👑 Rudra's Perspective

I leaned back against the ancient, gnarled trunk of the banyan tree, letting out a long, weary sigh. The physical exhaustion was real, but having Ishi here made the heavy air feel lighter. I stretched out my legs and carefully lowered my head onto her lap, my 6'3" frame taking up most of the shade.

From this angle, I could see the curve of her jaw and the way her "makeup artist" eyes were still narrowed, fixed like a hawk on the group of girls in the distance.

"I’m telling you, Ru, that one in the yellow suit... she wasn't even looking at the crops," Ishita ranted, her fingers instinctively moving to my hair, though her voice was sharp with a jealous edge. "She was whispering to the others and pointing at your shoulders. And the one with the braids? She’s been 'adjusting' her dupatta for the last twenty minutes. Do they think I’m invisible?"

I closed my eyes, a tired smile spreading across my face. "Maybe they think you’re my bodyguard, Janna. You certainly look fierce enough."

"It’s not funny!" she huffed, her hand accidentally tugging a strand of my hair a bit too hard. "They have no shame. You’re working so hard, sweating in this heat, and they’re treating it like a fashion show. I should go over there and tell them that the 'Prince' they’re ogling is actually a very grumpy, very married man who doesn't even like tea."

I reached up, my hand finding hers and pulling it down so I could press the back of her sore, red hand against my cheek. The cool air of the shade was helping the redness, but her ranting was providing the real entertainment.

"Let them look, Ishi," I murmured, my voice dropping into that low, sleepy register. "Let the whole world look. It doesn't change the fact that at the end of the day, I’m the one who comes home to you. I’m the one who sleeps on a creaky *charpai* just to be near you. I doesn't have space for 'girls in yellow suits.' It’s full of you pouting over a mud stove."

She quieted down then, her thumb tracing the line of my eyebrow. I could feel her heart rate slowing down, her anger melting into that deep, protective love she had for me.

"You're just saying that because you want me to stop talking so you can sleep," she whispered, though she didn't sound mad anymore.

"I'm saying it because it’s true," I replied, shifting my head to get more comfortable. "Now, keep doing that with your fingers. It’s better than any massage I ever got in the city. Just five more minutes of peace, Janna... then I have to go back and show the Sarpanch that a Rathor can plow a straight line even while half-asleep."

We sat there in the quiet hum of the afternoon—the Prince of Rajasthan resting in the lap of his Brown-skinned Queen, both of them covered in the dust of a life they never expected, but neither of them wanting to be anywhere else.

I chuckled as I pulled away from her lap, but before I stood up to face the sun again, I leaned in and pressed a firm, lingering kiss to her cheek. The sound of a dozen synchronized gasps and giggles erupted from under the neem tree, echoing across the field like a flock of startled birds.

I didn't even blink at the audience, but I saw Ishita’s eyes widen before they turned into two sharp daggers aimed directly at the "butterflies."

As I walked back toward the plow, I heard the grass crunch behind me. Ishi had jumped to her feet, her 5'3" frame looking like a small but mighty fortress. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her **chooda** clinking with a sound that was less like music and more like a battle cry.

**"Saddhi shudha h ye aadmi or m biwi hu inki! (This man is married, and I am his wife!)"** she shouted toward the tree, her voice ringing out clear and authoritative. **"Niklo yaha se! (Get out of here!)"**

The girls froze. The giggles died instantly as they looked at the "delicate city girl" who had suddenly turned into a fierce lioness protecting her pride.

"Bhabhi, aram se! (Bhabhi, take it easy!)" Champa laughed, catching Ishita’s arm to keep her from actually marching over there and starting a physical war. Champa was shaking with mirth, clearly enjoying the sight of the sophisticated Ishita Sharma claiming her territory in the middle of a wheat field.

I didn't turn back, but the grin on my face was wide enough to hurt. I grabbed the handles of the plow, my muscles flexing as I prepared for the afternoon shift.

