SAANVI'S POV

"You're literally overbearing as hell," I say as he slips into the driver's seat and places a bouquet of white roses behind it.

He chuckles, glancing at me with that annoying smile. "Why?"

Dumbfuck's really asking why?

He literally dragged me into this like it was the most logical thing ever 'We work at the same place, so why not come with me?' As if that justifies everything. As if that gives him a free pass to orbit around me like some overly confident satellite that refuses to leave its axis. He won't let me go anywhere alone. Not for a second. I don't know why he sticks to me like this.

The song starts playing.

"Stop the song,"

"I play what I feel-" he begins.

"And I don't give a fuck about your feelings," I cut him off.

He just smiles.

"You are just like this song, Pearl," he says, smiling while looking at the road. "After meeting you, when I hear this song... the first few seconds of the music, I remember you. Your face comes straight to my heart."

I hear the music playing and yes... I must admit it's really soothing. There's a softness to it, like it was composed for quiet hearts, like sunlight spilling through a window on a morning. And then, the lyrics begin.

~Dil kyun yeh mera shor kare...

"Why this song?" I ask.

He changes the gear and glances at me with a small smile before looking forward again. "Because you're like the rays of the sunset. You see those orange rays? The ones that appear after a long, dangerous evening storm the kind that spill over broken rooftops and cracked pavements. They don't burn. They don't ask for attention. They just... show up. Quietly. As if the sky is trying to make peace with the world it just tore apart."

I stay quiet because it's too much. I sigh. His way of describing me does something strange to my heart it almost makes it drop.

"They color the whole town in gold, the wreckage, the silence, the spaces where the chaos has just passed through. They don't burn your skin. They're not harsh, but warm and soft, the kind of light that makes you close your eyes and finally feel relaxed. That light doesn't try to fix anything it simply rests on what's broken, touches without hurting, and stays without asking."

He pauses briefly, then says, "That's what you feel like."

I couldn't respond. I can't. Because suddenly I feel like those words weren't just about light they were about me.

"Weird," I mutter with a nonchalant shrug. "You make me sound like those sunshine, extroverted, happy, enthusiastic female characters who bring hope to the grumpy, cold male leads in fictional stories. When all I've ever heard about myself is that I'm cold and grumpy."

I glance at him. He chuckles, shaking his head.

"Sunshine doesn't just mean being smiley, enthusiastic, or extroverted," he says, turning to me. "I don't know about your definition, or your books, but for me, sunshine is the kind of presence that stays. It's quiet warmth. It's the comfort of knowing someone is there even when the world goes dark. It's the light that doesn't blind you, but helps you see. It's someone who can sit with your silence without rushing to fix it. Someone whose heart knows softness, even if their face rarely shows it." He lets out a slow breath

"You carry warmth in the most unexpected ways-even in your silence and distance. Not the kind that tries to fix people, but the kind that makes them want to heal on their own."

He pauses, his gaze softening. "You're sunshine for me, Pearl. At least for me, you are. You're the sunshine of my life because after the dangerous, I found you."

I swallow the lump in my throat and quickly look away.

Don't believe him. He's lying. Manipulating again.

Why? Why does he have to be like this? Why can't he just stick to the act and stop sounding so real? I know he's pretending I remind myself that every single day. But... his words carry the kind of weight people don't fake. And sometimes, in the way he says them... in the way he looks at me... I feel myself wanting to believe him.

But no. I won't. I never will.

He stops the car and I immediately steps out. Without looking back, I head straight toward the elevator, letting out a quiet sigh as the doors close behind me.

His words still echo in my mind. I try to walk them off the moment the elevator opens again.

But then I bump into someone.

"Are you okay?"

I look up and find Dr. Neil. His hands rest on my waist where he caught me mid-stumble. I immediately step back and remove his hands, nodding without a word before brushing past him.

"Dr. Saanvi."

I stop and turn, he walks closer, "I'm sorry," he says.

I frown slightly, unsure of what exactly he's referring to.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If my words or behavior crossed any line, I sincerely apologize. That was never my intention. The last thing I'd ever want is to make any woman uncomfortable because of my behavior." He smiles politely.

"It's okay," I turn to leave.

"At least..." he calls out behind me, "can we be friends now?"

