AUTHOR POV

Over the next two days, the Rathor Haveli felt like a high-fashion film set. Ishita was on a mission to showcase every single pair of earrings Ru had gifted her, and she had the perfect partner-in-crime: **Ahana**.

As a jewelry designer, Ahana was absolutely living for Ishita’s "Earring Era." She became the unofficial creative director, ensuring every clink of the *ghungroos* and every shimmer of the gold was captured perfectly on camera.

They took over the palace gardens and the grand balconies.

Ahana filmed slow-motion transitions where Ishita would toss her long curly hair back, revealing a new pair of heavy *jhumkas* that swayed in the breeze.

One reel featured Ishita walking through the corridors, the rhythmic *chime-chime* of her earrings matching the beat of a trending song.

Ahana was obsessed with the close-ups, capturing the way the sunlight hit Ishita’s brown skin and the delicate way the jewelry framed those new moles on her jawline that Ru loved so much.

Rudra, meanwhile, was finding it impossible to focus on "Eternity" or "The Rathor Company". Every time he walked into a room, he’d find his wife posing gracefully while Ahana shouted directions like, *"Bhabhi, tilt your head more! Let the ghungroos catch the light!"*

He would lean against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Ishita glow.

"Ahana, if you keep this up, I’m going to have to start charging you for my wife’s modeling hours," Ru teased during one session in the courtyard.

Ahana didn't even look up from her phone. "Bhai, please! These reels are going to go viral. Look at her! She looks like a literal queen."

Ishita caught Ru’s eye through the lens, giving her earrings a little intentional shake. The soft *jingle* sent a clear message: *Look at what you bought me.*

Ru just shook his head, his ocean-blue eyes filled with pride. "She doesn't need the jewelry to look like a queen, Ahana. But the noise does make it easier for me to find her in this big house."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The afternoon sun was streaming into the main hall of the Haveli as the entire Rathor family gathered. Usually, these meetings were about mergers or property, but today was different. Our family's chief priest, Pandat ji, sat across from us, his ancient scrolls spread out on the mahogany table.

"Rudra," Pandat ji began, his voice grave and full of authority. "The *Shubh Mahurat* for your *Raj Tilak* is approaching. But as you know, being the King of this lineage isn't just about wearing a crown or running **The Rathor Company**. It’s about the soil."

I leaned forward, my brow furrowing. I was a man of logic and business, but I respected the roots my father, Ram Singh Rathore, had planted.

"Before the coronation," Pandat ji continued, "the future King and Queen must leave the palace. You must live in the village as ordinary people. No cars, no servants, no air conditioning—nothing. You must survive on what you earn with your own hands."

I looked at Dadi, expecting her to protest the idea of her favorite grandson living in a hut, but she was nodding solemnly.

"He is right, Ru," Dadi said, her eyes misty with memories. "Your late Dada ji and I went. Your mother, Siya, and your father, Ram, went too. It is a test. If you can stand tall through every hardship as a common man, it means the Raj Mahal is going into the right hands. If you can protect Ishita without your power and money, only then are you fit to protect this heritage."

I glanced at Ishita. She looked tiny and delicate, her long curly hair falling over her shoulders, her gold *ghungroo* earrings catching the light. She was a model, a makeup artist—she was used to luxury. How could I ask her to sleep on a floor or cook over an open fire?

But then I saw the look in her eyes. There was no fear, only a quiet strength.

"Ordinary people, Pandat ji?" I asked, my voice dropping into that cold, commanding tone I used in boardrooms. "No security? No contact with the office?"

"Nothing, Kunwar Sa," the priest replied. "Only you and your wife."

I felt a surge of protectiveness. I didn't believe in God, but I believed in the legacy of the Rathors, and more importantly, I believed in my Janna. If my father did it, I would do it better.

"Fine," I said, my hand finding Ishita’s under the table and squeezing it. "We’ll go. I don't need the Rathor millions to prove I can take care of my wife. I’ve lived through three years of hell without her; a few weeks in a village is nothing as long as she’s by my side."

Jay and Akshat were unusually quiet, looking at me with a mix of respect and worry.

"Bhai," Jay whispered, "you know you have to cook your own food, right? You can't just order the chef to make pasta."

