👑 Rudra's Perspective

I watched her with a mix of amusement and sheer terror as she scrambled onto the new wooden frame like it was a victory podium. There she was, Rajasthan's most elegant model and my "Master-ji," standing on a pile of timber in my oversized white shirt, looking like a pint-sized revolutionary.

"Pehle main help karungi," she declared, her brown eyes flashing with that stubborn Sharma pride.

"Ishi, lag jayegi... samjho," I groaned, reaching out to steady her. My **ocean-blue eyes** were fixed on her every move. She was barely 5'3", and even though she'd been through so much, I still saw her as something precious that needed guarding.

But she wasn't having it. With a defiant huff, she hiked up the sleeves of my shirt-which were already swallowing her whole-and flexed. She actually tried to show off her "biceps" and "triceps," striking a pose that would have made her trainer in the city weep.

"I am strong, see? I won't hurt," she said, looking at me with total seriousness.

I shook my head, a slow, disbelieving smirk spreading across my face. I looked at those slim, delicate arms-the same ones that were trembling with pleasure in my grip just hours ago-and then back at her determined face.

"What? I have a better body than you!" she challenged, puffing out her chest.

"Of course, of course," I muttered, my voice thick with a teasing sarcasm. "You're a regular Greek Goddess, Janna. I'm practically a toothpick compared to you."

Before she could launch into a lecture about her "strength," I reached up, my large hands easily spanning her waist. I didn't just help her down; I lifted her off the wood like she weighed nothing and set her firmly on the dirt floor.

"Okay, chalo. Since the 'Strongwoman of Rajasthan' insists," I conceded, gesturing to the other end of the bed.

I moved to the head of the frame and hoisted it up, my viney arms barely feeling the weight. On the other side, Ishi gripped the wood with both hands, her face turning a deep shade of pink as she put her entire soul into the lift.

She didn't exactly "pick it up." It was more of a rhythmic, determined drag. *Scrape. Thud. Scrape.*

I slowed my pace, walking almost in slow motion so she wouldn't lose her grip. I watched her-the way her curls bounced with every tug, the way my shirt hung off her shoulders, and the sheer grit in her eyes. She was trying so hard to be my partner in every sense of the word, even if it meant dragging sixty pounds of timber across a mud floor.

We finally maneuvered it into the small bedroom. I set my end down gently, and she let her end drop with a triumphant "Hah!"

She stood there, panting slightly, dusting off her hands as if she'd just moved a mountain. I walked over to her, pulling her into my chest, my bare skin cooling against the cotton of the shirt she wore.

"See?" she gasped, looking up at me with a proud grin. "I told you I'm strong, Ru."

"The strongest," I whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. "Now, since you've done the heavy lifting, maybe you can manage to lift a spoon for breakfast? Or is the 'Goddess of Strength' too tired to eat?"

I watched her strut toward the bathing area with that little "I conquered a mountain" swagger, her frame still swallowed by my white shirt. She stopped at the doorway, leaning back with a mischievous glint in her brown eyes.

"I am going to bath," she announced, giving me a playful, exhausted little salute. "But till then, you put the mattress on the bed... I did a lot of work! Bye, love you!"

I let out a low, rumbling chuckle as she vanished behind the curtain. "Love you too, my little Hercules," I called out, shaking my head in total disbelief.

"A lot of work," I muttered to myself, looking down at the bed. She'd basically given the wood a few encouraging tugs while I carried 90% of the weight, but the way she said it-with that proud, "Strongwoman" grin-made me feel like I'd just won the lottery.

I turned my attention back to the mattress-the one that had survived the *crash* of our last charpai. I gripped the heavy cotton bundle, my viney arms flexing as I hoisted it onto the new, solid wooden frame. It fit perfectly. No creaks. No groans. Just the smell of fresh timber and the lingering scent of our jasmine oil.

I smoothed out the sheets, my hands lingering on the spot where she'd be sleeping tonight.

