Rudra's Perspective

I looked at her, my heart doing that strange little flip it only does for her. Despite the simple cotton suit, she still looked like she belonged on a throne, her **chooda** shimmering in the early morning light.

"Pr mere saree... aur mere *ghungroo* wale earrings reh gye, Ru," she pouted, her bottom lip wobbling just a fraction. I could see her thinking about those reels she and Ahana had been making. "Bss do din hi toh pehne the!"

I couldn't help it; a deep, rumbling chuckle escaped my chest. I pulled her closer into the crook of my arm as the bullock cart jolted over a stray stone. "Janna, if I let you bring those *ghungroo* earrings, the whole village would hear you coming from a mile away. We’re supposed to be 'ordinary,' remember? A Queen in disguise doesn't need to jingle."

She huffed, leaning her head against my shoulder, but then a mischievous glint entered her brown eyes. She poked my chest, right over the spot where her name was etched beneath my khadi kurta.

"Acha suno," she whispered, her voice dropping into that sweet, demanding tone she knew I couldn't resist. "Vaha sara kaam khud karna padega. I'll be cooking on that *chulha*, cleaning... my hands and feet will ache. Raat ko mere pair dabaya karoge... hmm?"

I looked down at her, my ocean-blue eyes darkening with a mix of amusement and sheer adoration. Rajasthan’s "Cold-Hearted Prince" was now being asked to be a personal masseur. In the boardroom of **The Rathor Company**, men trembled at my silence. But here, in the middle of a dusty road, I was completely at her mercy.

"Pair dabane hain?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a low, husky rasp. I leaned down until my lips brushed her ear, my breath hitching as I caught the scent of her jasmine-infused hair. "Janna, for you, I’d walk across the Thar desert barefoot. Pressing your feet after a long day is a small price to pay for having you by my side in a mud hut."

I took her hand, tracing the intricate mehendi patterns that were still dark on her palm. "But remember the deal—if I’m the one giving the foot massages, you’re the one making sure I don't starve. I’ve heard village life makes a man very, very hungry."

She giggled, a sound that felt more precious than any diamond I’d ever bought her. "Deal, Patidev. Pr yaad rakhna, no 'CEO orders' there. Sirf meri chalegi!"

"Haa, Baba. Only yours," I murmured, kissing her temple.

As the palace vanished behind the horizon and the first mud houses of the village appeared, the reality hit me. No security, no servants, just my strength and her spirit. I looked at her **sindoor** and the **mangalsutra** I had given her, and I knew—even if we had nothing but the clothes on our backs, I was still the richest man in the world.

I hopped down from the cart, my boots hitting the dry, dusty earth with a solid thud. The village well was the heart of the area, a stone structure surrounded by a dozen local men and women. As I turned to help Ishita down, I could feel the weight of their stares.

To them, I didn't look like a villager. Even in a simple khadi kurta, my 6'3" frame and "Greek God" features stood out like a sore thumb. The men leaned on their wooden staffs, whispering, their eyes narrowed with suspicion at the "handsome newcomer" with ocean-blue eyes.

Ishita leaned in close to me, her **Payal** jingling softly as she whispered, "Ru, listen... what story are we going to tell them? We can't tell them the truth—that we came from the Raj Mahal. They’ll never treat us as ordinary people if they know you’re the Prince."

I caught her by the waist, lifting her down easily. I kept my voice low, my eyes scanning the crowd with the same calculative precision I used in the boardroom of **The Rathor Company**.

"Relax, Janna," I murmured. "We’re just a couple from the city whose luck ran out. We lost everything in the 'big city' and have come back to our roots to start over. It's a story as old as time."

I tucked a stray curl behind her ear, my thumb lingering near the mole on her jawline. "From this moment, I’m not Rudra Singh Rathor. I’m just Rudra, a man looking for work to feed his wife. And you... you’re just my Ishi."

One of the older men, his face weathered by the sun, stepped forward. "Ram Ram, Bhai. You look like you’ve never touched a bucket in your life. Where are you from? You don't look like you belong in these parts."

I felt Ishita’s hand tighten on my arm. I stepped forward, putting on my best "humbled" face, though the Rathor pride was still burning in my chest.

