[Ishita Sharma's Perspective -]

It has **been months** since that frantic lunch in the CEO's cabin and the sweet introduction to Bebe. Time had flown, marked by countless late-night calls, early morning texts, and stolen afternoons. Our **love** for each other had grown deep and settled, a quiet, fierce constant.

Rudra was a man of grand gestures, yet our relationship was still a secret, hidden behind the walls of his massive wealth and my small, independent life.

I looked down at the delicate silver *kada* (bracelet) on my wrist-one of his many **soft gifts**. He gifted me simple, beautiful things that spoke volumes without announcing anything to the world.

Our connection was intense. We **met** several times a week, always in private spaces-his penthouse, a secluded art gallery, or the back of his massive car. We **talked on text and on calls** constantly, sharing everything from my B.Ed. stress to his billion-dollar decisions. I had even managed to **shoot several of our spontaneous videos**-candid clips of us laughing or simply existing together, memories only for us.

**We love each other a lot**, that was undeniable. Yet, we had a strict rule: we **never cross the line to kiss on the lips**. Rudra was fiercely respectful, insisting that when that moment came, it would be perfect, private, and permanent.

**Ishita** (Inner Monologue): *Only Bebe, Laksh, and a few of his stone-faced bodyguards know. We **keep it hidden** from the world because Rudra insists I'm too young for his volatile world, and I agree. Twenty is nothing next to an empire.*

My phone buzzed with his name.

**Rudra** (Text): *The meeting is over. I escaped the board early. Get ready. We are going to a place where no one can look at my queen but me.*

I quickly typed back.

**Ishita** (Text): *I'm already in my pajamas, President Sir. Too late. Tell me where we are going.*

The phone rang immediately.

**Rudra:** (His voice, husky and demanding, came through the speaker.) **"Pajamas are not an excuse, **Jaana**. I am standing outside your building. Get dressed in five minutes. We are going to my private yacht. We need to discuss your B.Ed. college options far away from the city noise."**

**Ishita:** **"The yacht? Rudra, seriously? Just for college applications? That is insane! And I need more than five minutes, my hair is a mess!"**

**Rudra:** **"You have exactly seven minutes, **Ishi**. Your messy hair is my favorite distraction. Hurry up. The sea is waiting for us."**

[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective -]

**Months.** It had **been months** of controlled proximity, of holding her fiercely in my arms while stopping short of the one line I refused to cross until I could place a ring on her finger. My **love** was a consuming fire, held in check by my resolve to protect her.

I leaned against the hood of my car, ignoring the curious stares of the neighbors. My life was a meticulously planned operation, but she was the glorious, beautiful glitch in the system.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *She's **just 20**. The world of hostile takeovers, paparazzi, and corporate jealousy is too dirty for her. I won't risk her peace yet. She needs to grow her confidence and career first. The world will know she is mine, but on my terms.*

Laksh was already briefed. Bebe was already asking when the wedding *lagna* (auspicious time) would be set. The only one left out was the world itself.

I saw her text about the pajamas and immediately called.

**Rudra:** **"Pajamas are not an excuse, **Jaana**. I am standing outside your building. Get dressed in five minutes. We are going to my private yacht. We need to discuss your B.Ed. college options far away from the city noise."**

**Ishita:** **"The yacht? Rudra, seriously? Just for college applications? That is insane! And I need more than five minutes, my hair is a mess!"**

**Rudra:** **"You have exactly seven minutes, **Ishi**. Your messy hair is my favorite distraction. Hurry up. The sea is waiting for us."**

I couldn't wait any longer. I opened the car door, ready to march up and drag her out myself.

**Rudra:** (I spoke into the phone, my voice dropping to a low purr.) **"Look, **Jaana**. I spent the last three hours being serious. I need to see you smile. I need to feel your arms around me. Seven minutes. Or I'm coming up."**

I hung up, a small, predatory smile on my face. She would be down in five.

[Ishita Sharma's Perspective -]

Rudra's threat was real. Knowing he would actually come upstairs and cause a scandal, I moved at lightning speed.

I threw on a simple white top and jeans, grabbed a light jacket, and scrambled to tame my long, curly hair.

**Brother:** (From the living room.) **"*Arey!* Ishita! *Kahan jaa rahi hai*? *Marathon mein jaa rahi hai kya* (Where are you going? Are you running a marathon)?"**

**Ishita:** (I shouted back, already near the door.) **"Yes! Friends! Late for a shoot! Bye!"** I lied quickly and slammed the door behind me.

