Ishita's Perspective

The afternoon in Paris was like a dream as we strolled through the cobblestone streets. Rudra looked every bit the "Greek God" in his tailored black overcoat, his **6'3" height** turning heads of locals and tourists alike. I felt so small and protected tucked under his arm, my **Ruby Velvet** dress peeking out from under my coat.

We stopped at a quaint, high-end cafe near the Louvre to grab a quick espresso. I was struggling to understand the menu, my brow furrowed as I tried to decipher the French words.

Suddenly, Rudra leaned over. When the waiter approached, the "Cold Prince" didn't speak English. Instead, a smooth, low, and perfectly accented stream of French flowed from his lips.

"*Bonjour. Nous aimerions deux espressos et une tarte au chocolat, s'il vous plaît. Ma femme a faim.*" (Hello. We would like two espressos and a chocolate tart, please. My wife is hungry.)

My jaw literally dropped. I stared at him, my brown eyes wide with total shock. I knew he was a top-five businessman, I knew he was brilliant, but hearing that rough, masculine voice speak the "Language of Love" so fluently made my heart do a backflip.

"Ru!" I whispered urgently once the waiter left, hitting his muscular bicep. "Since when do you speak French? You never told me!"

He gave me a nonchalant shrug, though a smug, princely smirk played on his lips. "Business, *Janna*. The Rathor Company has interests everywhere. I learned it years ago for a merger. Is it that surprising?"

"Surprising? *Kya baat hai!* Mera pati toh bahut smart hai!" I squealed, my face glowing with pride. "Hayee... nazar na lage mere Ru ko."

Impulsively, I stood up and reached for his face. I performed the traditional Indian gesture of taking off the 'evil eye'-circling my knuckles near his temples and then cracking them against my own head.

Rudra froze, his **ocean-blue eyes** widening as a deep, rare flush of red crept up his neck and over his high cheekbones. The "Heartless Prince" of Rajasthan was actually blushing in the middle of a Parisian cafe.

"Ishi... what are you doing?" he hissed, though he didn't pull away. "People are looking."

"Let them look!" I teased, giggling as I saw how flustered he was. "I have to protect my handsome husband. You're speaking French, looking like a model... I can't have the French ladies stealing you away with their eyes."

"No one is stealing me," he growled softly, regaining his composure and pulling me back down into my seat. His hand gripped my waist firmly under the table. "You're the only one who has the key to this heart, you little drama queen."

"Aww, look at you blushing! The Great Rudra Singh Rathor is shy!" I continued to tease, poking his cheek.

"Okay, that's enough," he muttered, though he was smiling now-that soft, beautiful smile he only shows me. "Eat your tart, or I'll start speaking French again just to confuse you."

The sun began to dip behind the Haussmann-style buildings, painting the Parisian sky in shades of bruised purple and burning gold. As we walked toward the banks of the Seine, I clung to Rudra's arm, my head resting against his sturdy shoulder. The crisp winter air bit at my cheeks, but the heat radiating from him kept me warm.

I looked up at his sharp profile-the way the fading light caught the blue of his eyes and the stubborn set of his jaw. A wave of overwhelming gratitude washed over me. *How did I get so lucky?*

My mind drifted back to our beginning. I remembered working late nights with **Reet**, creating designs for the shows he was sponsoring. Even back then, when he wore his 'Cold Prince' persona like a suit of armor, he was different with me. I remembered the silent car rides where he'd pick me up and drop me home, his expression unreadable, yet he'd never tell me to be quiet as I ranted about my day, my dramas, and my dreams.

I thought of the man who claimed he didn't believe in God, yet walked into the **Gurudwara** with me because I asked. The man who stood under the falling dupatta at the **Radha Krishna Mandir**. I remembered the rain dance, the way he looked at me like I was the only person in the world, and that moment my heart nearly stopped when he-the Prince who knelt for no one-knelt on the dirty ground just to help me put on my heels.

He had bought me novels he probably never intended to read, just because I liked them. He had stayed by my side through the darkness of the kidnapping and the three years of agonizing separation.

