Ishita's Perspective

The temple bells were chiming in a rhythmic, soulful cadence as I led Ru inside, my hand firmly entwined with his. I could feel the eyes of half of Rajasthan on us—whispers followed in our wake like a trail of dust. They were shocked to see the "emotionless" Prince here, but to me, he was just my Ru. He came without a single word of complaint, just like he had at the Gurudwara and the Radha Krishna Mandir years ago.

He didn't believe in the stones or the chants, but he believed in the girl whose hand he was holding. That was his faith.

As we reached the inner sanctum, Maa and Papaji stepped aside, their faces glowing with a happiness I hadn't seen before. "Tum dono baitho," Papaji said softly. "As the eldest son and daughter-in-law, this first Shivratri puja after the wedding belongs to you."

I felt a flutter of nerves. This wasn't just a visit; this was a formal ritual. I reached up and pulled the heavy, gold-bordered pallu of my saree over my head, the silk rustling against my jewelry. I turned my head slightly, checking his face. I knew being this close to a temple altar often brought back the shadows of his sister, Tara.

*Are you okay?* I asked him with just my eyes.

He didn't look at the idol. He looked at me. A soft, reassuring smile broke across his handsome face—the kind of smile he reserved only for our private midnight conversations. He gave my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go so we could sit.

We sat down cross-legged on the silk mats in front of the ancient, black stone Shivling. The fragrance of fresh milk, honey, and marigolds was intoxicating. The priest began the chants, his voice echoing off the marble walls.

"Pandit ji, shuru kijiye," Maa whispered.

As the mantras filled the air, I took the silver lota of milk. I looked at Ru, and he understood. He placed his hand over mine, his large, warm palm covering my smaller one, helping me tilt the vessel. Together, we performed the *Abhishek*.

Sitting there, side by side, I felt a profound sense of peace. For the world, he was the ruthless CEO of The Rathor Company, but here, under the gaze of the heavens, he was the man who had waited three years for me. He sat with his head slightly bowed—not in prayer to the God he didn't trust, but in respect for the love we had fought for.

I closed my eyes, making a silent prayer. *Please, Mahadev, keep him safe. Heal the wounds he doesn't talk about. And all happiness only to us and our family

I felt his shoulder brush against mine, a solid, grounding presence. Even in a place he once hated, he made me feel like the luckiest woman alive.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The scent of incense and the rhythmic chanting of the mantras usually grated on my nerves, reminding me of the silence that followed my prayers years ago. But today, sitting here with Ishita, the air felt different. I wasn't looking at the Shivling; I was watching the way the sunlight caught the gold threads of her pallu and the way her long lashes brushed her cheeks as she prayed with such pure, unwavering devotion.

I had come here for her. Only for her. To the world, I was Rajasthan's cold prince performing a duty, but in my head, I was just a man standing guard over his wife’s happiness.

As the priest instructed us to offer the *Bel Patra*, I found myself following his lead mechanically. But then, something shifted. I watched Ishita’s lips move in a silent, heartfelt prayer—likely for me, for our family, for the future she dreamed of.

Looking at her—the woman who had survived kidnapping, a three-year separation, and my own coldness—I felt a sudden, sharp ache of gratitude. My mind, usually filled with balance sheets and board meetings, began to drift into a space I hadn't visited in decades.

*Thank you,* I thought, the words directed not at a statue, but at the sheer force of the universe that had brought her back to me.

*Thank you for keeping her safe when I couldn't. Thank you for giving her that smile that breathes life into this dead heart of mine. If this is what She wants—if this joy is what You provide—then I’m grateful for every ritual, every chant, and every second I spend in this temple.*

I was so lost in the sight of her—her face glowing with a divine peace—that I didn't realize I was staring until she opened her eyes. She caught me looking, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She reached out, her fingers grazing my hand on the floor, and for the first time in twenty years, the walls around my heart didn't feel like a cage; they felt like a home.

I realized then that I wasn't just sitting through a puja. I was acknowledging the only miracle I had ever truly witnessed: Ishita Sharma becoming Ishita Rudra Singh Rathor.

"Ru?" she whispered softly, sensing my intensity.

I didn't pull away. I tightened my grip on her hand, the sacred fire crackling in front of us. "I'm right here, Janna," I murmured. "Always."

