Rudra’s Perspective:

I had successfully steered **Ishita** away from the gaze of the Mehendi tent, her hands encased in drying paste—a temporary, beautiful handicap that only amplified my protective instincts and, frankly, my possessiveness.

We were back in the quiet isolation of the room she were sharing with **Ahana** (who was, thankfully, still out mingling). I closed the door, cutting off the festive noise from the lawn.

I didn't waste time. I turned to **Ishita**, who stood stiffly, holding her precious hands carefully away from everything.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low, laced with the rough, seductive edge of the **tycoon** who always takes what he wants.) "Look at you, **Jaana**. Helpless. Unable to push me away, unable to ruin my shirt, unable to even feed yourself. This is the dependence I crave."

She glared at me, her **brown eyes** wide, but the fire was undermined by the clear need in her gaze.

**Ishita:** (She tried to sound stern, but her voice was breathless, the scolding weak.) "**Rudra**! Stop being ridiculous! This is not 'dependence'; this is a cultural tradition! And I will feed myself with my left hand, thank you! Now, sit down. You need to tell me about the meeting with the Malaysian investors tomorrow."

Her attempt to pivot to business was, predictably, a failure. I moved closer, trapping her against the heavy wooden door, my hands sliding under her elbow  careful not to smudge the intricate design that held my name.

**Rudra:** (I lowered my head, my breath warm against her ear, my **shameless romance** in full display.) "I can discuss investors later. Right now, I need to know that you are safe, satisfied, and that you acknowledge the full weight of my claim. The **Haldi** yesterday, the **Mehendi** today... these are just formalities. This," I whispered, my lips brushing the sensitive curve of her neck, "is the *real* ceremony."

I began placing a series of **seductive, slow kisses** along the sensitive junction of her neck and shoulder. I was deliberately gentle, yet insistent, a stark contrast to my usual hurried demands, wanting to draw out her pleasure.

**Ishita:** (She let out a soft moan, her head falling back against the door as she struggled to maintain composure, her **scolding** fading into a plea.) "**Ru!** Stop! I mean it! If anyone walks in—Ahana, or worse, your mother!—they will see the **cold, heartless, emotionless man** acting like... like a predator!"

I ignored her completely, moving my lips up to her jawline, tasting the subtle scent of her perfume and the lingering, sweet fragrance of the henna.

**Rudra:** (My voice was a rough whisper between kisses, each word an act of **flirtatious ownership**.) "Let them. I am a predator, **Jaana**, and you are my prey. (*Kiss*) But I only hunt what is already mine. (*Deep, lingering kiss*) And as for heartless and emotionless... you extinguished the coldness the moment you chose me. (*Kiss*) Now, silence. I need a more tangible reward for behaving myself all evening."

I finally covered her mouth with mine. The kiss was deep and consuming, a declaration of passion that made up for the formality of the entire day. I used my tongue to draw out the contact, dominating her senses, making her forget about her family, the Mehendi, and her exhaustion.

I felt her hands—useless and stiff—clench into fists around the paper cones. She tried to squirm, a last, desperate attempt at the **scolding** I knew she felt compelled to give. But I only deepened the kiss, using my **muscular body** to hold her still, enjoying the thrill of her helplessness and her immediate, reciprocal surrender.

I finally pulled back, resting my forehead against hers, my breathing heavy.

**Rudra:** (My voice was ragged, satisfied.) "That's better. Now, what's for dinner, my **helpless queen**? Looks like I'll be feeding you tonight."

She simply looked at me, her eyes glazed over, her cheeks flushed, her entire focus now on me and the rapid pounding of her heart. The **tycoon** had successfully claimed his prize once more.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

Rudra finished feeding me—meticulous, possessive, and utterly charming, despite the interruptions from his scandalized sister and cousin. The incident only cemented the private truth that existed between us, a stark contrast to the **ruthless tycoon** persona he maintained for the world.

My hands felt stiff but beautiful, covered in the drying *Mehendi* that held his name. With my immediate hunger satisfied and my dignity somewhat restored, we finally emerged from the room and headed back toward the main festivities.