*That’s my Janna,* I thought, the sound of her voice still echoing in my ears. she’s still the only person on earth who can make me feel like a King even when I'm standing in the dirt.*

I heard the scuffling of feet as the village girls finally took the hint and scurried away toward the well. I looked over my shoulder one last time. Ishi was still standing there, arms crossed, chin held high, watching them go like a victorious general.

I caught her eye and winked. She gave me a small, defiant "hmph" and adjusted her dupatta, but I saw the corner of her mouth twitch. She was satisfied.

"Oho, Rudra Bhai," one of the village men teased from the next row, leaning on his shovel. "Bhabhi ji is very strict! We thought you were the boss, but now we see who really holds the remote control in your house."

"She doesn't just hold the remote," I replied, my ocean-blue eyes glinting with pride as I pushed the plow forward. "She owns the whole house."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I watched him walk away, his silhouette tall and powerful against the vast Rajasthan sky. I tried to keep my "angry queen" face on, but my heart was doing somersaults.

"Acha ab m jati hu, jaldi ana (Okay, I'm going now, come back soon)," I called out, trying to sound casual despite the fact that I had just screamed at half the village's female population.

Ru didn't say a word, but that slow, meaningful nod he gave me—coupled with that small, private smirk—was enough to tell me he loved every second of my outburst.

I turned on my heel and began the walk back to the hut, Champa trailing behind me. I was practically vibrating with leftover adrenaline. I was still throwing my arms out, gesturing wildly as I continued my rant, my **chooda** clattering like a box of angry bells.

"Did you see that, Champa? The one with the green bangles? She was practically batting her eyelashes at him!" I huffed, my brown eyes wide with indignation. "She probably thought he was some lone traveler. Well, surprise! He’s a married man , and he’s *taken*."

Champa was clutching her stomach, leaning against me as she doubled over with laughter. "Bhabhi, bas karo! (Bhabhi, stop it!) I’ve never seen anyone mark their territory so fast. The whole village will know by sunset that the 'City Prince' belongs to the 'Angry Lioness'."

"Let them know!" I muttered, though I was starting to feel a bit shy now that the heat of the moment was passing. "I didn't go through of everything just to let some 'village butterfly' flutter around my husband."

"And the way you said 'Niklo yaha se'!" Champa mimicked me, giggling. "I thought the girls would trip over their own ghagras trying to run away. You might be slim, Bhabhi, but you have the spirit of a Thakurain."

I felt a blush creep up to my neck, right over those new moles Ru was so obsessed with. I looked down at my red, itchy hands, the sting from the rope reminded me that I wasn't in a palace anymore. I was in the real world, fighting for my life, my home, and my man.

"He's just... he's too handsome for his own good, Champa," I sighed, my voice softening as we reached the hut. "He has this way of attracting attention without even trying. Even covered in mud, he looks like a Greek God."

"He only has eyes for you,  Bhabhi," Champa said, patting my shoulder. "Now, let’s get you inside. Your hands need rest before that 'Greek God' comes home and sees you've been scratching them."

At eveing

The orange glow of the setting sun filtered through the doorway, but inside the hut, it was a haze of grey. I was crouched on the floor, my face streaked with soot and tears, holding a wooden pipe and blowing into the *chulha* until my lungs burned.

*Cough. Cough.*

The smoke was thick, stinging my brown eyes and clinging to my hair. On the tawa sat a tragedy—a roti that wasn't just "not round," it was charcoal. It was a black, jagged disk that looked more like a burnt offering than dinner. The frustration of the day—the rope burns, the jealous "butterflies," the heat—all came crashing down at once.

The heavy thud of boots sounded at the entrance. I looked up, my vision blurred by smoke and tears, to see Ru. He looked exhausted, his broad shoulders slumped, his face covered in the grime of the fields.

I couldn't hold it back anymore. I let out a broken sob, the wooden pipe clattering to the floor.