I smirked,  "I’ll manage, Jay. Focus on the company while I'm gone. Try not to burn the office down."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The atmosphere in the Haveli was a strange mix of bittersweet preparation and excitement. Reet and I had spent the afternoon packing simple cotton suits and plain sarees—so different from the designer wear I usually modeled. It felt like we were preparing for a different life entirely.

But just as I was taping the last box, Jay’s voice echoed through the hallway. "Bhai! Bhabhi! Jaldi niche aaiye! The wait is over!"

I looked at Ru, who was leaning against the wardrobe, watching me with that soft gaze he reserved only for me. I didn't wait for him to move; I grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the grand hall.

### The Gathering

The entire Rathor family was there. Akshat and Dhristi were already on the sofa with Krish, and Ahana was bouncing on her heels, holding a set of heavy, velvet-bound albums and a digital drive.

"Aapki shadi ki albums and videos aa gayi!" Ahana squealed, her eyes bright.

My heart did a little flip. I practically pulled Ru down onto the oversized sofa in the middle. He let out a low chuckle, his long 6'3" frame settling beside me, his arm instinctively wrapping around my shoulder to pull me close.

Engagement

We opened the first album—the **Roka and Engagement** ceremony.

The first page was a candid shot of the moment we stood together under the floral canopy. I gasped. I looked so small next to him, my brown skin glowing against the gown, but it was Ru’s expression that caught my breath. Even in a still photo, the "Cold-Hearted Prince" looked absolutely captivated, his ocean-blue eyes fixed on me as if I were the only person in the room.

* **The Ring Exchange:** There was a close-up of our hands. My fingers were trembling in the photo, and Ru’s large, steady hand was sliding the diamond onto my finger. You could see the raw emotion in his jawline.

* **The Laughter:** A photo of Jay and Akshat lifting Ru up while my brother Ravi and the Sharma family tried to reach him—pure chaos and joy.

* **The Secret Whisper:** A shot of Ru leaning into my ear during the function. I remembered that moment; he had whispered that he couldn't wait for the three years of separation to be officially over.

"Look at Bhai's face!" Jay teased, pointing at a photo where Ru was looking particularly intense. "He looks like he’s ready to kidnap Bhabhi all over again just to skip the rituals."

"Shut up, Jay," Ru muttered, but I felt him press a soft kiss to the top of my head.

I turned the page, my fingers tracing the images of our families smiling sharma and Rathore. It was a beautiful collision of two worlds. For a moment, the upcoming village struggle didn't matter. Looking at these photos reminded me that as long as I had my "Ru" and he had his "Janna," we could survive anything—even a hut in the middle of nowhere.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?" I whispered, looking up at him.

"It was just the beginning, Ishi," he replied, his voice low and full of a promise that went far beyond the jewelry and the palace walls.

I turned the page of the velvet album, and my heart skipped a beat. This was the **Roka ceremony**, held exactly on my **24th birthday**. I remembered the day so clearly—the air was thick with the scent of marigolds and the nervous excitement of our families finally coming together after those long, painful years apart.

In the photos, I was wearing a stunning **ocean blue Anarkali**. I had chosen the color specifically because it matched Ru's eyes. The heavy silver embroidery caught the light in every shot, and my long curly hair was pinned back with fresh jasmine flowers.

"You looked like a dream that day, Ishi," Ru murmured, his thumb tracing the edge of a photo where I was blushing while his mother, Siya, was putting the *tilak* on my forehead.

* **The Birthday Surprise:** There was a series of candid shots where Rudra had surprised me with a massive cake right in the middle of the ceremony. The photo captured me with my hands over my mouth, eyes wide, while he stood behind me like a protective shadow.

* **The 'Icy' Prince Melts:** One of my favorite photos was a side profile of Ru. He looked every bit the "Cold man in his white kurta but his gaze on me was so soft it could melt glaciers.

* **The Family Bond:** There was a beautiful shot of my father, Mohan Sharma, hugging Rudra. It was the moment the Sharmas and Rathors truly became one.

"Look at your eyes here," I whispered, pointing to a photo of us sitting on the decorated stage. He was holding my hand—tight, as if he feared the three-year gap might suddenly reappear and swallow us whole.