We hadn't gone ten steps down the corridor before we were intercepted. **Siya Maa** and **Urmila Chachi**  were waiting, smiling warmly. These were two of the kinder, more accepting older women in the Rathor clan.

I instinctively clutched Rudra's arm, my cheeks warming slightly.

**Siya Maa:** (She approached, her eyes twinkling, and gently **caressed my face**.) "Oh, look at you, *beta*. You look absolutely **beautiful**. The *Mehendi* suits your hands so well."

**Urmila Chachi:** (She nodded, echoing the compliment.) "Yes, truly lovely, Ishita. You are glowing. That green is perfect on you."

**Ishita:** (I offered them a shy, genuine smile.) "Thank you, **Maa**, **Chachi**."

The compliment, combined with their soft, genuine affection, made my usual shyness surge. I dropped my gaze modestly, feeling a fresh **blush** rise across my face.

Then, they turned their attention to Rudra. The transition from praising me to subtly teasing the fearsome heir was immediate.

**Siya Maa:** (She looked pointedly at Rudra's neat, expensive suit, then back at my **Mehendi**-stained hands.) "And Rudra, we heard a small rumor that you were playing nursemaid in the room. You know, you really shouldn't be tiring yourself out."

**Urmila Chachi:** (She laughed, her voice carrying a playful mischief.) "Yes, Rudra! Honestly, the guests are buzzing! Everyone keeps asking us, **'What happened to Rudra? Is he sick?'** They said you haven't moved more than ten feet away from Ishita since she arrived, and now this! No one has ever seen you *with* a girl for more than five minutes, let alone *feeding* her!"

They were relishing the utter confusion Rudra was causing among his peers and competitors. The idea of the **cold, arrogant, heartless, ruthless** businessman being this openly devoted was the most shocking gossip the elite had heard all year.

Rudra didn't flinch. He simply tightened his grip on my waist, pulling me even closer to his side. His **ocean-blue eyes** held a dangerous, yet deeply satisfied, gleam.

**Rudra:** (His voice was low, devoid of defense, yet utterly possessive.) "Tell them I am perfectly healthy, **Siya Maa**. And tell them that they are right. They haven't seen me with a girl for more than five minutes, because no other woman has ever mattered for more than five minutes. **Ishita** is the only exception to every rule I have ever lived by."

He paused, looking directly at me, a silent declaration of **unbroken love** passing between us.

**Rudra:** "And yes, she required assistance. From now on, they will have to get used to seeing me taking care of her. It’s my preferred use of my time."

The two women exchanged knowing smiles, clearly thrilled that their fearsome nephew had finally found his match—and his weakness. The public scrutiny was intense, but hearing Rudra declare me his **only exception** made every blush and every whispered rumor worth enduring.

The teasing from Rudra's aunts faded into the background as the music swelled and the dance floor began to heat up. My **Mehendi** was finally **dry**—hard, dark, and smelling richly of the earth. My hands, though stiff, were thankfully free of the paper bandages.

I was contemplating how to gracefully retire to the side when the next wave of Rathor family enthusiasm hit.

**Jay**,  grabbed my arm with a shout.

**Jay:** "**Bhabhi**! You're done with the Mehendi, now you're dancing! No exceptions!"

I was **dragged** onto the dance floor. The energy was infectious. I immediately found myself in a vibrant, chaotic circle with **Drishti**, **Akshat**, **Vardaan** (the groom), **Reet** (the bride), **Ahana**, and **Jay**. They were all younger than Rudra but older than me, and every single one of them called me **Bhabhi** with a mix of respect and playful familiarity, which never failed to make me **blush** slightly.

We started with some Bollywood beats, but soon the music switched to high-energy **Punjabi songs**—the kind that demanded shoulder shrugging and joyous, powerful steps.

And then, a new force entered the circle.

**Bebe Jeeto**suddenly joined us. She was a woman of incredible spirit and she instantly locked eyes with me. She gestled for me to move next to her.

The familiar, powerful opening beat of **"Ajj Mele Ho Gaye Sajna"** dropped, and the entire energy of the floor exploded. Bebe Jeeto, with more enthusiasm than anyone half her age, began to dance, pulling me along.

