💖 Ishita’s Perspective

The silence in Ishita's makeup studio was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of Delhi traffic. She sat on the small bench outside the glass door, the invitation clutched in her hand until the edges were wrinkled and damp from her palms.

**London Fashion Week.** The biggest ramp of her life. The dream she had chased since she first picked up a makeup brush and practiced her walk in her bedroom mirror. And now, with only **20 days left** until she became the Princess of Rajasthan, the dream had arrived-only to be shut down by the people she loved most.

*"Ishita, it's the wedding month. How can you even think of leaving for a week?"* her father's voice echoed in her head. *"Log kya kahenge? The Rathores are waiting for their Bahu, and you want to fly to London?"*

She felt a lump in her throat. She understood them, she really did. But the "beginning model" inside her was screaming.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I had been calling her for twenty minutes. No answer. My **ocean blue eyes** narrowed as I looked at my watch. It wasn't like Ishita to ignore me, especially now that the "no contact" period was looming.

I didn't call a third time. I grabbed my keys, ignored the confused look from my PA, and stepped into my black SUV. My gut was telling me something was wrong.

When I pulled up to her studio, I saw her. She looked so small sitting there, her **long curly hair** messy and her shoulders slumped. The "fiery Delhi girl" was missing; in her place was a broken dreamer.

I stepped out of the car, my **6'3" muscular frame** casting a long shadow over her. I didn't say a word at first. I just stood there until she sensed my presence and looked up. Her **brown eyes** were red-rimmed, and my chest tightened.

"Who do I have to ruin, Ishita?" I growled, my voice a low, **possessive** vibration. "Tell me a name."

She let out a shaky breath and handed me the crumpled paper. I scanned it. **London. Ramp walk. Exclusive invitation.**

"Mummy and Papa said no," she whispered, her voice cracking. "They said the wedding is in 20 days and it's not 'shubh' for the bride to travel across the ocean. They said... I should focus on being a Rathore now."

I looked at the invitation, then back at her. The "Ice King" in me knew exactly what her parents were feeling-tradition, fear, reputation. But the man who fell in love with her at the Shiv Mandir knew that this girl wasn't just a bride. She was a fire. And if I let that fire go out before we even reached the mandap, I would be married to a ghost.

I sat down on the narrow bench next to her, my bulk making the wood creak. I took her hand, my thumb tracing the **engagement ring** that sparkled mockingly in the Delhi sun.

"And what does the 'beginning model' want?" I asked, my gaze boring into hers.

"I want to go, Ru," she sobbed, finally letting the tears fall. "I want to show them that I can be both. I can be your wife and I can be a star. But they won't listen. They think I'm being selfish."

I felt a surge of **ruthless** determination. I didn't care about the 'shubh mahurat' or the gossip. I cared about the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about her dreams.

"Stay here," I commanded, standing up.

"Ru? Where are you going?"

"To remind your parents that they aren't just marrying you off to a Prince," I said, a dark, **shameless** smirk playing on my lips. "They are giving their daughter to a man who owns the sky she wants to fly in. I'm going to fix this, Jaana. Pack your bags."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The drive to her house was silent, but the air inside the SUV was thick with Rudra's protective energy. He kept one hand firmly on the steering wheel and the other gripped over mine, his thumb stroking my knuckles in a way that told me he wasn't just angry-he was on a mission.

When we walked into my living room, my parents froze. They weren't expecting the "Top 5 Businessman in the World" to show up on a random Tuesday, especially not with their daughter looking like she'd been crying for an hour.

"Rudra? Beta, you here? Everything alright?" Papa asked, standing up hurriedly.

Rudra didn't sit. He stood in the center of our modest living room, his **6'3" frame** making the ceiling feel lower, his **ocean blue eyes** calm but incredibly sharp. He looked at my parents, not with the coldness he showed the world, but with the measured respect he kept for family.

"Uncle, Auntie," he began, his voice deep and **softly** controlled. "I heard about the London invitation. And I heard that you're worried about the wedding dates."