"I was terrified," Ru admitted quietly, his voice for my ears only. "I kept thinking I’d wake up and you’d still be gone. That Roka was the first time I felt like the our story was finally moving toward our happy ending."

Jay leaned over, ruining the romantic moment with his usual grin. "Bhabhi, let's be honest—Bhai didn't care about the Roka. He just wanted the permission to officially call you 'Janna' in front of everyone!"

We all laughed, the sound echoing through the grand hall. Looking at my 24th birthday photos made me realize how far we’d come. From the girl who lost her love for three years to the woman standing on the verge of becoming a Queen.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I leaned back, resting my head against the top of the sofa, watching the flickering joy on Ishita’s face as she flipped to the next section: **The Haldi and Mehendi.** I usually despise being the center of attention—the

"I doesn't exactly enjoy being smeared with pastes and powders—but looking at these photos, I could see the exact moment my walls didn't just crack; they crumbled.

The first few pages were pure, unadulterated chaos.

* **The Ambush:** There was a shot of **Akshat and Jay** with mischievous glints in their eyes. They hadn't just applied the haldi; they had practically dunked me in it. In the photo, I was caught mid-glare, covered in yellow from my forehead to my chest, while Akshat laughed so hard he was doubled over.

* **The Soft Touch:** Then, the mood shifted. There was a beautiful, candid shot of Ishita approaching me. She looked radiant in a yellow anarkali, her brown skin glowing. The photographer caught the moment she gently applied a tiny bit of haldi to my cheek. My expression in that photo... I looked completely gone for her. No ice, no heartlessness. Just a man hopelessly in love with his *Janna*.

* **The Flower Shower:** A double-page spread showed us drenched in marigold petals. I was holding her close, shielding her from the rowdy cousins, the yellow petals tangled in her long curly hair

The next set of photos moved to the evening. The Haveli was lit with thousands of fairy lights.

* **Finding the Name:** There was a close-up of Ishita’s palms, intricate patterns of dark henna stretching up to her elbows. The photographer had captured a "game" where I had to find my name hidden in the design. I remembered how she giggled as I traced her palms, my fingers ghosting over her skin.

* **The Obsession Begins:** I spotted a photo I didn't know existed—it was a shot of me staring at her neck while she was distracted, talking to **Ahana**. Even then, I was fascinated by her.

* **The Brotherhood:** A great shot of me, Akshat, Jay, and **Vardaan** sitting together, all of us with small designs on our palms. Jay was showing off a football-shaped

"Look at you, Ru," Ishita whispered, pointing to a photo where I was feeding her a piece of fruit because she couldn't use her hands. "You look so grumpy but your hands are being so gentle."

"I wasn't grumpy," I muttered, though a smirk played on my lips. "I was just calculating how much longer I had to wait before I could have you all to myself."

Jay barked out a laugh from the other side of the room. "Bhai, you were literally scaring the mehendi artists with your 'hurry up' face!"

I ignored him, pulling Ishita closer. These photos were a bridge between the three years of pain and the crown that awaited us. But first, we had to survive the village.

I felt my breath hitch as Ishita turned to the final, heaviest album. The cover was embossed with gold The Union**. We all went silent for a moment, the weight of our journey finally hitting us as we stared at the first page.

The photos were beyond beautiful; they were ethereal.

* **The Entry:** There was a panoramic shot of me arriving on a dark horse, looking every bit the "Cold-Hearted Prince" in a royal white and gold sherwani. But the very next photo showed the moment I saw her walking toward the *mandap*. My jaw was tight, and my eyes—those ocean-blue eyes—were shimmering. I looked like a man who had finally found his soul after wandering in the dark for three years.

* **The Bride:** Ishita looked like a literal goddess. She wore a deep red traditional lehenga that made her brown skin glow like gold. Her long curly hair was intricately styled, and her *ghungroo* jewelry added a rhythmic grace to every step.

* **The Vows:** There was a close-up of us at the fire. The smoke was swirling around us, and our hands were tied together with the sacred knot. We weren't just taking vows for the family; we were promising to never let a "blackmail" or a "kidnapping" ever come between us again.