The temple air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and the heavy, rhythmic drone of Sanskrit mantras. I sat there, my shoulder pressed against Ishi’s, following the priest’s instructions with a precision that surprised even me.

We offered the *Bel Patra*, the cool leaves slipping from our joined fingers onto the Shivaling. We offered the fruits and the vibrant marigolds, the colors a stark contrast against the dark stone. Then came the *Abhishek*. Together, we lifted the silver vessel, the cool mixture of milk and honey flowing over our hands. The sensation was grounding, and for a moment, the skepticism I usually carried felt distant.

"Now," Pandit ji announced, his voice echoing through the marble hall, "state your names, your *gotra*, and the names of the family members you wish to seek blessings for."

I heard Ishita’s soft, melodic voice start. She named my parents, my name , Akshat, Dhristi, little Krish, and even the staff who were like family. She was weaving a shield of prayer around everyone we loved.

Then it was my turn.

I took a deep breath. My voice, usually commanding and sharp in boardrooms, was low and steady. I named the Rathor lineage, the names of my ancestors that had been drilled into me since childhood. I named my brothers. I named Ishita.

But then, a name I hadn't spoken in a sacred place for twenty years bubbled up from the depths of my heart. A name that was the reason I had hated these very walls.

"And... **Tara**," I whispered.

The name hung in the air, delicate and heavy all at once. I felt Ishita’s hand tremble slightly in mine. She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with instant tears. She knew. She knew I wasn't just naming the sister I had lost on that mountain in Kedarnath—I was naming the daughter we had promised to bring into this world. I was asking for protection for the memory of one Tara and the soul of the next.

For the first time, I didn't feel the old bitterness. I felt a strange sense of closure.

Pandit ji nodded solemnly, as if sensing the weight of that name. "Kalyan ho," he murmured.

As the final drop of water—the *Jal Abhishek*—fell from our hands, I felt a weight lift off my chest. I looked at the Shivaling, then at my wife. Maybe I still didn't believe in the stories, but I believed in the power of this moment.

Ishita leaned her head against my shoulder for a brief second, her silent way of saying *'I'm proud of you.'* I didn't care who was watching anymore. I leaned down and whispered into the folds of her sea-green veil, "She’s going to be so proud of her mother, Janna."

The puja had concluded, and a serene stillness settled over the temple. We remained seated as the Pandit ji began to explain the deeper significance of the day. His voice was wise and resonant, carrying across the silent crowd.

"As you all know," Pandit ji said, looking around, "Lord Shiva has many names. One of them is **Rudra**—the fierce, powerful form of Mahadev. The one who destroys evil with his righteous anger."

At the mention of the name, I felt the collective gaze of the family and the villagers shift toward me. I sat there, my expression unreadable, my hand still resting near Ishita’s. Akshat let out a stifled cough, clearly trying to suppress a grin at how perfectly the description fit my reputation.

"And," Pandit ji continued, his eyes twinkling, "Mata Parvati also has many names. One of them is **Isha**."

Ahana, who was standing nearby with the rest of the family, gasped and clapped her hands. "Wait! Ishita Bhabhi’s nickname is **Isha**! Everyone in her family calls her that!"

The Pandit ji beamed, his face lighting up with a wide smile. "Wah! Kya baat hai! Both husband and wife carry the names of the Divine Couple. It is as if destiny wrote your names together long before you met."

I felt Ishita’s hand tighten around mine. She was blushing, her eyes fixed on the floor, but I could see the small, beautiful curve of her smile.

"But," the Pandit ji added, looking at the family, "does anyone here truly know the deep meaning of the name **Ishita**?"

The temple went silent. My mother started thinking, and I saw Vardaan and Akshat whispering, trying to guess. "Desired?" Dhristi ventured, ever the intellectual.

"Meri jaan," I murmured under my breath, loud enough only for Ishita to hear.

She nudged me with her elbow, her face turning a deeper shade of red, but the family caught my whisper and a wave of laughter rippled through the hall. Even my father had a rare, amused glint in his eyes.

Pandit ji laughed heartily, nodding at me. "While that may be true for the Prince, the scriptures say otherwise! **Ishita** means 'Superior', 'Desired', or 'One who possesses Greatness'. It stands for 'Mastery', 'Power', and 'The Goddess of Wealth'."