Mummy sighed, looking at me. "Rudra, beta, you understand, don't you? There are only 20 days left. There are pujas, guest lists, fittings... How can she leave now? It doesn't look good for the Rathore bahu to be ramp-walking in a foreign land right before her pheras."

Rudra took a step forward. He didn't raise his voice, but the authority in his tone made everyone listen.

"Auntie, I am a Rathore. And I am telling you that nothing would make me prouder than seeing my wife conquer London before she conquers Rajasthan," he said, his gaze shifting to me for a split second, full of **possessive** pride. "The world knows her as a model. If I ask her to clip her wings now, she will spend the rest of her life wondering 'what if.' I don't want a wife who lives in regret."

"But the 'shubh' timing, Rudra..." Papa started.

"I don't believe in stars, Uncle. I believe in Ishita," Rudra countered gently. "I will personally ensure her safety. My private jet is standing by. She will fly to London, do her show, and be back in five days. I will handle the Rathore elders. If Bebe has a problem, she can talk to me."

My heart leaped. He was standing up to the traditions he was born into, all for my sake.

"Pack your bags, Jaana," he said, turning to me, his voice dropping to that private, **low vibration** I loved. "You're going to London. And you're going to be the best thing that ever hit that runway."

Mummy and Papa looked at each other. Seeing the most powerful man they knew pleading for my dreams-not with a checkbook, but with his heart-melted their resistance.

"If you're taking the responsibility, Rudra... then we won't say no," Papa finally whispered.

I let out a sob of relief and threw my arms around Rudra, forgetting that my parents were right there. He caught me against his **muscular chest**, his arms wrapping around me like a shield.

"Go pack," he murmured into my hair, his grip tightening. "**You have twenty-four hours before my pilot is ready. Use them wisely.**"

Time skip

The energy backstage at the London Fashion Week venue was electric-a chaotic symphony of hairspray, frantic stylists, and the blinding glow of vanity mirrors. **Reet** was hovering over me, her eyes sharp with professional focus as she made one final adjustment to the hem of my dress.

"Ishu, you look ethereal. This deep crimson silk with the gold thread... it's like a piece of the Rathore soul in a modern silhouette," Reet whispered, beaming with pride. "London isn't ready for the future oueen of Rajasthan."

Her look

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. My **long curly hair** was styled in sleek, royal waves, and my **brown eyes** were lined with sharp, golden kohl. I was a model" no more; today, I felt like a force of nature. But beneath the glamour, my hands were trembling.

I needed to hear his voice.

I stepped into a quiet corner behind a heavy velvet curtain and dialed his number. He picked up on the first ring, as if he'd been staring at his phone for the last hour.

"Jaana," his voice rumbled through the speaker-low, dark, and so vibrantly **possessive** that it sent a shiver down my spine.

"Ru... I'm about to go on," I whispered, clutching my phone. "I'm terrified. What if I trip? What if they don't see the vision?"

I heard a soft, dangerous chuckle from the other side. I could practically picture him sitting in his high-back leather chair in Jaipur, his **6'3" muscular frame** relaxed but his **ocean blue eyes** burning with intensity.

"Listen to me, Ishita," he said, his tone turning into that "Ice King" command. "You are not just a girl on a ramp. You are the woman I chose. You carry my name, you carry my heart, and right now, you're wearing my marks under that expensive silk. Walk like the world belongs to you, because I'm making sure it does."

"Rudra..." I breathed, my heart rate finally steadying.

"Go out there and show them why you're the only one who could ever tame me," he muttered, his voice dropping to a **shameless** whisper. "And Ishita? Make it quick. My jet is already fueled up and waiting at Heathrow. Every minute you're in London is a minute you're not in my arms, and my patience is paper-thin."

"I'll be back soon, Ru. I promise."

"You better be. Or I'll fly there and drag you off that stage myself," he growled. "Now go. Conquer them, Jaana."

I hung up, a confident, fiery smirk playing on my lips. The fear was gone. I could almost feel his hand on the small of my back, pushing me forward.

"Ishita Sharma! You're up!" the stage manager shouted.

