Rudra's Perspective

I sat behind my massive mahogany desk at **Eternity**, the city of Delhi sprawling out behind me through the floor-to-ceiling glass. Usually, this view made me feel like the king of the world, but today, I felt like a man facing a life sentence.

My fingers rhythmically tapped the crystal paperweight, the cold glass clicking against the desk. My mind wasn't on stocks or global dominance; it was stuck on the image of Ishita’s pouting face and her threat of a "public apology" at the bonfire.

*Kese manao ab? (How do I convince her now?)*

I was so deep in thought that I didn't even notice **Laksh** standing there with a stack of files. I had walked through the lobby like a ghost, ignoring the bows of my employees. Not that I ever noticed them personally, but today, my aura of "Cold Prince" was replaced by "Distracted Husband."

"Sir?" Laksh’s voice finally broke through. "Is something wrong? You've been staring at that paperweight for five minutes."

I blinked, my **ocean-blue eyes** snapping back to reality. "No... nothing. Just... family matters."

"The Lohri preparations?" Laksh asked, trying to be helpful.

"Something like that," I muttered, clearing my throat and straightening my tie. I couldn't exactly tell my head of operations that I was terrified of a 5'3" woman in a velvet saree. "Umm... when is the meeting with the Tokyo mergers?"

Laksh looked at me, a confused frown on his face. "Sir... the Tokyo meeting was yesterday. Today is the final contract review for the Dubai expansion."

I went still. I had completely lost track of time. My brain was a mess of "Kaleshi," "Janna," and "Apology."

"Right. Dubai. Of course," I said, standing up and grabbing my tablet, though I was staring at a blank screen. "Let’s get it over with."

As I walked toward the conference room, Laksh trailed behind me, clearly sensing my lack of focus. I knew I wasn't going to hear a word the delegates said. Every time someone would mention "Revenue," my brain would hear "Reet." Every time they said "Assets," I'd think of "Ishita."

I pulled out my phone and quickly typed a message to **Ahana**:

> *“Send me photos of the most exclusive necklace you’ve designed this month. Not for a client. For Ishi. And tell me... how do you say sorry to someone who thinks you’ve called them a troublemaker without actually admitting you were right?”*

Ahana’s reply came instantly:

> *“Bhai, you are on your own for the words. But the diamonds? They’ll do 90% of the work. Sending photos now.”*

I walked into the meeting room, my face a mask of cold professionalism, but internally, I was counting down the seconds until 4:00 PM.

The silence that followed my outburst was so thick you could have cut it with a boardroom gavel.

I was leaning back in my leather chair, my **ocean-blue eyes** unfocused, staring at a chart on the projector that I wasn't actually seeing. In my head, I was imagining Ishita throwing the diamond necklace back at me and telling me to go sleep with my 'industries.'

"Mr. Rathor? Are you okay? Are you listening?" the lead delegate from the Dubai group asked, his brow furrowed in genuine concern.

"Yes, yes... no diamond can buy her. I am listening," I snapped, my voice sounding authoritative but the words making absolutely zero sense in a corporate context.

The entire table went dead silent. Twelve high-level executives, three translators, and Laksh all stared at me as if I’d suddenly started speaking a lost ancient language.

"Sir?" Laksh whispered urgently from beside me, leaning in. "We are not talking about diamonds. We are talking about the industrial zoning for the new port."

I felt a rare heat crawl up my neck. I adjusted my cuffs, my expression shifting back into the "Cold Prince" mask, though the damage was clearly done.

"I am aware," I lied, my voice dropping into a lethal, low register to discourage anyone from laughing. "I was merely making a metaphorical point about... the 'invaluable' nature of this partnership. Diamonds are common; this merger is not. Proceed."

The delegates exchanged puzzled glances, but nobody dared to challenge the man who could end their careers with a single phone call. They went back to their slides, but I could see Laksh shaking his head out of the corner of my eye.

I pulled out my phone under the table. I didn't care about the port anymore. I opened our chat.

> **Rudra:** Janna, are you still angry? I'm in a meeting and I just told a room full of CEOs that diamonds can't buy you.

I saw the double blue ticks almost instantly.

> **Ishi:** Oh? So the Cold Prince is losing his mind in front of his clients? Good. Let them see what a 'Kaleshi' wife can do to a top businessman. And don't call me Janna. I'm busy Bye!