"Ram Ram, Kaka," I said, my voice grounding itself. "We’re from the city. My business collapsed, and we lost our home. This village was where my ancestors were from, so I’ve brought my wife here to start a simple life. We don't want trouble, just a place to stay and a chance to work."

The man looked at Ishita—at her **chooda**, her **sindoor**, and her glowing skin. "Your wife looks like she’s lived in silk her whole life, lad. Can she even handle the heat of a chulha?"

I felt a flash of my temper, but I suppressed it for her sake. I pulled her flush against my side. "She’s stronger than she looks, Kaka. And whatever she can't do, I’ll do for her."

The men exchanged looks. They were still suspicious—probably because I still looked like I could buy the whole village with my pocket change—but the "struggling husband" story seemed to settle them for now.

"The old hut near the banyan tree is empty," the man said, pointing toward a dilapidated structure. "Go. If you’re still here by sunset, we’ll know you’re serious."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

As the men continued to size up Ru at the well, a tiny, silver-haired woman with a face carved into a thousand kind wrinkles approached us. She was draped in a faded but clean cotton odhni, and her eyes sparkled with a motherly warmth that immediately made me feel at ease.

"Chalo, lali," she said, her voice like the rustle of dry leaves. "Leave the men to their talk. Men are like roosters—they have to puff their chests out before they can be friends."

She took my hand—her skin felt like parchment—and began leading me toward the banyan tree. Ru watched us go, his ocean-blue eyes sharp and protective, but I gave him a small nod to let him know I was okay.

"I am Kaki," she said, leaning on a wooden stick as we walked. "My hut is right next to yours. It’s been empty since the rains last year, so the spiders have made themselves quite a home. But a little bit of cow dung plaster and some hard work, and it will be fit for a queen—or a city girl like you."

She looked at my **chooda** and then at my face, her eyes narrowing playfully. "You are very beautiful, beta. Too beautiful for the dust. Does your husband always look like he’s ready to fight the sun for shining too bright on you?"

I laughed, my **Payal** jingling as we stepped over a dry branch. "He’s just... protective, Kaki. We’ve been through a lot to be together."

"I can see that," she chuckled. "He looks at you like you are the last drop of water in the desert. Now, listen—in this village, the sun is your clock and the well is your news station. If you want to know who is getting married or whose cow is sick, you go to the well. But if you want to keep your peace, you keep your doors closed at night."

We reached the hut. It was a humble structure made of mud and thatch. The wooden door hung slightly off its hinges, and inside, the floor was covered in a layer of fine dust. There was no grand chandelier here, no silk-lined walls like our chambers in the **Raj Mahal**. Just four walls and the smell of dry earth.

"It’s small," Kaki said, watching my reaction. "And you’ll have to sleep on the floor. I have an extra mat I can lend you until your man can earn enough for a charpai."

I stepped inside, my **sindoor** catching a stray beam of light from a hole in the roof. "It’s perfect, Kaki. It’s all we need."

I started pulling back my sleeves, ready to get to work. I looked out the small window hole and saw Ru coming down the path, carrying two heavy buckets of water as if they weighed nothing, his jaw set in that stubborn Rathor way.

"Kaki," I whispered, turning back to her. "How do I start a fire? I promised him I’d cook, but I’ve only ever used a gas stove."

Kaki let out a hearty laugh. "Aree, city girl! Don't worry. I will teach you. But first, let’s get this dust out before your 'Prince' gets here and starts sneezing."

The transformation of the hut was nothing short of a miracle. Kaki’s daughter and daughter-in-law joined us, and for two hours, we were a whirlwind of activity. I tied my dupatta firmly around my waist, my **chooda** clinking against the broom handle as I swept out months of neglect.

Ru was the real surprise. He didn't just stand back; he stripped off his shirt, revealing the **names etched over his heartbeat**, and started hauling out the heavy debris. The village women stole glances at his muscular frame, whispering about the "city man" who worked like a demon. Every time our eyes met through the dust, he’d give me a wink that said, *'I've got this, Janna.'*

Finally, the mud floor was swept clean, the cobwebs were gone, and the air felt fresh.