He looked at me directly, his gaze piercing but kind. "Rudra is the power, but Ishita is the mastery over that power. One is incomplete without the other."

I looked at my wife—my Janna—and for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like a "Cold-Hearted Prince." I felt like a man who had found his missing half. The name fit her perfectly. She was the only one who held the power to master the storm that was Rudra Singh Rathor.

"Superior and powerful, huh?" I whispered to her as we began to stand up. "I think the Pandit ji just gave you more evidence to keep giving me *Hukums*, Janna."

"And don't you forget it, Mr. Rathor," she whispered back, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The scent of camphor and fresh flowers still hung in the air as the sounds of the temple bells faded into a peaceful hum. With the puja successfully completed, I felt a lightness in my heart that I hadn't felt in years. I carefully picked up the large silver thali of *prasad*—sweet laddoos and fruits that had been blessed by the deity.

"Pandit ji ne kaha hai sab mein baant do," I said, a bright smile on my face.

Immediately, the younger ones swarmed around me. **Jay** and **Ahana** were the first to reach, and true to their nature, they started bickering like little kids.

"Bhabhi, mujhe bada wala ladoo dena! Jay hamesha do-do utha leta hai," Ahana complained, reaching for the plate.

"Oye! Maine kab do liye? Tu toh waise bhi dieting pe rehti hai, Ahana, mujhe zyada chahiye!" Jay retorted, trying to dodge her hand.

I laughed, pulling the thali back. "Bas! Chote bache mat bano." I purposely bypassed both of them and leaned down to **little Krish**, who was looking at the sweets with wide, round eyes. "Pehle humare sabse pyaare member ke liye," I said, popping a small piece into his mouth.

Then, I turned to **Reet**. She was leaning against a pillar, looking a bit pale from the long ceremony. "Aur Reet, tumhare liye do," I whispered, giving her an extra portion. "Ek tumhare liye aur ek humare nanhe Rathor ke liye. Mood swings handle karne ke liye energy chahiye na?"

Reet gave me a grateful, tired smile, while Vardaan hovered near her like a protective shadow.

"Pandit ji, aaiye, bhojan kar lijiye," Bebe called out, leading the priest toward the dining area where a traditional Rajasthani feast had been prepared.

As the elders moved toward the hall, I stayed back for a moment. I looked at the long line of staff, helpers, and the villagers who had gathered at the temple gates. These were the people who had served the Rathor family for generations.

"Kaka, idher aaiye," I called out to our head guard, handing him a large basket of prasad. "Ye sab mein baant dijiye. Make sure no one leaves the temple without taking the blessings. And the villagers at the gate—ensure they are all fed properly today."

I felt a pair of intense, ocean-blue eyes on me. I looked up to see **Ru** standing by the temple arch, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't talking to anyone; he was just watching me manage the house and the people. There was a look of such profound pride and "shoonkoon" (peace) on his face that it made my heart skip a beat.

I walked over to him, the empty thali in my hand, my bangles jingling softly. "Sab ho gaya, Patidev. Ab chalein? Aapko bhook lagi hogi."

He didn't move. He just reached out, tucked a stray curl back under my sea-green pallu, and murmured, "You really are the 'Isha' of this 'Rudra', aren't you? Sabka dhyan rakhna koi aapse seekhe."

I blushed, looking away. "Chaliye ab, zyada tareef mat kijiye, varna main sach mein hukum chalana shuru kar dungi."

The sun had begun its descent, painting the Rajasthan sky in shades of bruised purple and gold. Back in our suite at the Raj Mahal, the quiet was a stark contrast to the bustling temple. I stood before the ornate mirror, my fingers fumbling slightly with the heavy clasp of my necklace.

As if on cue, a pair of large, familiar hands replaced mine. Ru stood behind me, his reflection towering over mine. With practiced ease, he unhooked the diamond-and-emerald choker. This had become our unspoken ritual; whenever we returned from an event, he was the one to help me shed the bahu  persona until I was just his Ishi again.

One by one, I handed him my heavy earrings and bangles. He took them carefully, placing them on the velvet tray as if they were fragile glass.

"Ru..." I whispered, looking at him through the mirror. "Mene toh sab kuch kar liya... par aapne? Aapne kuch maanga bhi Bhagwan ji se ya nahi?" (Did you actually ask God for anything, or not?)