I could hear the sound of the water splashing in the back, and the faint, sweet melody of her humming. My eyes darkened for a second, thinking about the "marks" the water was currently running over. I had a feeling my "Goddess of Strength" was going to have a very hard time explaining that glow to the village women today.

I walked over to the small mirror, catching a glimpse of the **tattoo over my heartbeat**. "ISHITA," it read.

"Yeah," I whispered to the empty room. "She definitely did a lot of work. She completely dismantled me."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

I rushed out of the bathing area, the steam still clinging to my skin. I had draped my saree in record time, the fabric feeling a bit heavy against my sore muscles, but I didn't have a second to lose. My long curly hair was a damp, tangled mess over my shoulders, and I was frantically rubbing it with a towel as I stepped into our "new" bedroom.

I stood in front of the tiny, cracked mirror, my fingers trembling slightly as I swiped a line of deep red sindoor through my partition and pressed a small bindi onto my forehead. But as the reflection became clearer, I froze.

"Ru!" I wailed, leaning closer to the glass, my eyes wide with horror. "Ru, dekho na! Mujhe pimples ho gaye... aapne bataya bhi nahi mujhe!" (Ru, look! I've got pimples... and you didn't even tell me!)

I pointed a frantic finger at my jawline and the side of my neck. There were three or four distinct, reddish-pink spots blooming on my brown skin.

Rudra was standing by the window, his eyes** snapping over to me. He leaned back against the mud wall, his muscular arms crossed over his bare chest, right over the **tattoo of my name**. A slow, devastatingly handsome smirk started to spread across his face-the kind of look that usually meant I was in trouble.

"Pimples, Janna?" he asked, his voice a low, amused thrum.

He walked over, his frame towering over me as he trapped me between the mirror and his chest. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, and squinted at the "spots" I was so worried about.

"Those aren't pimples, Ishi," he whispered, his breath hot against my ear, making me shiver. "Those are 'Rudra-marks.' And if I recall correctly, you were moaning my name quite loudly while I was 'giving' them to you last night."

My jaw dropped. I looked back at the mirror. These weren't breakouts. These were perfectly placed, tiny love-bites and friction burns from his stubble.

"Aap... aap bahut besharam hain!" (You are so shameless!) I hissed, my face turning a shade of red that put my sindoor to shame. I grabbed my pallu, frantically trying to wrap it high around my neck to hide the evidence. "What will I tell the children? 'Sorry kids, I can't teach today because a bear attacked my neck?'"

I huffed, adjusting the folds of my saree with a sharp tug. "Aapko kuch nahi pata (You know nothing). It's definitely pimples because clearly, I don't have my skincare routine here! My skin is reacting to this village dust."

I looked at him through the mirror, trying to maintain a stern face despite the heat rising in my cheeks. "But it's okay. I am Mrs. Rudra Singh Rathor. After all, I can handle anything-even 'breakouts' and a broken bed."

Ru let out a dark, velvety chuckle that vibrated through my back. He leaned down and pressed a lingering, wet kiss to my bare shoulder, his stubble grazing me one last time just to be a brat.

"Chalo, jao! Take a bath," I commanded, playfully pushing him toward the bucket. "You can't go to the fields smelling like... well, like last night."

Just then, the sound of bangles clinking and children's high-pitched chatter drifted in from the front courtyard. My heart did a somersault. The village ladies were early!

"Bahu? Master-ji? Are you awake?" Kaki's voice called out.

I panicked. I looked at Ru shirtless, glistening with that morning glow, and that **tattoo of my name and 'Janna'** sitting right over his heartbeat for everyone to see. it was the most possessive, romantic thing he'd ever done. There was no way I was letting any other woman in this village lay eyes on his "Greek God" physique or that tattoo.

"Stay here!" I hissed, pointing a finger at his chest. "Don't you dare come out until you're fully covered. I am very possessive about my husband's fitness, and I am *not* sharing the view."

I checked my dupatta one last time, making sure it sat high on my neck to hide his "marks," and rushed out.

"Namaste, Kaki! Namaste, Behen-ji!" I greeted them with my brightest, most "innocent" smile, quickly stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind me.