I took a deep breath, adjusted the heavy gold earrings, and stepped out from behind the curtain. The bright lights hit me, the cameras started clicking like a thousand heartbeats, and as I took my first step onto the London ramp, I didn't think about the critics. I only thought about the man watching the livestream thousands of miles away, claiming me with every breath he took.

The moment I stepped onto the head of the ramp, time seemed to slow down. The flashbulbs were a constant strobe of white light, but I didn't blink. I walked with a grace I didn't know I possessed, the crimson silk of Reet's design flowing around my **slim build** like a river of wine. I wasn't just walking for a brand; I was walking for the girl who stood on the Shiv Mandir stairs and the woman who was about to rule a palace.

By the time I reached the end of the runway and gave a final, sharp look into the main camera lens, the room was silent for a heartbeat-and then it erupted.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I was sitting in my dark study, the only light coming from the massive 80-inch screen on the wall. The livestream was crystal clear. When Ishita appeared, my breath hitched. I've seen her in everything from pajamas to royal sarees, but seeing her command a room of thousands in the heart of London... it did something to my blood.

She was breathtaking. Her **brown eyes** held a fire that I knew I had helped kindle. When she reached the front of the stage, she looked directly into the camera. For everyone else, it was a model's pose. For me, it was a message.

Within minutes of her walk, my phone started vibrating off the desk.

Every major house in Milan is calling,"* one of my European associates messaged.

*"The 'Rathore Bride' is the new face of global fashion,"* a headline already screamed on a major news portal.

I ignored them all. My **ocean blue eyes** were fixed on the screen as she took her final bow with Reet. She was a global sensation. Overnight, Ishita Sharma had become the most sought-after name in the industry.

I felt a surge of **ruthless pride**, but also a dark, simmering **possessiveness**. The world was finally seeing her beauty, but they didn't know she was already claimed. They didn't know about the **6'3" man** waiting who would burn the world down before letting anyone else have her.

I picked up my phone and called my head of security.

"Double the detail at her London hotel," I commanded, my voice like ice. "No press, no designers, and absolutely no 'admirers' get within ten feet of her. She leaves for the airport in two hours. If she's a minute late because of a fan, you're fired."

I then sent her a single text:

> **The world knows your name now, Jaana. But remember whose name is written on your heart-and your skin. Get to the jet. Now.**

Ishita's Perspective

Backstage was a madhouse. Designers were shoving business cards into Reet's hands, and reporters were shouting my name. I felt like I was floating.

"Ishu! We did it! You're trending in Paris, New York, everywhere!" Reet screamed, hugging me.

I laughed, but then I felt my phone buzz in my hand. I read Rudra's text and a shiver of **shameless** heat raced through me. Even from thousands of miles away, he was pulling my strings, reminding me exactly who I belonged to.

"Reet, we have to go," I said, already reaching for my makeup wipes. "The King is waiting, and he doesn't like to share his spotlight."

The Delhi private terminal was nearly empty, bathed in the soft, golden hues of the setting November sun. As the glass doors slid open, the cool evening air hit my face, but I barely felt it. My eyes were searching, scanning the sleek black cars lined up on the tarmac.

And then I saw him.

Rudra was leaning against his black SUV, his **6'3" muscular frame** draped in a charcoal-grey designer suit that screamed power. He wasn't looking at his phone or talking to his guards. He was looking straight at me. And for the first time since this madness began, the "Ice King" wasn't wearing a mask of indifference. He was wearing a genuine, breathtaking **smile**.

"Ru!" I whispered, my heart doing a somersault.

I didn't care that the paparazzi might be lurking nearby or that **Reet** was giggling behind me. I broke into a run, my heels clicking on the pavement, my **long curly hair** flying behind me.

I collided with him at full speed. Rudra caught me effortlessly, his powerful arms wrapping around my waist and lifting me off my feet for a second. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling that intoxicating scent of expensive cologne and sandalwood that I had missed so desperately in London. I hugged him with everything I had, my fingers digging into the fabric of his blazer.

