we walked toward the dark theatre, my arm tucked into his, sharing the weight of the popcorn, I felt a familiar, wonderful sense of belonging. Even in a simple movie theatre, with the smell of butter and stale air, he made me feel like the most important person in the world.

### **[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective

The London call was just a noise. The European merger documents were illegible. My mind was focused on one thing: getting Ishita alone, out of the office, away from the world. I canceled my evening meeting, claiming a sudden, non-negotiable personal engagement.

Her suggestion—the *movies*—was both annoying and brilliant. Annoying because I hadn't voluntarily seen a movie in two decades. Brilliant because it was dark, public yet private, and exactly what she wanted.

I dressed down—for me, that meant premium denim and a high-thread-count shirt. I needed to blend in without losing my protective edge.

When I saw her, I froze slightly. The casual attire and the high ponytail only accentuated her delicate features and the intense focus of her liner. And the lipstick—that bold, dark color was a deliberate challenge. *She remembered the kiss.*

**Rudra:** **“Always ready for chaos, Ishita. Don’t lean on that heel too much.”** I warned, my gaze dropping instantly to the heels supporting her bandaged ankle.

She linked her hand in my arm, and the familiar, satisfying weight of her tiny body against mine immediately calmed the restlessness. We were an anchor to each other.

At the multiplex, the crowd was irritating, but I endured it for her. When she went for the small popcorn, I intervened.

**Rudra:** **“Don't you want the extra-large, Ishita? Your hands are too small to hold the small one, and I don't want you to drop the snacks too.”**

**Ishita:** **“Rudra, I can manage the small one! You just want me to eat more because you think I’m 38 kg!”**

I didn't argue the point. I simply paid for the extra-large bucket, forcing her to hold the massive cardboard container between us, linking us further.

As we entered the theatre, the lights dimmed. I guided her to our reserved seats, settling us into the center. The loud action music started, and I felt her body relax against mine, the side of her hand occasionally brushing my thigh.

I wasn't watching the screen. I was watching her. The way her eyes tracked the action, the quiet gasps, the tiny way she scooped the popcorn.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *This is what happiness feels like. A dark room, loud explosions, and the silent, solid presence of my Jaan next to me.*

I wasn't here for the movie. I was here for the two hours of guaranteed, uninterrupted proximity. And maybe, just maybe, I hoped the darkness would give her the courage to lean over and plant another mark on my cheek.

I shifted slightly, letting my arm rest along the back of her seat, my fingers curling near her shoulder, ready to claim her if the screen got too loud or the hero got too close.

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

The movie was loud, chaotic, and completely captivating. I was lost in the action, occasionally leaning my head lightly on Rudra's shoulder, my hand dipping into the massive popcorn tub.

**Ishita:** **“Wow, the hero’s stunt double is amazing! Look at that jump, Rudra! He’s so fierce!”** I whispered, impressed, slightly shifting my weight and leaning more comfortably against his shoulder.

I felt him tense instantly beneath my cheek. He shifted the popcorn tub slightly, and I heard a barely audible, frustrated sigh.

**Rudra** (Muttering, low enough for only me to hear): **“You praise everyone—the director, the hero’s stunt double, the *lentil emulsion*—but never the man next to you who actually got you here.”**

I bit back a grin. My powerful, cold-hearted billionaire was jealous of a stunt double!

I decided to press the advantage. **Ishita:** **“Well, you’re not jumping off buildings, Rudra. You’re just… sitting here.”** I trailed off, dipping my head back to the screen, focusing on the beautiful heroine crying in the rain.

I could feel him staring at the side of my head, probably brooding over his lack of heroic stunts. He was trying to distract me, I knew it.

Suddenly, I felt him lean slightly toward me and whisper in that deep, dangerously calm voice of his:

**Rudra:** **“That day… when you kissed me before running into your house—why did you do it?”**

My whole system glitched. Movie? Gone. Popcorn? Froze in my fingers. Brain? *Offline.* Heartbeat? *EXTRA.*

I turned to look at him—that classic Rudra face. Calm. Silent. But with those *intense eyes* fixed on me.

**Ishita:** (I nervously smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear and whispering back, trying to deflect.) **“Umm… because I wanted to.”**

His brow lifted, questioning—not satisfied. He didn’t believe the casual tone.

I let out a tiny sigh and turned back to the screen, watching the heroine confess her feelings, ironically.