He paused, his hands resting on my shoulders. His ocean-blue eyes met mine in the reflection, unreadable for a moment. "Pehle aap batao," he countered, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "What did the 'Master of Power' ask for today?"

I turned around in his arms, resting my hands on his chest, right over the heartbeat that always beat a little faster when I was close.

"Mene?" I smiled, tracing the embroidery of his navy kurta. "Mene toh sab ki khushiya maangi. Aapki health maangi... aur ye maanga ki aapki har wish puri ho jaye. Chahe wo business ho ya kuch aur."

I stepped a little closer, my voice dropping to a mischievous whisper. "Aur haan... ye bhi maanga ki aap har janam mein mere saath phas jayein. (And that you get stuck with me in every lifetime.) No escape, Mr. Rathor."

Rudra let out a soft, breathy chuckle, his arms winding around my waist to pull me flush against him. He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine.

"Phas gaya?" he murmured, his thumb grazing my cheek. "Janna, being 'stuck' with you is the only time I’ve actually felt free. If that’s a trap, I hope they never let me out."

He stayed silent for a beat, his gaze softening in a way that made my breath catch.

"And as for what I asked..." he said, his voice turning serious. "I didn't ask for wealth or power. I have enough of that. I just looked at that idol and said... if You really are there, just keep her exactly like this. Happy, stubborn, and mine. Because if she’s happy, my world is fine. That’s the only prayer a man like me knows how to make."

I felt a lump in my throat. The man who didn't believe in God had made a deal with Him just for my sake.

I felt the air in the room grow still as Ru’s gaze deepened, his brow furrowing slightly in that way it did when he was moved but trying to remain composed. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his touch lingering on my neck.

"Sab kuch mere liye manga, Ishi?" he murmured, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief. "Apne liye kuch nahi? Not a single thing just for yourself?"

I looked up at him, my hands sliding up from his chest to drape over his shoulders. The "Cold-Hearted Prince" was looking at me like I was his entire universe, and in that moment, the jewelry and the palace felt like background noise.

"Aap hi toh mere sab kuch ho, Ru," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "Aap mere paas ho, toh sab hai mere paas. (You are my everything. Since I have you, I have everything.)"

I leaned my head against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood and him. "Money, fame, even this beautiful saree... it’s all just 'things.' But the way you look at me, the way you waited for me for three long years, and the way you sat in that temple today just because I asked... that’s my real wealth. If you are happy and healthy, my world is complete."

I felt his arms tighten around me, pulling me so close I could feel the rhythmic thud of his heart against my own. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, taking a deep, shaky breath.

"You're dangerous, Janna," he muttered against my skin, his voice muffled. "You make a man like me want to believe in things I gave up on a long time ago. You make me want to be better than I am."

"You are already the best for me," I pulled back just enough to look at him, a playful spark returning to my eyes to lighten the heavy mood. "Even if you are a 'besharam' who flirts in front of the whole family."

He smirked, that predatory, handsome glint returning to his ocean-blue eyes. "Well, if I'm already the best, I might as well live up to the reputation. You said you wanted me to stay 'stuck' with you in every life? Let's make sure we start this one properly."

Before I could squeal, he swept me off my feet, carrying me toward the bed in one smooth motion.

"Ru! The door isn't even locked!" I laughed, clinging to his neck.

"It’s my palace, Ishi," he said, his voice dropping to that husky, dominant tone I loved. "And right now, the King only has eyes for his Queen. No more talk of prayers... just us."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The morning of February 16th arrived with a crisp, golden light spilling over the Aravalli hills. I had been up since 5:00 AM, fueled by a mixture of adrenaline and a very specific, slightly devious plan.

Today was the most important day on my calendar—the day the world was gifted with **Ishita**. But as I sat on the edge of the bed, freshly showered from my gym session with my laptop humming on my knees, I forced my face into the cold, neutral mask I usually reserved for boardroom takeovers.

I felt the bed shift behind me. The soft rustle of silk and the sweet, sleepy sigh told me she was waking up. Like a heat-seeking missile, she crawled across the mattress and snuggled into my back, her arms wrapping around my waist as she rested her chin on my shoulder, peeking at the screen.

"Morning, Ru..." she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, her curls tickling my neck.

