Author’s Note: A Royal Disclaimer 👑

"Hello, lovely readers! Before we dive into the grand spectacle of the coronation, I want to share a quick note. Please keep in mind that all the rituals, traditions, and ceremonies described during the Raj Tilak—including the Kalash Yatra and the Rudra Abhishek—are purely fictional. They have been created and reimagined to fit the world of 'Destiny Collide' and to add to the drama of Rudra and Ishita's story. They do not represent real-world religious or historical practices. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the royal magic!"

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The air in the grand courtyard was thick with the scent of holy incense and fresh rose petals. The morning sun had yet to fully break the horizon, but the palace was glowing with the light of hundreds of diyas.

I took my place on the silk cushion, the weight of my **wedding dupatta**—the same one I wore when I became **Rudra's**—resting heavily but comfortably on my head.

The hierarchy of the **Rathor and Sharma families** was on full display. At the center sat **Siya Maa**, the current Queen, looking radiant and composed. I sat right beside her, the "Soon-to-be Queen," feeling the intense gaze of the entire lineage upon me.

The circle of women was a formidable sight:

Siya Maa, Chachi, Bebe, and both Buas, holding the wisdom of generations.

Dhristi , Reet , Tanya, and Chavvi .

Aditi , Riva Bhabhi, and of course, my own Mummy , whose eyes were shimmering with pride.

The Little Ones: Kriti and Saanvi**, watching wide-eyed, seeing the traditions they would one day lead.

The **Gold Kalash** sat between Siya Maa and me, reflecting the flickering flames of the aarti. As the Pandit began the mantras, Siya Maa leaned over and whispered, "This isn't just a pot of water, Ishu. It is the peace and prosperity of our people. From today, you carry their hopes as much as you carry Rudra’s heart."

I touched the cool metal of the Kalash, my **dark mahogany henna** vivid against the gold. I thought of **Rudra** at the temple, probably already knee-deep in the **Abhishek

The Pooja reached its crescendo. Siya Maa took the sacred thread and tied it around the neck of the Kalash, then looked at me.

"Are you ready, my Queen?" she asked softly.

I looked touch my mangalsutra on my neck and then look at my mother, who gave me a small, encouraging nod. Yesterday, I was ready to walk out of this palace. Today, I was ready to walk miles through the desert sand just to reach the man who had etched my name over his heartbeat.

"I am ready, Maa," I replied, my voice steady.

With a collective chant of *"Jai Maa Bhawani"* from all the ladies, Siya Maa lifted the heavy **Gold Kalash**. My breath hitched as I felt the weight being transferred to the ring of cloth on my head.

The morning light caught the gold thread of my heavy **banarasi saree**, making the pink and gold patterns shimmer as I stood at the center of the courtyard. Every piece of jewelry I wore—from the mangalsutra to the stacked red chooda felt like a symbol of the crown I was destined to wear. My hair was pinned back with a heavy gold and pink hair ornament , and my hands and feet were dark with the henna from the night before.

**Siya Maa** and **Chachi** stepped forward together. Their faces were solemn as they placed the fabric ring—the supporter—on my head. Then, with a collective breath from the gathered women, they lifted the heavy **Gold Kalash** filled with sacred water and placed it carefully on the ring.

I held the sides of the cool metal tightly, my nails pressing against the gold.

"Dheere se, Ishu," (Slowly, Ishu,) Siya Maa whispered.

They held my elbows, helping me rise slowly to my feet. The weight was immense, pressing down through my spine, but I stood tall. I wasn't just Ishita Sharma anymore; I was **Ishita Rudra Singh Rathor**, and I would not falter.

Following my lead, the other married women of the family began to lift their own copper and brass Kalash. It was a sea of vibrant colors and clinking jewelry.

However, the circle remained protective of those who could not carry the burden:

Reet and Aditi stood to the side, their hands on their bellies. They wouldn't carry the weight, but their prayers were the loudest.

Kriti and Saanvi stood behind me, dressed in their finest, acting as my shadows. As unmarried girls, they weren't required to carry the pots, but they held the edges of my Suhaag ka dupatta to ensure I didn't trip.

Bebe stood at the very front, her white saree a stark contrast to our bright colors. As a widow and the eldest, she held no weight but the spiritual guidance of the entire Yatra.