**Ishita:** (I said softly, my eyes still on the screen but my heart wide open now.) **“Because… you took care of me, Rudra. That day when I twisted my ankle, you picked me up, drove me home, removed my heels like it was nothing… hugged me like it was everything…”**

He didn’t speak. The silence was deafening, powerful.

**Ishita:** **“You always take care of me. Quietly. Strongly. Even when I don’t say anything. Even when I act stubborn. You just… do it all.”** My throat tightened. **“My whole world—sometimes they don’t even bother to ask if I’m okay… And *you*… you just *know.* You feel it, and you’re *there.* Always.”**

My voice cracked slightly at the end. I blinked fast, not wanting to look emotional in a theater, of all places.

But then I turned my face toward him… and he was already looking at me.

### **Rudra Singh Rathore]**

I should’ve been watching the movie. But I was watching *her.*

She was leaning on me, praising the lead actor's **fierce** jumps. *Fierce.* I was sitting right here, protecting her from the crowd, carrying her, guarding her sleep, and she was raving about some sweaty stuntman. The jealousy was ridiculous, childish, and absolutely potent. I needed to divert her attention, claim her focus back.

I leaned in and whispered the question I’d been holding hostage for days: **“That day… when you kissed me before running into your house—why did you do it?”**

She froze. God, she looked cute when she got nervous. Her fingers paused mid-air, the popcorn forgotten. She tried to deflect with a shrug and a smile: **“Umm… because I wanted to.”**

Not enough. Not for me. I needed the truth behind the impulse.

I waited. Didn’t say a word. Just kept watching her until she folded—like she always does when I just stay silent.

And then she spoke. Softly. Sincerely. Vulnerably.

**Ishita:** **“You take care of me. Even when I don’t ask you to.”**

Her words landed like quiet thunder in my chest.

**Ishita:** **“You do what even my world doesn’t. You see me. You feel me. You’re just… there.”**

I swear, no billion-dollar deal ever gave me this feeling. This strange ache in the chest that wasn’t pain—it was a *pull.*

A pull toward this girl who still didn’t know that there’s a **room** in my house filled with *her* face… That every time she looks at me like that, I feel like I’m losing control over everything I once guarded so ruthlessly.

She turned toward me… eyes glassy, but smiling. She didn’t even know what she’d done to me with those words. She had confessed that she needed my care, my quiet protection.

I leaned in again, my breath stirring the loose hairs near her ear, and whispered, **“Do it again.”**

She blinked. **Ishita:** **“Huh?”**

I smirked slightly, the darkness hiding the intensity in my eyes. **Rudra:** **“The kiss. Do it again someday. When you *want to,* not out of gratitude. When you can’t hold it in. I’ll wait.”**

She looked at me like I’d just disarmed her entire universe. She said nothing. Just smiled and turned back to the screen…

But I could feel it. Her heartbeat was louder than the surround noise, vibrating right against my shoulder. The chase was still on, but now, the finish line was a kiss given entirely out of reckless, consuming desire. And I knew I wouldn’t have to wait long.

[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

We stepped out of the theater into the warm night breeze. My mind was still playing that scene from inside—the way he asked about *that kiss*, the way he whispered *"do it again"* like it was nothing, and yet it made everything inside me feel like a firework had gone off.

I needed to lighten the mood… distract myself from the fact that my heart was practically doing *bhangra* in my chest.

So, with a dramatic sigh and my most sassy tone, I said,

**Ishita:** **“Thank God, billionaire *sahab*, you didn’t buy the whole mall just because you felt like it.”**

He turned his head slowly to look at me… that signature smug smirk appearing on his lips.

**Rudra:** **“If you want it, I still can.”**

I immediately gasped, slapped his arm lightly with a glare. **Ishita:** **“No thanks! I don’t want to live in a mall. I’d lose myself in every floor.”**

He chuckled—a deep, resonant sound—and before I could sass him more, he *wrapped his arm around my shoulder.*

Casually. Like it belonged there.

And… maybe it did.

My body instantly leaned into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. The shift in balance was negligible, but the shift in *feeling* was immense. His hand rested heavily, comfortably, securely against the slope of my shoulder.

People passed us by, some even glancing, probably wondering who the brooding billionaire with the soft gaze was… and who this girl was beside him that made him smile like that.

