[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective–]

I don't hang up.

**I am being awake whole night**, the phone warm against my ear, listening to the precious, steady sound of her sleeping breath. Every inhale, every exhale, is proof that the nightmare did not win, proof that she is safe. The minutes crawl toward morning, but the exhaustion is nothing compared to the relief of knowing she is anchored.

**Rudra** (Inner Monologue): *I can sleep when I am holding her. Until then, I listen. I listen to my **Jaan** breathe.*

My body aches from the lack of sleep and the awkward position, but I force myself to stay alert. **I am just hoping she will be fine till afternoon as he is coming back to her.** My private jet is already scheduled. By afternoon, I will be home, replacing the phone's comfort with my own arms.

The sky outside the hotel window lightens. The clock ticks to 9:00 AM, then 10:00 AM. I hear a slight shift in the breathing, a soft murmur, and then a distinct, gentle sigh. She is waking up.

**Rudra:** (I whisper, my voice thick with exhaustion, love, and relief.) **“**Ishi**? Good morning, **love**.”**

[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective –]

The first thing I register is the light streaming through my window. The second thing is the profound, overwhelming peace in my chest. The nightmare is a distant, impotent memory.

I stretch lazily, then look down at my hand. The blue rose is still clutched against my heart. I slowly lift the phone from my ear, ready to send him a 'Good Morning' text—

And then I look at the screen.

**I saw the phone still connected.** The call timer reads over six hours.

**I got shocked.** A silent, deep gasp escapes me. **I didn’t expect this.** I thought he would listen until I slept and then hang up, catching a few hours of sleep before his intense meetings. But he stayed. He was there, listening to me breathe for the entire night.

Just as the shock registers, a tired, deep whisper comes from the phone.

**Rudra (On Phone):** **“**Ishi**? Good morning, **love**.”**

My eyes instantly fill with fresh tears, but these are tears of pure, fierce emotion.

**Ishita:** (My voice is shaky with surprise and adoration.) **“**Ru**! You… you stayed awake? You were on the phone the whole time? You didn’t sleep?!”**

**Rudra (On Phone, chuckling softly):** **“Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t run away and join a circus, **baacha**. And besides, your breathing is my favorite sound. It's the best alarm clock I've ever had.”**

**Ishita:** **“You are unbelievable, Rudra! You had major meetings! You were tired! Why did you do that, **Ru**?”**

**Rudra (On Phone, his voice turning serious):** **“Because you asked me not to leave, **Jaan**. And I never break a promise to you. Never. Besides, my meetings can wait. My heart cannot. I’m coming home. I’ll be there this afternoon. Now, you get dressed, eat something, and tell me what color lipstick you are wearing when I see you.”**

**Ishita:** **“Ru… I love you so much. I can’t believe you did this.”**

**Rudra (On Phone):** **“Believe it, **love**. It’s the least I can do for the woman who owns my heart. Now, go. And don’t you dare hang up until I tell you to. I need to hear you eat that breakfast, **Ishi**.”**

**I got up and eat breakfast while talking to him**, the phone resting beside my plate. It felt completely surreal and utterly perfect to have the most powerful man in the world essentially on speakerphone while I ate toast and managed my jittery nerves.

**My brother** walked into the kitchen, looking sleepily for coffee.

**Brother:** **“Who are you talking to, Ishi? Early morning calls?”**

**Ishita:** (I smoothly transition, my voice completely professional, thanks to months of practice keeping our **secret**.) **“My assistant, Charlotte. We’re sorting out the inventory for a client booking tomorrow. She always calls at the worst times.”**

**Brother:** **“Oh, okay.”** He grabs his mug and leaves. Crisis averted.

**Rudra (On Phone, a low rumble of amusement):** **“Your assistant Charlotte sounds much better now, **Jaan**. Tell her I approve her organizational skills.”**

**Ishita:** **“Be quiet, **Ru**! You nearly gave me a heart attack. Now finish your drive. Don’t talk and drive.”**

**The she got ready**, putting on a simple denim dress, but making sure my winged liner was sharp—a little armor against the world. I knew **Rudra already drove from there**.

The minutes dragged. I went to my **studio, doing work**, trying to distract myself, but my gaze kept drifting to the window.

**Finally at afternoon**, I hear it. A distinct, low **voice of a horn**—not the loud, aggressive sound of a regular car, but a deliberate, two-short-honk signal I recognized instantly.

**I quickly realized it's him.**

I drop the brush I’m holding. My heart leaps, slamming against my ribs with painful speed. I don't care about the client files, the makeup, or the **secret**.