"Mujhse nhi hora ye! (I can't do this!)" I cried, wiping my face with my soot-stained hand, probably making the mess even worse. "Kese banate h chule pe? (How do they cook on this?) The fire won't stay, the smoke won't leave, and look at this, Ru... it's black! I’m a failure. Mujhe stove chaiye! (I want a stove!)"

👑 Rudra's Perspective

Seeing her like that—my sophisticated, beautiful Janna, reduced to tears over a burnt piece of dough—hit me harder than any physical labor. The "Cold-Hearted Prince" felt his heart crack.

Without a word, I stripped off my sweat-soaked kurta and tossed it aside. I didn't care that I was tired or that my muscles were screaming. I knelt in the dirt beside her, my frame looming over her small, trembling one.

"Hey, hey... Ishi. Look at me," I murmured, my voice a low, grounding rumble.

I reached out, my large hands framing her face, ignoring the soot that transferred onto my palms. I used my thumbs to wipe the tears trailing through the dust on her cheeks, my gaze intensely focused on her brown eyes.

"Shh... quiet now, love. Breathe," I whispered, pulling her closer until her forehead rested against my bare chest. I could feel her rapid, sobbing breaths against my skin, right over the **tattoo of her name**.

"It’s just a roti, Janna. It’s not a reflection of you," I said, my hand stroking her long, curly hair to calm her down.  you are not going to be defeated by a mud stove. I’m here now. We’ll figure it out together, or we’ll eat the daal raw. I don't care about the food—I care about you."

I leaned down and pressed a long, firm kiss to the top of her head. "If my wife wants a stove, I'll build her a kitchen with my own hands if I have to. But for tonight, just breathe for me. Let the 'Prince' handle the fire, okay?"

I didn't say a word; I just shifted on the floor and pulled her onto my lap. Her small frame fit perfectly against me, her back against my chest as I wrapped my arms around her. I picked up the rolling pin, guiding her soot-stained hands with my own.

"Roll it, Janna," I whispered near her ear. "Just move your wrists. I'll handle the fire."

I adjusted the wood in the *chulha* with my free hand, moving the embers until the heat was exactly right. As she rolled a somewhat decent shape, I flicked the roti onto the tawa. Within seconds, it puffed up like a perfect white cloud, toasted to a golden brown—not a single black spot in sight.

I did it effortlessly, one after another, while she sat there in my arms, frozen in a mix of awe and heartbreak.

She sobbed out again, her shoulders shaking. "Aapko ye bhi aata? (You know this too?)" She turned her face into my neck, her tears hot against my skin. "Or mujhe kuch bhi ni aata, Rudra. I am useless! I feel like *you* are the wife and I am the husband because I don't know how to do house chores!"

I stopped what I was doing and dropped the rolling pin. I turned her around in my lap so she was facing me, her legs draped over mine. I gripped her waist, my ocean-blue eyes burning with an intensity that forced her to look at me.

"Ishi, listen to me," I said, my voice deep and stern.  You are a world-class artist. Do you think I married you because I wanted a cook? Do you think your worth is measured by a piece of burnt bread?"

I grabbed her red, rope-burned hands and held them up between our faces. "These hands were meant for creating beauty, not for dragging water from a well. If I know how to do this, it’s because I had to learn to survive. If you don't know, it's because I’ve spent my life trying to make sure you never *had* to."

I picked up my discarded kurta from the floor and used the soft sleeve to gently wipe the soot and tears from her face. She looked like a little kitten, her nose pink and her eyes wide and vulnerable. I couldn't resist; I leaned in and gave her a soft, lingering peck on the lips, tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her.

A chorus of high-pitched giggles suddenly erupted from the small, square window of the hut. I looked over to see four little heads huddled together, their eyes wide with wonder. In this village, the men and women lived in worlds apart; their fathers didn't sit with their mothers on the floor, and they certainly didn't help with the *chulha*.