As we moved to the lyrics—*Ajj mele ho gaye sajna / Lagge gham vi ditte haraa* (Today we have met, beloved / It seems even sorrows have been defeated)—I felt an overwhelming sense of acceptance. I was no longer the awkward **middle-class dreamer**; I was their *Bhabhi*, united with their family.

We danced for song after song, twirling and laughing as the crowd cheered. When **"Ho Raunak Hoju Ghatt Ve"** played, Bebe Jeeto made me mimic the playful, Punjabi gestures, her eyes sparkling. And when **"Vanjali Waja Shora Lamme Deya"** came on, its melody carrying the sweet, longing romanticism of the Punjab, I couldn't help but look for Rudra.

I spotted him—standing near the edges, his tall figure commanding attention. He wasn't dancing (the **ruthless tycoon** rarely did), but his eyes were on me, filled with a deep, possessive pride. He knew I was now fully immersed, and he loved it.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

I watched, immobile, from the sidelines. The entire scene was a vibrant explosion of joy, music, and unrestrained energy, and the focal point of all that chaos was, undeniably, **Ishita**.

She was breathtaking in the green *Anarkali*, her hair tied in the messy bun *I* had created. Her hips swayed easily, her *Payal* chiming sweetly as she was **dragged** around the dance floor by my overly enthusiastic cousins—**Jay**, **Drishti**, **Ahana**, and the rest. Every time they shouted **"Bhabhi!"**, I felt a fierce, internal surge of triumph. They were staking my claim for me.

The moment **Bebe Jeeto**—the fierce matriarch—entered the circle and began dancing with Ishita to the powerful Punjabi beats, I felt the last of my composure slip. *Ajj Mele Ho Gaye Sajna...* The song of reunion and vanquished sorrow felt too apt for our own turbulent love story.

My gaze never left her. I watched as her face was alight with pure, unguarded happiness. She was completely uninhibited, dancing with a freedom I rarely allowed myself.

The lyrics of **"Vanjali Waja Shora Lamme Deya"** filtered through the speakers—*Kamla ja dil tere bina naiyo lagda* (This mad heart is not settled without you)—and it resonated with the core of my being.

I knew she was looking for me.

When her **brown eyes** finally found mine, I gave her a slow, deliberate smile—a raw, emotional expression that few outside our private world ever witnessed. I pushed off the wall and began walking toward the dance floor.

I didn't care about the formality, the shocked looks, or the fact that I hadn't genuinely danced since I was a child. She was mine, and I would join the chaos if that’s what it took to claim her in the center of the floor.

I reached the edge of the circle, ignoring **Jay's** loud cheer, and simply walked up to **Ishita**.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low and commanding, but softened with desire, leaning in close so only she could hear over the music.) "**Bhabhi** has danced long enough with the children. You belong with your husband now. Let them see the **ruthless tycoon** claim his prize on the dance floor."

I took her stiff, **Mehendi**-covered hands carefully in mine, not to twirl, but to hold her close, bringing our bodies together in a slow, possessive sway that was more intimate than any fast dance. I ignored the music, ignored the crowd, and just held my **Jaana**—the beautiful chaos who was my only exception.

Ishita's Perspective

The dancing and joy of the mehndi night had finally claimed us all. After a few rounds of mandatory, sweet goodbyes and compliments on my deep henna, I had collapsed into the bed assigned to me, utterly exhausted but with a heart full of warmth.

The next morning, the air in the Rathor haveli was electric with anticipation, buzzing with the low hum of conversation, laughter, and the subtle scent of marigolds.

## 🌸 The Chooda Ceremony

The morning was dedicated to **Reet's Chooda ceremony**. By 9 AM, we were all gathered. This ritual, where the maternal uncle and aunt (Mama and Mami) gift the sacred red and white bangles to the bride, is deeply emotional.

Since Reet was my close friend, I wasn't seated with the main Rathor family; instead, I was nestled close to Reet's side, sitting cross-legged on the silk cushion next to her **sister** and her **mother**. Reet’s mother held my hand tightly, her eyes welling up as her daughter’s life was about to take a monumental turn. It felt good to be a comforting presence for them.

