SAANVI'S POV

It’s my day off today. Or at least it was, until the hospital decided I don’t deserve peace.

I sigh and glance at my reflection. Dark maroon lipstick stains my mouth, deep and velvety. Maa bought it for me, and surprisingly, I love it. It’s bold. Not too bright, not too soft just the right kind of dangerous.

But now that I have to go to the hospital, I can’t exactly show up like I’m going on a date with death. I grab a tissue and lift it to my lips, just about to wipe when a sharp whistle slices through the air.

My neck jerks to the side and there he is.

Leaning against the doorway, his gaze trailing over me like heat. His hair is styled back effortlessly, still a little damp at the edges. A fitted black shirt stretches over his chest, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, collar slightly undone. His watch catches the light as he folds his arms, showing off those veined forearms like it’s nothing. Dark trousers sit perfectly on his frame, paired with polished formal shoes that tap lightly against the floor.

His eyes do a full, unbothered sweep of me from my eyes to my lips, then lower to the dip in my black halter top, lingering like he’s committing it to memory, then down my bare legs to my feet. Not a single blink. Not a single ounce of shame.

Cocky bastard.

“That shade’s dangerous,” he says, “Especially on your lips.”

I scrunch my nose at him, already two seconds away from chucking the tissue at his smug face.

“You missed a spot.”

My fingers pause mid-air, brushing the corner of my lips.

“Not on you. On me.”

What the actual fuck did he just say? I blink at him. Dickhead. I’m gonna humble the hell out of him so bad, he’ll forget how to spell the word 'confidence.'

I arch a brow, throwing him a saccharine smile. “You wanna wear it too?”

His lips twitch, “If it’s smeared all over me after kissing it off you, yeah. Gladly.”

What a filthy—

“In fact, why stop at lipstick? Let’s swap everything. You wear my shirt, I’ll wear your scent.”

My brain takes a second. Then two. And then the realization hits me like a goddamn truck.

Oh. Oh hell no.

My eyes widen before I can school my expression and all I can think is, you fucking bastard.

“You’re such a pervert,” I snap, marching toward him, but I barely take two steps before my foot slips. I stagger forward, yelping, but his arm snakes around my waist like a reflex. My body slams into him, chest to chest.

But my lips…

Fuck.

Not his mouth thankfully, but I realize too late they’re pressed just above his collarbone. I swear under my breath and pull away in a panic.

“You alright?” he asks, still not letting go. His palm is spread across my back, thumb brushing up and down.

“Shut up,” I mutter, pushing at his chest. And then I see it.

A deep red stain, right above his collarbone. Right where my lips touched, it was clearly visible.

Shit.

I whirl around, snatch a tissue, and reach for him again, but he grabs my wrist midair.

“What are you doing?”

“My lipstick—” I point awkwardly to the red mark on his collarbone.

He glances over my shoulder toward the mirror, then laughs under his breath. “Leave it.”

“Why?”

“Because I like where it came from.”

I pull my hand away, slightly flustered. “Whatever. Wipe it yourself.”

I turn away, close the door behind me, and start getting ready for the hospital.

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

I reach for the car door handle, about to pull when another hand slides over mine.

I turn, and there he is, right behind me. So close I can feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath brushing the shell of my ear. His scent floods my senses, rich and heady, the kind of expensive, addictive fragrance and I inhale before I can stop myself, slow and deep, my chest rising slightly.

Instinct makes me step back, but my back hits the car with a soft thud, the handle still clutched behind me. His hand remains over mine, holding it there.

Then his other arm moves, palm pressing flat against the car beside my head. And just like that, I'm caged.

His thumb strokes the back of my hand once, barely there, but my stomach plummets.

I swallow hard, because out of nowhere, my heartbeat’s thundering in my ears, loud and relentless, like it’s trying to break through my ribs, and I hate that I’m just standing here, staring at his face like I’ve forgotten how to function.

“What the hell do you want?” I breathe, my chest rising a little too fast.

“You,”

“Besides that,”

He lowers his head just a little. Close enough to feel his breath on my cheek. “Nothing.”

My lips part, just slightly, and I notice his pupils flicker down, lingering on my lips for a moment too long before dragging back up to meet my eyes again.

“I’m late,” I whisper.

“Get in the car,” his voice comes deep, low, and commanding,

I blink and look at him dead in the eye.

“Rudra Singhania,” I say slowly, “I’m fully aware you have control issues, but don’t you ever think you can command me like that again. I’m not someone you get to dominate, and I won’t tolerate that bullshit.”