We reached the private dock where a sleek, wooden boat waited to take us down the river. Rudra stepped onto the deck first, then reached back, his large, warm hand enveloping mine to steady me.

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours, *Janna*?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my bones. "You've been quiet for five blocks."

I stepped close to him, my **chooda clinking** as I wrapped my arms around his waist, hiding my face against his black coat. I could hear his steady, powerful heartbeat-the rhythm of my entire world.

"I was just thinking about everything," I murmured. "About how you used to pick me up from work... about the rain... about how much you've done for a simple girl like me."

"You were never simple to me, Ishita," he whispered, his chin resting on top of my head. "You were the only thing that made sense."

The boat began to pull away from the dock, the water of the Seine rippling beneath us. The Eiffel Tower began its hourly sparkle, thousands of lights dancing on the dark water. I pulled back just enough to look into those **ocean-blue eyes** that I loved so much.

"I love you," I whispered, the words soft, slow, and heavy with the weight of our five-year journey. "I love you so much, Ru."

He didn't answer with words at first. He simply cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my lower lip, his gaze so intense it felt like he was reading my very soul.

"And I am utterly, dangerously obsessed with you, Mrs. Rathor," he rasped, before leaning down to seal the vow with a kiss that tasted of Paris, birthday wishes, and forever.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The boat glided silently under the shadows of the Parisian bridges, the golden reflections of the city dancing across the water. I pulled her closer, my coat wrapped around us both, as our lips parted from a kiss that felt like it could have lasted lifetimes. I looked down at her-my tiny, resilient **Janna**-and the question that had lived in the back of my mind for years finally slipped out.

"Why me, Ishita?" I rasped, my voice thick with the raw emotion of the day. "Why did you choose me? A man who was cold, heartless... a man who didn't even believe in the Gods you worship?"

She looked up at me, her brown eyes shimmering with the lights of the **Eiffel Tower**. She didn't answer immediately; she just leaned her head against my chest for a heartbeat before looking back up.

"I don't know, Ru," she whispered softly. "I don't have a reason."

I felt a slight pang of confusion, my brow furrowing, but she quickly placed a small hand over my heart.

"Because if there is a reason, that means when the reason finishes, the love finishes too," she explained, her voice steady and certain. "So, I don't have a reason. I just love you because you are you."

I felt the breath leave my lungs. In the ruthless world of business, everything has a reason-a motive, a profit, a logic. But here, in the middle of the Seine, she was giving me the only thing I couldn't buy: unconditional surrender.

"But yes," she continued, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "I love your eyes. You can mask your face, your voice, even your heart from the world... but not them. The body ages, Ru, but eyes stay forever. They are the windows to who you really are."

She paused, a sad, beautiful smile touching her lips. "I saw the real Rudra that day at the **Gurudwara**. When you finally opened up to me about **Tara di**... about what happened at **Kedarnath**. The man who felt that much pain, that much loss... that's the Ru I fell for. Not the Prince, not the CEO. Just my Ru."

I closed my eyes for a moment, the memory of that day hitting me like a physical blow. I had never spoken of my sister's death to anyone but family, yet with her, the walls had simply crumbled. I realize now that was the moment I stopped being a cold machine and started being a man again.

"You're too good for me, Ishi," I groaned, burying my face in the crook of her neck, my **6'3" frame** trembling slightly with the weight of her words.

"No," she murmured, her **chooda clinking** as she held my head. "I'm exactly what you need. And you're exactly what I want."

I pulled back, looking into her eyes-the eyes that had seen through my mask since the day we met at the **Shiv Mandir**. I didn't care about the Top 5 rankings or the Rathor legacy in that moment. I was just a man celebrating his 30th year, finally realizing that my greatest achievement wasn't a company or a title. It was her.

"Then I'll spend the rest of my life making sure those eyes never have to cry a tear of sadness again," I promised, my voice a dark, solemn vow.

I chuckled, the tension in my chest finally unraveling at her touch. Only Ishita could transition from a soul-stirring confession to a playful command so seamlessly. She reached up, cupping my face with her delicate, henna-stained hands, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead-a gesture so pure it made the 'Cold Prince' feel like a king.