I gripped my phone so hard I thought the screen might crack. She was enjoying this. She was definitely enjoying this.

I looked up at the delegates, my eyes like ice. "Speed this up. I have a 4:00 PM deadline that involves a bonfire and my continued survival as a married man. If this contract isn't signed in twenty minutes, the deal is off."

The room scrambled into a frenzy of paper-shuffling. Fear was a great motivator, but as I sat there, I realized my father was right. In the world of business, I was the predator. But in the world of Ishita Sharma, I was just a man who really, really needed to find a way to apologize before the sun went down.

I slammed my hands onto my desk, pacing the length of my cabin like a restless predator. The Dubai delegates had fled the building ten minutes ago, but I couldn't care less about the signatures on the paper. All I could see was Ishita's "Don't call me Janna" text.

"Laksh, meri biwi naraz hai... (My wife is upset...)" I turned to him, my voice cracking with an uncharacteristic note of desperation. "Mujhe kuch bata na, main kya karu? (Tell me something, what do I do?)"

My office manager, who had been hovering near the door with some papers, looked at Laksh and then at me.

Laksh cleared his throat, looking incredibly uncomfortable. "I don't know, Sir. I am not married."

The manager, sensing an opening, chipped in with a grin, "Aap kara dijiye meri shaadi, Sir... (You get me married, Sir...) I am ready! Then I can tell you."

I stopped pacing and fixed my **ocean-blue eyes** on him, my gaze so sharp it could have sliced through steel. "You want to die? Is this a joke to you?"

The manager’s smile vanished instantly, and he scrambled back toward the door. I turned back to my head of security. "And you, Laksh... you are not married?"

"No, Sir," Laksh said, sounding grateful for his bachelor status for the first time in his life.

"Why?! Then get married and tell me an idea for God’s sake!" I roared, throwing my hands up. I was the President of Eternity and a Rathor Prince, yet I was taking relationship advice from my security head who hadn't even been on a date in a year.

Laksh took a cautious step forward. "Sir... maybe call the inner circle? Call Veer, Shiv, and Krishiv Sir. They are all married. Especially Krishiv Sir... he knows how to handle intense situations. Maybe they know how to make up with wives."

I paused. *Krishiv.* The man was a mafia kingpin; surely he had dealt with a "Kaleshi" mood before. And Veer... he was married to Aditi, Ishita’s childhood friend. He would definitely know what works.

I grabbed my phone and started a group call immediately. As soon as the three of them joined, the screen filled with their faces.

"Rudra? What's the emergency?" Veer asked, sounding concerned. "Is it the kidnapping threat again?"

"No," I rasped, rubbing my temples. "It's worse. I called Ishita 'Kaleshi' in front of the whole family, and now it's Lohri and she's not talking to me. Help me, or I’m not surviving the bonfire tonight."

There was a three-second silence before the speakers erupted with laughter.

"The Cold Prince is begging for mercy!" Shiv howled.

"Rudra, listen to me," Krishiv said, his voice deep and calm, the tone of a man who had survived many domestic storms with Chavvi. "Diamonds are for the world to see. But for Ishita? You need to do something that shows you've surrendered. Go to that old sweet shop near her studio—the one she likes. Buy her favorite kajukatli*. And Rudra... apologize in front of everyone like she asked. A Rathor only bows to his Queen."

"I'm not bowing in front of Jay," I muttered.

"Then stay outside in the cold, brother," Veer teased. "Your choice."

I leaned back into my leather chair, the phone propped up on speaker as the laughter of my three best friends echoed through the high-ceilinged office. My frustration was peaking; I was a man who moved mountains, yet here I was, being mocked by the only people I trusted.

"Stop laughing, you bastards," I growled, my **ocean-blue eyes** flashing. "I’m serious. She told me not to call her 'Janna.' Do you have any idea what that does to my blood pressure?"

"Oh, we know," **Veer** chuckled, his voice sounding far too relaxed. "It means you’re officially in the doghouse. Look, I’m married to Aditi—Ishita’s friend. If I give you bad advice, Aditi will find out and I’ll be sleeping on the balcony in this Delhi chill. My advice? Public humbleness. It’s her love language when she’s mad."

"Public humbleness? I’m a Rathor, Veer. We don't do 'humble' in public," I snapped, though my hand was nervously smoothing my tie.