Just as we were catching our breath, a small group of neighbors gathered at the crooked doorway. In their hands, they carried the essentials of a new life.

"Bhai, we heard you lost everything in the city," one man said, stepping forward with a sturdy wooden stool. "Take this. A house is not a home if you have to sit on the bare earth."

A woman followed, holding out a couple of stainless steel plates and a small iron *tawa*. "And these are for the bahu. You can't cook for such a big man without a proper pan. We have extras; don't feel shy."

I felt a lump in my throat. In the **Raj Mahal**, everything was served on silver and gold, but here, these simple items felt more precious because they were given from the heart.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I stepped forward, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. My "Cold-Hearted" exterior was softening in a way I hadn't expected. I looked at the meager collection of mismatched plates, the worn-out mat, and the old stool.

"Thank you," I said, my voice deep and sincere. I didn't sound like Rajasthan's Prince; I sounded like a man truly grateful for the kindness of strangers. "I don't have much to give back right now, but I promise, I'm a man who pays his debts."

One of the elders patted my shoulder. "In this village, we don't keep debts, son. We just keep each other alive. Now, go. Your wife looks like she’s about to fall over, and the sun is starting to set."

The neighbors slowly dispersed, leaving us alone in our new, humble sanctuary. I turned to Ishita. She was standing in the middle of the room, a smudge of soot on her cheek, her peach suit dusty, but her eyes were shining.

"Well, Janna," I murmured, walking over to her and pulling her into my arms. I didn't care about the sweat or the dust. "We have two plates, one mat, and a broken door. It's a far cry from the **The Rathor Company** headquarters, isn't it?"

She circled her arms around my neck, her **mangalsutra** pressing against my chest. "It's perfect, Ru. It's our first home where no one knows us as anything but 'us'."

I leaned down, my lips finding that mole on her jawline that I was so obsessed with. "I promised you a foot massage, didn't I? Sit down on that new stool. The King is going to work."

She said no no I was kidding pati parmeshvar

I chuckled, the sound deep and resonant in the small, quiet space of the hut. "Pati Parmeshwar, hmm?" I teased, the title sounding so sweet coming from her lips in this tiny room.

"No, I was just kidding, Ru! Seriously, you must be exhausted too," she said, her eyes wide as she tried to step back.

"But I am not kidding, Janna," I replied, my voice dropping into that tone that left no room for argument.

Before she could protest further, I stepped in and swept her off her feet. She let out a tiny gasp, her **chooda** jingling as her arms instinctively flew around my neck. I carried her across the room to the simple wooden bed—a *charpai*—that the neighbor had sent over. It wasn't the king-sized, velvet-draped bed of the **Raj Mahal**, but as I set her down on the thin, colorful quilt, it felt like the most comfortable place on earth because she was on it.

"Ru, stop it, you've worked so hard today," she whispered, her brown eyes soft with concern.

"Sit," I commanded gently, kneeling on the mud floor at her feet. I didn't care about the dust on my knees or the fact that I was Rajasthan’s 'Prince' performing a task usually meant for servants. To me, I was just a man taking care of his world.

I took her small, delicate feet into my large hands. Her **Payal** chimed softly as I began to rub the arches of her feet, my thumbs applying just the right amount of pressure to soothe the ache from hours of cleaning.

"Ishi," I murmured, looking up at her, my ocean-blue eyes locked onto hers. "In the palace, I provide for you with my signature on a cheque. Here, I provide for you with these hands. Whether it’s fetching water, protecting this door, or making sure you aren't in pain... it’s all the same to me. You are my Queen, whether we are in a palace or a hut."

She reached down, her fingers trembling slightly as she brushed a stray lock of hair from my forehead,  "You're going to spoil me, Patidev. How will I ever go back to being a 'tough' village woman tomorrow if you treat me like a doll tonight?"

I smirked, leaning forward to press a lingering kiss to the top of her foot, right above her silver **toe ring**. "You’ll be tough when the sun is up. But when the moon is out and the door is shut... you're just my Janna."