"Is the Kunwar-sa ready?" one of the younger women asked, trying to peek past me.

"Oh, he's... uh... he's busy with some very important work" I lied smoothly. According to our family rituals and the mission, we couldn't tell them the truth about who we really were or what we were doing. "He'll be out later. Come, let's start the lesson under the Banyan tree!"

I felt a surge of pride as I led them away. My husband might be a "shameless bear" behind closed doors, but out here, I was the one guarding our secrets-and his shirtless chest-with everything I had.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

Days passed its late February

The Rajasthan winter was biting today. In February, the desert air doesn't just turn cold; it turns sharp, like a blade. I walked into our hut after a long day in the fields, my own muscles aching, but my only thought was of Ishita.

I saw her sitting by the small wooden table, her books spread out, but her posture was stiff. When I reached out to take her hand, my heart dropped.

Her fingers were like marble-icy, stiff, and terrifyingly discolored. The tips were a ghostly, bloodless white, while the rest of her hand was a mottled, angry red. It was her Raynaud's acting up again, the same condition that had haunted her every winter since before we were married. Back then, I used to beg her to see a specialist in London or New Delhi, but she'd always brush it off with a smile, saying she was "just a cold person."

"Ishita, your hands," I said, my voice tight. I pulled her toward the small fire, my **ocean-blue eyes** dark with a mixture of fear and simmering anger. I took her hands between my large, warm ones, rubbing them frantically.

"It's just the weather, Ru," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "It'll pass once the sun stays up longer."

"It won't just 'pass'!" I snapped, my frustration finally boiling over. "Look at them! The blood has literally stopped moving. We are stuck in this village playing a part, and I can't even get you to a proper cardiovascular specialist. That doctor i talk ? He called it 'stress.' Stress! He has no idea what he's looking at."

I wasn't shouting, but the silence between us was heavy, charged with a "calm" kind of fighting that hurt worse than a screaming match. I was a CEO, a man used to fixing problems with a phone call or a check, and here, I was helpless.

"You always do this," I said, my voice low and dangerously steady. "Before marriage, you let it go. During the three years we were apart, you probably ignored it entirely. And now, you're sitting here acting like it's nothing while your fingers look like they're made of ice. You're being reckless with the most precious thing I have-yourself."

"And what do you want me to do, Rudra?" she hit back, her voice rising just a fraction. "Should I blow our cover? Should I demand a private jet to the city because my hands are cold? We are here for a reason. I am a village schoolteacher right now, and you are a farmer. Farmers' wives don't have specialist doctors on speed dial."

"I don't care about the mission if it means you're suffering," I hissed, my grip on her hands tightening-not to hurt her, but to force my warmth into her skin. "I should have forced you to finish that treatment in the city before we came here. I let you talk me out of it."

"You didn't 'let' me do anything. I am an adult, Ru!" She pulled her hands away, tucking them under her armpits to hide the white-and-red blotches. "Stop looking at me like I'm a broken toy you can't fix. It's frustrating for me too! My fingers ache so much I can barely hold a pen to check the kids' homework, but I'm not going to sit here and let you get angry at me for something I can't control."

I stood up, pacing the small mud-floored room, my frame feeling too large for the space. I looked at her-stubborn, beautiful, and frozen.

"I'm not angry at you, Janna," I said, stopping in front of her. "I'm angry at this situation. I'm the top businessman in the world, and I'm watching my wife's blood freeze because I'm supposed to be 'low-profile.' It's a pathetic irony."

I knelt down in front of her, ignoring the ache in my own knees from the fields. I took her feet-also icy cold-and pulled them into my lap, rubbing them through her socks with a grim determination.

"We aren't talking about this anymore tonight," I declared, my tone leaving no room for argument. "You are staying by the fire. I'm making the tea. And tomorrow, I don't care what family rituals or village tasks we have-I am finding a way to get the proper medication from the city sent here. Don't test me on this, Ishita. Your health is the only thing that matters."