"Then prepare for a very cold Lohri, brother," **Krishiv’s** deep, gravelly voice cut in. I could hear the clink of a glass in the background. "When Chavvi is mad at me, I don't give her diamonds. I give her my time. And I admit I’m an idiot. It’s not that hard, Rudra. Just say the words: 'I am a fool, and you are my world.'"

"I am not saying that in front of Akshat and Jay," I muttered, the very thought making my skin crawl. "They’ll never let me live it down."

"At least you *have* a wife to be mad at you!" **Shiv** suddenly burst out, his voice sounding ragged and full of a different kind of desperation. "You guys are complaining about 'Kaleshi' moods and doghouses? I’d give anything for Tanya to be my 'Kaleshi' wife right now!"

The laughter on the line died down. We all knew Shiv’s situation.

"Still no progress with her father?" I asked, my tone softening slightly.

"None," Shiv groaned, and I could practically hear him rubbing his face in frustration. "He treats me like I’m some street thug, not a successful businessman. He won't even let me enter the house to talk to her. He’s looking for some 'traditional' guy for her. I’m losing my mind, Rudra. I’m ready to just kidnap her and get it over with."

"Don't do that," Krishiv advised darkly. "Kidnapping leads to paperwork and messes. Trust me. But Shiv, if you need me to 'persuade' him... you just have to ask."

"No mafia tactics for my father-in-law, Krishiv," Shiv sighed. "But Rudra, seriously. You have the girl. You have the marriage. You have the family’s blessing. If you have to say sorry in front of a bonfire, just do it. Don't be an idiot like me and wait until it's almost too late."

I stayed silent for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. Shiv was desperate to just get to the altar, and here I was, complaining about a nickname.

"Fine," I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "I'll do it. I'll buy the sweets, I'll go home, and I'll face the 'Kalesh.' Shiv... if you need me to talk to Tanya's father, or if you need the Rathor influence to settle his doubts, you tell me. I’ll make him an offer he can't refuse."

"Thanks, Ru," Shiv muttered. "Now go. Go save your marriage before Jay records you crying in the driveway."

I hung up, feeling a mix of guilt for Shiv and a renewed, frantic energy to win back my Ishi. I looked at Laksh. "Get the car ready. We’re stopping at the old city sweet shop. And if there's a line, tell them the Prince is in a hurry."

I stood in the middle of a chaotic, bustling lane in Old Delhi, the smell of frying *ghee* and burning wood filling the air. My silver Maybach was parked awkwardly at the corner, looking like an alien spaceship in this narrow street, with Laksh and four other security guards trying to form a human wall around me.

I was still in my charcoal grey three-piece suit, my **6'3" frame** towering over the crowd. People were whispering, pointing, and staring at the "Cold Prince" standing in a literal queue for sweets.

"Sir, let me go in," Laksh pleaded, looking nervously at a rickshaw that almost brushed against my sleeve. "The crowd is too much. You shouldn’t be out here."

"No," I said, my **ocean-blue eyes** fixed on the glass display of the sweet shop. "I called her a name in public, I’ll buy the peace offering in public. Move."

I stepped up to the counter. The shopkeeper, a man with flour on his apron and a confused expression, looked me up and down. "Haan, Bhai Sahab? Kya chahiye? (Yes, brother? What do you want?)"

"Kaju Katli," I said, my voice projecting that CEO authority that usually silences boardrooms. "Two kilograms. The freshest batch you have."

"Sir, we have the gold-leaf ones in the back for special orders—"

"I don't want the gold-leaf ones," I interrupted, remembering Ishita’s preference. "She likes the thin, traditional ones from the front tray. The ones that melt instantly. Wrap them. Now."

As the man started packing the boxes, a group of teenagers nearby started giggling. "Oye, dekh! Yeh toh wahi Rathor businessman hai na? (Look, isn't that the Rathor businessman?)" one whispered. "Bhabhi ne lagta hai ghar se nikal diya! (Looks like Bhabhi kicked him out of the house!)"

I tightened my grip on my leather wallet, my **veins popping** in my hand. Usually, I’d have someone’s job for a comment like that, but today? Today, they weren't wrong.

I paid the man—triple the amount, telling him to keep the change just to speed things up—and walked back to the car clutching the boxes like they were the blueprints to a billion-dollar empire.

"Step on it, Laksh," I commanded as I got into the back seat. "It’s 4:15. If I’m not there before the Sharma family starts the first set of tea, I’m dead."