I pause, then turn to look at him.

"Dr. Saxena," I say calmly, "you have a reputation here for being friendly and well-mannered. And that's good. But I'm not here for that. I'm not looking for friendships. I see you as a colleague. Nothing more. That should be enough in a hospital."

I don't say it harshly. I say it directly. He needed clarity, so I gave it.

He lets out a small laugh, tilting his head. "Or maybe... it's because your obsessive and possessive husband wouldn't appreciate you speaking to another man here?"

I click my tongue and let out a short breath. "If you think implying I'm controlled by a man will push me into defending myself or agreeing to your idea of friendship, you really don't understand the kind of woman you're speaking to. And if manipulation is your strategy, it's a poor choice."

His smile twitches. "I only said it because I haven't seen you talk to anyone except your secretary... and Mr. Singhania."

"No one controls me, Dr. Neil. Not my family, not my husband, and certainly not your assumptions, I choose not to engage because I'm here to work. I'm not obligated to create a warm atmosphere or participate in small talk. That's not unkindness. That's professionalism. And for the record, I don't exist to entertain my husband either."

I glance at my watch and step aside.

"If you'll excuse me, I have surgery to prep for," I add, and without waiting for a response, I walk past him.

-----------------

"Make sure to report me about his post-surgery concerns," I instruct, as I step out of the operation theatre.

The nurse nods, and I walk away, scanning through the notes on the tablet in my hand. My mind already shifting to the next case.

"Doctor!"

A loud voice echoes through the hallway. I frown instinctively and turn, only to see Kabir striding toward me with his usual unbothered energy. I raise an eyebrow but keep walking. He falls into step beside me without invitation.

"Don't you have work? You always end up here at the hospital," I say, pushing open my cabin door.

"The kind of work I do sometimes requires your husband's involvement. That's why I'm here," Kabir shrugs, stepping in like it's his own office and dropping into the chair.

I frown slightly. "What kind of work?"

He clicks his tongue. "Leave it. Anyway, you look suspiciously happy today. What happened, Doctor? Rudra moved back to the Singhania mansion just four days ago, and you're already glowing?"

I roll my eyes. "Not him. I found something last night." A small smile creeps onto my lips.

Kabir raises a brow, curious. "What is it?"

I sit beside him, pull out my phone, and lean in. "Back in university in New York, I saw a reel of this biker, ridiculously hot. I tried finding his profile but accidentally refreshed the page and lost it. Last night, I came across it again... and I finally found his Account." I handed him the phone.

Kabir scrolls through the posts, eyes narrowing slightly. His lips press into a line.

"Oh, and before you say anything, I know the comment section is full of thirst traps and corny lines. Not his fault," I add with a shrug.

"Oh, really?" Another voice slices through the room.

We both look up.

Rudra stands at the door. His eyes cut straight to Kabir, then shifted to me.

"That day, you blamed my shirt for grabbing attention. And now you're defending this guy whoever it is..even with that corny, thirsty comment section?" he scoffs.

"Bro, calm your ass down and at least look at who she's talking about," Kabir says, holding up the phone.

Rudra glares but walks forward, eyes narrowing as he scans the screen. His brows relax just slightly. Then he looks at me again.

"You like him?"

"Yes, I do. So?"

He glances at Kabir like they're having an entire conversation without speaking.

"He's way better. God knows how I ended up with you," I say deliberately, letting the words land exactly how I mean them to.

His gaze snaps back to me. "How can you say he's better? And why the hell did you like all his posts? He's a stranger. You're married to me."

Kabir stares at him. "Are you insane?"

Rudra rubs his temple, muttering, "I know I've gone mad. But still, she liked his posts."

Kabir shakes his head. "You need help." Then he turns to me, "And you, Doctor, don't do that. Your husband gets jealous."

I glance at Rudra. "He doesn't get jealous," I shrug. At least, I've never seen him that way. Anger? Yes sharp, intense, impossible to miss. But jealousy? Not once. Not even when other men were involved.

Kabir raises his brows. "You don't know?" he chuckles. "Well, you're half right. He doesn't get jealous because... he kills."

My brows crease. "What?"

Rudra clears his throat, shooting Kabir a sharp glare. "He means-I kill jealousy."