"Chalo," she whispered against my skin, her breath warm in the winter air. "Bahut baatein kar li... we have our whole lives for these talks, Ru. Right now, I want to enjoy *this* moment with my birthday boy."

She didn't give me a chance to argue. Gripping my hand, she pulled me toward the plush, sheltered sitting area at the center of the private boat. The area was lined with cream-colored leather and draped in soft cashmere throws to keep the Parisian chill at bay.

As I sat down, she didn't sit opposite me. Instead, she tucked herself right into my side, her **Ruby Velvet** dress riding up slightly as she curled her legs onto the seat. I immediately wrapped my arm around her, pulling her small frame into the heat of my body.

"See?" she said, gesturing toward the passing sights-the illuminated Louvre, the glowing bridges, and the distant hum of the city. "No business, no family drama, no past. Just us."

I leaned back, resting my head against the cushioned rail, watching the way the city lights played in her **long curly hair**. My other hand found hers, our fingers interlocking naturally, the **chooda** on her wrist resting against my watch.

"You're right, *Janna*," I murmured, my voice losing its hard edge completely. "We have plenty of time. But I hope you realize that 'plenty of time' means I'm never letting you out of my sight."

She giggled, a bright, musical sound that echoed over the ripples of the Seine. She reached for a small plate of chocolate-covered strawberries that had been set out for us, picking one up and holding it to my lips.

"Eat, Ru. You need your energy," she teased with a mischievous glint in her eyes, reminding me of the long night we had ahead of us back at the villa.

I bit into the fruit, my eyes locked on hers, the sweetness of the chocolate mingling with the salt of the river air. In this quiet corner of the boat, with the world drifting by, I realized she was right-the deep talks could wait. The "Real Rudra" she loved didn't need words tonight; he just needed her.

The walk back through the streets of Paris was lively, the cobblestones crowded with couples and tourists, but I only had eyes for the woman tucked against my side. As we passed a small chocolatier, she stopped, her eyes sparkling with that childlike excitement I had grown to adore.

"Ru, can we have the dark chocolate, please?" she asked, pointing toward the shop.

I checked the crowd, my protective instincts humming. "Okay. Stay right here by this pillar, *Janna*. Don't move an inch."

"I'm standing right here, go!" she promised with a smile.

I stepped into the shop, my mind already on getting back to her side. But as I walked out, the rich scent of cocoa in my hand, I didn't see her by the pillar. My heart skipped-a cold flash of the kidnapping memory hitting me-until I heard a familiar, melodic voice over the strumming of a street performer's guitar.

I turned, and there she was, standing in the center of a small circle of people. She had borrowed the performer's microphone, her **Ruby Velvet** dress shimmering under the streetlights, her **long curly hair** caught in the breeze.

"Guys, this song is for my husband," she said into the mic, her eyes finding mine in the crowd. "Today is his birthday."

The music swelled, and then she began to sing, her voice honey-sweet and trembling with a love that silenced the busy Parisian street.

> *Hoooo nazro ne Teri jo pyar se Chua mujhe*

> *Ho gyi dewaani Teri main*

> *Kese Karo shukriya tune jo dediya*

> *Kabil bhi na thi jiski main...*

I froze, the chocolate forgotten in my hand. I watched her-this beautiful, brown-skinned goddess who thought she wasn't 'worthy' of what I gave her, when in reality, she was the one who had saved my soul.

> *Hoooo sajti hu sajna bss Teri hi liye nazar bharke dekhe tu mujhe*

> *Ho mahiye Teri nazare jab tak na pad jati mujhe*

> *mera roop adhura saj ke mahiya...*

She sang it with such conviction, her **chooda** catching the light as she gestured toward me. I felt the 'Cold Prince' mask shatter completely. My chest felt tight, my **ocean-blue eyes** stinging as I realized she was telling the whole of Paris that her beauty only felt complete when *I* looked at her.

Then, the lyrics shifted, and my breath hitched as she took me back to that chiily morning at the **Gurudwara**.