His head tilts slightly, and his lips tug into a lopsided smirk.

“My love. My beautiful, stunning, cold-hearted wife, your very devoted husband is on the verge of emotional collapse just thinking about you walking out there… all alone… without letting him drive you. I’m begging you, your highness. Let me have this honour. I’ll consider it the highlight of my life.” He bows slightly. “So I beg you, mam, show some mercy. Let this ruined man be your chauffeur for the day. I’ll never ask for anything again. Except maybe to breathe the air you breathe.”

I stare at him.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

For a second, my brain just malfunctions. My lips part, trying to say something sharp, but nothing comes out. I’m stunned.

My face flushes, and I hate how warm my cheeks feel. I hate even more that he’s watching me, eyes locked on mine, like he knows exactly what he's doing.

I shove at his chest and turn on my heel. I walk around to the passenger side, sit down, and slam the door shut.

My hand flies up to my cheek, palming it.

Why the hell does he get under my skin like that?

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

He’s talking to someone through his AirPods, voice calm but lowkey pissed. One hand on the wheel, the other casually shifting gears, forearm flexing with every movement. His sleeves were rolled up, veins popping like art. He clicks his tongue and bites the inside of his cheek in frustration.

His hand brushes the gear stick with the side of his palm. Smooth. Precise. Those fingers, fuck, those fingers look like they know what they’re doing. Everywhere.

My gaze trails to his jawline, sharp, carved. He has this barely-there stubble, his skin pale, clean, almost porcelain, and smooth in a way that makes my fingers twitch. And then there’s his lips. Glossy—

What the hell is wrong with me?

I blink hard. I’m not the pervert here. He is. He definitely is.

Okay, moving on. Down. Look down.

My eyes drop to his throat. His adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, a slow, sinful movement like he knows I’m watching. And then, lower his collarbone peeks out beneath the neck of his shirt, but—

Hold up. What the actual—

Is that…?

“Are you serious?” I blurt. “You didn’t wipe the lipstick stain?”

He glances at me, “Why would I?” he says lazily. Then shrugs. “And well… it’s my body. My choice.”

“It’s my fucking lipstick on you, you psycho!”

“Leave it.” he says, unbothered.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

He doesn’t argue.

I fold my arms and lean back into the seat, trying to ignore everything, he’s just a man. A stupid, reckless, narcissistic man.

But then he shifts. His right hand stays on the wheel, while his left moves, past my shoulder and lands on the headrest behind me as he turns to reverse. His Veins tracing up his forearm like an erotic roadmap. His bicep flexes as he turns the wheel. He glances over his shoulder to reverse the car.

And sweet mother of sin.

His bicep flexes inches from my face, and I shouldn’t look, I really shouldn’t be looking at the kind of body that has no business existing on someone who pisses me off this much.

Umm... should I feel guilty for thinking that it looked attractive?

No. Shut the fuck up. Absolutely not. That wasn’t attractive

This is so not okay. It's against everything I stand for. I have morals. I have taste. And self-respect. I'm not the type to get flustered over some guy just because he’s reversing a car

But maybe it’s just the damn ovulation. Hormones messing with my brain. That’s the only explanation. Because why the fuck would I find him attractive? This mid man. He’s mid. Mid at best.

Right?

I look at him again. Just a peek. Just to confirm his mid-ness. I gulp.

He looks… slightly more than mid.

Shit. No. I turn my head fast.

“Here we are, doctor,”

I glance outside, noticing we’re stopped right in front of the hospital, on the main road. He didn’t pull into the parking lot.

I frown, unbuckling my seatbelt. He steps out and walks around, opening the door for me.

“You’re not coming in?” I ask, stepping out slowly.

He shakes his head. “No, I’ve got somewhere else to be.”

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

I stop near the reception after finishing the surgery as I speak to the staff.

“…consult Dr. Shivangi about this case and make sure the medication is on time—”

I pause mid-sentence as he walks in tossing his car keys in one hand. He notices me just as I pause.

“If there’s any issue with the patient, call me directly,” I finish. The nurse nods and walks off leaving just him and me.

“So?” he says, stepping closer, “Surgery done?”

“Yeah,” I reply shortly, but then I spot it again.

That damn stain. Except now… it looks darker. Not like earlier. Slightly redder… thicker. The edges too clean. Or... not just a stain. My brows knit. There’s text underneath it now, faint but legible. I narrow my eyes.