"But I will say," Kabir adds, "that biker really should've revealed his face before ghosting."

"Exactly! It's been five years, no update, nothing." I walk over and take the phone back.

"You like him that much?" Rudra asks, brow raised.

"Yes, I do," I reply flatly, meeting his gaze. But he doesn't react the way I expect. He stays unusually calm.

"He must've had his reasons," he says.

Kabir glanced at Rudra and gave him a small smile. "Yeah, maybe he's a spy. Someone actually wrote that in the comments."

I burst out laughing. "Oh yes, I saw that one! Someone actually wrote he might be a spy. I mean, bless their brain cell. A biker? How absurd is that? Some people really have no sense."

Kabir's smile falters. Rudra presses his lips and throws a glance at Kabir.

"We're leaving, doctor," Kabir mutters, rolling his eyes before walking out and shutting the door behind him.

I scoff, turning back to Rudra. "Your friends are seriously weird."

Rudra's eyes were already on me. "My friends are. I'm not."

"Of course you're not," I reply sweetly. "Because you're a sickfuck."

"Oh yes, I am," he says, placing a palm over his chest with mock pride and bowing slightly.

I roll my eyes.

✿✿✿✿✿

"I sometimes wonder how he would've behaved if he had a daughter of his own," I say, leaning against the slab as I chew on a slice of cucumber Maa passes while chopping.

She chuckles softly. "Just the way he behaves with you. You are his daughter, Saanvi."

I smile and nod.

She continues, her gaze fixed on the knife in her hand. "Sometimes, when I look at him with you... I genuinely feel like he always wanted a daughter. And now that you're here, it finally feels complete, he's a father to a daughter now."

I pause for a moment, then ask gently, "You never thought about having another child? I mean if you don't mind me asking."

She lets out a quiet sigh and gives a small smile.

"Abhi is the eldest among his siblings. But he was always the one left out. You'd think being the eldest meant being looked up to, but for him, it meant being ignored. No affection, no gentle words... just expectations. When I married him, I saw it clearly. He kept a distance from his family, not because of pride, but because he had grown used to not being included, it wasn't bitterness it was absence. A kind of quiet detachment that didn't come from anger, but from years of being overlooked. He never looked back because, deep down, he was never truly invited in the first place."

She pauses, glancing at me briefly.

"I worked as his assistant back then, just to gain some experience before starting my own business. During that time, I saw him closely. Quiet. Composed. But always slightly apart. That's when I understood why, on our wedding day, he told me not to expect anything from the marriage. It wasn't because he didn't care, it was because he didn't know how. He was scared. Scared that even if he tried to be a husband, he might still fail. That's why he didn't want me to hold expectations. He was forced into the marriage, and somewhere deep down, he believed he wasn't meant to be loved. I realized he didn't need fixing just understanding. Eventually, I asked him to move away from his family. He agreed. His family didn't like it, but he needed it. We needed it."

I remain quiet, listening as she slices the next cucumber with steady hands.

"When Rudra was born, we were over the moon. I once asked him if he'd ever consider having another child. He hesitated, then explained it to me clearly. He said he never wanted to risk making any child feel what he felt. He was scared that if we ever failed to give both children equal love if even one child felt less seen it would break them. He didn't want to pass down what he had survived." She sets the knife down and leans on the counter.

I fall silent, processing every word. I had never imagined OG to be that thoughtful beneath his stern presence.

"I always admired one thing about Abhiraj," she adds after a moment, wiping her hands. "He never taught Rudra that strength meant silence. He never forced him to act tough. From the time Rudra was little, Abhiraj made sure he felt safe. Even if it was something small, Rudra would run to him crying without fear, and Abhiraj never shut him down. He always held him, calmed him. He told me once... I never got to cry in my parents' arms. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have grown up needing to be so strong all the time."

I feel a quiet ache for him, and a soft respect rises in me. "OG is really... the best father." I smile gently.

She chuckles. "He tries."

I glance at the clock and straighten up. "Maa, I'll be back in a bit. I forgot to tell Naina something important about the surgery."

She offers me one last slice of cucumber, which I pop into my mouth before heading out.

"While coming back, take the kitchen napkins from the storeroom too." I hear Maa call out from behind me,

"Okay," I replied over my shoulder, already stepping out.