I looked up at him and narrowed my eyes playfully. **Ishita:** **“Don’t smirk like that. You look like you’re plotting something.”**

He looked ahead, still smirking. **Rudra:** **“I always am. Especially when it comes to you.”**

*Oh god.* My cheeks felt warm. This man was impossible. He knew exactly what to say to make my internal security system crash.

**Ishita:** **“Well, stop plotting and start focusing. We need a plan. Budget plan. I need ice cream, and I’m paying. No fancy *gelato emulsion* from the Azure Room. Just a regular cone from the nearest vendor.”**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathore]**

She was walking beside me, talking like always, playing it cool, but her steps were lighter and that glow on her face—priceless. She was talking about my spending habits again.

**Ishita:** **“Thank God, billionaire you didn’t buy the whole mall even though you can.”**

I turned to her, slow. Smirked. She had no idea what kind of power she had when she looked up at me like that and *challenged* me.

**Rudra:** **“If you want… I still can.”**

She rolled her eyes and hit my arm like a kitten swatting a lion. **Ishita:** **“No thanks. I’d get lost in the shoe section forever.”**

She didn’t know I *would* do it. Buy a mall, a street, the whole damn city if it made her laugh like that.

Then—without overthinking—I wrapped my arm around her shoulder. I needed the contact, the constant reassurance that she was physically next to me.

And… she leaned in. Just like that. Like we’d done this forever. Like she *belonged* there. And maybe she did.

She looked up at me like she could read my thoughts and teased, **Ishita:** **“Don’t smirk like that. You look like you’re plotting something.”**

I didn’t deny it. **Rudra:** **“I always am. Especially when it comes to you.”**

She looked ahead, slightly biting her lip. I tightened my hold, gently, protectively, allowing her to feel the solid pressure of my claim.

**Ishita:** **“Well, stop plotting and start focusing. We need a plan. Budget plan. I need ice cream, and I’m paying. No fancy *gelato emulsion* from the Azure Room. Just a regular cone from the nearest vendor.”**

I suppressed the urge to laugh at her 'budget plan.' Her persistence was admirable.

**Rudra:** (I lowered my head, whispering just near her ear, my voice deep and amused.) **“Ice cream now? Or should I buy the vendor too? You know, for efficiency. If you're paying, Ishita, make sure your wallet is ready to process a vendor acquisition.”**

I felt her entire body shake with laughter, full and loud.

God, I loved that sound. It was the sound of my world finally settling into balance.

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

Chocolate ice cream—the universal love of every emotionally overwhelmed twenty-something girl. We were at this cute little stall, and I ordered my usual. He didn’t even blink when I asked for double scoop.

He just paid and stood next to me like my very own personal bouncer-slash-bodyguard-slash-boyfriend-who-refuses-to-admit-it.

**Ishita:** **“You’re not eating?”** I asked, tilting my head toward him, holding out my spoon.

He gave me a look. You know that *I’m-Rudra-Singh-Rathore-and-I-don’t-eat-sugar* look.

But then… he surprised me. He took the spoon I offered him and had *one single spoonful* like it was a rare royal occasion.

**Rudra:** **“Just one,”** he said, handing the spoon back.

**Ishita:** **“Sir, one bite of chocolate won’t destroy your abs.”**

**Rudra:** (He raised a brow, those blue eyes holding a challenge.) **“I’m risking them for you.”**

And then he got a call. Of course. *Mr. Ruthless Businessman never takes a break.*

While he was speaking in that deep, intense voice, probably scaring the life out of someone on the other side, I was happily licking my ice cream, eyes fixed on the melting swirl.

I didn’t even notice those two guys behind me… not until a strong, sudden grip *yanked* me by the waist.

I gasped, nearly dropping my cone. My back hit his chest. Rudra’s arm wrapped protectively around my waist, his voice dropped low—like a warning growl.

I looked behind us and realized what happened. The two guys had been staring, and one of them had been way too close to me. Probably would’ve touched me if Rudra hadn’t seen it.

His eyes blazed. He was ready to *explode.*

But I quickly placed my palm on his chest, feeling the tense rise and fall of his breathing.

**Ishita:** **“Hey… Rudra… It’s okay. I didn’t even notice. Let it go, please?”**

He didn’t speak. Just stared at them—a death glare that could freeze blood.

The guys, visibly shaken, mumbled an apology and disappeared instantly.

**Ishita:** (I looked up at him and whispered again.) **“I’m okay. Really.”**

His jaw was clenched, eyes still on where they had vanished. But slowly, he loosened the grip on my waist. Just a little.