Reet’s **Mama and Mami** performed the ceremony beautifully. First, they covered Reet's eyes as tradition dictates—the bride must not see the bangles until the moment they are placed on her wrists. The milk-dipped *chooda*, glistening red and pristine white, was a breathtaking sight. The moment the bangles were slipped onto Reet’s wrists, followed by the kalire tied from above, a fresh round of cheers and tearful blessings erupted. It was a beautiful, tender ceremony—a powerful reminder of the vows that were just hours away.

I watched Reet, her face glowing with nervousness and happiness, and a familiar sense of anxiety fluttered in my own stomach. My wedding to Rudra was also fast approaching. Would I feel this serene happiness? Or would the gravity of marrying the cold, formidable Raja Sahib overshadow the joy? I quickly pushed the thought away, focusing on the beautiful scene before me.

## ✨ The Studio Transformation

After the ceremony, the entire house shifted into high gear, scrambling towards the wedding lunch. By the time lunch was done, the clock was ticking, and my professional instincts kicked in. This was my domain.

“Alright, ladies!” I announced, clapping my hands together with a newfound authority that surprised even myself. “No more sitting around! The clock is ticking. Let’s head to my studio for transformation!”

The procession I led was quite the sight:

* **Reet, the Bride:** Looking slightly overwhelmed but excited.

* My future mother-in-law, **Siya Rathor** (Rudra’s mother).

* His Chachi, **Urmila**.

* The cousins: **Drishti** and **Ahana**.

* And finally, **Reet’s sister and mother**.

My hands were still stained with my own mehndi, but they were steady. I needed to focus now. This wasn't just *Ishita, Rudra’s fiancée*; this was **Ishita Sharma, the makeup artist** and middle-class dreamer making her mark.

I seated Reet in the main chair and started laying out my tools—my professional armor. Siya Aunty sat patiently, watching my organized movements with a soft smile.

"This is wonderful, beta," Siya Aunty said softly. "To see you so comfortable and talented. We are lucky to have you."

Urmila Chachi chimed in, "You do miracles, Ishita. Even my skin could use some of your magic touch before the evening."

I laughed, the compliment easing my nerves. "Only good lighting, Chachi! Reet, your complexion is perfect. We are going for a classic, subtle glow to let that beautiful *chooda* shine."

As I started blending the base for Reet, I felt a deep sense of peace. In this space, amidst the brushes and palettes, I was in control. Here, I wasn't just the future wife of a powerful man; I was a professional, bringing beauty and confidence to the most important day of a woman's life.

The girls, Drishti and Ahana, were busy picking out coordinating lipstick shades while Reet’s mother and sister discussed jewelry. The atmosphere was a warm bubble of feminine energy and excitement.

*I may be marrying a cold, emotionless prince,* I thought as I expertly feathered an eyeshadow brush across Reet’s eyelid, *but I am still me. I still have my art. And if I can bring this much joy to Reet's day, maybe I can find a way to bring some light into the destiny that awaits me.*

*Reet is a Punjaban**, the grand affair was taking place in a serene, stately **Gurudwara**.

The atmosphere was quiet, respectful, and deeply sacred—a beautiful change from the loud, chaotic energy of the Rathor mansion.

I had spent the early morning making every other woman in the Rathor and Sharma contingent look flawless. Now, it was my turn.

I dressed meticulously, choosing an elegant yet simple **saree** in a soft, ethereal shade of peach and gold. My **makeup** was kept traditional and beautiful: clean, luminous skin, defined **brown eyes** accentuated with a subtle liner, and a lipstick that subtly matched the work on the saree border

On my wrists, I wore simple, *bangles**. But the most important pieces were the ones I wore *because of him*: the delicate silver **Payal** (anklet) that chimed softly with every step, and the matching one that was **the same from which he proposed me**—a constant, rhythmic reminder of the day our **destiny collided** again. And of course, the **high heels**—necessary to bridge the gap between my **5'3" thin, slim** frame and his overwhelming height.

Her look

As I made my way toward the main *Darbar Hall*, a wave of nerves hit me. Despite all the functions, seeing *him* in this formal, sacred setting always took my breath away.

I reached the entrance and scanned the seated rows. And then, I saw him.