----------------

I open the storeroom door just as I hang up Naina's call. The air inside is cool and quiet. I step in, flicking on the light. The shelves are neatly arranged.

My eyes land on the stack of kitchen napkins on the upper shelf. I walk over and reach for them, tucking the bundle.

Just as I was about to turn back, something near the bottom shelf catches my eye. A box, dust-free, unlike the others tucked into the corner, partly hidden. It's beautiful.

Curious, I walk closer, bend to my knees, and gently slide it out. It's actually a case and inside it is another box, light lavender with elegant calligraphy across the top:

My Memory Box.

I pause, running my fingers lightly over the lettering.

Is it Rudra's?

I lift the lid slowly. Inside are little things chains, old trinkets, and tucked carefully underneath... photographs.

I pick one up and chuckle quietly. A younger Rudra, maybe nine or ten, crying while holding a boy's hair who looks suspiciously like Kabir. Both their faces scrunched up, one crying, one panicking. They look wild and messy.

But then, my amusement stills. I find myself staring longer than necessary at one of Rudra's childhood photos. There's something oddly familiar about him something in his eyes, or maybe the shape of his face. I frown.

Have I seen this face... somewhere? No, that can't be.

As I flip through more photos, my smile slowly softens, until it falters.

I pause on one picture. Rudra.

I glance at the faint date printed in the corner, 2013. He must've been around seventeen.

I stare longer than I intend to. There's something unspoken in his face something that no longer lives there. There's a softness to him, an innocence long gone from his face now. His eyes haven't hardened yet, his jaw still boyish, his smile honest.

He look soo beautiful.

I let a small smile tug at my lips. And before I can think twice, I pull out my phone and quietly take a picture of it.

I move to the next few photos and stop at a group shot. Avyaan. Abhimaan. Kabir. Rudra. But I frown. There's someone else.

A girl.

She stands between Kabir and Rudra, her palms raised, playfully cupping their cheeks. She's smiling bright and wide and so are they. Her skin warm brown, her eyes strikingly blue, uncannily similar to Avyaan's, but unlike him, she looks unmistakably Indian, her dark brown hair short and straight, barely touching her shoulders.

Who is she? I thought it was just the four of them.

I click my tongue and place the photos back inside carefully, closing the box and sliding it into its place.

Rising to my feet, I adjust the napkins in my hand and walk out of the room.

----------------

Lounging on the couch, I was aimlessly scrolling through reels.

"Pearl."

I look up.

Rudra stands in front of me, a bowl in his hand, smiling.

I raise a brow.

"I made soup for you," he says. "You remember the one you made once? I tried to recreate it. It's healthy. Good for you. Try it?"

I set my phone down on the couch and stand up slowly, studying him.

"You made it... for me?"

He nods, eyes still fixed on me. "Only for you, Pearl."

Something about the way he says it feels too soft, too intimate.

Aww.

Pathetic.

I gently push the bowl. It slips from his hand and crashes to the floor. Some of the soup splashes back on his wrist.

He flinches, hissing slightly from the heat.

"Oh-shit. I'm sorry," I say, feigning an apologetic smile. "It fell... mistakenly."

He stares down at the mess on the floor, then at me.

I see the change in his eyes, the way something sinks just a little.

I smile internally. What did he expect?

"It's okay," he says softly. "I'll make it again."

My smile fades.

"No need. I don't want it," I reply, catching a glimpse of his wrist, reddened where the soup splashed. I glance at it for barely a second before walking past him without another word.

--------------

"Who's Dr. Neil?"

I look up from my file at Maa. Then I notice Rudra's eyes snap from the documents in his hand to Maa, then to me.

"He's just a colleague," I say casually, eyes still on my file.

"He looks interested in you."

My eyes snap up to her. "Uh... no. He's just-"

"Even if he is," Rudra cuts in sharply, straightening, "Saanvi is my wife."

Maa's smile drops instantly. "Soon she'll be your ex-wife. She just needs to make up her mind, because no way am I letting her be with a man like you."

I pause, staring at him.

His jaw clenches. "She's not getting any divorce," he mutters, like it's a fact carved in stone.