As the car sped toward the villa, I looked at the boxes of Kaju Katli. I had the diamonds from Ahana in my pocket and the sweets in my hand. I was armed for a peace treaty. But as I thought of Shiv's desperate voice on the phone earlier, I realized how lucky I was to even have someone to buy sweets for.

*I'm coming, Janna,* I thought, a small, determined smile tugging at my lips. *Prepare for the most expensive apology of your life.*

I sprinted into the mansion, the heavy boxes of Kaju Katli tucked under one arm. The living room was already a whirlwind of voices and laughter—the **Sharma family** had arrived in full force. I immediately saw **Mohan Ji and Gayatri Maa** sitting with Bebe. As I approached to touch their feet in respect, they did as they always do—pulling me up into a warm hug before I could even bend down. I shared a quick, firm embrace with **Ravi**, who looked like he was suppressing a smirk, and patted **Purav’s** head.

"Freshen up ho jao, Rudra. Sab backyard mein hain (Go freshen up, Rudra. Everyone is in the backyard)," Gayatri Maa said with a knowing smile.

I didn't waste a second. I ran upstairs, shedding the charcoal suit that felt like a cage. I pulled on a **crisp white Chikankari kurta** and matching pajamas, rolling up the sleeves to reveal the **veins popping** on my forearms. I draped a white stole around my neck, and as I caught my reflection, I looked like the **Prince of Rajasthan** ready for a festival, but I felt like a man going to war for his wife’s smile.

When I stepped into the backyard, the scene was breathtaking. The sunset had painted the sky in shades of bruised purple and orange, and the massive bonfire was already being stacked with wood. But my eyes only went to one person.

**Ishita.**

She was standing near the flower-decked swings, looking like a dream in a **mustard-yellow Anarkali** with a deep **emerald green dupatta**. Her **long curly hair** was styled to perfection, pinned back with a heavy *maang tikka*, and her **chooda**—the symbol of our new life—shone brightly against her skin. She was laughing at something **riva and Reet** were saying, her **brown eyes** sparkling in the fading light.



I walked toward her, my **6'3" frame** cutting through the crowd. "Janna," I said softly as I reached her side.

She didn't even turn. She continued her conversation with Aditi as if I were a ghost. "So, riva Bhabhi, I was thinking we should definitely plan that girls' trip next month. I need a break from... distractions."

**Jay and Akshat**, who were standing nearby with drinks in their hands, started coughing loudly to hide their laughter. I shifted the boxes of Kaju Katli in my hand, feeling the weight of the entire Rathor and Sharma clan watching us.

"Ishi, look at me," I murmured, stepping into her personal space. "I brought your favorite. From the old shop."

She finally spared me a glance—a cold, fleeting look that made the January air feel like the Arctic. "Put it on the food table, Mr. Rathor. I’m sure the guests will enjoy it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to help Maa with the *puja* thali."

She walked away, the emerald silk of her dupatta brushing against my arm, leaving the scent of jasmine and a very bruised ego in her wake.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The backyard is a symphony of colors and music, but all I can focus on is the heat of **Rudra’s** gaze following me. Even though the **Rathor and Sharma families** are mingling, laughing, and throwing popcorn into the rising flames of the bonfire, I keep my back turned to him. My **emerald green dupatta** flutters in the winter breeze as I move from group to group, intentionally avoiding the one person who is literally trailing behind me like a lost puppy in a **white Chikankari kurta**.

I can hear the **clinking of my chooda** as I hand out plates of *rewari* to **Purav and Sahiba**, acting as if I don't notice the **6'3" shadow** hovering just two steps behind me.

"Ishi, please," I hear him mutter, his voice deep and raspy, meant only for my ears. "The Kaju Katli is getting cold. And I think **Jay** is about to start a live stream of me following you."

I don't even turn around. "Let him. Maybe your followers at **Eternity** should see their 'Cold Prince' practicing his walking skills," I reply tartly, moving toward **Siya Maa and Gayatri Maa**.

It’s actually quite funny to watch. This man, who is a **top 5 businessman in the world**, is currently navigating around flower pots and aunts just to stay in my line of sight. Every time I stop to talk to **Ahana or Reet**, he stops right behind me, his **ocean-blue eyes** practically pleading for a single second of my attention.

"Janna, at least take the box," he tries again, his hand brushing against my waist as he attempts to hand me the sweets from the old city shop.

