The clock had slipped past midnight, dragging the house into a hushed, breathless quiet. Every room inside the Mehra mansion had already surrendered to sleep—doors shut, lights dimmed, footsteps long faded. And yet, in the living room where the soft yellow lamp glowed like a lonely star, Aanya sat curled on the sofa with a book open in her lap. Pages turned, but she wasn't really reading. Her eyes kept drifting to the front door as if pulled by an invisible thread she refused to acknowledge.

She kept telling herself she wasn't waiting.
Aanya verm- Mehra does not wait for anyone.

But her restless fingers betrayed her—tapping the book's spine, tracing the paper's edge, twisting the corner of the cushion. Ever since Mrs. Mehra had returned home from the hospital, Ishaan had been arriving earlier and earlier—eight o'clock, sometimes nine. Tonight was the first time he was so late. Past twelve. Unreachable.

The idea of calling him flickered in her mind, igniting a spark of worry—quickly smothered when she remembered she didn't even have his number. Asking anyone in the house would only earn her those judgmental, mocking glances:

How can a wife not have her husband's number?

So she sat there.
Not waiting—just "reading."
Not worried—just bored.
Or so she kept insisting.

But her heart thudded against her ribs every time the wind rattled the windows, every time the door made the slightest noise. And when the door finally opened, the sound hit her like a physical force.

Her head jerked toward it.
She stood so fast her book tumbled onto the carpet.
A smile—soft, foolish, involuntary—blossomed across her face.

And then, as Ishaan stepped into the light, that smile fell apart.

He was staggering. His shoulders swayed with uneven weight; his steps were slow, heavy, uncoordinated. The faint smell of alcohol drifted across the room even before he reached her.

He's drunk.

Ishaan's half-lidded eyes lifted—and landed directly on her.
And something changed in his expression.
A tender, helpless smile spread across his face, wide and childlike.

In a few clumsy steps, he reached her and without warning—
—wrapped his arms tightly around her. and inhale her scent deeply. like this is the only thing in whole world make him sane.

Aanya froze as if struck by lightning.
Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened.

"Rose..." he whispered against her shoulder, his voice thick and trembling. "My rose... why did-didn't you sleep?.....ar-are you wai-waiting for me.?

His weight fell onto her, his forehead pressing against her collarbone, his arms locking around her waist like he was afraid she'd disappear.

Aanya's first instinct was to stiffen.
Her second—to breathe slowly.
Her third—to gently place her hands on his back, steadying him.

"You're drunk, Ishaan..." she murmured, trying to hold him upright. "Come on. Let's go. to the room."

He muttered incoherent words on the way to their bedroom—fragments slipping through the slur:

"My wife..."
"Rose..."
"Beautiful..."
"Don't leave..."
"I am so-sorry..."
"I am sorry..."

Each word made her heartbeat stumble.

Inside the bedroom, she finally managed to ease him onto the sofa. She went to get a towel from the bathroom—her mind hazy, heart pounding with unfamiliar warmth.

But when she returned, she stopped mid-step.

Ishaan was lying upside down—
head dangling off the sofa,
legs thrown carelessly over the backrest—
just like the first time she had found him drunk.

A small laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it.

""Why do you always got upside down whenever you get drunk...?"she whispered, shaking her head.

He grinned lazily.

She helped him sit properly and wiped his face with slow, careful strokes.
The entire time, he stared at her—openly, gratefully, with the kind of unguarded affection that a sober man might never show.

After she made him drink water, the dizziness quieted. His eyes lost their blur and began to regain focus.

Aanya stood and tried to pull away.
"Come on, Ishaan. You sleep on the bed tonight. I'll sleep matress. You don't look well. Why did you drink so much? Did something happen at the office?"

He followed her movement with surprising awareness, letting her guide him to the bed.

She kneeled down, reaching to remove his shoes—

—and suddenly he jerked his feet away, sharp and immediate.

She flinched, startled.

"What are you—?"