I thought of **Rudra** at the **Old Shiv Mandir**, probably sensing the moment I took my first step.

"Chalein?" (Shall we go?) I asked, my voice echoing under the weight of the gold.

"Chalo, Rani Sa," Bebe replied with a proud smile.

The palace gates swung open, revealing a path lined with thousands of people from the village, all waiting to see their future Queen. I took the first step, the **silver payal** on my henna-stained feet chiming a steady, regal beat.

The heavy gates of the **Raj Mahal** groaned open, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. As I stepped out, the sheer scale of the crowd took my breath away. Thousands of people from across Rajasthan lined the dusty roads, their eyes fixed on me—the woman who would soon be their Queen.

I led the way, the **Gold Kalash** feeling like a mountain upon my head. Every muscle in my neck and core was tight, balancing the sacred water with a grace I didn't know I possessed. On either side of me, my support system was unwavering:

Aditi stayed close to my left, her hand hovering near my elbow despite her own pregnancy, ensuring I didn't lose my balance.

Kriti  my little cousin, held the edge of my heavy **banarasi saree** and **suhaag ka dupatta**, making sure the delicate silk didn't trip my feet.

The ground beneath us was baked by the Rajasthan sun, but we walked **barefoot**, our soles connecting with the ancient earth of our ancestors. My **payal** chimed rhythmically, though the sound was nearly drowned out by the thunderous, rhythmic beating of the **dhols

The energy was electric. Flower petals rained down from the balconies of village houses, sticking to my skin and the gold of the Kalash. I could hear the whispers of the elders in the crowd: *"Look at the Rathor Bahu... she carries the dignity of the Raj Mahal well."* I kept my gaze fixed forward, toward the horizon where the spire of the **Old Shiv Mandir** rose against the pale morning sky. My feet burned slightly against the uneven stones, and my **henna-stained toes** felt the grit of the sand, but I didn't flinch.

Whenever the weight felt like too much, I thought of the **'R' and 'U'** hidden in the henna on my palms. I thought of **Rudra** standing at the altar, his **ocean-blue eyes** likely scanning the distance for the first glimpse of my crimson veil.

He was the "Cold Prince" to them, but to me, he was the man who had stayed up late searching for "Snugglebug" just to hear me laugh. I wasn't just walking for a ritual; I was walking toward my life.

The heat was rising, and the distance was great, but with every beat of the dhol, I felt the spirit of the **Rathor queens** before me. I wouldn't stop until the sacred water reached my King.

The final stretch of the climb felt like walking on air despite the sharp sting in my foot. As we reached the plateau of the **Old Shiv Mandir**, the heavy, rhythmic chanting of the Vedic mantras washed over us, grounding the chaos of the **dhol** and the cheers of the crowd.

I stood at the entrance of the temple courtyard, the **Gold Kalash** still perfectly balanced, my breath coming in shallow hitches. Through the haze of incense smoke, I saw them—a line of the most powerful men in the state, stripped of their pride and corporate armor, sitting humbly on the stone floor.

And there, at the center, was **Rudra**.

My heart skipped a beat. He looked like a literal deity in his ivory silk dhoti, his **muscular frame** glistening slightly under the temple lamps. His eyes were closed, his jaw set in that familiar, determined line.

*“Thank you, Radha Rani,”* I whispered inwardly, a tear of pure relief threatening to smudge my kohl.

I had been so terrified. I knew my **Ru** didn’t believe in God—not since the day he lost Tara di I was worried he would sit here with a face of stone, looking bored or resentful, just doing it for the "prince" title. But he wasn't. He was deeply, intensely focused. Every movement of his hands as he offered the leaves and flowers was deliberate and respectful.

He was doing this for the people. He was doing this for his father. But most of all, I knew he was doing this for **me**.

As the priest called for the sacred water to begin the **Abhishek**, Rudra’s eyes snapped open. As if drawn by a magnet, his **ocean-blue gaze** cut through the crowd of ladies and landed directly on me.

He saw it all in a second—the way I was trembling under the weight of the gold, the dust on my **wedding dupatta**, and the slight limp in my stride. His eyes darkened with an immediate, protective fire. The "focused devotee" was gone for a split second, replaced by the man who wanted to burn the world for my smallest scratch.