I side-step him gracefully, catching the smirk on **Akshat’s** face. "I'm busy, Mr. Rathor. Why don't you go discuss 'market dominance' with your friends? I'm sure they won't call you names".

The drums start beating louder, signaling the start of the *parikrama* (circumambulation) around the fire. This is it. The moment where he has to face the music in front of everyone. I steal a quick glance at him—his **veins are popping** in his arms as he grips the sweet box, looking both frustrated and completely devoted.

He looks so handsome in white, but he needs to learn that his **Ishi** isn't someone he can just label and get away with.

The rhythmic thumping of the dhol echoed through the backyard, vibrating in my chest as the Lohri fire roared higher, sending golden sparks dancing into the night sky. **Jay, Akshat, and Vardaan** were already in the middle of the circle, showing off some high-energy Bhangra moves while **Ahana and Reet** cheered them on. The atmosphere was electric, full of the kind of joy we had waited three years to reclaim.

I was leaning against a decorated pillar, trying to maintain my "offended" expression, while **Rudra** stood just a few feet away, looking like a lost, handsome king in his white kurta.

My Mummy, **Gayatri Sharma**, leaned in close to my ear, her voice barely audible over the loud dhol beats. "Ishu, maan ja na ab... kyun pareshan kar rahi hai unhe? Bichare office se thake-hare aaye hain, aur tab se tere peeche ghum rahe hain (Ishu, agree now... why are you troubling him? The poor guy came home tired from the office and has been following you around since then)."

I looked at her, a mischievous glint in my **brown eyes** as I watched Rudra try to ignore **Jay**, who was currently dancing around him and pointing at the Kaju Katli boxes.

"Maza aata hai Mummy, yaar! (It's fun, Mummy!)" I whispered back with a giggle, my **chooda clinking** as I adjusted my emerald dupatta. "After all those years of him being the 'Cold Prince' of Rajasthan, it feels good to see him sweat a little over a simple apology. Besides, he called me a 'Kaleshi'—he needs to earn his way back to being called 'Ru'."

Mummy shook her head, laughing softly. "Tu bilkul nahi badli. Chal, ab dhol tez ho raha hai, sab parikrama shuru kar rahe hain (You haven't changed at all. Come on, the dhol is getting louder, everyone is starting the rounds)."

I saw **Bebe and Siya Maa** gesturing for us to come to the front. Rudra caught my eye, his **ocean-blue eyes** intense and pleading. He walked toward me, his **6'3" frame** towering over the crowd, and held out his hand—this time, he wasn't holding sweets, but a handful of popcorn and rewari for the fire.

"Janna," he said, his voice dropping to that low, velvety tone that always makes my heart skip. "The fire is lit. Are we doing this together, or do I have to apologize to the dhol-wala so he plays a sad song for me?"

I bit my lip to hide a smile, finally placing my hand in his. His grip was firm and warm, his thumb grazing my knuckles in that familiar, possessive way.

The energy in the backyard was peaking as the dhol player struck a loud, rhythmic beat. It was time for Bari Barsi, and one by one, everyone stepped into the center of the circle to showcase their wit and dancing skills.

Jay and Ahana went first, their energy infectious.

"Bari barsi khatan gaya si, khat ke lyandi dori... Sadke javaan bhabhide, jine badal ditti bhaiya di tori!" (I went away for twelve years and brought back a string... I’m devoted to my Bhabhi, who changed my brother’s entire walk!)

Jay pointed mockingly at Rudra’s stiff posture, and the whole family erupted in cheers. Even Ram and Siya Maa stepped in, doing a graceful, traditional move together, their eyes reflecting decades of shared Lohri fires.

The energy in the backyard reached its peak as the *Bari Barsi* started. One by one, everyone stepped into the center of the circle to sing the traditional boliyaan while the others clapped and cheered.

**Akshat** and **Vardaan** started it off, followed by **Ahana** and **Reet**. When it was my turn, I handed my dupatta to and stepped into the center, the **clinking of my chooda** matching the beat of the dhol.

"Bari barsi khatan gaya si, khat ke lyandi phali...

Bari barsi khatan gaya si, khat ke lyandi phali...

Baat toh badi-badi karte hain mere 'Patidev',

Par biwi nikli unse bhi zyada man-chali!"

The whole family—**Ravi, Jay, and even Dad**—erupted in laughter. I shot a playful, taunting look at **Rudra**, sticking my tongue out slightly as I twirled back to my spot. Everyone was hooting; they loved seeing Rajasthan’s "Cold Prince" getting roasted by his own wife.