"Thank you," I breathed against his skin, my voice thick with emotion. "**Thank you, almost-husband.**"

I felt his chest rumble with a low, deep chuckle as he set me down, though he didn't loosen his grip. His large hands stayed firmly on my waist, pulling me so close that there wasn't even a breath of air between us. He tilted his head down, his **ocean blue eyes** scanning my face with a hunger that made my knees weak.

"I told you, didn't I?" he murmured, his voice a **possessive** vibration. "The sky is yours, Ishita. I'm just here to make sure you have a place to land."

He reached out, his thumb tracing my lower lip, his gaze darkening. "You conquered London. I saw the videos. You looked like a queen. But I hated every second of those thousands of eyes being on you."

"You were the only one I was walking for," I whispered, reaching up to touch his jaw.

"Good," he growled, leaning in until his forehead rested against mine. "**Because now that you're back on my soil, the world can wait. Noe some days left in Haldi, and I'm done sharing you with London, the press, or even your dreams. For the next few days, you are strictly mine.**"

He pressed a lingering, firm kiss to my temple, the heat of it lingering long after he pulled back. He tucked a stray curl behind my ear, his eyes softening as they landed on the **Nose* piercing he had helped me through just a week ago.

"Let's get you home, Jaana," he said, lead me toward the open car door. "Your parents are waiting, and I have a wedding to prepare for."

Time skip

The air was thick with the scent of fresh marigolds and sandalwood paste. Fourteen days had passed in a blur of excitement and anticipation, and now, the day of the **Haldi** had finally arrived. The venue was a sea of yellow and white, perfectly matching the sunlight filtering through the floral canopies.

I stepped out of the car, feeling every bit like a traditional bride. I was wearing a vibrant **yellow Anarkali suit**, the silk swirling around my ankles as I walked. Since I couldn't wear heavy gold yet, I was covered from head to toe in **real flower jewelry**-delicate white jasmine and yellow marigold bracelets, a floral mathapatti on my forehead, and heavy floral earrings that framed my face. My **long curly hair** was styled in a loose braid, making me feel like a forest goddess.

Her look

The moment I entered, I saw him.

Rudra was standing in the center of the courtyard, looking devastatingly handsome in a simple, **innocent white kurta pajama**. The white fabric made his **fair skin** and **ocean blue eyes** pop, and the fit showed off his **muscular 6'3" frame** perfectly. He looked so clean and pure, a stark contrast to the "Ice King" persona he wore in the boardroom.

His look

Our families ushered us toward the center of the stage, where two **massive gold lotus plates** were waiting. We were told to sit inside them for the ritual. As I settled into my lotus, Rudra sat in the one right next to me, his knee brushing against mine.

While the elders were busy mixing the turmeric and gathering the grass whisks, we had a rare moment of semi-privacy amidst the chaos.

"You look... beautiful, Jaana," Rudra whispered, his voice a low, **possessive** vibration that only I could hear. "But you're wearing too many clothes. It's going to be a shame to ruin this yellow silk with paste."

I felt my cheeks heat up, matching the yellow of my suit. "And you look too innocent in white, Ru. It doesn't suit your dark mind at all."

He let out a soft, **shameless** chuckle, his gaze dropping to my floral jewelry. "Is that so? Just wait until the ritual starts. I'm going to make sure every inch of your skin is stained yellow. I want everyone to see that you've been marked by me today."

"Rudra! Bebe is right there!" I hissed, blushing as I caught Bebe smiling at us from the distance.

"Let her look," he muttered, his hand reaching out under the cover of our platters to squeeze my fingers. "In a few hours, the 'no contact' rule is officially dead. I've spent fourteen days dreaming about this. Do you have any idea how hard it was to let you stay in Delhi after you landed?"

"I missed you too," I whispered, my **brown eyes** softening as I looked at him. "The London success felt empty because you weren't standing at the end of the ramp."

His grip on my hand tightened. "You'll never have to walk a ramp without me in the front row again. But today... today you aren't a model. You're just my Ishita."

Just then, the dhol started a soft, steady beat, and the women of the house-Mummy, Bebe, and his Maa-approached us with silver bowls filled with the bright yellow Haldi paste.