He didn't move, adhering to the strict protocol of the ritual, but his gaze was a silent command: *“Just a few more steps, Janna. I’ve got you.”*

I straightened my back, the pain in my foot vanishing as I locked eyes with him. I began the final walk toward the inner sanctum, my **payal** announcing my arrival to the only God I truly needed to answer to today—the man who had changed his whole world just to be worthy of mine.

The atmosphere in the inner sanctum was heavy with the scent of sandalwood and the low vibration of the final mantras. My muscles were screaming, and the wound on my foot throbbed with every heartbeat, but I stood firm until the Pandit ji finally looked toward us.

"Jal do," (Give the water,) he commanded.

I felt the weight finally lift as **Jay** and **Veer** stepped forward. They moved with a rare seriousness, their large hands steadying the **Gold Kalash** as they carefully lowered it from my head. The sudden absence of the weight made me feel lightheaded, but I kept my eyes locked on **Rudra**.

He stood up, his frame** towering over everyone in the sanctum. The flicking lamps highlighted the sharp lines of his face and the **ivory shawl** draped over his shoulders. He took the Kalash from Jay and Veer, his muscles rippling under his fair skin as he prepared to offer the sacred water to the Shiv Ling.

"Bahu, haath lagao," (Daughter-in-law, touch his hand,) the Pandit ji instructed.

I stepped closer to him, the cool stone floor stinging my injured heel. I reached out and placed my hand—dark with the **mahogany henna** and shimmering with my **blue diamond ring**—against his warm, solid forearm.

The moment our skin met, I felt a jolt of energy that had nothing to do with the ritual and everything to do with the man. His eyes flickered to mine for a split second—a silent acknowledgment of the miles I had walked barefoot just to stand by his side.

Together, we tilted the Gold Kalash. The sacred water flowed over the deity in a steady stream, followed by the offering of milk. I kept my hand on his, my fingers brushing against the fine hair of his arm, providing the silent support he needed to finish the prayers he was doing entirely for us.

Then Pandit ji gave us milk to offer next

As the milk cascaded down, Rudra leaned slightly toward me, his voice a whisper that only I could hear over the chanting.

"I saw you limping, Janna," he murmured, his jaw tight. "Once this is over, you aren't taking another step on those feet. I don't care who is watching."

I didn't reply; I just pressed my hand firmer against his, a soft smile playing on my lips.

👑 Rudra's Perspective

The echoing chants slowed as the final offering of milk merged with the sacred water. My hand was still beneath **Ishita’s**, and even through the ritual silence, I could feel the slight tremor in her fingers. The weight she had carried for miles—both the **Gold Kalash** and the expectations of our bloodline—was finally off her head, but I knew she was hurting.

"Jhuk kar aashirwad le," the Pandit ji commanded. (Bow and take blessings.)

I moved first, my frame bending toward the ancient stone of the Shiv Ling. Beside me, Ishita lowered herself with a grace that masked her pain, her **wedding dupatta** sweeping the temple floor.

I don't believe in the stone, and I don't believe in the myths, but as my forehead neared the ground, I made a silent vow. Not to the deity, but to the woman beside me. *If there is a power here,* I thought, *let it take her pain and give it to me.*

The Pandit ji stepped forward, his thumb tracing a heavy **Tilak** of sandalwood and vermillion across my forehead, then onto hers. The red smudge against her fair skin looked like a seal of ownership and protection.

As we stood up, the ritual moved to the other couples. I watched as maa and papa then chacha and Chachi then Akshat and Dhristi , stepped forward to make their offerings. Usually, this was the time I would be scanning the room for security threats or thinking about **The Rathor Company’s** next merger.

But today, my world had shrunk to the five-foot-three woman standing at my shoulder.

I didn't care about the thousands of villagers outside or the cameras of the press. My eyes were fixed on the floor, watching the small, dark stain of blood on the stone where she stood. She was trying to hide her left foot behind the hem of her **banarasi saree**, but she couldn't hide the way her weight shifted.

I shifted my stance, moving subtly closer until my shoulder brushed hers, giving her a solid pillar to lean on while the other families finished their prayers.

"I told you not to push it, Janna," I muttered, the words barely a breath against her ear.