I **walked out of the house** and down the stairs, still a complete mess. My hair was partially **tied in my mouth**-the fastest way to secure it-while my **fingers frantically tried to untangle** the thick coils of my **light brown curly hair**.

I saw him standing by the open car door, looking impossibly composed in his suit. He saw my chaotic state and a large, indulgent **smile** stretched across his face, the kind he reserved only for me.

He opened the car door further, ready for the inevitable rant. I slid inside, pulling the hair tie from my mouth and tossing it onto the passenger seat.

**Ishita:** (I started immediately, still breathing heavily from the rush.) **"Rudra! Seriously! **Delhi mein sea *kahan se aa gaya* (Where did the sea come from in Delhi)? And a yacht, **seriously**? Are we driving all the way to Mumbai right now? You know my shoot is early tomorrow! This is insane! Why can't we just discuss my B.Ed. forms at a coffee shop like normal people?"**

I glared at him, pulling the seatbelt across my chest.

**Ishita:** **"And what if someone saw your car? This is a busy neighborhood, Ru! Our secret is going to be over before I even file my final application!"**

[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective -]

I watched her descent-a whirlwind of messy curls, slight exasperation, and hurried beauty. She looked like a baby rushing to catch her favorite ride, and my heart swelled.

I waited patiently, leaning back in my seat, a small **smile** of pure contentment on my face. This was better than any meeting.

As expected, the **rant started** the moment she buckled up.

**Rudra:** (I waited for her to pause for breath, then gently reached out and smoothed the hair on her temple.) **"Relax, **Jaana**. You're safe now. And your hair looks magnificent, by the way. Chaos suits you."**

**Rudra:** **"Regarding the sea: We are not driving to Mumbai. You forget I own things. Delhi doesn't have a sea, but it has the Yamuna River, and the *yacht* is at my private dock at the edge of the city, only thirty minutes away. It is small, fast, and completely secure. It's the only place where I can guarantee absolute, total privacy."**

I started the engine, pulling away smoothly.

**Rudra:** **"And we are going there precisely because I refuse to discuss the most important thing in your life-your future-in a crowded coffee shop with stale pastries. Tonight is about us, **Ishi**. The yacht, the stars, the quiet. Now, tell me, did your brother really think you were running a marathon?"**

**Rudra:** **"And please don't worry about the secret. No one is looking at my car right now. Everyone here is asleep, except the man who cannot sleep without seeing your face."**

[Ishita Sharma's Perspective]

Rudra's explanations calmed my panic, and the deep, possessive love in his voice melted away my stress. The chaos of the start was replaced by the serene privacy of his car.

As he started **driving**, smoothly navigating the late-night traffic, I gave in to the deep comfort he offered.

I **turned toward him**, shifting my body closer to his. I **wrapped my arms around his bicep**, feeling the solid, familiar strength beneath the expensive suit fabric. I **leaned my head onto his shoulder**, resting my **chin on his shoulder** so I could be perfectly positioned.

From this vantage point, I was **staring at his side face**-the sharp, classical features of the cold-hearted prince. The precise line of his jaw, the slight shadow of stubble, the concentration in his ocean blue eyes as they monitored the road.

I spent the next few minutes simply **admiring him**, lost in the quiet realization: *How much he love me.*

**Ishita** (Inner Monologue): *This man-the man who can buy and sell cities-is taking me on a private yacht on a Monday night, not for business, but just to talk about my future. He is cold and heartless to the world, but with me, he is gentle, protective, and intensely loyal. He loves me so much he is willing to hide me, not out of shame, but out of protection. I am truly the only exception to his ruthless existence.*

I tightened my hold on his arm, pressing a soft kiss to the fabric covering his bicep. I couldn't articulate the depth of my feelings, so I just whispered.

**Ishita:** **"Thank you, Ru. I know I'm dramatic, but thank you for doing this. This is better than any coffee shop."**

[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective -]

I felt the immediate shift in her body language. The tension left her, and she settled in, claiming her spot. She **wrapped her arms around my bicep**-the familiar, light weight instantly grounding me-and **leaned her head onto my shoulder**.

I kept one hand steady on the wheel, while the muscles in my arm instinctively tensed, relishing the feeling of her **staring at my side face** and her chin resting near my neck.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *This is the only place I can truly relax. She has no idea how much I rely on this quiet presence. She thinks I am protecting her from my world, but often, she is protecting me from it. Her presence here is proof that I am not just the cold, emotionless businessman; I am hers.*

I didn't turn my head, but I reached my free hand over and gently covered her hand where it rested on my bicep, linking our fingers together.