**Ishita:** **“Thank you,”** I whispered softly, leaning my head back against his shoulder. **“You’re always rescuing me.”**

### **[Rudra Singh Rathore’s Perspective]**

I hate public places. Too many people. Too much noise. Too little control.

But she wanted ice cream. Chocolate, obviously.

So here I was… a man who lives on black coffee, protein bars, and power—taking one spoon of sugar because she offered it like it was sacred.

**Rudra:** **“I’m risking them for you.”** I didn't mean my abs. I meant my control.

The call came in—numbers, projections, meetings… but half my mind was still on her, watching her every move.

And then I saw it. Two guys. Eyes where they shouldn’t be. One of them moved too close—hand twitching toward *her*.

*My Ishita.*

Before I could even finish the sentence I was saying on the phone, I pulled her toward me by the waist—hard. She gasped, startled, her ice cream almost falling.

I ended the call without a goodbye, my eyes locked on the boys. I was two seconds away from walking up and ruining their week—maybe their whole year.

Then I felt her hand—soft, small—press against my chest. **Ishita:** **“Rudra… it’s okay. Let it go. Please.”**

That voice. Soothing. Calming. It was the only sound that could pierce the red fog of my rage. I wanted to *destroy*, but she was asking me not to.

I looked at her. Her eyes weren’t scared. Just… gentle. Trying to pull me back to her world.

And slowly, I let go. Not completely. My hand still stayed at her waist. Protectively. Possessively.

**Rudra:** (I lowered my head, my voice still a deep, guttural sound, only for her.) **“Next time, I’ll break their hands.”**

She didn't protest. She just leaned her head slightly back against my shoulder and whispered the counter-threat.

**Ishita:** **“Next time, I’ll hit them with my heels.”**

A slow, genuine smile finally started to form. *My wild, chaotic girl.* She was fierce even when scared.

**Rudra:** (My voice was soft now, the storm completely receding.) **“You’re wearing my favorite lipstick, *Jaan*. It would be a shame to waste it on some street thugs.”**

I tightened my hand on her waist one last time, rubbing my thumb gently against her hip. **Rudra:** **“Now finish your ice cream. And then we are going home. I've had enough of public places for the decade.”**

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

We started walking… But his hand didn’t leave my **waist**. Not even for a second.

It wasn’t like before—casual or gentle. This was something *else*. Firm. Possessive. A little rough around the edges… almost like he was afraid I’d slip away if he loosened his grip.

I didn’t say anything. Because honestly, I didn’t *want* him to let go either. The residual fear of the close call was instantly replaced by the overwhelming security of his presence.

The street was quiet now, just a few neon lights flickering, my chocolate ice cream half-melted in my hand.

And then, without a word, he leaned down… His lips brushed my bare shoulder—soft, warm… But filled with something deeper. A silent storm trying to calm itself, seeking an anchor.

I froze for a second. My heartbeat… *god*... it skipped. Maybe two beats.

He kissed me. Not on lips. Not dramatically. Just one kiss on my shoulder—right over my skin—and I let him. No teasing, no jokes, nothing. Just me letting him be close… because I knew he needed that moment to reaffirm his control, his protection.

My fingers subtly slid to hold the edge of his shirt near his waist, offering quiet comfort.

**Ishita:** **“You okay now?”** I asked quietly, my voice a soothing murmur.

He didn't answer. He just tightened his arm slightly, pulling me closer into his side as we walked. He was still radiating intensity, but the destructive rage was muffled, contained. I knew I was his focus, his anchor, his peace.

But what I didn’t know—at least *then*—was that while I was trying to keep him calm, he had *already* set fire behind the scenes.

### **[: Rudra Singh Rathore]**

She didn’t even push me away. Not when I kissed her shoulder. Not when I held her tighter than I ever had before.

That one moment—her letting me kiss her skin, feeling her warmth, her acceptance—without questions, without fear… That was *everything*. It was permission. It was a lifeline.

But the fire? It didn’t die. It just turned colder, more focused. The anger morphed into icy, ruthless resolve.

My left hand was holding her, claiming her **waist**. My right hand? Already typing a message to *Laksh*, my head turned slightly so Ishita couldn't see the screen.