**I run out of studio**, practically flying through the main doors.

He is standing there, leaning against his sleek black car—no suit, just jeans and a dark shirt, looking beautifully road-worn and exhausted. **I saw him standing there.**

**My eyes full of tears**, hot and sudden, blurring my vision. All the fear from the night, the pain of the rumor, and the sheer, overwhelming relief of his presence washes over me.

**I run to him and jump.**

**He caught her tightly**, effortlessly absorbing my momentum, his arms wrapping around me like a shield. My legs automatically lock around his waist.

I didn't try to speak. I just hid my face in the crook of his neck and **started sobbing at his unconditional love**, clinging to him like my life depended on it.

**Ishita:** (Muffled into his skin.) **“You came back! You didn’t leave! I was so scared, **Ru**!”**

**Rudra:** (His voice is rough, pressing a fierce **kiss on my temple**.) **“Shhh. I’m here, **Ishi**. I told you I would never leave you. I drove like a maniac to get back to my **baacha**. I’m not going anywhere. Look at me, **love**.”**

He pulls back just enough to look at my tear-stained face, wiping the tears away with his bandaged thumb.

**Rudra:** **“Stop crying, my beautiful girl. Look at this face. Does this face look like it would ever leave you? Never, **Jaan**. Never.”**

**It is December now**, the air crisp and cold, but my heart feels warm. **We are again in Gurudwara**, the beautiful marble sparkling under the weak winter sun. I know **he doesn't believe in God still**, but **for me came**—that’s the only faith that matters.

I smooth down the skirt of my **red anarkali suit**. I feel beautiful, dressed up just for him. I applied **soft makeup**, my **long nails** painted a deep maroon. My **long curly hair** is **open**, flowing past my shoulders, and I hear the faint chime of my **payal** and **bangles** with every step I take in my **high heels**.

I finish tying the *dupatta* loosely over my head and walk toward the parking lot.

And there he is.

**He is leaning on his car**, his posture relaxed but commanding. **He is wearing white shirt as always and black pant**, looking impossibly handsome. The sleeves are rolled up, **viny arms visible**, and his **muscular chest peeking from two button undone**—a casual rebellion against corporate stiffness.

**He is leaning on his car with smile only for me.** That smirk, that warmth in his ocean eyes, reserved exclusively for me.

**Rudra:** (He straightens up immediately, his eyes trailing over me.) **“Wow, **Ishi**. You look like a flame in that red. My breath is officially stolen. Again.”**

**Ishita:** (I reach him, my cheeks warm, ignoring the slight wobble of my high heels.) **“Stop staring, **Ru**. People are looking. And I’m glad my devotion makes you appreciate the color palette of life.”**

**Rudra:** **“I’m looking only at my favorite devotee. And trust me, **love**, I appreciate your palette more than anything. I’ll walk with you, but I’ll keep the faith inside the car.”** He gestures to the Gurudwara steps.

**Ishita:** **“You just being here is faith enough for me, **Jaana**. Thank you for coming.”** I reach up and adjust the collar of his shirt, my fingers brushing the warm skin where the buttons are undone. **“You look very good, Mr. Rathor. But try to button up a little, we are in a sacred space.”**

**Rudra:** (He catches my hand, his thumb rubbing my knuckles.) **“I tried, **baacha**. But my heart decided it needed to peek out and remind everyone who it beats for. It doesn't follow button rules. Shall we go?”**

[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective–]

**It is December now**. I hate the cold, and **I don't believe in God still**. But she asked. So, **I came**. I'd walk barefoot over hot coals if she asked.

**I am wearing white shirt as always and black pant**, prioritizing comfort over formal wear since this isn't a board meeting. I rolled up the sleeves, leaving my **viny arms visible**, and intentionally left two buttons of my shirt undone—the **muscular chest peeking** slightly. She loves it, and the small rebellion makes me feel less like the CEO and more like *her* man.

**I am leaning on his car with smile only for her**—the only smile that isn't polite or professional.

I see her walk toward me. She is breathtaking in the **red anarkali suit**, the jingle of her **payal** and **bangles** is the sweetest sound. The **long curly hair open** makes her look soft, untouchable, and mine.

**Rudra:** (I straighten up immediately, my eyes trailing over her.) **“Wow, **Ishi**. You look like a flame in that red. My breath is officially stolen. Again. You wear the color of passion so well.”**

**Ishita:** **“Stop staring, **Ru**. People are looking. And I’m glad my devotion makes you appreciate the color palette of life.”**

**Rudra:** **“I’m looking only at my favorite devotee. And trust me, **love**, I appreciate your palette more than anything. I’ll walk with you, but I’ll keep the faith inside the car. My faith is standing right in front of me.”**

She comes close, touching my shirt. **Ishita:** **“You look very good, Mr. Rathor. But try to button up a little, we are in a sacred space.”**

**Rudra:** (I catch her hand, my thumb rubbing her knuckles, and I lean down slightly.) **“I tried, **baacha**. But my heart decided it needed to peek out and remind everyone who it beats for. It doesn't follow button rules. Besides, **Jaan**, the deepest reverence I feel is for you. Shall we go?”** I gently kiss the top of her head where the *dupatta* rests, a silent nod to her faith.