He was standing slightly apart, his posture straight, commanding the space without effort. He looked devastatingly **handsome**, dressed in a perfectly tailored cream *sherwani* —a color that emphasized his **fair skin**. His **muscular** frame filled the outfit with an effortless power. His **soft beard** was trimmed to perfection, accentuating his **sharp features**. He was easily the **tallest** man in the room, the **eldest son of the Rathor family**, and he looked like a god among men.

His look

And God, those **ocean-blue eyes**. I am dead. He **doesn't need makeup to look beautiful like me**; he is simply perfection, carved by destiny.

He was **looking for me everywhere**, his intense gaze sweeping the entrance, clearly impatient for my arrival.

The moment he **finally saw me**, his head tilted, his **ocean-blue eyes** instantly softening from impatience to profound recognition. His gaze didn't stay on my face; it deliberately travelled **head to toe**, lingering on the shimmering fabric of the saree, the slight height added by the heels, and undoubtedly, the familiar silver gleam of the *Payal* around my ankles. It was a silent, thorough inspection, a ritual of claim.

I felt a dizzying warmth flood my cheeks, and I lowered my gaze, feeling that intense, familiar **blush**.

**Rudra:** (His deep voice was low, carrying just enough to reach me without disturbing the solemnity of the hall, laced with possessive approval.) "**Jaana**. You look like a sunrise."

I walked towards him, feeling every chime of the *Payal*.

**Ishita:** (I whispered, unable to look directly into those intense eyes.) "You look like a King, **Ru**. A very impatient one. You're supposed to be watching the groom."

**Rudra:** (He reached out and gently took my hand, his thumb resting possessively on my pulse point.) "The groom can wait. My focus is on the most beautiful woman who wears my *Payal* and my affection so openly. Did you wear the high heels just for me?"

**Ishita:** (I chuckled softly, finally meeting his gaze with a mix of defiance and love.) "Of course, **Ru**. I refuse to look like your little doll. I’m the **middle-class dreamer** conquering your height, one inch at a time."

He simply smiled, that rare, soft, genuine smile that was reserved only for me, and tucked me firmly against his side, his protection a physical comfort in the sacred space.

👑 Rudra’s Perspective:

I stood waiting. It was agonizing. The serene atmosphere of the **Gurudwara** was completely alien to my nature—too quiet, too reflective, too much about faith that I still found difficult to accept. But I endured it for Reet, and more importantly, for the woman who believed in it all.

I was dressed in a pristine cream and saffron *sherwani*, my **muscular body** feeling constricted by the formality. My appearance was always designed to convey power and dominance, but today, I felt only a restless impatience. My **ocean-blue eyes** swept the entrance repeatedly. I was the **eldest son of the Rathor family**, and I should be calm and centered, yet I was on edge, **looking for her everywhere**.

Finally, she appeared.

The sight of **Ishita** was like a beautiful, calming shock. She looked ethereal in the peach and gold **saree**, her **long, open hair** falling freely, a vision of soft femininity. She had achieved a beautiful look that screamed both elegance and her own unique brand of warmth—a perfect contrast to the cold marble of the Rathor Mansion.

My gaze was immediate, thorough, and utterly possessive. I let my eyes trail from her defined **brown eyes** down the soft fabric, noting the perfect lipstick, and finally, settling on the familiar silver chain.

The delicate sound of her **Payal**, the **same** anklet from the day I proposed, was the only confirmation I needed. She wore my symbol, my claim.

**Rudra:** (My voice was low and rough with approval, unable to hide the depth of my feeling.) "**Jaana**. You look like a sunrise."

She walked towards me, her head slightly lowered in that shy **blush** I found so captivating. The slight increase in height from the **high heels** only made her more desirable—a challenge I accepted.

**Ishita:** "You look like a King, **Ru**. A very impatient one."

**Rudra:** (I quickly reached out and claimed her hand, anchoring her to my side. I didn't care about the relatives or the ceremony; all that mattered was her presence.) "The groom and his vows are secondary, Ishita. **You are my primary focus.** Every movement you make, every chime of that *Payal*... it reminds me that you belong here, anchored to me. Tell me the truth: you chose that outfit and those heels specifically to distract me from the ceremony, didn't you?"