"Look at this one, Ru," Ishita whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

It was the photo of the **Sindoor** ceremony. I was leaning over her, my fingers steady as I applied the red powder to her parting. Her eyes were closed, a single tear of joy escaping.

* **The Heartbeat:** Another photo showed us standing together after the ceremony. I had my hand over my chest,

* **The Family Portrait:** The Rathors and Sharmas stood together—Ram, Siya, Mohan, Gayatri, Akshat, Dhristi, Jay, Ahana, and all our friends. A complete circle of love that had survived the storm.

"You were so beautiful, Janna," I murmured, my voice low and thick with emotion. "Every second of those three years of waiting was worth it for that one moment."

"Bhai is getting sentimental!" Jay shouted, though even his eyes looked a bit misty. "Best wedding in Rajasthan's history, hands down."

I ignored them, my gaze locked on the final photo: us walking out of the palace, hand in hand, ready to face whatever destiny threw at us next.

The lights in the hall dimmed as Jay pressed play on the massive 85-inch screen. The high-definition cinematic intro started with the "Destiny Collide" theme, and suddenly, the room was filled with the sounds of our wedding day.

The screen filled with the image of my entry. I usually don't dance—I’m a businessman, a "cold" man of logic—but for Ishita, I had broken every rule. The video showed me moving with the boys, my eyes locked onto the balcony where I knew she was watching. I wasn't just dancing; I was performing for my Queen. Every step was sharp, every look toward the camera was a silent declaration that I was finally claiming what was mine.

Then, the music shifted to a soft, ethereal melody. The camera panned to the top of the grand staircase. There she was. Ishita.

She looked breathtaking. The video captured the way she took a deep breath before stepping down, her brown skin radiant under the heavy gold jewelry. I saw myself on screen—standing at the mandap, frozen, my ocean-blue eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and pure worship.

Then came the **Varmala**. I’m 6'3", and even in heels, my Janna is 5'3". The height difference was comical and beautiful. As I teased her by standing on my tiptoes, her family—Mohan ji, Gayatri maa, Ravi, and the cousins—started singing that traditional, playful folk song:

> *"Juk jiyo lalan Raghuveer, Siya ri mori chooti h..."*

> (Bow down, oh Prince, for our Siya is a little short...)

The hall erupted in laughter as we watched  In the video, Ishita pouted—that adorable little pout that always makes me crumble—until finally,  I kneel for her allowing her to loop the heavy garland around my neck. The camera caught the soft whisper I gave her then: *"Anything for you, Janna."*

The video transitioned into a montage of "Soft Love" moments:

* **The Stolen Glances:** Me adjusted her *maang-tikka* when it slipped.

* **The Hand-Holding:** Our fingers interlaced under the table during the dinner, hidden from the guests.

* **The Forehead Kiss:** A slow-motion shot of me pressing my lips to her forehead after the *Vidaai*, promising her that she was coming to a home, not just a palace.

Ishita leaned her head on my shoulder as we watched, her hand finding mine in the dark. I could feel her tears of joy soaking into my shirt.

"I'd marry you every single day if it meant I got to see you look at me like that," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

The lights remained dim as the video transition faded into a montage of our entire journey. It wasn't just a wedding film; it was the visual diary of how **Destiny Collided**.

### The Roka & Engagement: The Beginning of the End of Waiting

The screen filled with the vibrant ocean blue of Ishita’s Anarkali. The cinematography was breathtaking, capturing her 24th birthday celebration. There were slow-motion shots of her laughing as the Rathor diamonds were placed on her finger. I saw myself on screen—standing tall at 6'3", looking like a man who had finally found his lost soul. The video caught the way I never let go of her hand, even during the formal photos.

### The Bridal Shower: Queens and Goddesses

Then came the Bridal Shower. It was a sea of pastels and flowers. The video showed Ishita surrounded by her tribe—Ahana, Dhristi, Reet, and her best friend Shifa. She looked like a model in every frame, her thin, slim figure moving with such grace. There were "vogue" style shots of her posing with "Bride-to-be" props, her brown eyes sparkling with a happiness that made everyone in the room smile.

### The Haldi & Mehendi: Yellow Dust and Dark Henna

The screen turned into a blur of yellow and green.