Wife’s claim.

“What the hell?” I mutter, stepping forward, pointing at the spot just above his collarbone. “Why didn’t you wipe it? It’s visible. Everyone can see it. And what the fuck is written there? Just come with me,” I snap, grabbing his wrist and drag him down the hallway toward my cabin.

Once inside, I shut the door and release his wrist with a sharp sigh, he leans against the door lazily, I head to my desk, open my bag, yank out a tissue pack, and walk back to him.

“Stay still,” I mutter.

He doesn’t resist. Just look down at me as I press the tissue to the spot and start wiping but it’s not coming off.

I press a little harder. He lets out a quiet hiss. “Ow. I’m still human, you know.”

“Noted,” I say dryly, switching to my finger instead. I rub it directly expecting the pigment to transfer. But nothing. Not even a smudge.

“Wait...” I step back slightly, blinking at the way the red curves so precisely. “This isn’t lipstick anymore, is it?”

“It’s never going to come off, Pearl.”

I look up at him, confused. “What?”

“It’s a tattoo.”

My heart stutters for a second. “What?”

I stare at the words again. Wife’s claim.

A tattoo.

“What the fuck, Rudra? You tattooed a lipstick stain,” I say slowly, trying to make sense of this. “And added words under it?”

“Correction,” he replies. “Your lipstick stain. From this morning.”

I stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “Are you actually insane?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe just committed.”

“To what?” I scoff. “Madness?”

He chuckles under his breath. “Just a small sign that I’m married and in love.”

He takes a step forward. Then another. His eyes on mine, and there’s no teasing smile this time. Just calm conviction.

“You remember what you once told me? That it’s always women who are expected to wear the signs, vermilion, chains, bangles. Proof that they belong to someone. But men… they just exist, free of all that. No expectations. No visible commitment. You called it inequality.”

I do. I remember saying it offhand, irritated after a long day, not expecting him to remember. But he did.

I don’t know when I started stepping back. It’s instinctive, maybe it’s the intensity in his gaze, maybe it’s how my heart suddenly doesn’t know how to stay steady. My back hits the desk behind me. I stop. So does he.

He leans in slowly, resting both hands on the surface on either side of me, his arms caging me in.

“I can’t fix centuries of tradition. I can’t change every man in this country. But I can choose the kind of man I want to be. And I want this,” he gestures lightly toward his collarbone, “I want to be someone who’s proud to be yours. Someone who carries it openly.”

My breath stutters. I try to say something, but he quietly stops me.

“Don’t,” he murmurs gently, placing his finger on my lips. “Don’t assume this is about expectations. Don’t think I did this to make you feel pressured. I would never ask you to wear anything you didn’t believe in. And you know that.”

His eyes move slowly across my face, left eye, right, lips, then back to mine. He reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers barely grazing my skin. I lean back slightly.

“I did this because I love you,” he says quietly. “Not silently. Not secretly. But fully. Proudly. I chose you freely, without conditions, without asking anything in return. This is mine to wear, because it means something to me.”

I watch him, heart hammering against my ribs.

“And just like not wearing a chain or a vermillion is your choice,” His gaze drops for a heartbeat, then finds mine again.

“You never owed me a symbol, Pearl. You never had to prove anything to anyone. I know who you are to me. I just… wanted the world to know who you are to me too.”

“And who am I to you?” I whisper.

He looks at me. “To the world, you’re the calm in me they’ll never see, my pause, my reason, my breath between storms. But to me…” He exhales softly, eyes not leaving mine. “…you’re not just someone I love.  You’re my compass when I’m lost. My silence when the noise gets too loud. My necessity, not out of dependence, but because you're the only thing I can’t un-need.”

My breath stills.

“People talk about love like it’s a choice, but with you, it’s instinct. Like breathing. I don’t remember when it started. I only know I never want it to stop.” His palm gently cups my cheek, his thumb brushing against my skin.

“You know why I never call you mine?”

No. I don’t want to hear this. Because I already know... whatever he says next is going to leave a mark. And maybe I’m not ready for it.

“Because in my eyes, you’re not mine, you're me.” His forehead brush mine. “Loving you never felt like reaching for something outside myself... it felt like finally coming home to what I already carried within.” His voice softens, just enough to sting.

“Believe me pearl, you became so much a part of me, that there’s no line between where I end and you begin.”