**Rudra:** **"Don't you ever apologize for being dramatic, **Jaana**. That's part of your charm. And yes, I assure you, my yacht serves better coffee than any coffee shop in Delhi. We deserve better than stale pastries."**

I squeezed her hand. **Rudra:** **"Now, stop looking at my face. Tell me about your B.Ed. subjects. We have to decide between History and English literature. Which one is going to bore you less?"**

[Ishita Sharma's Perspective -]

I pulled away slightly from his shoulder and launched into the topic of her future.

**Ishita:** **"Any subject but not History, Ru! Seriously. I can't look at dates and dead kings for five years. I'll take anything-Geography, Hindi, even Sociology-but no History."**

He chuckled at my immediate refusal, and soon, we reached his private dock. The **yacht** was sleek, modern, and utterly luxurious, bobbing gently on the calm river. It felt like stepping onto a floating oasis, miles away from the city's noise.

We had a lovely **dinner there**-freshly cooked light Italian food, of course, because even on a yacht, Rudra maintained some standards.

After dinner, we settled on a plush seating area, with the city lights twinkling in the distance. He had spread out my **B.Ed. form** and several university prospectuses. I picked up a pen and **started filling the form**.

I was concentrating hard on the 'Optional Subjects' section when I felt the world shift.

Without a word, he **pulled me onto his lap**, settling me comfortably against his chest. I gasped softly, the pen dropping onto the form.

He immediately **snuggled into my neck**, burying his face in the curve of my shoulder, his breathing warm and deep against my skin. The sudden intimacy made me **damn shy and blushing** fiercely.

**Ishita:** (I whispered, trying to sound stern, though my voice was shaky.) **"Rudra! The form! We are supposed to be serious! And what if someone-"**

**Rudra:** (Muffled against my skin.) **"No one is here but us, **Jaana**. And I needed a study break. You're sitting too far away. Now continue, I am just enjoying the view."**

I tried to focus on the form, but I was utterly distracted. My black crop top meant my waist was exposed, and I felt his fingers gently exploring the smooth skin just below the hem. I started **tracing the lines of my waist** with my own fingers, a nervous, involuntary gesture.

**Rudra:** (He lifted his head just enough to look at the exposed skin, his eyes darkening. He started **flirting** in a low, husky voice.) **"You know, I love this top. It gives me easy access to my favorite part of the scenery. Your skin is softer than silk, **Ishi**. Are you even real? Or are you just a beautiful distraction sent by the universe to ruin my corporate focus?"**

I could barely breathe, my heart hammering against my ribs.

**Ishita:** **"R-Rudra, stop saying such cheesy things! You're distracting me! How am I supposed to select my pedagogy subjects when you're... you're right here?"**

[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective -]

She was arguing against History with the passion she usually reserved for *paneer tikka*. I knew she'd choose something chaotic and interesting.

After the elegant dinner, watching her concentrate on the B.Ed. form was almost painful. She looked small, serious, and utterly desirable. My restraint snapped.

I didn't ask. I simply **pulled her onto my lap**, one arm secure around her back, the other resting possessively on her thigh. I immediately **snuggled into her neck**, inhaling her scent-jasmine and something uniquely, sweetly Ishita.

**Rudra:** **"No one is here but us, **Jaana**. And I needed a study break. You're sitting too far away. Now continue, I am just enjoying the view."**

I noticed her black **crop top** and the vulnerable strip of exposed skin. I let my fingers drift down and gently **traced her waistline**, savoring the softness. I felt her shiver and tense, her **blush** radiating heat.

**Rudra:** (I lifted my head slightly, my voice rich and deep, letting the **flirting** flow.) **"You know, I love this top. It gives me easy access to my favorite part of the scenery. Your skin is softer than silk, **Ishi**. Are you even real? Or are you just a beautiful distraction sent by the universe to ruin my corporate focus?"**

I saw her struggle to maintain her composure, trying to push away the overwhelming **shyness**.

**Rudra:** (I kissed the soft skin just behind her ear.) **"Don't blush, love. You are exquisite. And if you don't choose those pedagogy subjects soon, I will assume you want me to choose them for you. And I might choose something highly inconvenient, like... Advanced International Kissing Techniques."**

[Ishita Sharma's Perspective -]

No matter how packed our days get, no matter how chaotic work becomes - **we make time**.

Even if it's 20 minutes. Even if it's just a drive from the studio to my building.

He *makes* time.

To pick me up from my studio after long hours.

To scold me when I skip meals (always reminding me of Bebe's promise).

To wait outside even if I'm running late... again.

We sit in the car, windows down, wind blowing, and **we *sing***.

Yes, sing.