> *Jab tujhe milungi Yaara saanse Tej hongi*

> *Kaapte hue labbo se kuch na khe sakungi*

> *Bss tu baate karna m dekhti rakhungi*

> *Chaand sa vo Noor tera ankhon main bharungi...*

She stared directly at me as she sang those lines, her gaze never wavering. I remembered how she had stood frozen when I confessed my love, her lips trembling, unable to speak. She was telling me she remembered it all-the fear, the beauty, the moment our souls locked.

> *Rehna ab piya ab tere sath ve*

> *Apna bana le tu mujhe...*

> *Hooo mere mahiya Teri nazare jab tak na pad jati mujhe mera roop adhura saj ke mahiya...*

As she hit the final notes, the crowd erupted into applause. People were cheering, some were even wiping their eyes. But I didn't hear them. I walked through the crowd like a man possessed, reaching her in three long strides.

I didn't care that we were in public. I didn't care about my reputation. I pulled her into my arms, burying my face in her neck, my 6'3" frame shaking with a mix of pride and overwhelming devotion.

"You're trying to kill me, aren't you?" I rasped against her skin, my voice thick. "You're trying to make me the weakest man in the world for you."

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her face glowing. "Not weak, Ru. Just mine."

I kissed her then-a deep, searing kiss that told her she was already mine, in this life and every one that followed. It was the best birthday gift a "heartless" man could ever receive.

The sound of the crowd's roar was deafening, a symphony of Parisian cheers and whistling that broke through the bubble we had created. I felt Ishita stiffen slightly in my arms as reality rushed back in-she had just performed for a sea of strangers.

As I pulled back from the kiss, I saw her face turn a deep, beautiful shade of crimson. She immediately tried to hide her face in my chest, her **long curly hair** acting as a shield, but the people wouldn't let her go.

"Joyeux Anniversaire!" a group of French teenagers shouted, clapping rhythmically.

"Happy Birthday, Monsieur!" an elderly couple called out, beaming at us.

The street performers were grinning, the guitarist giving me a thumbs-up. I reached into my wallet and dropped a stack of Euros into his case-not just for the music, but for giving my wife the stage to steal my heart all over again.

"Ru, let's go, let's go!" she whispered urgently, her hand clutching my coat. She was so shy now, a complete contrast to the confident woman who was just owning the microphone. "Everyone is looking!"

I laughed, a genuine, booming sound that felt foreign but right. I wrapped my arm firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against my side as we began to navigate through the well-wishers.

"You can't be shy now, *Janna*," I teased, my **ocean-blue eyes** dancing with mischief as I looked down at her. "You just told the whole of Paris that your 'roop' is incomplete without my gaze. I think I have a responsibility to keep staring at you for the rest of the night."

"Rudra! Stop it!" she whined, though she was smiling, her **chooda clinking** as she swatted my arm.

As we walked away from the crowd, the "Happy Birthdays" followed us down the street. I felt a sense of peace I hadn't felt in the three years she was away. My 30th year wasn't starting with a cold business deal or a lonely gala; it was starting with a song and a woman who loved me enough to brave her shyness for me.

"That song..." I said, my voice turning serious as we reached the quieter lane leading to our villa. "The part about the Gurudwara... you remembered how you couldn't speak?"

She stopped walking and looked up at me, the moonlight catching the tears of joy in her eyes. "I remember every second of us, Ru. Even the silences."

I pulled her into one last embrace under the shadow of a blooming chestnut tree. "No more silences, Ishi. Only music from now on."

As soon as the heavy oak doors of the villa clicked shut, the shyness she'd felt on the street evaporated, replaced by a burst of playful energy. She took off like a literal whirlwind, her **Ruby Velvet** dress swirling around her as she raced up the stairs.

"Ru! Hurry up!" she called back, her laughter echoing through the marble hallway.

By the time I reached the bedroom, she was already there, breathless and glowing. "Ru, what was the meaning of that look? And that person who bowed? And the way the lights moved?" she kept asking, her words tumbling out in a rush as she tried to process the magic of the evening. She was like a beautiful, excited child, her **long curly hair** bouncing with every movement.