## 💍 The Unspoken vow

### **[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective – Longer]**

*Gurudwara Sahib | The Wedding Ritual*

**Both of us walk inside**, the air heavy with devotion and the scent of sweet *prasad*. I move towards the entrance ritual where the head coverings are placed.

**I tie a cloth on his head like last time**, smoothing the fabric over his dark hair. My heart swells watching the man who defies all rituals submit to this simple act for me.

**Then we both walk toward Granth Sahib hand in hand**. I feel the warmth of his fingers, a silent anchor in this holy space. I stop, facing the sacred book.

**I fold my hand in prayer and bow down**, closing my eyes, praying for our future, our secret love, and his happiness. When I rise, I sense he’s not beside me.

**He keeps standing there watching me from far**, a shadow of strength against the bright light, respecting my moment of personal faith.

I start the ritual I came for. **I start taking 3 rounds of Granth Sahib**, focusing entirely on the divine words, my eyes closed in sincere devotion.

**I didn't even notice that he started walking behind me**, perfectly silent. During the second round, I feel a gentle, almost imperceptible tug at my back. I am lost in prayer, so I dismiss it.

But when **I stop after the last round**, I feel the tug again, a definite pull. I open my eyes, my breath catching in my throat.

**He bends down till my level**, his ocean eyes intense, his breath warm on my ear.

**Rudra:** **“Congratulations, Mrs. Rathor. You just married a ruthless, emotionless, heartless man… and the most handsome man you know.”**

I quickly look towards him, my eyes wide with shock. And then I realize the full extent of the ritual I missed. **I saw he was holding the edge of my dupatta.** The fabric is twisted around his hand, connecting us. **I realized it's a Punjabi wedding ritual**—the groom following the bride, holding the *pallu*.

**Ishita:** **“Have you lost it, **Ru**?! What are you doing? This is… this is a wedding ritual! We aren't getting married!”** I whisper-hiss, my face burning crimson.

**Rudra:** **“Yes,”** he says, his smirk broadening, his gaze unwavering. **“In love with you. And as far as I'm concerned, these three rounds sealed the deal, **Jaan**. We are married. Now let’s go before you faint from shock, *Mrs. Rathor*.”**

[Rudra Singh Rathor’s Perspective –]

I let her tie the cloth on my head. **I tied cloth on his head like last time**—a small price for the look of pure joy on her face. **Then we both walk toward Granth Sahib hand in hand**, but I stop short. **I keep standing there watching her from far** as she bows, a genuine, profound peace washing over her face.

When **she starts taking 3 rounds of Granth Sahib** with her eyes closed, I realize this is my chance. My chance to claim her in the most sacred way I know, even if it’s a silent ritual known only to us.

**I start walking behind her**, silently following her path. I reach out and gently hook my fingers onto **the edge of her dupatta**, holding the fabric firmly. The traditional knot is formed by her devotion and my action.

**I didn't even notice that he started walking behind me**—the world outside her prayer doesn't exist.

**I stop after the last round**, and I pull the fabric taut, making her pause.

**I bend down till her level**, my voice low, dangerous, and possessive—but laced with complete **love**.

**Rudra:** **“Congratulations, Mrs. Rathor. You just married a ruthless, emotionless, heartless man… and the most handsome man you know.”**

I watch the shock register in her eyes. **She quickly looks towards him** and then down at the shared fabric. **She realized it's a Punjabi wedding ritual**. The moment of truth.

**Ishita:** **“Have you lost it, **Ru**?! What are you doing? This is… this is a wedding ritual! We aren't getting married!”**

**Rudra:** **“Yes,”** I say, closing the distance between our faces until our breaths mingle. **“In love with you, **Jaan**. And as far as I'm concerned, these three rounds sealed the deal. You are my wife. Now stop arguing with your new husband, *Mrs. Rathor*, and let's go get some *prasad*.”**

I quickly distract her, **dragging her toward the *Prasad* area**. I know that look on her face; she’s about to panic about the ritual. **We got the *Prasad* and move ahead toward the shoe area** to retrieve our footwear.