Not like professionals, but like people who don't care about how they sound because they're too busy *feeling*.

He knows the lyrics to old Hindi songs - surprisingly well, especially the sad ones - and sometimes I catch him humming **Lata Mangeshkar** lines under his breath while I fill in the next verse. We **sing quite well** together, our voices finding an effortless harmony.

There's something so *real* about it.

Sometimes he plays with my fingers while driving - softly tracing my **long nails** or gently circling his thumb over my wrist.

Sometimes he just listens while I talk nonsense about makeup trends and lipstick shades.

And sometimes we don't talk at all.

We **don't need to**.

Our silence is full of **understanding**-a secret language. Like,

> "I had a bad day,"

> "I'm tired,"

> "I missed you."

- all hidden in just a look, a sigh, or the way he holds my hand tighter at a red light.

Yes, I make reels.

Cute, silly, aesthetic ones.

Us singing.

Him pouting while I put lip gloss on him for a joke.

Or him sneaking glances at me while I fix my *dupatta*.

But I **never post them**.

They're *ours*.

Private memories, **save for uss**, kept for quiet nights and soft smiles.

One time, while clicking his picture, I whispered,

> "I love your eyes more than I love you, Rudra. So, **keep them safe. At any cost.** No matter what."

He didn't reply with words.

He just... leaned over and **kissed my hand**. A firm, silent vow.

---

Yes, we kiss.

**Cheeks**.

**Forehead**.

**Hands**.

But **never lips**.

Not because we don't want to.

God knows, *we do*.

Sometimes I catch him staring at my lips too long, swallowing hard, brushing his thumb near the corner of my mouth before pulling away.

But he never crosses the line.

Never forces.

Never rushes.

Instead... he just **kisses my forehead**.

Every single time.

And I know - it's his way of saying,

> "I want to. But you matter more than my want. I won't make you feel **uncomfortable**."

And honestly?

That kind of love?

That respect?

It's *everything*.

[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective -]

No matter how many calls I have.

No matter how many contracts Laksh screams about - I *find* time for her.

Because those 20 minutes driving her home?

They *calm* me more than any spa, any vacation, any deal I ever signed.

We **sing**.

God - I never thought I'd sing for anyone.

But when she starts, I can't help it. My voice, usually reserved for commands, finds an ease it never knew.

Her voice makes me *feel*.

Not like a CEO.

Not like a billionaire.

Not like Rudra Singh Rathor.

Just like... a man.

Falling.

Every damn day.

She's effortless.

She talks about makeup like she's narrating poetry.

And when she sings that line from "Lag Ja Gale" and holds my hand - I swear, I forget how to breathe. **We both sing good**, but her voice is the only melody I need.

Sometimes she tells me,

> "Don't look at me like that, Rudra."

But how do I explain?

How do I tell her that just her sitting beside me, in her oversized *kurti* with smudged lipstick and tired eyes, is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen?

She once said she **love my eyes more than I love you**.

I laughed. But that sentence never left me.

So now I wear protective glasses while working out. I skip contact lenses when I'm tired.

Because if my eyes are her favorite, I'll **protect them like they're sacred**. She asked me to **keep them safe at any coast**. I will.

---

We've **never kissed on the lips**.

Not because I don't want to.

Because I *do*. **Badly**.

So much it aches sometimes.

When she leans on my shoulder.

When she pouts without realizing.

When she wipes her lipstick in the mirror, and I just stand there...

Waiting. Wanting. *Controlling*.

I can feel the heat of her desire too, the way she clings to me. But I promised myself-I'll never let my desire overstep her **comfort**.

So I kiss her **forehead**.

Her **cheeks**.

Her **palms**.

And every time I do, I feel her heartbeat soften.

I see her eyes flutter closed.

And I know I'm doing it right.

Because this love?

This isn't about *getting*.

This is about *giving*.

And I'll give her all the time, space, and respect she needs - until *she's ready*.

Because when she finally says,

> "Now,"

> I want it to be perfect.

> *Sacred.*

> Just like her.

[Ishita Sharma's Perspective -]

The world outside could burn; I didn't care. Today was our private luxury: a **day off for both of us**.

I was **sitting on his lap** on the huge, comfortable sofa, completely at ease. My back was resting against his chest, and his large, strong arms were wrapped around me, reaching forward to hold the antique wooden guitar.

He was teaching me chords-or at least, trying to. It was less about learning music and more about the incredible **closeness**. My left hand was struggling with the fretboard while his hand covered mine, guiding my small fingers. Our **one hand, fingers attached with strings**, was a beautiful tangle.