"Rudra Chachu toh bilkul hero lag rahe hain! (Rudra Uncle looks just like a hero!)" one boy whispered, loud enough for us to hear.

"Dekho, chachi ka rona band karwa diya! (Look, he made Bhabhi stop crying!)" a little girl added, pointing at us with a grin.

Ishi’s face turned a shade of crimson that rivaled the embers in the stove. She quickly tried to sit up straight, but I kept my arm firmly around her waist, not letting her go.

"Chalo, jao yahan se! (Go on, get out of here!)" I teased the kids, flicking a bit of flour toward the window. They shrieked with laughter and scurried away into the evening shadows.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The kids' laughter finally broke my gloom. I looked at the dough in my hands and then at Ru’s shirtless, muscular frame. He was right. I wasn't useless—I was just in a new classroom.

I picked up the last ball of dough. "Fine, Patidev. Since you're such a pro, watch this."

Instead of trying to make a perfect circle, I used my fingers to pinch and shape the edges. I worked carefully, my 'makeup artist' precision kicking in. When I was done, I held it up. It was a perfect, slightly rustic heart.

"For you," I whispered, the soot on my cheeks now accompanied by a genuine, shy smile.

Ru’s eyes softened into that deep ocean-blue I loved so much. He took the heart-shaped dough from me as if it were a piece of fine jewelry and placed it on the tawa. We watched together as it puffed up, the heart expanding as it cooked.

"I'm keeping this one for myself," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

He didn't just eat it; he shared it with me, feeding me small pieces of the "heart" while the fire crackled in the background. For the first time all day, the smoke didn't feel suffocating—it felt like home.

"Ru?" I said, leaning my head against his shoulder as the last of the fire died down.

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow, I'm going to try again. But maybe... you could show me how to arrange the wood first? Just in case I need to make you another heart while you're in the fields."

He pulled me closer, his skin warm against mine. "Deal, Janna. But only if you promise to keep the 'bodyguard' act ready for the village girls. I think they're still running."

The sky was that eerie, pre-dawn grey—the kind of cold that seeps into your bones and makes you want to disappear into the heavy quilt. But the insistent *tap-tap-tap* on the wooden window frame was like a drill to my skull.

Bahu! O Ishu! Utho jaldi, der ho rahi hai!"

I groaned, burying my face in the crook of Ru’s neck. He was already half-awake, his body a furnace of warmth in the chilly February air. "What the hell is wrong with people here?" I hissed, my voice thick with sleep and irritation.

Ru started to shift, his muscular arm unwinding from my waist. "You sleep, Jaan. I’ll check what the problem is," he murmured, his voice a deep, protective rumble.

"No way!" I snapped, pulling him back down. There was no chance I was letting my shirtless, "Greek God" husband go to the window at 5 AM to talk to the village ladies. "Stay here. Stay in the warm blanket. I'll handle it."

I wrapped a shawl tightly over my peach suit, my **Payal** jingling a tired, cranky protest as I stumbled to the window. I pushed it open just a crack.

Laxmi, Champa, and a few other women were standing there, huddled in thick woolens, carrying small plastic lotas. "Come on, Bahu! Let's go!" Champa whispered urgently.

"Go where? It’s five in the morning!" I asked, blinking back sleep.

"To freshen up, Ishi!" Laxmi said, looking at me like I was slow. "In the village, there is no 'washroom' for those things. There is a space for bath behind the huts, yes, but for the rest... we go to the fields. Come fast! Once the sun rises, the men start working, and then you can't go until sunset."

My stomach did a literal somersault. The blood drained from my face, replaced by a hot, stinging wave of embarrassment. "Sh-shit," I breathed. "But... I went to that washroom near the Sarpanch's house yesterday!"

"Nhi, nhi!" Champa giggled, shaking her head. "No one goes there. That is only for 'Bade Log' (Big people) or guests of the government. For us, it’s the open air. Now hurry!"