"I had to reach you, Ru," she whispered back, her **brown eyes** shining with a stubborn pride that made me want to roar and weep at the same time.

I looked at **Jay and Laksh**, who were standing guard near the inner sanctum. I gave them a sharp, single nod—the "Alpha" command. They knew what was coming. The moment the last couple finished, the protocol was going to break. I didn't care if it was a scandal; my Queen was bleeding, and the walk was over.

The Pandit ji looked at me, his eyes full of the weight of our lineage. "Ab kal aap log **Raj Tilak** kar sakte hain," he announced, his voice echoing through the stone chamber. "Lekin jese hamesha hota aaya hai, pehle hone wale Raja ka bhi Abhishek hoga fir Raj Tilak, then the throne."

My father, **Ram Singh Rathore**, and the rest of the elders nodded in solemn agreement.

But as far as I was concerned, the only kingdom that mattered was currently bleeding on the temple floor.

I didn't wait for the elders to discuss the logistics of the coronation. I stepped out of the ritual circle, the ivory silk of my **dhoti** rustling against the stone. I reached out and took **Ishita’s** hand, pulling her slightly closer to my side.

"If everything is done," I said, my voice dropping into that deep, lethal tone that usually ended board meetings at **Eternity** in seconds, "then let me take my wife home. She is injured and tired."

The room went silent. Maa and Mummy  looked at each other, their faces softening as they noticed the slight tremble in Ishita’s shoulders

"Ru, it's okay," Ishita whispered, her face pale under the **red wedding dupatta**. "The elders are talking..."

"I don't care," I rumbled, my eyes fixing on the bloody mark her foot had left.

I didn't give her a chance to protest further. Ignoring the cameras of the press waiting outside and the thousands of villagers, I bent down and slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back. With a single, effortless motion, I lifted my 5'3" Queen into my arms.

The crowd of relatives—**Akshat, Vardaan, Jay, and even the Sharma family**—parted like the Red Sea. I walked out of the inner sanctum, my stride long and purposeful.

"Jay! Get the Jeep to the base of the stairs now," I barked over my shoulder.

"On it, Bhai!" Jay called out, already sprinting ahead.

As I stepped out onto the temple stairs, the villagers let out a deafening cheer, seeing their future King carrying his bride. I didn't look at them. I only looked down at Ishita, whose head had finally dropped onto my shoulder in exhaustion.

"You're not walking another inch today, Janna," I murmured into her hair. "The Raj Tilak can wait. My wife's health cannot."

The roar of the crowd followed us out of the temple, but the moment I settled into the driver’s seat of the open-top Jeep, the world narrowed down to the woman beside me. I didn't care that the convoy of **Rathors and Sharmas** was scrambling to catch up behind us.

I shifted the gears with one hand, steering us away from the temple plateau toward the smoother palace roads. Once we reached a stretch of quiet desert road, I slowed the Jeep to a crawl.

Without a word, I reached over and gently caught her left ankle. I pulled her leg across the center console, resting her small, henna-stained foot directly on my lap, atop the ivory silk of my **dhoti**.

"Ru, what are you doing? Someone will see," she whispered, her voice tired but still trying to maintain that "Sharma" modesty.

"Let them look," I rumbled, my eyes** dark with focus.

I carefully pushed aside the heavy, jewel-encrusted hem of her **banarasi saree**. The sight made my jaw tighten. The **mahogany henna** was smudged with dried blood and dust from the miles she had walked barefoot. Right on the arch of her foot was a jagged, angry cut from the rock she had stepped on.

My large, calloused thumb traced the skin around the wound with a lightness that would have shocked my business rivals

"You walked three miles on this," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous, low growl. "Why didn't you stop, Janna? I would have come down those stairs and carried you the rest of the way the moment you tripped."

"Because I'm a Rathor now," she said, her brown eyes meeting mine with a spark of the fire that had first made me fall for her at this very temple. "And a Rathor Queen doesn't arrive at the Abhishek in a Jeep. She arrives on her own feet."

I let out a sharp breath, part frustration and part overwhelming pride. I reached for the bottle of sacred water we had kept in the Jeep, pouring a small amount over the cut to wash away the grit. She winced, her fingers digging into the leather of the seat.

"I know," I murmured, my hand steadying her ankle. "I've got you now. No more walking.