**Ishita:** **“Ru, before—”** she starts.

**Rudra:** (I interject immediately, my gaze locking on hers, pouring reassurance into my voice.) **“I know, **Jaana**. It's our secret. I won't tell anyone about it, promise. Don't stress, **Ishi**. I love you. I won't pressure you for anything, **love**. We move at your pace.”**

Her immediate fear subsides, and she makes her proposition.

**Ishita:** **“Ru, I am just twenty. Just wait two years. Then I will tell my family about us. Then we will marry openly in front of the whole world.”**

The commitment in her voice is worth every lie I have to live until then. I smile, full of **soft love** and patience.

**Rudra:** **“*Humne aapko aapki zindagi dedi, aap do saal ki baat kar rahi hain, Jaana*. I have been yours since the moment you nearly fell on the stairs. Two years is nothing. Don't worry, **baacha**. Take your time. I will be here.”**

**Rudra:** **“But still, from now on, you are my *Biwi Ji*. I claimed you in this sacred space. You are stuck with me now, **Ishi**. That’s my only condition.”**

**Ishita:** (She laughs, and the sound is the only approval I need.) **“Fine, *Biwi Ji* it is. But you better treat your *Biwi Ji* very well, Mr. Rathor. Starting with a very expensive dinner tonight.”**

**Rudra:** **“Done. Anything for my *Biwi Ji*. Let's go make a reservation for two, **love**.”**

[Ishita Sharma’s Perspective – ]

**We go outside, get in the car**, and the cold air hits my cheeks, which are still burning hot. **I am still blushing over that 'he marry' comment**. The image of him clutching my *dupatta* edge during the *parikrama* is permanently etched in my mind, making my stomach flutter wildly.

**He is holding my hand** firmly as he starts the ignition. His touch is grounding, but the memory of his audacity makes me shake my head in disbelief.

**Ishita:** **“Seriously, Rudra, you are crazy. Who even does that? Turning the *parikrama* into a secret wedding ceremony! You are going to give me a complex, *Mr. Rathor*.”**

**Rudra:** (He glances at me, his mouth curved in a lazy, satisfied smile.) **“I do, **Jaan**. The man who is utterly obsessed with you does that. Did you think I would let you walk those sacred rounds alone? My heart was walking with you. I just made the connection official.”**

**Ishita:** **“But it's not official! It's our secret. And what if someone saw? What if Bebe had been there? She would have pulled out the *shagan* money right then and there!”** I nudge him playfully.

**Rudra:** **“Bebe knows, **love**. She just pretends not to. And I am preparing for the real day. This was simply a highly personalized advance ceremony, a down payment on forever. Don't tell me you didn't feel it, **Ishi**.”**

His voice drops lower, more intimate, sending shivers down my spine.

**Ishita:** (I look out the window, trying to gather my composure, but I squeeze his hand tightly.) **“I felt it, **Ru**. It was… sacred. But now I have to call you my husband in my head for two years, and that is going to be incredibly distracting.”**

**Rudra:** **“Good. I like distracting you. Now tell me what my *Biwi Ji* is craving for her first dinner as my wife.”**

The low lighting of the restaurant casts a soft glow on the table, making the wine glasses sparkle. It feels like the most normal, most perfect date, despite the secret ceremony we just had.

**I am having food**—a rich, creamy pasta—but I can’t stop smiling. I look across at him, seeing the casual ease in his posture now that we are alone.

**Ishita:** **“Can you believe it, **Ru**? It’s been half a year. Six months since that clumsy first meeting on the stairs. And five months of this… madness.”** I gesture vaguely between us.

**Rudra:** (He takes a slow sip of wine, his gaze intense.) **“I remember every minute of it, **Ishi**. Especially the way you looked when you almost tumbled right into my arms. I knew that day fate had collided us for a reason.”**

**Ishita:** **“Fate, yes. But love? Five months ago, I was just a makeup artist trying to build her dream, and you were a stone-cold prince who didn't even believe in feelings. We shouldn't work. We are complete opposites.”**

**Rudra:** **“Opposites ignite, **love**. You are the dreamer, and I am the architect. You gave color to my existence. Before you, my life was just high-rise buildings and balance sheets. Now, I have passion. I have you.”** He reaches across the table, his thumb brushing my forearm.

**Ishita:** **“I’m glad I ran into you, then. I was terrified of you at first, you know. You looked so stern and unapproachable. Like a Greek god statue that might punch you if you touched it.”** I giggle, remembering his terrifying initial aura.

**Rudra:** **“I was. I used to be. But you touched the stone, and now I just melt. Happy five months of love, **Biwi Ji**. Thank you for teaching this heartless prince how to feel.”**