Rudra’s **ocean-blue eyes** narrowed, but not with anger—they were burning with a challenge. He handed his white stole to **Laksh** and stepped into the center. His **6'3" frame** commanded the entire space, and for a second, the dhol-walas played even louder.

He didn't dance like Jay; he moved with a slow, powerful grace. He caught my gaze and didn't look away as he started his boli:

"Bari barsi khatan gaya si, khat ke lyandi koshish...

Bari barsi khatan gaya si, khat ke lyandi koshish...

Duniya ke liye main 'Rathor' hounga,

Par meri 'Janna' ke liye... main hoon sirf uska aashiq!"

The crowd went wild, but I felt the world go silent. The way he said *aashiq* (lover) while stepping right into my personal space made my heart do a somersault. He didn't care that his brothers were whistling or that our parents were watching.

He leaned down, his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "Abhi bhi 'Kaleshi' lag raha hoon, ya maafi mil gayi? (Do I still seem like a troublemaker, or am I forgiven?)"

I couldn't help it; I lowered my head, my face heating up as I tried to hide a deep blush behind my dupatta. The fierce makeup artist was gone, replaced by the girl who had fallen for him at the Shiv Mandir years ago.

"Oooohooo! Bhai is a poet now!" Jay shouted, breaking the spell, and the dhol picked up speed again.

As the dhol beats continued to pulse in the background and the family turned their attention toward the towering Lohri bonfire for the final prayers, a small pocket of silence formed between us. The orange glow of the fire flickered across Rudra's sharp features, making his **ocean blue eyes** look like molten sapphires.

"Matlab sabke samne jhukna padega ab aapke liye, hmm? (So, I have to bow down before everyone for you now, hmm?)" he murmured, his voice thick with a mix of surrender and that intense Rathor pride.

Before I could realize what he was doing, his **6'3" muscular frame** began to shift. He started to lower himself, his hand reaching for the ground as he prepared to actually kneel right there in the middle of the backyard, in front of his father, his business partners, and the entire Sharma clan.

My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached out instantly, my small hands catching his strong, **veined forearms** to stop his descent. My **chooda clinked** sharply as I pulled him back up.

"Nahi! (No!)" I whispered urgently, looking up at him. "Mana ki kaha tha maine public apology... par iska matlab ye nahi ki aapki insult karun. Aapko sabke samne jhukake nahi. (I admit I asked for a public apology... but that doesn't mean I want to insult you. Not by making you bow before everyone.)"

I smoothed the front of his **white Chikankari kurta**, my eyes softening as I saw the genuine vulnerability in his gaze—a side of the "cold-hearted prince" only I was allowed to see.

"Itni bhi buri biwi nahi hoon main, Ru (I’m not that bad of a wife, Ru)," I added with a small, shy smile.

He let out a breath of relief, his large hand coming up to cup my face, his thumb grazing my cheekbone. "You're not a bad wife, Janna. You're the only person who holds the power to bring me to my knees, whether I'm actually on the ground or not."

Rudra looked down at me, his **ocean-blue eyes** softening with a depth of emotion he only ever showed in our private moments. He leaned down, his **6'3" frame** hovering over me as he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead, then another to my cheek, right where my blush was deepest.

I leaned into him, my head resting against his chest as I wrapped my arms around his waist, feeling the solid strength of my **Patidev**.

"Aapne meri tareef nahi ki... main kaisi lag rahi hoon? (You didn't compliment me... how do I look?)" I whispered against his **white kurta**, my **chooda clinking** as I tightened my hold.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hand tangling in my **long curly hair**. "Janna, if I start describing how you look in this **mustard lehenga**, I’ll never let you leave this spot. You look like the only light I ever want to follow."

Across the lawn, the sight of us brought a collective smile to the families. **Ram Singh Rathore and Siya Maa** stood close together, their eyes shining with pride as they watched their "cold-hearted" son finally find his peace. Beside them, my parents, **Mohan and Gayatri Sharma**, watched with relief, seeing the pure, passionate love we held for each other after our three long years of separation.

"Dekho, Siya," Ram whispered, gesturing toward us. "Hamara beta ab sach mein bada ho gaya hai. (Look, Siya. Our son has truly grown up now.)"

"He didn't grow up, Ram," Siya Maa replied softly. "He just finally came home."