"It means you're a star, *Janna*," I said, leaning against the doorframe, my **ocean-blue eyes** watching her with pure adoration. "And it means Paris belongs to you tonight."

We both took a few minutes to change out of our formal clothes. I pulled on some comfortable silk lounge pants, staying shirtless as usual, while she slipped into a soft, satin nightslip that she'd bought earlier.

The moment she was ready, she didn't just lie down-she literally **jumped** onto the massive king-sized bed.

"I love Paris, Ru! I love it, I love it!" she squealed, rolling onto her back. Above us, the ceiling was still covered in the remains of yesterday's surprise-dozens of red and gold helium balloons that had drifted to the top of the high ceiling, their long silk ribbons dangling down like vines.

She began reaching up, straining her small frame to catch the ribbons. "Aaa! Almost... just a little bit more!"

She was jumping on the mattress, her **chooda clinking** rhythmically as she swiped at the air. I walked over, the contrast between my **6'3" height** and her **5'3" frame** never more apparent. I stood at the edge of the bed, watching her struggle with a smirk.

"You need help, little one?" I teased, my voice a low, vibrating rumble.

"No! I can get it! Look!" She lunged for a gold ribbon, but the air from her movement just pushed the balloon further away. She let out a frustrated little whine and flopped back onto the pillows, pouting up at me. "Okay, fine. Your 'Patidev' powers are required."

I climbed onto the bed, the mattress sinking under my weight. I didn't even have to jump. I simply reached up, my long arm easily snaring three ribbons at once. I pulled them down and tied the strings loosely around her delicate wrist.

"There," I whispered, hovering over her, my bare chest inches from her face. "Now they can't escape. Just like you."

She looked up at the balloons now hovering just above her face, then up at me, her brown eyes softening. "I'm not trying to escape, Ru. I'm exactly where I want to be."

She pulled on the ribbons, bringing my face down to hers. "Best birthday ever?"

"The only one that ever mattered," I replied, pinning her wrists to the pillow-balloons and all-as I prepared to show her exactly how much I loved her 'thank you' song.

I felt the air leave my lungs as her small, warm palm began a slow, torturous trail up my chest. Her fingers traced the lines of my muscles, lingering over my heartbeat before sliding up to wrap around the back of my neck. When she pulled me down and pressed her lips to mine-not a shy peck, but a deep, demanding kiss-the last of my "Cold Prince" defenses turned to ash.

I groaned into the kiss, my hands framing her face as I hovered over her. "You are being dangerously romantic tonight, *Janna*," I rasped, my **ocean-blue eyes** darkening with a mix of surprise and raw hunger. "First the song in front of all of Paris, and now this? You're going to make it impossible for me to ever let you out of this bed."

She pulled back just an inch, her brown eyes dancing with a playful, defiant fire that I absolutely adored. She didn't look like the shy girl from the Shiv Mandir anymore; she looked like the Queen of the Rathor empire.

"Toh? Nahi ho sakti kya?" she challenged, her voice a velvety whisper. (So? Can't I be?)

She tightened her hold on my neck, pulling me even closer until I could feel the frantic beat of her heart against my bare chest. A mischievous smirk curled her lips as she quoted my own possessive nature back to me.

"Mera pati... meri marzi," she declared with a playful toss of her head. (My husband... my will/choice.)

I let out a low, dark bark of laughter, completely captivated by her boldness. "Oh, is that how it is? Using my own logic against me?"

"Exactly," she whispered, her **chooda clinking** as she ran her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. "You always tell me I'm yours. Well, tonight, Rudra Singh Rathor... you are officially *mine*. No CEOs, no Princes. Just my husband, and I'll be as romantic as I want."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I growled, my heart swelling with a love so intense it felt like it would burst.

I lowered my head, burying my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of vanilla and Parisian night air. The balloons were still tied to her wrist, dancing above us in the dim light of the suite, but they were the last thing on my mind. I began to leave a trail of burning kisses along her jawline, my hands sliding down to grip her waist possessively.