I leaned down and pressed a lingering, fervent kiss to her ankle, just above the heavy payal that was now dusty from the road.

"Jay is already calling the doctor to the palace," I told her, putting the Jeep back into gear but keeping her foot firmly tucked against my side. "But until then, you stay exactly where you are. On me."

We reached Raj Mahal I got down from. Deep and pick her up and carry inside the Raj Mahal To directly in our chamber

The silence of our private chamber was a sharp contrast to the chaotic cheers of the village. I lock the door it with a firm click before carrying **Ishita** to the center of our bed. I laid her down against the silk pillows, her wedding dupatta** spilling around her like a pool of rubies.

I didn't say a word as I moved to the bathroom, returning with a silver bowl of warm, clean water and a soft white towel. I dropped to my knees on the marble floor at the foot of the bed, exactly where I had knelt the night before when we were arguing about nicknames

As I reached for her injured foot, she tried to pull back, her **brown eyes** filled with a mix of guilt and distress.

"Aap yeh mat kara kijiye... mujhe achha nahi lagta," (Please don't do this... I don't like it,) she whispered, her voice trembling. "Aap mujhe toh jhukne nahi dete, aur khud hamesha mere pairon mein baith jaate ho." (You don't even let me bow down, and yet you always sit at my feet.)

I didn't let go. I tightened my grip on her ankle—firm but gentle—and looked up at her. My eyes** were steady, stripping away the "Cold person mask entirely.

"Janna, listen to me," I rumbled, dipping the towel into the warm water. "To the world, I am a King sitting on a throne. But in this room, I am just a man who almost lost his soul during those three years we were apart."

I began to dab away the dried blood and desert dust from her **mahogany henna**. I watched her wince and immediately slowed my movements, blowing cool air onto the cut.

"I don't let you bow because you are my equal—my Queen. And if I sit at your feet, it's not because I'm small," I said, my voice dropping to that deep, possessive register. "It’s because these feet walked miles through the heat and over sharp rocks just to reach me at that temple. These feet carry my world."

I cleaned the last of the grit from the wound, my thumb tracing the edge of the payal** that was now sparkling again.

"The world sees me as ruthless and heartless, Ishi,"But they don't know that my heart only beats because you allow it to. Cleaning your wounds isn't 'bowing'—it's me taking care of my life."

I wrapped her foot in the soft towel and leaned forward, resting my forehead against her knee for a brief, quiet second.

"Now, stay still," I commanded softly, reaching for the antiseptic. "The doctor will be here in ten minutes to stitch this if it’s deep, but until then, the King is on nursing duty."

I narrowed my eyes as I finished bandaging the arch of her foot. I’ve known **Ishita Sharma** long enough to recognize that specific tone in her voice—the one where she starts talking in circles to get her way.

"Nahi, nahi... stitches nahi aayenge," she said quickly, her hands fluttering over her **wedding dupatta** as if trying to distract me. "It’s just a small scratch, Ru. Honestly, I’ve had worse from my makeup brushes! Don't worry at all."

I didn't say anything. I just sat back on my heels, watching her.

"And really," she continued, her **brown eyes** wide and suspiciously innocent, "the palace is so clean, and the temple flowers were fresh... so it’s not like there’s any dirt left. I think a little turmeric and some rest is all I need. Definitely no need for anything... extra. No medical procedures. No pointed... instruments."

I felt a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. I might be heartless, but not stupid.

"No 'pointed instruments,' Janna?" I repeated, my voice dropping into a low, amused rumble. "You’re talking about the **Tetanus injection**, aren't you?"

She froze, her pout deepening instantly. "I didn't say that word. You said it."

"You walked barefoot through a village and stepped on a jagged rock, Ishita," I said, standing up and towering over the bed. I leaned down, trapping her between my arms on the silk pillows. "The doctor is coming. And the first thing he’s going to do is make sure you don't get an infection."

"Ru, please," she whined, reaching out to grab the edge of my **ivory shawl**. "I’ll do anything. I’ll let you call me 'Honey Bunny' in front of **Akshat and Jay**. I’ll even let you call me 'Cutie Patootie' during the **Raj Tilak** tomorrow! Just... no needles."

I laughed, a rare, genuine sound that vibrated in the quiet chamber. "That is a very tempting offer, Rani Sa. 'Cutie Patootie' has a certain ring to it."