“Stop, Rudra.” My voice comes out shakier than I intend. I lift a hand instinctively to my chest, trying to calm the way it heaves. His words…. They were too much. Too close. Too intense. I feel his breath land gently on my forehead warm and real, and my stomach twists.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, “but I can’t help it. You’re always in my brain—”

I snap my eyes up at him. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He stops, blinking.

I scoff. “You’re talking about the brain like that? Seriously?” I fold my arms, stepping back just enough to breathe. “Do you even know how many parts the brain has? Forget it, you don’t even look like you passed your exams. You scream drop-out energy.”

He raises a brow, pressing his lips together to hold back a smile. “Three parts,” he answers. “Cerebrum, cerebellum, and brainstem.”

I click my tongue. “Fine,” I say. “Don’t act like you just solved a national mystery. That’s basic. Now tell me what they do.”

He nods, slowly stepping in again. Too close. “The cerebrum,” he starts, “controls thinking, reasoning, emotions, memory... the whole consciousness thing.”

He glances at me, “Basically, it’s the reason I remember the exact shade of your lipstick, the way your voice drops when you're tired, and every single time you’ve looked at me like I drive you insane.”

He wraps his arms around me now, and my hands instinctively go to his chest, half to push him, half to steady myself.

“What the f—”

“That’s the part of my brain that won't shut up about you.” he goes on, unfazed, “Then there’s the cerebellum, which handles balance and coordination. So thanks to that part, I’m able to stay on my feet when you’re this close... when your perfume’s messing with my sanity... and your eyes keep flicking to my lips like that.”

“I am not—” I start, flustered.

He only chuckles softly, eyes never leaving mine.

“And lastly, the brainstem. It’s responsible for the automatic stuff. Heart rate. Breathing. Reflexes.”

His palm presses gently against the small of my back, and I feel the subtle pressure in the silence between us.

“But when I see you?” His head dips slightly, lips just inches from mine. “It doesn’t work right. My heart stutters. My breath shortens. My body forgets everything it’s supposed to do automatically. Because you, Pearl... you override even my most basic survival systems. Like right now, feel that?”

My chest pressed against his. He smiles.

I stand frozen, pulse crashing in my ears.

He leans in just a little more. “I thought that part was supposed to keep me alive. But when you're around, it just lets me fall for you harder every damn time.”

Someone bring me water. No, an entire ocean. I need to drown in it. He just flirted his way through brain anatomy. And here I thought he probably skipped half his classes in school. He never even looked like the type who studied much just the kind who’d pass with charm and luck.

“In case you don’t know, Pearl,” his breath brushing mine as his nose grazes mine lightly, “I was a topper. Even though I’m not from medical, I make sure I know things.”

I push him back with a sharp breath, needing space. I run a hand through my hair, trying to fix what he’s completely thrown out of place inside me.

“Pervert,” I mutter, “You took advantage of me while I was trying to process everything.” I scoff, turning to pack my things. “And that shayari you dropped yesterday? Yeah, it fits. Perfectly. You are like that.”

His smile falters a little, the usual cocky edge replaced by mild panic.

“Oh god, please don’t bring that up,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a mistake, okay? I mixed up the words—I was nervous and it came out wrong. I swear, I didn’t mean it like that.”

I grab my handbag. “Shut up. I’m going home.”

“No,” he says, suddenly serious. “You’re not. We’re going to the hospital. You’ve got your monthly check-up with Dr. Meera. Don’t skip it. Let’s go.”

✦✦✦✦✦

“So, any pain while breathing? Any tightness or discomfort?” Dr. Meera asks, placing her stethoscope gently over my chest. I lie still, staring up at the ceiling.

“Rarely.”

She pulls the stethoscope back with a small nod. I sit up slowly. We both walk toward her desk, where Rudra’s already seated, flipping through my file. I take the seat beside him while Dr. Meera settles into her chair.

Before I can ask anything, Rudra speaks first.

“What about her reports? Any improvement?”

Dr. Meera glances at him, smiling. “A lot, actually. Saanvi’s doing really well. Just keep following your routine, it’s working. You’ll get through this.”

I nod silently.

“But,” she adds, “you still need to be careful at night. Symptoms tend to fluctuate when the body’s at rest. We can’t fully rely on how you feel during the day.” She looks back down at her notes.

“By the way, what's your heart rate at night?”

I open my mouth to reply.

“Usually around 58 beats per minute,” Rudra says. “Sometimes spikes to 64.”

I turn to look at him, my brows pulling together. He sounds way too precise. And confident.