I didn't even answer. I slammed the window shut, my heart hammering against my ribs. I turned around to see Ru sitting up in bed, his brow furrowed as he watched my panicked movements.

"Ishi? What is it?"

I threw myself onto the edge of the *charpai*, grabbing his shoulders. My hands were shaking. "Ru... I can't. I just can't," I whispered, my voice cracking with genuine distress. "They want me to go to the fields. In the open, Ru. To... to freshen up. They said there are no toilets here. I have to go now or wait until the sun goes down tonight."

The silence in the room was heavy. I looked at him, my brown eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure, unadulterated horror. "I can't go in an open field or a forest, Rudra. How can I... in the dirt? With everyone around?"

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I felt a surge of cold fury—not at her, but at the situation. I had promised to protect her, to keep her safe, and here she was, trembling because the most basic human dignity was being denied to her. The "Prince of Rajasthan" wanted to roar, to call Akshat and tell him to send a construction crew and a plumbing team immediately, cost be damned.

But I couldn't. Not yet.

I reached out and pulled her into my lap, her slim frame shaking against my bare chest. I wrapped my arms around her, my hands stroking her hair as I tried to process the sheer embarrassment radiating off her.

"Ishi, look at me," I said, my voice low and dangerously calm. I waited until she looked up, her eyes swimming with tears of humiliation. "I won't let you go out there like that. Do you hear me? You are Ishita Sharma Rathor. You aren't going to be forced into something that makes you feel this way."

"But what will I do, Ru?" she sobbed softly against my neck. "I can't go all day. My stomach already hurts from the stress."

My jaw tightened. I looked at the closed window, hearing the fading voices of the women as they moved on. I scanned the layout of the hut, the backyard, and the materials I’d seen near the Sarpanch’s storehouse.

"Listen to me," I murmured, my lips ghosting over her forehead. "I'm going to find a way. I’m going to go to the Sarpanch right now. I don't care if that washroom is for 'Bade Log'—I am the President of Eternity and the CEO of The Rathor Company. I will buy that entire plot of land if I have to, just for you to have a door that locks."

I pulled her closer, my grip possessive. "For now, stay here. Don't go anywhere. I'll talk to the Sarpanch. If he refuses... then I'll build you something private behind this hut today, even if I have to skip the fields to do it."

"They'll talk, Ru," she whispered, her face hidden in my chest. "They'll say the city girl is too 'high-class' for their village."

"Let them talk," I hissed, my ocean-blue eyes turning to ice. "They can call you high-class, they can call you a queen—they'd be right. But no one, *no one*, makes my wife feel ashamed of her dignity. Now, give me five minutes to get dressed. I'm going to go handle this 'Sarpanch' before the sun is even up."

She said pr we are hidden mission right we can't tell anyone that we are Rathor

And from raj Mahal

I froze, my hand already reaching for my shirt. Her words hit me like a splash of ice water. She was right. The moment I started throwing my name or the weight of **The Rathor Company** around, the "hidden mission" was over.

I sat back down on the *charpai*, the wood groaning under the weight of my frustration. I pulled her back into the circle of my arms, feeling the frantic beat of her heart against my ribs.

"I know, Janna. I know," I muttered, my voice thick with a dark, simmering tension. "I can't reveal who we are. I can't be the Prince today. I have to be the laborer who just arrived with his wife."

I looked at her—her brown eyes were wide with a mix of fear and sheer physical discomfort. The embarrassment was so thick in the air I could almost taste it. This wasn't just about a washroom; it was about her dignity, and seeing her stripped of it made me want to burn the world down.

"But I am still Rudra," I said, my voice dropping into that low, lethal tone that usually meant a boardroom was about to be dismantled. "And Rudra Singh Rathor doesn't let his wife suffer."