She looked at me, her brown eyes softening as the frustration drained away, replaced by the reality of the pain. "Okay, Patidev," she murmured. "But stop being so scary. Your eyes look like a storm."

"Good," I muttered, moving my hands back to her fingers. "Maybe the storm will melt the ice."

I looked down at her, my jaw still tight with a tension that wouldn't let go. I was a man who controlled global markets, a man who had built **Eternity** from the ground up, yet here I was, feeling like a failure because I couldn't even keep the blood flowing in my wife's fingertips.

"Listen, Ru," she whispered, her voice like velvet against the harsh crackle of the small fire. She reached out, her icy, pale fingers grazing my cheek. I winced at the cold, but I didn't pull away. "We can't do anything reckless. You know we are on a secret mission for the Raj Mahal. One wrong move, one high-profile doctor appearing in this village, and everything we've worked for-the blackmailers, the truth-it all vanishes."

I didn't answer. I just kept rubbing her hands, my **eyes** fixed on the white patches on her skin.

"Just some more days," she promised, leaning closer until her warmth began to seep into me. "Then I promise we will go to the best doctors in the world. Okay? Till then... you have to heat me up, Patidev."

She said the last part with a little tilt of her head, a mischievous spark returning to her brown eyes. I tried to stay stoic, tried to keep my "frustrated CEO" mask on, but Ishita Rathor knew exactly which buttons to press to dismantle Rudra Singh Rathor.

"Are you even listening, Ru? Or are you too busy planning a hostile takeover of the village clinic?" she teased.

Before I could respond, she shifted on the low stool, crawling into my lap despite my bare chest and the dirt on my dhoti from the fields. She wrapped her arms around my neck, her cold nose pressing into the crook of my shoulder.

"Aah! Ishita, you're freezing," I grumbled, though my arms instinctively locked around her waist to keep her from falling.

"Then fix it," she whispered. She started planting tiny, butterfly kisses along my jawline, right where I'd been clenching my teeth. "Is my 'Cold-Hearted Prince' really going to stay angry at his poor, frozen Biwi?"

She moved her lips to the **tattoo over my heartbeat**, kissing the letters of her own name through the light hair on my chest. I felt my resolve crumbling. The anger was still there, but it was being drowned out by the sheer, unadulterated love I had for this woman.

"I'm not angry at you, Janna," I muttered, my hands sliding under the back of her saree to find the warmth of her skin. "I'm just..."

"You're just obsessed with me," she finished for me, pulling back to look me in the eye. She gave me a playful, cheeky grin, her tongue peeking out between her teeth. "And honestly? I like it. But right now, your 'stormy eyes' are making me feel even colder. Give me a real kiss, Ru. A 'Patidev' kiss. Not a 'CEO' kiss."

I let out a defeated, smoky huff of laughter and pulled her chin up. "You're a brat, Ishita."

"I'm *your* brat," she corrected.

I didn't give her another chance to tease me. I captured her lips in a deep, searing kiss that was meant to burn away the chill of the Rajasthan winter. I poured all my frustration, all my protection, and all my heat into her, my tongue claiming hers with a primal intensity.

She moaned softly, her hands losing their icy stiffness as the blood finally began to pump, her fingers fisting in my hair. The hut was cold, our mission was dangerous, and her health was a constant worry-but as she snuggled deeper into my chest, I realized she was right. As long as I was breathing, I would be her furnace.

"Better?" I panted against her lips, my thumb tracing the red color finally returning to her cheeks.

"Hmm... getting there," she whispered, her eyes heavy with a different kind of heat. "Maybe one more? For medical reasons, of course."

The days in the village are a strange, beautiful blur. To the locals, we are just a hardworking farmer and his dedicated schoolteacher wife-the most romantic couple in the region. They see us and whisper about "shuddh prem" (pure love), never guessing that the man tilling the soil is a global billionaire and the woman teaching their children is India's youngest top model.