I glance at Og, who continues working in silence, barely looking up as if trying not to ignite the fuse further.

"Adrika," he finally speaks gently, "let them decide. We shouldn't come between-"

"Saanvi," Maa interrupts, turning fully to me, "why don't you go on a date with Dr. Neil?"

My lips part in shock. Rudra's head snaps up. "Mom!" he yells.

"Lower your voice," Maa warns then looks at me again. "You don't need to stay tied to someone like him. You can date, beta. You should."

"Maa... it's not that," I start, trying to remain calm. "I'm just... not interested."

"I spoke to Naina," she adds firmly. "She told me Dr. Neil is interested in you. He's stable. He's well-mannered. Just try, at least once."

"Mom, stop convincing her, for God's sake!" Rudra snaps.

I glance at him. He's fuming, his fists clenched, veins taut on his forearms, jaw locked so tight it looks painful.

"Adrika, it's up to her," Papa says gently again. "Let's not force her."

She keeps staring at me, as if she's waiting for my answer, not as a suggestion, but as a decision.

"Saanvi isn't going on any date with that bastard-"

"I will go,"

The room stills.

I feel his gaze on me instantly sharp, stunned, almost wounded. Hurt and disbelief flicker in his eyes like a blow he didn't see coming.

AUTHOR'S POV

Naina steps out of the supermarket, the night air cool against her cheeks. She looks up at the dark sky for a second before taking a sip of her hot chocolate, cradling the warm cup in both hands as her eyes drop back to her phone.

She walks straight into a hard chest. The impact jolts her, making her stumble back but before she can fall, she's pulled forward again, straight into the same chest.

Startled, she quickly steps back, using one hand to push him away while keeping the cup steady in the other.

Her expression hardens the moment she sees him.

Vedant.

He stands there silently, calm, eyes steady on her like he's been waiting for this. She doesn't give him a second look, just turns to walk past him.

But he catches her wrist and pulls her back in place.

"Will you stop running from me?"

She scoffs and tries to yank her hand away, but his grip tightens slightly.

Without warning, he pulls her gently toward the side alley beside the building. It was quiet, dim, and empty.

"Let go, Vedant," she snaps, trying again to push him away.

"Just stop for a second. Listen to me."

She doesn't.

He grits his teeth and yanks her hand back again, pulling her closer, her chest brushes against his as her body collides with the heat of his. Her hot chocolate spills a little, dripping down the side of the cup. Her free hand clenches around it. Her eyes widen as he brings her close, her breath catching from the sudden proximity.

"I saw you and Abhinav in the park that day," Vedant says. "You kissed him. I thought God, I thought you betrayed me. I convinced myself you never cared, that maybe you just used me. So I lost it. In that moment, I asked Isha to pretend we were getting married."

She pushes him hard this time. The cup nearly slips, but she holds it with trembling fingers and her palm land across his face with a loud slap. His face turns slightly with the force.

"Then go marry your Isha," she spits, her voice cracking, eyes shimmering with tears. "I don't give a fuck anymore."

"I know you had feelings for me," he blurts.

She laughs bitterly, stepping closer, gripping his collar with one hand, still holding the hot chocolate in the other.

"It's gone, Vedant," she says through her teeth. "Whatever I felt, you killed it. You humiliated me. You pretended like you liked me, made me believe it... and then tore it apart like it meant nothing. I will never forgive you for that."

He grabs her wrists not rough, just enough to stop her from pulling away.

"Naina, you don't understand... it's not recent. It's not just some phase. I've felt this for you since school. You were always the one. You-"

"What do you feel for me?" she cuts in, eyes piercing his, waiting.

He stares at her, swallows hard. His lips part. "I... I-lov-uh..."

His throat closes. His fingers tremble slightly around her wrist. His heartbeat roars in his ears, his chest rising as he struggles for breath. "I really... I-"

He closes his eyes. Exhales deeply. Fails again.

"Is it that hard for you to say?"

"Naina, just... please lis-"

"Stop following me, Vedant."

She shoves his hands away and walks past him.

He stands there frozen, fists clenched, heart still racing in his chest as he watches her disappear into the night.

"I love you, Naina," he mutters under his breath. The words that lived in his mouth all the time, but never made it out when it mattered.

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