Dr. Meera nods. “That’s actually a healthy range. It’s a good sign. And the medications?”

“She’s taking them regularly,” Rudra replies without hesitation.

I glare at him sideways.

Of course I would. At first, it was only that over-concerned OG yelling at me to take my meds. And now this idiot has taken over. In the hospital, he literally blocks me from entering the OT unless I swallow them in front of him.

Dr. Meera smiles, handing over a small envelope of prescriptions. “Keep this going. And Rudra, make sure she doesn’t skip check-ups. Like today, she needs to come back next month.”

He nods. “I will.”

We leave the cabin and walk through the quiet hospital hallway. He’s flipping through my file again as we walk.

I glance at him. “How do you know my heart rate at night?”

He looks up, then shrugs. “Maybe I count your heartbeat in my head when I’m holding you all night.”

I frown. “What—”

He grins. “Kidding.”

I roll my eyes.

Just then, my phone rings in my hand. Vikram bhai.

I sigh and pick up. “Hello?”

“Saanvi…” he hesitates. “Where are you?”

“At the hospital. Routine check-up. Why?”

“Actually… um…” he pauses. “Dad’s not well. He’s—”

“Oh?” I interrupt, voice flat. “So now it’s my fault again, right?”

“No, I—”

“Listen,” I say sharply. “I don’t care. I don’t care if he’s sick or fine. I don’t want to hear about that man. I mean it.” I hung up without waiting for his response.

Rudra’s voice breaks the silence. “Who was it?”

“No one,” I snap, shoving my phone into my bag.

We step into the parking lot. Suddenly, Rudra’s phone buzzes. He wedges it between his shoulder and ear, still patting his pockets for the car keys.

"Yes, Dad?" he answers casually.

But in the next second, I see it.

His entire posture shifts. His shoulders straighten. His face tenses and stops searching for the keys. He grips the phone properly now and slowly turns to look at me.

I frown.

He listens for a few more seconds. Then nod once. "Okay," he says, and ends the call. He steps forward, gently taking my hand. His voice comes softer now, “Pearl.”

The way he says my name makes something tighten in my chest.

“What happened?” I ask, eyes narrowing. “Papa? Maa? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” he replies quickly. “They’re both okay.”

I stare at him, waiting.

He swallows, squeezing my hand. “It’s… your dad. He had a heart attack.”

The air is ripped from my lungs. My body freezes. “W–What…?” The word barely escapes my mouth.

“Calm down,” he says softly, his fingers tightening around mine. “He’s okay right now. It happened two days ago… he’s stable. He’s in the hospital under observation.”

My knees weaken. My vision starts to blur, and the world feels suddenly too quiet. Like something’s pressing against my chest from the inside.

I nod stiffly, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “Let’s go to him.” I whisper, barely managing the words.

He gently guides me toward the car, keeping his hand on my back and opens the door for me, waits until I’m seated, and leans in to fasten my seatbelt.

I press my lips tight to stop them from trembling. He says nothing, just gets in beside me, starts the car, and drives.His hand reaches across the console and finds mine, wrapping around it gently.

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

“Saanvi?”

I look up to see Vikram bhai walking toward me.

His eyes flick briefly to Rudra standing behind me, then come back to mine. My vision wavers, tears spilling before I can stop them. I quickly look down.

“Relax… he’s stable now,” Bhai says gently. “Do you want to see him?”

I hesitate. My heart pounds at the thought. How am I supposed to face him?

“He won’t say anything, Saanvi. You’re his daughter… his precious,” Bhai murmurs, holding out his hand.

Slowly, I place my hand in his. Then I glance back at Rudra, I'm still holding his hand. For some reason, I don't want to let go.

“I’m here,” Rudra says softly, brushing a kiss against the back of my hand before gently letting it go.

Bhai leads me inside. The room smells faintly of antiseptic. The soft beeping of monitors fills the air.

There he is, lying in bed, eyes closed, pale but breathing. We step closer.

“Dad,” Bhai calls gently.

His eyes blink open. They land on mine. For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Then they widen slightly.

“Saanvi?” His voice came out weakly.

My tears break free, and this time I can’t hold them back.

“Hey… don’t cry,” Bhai whispers, wiping my cheek and guiding me to sit on the stool beside the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Dad says, struggling to sit up. Bhai helps him. He extends his hand to me, trembling slightly.