I stood up, my 6'3" frame casting a long, jagged shadow on the mud wall. I grabbed a pair of heavy shears and a shovel I’d seen in the corner.

"Ru? What are you doing?" Ishi whispered, wrapping her shawl tighter around her slim figure, her **chooda** clinking nervously.

"The Sarpanch has a pile of discarded corrugated tin sheets and some wooden poles behind the grain store," I said, my **photographic memory** mapping out the village inventory I’d cataloged yesterday while loading sacks. "He thinks it’s junk. To me, it’s a wall. And I saw a roll of thick plastic tarpaulin near the well."

I knelt back down in front of her, taking her small, shaking hands in mine. "I’m going to go 'borrow' those things. I’ll tell them I need to repair the roof of the hut. But I’m going to build a private enclosure behind that wall in the backyard where you take your baths. I’ll dig a proper pit, line it, and give you a door that actually bolts."

"But the Sarpanch... he'll want money for those things, or he'll ask why," she said, her voice trembling.

"I have the money I earned yesterday. Every single rupee of it," I said firmly. "And if he asks why? I’ll tell him my wife is 'unwell' and can’t walk to the fields. It’s a village, Ishi. They understand 'sickness' better than they understand 'privacy'."

I leaned in, pressing my forehead against hers, my ocean-blue eyes locked onto her brown ones. "Give me one hour. Stay inside. Lock the door. I’m going to build you a palace out of tin and wood, Janna. It won't have marble floors, but it will have a lock. And no one—not Laxmi, not Champa, not the whole Rajasthan army—will see you."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I watched him walk out into the freezing pre-dawn dark, shirtless and determined, his muscles coiling with every step. My "Patidev" was going to build a bathroom with his bare hands just so I wouldn't have to feel ashamed.

I sat there on the bed, my knees pulled to my chest, listening to the distant sounds of him hauling heavy metal sheets and the thud of a shovel hitting the earth. The tension in my stomach was still there, but it was being replaced by a staggering sense of love.

Most husbands would have told me to "just get over it" or "do what the others do." But Rudra? He was willing to be a thief or a carpenter or a liar just to protect my smile.

Around 6:15 AM, just as the first sliver of gold hit the horizon, the back door of the hut creaked open. Ru stood there, drenched in sweat despite the morning chill, his hands covered in fresh earth and grease.

"It's done," he panted, gesturing with a tilt of his head. "It's not pretty, Ishi. But it’s private. And I moved the heavy water drum inside it so you have everything you need. Go. Before the village fully wakes up."

I ran to him, throwing my arms around his neck, not caring about the grease on his skin. "Thank you, Ru. Thank you."

I looked at him—this man who was supposed to be the "Cold-Hearted Prince," now standing in the dirt with grease-stained hands and a tired smile, all for my comfort. I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, clearing away a smudge of mud.

"Jab hum is test mein paas ho gaye na, Ru..." I whispered, my voice thick with emotion as I looked at the makeshift tin walls he’d just erected. "To vapas Raj Mahal jaake, is gaon ko update karna padega. (When we pass this test, Ru... then after going back to the Raj Mahal, we’ll have to update this village.)"

I looked around at the humble mud walls and then back at my husband. "No woman should have to choose between her health and her dignity just because the sun came up. We’ll build real washrooms here. We’ll bring proper water lines. Not as a 'charity' from the Rathors, but as a thank you to the place that taught us how to truly be together."

👑 Rudra's Perspective

I pulled her closer, the cool morning air biting at my bare skin, but her words warmed me more than any sunlight could. I looked at the "palace" I had built—a jagged, rusted structure of tin and hope—and I felt a different kind of pride than when I closed a multi-billion dollar deal at **The Rathor Company**.

"We will, Janna," I promised, my voice low and resolute. "I’ll make sure every house in this village has what you were crying for today. But for now..."