The night air in the village was different—sharper, quieter, and filled with the scent of dry hay and woodsmoke. Inside our tiny hut, the only light came from the moon peaking through the small window hole, silvering the edges of the room.

I lay back on the *charpai*, and I could feel every knot and weave of the rough jute rope. It was a far cry from the memory-foam mattresses of the **Raj Mahal**. Beside me, Ishita was shifting uncomfortably. With her slim, delicate figure, the hard wood and taut ropes were pressing against her skin, making her wince.

"Ishi, come here," I whispered, my voice a low rumble in the darkness.

Without a second's hesitation, she slid over, draping herself over me. She rested her head on my chest, her body aligning perfectly with mine. My frame was muscular enough to act as a buffer between her and the hard bed. I wrapped my arms around her, my hands resting protectively on her waist, pulling her flush against my heartbeat.

"Is that better, Janna?" I asked, my chin resting on the top of her head.

"Much better," she breathed, her voice muffled against my chest. "You're much softer than the wood, Ru. Even if you are a 'Cold-Hearted Prince,' you're quite a comfortable pillow."

I let out a soft chuckle, feeling the vibration of it travel through both of us. "Only for you. For the rest of the world, I'm still the man of stone."

We lay there in silence for a long time, the rhythmic jingle of her **chooda** echoing every time she took a deep breath. My fingers absentmindedly traced the patterns of her long curly hair, while my eyes remained fixed on the dark ceiling.

"Are you okay, Ru?" she whispered after a while. "I know you don't believe in the Gods everyone in this village prays to. Does it feel strange... being here, doing this?"

I tightened my grip on her. "I don't need a temple, Ishi. This month isn't about finding faith in a statue. It’s about finding it in us. When Tara was lost... I realized that power and money can't stop the wind from blowing or the snow from falling. But tonight, holding you... I feel like I finally have a grip on the only thing that matters."

She looked up at me then, her brown eyes catching a glint of moonlight. She leaned up and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my jawline

"We’re going to be okay," she promised. "Tomorrow, you'll be the best laborer this village has ever seen. And I'll be the woman waiting for you with a hot meal. We're the Rathors, remember? We don't just survive—we conquer."

I smiled, a real, genuine smile that reached my ocean-blue eyes. "I love you, Janna."

"I love you too, Ru."

As sleep finally pulled us under, we weren't a Prince and a Model, or a CEO and a Makeup Artist. We were just two souls, tangled together on a wooden bed in a mud hut, proving that destiny didn't just collide—it chose us.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon when the village came to life with the sound of lowing cows and distant temple bells. Inside the hut, the air was cool, but the reality of our new life was about to get very "warm."

I stood in the tiny corner of the hut that we had designated as the "kitchen," staring blankly at the pile of dried wood and the U-shaped mud stove—the **chulha**. My **chooda** rattled as I adjusted my dupatta, but it was the only sound in the room besides my own nervous breathing.

In my mind, I was a professional makeup artist; I knew how to blend colors and contour a face to perfection. But looking at these logs? I had no idea how to "blend" fire and wood.

* *Do I put the grass first?*

* *How do I make the wood catch fire without it just smoking up the whole place?*

* *Is there a "start" button I'm missing?*

I just stood there, paralyzed, staring at the cold mud stove as if it were a complex piece of alien technology. I felt so small, my 5'3" frame looming over a pile of sticks that felt like an unconquerable mountain.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me—warm, solid, and smelling of the fresh well water he’d just used to wash his face. Ru leaned against the brick wall, his 6'3" frame nearly touching the thatched ceiling. He was wearing his simple white khadi kurta, sleeves rolled up to show his muscular forearms.

"Janna," he murmured, a hint of a tease in his deep voice. "Are you planning to cook the rotis with the power of your gaze? Because if stares could start fires, this whole hut would be in flames by now."

I turned around, pouting, my brown eyes wide with genuine distress. "Ru, don't tease me! I don't even know where the 'on' switch is. Kaki said it was easy, but these sticks... they’re just sitting there. They look back at me like they’re judging me."

Rudra let out a low, dark chuckle. He walked over, his ocean-blue eyes scanning the mess I’d made of the wood. "The CEO of **The Rathor Company** and the top model of Rajasthan, defeated by three sticks of neem wood. If Jay saw us now, he’d never let us live it down."