"Ready to get messy, almost-wife?" Rudra teased, a dark, playful glint in his eyes.

The atmosphere was electric, filled with the rhythmic chanting of the priests and the playful folk songs the women were singing. I looked at the bowl of bright yellow paste in Bebe's hand, expecting her to start the ritual. But Bebe stopped, a knowing, mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Since Rudra has been so impatient these last fourteen days," Bebe announced loudly, "let the groom give the bride her first color."

A collective "Ooh!" went up from the crowd. My heart skipped a beat. I looked at Rudra, expecting him to reach for the silver bowl. Instead, he did something that made every woman in the room gasp.

He leaned into my lotus plate, his **6'3" muscular frame** hovering over me. He didn't use his hands. He dipped his own cheek into the bowl of Haldi held by Bebe, and then, with a **shameless** intensity in his **ocean blue eyes**, he rubbed his cheek slowly against mine.

The cold, wet paste was a shock against my skin, but the heat of his face was even more overwhelming. He moved to the other side, his jaw grazing mine, ensuring the yellow stain was perfectly transferred from his skin to mine.

"Now you're marked, Jaana," he whispered against my ear, his breath hitching. "**Ab koi shaq nahi bacha ki tum kiski ho.**" (Now there's no doubt left whose you are.)

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistling. My face was burning a deep red beneath the yellow paste.

"Rudra! Everyone is watching!" I breathed, my hands trembling where they rested on the edge of the lotus.

"Let them," he smirked, pulling back just enough to look at me, his white kurta already stained with yellow smudges from the contact.

Then, the floodgates opened. The formal ritual turned into a vibrant celebration of friendship and family. One by one, our inner circle stepped up to the lotus plates.

* **Veer and Aditi** came first. Aditi hugged me carefully, avoiding my floral jewelry. "You look stunning, Ishi! London's glow hasn't faded!" while Veer clapped Rudra on the back, smearing a massive palm-print of Haldi on his white shoulder.

* **Shiv** and his girlfriend followed, laughing at Rudra's uncharacteristically 'soft' expression.

* **Krishiv and Chhavi** showered us with rose petals, making the yellow scene even more colorful.

* My best friend **Shifa** came with **Zaid** and their little son. "Ishi, I can't believe my little model is finally getting hitched!" she cried, dabbing Haldi on my chin.

* My cousins **Prachi and Naman** brought little **Keshav**, who thought the Haldi was paint and tried to 'decorate' Rudra's expensive white sleeve, making Rudra actually laugh-a sound that shocked his business associates.

The dhol players increased the tempo. The courtyard was a blur of yellow. Every time someone applied paste to me, I felt Rudra's hand find mine under the edge of our lotus plates, squeezing tight. He was the anchor in the middle of this beautiful, chaotic storm.

By the time the sun started to set, we were both completely covered-yellow on white, yellow on yellow. I looked at Rudra; he looked like a warrior who had just come from a festival of gold.

"You have Haldi on your eyelashes," I giggled, reaching out to wipe a speck away.

He caught my wrist, his eyes darkening as he looked at my yellow-stained lips. "I don't care about the eyelashes, Ishita. I'm just counting the hours until I can wash this off you... personally."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I leaned back in my lotus plate, ignoring the fact that my **white kurta** was now almost entirely yellow. My eyes never left her. This was the most relaxed I'd been in five years. The "Ice King" didn't exist today; there was only a man watching the woman who had somehow managed to conquer his cold heart.

"Ru, give me your goggles," she said, her **brown eyes** sparkling with a mix of mischief and bridal glow.

I didn't even hesitate. I pulled my dark aviators off and handed them to her. She slid them onto her face-they were way too big for her delicate features, but on her, they looked incredibly stylish. She looked like a high-fashion bride who had just stepped off that London ramp and straight into my life.

The photographer started clicking rapidly, capturing her as she leaned toward me, the heavy **Nath** and the dark goggles creating a look that was pure fire.