**Rudra (Text Message):** *Find them.*

**Rudra (Text Message):** *No noise. No warnings.*

**Rudra (Text Message):** *Show them who Rudra Singh Rathore becomes when someone touches his girl. I want fear in their bones, Laksh. My worst side. No less.*

Laksh replied within seconds. *“Understood. Already tracking. Consider it done."*

I didn’t have to say more. Laksh had known me long enough to understand: this wasn’t just anger. This was **possession**. And when it came to *her*, I had no limits.

Meanwhile, I could feel her fingers playing with the hem of my shirt… Not realizing the chaos I’d just unleashed for her safety. For *touching what was mine*, they were going to remember this night for the rest of their lives.

**Ishita:** **“You okay now?”** she asked softly.

I glanced down at her. She didn’t know it—but her voice, her touch, her calmness… they were the only reasons I hadn’t already walked over and broken bones myself.

I gave a slight nod. Still silent. Still furious. The tension in my jaw was excruciating, but she was leaning against me.

*Rudra: I can breathe now.*

I held her closer, my feet moving toward the car. It was time to get my *jaan* back into a controlled, locked environment where no one could touch her without my express, deadly permission. Because she was beside me. Because I had claimed her—even if not in words yet—and she *let* me.

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective]**

We got into the car… The door shut behind me with a soft click, but inside—the silence was loud. The ambient lighting of the dashboard illuminated the tension radiating off him.

His fingers wrapped around mine, tightly. Too tightly. Even when he started the engine, he didn’t let go of my hand. His jaw was clenched. Eyes forward. And that vein near his temple—*god*, it was popping again. A clear sign he was still *furious*.

All because of what happened back there—because some stupid boys *almost* touched me.

I squeezed his hand softly.

**Ishita:** **“Rudra…”** I whispered, turning my body slightly toward him, **“Calm down, please.”**

He didn’t respond. His gaze was still fixed on the road ahead, even though the car wasn’t moving yet. His silence was deafening, a palpable threat.

So I leaned closer. So close I could feel his breath on my cheek, his scent—that mix of expensive cologne and something that was just… *him*.

And then, gently, slowly—I kissed his forehead. Pressed my lips right against that angry, tense space between his brows, the source of his current storm.

I felt him breathe. A deep, involuntary exhale, the sound ragged.

**Ishita:** **“Please don’t carry this kind of fire inside you all the time,”** I whispered, pulling back just slightly. **“You already carry so much, Rudra… You don’t need to burn for me too.”**

I kept my hand on his shoulder, needing him to feel my presence, my calming intention. I wanted him to understand that his protection was my greatest comfort, not another burden he had to carry in fury.

### [ Rudra Singh Rathore]**

My hand wouldn’t let go of hers. Not even when I should’ve been shifting gears or checking mirrors.

Because that anger… It was still *alive*. It was still *there*—curling, burning, ready to break something, someone.

I wasn’t angry because they looked. I was angry because someone *dared* to get that close. To *her*. To *my girl*. Whether she’d said it or not… she *was* mine.

And then, she said it—*so softly* it cracked something inside me. **Ishita:** **“Rudra… Calm down, please.”**

I didn’t turn. I couldn’t. One glance at her and my control would snap again, focusing on the external threat rather than the peaceful woman beside me.

But she leaned in… And when her lips touched my **forehead**—just one kiss—something *melted*. That storm inside me? It **paused**. The agonizing tension in my muscles began a slow, hesitant retreat.

No one had ever done that. No one had ever calmed me like that. Not with anger. Not with logic. Not with fear. But *her*? With just one kiss and a few trembling words, she pulled me back.

I slowly looked at her. Her eyes were full of concern, not fear. Not judgment. Just care—warm, selfless care I didn’t deserve.

**Ishita:** **“You already carry so much, Rudra… You don’t need to burn for me too,”** she said.

I stared at her. I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. Those words were a profound acknowledgment of the burdens I carried, and they were heartbreakingly gentle.

Instead, I slowly lifted our joined hands and brought them to my lips. I kissed the back of her hand—softly. Without heat. Just… *thanks*.

Then I rested my forehead against hers, closing my eyes, letting her cool, sweet scent wash over the last remnants of my fury.

**Rudra:** **“I’ll burn for you,”** I whispered, my voice raw and deep with absolute devotion, **“*again and again*… and I’ll never complain.”**

I pulled back, finally releasing her hand long enough to place the car in gear. I wasn't calm, not fully. But I was contained. And I was driving us home.

**Rudra:** **“Next time, I’m buying a private beach for our date. No public places. Ever again.”**