I leaned in closer until my nose brushed hers, my eyes** softening. "But your health isn't a business deal. You’re scared of a tiny needle after walking three miles on a broken foot? Where did all that Rathor courage go?"

"It’s still here!" she huffed, looking away. "But courage doesn't mean I have to like being poked."

"Tell you what," I whispered, my lips ghosting over her jawline, right where moles always drive me crazy. "If you take the injection without screaming and scaring poor **Dr. Verma**, I’ll let you pick the movie tonight. And I'll hold your hand the entire time. Deal?"

I couldn't help but laugh as the poised, regal Queen of the **Kalash Yatra** transformed back into my stubborn, pouting **Janna** in the blink of an eye. She was literally slapping the silk sheets with her palms, her **chooda** clinking loudly with every protest.

"Please, Ru! Please na!" she pleaded, her lower lip trembling in a way that would have worked on anyone else in the world.

I leaned down and caught both of her hands in mine, pinning them gently against the bed to stop the "tantrum." I pressed a lingering, soft peck to her flushed cheek, breathing in the scent of jasmine and temple incense.

"The more you sulk, the more I think you need two injections," I teased, my eyes** dancing with amusement.

"No! One is already one too many!" she gasped, her eyes wide with genuine horror.

"Then stop slapping my bed and listen," I said, my voice turning into a low, soothing vibration. I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled her up so she was leaning against my chest, my **muscular arms** wrapping around her like a shield. I let her hide her face in the crook of my neck,

"I'm going to let the doctor in now. You’re going to stay exactly like this—face hidden, holding onto me. I won't let you even see the needle, let alone feel it. If you feel so much as a pinch, you can bite my shoulder.

I didn't wait for her to negotiate further. "Enter!" I called out.

The door opened and **Dr. Verma** stepped in, looking slightly intimidated by the sight of the "Cold Prince" huddled protectively over his wife. Behind him, **Ahana and Reet** peeked in, their faces full of sympathy.

"Hurry up, Doctor," I commanded, my grip tightening on Ishita as she let out a tiny, muffled whimper against my skin. "And make it quick. My wife has had enough 'adventures' for one day."

I felt her fingers dig into my back, her **manicured nails** catching the fabric of my shawl. I began to whisper meaningless, sweet nonsense into her ear—distracting her with stories of what I’d do to the rock that dared to hurt her—while the doctor quietly prepared the tray.

💖 Ishita's Perspective

The smell of antiseptic filled the room, and I felt my heart racing against my ribs. I buried my face deeper into **Ru’s** neck, the scent of his expensive cologne and the sandalwood from the temple acting as my only anchor. My fingers and nails dug so hard into his **muscular bicep** that I was sure I’d leave marks, but he didn't even flinch.

"Relax your muscles, Yuvrani Sa," Dr. Verma said calmly.

"I am trying!" I muffled against Ru's shoulder, though I knew I was as stiff as a board. How was I supposed to relax when I knew a needle was inches away from my skin?

I felt Ru’s large hand wrap around my arm, gently but firmly guiding it toward the doctor. He was talking—muttering some nonsense about how he’d have the gardener replace every single rock in Rajasthan with silk cushions—and even through my panic, I knew he was just trying to distract me.

"Ishu, look at me. Just look at my eyes," he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that I felt in my own chest.

I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. "No! If I look at you, I'll know it's happening!"

He let out a soft huff of amusement and shifted, his lips brushing against my temple. "Then don't look. Just feel this."

Suddenly, his other hand began to trace light, feather-like patterns on my opposite arm, his thumb circling my wrist where my **red chooda** sat. The sensation was so distracting and unexpectedly tender that for a split second, the tension in my shoulder ebbed away.

"Dheere se," (Slowly,) I heard Ru whisper to the doctor, his voice turning lethal again. "If she feels it, Verma, your clinic is getting a surprise audit tomorrow."

I let out a tiny, shaky whimper, clinging to him like my life depended on it. I felt a sharp, cold swipe of spirit on my skin, and I gasped, my grip on his bicep tightening even further.

"Almost there, Janna," he whispered into my ear, his breath warm and steady. "Just a few more seconds of being brave, and then I'm all yours."