"Your 'marzi' is my command, Ishi," I murmured against her skin. "Show me exactly how you want to celebrate the rest of this birthday."

I didn't need a second invitation. The moment she claimed me with that "Mera pati, meri marzi," the last shred of my restraint snapped. I leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was deep, slow, and tasted of the dark chocolate we'd shared under the Parisian moon.

I shifted my weight, pinning her softly into the plush mattress, my **6'3" frame** creating a protective canopy over her. The red and gold balloons tied to her wrist danced and swayed above us, their silken ribbons tangling with her **long curly hair**, creating a scene of chaotic beauty that I wanted to freeze in time forever.

"You have no idea how much I love this side of you," I rasped, my voice thick with emotion as I pulled back to look at her. "The girl who takes what she wants. The girl who owns me."

I began to trail my lips down her throat, finding that sensitive spot right behind her ear that always made her toes curl. She let out a soft, airy gasp, her fingers digging into the muscles of my bare shoulders. My hands, large and dark against her **brown skin**, slid down from her waist to her thighs, smoothing over the satin of her nightslip.

"Ru..." she breathed, her voice trembling. "I thought you were the one who had 'no mercy'?"

"I lied," I murmured against her skin, my breath hot. "When it comes to you, Ishi, I'm at your mercy. Always."

I started to untie the ribbons from her wrist, one by one, letting the balloons float back up to the ceiling. I wanted nothing between us-not even a string. As the last balloon drifted up, I captured both her hands in mine, pinning them above her head. The **chooda** on her wrists sang a rhythmic, metallic song of belonging as I began to worship her again.

This wasn't like the frantic, raw passion of the night before. This was slow. This was intentional. Every kiss I placed on her shoulder, every touch on her waist, was a "thank you" for the song she sang, for the three years she waited, and for the way she looked at me like I was her entire universe.

"Happy Birthday, Ru," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut as I leaned down to claim her heart once more.

"Best one yet, *Janna*," I replied, lost in the scent of her hair and the warmth of the woman who had finally turned the Cold Prince into a man who believed in soulmates.

I felt the silk of her nightslip beneath my palms, a thin barrier that I was done sharing her with. With a slow, deliberate tug, I pulled the straps over her shoulders, my eyes never leaving hers. I wanted to see every flicker of desire in those brown depths as the fabric pooled around her waist.

"Rudra..." she whispered, her breath hitching as the cool air hit her skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of my gaze.

I didn't give her time to think. In one fluid motion, I gripped her waist and flipped our positions, settling her firmly on top of me. She gasped, her **long curly hair** falling forward like a silken curtain, veiling us from the rest of the world. She sat perched on my lap, her slim figure silhouetted by the moonlight streaming through the balcony doors.

"You said it was your 'marzi', didn't you?" I rasped, my hands sliding up her bare back, my thumbs tracing the line of her spine. "So, take charge, *Janna*. Show me how much you love me."

She hesitated for a split second, her shyness warring with her newfound boldness, but then she leaned down, her **chooda clinking** as she rested her forearms on my chest. She began to pepper my face with soft, biting kisses, her lips moving from my jaw to my ear.

"I love you more than Paris," she murmured, her voice vibrating against my skin. "More than the stars... more than my own life, Ru."

I groaned, my fingers tangling in her curls, pulling her head back just enough to look at her. The sight of her-flushed, beautiful, and dominant in her own gentle way-was more than I could handle. I reached up, my hands framing her face, and pulled her down into a kiss that was raw and possessive, reclaiming the lead even while she stayed on top.

The balloons above us swayed as the bed shifted, the ribbons brushing against our skin like ghosts of the day's celebrations. Everything else-the Rathor Company, the business rivals, the cold world I lived in-ceased to exist. There was only the rhythm of her heart against mine and the heat of our bodies as we turned the middle of the night into a continuation of the fire we'd started on the streets of Paris.

"You're the only queen this kingdom will ever have," I whispered against her lips, before lost ourselves completely in each other.