* **Haldi:** The video showed the "ambush" by Akshat and Jay, but then slowed down as Ishita approached me. The background music turned soft as she applied the paste to my face. The camera zoomed in on my expression completely melting under her touch.

* **Mehendi:** There were beautiful, close-up shots of her hands. The camera traced the intricate designs, lingering on the spot where she had hidden my name. I watched myself on screen, obsessively searching for it while she teased me with her laughter.

### The Switzerland Pre-Wedding Shoot: Love in the Alps

Then, the music swelled into a romantic orchestral piece. The backdrop shifted from the Rajasthani Haveli to the snow-capped peaks of **Switzerland**.

* **The Contrast:** Ishita wore a flowing chiffon saree against the white snow, looking like a cinematic dream. My ocean-blue eyes looked even more intense against the Alpine backdrop.

* **The Model:** Her experience as a model shone through here. Every pose was perfect—the way she leaned against me, the way her long curly hair caught the mountain wind.

* **The Intimacy:** There was a shot of us standing on a bridge over a turquoise lake. I was holding her from behind, my face buried in her neck, right where those new moles would later appear. We looked like a Greek god and his goddess, lost in a world of our own.

The video ended with a slow-motion shot of us walking hand-in-hand through the palace gates, the words **"Destiny Collide"** appearing on the screen.

As the TV went black, the room stayed silent for a few seconds. I felt Ishita’s hand trembling in mine. I looked around at our family—Jay was wiping his eyes, Ahana was hugging a pillow, and even Dadi looked overwhelmed with pride.

"Janna," I whispered, pulling her closer so only she could hear. "No matter where we go tomorrow—to a hut or a palace—that video is our reality. You are my Queen, always."

I held her closer, the silk of her nightwear slipping beneath my fingers as I pulled her back into the center of our massive bed. The room was silent, save for the crackle of the fireplace and the steady rhythm of our breathing. It felt surreal. Just an hour ago, the halls were filled with the laughter of Jay and Akshat and the booming sound of our wedding videos, but now, it was just us. The "Cold-Hearted Prince" and his "Janna," stripped of the titles and the public eye.

"Five years, Ishi," I muttered into her hair, the scent of jasmine still clinging to her curls. "Half a decade of my life has been tied to you. Even when you weren't there, you were the only thing I was thinking about. Every business deal I closed, every time I expanded The Rathor Company, I was doing it to build a world I thought I didn't want to live in because you weren't in it."

I felt her hand slide up my chest, her fingers lingering over the spot where her name was tattooed over my heartbeat. She looked up at me, her brown eyes shimmering in the dim light.

"I was so angry when you found me again, Ru," she whispered, her voice a mix of regret and tenderness. "I saw it in your eyes at the Gurudwara. But you still saved me from falling, just like the first time. Even when I hated you , you loved me."

"You never hated me," I corrected her firmly, leaning down to nip at her jawline, right where that small, new mole sat. I was becoming dangerously addicted to that spot. "I was just starving for you. And tomorrow... tomorrow we go to a place where I don't have to share you with anyone. No board meetings, no fashion shows, no paparazzi."

I shifted, propping myself up on my elbow to look down at her. "Are you ready for this, Janna? It’s not going to be a vacation. The village life Pandat ji spoke of is grueling. There’s no AC to cool your skin, no soft mattress. Just a hut, a well, and the heat of the Rajasthan sun. I won't have my assistants to fix things, and you won't have your glam team."

Ishita smiled, that small, radiant smile that always made my chest tighten. She reached up, running her thumb over my lower lip. "Ru, I’ve spent three years in fear and hiding. You think a little hard work and a lack of luxury scares me? As long as I wake up and see those ocean-blue eyes looking at me, I have everything I need. Besides, I want to see 'Prince Rudra' fetch water from a well. That’s a sight I wouldn't miss for the world."

I let out a low, dark chuckle, my hand sliding down to grip her waist possessively. "Careful what you wish for. If I'm fetching the water, you're the one cooking on the *chulha*. I hope you remember how to make those simple meals you used to tell me about."

"I remember," she promised, her expression turning serious. "And I know why we're doing this. It's for the Raj Tilak, yes, but it's also for us. To prove that if we were stripped of everything—the Rathor name, the millions, the palace—we would still choose each other. Just like your parents did. Just like Tara would have wanted us to be: grounded."