"You're a brat, Ishita," I murmured, a **shameless** smirk tugging at my lips as I pulled her closer for a shot.

"And you're obsessed with this brat," she retorted, sticking her tongue out at me before jumping out of her lotus plate.

The dhol players picked up the pace, and she didn't need an invitation. She started dancing right there in the middle of the courtyard, her **yellow Anarkali** swirling like a golden flame. She wasn't just dancing; she was celebrating. I watched her move with her family, her **long curly hair** bouncing with every beat of the drum.

Suddenly, she spotted her cousin **Kriti** trying to stay clean at the edge of the crowd.

"Oh no you don't, Kriti!" Ishita squealed.

She scooped up a handful of fresh, wet Haldi and took off. I watched, mesmerized, as my petite, **5'3" dreamer** chased her cousin through the pillars of the mansion. She was fast, laughing with a pure, infectious joy that made every head in the garden turn.

"Look at her, Bhaiya," Akshat said, coming to stand beside me, wiping Haldi off his own face. "You really found a live wire, didn't you?"

"She isn't just a live wire, Akshat," I replied, my voice dropping to a low, **possessive** rumble. "She's the only thing that makes this palace feel like a home."

I watched as she finally caught Kriti, smearing the yellow paste all over her cousin's cheeks while both of them collapsed into fits of giggles. Ishita looked back at me, her face covered in yellow, my goggles still perched on her head, and the sun catching the diamonds in her nose.

She looked radiant. She looked happy. And in exactly six days, she would be mine legally, spiritually, and physically.

I felt a dark, restless hunger stir in my chest. This celebration was beautiful, but I was already done with the crowd. I wanted the rituals to end. I wanted the guests to leave. I wanted to be alone with my wife, away from the dhol and the yellow paste, where I could show her exactly how much I had missed her while she was in London.

The sun was setting, casting long, purple shadows across the courtyard as the heavy scent of Haldi began to settle. The crowds were thinning out, and the high-energy dhol had finally been replaced by the soft murmur of departing guests. I was standing by the pillar, still covered in yellow stains, when I saw a couple approaching us with a look of pure, tearful pride.

Ishita's face lit up with a glow that no amount of highlighter could match. She grabbed my hand, her **long curly hair** swaying as she pulled me toward them.

"Rudra! Come here," she said, her voice trembling with affection. "I want you to meet my Mumma and Dada."

I blinked, momentarily confused, knowing her parents were already inside. She sensed my confusion and squeezed my hand. "Well... she is my Mami, and he is my Mama. But when I was a baby, Mummy had to travel for work, and I stayed with them. They raised me until I was ten. She's my everything, Rudra. And Dada... he never comes home from the office without calling me first to ask what I want. Even now."

I looked at the couple. I could see the history in their eyes-the way they looked at Ishita wasn't just as a niece, but as the soul of their home. Ishita had mentioned them before; they had missed the engagement because her 'Mumma' hadn't been well, and I knew how much their absence had stung her.

"They have three kids of their own," Ishita added, leaning her head against her Mami's shoulder, "and they're all older than me, but I'm the most pampered child in their house. Always."

The "Ice King" in me usually found these emotional displays unnecessary, but seeing the way Ishita's eyes shone with genuine, raw love for these two people changed something in me. These were the people who had shaped the woman I loved. They were the architects of her dreams.

I didn't just give a polite nod.

I stepped forward, my **6'3" muscular frame** towering over them, and I bent down and **touched their feet**, seeking their blessings with the same respect I gave Bebe.

"Rudra, beta, no..." her Mami whispered, her voice breaking as she placed a hand on my head. "May you always keep our Ishu happy. She's the heart of our family."

Her Mama-her Dada-placed a heavy, firm hand on my shoulder. "I've heard you are a powerful man, Rudra. But to us, you're just the man who is taking our little girl away. Just keep that smile on her face, and you'll have no bigger supporters than us."

I stood up, my **ocean blue eyes** meeting his with a silent, iron-clad promise. "She is the only thing in this world I truly value, Dada. I will protect her happiness with everything I own."