I don’t even think. I lean forward and hug him carefully, burying my face in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” I sob, hiccuping. “I was so scared…”

His fingers stroke through my hair slowly. “Don’t cry, mera baccha. None of this is your fault.”

He called me that. Mera baccha. I cry harder.

“I missed you,” I whisper,

“I missed you more.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. I pull back and look at him, his eyes are damp too, though he gently wipes mine instead.

“No more tears, okay?” he says. “Vikram told me you had a check-up today. How did it go?”

I stare at him. “Even if I don’t say anything, you’ll ask Rudra or OG anyway, right?”

He exhales with a small smile. “I… didn’t know how to ask you directly.”

I lean in and hug him again, tighter this time. After all these years, all the distance, I finally get to hold my father again. And in this moment, I don’t want to let go. Because no matter how much I tried to bury it, the truth is, I’ve always craved his love.

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

“Excuse me,” I say, stepping forward to stop the doctor reviewing my father’s chart.

He turns and smiles politely. “Yes?”

When his eyes meet mine, recognition sparks. “Oh—Dr. Saanvi?”

I blink. “You… know me?”

I’ve never seen him before.

“Of course,” he says, chuckling softly. “Your father talks about you often.”

Before I can process that, he glances down at the file and continues, “Regarding your father's condition, it’s slightly complicated. Honestly, we didn’t expect him to have another hea—”

“Doctor,” Vikram Bhai interrupts sharply, stepping in.

The doctor stops mid-sentence and looks at him.

“We’ll discuss this later,” bhai says with a tight smile. He gives me a glance, then nods at the doctor, who leaves without another word.

I turn to bhai. “Dad’s been coming here often? And what was he going to say?” I press.

“Saanvi, it’s late. You should head home. Rudra’s is waiting,” he says, brushing off my question entirely.

“But Dad—”

“I’m here with him. I’ll stay the night. He’s not alone.”

I clench my teeth. “Why do you always do this?” My voice cracks. “Why do you all keep me away from the family? Why can’t you just accept me fully? Like I actually belong here?”

He exhales and looks at me, eyes softer now, weary even. Slowly, he pulls me into a hug.

“Believe me,” he murmurs. “I’ve never thought of you that way. I’m sorry, Saanvi. For everything. For what you’re going through. For not being able to make it easier. For not being able to shield you better.” His voice trembles at the end. I close my eyes and let myself breathe into the hug.

“Then tell me the truth,” I whisper. “Whatever it is you’re all hiding from me.” His entire body goes still. Slowly, he pulls back and looks me in the eye.

“You’re overthinking. There’s nothing we’re hiding.”

I shake my head. “Then why does it feel like I’m always kept in the dark? Because none of this makes sense. Chachaji is the one who recommended my name for the award. I assumed it was guilt, maybe because I was sick, or after I was proven innocent. But the submission happened before my cardiac arrest. Back when we weren’t even on speaking terms. So why would he?”

I watch his throat bob as he swallows, but he keeps his face composed.

“And Dad… I used to think he married me off to Rudra just to save his company. That it was all a deal, to stop Malhotra Enterprises from being taken over by Singhania Elite Ventures.” I pause, meeting his eyes. “But I was wrong. The day the news of my marriage broke,  and when I went to Dad’s office. I saw the papers. Rudra had prepared everything, clearly stating that I would marry him and in return, Malhotra Enterprises would not come under Singhania Elite. But Dad never signed those documents. He agreed to the marriage, but let the company go. So if it wasn’t about the business… why? Why did he marry me off to Rudra?”

He looks away.

“And why do you all keep forcing me to go back to New York?”

"It's none of your concern,”

My fists clench at my sides. “It is my life. My marriage. My father. Don’t I deserve to know what’s being decided behind my back?”

“Saanvi, just go home,” he says, then walks off without another word.

I exhale shakily and press my fingers against my temple.

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

I sink onto the couch and rest my head in Maa’s lap.

Her hand gently moves to my forehead, fingers brushing through my hair. “Tired?” she asks softly.

I just stare blankly at the ceiling, letting her warmth ground me.

She continues caressing my forehead in silence. “Don’t worry… your dad will be okay,” she whispers.

I curve the faintest smile.

After a pause, she speaks again.

“By the way… Holi is next month.”

I know she’s trying to shift my mind elsewhere. “Everyone’s coming. You’ll enjoy it,” she says, her voice laced with quiet hope.

I glance up at her and nod slowly, a soft smile tugging at my lips.

______________________________________________________________________________