Every afternoon, when the sun is at its peak, I return from the fields drenched in sweat, my muscles aching from labor I was never born to do. But the moment I see her, everything fades. Ishita meets me at the door, her eyes shining. She doesn't care about the mud or the grime; she takes the end of her cotton saree and tenderly wipes the sweat from my forehead, her touch more cooling than any air conditioner in my Mumbai penthouse.

"Ru, thak gaye na? (You're tired, right?)" she'll whisper, leading me inside to feed me with her own hands, narrating the funny things the village kids said that day.

But then comes the part of the day I dread: the water run.

I watched her today trying to nudge a clay pot toward the door. I lunged forward, snatching the handle before she could even think about lifting it. "Ishita! What did I tell you about heavy lifting?"

"Ru, it's just one pot-"

"You weigh **40 kg**, Janna!" I snapped, my **ocean-blue eyes** flashing with that protective Rathor fire. "You are literally like a porcelain doll. If you lift this, you'll snap in half. Your body is so thin, I can span your waist with just my hands."

She didn't look scolded. Instead, she leaned against the mud wall, a slow, flirtatious smirk playing on her lips-the one she used to use on the ramps in Milan and Mumbai.

"Oh? So you're saying you don't like my figure, Patidev?" she teased, stepping closer until she was tucked under my chin. "Because last night, when your hands were all over me, you didn't seem to have a problem with how 'thin' I am."

I groaned, looking away to hide my smile. "That's different. I love your body-it's perfect, naturally fit without even touching a gym-but that doesn't mean you have the muscle mass to carry twenty liters of river water."

"It's a gift, Ru," she giggled, poking my chest right over the **tattoo of her name**. "I can eat all the laddoos Kaki gives me and I won't gain a gram. You're just jealous because you have to work for those 'Greek God' muscles and I'm just... naturally a masterpiece."

"A masterpiece that is going to sit down and rest while I go to the river," I countered, hoisting the heavy pots onto my shoulders. "If I see you lifting anything heavier than a pen while I'm gone, I'm calling Krishiv to bring a bodyguard to watch you 24/7."

She blew me a kiss, her brown eyes dancing with mischief. "Jiyo Re, Mere Sher! (Long live, my lion!)"

I walked toward the river, the weight of the water nothing compared to the weight of my love for her. We are playing at being peasants, but as I look at my hands-calloused from the field but still warm enough to thaw her icy fingers-I realize that being her 'Sher' in this village is a higher title than being King of the Rathors.

The February sun was hanging low over the village, casting long, dusty shadows across the temple courtyard where all the men had gathered to repair the ancient stones. Everyone was there-except the one man who stood out like a titan among mortals.

I was leaning against the wall of our hut, sharpening my sickle, my **ocean-blue eyes** occasionally tracking Ishita as she stood near the well with the other village women. I knew what they were whispering. In a place where faith is as essential as water, a man who doesn't bow is a freak.

"Bahu," Kaki said, her voice loud enough for the wind to carry it to me. "Why isn't your husband at the Mandir? Even the Sarpanch is lifting stones today."

Ishita looked at me, her brown eyes soft and a little hesitant. "He... he doesn't believe in God, Kaki-ji. He believes in hard work and... and love."

The silence that followed was heavy. The ladies exchanged sharp, judgmental looks, pulling their dupattas tighter as if my "heresy" was contagious. I saw Ishita's shoulders slump, her face clouding with a sudden, deep sadness. She hated being the outcast, especially when she was already feeling physically drained.

I dropped the sickle. I didn't care about their whispers or their "shuddh" rituals. I walked toward them, my 6'3" frame cutting through their circle like a blade. I could see the paleness in Ishita's face-it was her second day, and I knew her cramps were clawing at her frame.

Without a word to the judgmental crowd, I reached down and tucked one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, hoisting her up into my arms.

"Ru! What are you doing? Everyone is watching!" she squeaked, her face flushing a deep crimson.

"Let them watch," I growled, my jaw locked.

I carried her back to our small hut, ignoring the gasps behind us. I sat her down on the wooden threshold of our door, her feet dangling just above the ground. She looked so small, so fragile in her saree, her eyes still shimmering with the hurt from those women's glares.