"Morning, Janna," I replied, my voice clipping along with the rhythmic tapping of my keys. I didn't turn around. I didn't kiss her. I kept my eyes fixed on a particularly boring spreadsheet about Eternity’s textile exports.

I could feel her waiting. She stayed there for a long minute, her breath warm against my skin, probably expecting me to flip the laptop shut, pull her into my lap, and shower her with the "Happy Birthday" she deserved.

"You’re working early today," she hinted, her fingers tracing the hem of my shirt. "Is there something... special happening at the office?"

"Just the usual, Ishi," I said, my tone flat, almost bored. "The London merger is hit with some tax delays. Akshat and I have back-to-back meetings till late evening. I might even miss dinner."

I felt her stiffen slightly. The playful movement of her fingers stopped. Through the reflection in the darkened laptop screen, I saw her pout—a mixture of confusion and a tiny hint of hurt. It twisted my heart to see it, but I had a surprise waiting at the old Haveli that required her to be thoroughly annoyed with me first.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave. "Late evening? But Ru... do you know what date it is today?"

I finally turned my head, giving her a brief, distracted glance. I checked the digital clock on my taskbar. "The 16th. Why? Did I miss a payment for the jewelry designers? Or is it one of your friends' anniversaries?"

She pulled back, her brown eyes wide with disbelief. "A payment? An anniversary? Rudra Singh Rathor, you really don't remember anything else about February 16th?"

"Ishi, I have three billion-dollar deals on the line," I said, closing my laptop with a definitive *snap* and standing up. I grabbed my watch from the nightstand, strapping it on without looking at her. "I don't have time for riddles this morning. I’ll ask the driver to take you wherever you want to go today, okay? Buy yourself something nice."

I walked toward the dressing room, but I could practically feel the heat of the 'deadly' glare she was burning into my back.

*Forgive me, Janna,* I thought, a smirk ghosting my lips once I was out of her sight. *The angrier you are now, the more you'll love the surprise

The dining room was filled with the clinking of silverware as the Rathor family began their breakfast. I sat at the head of the table, my eyes fixed on my plate as I meticulously cut into my food, but my focus was entirely on the doorway. When she finally walked in, the room seemed to brighten.

Ishita looked breathtaking. She had chosen a shimmering, rose-gold tissue silk saree that draped elegantly over her slim frame. Her long, dark curls fell over her shoulders in soft waves, and her makeup was flawless—accentuating her brown eyes with a subtle, dewy glow. She wore heavy diamond-studded traditional earrings and her mangalsutra , chooda and sindoor engagement ring aa always that caught the light with every move.

I felt my breath hitch. My hand paused mid-air as I stared, completely losing my "business-first" facade for a fleeting second. She looked like a masterpiece, and it took every ounce of my self-control not to get up and pull her into my arms right there.

"Control, bro," Ahana’s whispered teasing snapped me back to reality. I cleared my throat, forcing my gaze back to my coffee as if I hadn't just been caught gaping at my own wife.

Ishita sat down in her usual seat, her expression composed but her eyes flashing with a quiet hurt that I knew all too well. She didn't say a word. The table was lively—Akshat and Vardaan were discussing the day's schedule, and Dhristi was talking to Reet—but no one mentioned the date. No one said "Happy Birthday."

The only sound from her side of the table was the constant *ping* and *buzz* of her phone. I could see the screen lighting up repeatedly with messages from **Mummy **, ** Papa**, **Shifa**, and  **Aditi**. Her family and friends were flooding her with love, which only made our collective "forgetfulness" sting more.

I stole a glance at her. She was picking at her food, her lower lip tucked under her teeth as she stared at her phone. Every time it buzzed, she hoped someone at this table would notice.

"Ishi, pass the salt?" I asked casually, as if it were just any other Monday morning.

She handed it to me without looking up, her voice a clipped whisper. "Here."

I felt like a monster, but the surprise I had planned for her required this little bit of theater.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The silence at the breakfast table was heavier than the jewelry I was wearing. One by one, everyone finished their meals and dispersed—the boys headed to the study for their "urgent" business meetings, and Dhristi and Reet got caught up in their own chatter. My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest. Not a single "Happy Birthday" from the family I called my own.

As Ru started to stand up, his mind clearly already in a boardroom, I couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Aapko sach mein nahi pata hai aaj kya hai?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I looked up at him.