The mention of my sister’s name usually brought a cold chill to my heart, but with Ishita in my arms, the memory felt warmer. It felt like a tribute.

"I don't believe in God, Ishi," I whispered, leaning down until our noses brushed, "but I believe in this. In you. This month is my true coronation. Not the one with the crown, but the one where I prove I'm man enough to protect you with nothing but my bare hands."

I captured her lips then, a deep, slow, and hungry kiss that tasted of our past and our future. We spent the rest of the night talking in hushed tones about the life we were about to start in the dust of the village, until sleep finally claimed us in each other's arms.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The 4:00 AM air was crisp and carried the scent of damp earth and heritage as the heavy doors of the Raj Mahal creaked open. For the first time in years, I didn't reach for a designer gown or a silk saree. Instead, I wore a simple, breathable cotton suit in a soft peach hue, draped with a plain dupatta.

Even though we were transitioning to a life of simplicity, I couldn't bring myself to strip away the marks of my identity as his wife. My **chooda** still rattled softly against my wrists, the deep red a stark contrast to my brown skin. My **mangalsutra** rested heavy and warm against my chest, and the **sindoor** in my parting was a bold, crimson line of protection. I looked at my **engagement ring** and the silver **toe rings** catching the moonlight—these weren't luxuries; they were the symbols of the man who had waited three years to claim me. I was a Rathor Bahu, and I would enter that village as one.

The entire family was gathered in the courtyard, their faces a mix of pride and worry. The "Cold-Hearted Prince" stood beside me, looking unrecognizable but still strikingly handsome in a simple white khadi kurta and pajamas. No Rolex, no Italian leather shoes—just my Ru, raw and real.

We walked toward bebe* first. I bent low, my fingers touching her feet. "Aashirwad, Bebe," I whispered.

She placed a trembling hand on my head. "Jeeti reh, laado. Remember, a palace is built of stone, but a home is built by the woman who can find happiness even in a hut. Take care of my Rudra; he’s a lion, but he’s never had to hunt for his own water before."

We moved to **Ram Papa** and **Siya Maa**. Ru’s face softened as he hugged his father, a silent understanding passing between them—two Kings, one who had done this before and one who was about to prove himself.

"Don't worry, Papa," Ru said, his voice deep and steady. "The Rathor blood doesn't thin just because the setting changes."

Then came the chaos of our "Devar and Devranis." **Jay** looked like he was fighting back tears, while **Akshat** stood with a hand on Ru’s shoulder.

"Bhai, if the heat gets too much, just remember... no, I won't say it. I know you won't call for help," Akshat said with a respectful nod.

**Ahana** and **Reet** hugged me tightly. "Bhabhi, no reels for a month?" Ahana whispered, a small pout on her face. "How will I survive without my muse?"

"I’ll be back with better stories, Ahana," I promised, squeezing her hand.

**Vardaan** and **Dhristi** gave us a final wave as we stepped toward the gates. Ru took my hand, his grip firm and possessive. He handed his smartphone and his car keys to Akshat without a single backward glance.

As we walked out of the palace gates, a simple, rustic bullock cart was waiting to take us to the edge of the village territory. The transition was jarring—the silence of the palace replaced by the rhythmic *clop-clop* of the oxen and the chirping of early morning birds.

"No turning back now, Janna," Ru murmured, pulling me close to his side as we sat on the wooden planks of the cart. "From this moment on, I’m not the CEO of Eternity. I’m just Rudra, and you’re just my Ishita."

I leaned my head on his shoulder, the silver of my **Payal** jingling softly with every bump in the road. "That’s all I ever wanted, Ru. Just you and me. Let’s go show this village what the Rathors are made of."

He looked down at me, his ocean-blue eyes reflecting the first rays of the rising sun. "I hope you're ready for the dust, because you still look too much like a Queen to be sitting in a cart."

"And you," I teased, touching the fabric of his simple kurta, "look like the most handsome villager Rajasthan has ever seen. The village girls are going to be a problem."

Ru smirked, his arm tightening around me. "Let them look. They’ll see the name over my heart and know exactly who I belong to."