I brought out a basin of warm water and knelt in the dirt at her feet.

"Ru, stop... you're a Prince, you shouldn't-"

"I'm your husband," I interrupted, my voice dropping into that dark, protective tone. I gently took her small, icy feet in my hands. Because of her periods and the February chill, they felt like blocks of marble again.

I began to wash her feet, the warm water swirling around her ankles. I didn't care about the Mandir or the idols inside. For me, the only divine thing in this world was the woman who had taught a heartless man how to feel.

"They think I'm a sinner because I don't go to their temple," I murmured, my thumb rubbing circles into her sole to ease the tension. I looked up at her, my ** eyes** fierce with devotion. "They don't understand, Janna. I don't need a stone idol to pray to. My Goddess is sitting right here, bleeding and hurting, and I'd rather spend my life serving her than a God who let my sister fall from a hill."

Ishita's bottom lip trembled, and she reached down, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head against her knees. "Aap bahut ziddi hain, Patidev," she whispered, a tear finally escaping and landing on my shoulder.

"I'm a devotee, Ishi," I whispered back, leaning up to kiss her forehead. "And as long as I'm alive, no one-not even the heavens-will make you feel small for choosing me."

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The air in the village was pierced by a sound that made my blood run cold. From the hut next door, the agonized, rhythmic screams of our neighbor in labor echoed through the thin walls. Every cry felt like a physical blow to my chest.

I scrambled into our small bedroom, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. I collapsed onto our new wooden bed, curling my frame into a tight ball. I pressed my palms over my ears so hard it hurt, burying my face into the pillow that still smelled of Rudra's  cologne.

I was terrified. To the world, I was a top model, a woman of grace and poise-but inside, I was a girl paralyzed by the raw, violent reality of childbirth. The thought of a life growing inside me, of that inevitable moment of pain... it made my heart hammer against my ribs like a trapped bird. We had only been married for three months, and while I dreamed of our baby the physical path to her felt like a dark, insurmountable mountain.

The heavy wooden door of the hut creaked open. I didn't move. I heard his heavy, familiar footsteps-the steady, grounding rhythm of my husband returning from the fields.

"Ishi? Janna?"

His voice was a low rumble, laced with immediate concern. He must have heard the screams from next door as he walked up the path. He entered the bedroom, his frame instantly making the room feel smaller and safer. He saw me-shaking, ears covered, hiding from the world.

"Hey... hey, look at me," he murmured. He sat on the edge of the bed and gathered me into his lap as if I were made of glass. He gently pried my hands away from my ears, replacing them with his large, warm palms.

"Ru... it sounds so... so painful," I sobbed, hiding my face in the crook of his neck, my tears wetting his sweat-stained shirt. "I can't... I don't think I can ever..."

"Shhh," he hissed softly, his lips pressing against my temple. He rocked me back and forth, his viney arms forming a fortress around me. "You don't have to, Ishi. Not today, not tomorrow. Not until you are ready, and maybe not even then. I didn't marry you to make you a mother; I married you to make you mine."

He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his **ocean-blue gaze** fierce and steady. He knew this fear. He knew why we were waiting. He didn't judge me; he worshipped me.

"You are my Goddess, remember?" he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, moving past the marks he'd left on my neck. "I saw you washing those kids' faces today under the Banyan tree. You have so much love in you. But your body, your soul... they belong to you first. If the thought of this scares you, then we wait. We wait forever if we have to."

"But your family... the Rathors... they want an heir," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"Let them want," he growled, a flash of the cold man appearing for a second before softening as he looked back at me.  I decide my own legacy. And my legacy is *you*. Just you."

He began to hum a low, wordless tune, his hand stroking my long curly hair, untangling the knots with a patience I didn't know a man like him possessed. He stayed like that for hours, holding me, shielding me from the sounds of the night, until the screams next door finally turned into the high-pitched wail of a newborn.

Even then, he didn't let go. He just tightened his grip, his heart beating a steady, calm rhythm against mine-a promise that in his arms, I would never have to face a fear I wasn't ready for.