Ishita was wiping a tear away with the back of her hand, smearing a bit more Haldi on her nose in the process. She looked so small and loved standing between us.

"See?" she sniffled, looking at me. "I told you I have two sets of parents."

"I see, Jaana," I murmured, my hand finding the small of her back in a **possessive** but comforting gesture. "And now, I have twice as many people to answer to if I ever let you cry."

As they moved away to join the rest of the family for tea, I pulled Ishita into a quiet corner, away from the lingering relatives. The house was quiet, the Haldi was over, and the realization hit me-this was the last ceremony before she would officially be under my roof.

The sun had completely disappeared, leaving the venue draped in a cool, indigo twilight. But the tradition wasn't over. According to the old ways, the Haldi couldn't just be wiped away; it had to be washed off in a ritual bath-the *Ganga Snan*-to purify the bride and groom before the wedding.

I was led to the central courtyard's marble fountain area, where a large silver tub had been filled with water, milk, and rose petals. I stood there in my ruined white kurta, my skin itching from the drying turmeric.

"Alright, Bhaiya, time to get clean!" **Akshat** shouted, he and **Vardaan** already rolling up their sleeves with predatory grins.

Across from me, Ishita was being led out by **Ahana, Reet, and Drishti**. She looked like a golden statue, the yellow paste thick on her arms and neck. We were placed on opposite sides of a low marble wall, but I could still see her perfectly.

"Ready, Bhabhi?" Ahana giggled, picking up a silver pitcher.

The "bath" started as a ritual, but with my brothers involved, it quickly turned into a battlefield. Akshat dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over my head without warning. I gasped, the cold shocking my system as the yellow water began to pool at my feet.

"You're going to pay for that, Akshat," I growled, wiped the water from my **ocean blue eyes**.

On the other side, I heard Ishita shriek as the girls poured a mixture of milk and rose water over her shoulders. "It's cold! Ahana, stop!"

I looked over the wall. The water was making her **yellow Anarkali** cling to her **slim build**, and her **long curly hair** was dripping, sticking to her cheeks. She looked breathtaking-raw, wet, and laughing through her teeth.

I couldn't help it. I grabbed a copper mug, dipped it into the fountain, and stood up, towering over the dividing wall.

"Hey! No crossing sides!" Vardaan yelled, but I ignored him.

I poured the water directly over Ishita's head. She gasped, her eyes snapping open to find mine. She wiped the water from her face, her **brown eyes** narrowing with a playful, dangerous fire.

"Oh, you want a war, Rudra Singh Rathore?" she challenged.

Before I could react, she scooped up a handful of wet rose petals and slushy Haldi water and flung it right into my face. The brothers and sisters erupted in cheers, fueling the fire.

"Bhabhi 1, Bhaiya 0!" Jay screamed.

I climbed over the low wall, my **6'3" frame** dripping and imposing. The siblings tried to hold us back, splashing us both, but I pushed through the chaos until I was standing right in front of her. The water from the fountain was spraying everywhere, soaking us to the bone.

I grabbed her waist, pulling her slick, wet body against my chest. The siblings were still throwing water, but the world had narrowed down to just us.

"You think you can win against me, Jaana?" I murmured, my voice a dark, **possessive** rumble that was lost to everyone but her.

"I already have," she whispered, her hands sliding up my wet chest to lock behind my neck. "I have the 'Ice King' playing in a fountain."

I looked down at her-her wet skin was glowing, the last traces of yellow being washed away by the rose water. I leaned in, my lips inches from hers, the scent of wet earth and jasmine surrounding us.

"This is the last time you'll have a wall between us, Ishita," I promised, my grip tightening on her waist. "Tomorrow, you enter my home. And there won't be enough water in Rajasthan to cool down what I feel for you."

"Rudra! The elders are coming!" Ahana hissed, trying to pull us apart before we got "too" scandalous in the middle of the courtyard.

I let her go, but not before stealing a lingering, wet kiss on her forehead. We stood there, drenched and shivering in the November night air, surrounded by our laughing siblings-two souls finally washed clean and ready for the fire of the *mandap*.