He knelt down beside me, his large hand reaching out to tilt my chin up. "Hey. Don't look so defeated. We’ve survived three years of separation and a kidnapping, Ishi. We can survive a breakfast."

"But you're a Prince," I whispered, touching the **names over his heartbeat**. "You shouldn't have to help me with the fire."

"I'm your husband first," he replied firmly. "And right now, my wife looks like she’s about to cry over a pile of wood. Move over. Let’s see if my 'cold heart' can actually start a fire for once."

He grabbed a matchstick, but before he struck it, he looked at me seriously. "But if I start the fire, you have to promise the rotis won't be shaped like the map of India. I’m a hungry man, Janna."

I giggled, the tension finally breaking. "I make no promises about the shapes, Patidev! Just that they'll be edible."

I stared at the dancing orange flames with my jaw practically touching the mud floor. One minute, I was having a mental breakdown over a pile of sticks, and the next, Ru had moved with the precision of a master craftsman. He didn't just light it; he built the perfect pyramid of wood, struck a single match, and *whoosh*—a steady, roaring fire was crackling away.

I was frozen. My brain felt like it had short-circuited. I didn't move, I didn't blink; I just stood there in a state of absolute shock.

"Janna?" Ru’s voice broke through my daze.

When I didn't respond, he stood up quickly, his 6'3" frame casting a long shadow over the stove. He looked at my pale face and panicked. He grabbed my shoulders, his large hands firm but gentle, shaking me slightly.

"Hey! Ishi! Love, what happened?" His ocean-blue eyes were frantic, searching mine for a sign of a hidden injury or a snake bite. "Are you hurt? Did a spark hit you? Talk to me!"

I blinked, finally finding my voice, though it came out as a breathless whisper. "How... how did you do that?"

"Do what?" he asked, still looking worried.

"That!" I pointed a trembling finger at the perfectly lit *chulha*. "It took you five seconds! Effortlessly! Like you’ve been doing it your whole life! Ru... how... how did you...?"

He let out a long sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping as the panic left him. A small, knowing smirk began to play on his lips. He tucked a stray curl behind my ear, his thumb lingering on my jaw.

"Don't tell me..." I gasped, my eyes widening. "Bebe taught you this in childhood? During those summers at the old estate?"

Ru rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. "Actually, yes. Bebe always said a Rathor should know how to survive in a palace and a desert alike. She made me practice every summer until I could do it blindfolded."

I groaned, leaning my forehead against his chest. "I should have known. You and your **photographic memory**. You probably remember the exact placement of every twig from twenty years ago!"

"I do," he admitted with a low chuckle, his arms winding around my waist to pull me flush against him. "I can still see the diagram Bebe drew in the sand. But don't be traumatized, Janna. I might be a master of fire, but I still have no idea how to make a round roti. That’s your department."

I looked up at him, pouting. "It's not fair. You're Rajasthan's top businessman, a Greek God, and now you're a professional woodsman too? Is there *anything* you aren't good at, Patidev?"

He leaned down, his gaze dropping to my lips before flickering back to my eyes. "I’m not good at being away from you. Three years proved that. Now, stop being shocked and start the tea. My 'photographic memory' is currently telling me that a hungry husband is a grumpy husband."

m chai nhi piti apko pata tho h," I huffed, looking at the boiling water. My 5'3" frame felt even smaller as I realized my caffeine-addicted soul was about to suffer. "You know I need my specific brew to function!"

Ru rolled his eyes, a playful glint in his ocean-blue gaze. "Oofooo, pita toh m bhi nhi, Janna," he countered, stepping closer until the heat from the *chulha* was nothing compared to the heat of his presence. "Pr yaha m apki coffee kaha se laao? I don't think the village shop carries artisanal roasted beans or almond milk."

I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest, my **chooda** clinking defiantly. "Then I shall be a very grumpy wife today, Mr. Rathor."

"We can't have that," he murmured, his voice dropping to that husky register that always makes my knees weak.