I tilted her chin up, my ocean-blue eyes searching hers. "For now, the 'Rudra' you have is just a man with a shovel and a very protective streak. Go now. The sun is rising, and I need to hide these tools before the village 'spy network' starts their morning rounds."

I watched her hurry behind the tin screen, the jingle of her **Payal** sounding lighter, more relieved. I stood guard at the back door, my arms crossed over my chest, looking out at the waking village.

I knew the challenge wasn't over. The Sarpanch would notice his missing tin. The women would wonder why the "city bahu" never joined them in the fields. But as I looked at the marks on my hands and the dirt under my nails, I realized that Ishita was right. This was a test. And every rusted nail I hammered in was a vow that I would never let her world—or mine—be this small or this difficult ever again.

"Hurry up, Ishi!" I called out softly, a smirk returning to my face. "I still have to figure out how to explain to the Sarpanch why I’m late for work and why I have 'mysterious' tin scratches on my arms!"

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I watched Ru walk away toward the fields, his silhouette blurring into the golden dust of the morning. I felt a strange sense of victory. My "Patidev" had literally moved mountains—or at least, moved the Sarpanch's tin sheets—to make sure I didn't have to compromise myself.

I turned back to the hut and started the morning cleaning, trying to sweep the soot from last night's "roti disaster" off the floor. I was just shaking out our thin blanket when the shadows of two women fell across the doorway.

Champa and Laxmi were standing there, their lotas tucked under their arms, looking at me with wide, confused eyes.

"Bhabhi? Aap kyu nhi chali? (Bhabhi? Why didn't you go with us?)" Champa asked, her brow furrowed. "Humne window pe awaaz di thi. Hume laga aap so rahi ho. (We called at the window. We thought you were sleeping.)"

I stopped sweeping and stood up straight, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. I didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to sound like a brat either. I just wanted them to understand that my husband was different.

"Mujhe adat nhi h or pasand bhi nhi h, (I'm not used to it, and I don't like it either,)" I said firmly, my voice steady despite the slight blush on my cheeks.

Laxmi stepped inside, looking around the small hut. "Pr Bhabhi, pura gaon jata hai. Har aurat jati hai. (But Bhabhi, the whole village goes. Every woman goes.) How will you manage? You can't just... not go."

I gave them a small, proud smile—the kind of smile that only a woman who is deeply loved can give. I pointed toward the back of the hut where the newly erected tin sheets stood tall and sturdy.

**"Mere pati ne mere liye sab kar diya, (My husband did everything for me,)"** I said, my heart swelling. "Unhone piche mere liye alag se jagah bana di hai. Ab mujhe kahi bahar jane ki zaroorat nhi. (He made a separate place for me in the back. Now I don't need to go anywhere outside.)"

Champa’s jaw practically hit the mud floor. Laxmi ran to the back door and peeked out, let out a loud gasp.

"Haye! Ye toh Sarpanch ji ki tin hai! (Hey! This is Sarpanch ji's tin!)" Laxmi whispered, her eyes nearly popping out. "Rudra Bhai ne ye ek ghante mein khada kar diya? Pura deewar bana diya? (Rudra Brother put this up in one hour? He built a whole wall?)"

"He worked all morning while it was still dark," I said, leaning against the broom. "He said he won't let his wife feel uncomfortable. So yeah... I have my own space now."

Champa turned back to me, her expression a mix of shock and pure envy. "Bhabhi... humare mard toh pani ka matka bhi nhi uthate, aur Rudra Bhai ne aapke liye 'shauchalay' (toilet) bana diya? Bina mange? (Our men won't even lift a water pot, and Rudra Brother built you a toilet? Without you even asking?)"

I felt a surge of pride. My 6'3" "Cold-Hearted Prince" had just become the talk of the village women's circle, and for once, it wasn't because of his looks—it was because of his heart.

"Vahi toh," I teased, feeling a bit of my old confidence return. "Maine kaha tha na... wo mujhse bhout pyar karte h