He stopped, checking his watch with an indifferent air. "Nahi, kya hai?"

"Unbelievable," I whispered, the sting of tears threatening to ruin my makeup. "Pehle toh kabhi nahi bhule." (You never forgot before.)

He sighed, looking at me as if I were being difficult. "Kya Ishi... listen, I am busy. I have work."

"Fine," I snapped, standing up so fast my chair scraped against the marble. "Kaam se hi shaadi kar lete na phir, mujhse kyun ki?" (You should have just married your work then, why did you marry me?)

I didn't wait for his answer. I turned and walked away before he could see the first tear fall. I headed straight for the back courtyard, the only place where I knew I’d find some honest company.

I sat on the grass, calling out to our golden retriever, **Oscar**, and the majestic lion we kept named **King**. They trotted over to me immediately, sensing my mood.

"At least you two don't have 'billion-dollar deals' to worry about," I muttered, burying my face in Oscar's fur while King sat regally beside me. I stayed there, ignoring the constant *pinging* of my phone, feeling completely alone in a palace full of people.

The sun began to set over the Rathor mansion, casting long, orange shadows across the courtyard where Ishita sat huddled with Oscar and King. The day had been a long, lonely stretch of silence from the people who mattered most.

Around evening, **Reet** walked out into the gardens, her hand resting on her stomach as she navigated her pregnancy mood swings. She found Ishita still sitting on the grass.

"Bhabhi, yahan kya kar rahi ho? Chalo andar chalo," Reet said softly.

"Kuch nahi, Reet... aati hoon baad mein," Ishita replied, her voice sounding small. "Mummy ka call aa raha hai, baat karke aati hoon".

Reet nodded and headed back inside, leaving Ishita alone with her buzzing phone.

Ishita finally answered the call from **Gayatri Sharma**. The moment she heard her mother’s warm, cheerful voice wishing her a happy birthday, the dam finally broke.

"Ishita? Beta, kya hua? Teri awaaz aisi kyun lag rahi hai?" Gayatri asked, sensing the heaviness in her daughter's tone.

"Mummy..." Ishita whined, her voice cracking as she neared the verge of tears. "Kisi ne bhi wish nahi kiya. Sham ho gayi hai, par Ru ko kuch yaad nahi hai. Unhone kaha ki woh busy hain aur shayad dinner par bhi nahi aayenge".

She began complaining bitterly about the man she had married. "Maine unke liye itna sab kuch kiya, kal Mandir bhi gayi, par unhe mera birthday yaad tak nahi! Akshat, Vardaan, Dhristi... sab aise behave kar rahe hain jaise aaj sirf ek normal din ho. Mujhe bohot gussa aa raha hai, Mummy! Mann kar raha hai sab chodh kar wapas ghar aa jaun".

Gayatri tried to soothe her, but Ishita was beyond consolation. She was heartbroken and "dam angry" at the man who called her his "Janna" but couldn't remember the day she was born.

"Acha baba, shant ho ja," Gayatri Maa’s voice came through the speaker, sounding suspiciously calm. "Maybe koi bohot important kaam hoga office mein, isliye dimaag se nikal gaya hoga. Gussa mat kar beta."

"Aaj se pehle toh nahi bhule the, Mummy!" Ishita retorted, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand, her rose-gold silk rustling. "Ye sab shaadi se pehle ke chochle the (This was all just pre-marriage drama). Ab toh unhe meri parwah hi nahi hai."

She looked at King, who let out a low huff as if agreeing with her. Her anger was peaking now, a sharp contrast to the soft, blushing bride who had prayed for his health at the temple just yesterday.

"Ab aap dekhna, main bhi baat nahi karungi," she continued, her voice hardening with that Rathor-style stubbornness she had picked up. "Main bhi unhi ki biwi hoon! (I am his wife after all!) Agar woh Rudra Singh Rathor hain, toh main bhi Ishita Rudra Singh Rathor hoon. Let him come home; I won’t even look at him."

Just as she was about to hang up, a shadow fell over her. It wasn't Rudra, but a servant carrying a small, beautifully wrapped velvet box.

"Bhabhi Hukum," the servant bowed. "Ye abhi-abhi gate par koi dekar gaya hai. Aapke liye hai."