He didn't give me a chance to argue. He stepped in, his large hands finding my waist, and pulled me flush against his 6'3" frame. He leaned down, his face burying into the crook of my neck, right where my new moles were. I felt his lips graze my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the morning chill.

"Ru... stop," I giggled, trying to push him away, but my hands just ended up clutching his shoulders. He started peppering my neck with tiny, ticklish kisses, making me squirm and laugh uncontrollably. "Ru! The fire... someone will see!"

"Let them see how much I adore my wife," he whispered against my skin.

**"Ahem!"**

The sharp sound of someone clearing their throat cut through the air like a knife.

We pulled apart so fast I nearly tripped over the iron *tawa*. Ru stood tall, instantly regaining his "Cold-Hearted Prince" composure, though his ears were a charming shade of pink. I scrambled to straighten my dupatta, my face burning hotter than the *chulha*.

There stood **Kaki** at the doorway, a stainless steel jug in her hand and a knowing, mischievous glint in her eyes. She wasn't offended; she was absolutely beaming.

"Ram Ram," Kaki chuckled, her gaze darting between my flushed face and Ru’s stoic expression. "I see the city fire is already burning bright in this hut! I brought some fresh buffalo milk. I thought the 'city children' might need something to line their stomachs before the sun gets too high."

She walked in, setting the jug down near the stove. "And don't worry about the 'coffee,' Lali. This milk is so thick and sweet, you'll forget all about those bitter city drinks. It'll give your man the strength to work the fields and you the strength to handle... well, whatever it is you two were doing."

I looked down at my feet, my silver **toe rings** suddenly becoming very interesting. "Thank you, Kaki. We were just... discussing the breakfast menu."

"I'm sure you were," Kaki winked at me, then turned to Ru. "Beta, the Sarpanch is waiting at the chaupal. He has work for a man with shoulders as broad as yours. Better drink your milk and go."

I sat on the small wooden stool the neighbors had gifted us, the warmth of the hot buffalo milk still lingering in the air. Kaki had gone to her own chores, but her daughter, **Laxmi**, and daughter-in-law, **Champa**, stayed behind. They sat on the floor near me, their eyes wide with curiosity, taking in my **chooda** and the glow that only comes with being a new bride.

"Bhabhi, tell us about the city!" Champa asked, her eyes sparkling. "Is it true the buildings touch the clouds? And that everyone wears clothes like the actresses in the movies?"

I smiled, though I was mentally walking a tightrope. I had to be careful.

"The buildings are very tall, yes," I said, keeping my voice soft. "But it's very noisy. Not peaceful like here. And the clothes... well, I used to work with clothes, so I saw many beautiful things, but nothing is as comfortable as this cotton suit."

"And your man..." Laxmi teased, nudging my arm. "He doesn't look like he lost his business. He looks like a King who lost his way! How did you two meet? Was it a 'Love Marriage'?"

I felt a blush creep up my neck, right toward my jawline. "It was... fate," I whispered, thinking back to that first meeting at the Shiv Mandir when Ru saved me from falling. "He saved me once, and then we were separated for a long time. Three years, actually. We only just got married two and a half months ago."

"Hayee! Only two and a half months?" Champa squealed, clapping her hands. "No wonder he can't keep his eyes off you! We saw him this morning—he looks at you like you are made of gold."

"You are so lucky, Bhabhi," Laxmi said, her expression turning a bit more serious. "In the city, do men really treat their wives like he treats you? He was helping you with the fire! My husband thinks the kitchen is a forbidden land."

I laughed softly, my **chooda** tinkling. "Rudra is... different. He’s strong and he can be very cold to the world, but for me, he is soft. He believes that marriage is a partnership."

"Two and a half months..." Champa mused. "That explains why your **sindoor** is always so fresh and why you look so shy when we mention his name. You are still in the 'honey-moon' phase, as they say in the films!"

I looked out the door, toward the path where Ru had disappeared. Even in this dusty hut, with no servants and no luxury, the way my heart raced when they talked about him proved that the "honey-moon" would probably last forever for us.

"But tell me," I said, changing the subject "How do you wash such long hair with just a bucket? I’m worried I’ll use up all the water Ru fetched!"