**Ishita:** (Her laughter was soft, a warm sound that pierced the formal silence.) "Maybe. I am ** is getting ambitious, **Ru**. I want my King’s full attention, even in a Gurudwara."

I leaned down, placing a fleeting, possessive kiss on her temple, the scent of her hair filling my senses.

**Rudra:** "You have it, and you always will. Now, stand still. I need to ensure no one tries to approach you with *shagun* or silly questions. You are here as my **future wife**, not an artist, not an object of gossip. You are my most precious secret, now revealed."

I held her close, my posture stiff and alert, projecting the aura of the **ruthless tycoon** who guards his treasure. I stood as her unshakeable fortress, watching the sacred ceremony unfold, knowing that the most profound vow of **unbroken love** had already been exchanged between us, long before Reet and Vardaan entered this holy space.

💖 Ishita’s Perspective:

The atmosphere in the *Darbar Hall* was solemn and peaceful, completely contrasting the vibrant chaos of the functions preceding it. The wedding ceremony, following the Sikh tradition, began.

Following the sacred custom, **we all sat** respectfully on the floor—the **men at one side and the women at one side**. The rows were clearly delineated, and I had to reluctantly relinquish Rudra's immediate presence.

Before sitting down, I adjusted my saree pallu, drawing the fabric over my head to **cover my head**, as did all the women around me, draping their *dupattas* or saree pallus. The men, including Rudra, had taken out crisp white **handkerchiefs** or scarves to **cover their heads** as a sign of respect.

**Reet and Vardaan** were seated together in the **middle**, their hands clasped in prayer, the *Granth Sahib* placed reverently before them.

I sat in the women's section, near Ahana and Drishti, acutely aware of the distance between Rudra and me. It felt odd, being apart, after his possessive closeness during the past few days. I could feel his gaze on me occasionally, though, a warm, steady pressure across the hall that was my private anchor. He sat among the Rathor men, radiating that typical aura of the **eldest son of the Rathor family**—dignified, reserved, and breathtakingly handsome.

After the readings and prayers, the moment arrived for the *Laavan Phere*—the central part of the Sikh ceremony where the couple walks around the holy scripture, the *Granth Sahib*, four times.

**Reet and Vardaan got up for the Pheras of the Granth Sahib**. The *Laavan* hymns began to play, beautiful and melodic, setting a slow, sacred rhythm.

Reet, weighed down by the heavy embroidery of her bridal *lehenga* and her delicate jewelry, looked slightly hesitant as she stood up. As the priest prepared the *palla* (the connection cloth) to tie them together, **Reet looked at me** across the small distance, her **brown eyes** wide. She gave me a distinct **gesture**—a slight, panicked inclination of her head, silently asking for help.

Reet and Vardaan

Even though Ahana and Drishti were closer family, Reet knew I, as her makeup artist and closest friend, understood the logistics of her massive outfit better.

I **went near her** immediately, rising gracefully from my seat. I kept my head covered and moved with quiet respect. The moment I reached her, I gently took the hem of her **lehenga**. I helped her gather the voluminous skirt fabric and carefully **adjust her *lehenga*** so that she could **take the Pheras easily** without tripping over the heavy embroidery or the long trail.

**Ishita:** (I whispered softly, right next to her ear, with a genuine, heartfelt smile.) "You look beautiful, Reet. Don't worry, you won't trip. Just look at Vardaan and breathe."

Reet squeezed my hand briefly, a silent thank you that spoke volumes about our mended friendship. I made sure the trail was perfectly arranged behind her for the first *Phera*, and then, as the couple began their sacred walk, I quickly and quietly **went back to my seat**.

I settled back down, my heart full. It felt good to be an active, loving part of the ceremony, and to know that my friendship with Reet was truly restored.

As I sat back, I lifted my eyes instinctively. Rudra's gaze was already on me. He wasn't looking at Reet or Vardaan; his **ocean-blue eyes** were entirely focused on my return. The intense, possessive look he gave me—a silent acknowledgment of my helpfulness and a clear desire to have me back at his side—was the only approval I needed. The distance was just physical; in spirit, the **cold-hearted prince** was always right there.