He started **singing** softly, his deep, resonant voice vibrating through my back, right into my heart.

**Rudra:** (Singing softly, his breath tickling my ear.)

> "*Main ta tere naal hi rehna ji,*

> *Har gam sang tere sehna ji,*

> *Jo jag se kaha na jaye,*

> *Bas tujhse khena ji, Ooooooo..."*

I melted into the beautiful declaration of staying with him forever. He continued, his voice full of the quiet passion he never showed the world.

**Rudra:** (Singing.)

> *"Ishq ka rang safed piya,*

> *Na chal na kapat na bhed piya,*

> *Sau rang mile tu ek varga,*

> *Phir aatish ho ya ret piya, ret piya...*

> *Jiss jang mein tera ho rutba,*

> *Uss jang mein toh junoon-e-dil, junoon-e-dil...*"

He paused, nudging me gently to take the next lines-my favorite part. I took a deep breath, focusing on hitting the notes clearly, feeling his warmth surround me.

**Ishita:** (Singing my lines, eyes closed, letting the words flow.)

> *"Mai lakh sambhal ke maani,*

> *Tu nadiya aur main paani,*

> *Ek tujhme hi behne ka rasta...*

> *Sau baar samjh ke jaani,*

> *Mera qissa teri kahani,*

> *Jo jud jaaye toh mukammal vaasta... Hoo...*

> *Phir se mujhe ek dafaa hai bas tujhe dekha...*

> *Sona sona, itna bhi kaise tu sona?*

> *Tere ishq mein jogi hona hai menu jogi hona...*"

I opened my eyes, the high notes finished. He didn't move. He was staring down at the strings, but I could feel the intensity of his gaze.

I finished the chorus for him, feeling the lyrics-*My path only leads to flowing into you*-ring true.

**Ishita:** (Singing softly, my voice filled with love.)

> *"Main ta tere naal hi rehna ji,*

> *Har gam sang tere sehna ji,*

> *Jo jag se kaha na jaye,*

> *Voh mujhko bas tujhse khena ji..."*

I stopped, resting my cheek against his shoulder. The sound of the last string fading was the only noise.

**Ishita:** (I whispered, turning my head to look at his sharp profile.) **"See? We sound perfect. That's because my water is meant to flow into your river, Mr. Rathor. That's destiny."**

[Rudra Singh Rathor's Perspective ]

She was on my lap, her soft weight a constant comfort. The guitar lesson was a farce; it was an excuse to hold her and feel her presence against me. Her tiny, warm fingers fumbling with the strings, guided by mine-it was the purest form of **closeness**.

I sang the lines, focusing on the lyrics, letting the words I usually kept locked down pour out through the melody.

**Rudra:** (Singing.)

> *"Ishq ka rang safed piya...*"

> *(Love's color is white, no deceit, no mystery.)*

I felt her sing her lines, the emotion in her voice nearly cracking my composure. When she sang the part about *nadiya aur main paani* (*you are the river and I am the water*), my jaw clenched. She was the one who taught me how to flow.

She finished, the sound of the guitar fading. I kept my arms locked around her, unwilling to break the moment.

**Ishita:** (She whispered.) **"Thank you, Ru. I know I'm dramatic, but thank you for doing this. This is better than any coffee shop."**

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *This is what I live for. This intimacy. This music. This girl.*

I finally spoke, my voice low and thick, right next to her ear.

**Rudra:** **"You said we sound perfect, **Jaana**. And you are right. But your voice... it steals the last bit of air I have left. You are my undoing, **Ishi**."**

I gently lifted the guitar away and set it on the floor. I turned on the sofa so I was facing her, my hands moving to cup her face gently. Her cheeks were flushed, still glowing from the song and the proximity.

**Rudra:** **"We have been together for months. We have sung together, argued over *pakoras*, survived Bebe's judgment, and filed your complicated forms. I know every curve of your spine, every messy curl, every shade of your jealousy."**

I leaned in, my gaze fixed on her mouth, the line I always stopped at. My thumb brushed lightly, involuntarily, over her lower lip.

**Rudra:** **"But after a song like that... where you promised me forever, Ishita. Where you admitted that your story is my story..."**

I pulled back slightly, forcing my gaze to her forehead, the familiar, safe harbor. My breath hitched, the desire a sharp, painful ache.

**Rudra:** **"Tell me, **Ishi**. After all these months... do you still feel uncomfortable? Because I swear, if you gave me the slightest permission now, I wouldn't stop until morning. But it has to be your choice. Always."**

I searched her eyes, waiting for the word, the nod, the slight movement that would tell me I could finally cross the line.