His voice came out unexpectedly calm. Steady. Sober.

"What are you doing, Aanya?"

"Your shoes..." she whispered, confused. "I'm just taking them off..."

His gaze hardened—but not in anger. In conviction.

"Never," he said quietly.

"Huh?"

"Never touch my feet again."
His voice deepened, firm and unwavering.
"Never."

She stared at him, breath caught in her throat.

"You are my wife.
Ishaan Mehra's wife.
You are my crown, Aanya.
And a man does not allow his crown to kneel before him."

His words trembled with something fierce and protective.

"I will never let you touch my feet, my shoes, anything like that.
That would be an insult to you. to me
And I will never... never allow my wife to be insulted."

Aanya's chest tightened.
Her lips parted in disbelief.
Her eyes stung with a warmth she wasn't ready to admit.

This was the same man who had once shattered her with his harshness.
Who had looked at her with resentment.
Who had yelled at her, wounded her, pushed her away.

And now...

Now he was stopping her from kneeling.
Calling her his crown.
Speaking like a man whose heart was finally unclenching.

A delicate smile—soft, trembling—touched her mouth.

"You... you're truly something entirely different, Ishaan," she whispered. "At first glance, anyone would think you're cold, rude, arrogant... just like I did."

Her voice lowered, softened.

"But when they looks at you closely... really closely... they can see the truth.
You're not cold.
You're kind.
You're protective.
You're... good."

"I guess back then... your anger really blinded you. You weren't yourself. That version of you—who shouted at me—he wasn't real. He was just a man drowning in circumstances."

She smiled sadly.

I wonder," sometimes she whispered, bitterness trembling in her voice, "when you screamed at me that day... did you feel even a shred of guilt?"

Poor Aanya—who will ever tell her the truth?
That the very man she fears, the man who once lashed out in rage, will once discover she was not the one who changed the file.
He punished himself while punch the punching bag so hard that his kunkle got bruises.  his reaction—the fury, the shouting—was not born out of hatred... but out of a storm he himself didn't understand.

And that day, when he screamed at her...
she cried.
But what she never knew was that he broke more than she did.
After every outburst, after every harsh word, Ishan felt a pain far deeper than hers—a guilt so sharp it tore through him like glass.

Because she was right.
That Ishan... the one who was blinded by lies and pressure...
He wasn't the real him.
Circumstances twisted him, misled him, poisoned his judgment until he became someone unrecognizable.

But the man sitting here now...
the one looking at her with softened eyes and a shattered heart—
this is the real Ishan.

The one who feels.
The one who regrets.
The one who would give anything to undo the damage.

She slowly reached up, cupped his face in both her hands.

Ishaan leaned into her palms without hesitation—eyes half-closed, jaw relaxing, breath steadying. As if her touch was something he had been craving unknowingly.

Looking at him like that—vulnerable, open, gentle—Aanya felt something inside her crack wide open.

I wish... our marriage had happened differently.
I wish we didn't start with wounds.
I wish we weren't living caught between love and fear.

"I'm scared, Ishaan..." she whispered inside her own mind.
"I know you love someone else. I know I shouldn't feel anything. I know I shouldn't fall for a man who marry me forcedly who didn't choose me."

Her throat tightened, heart trembling.

"But I think... I think I'm falling for you."

She didn't dare say it aloud.
But her eyes said everything her lips couldn't.
__

Aanya rose quietly and held his hand. Ishaan was almost sober now—still slightly tipsy, yes, but fully aware of what he was doing. His steps were steady, his eyes clearer. He went to the bathroom, removing his shoes on the way, and came out moments later in his night clothes, freshly washed, though the tension on his face had not completely faded  Aanya sat on the bed, her mind running in circles, wondering what had happened to upset him so deeply.

When the bathroom door opened, she saw he was heading toward the mattress placed on the floor. Instinctively, she stopped him.
"Sleep on the bed," she said softly. "I'll take the mattress."

He shook his head calmly. "No... it's okay. I'm fine now."

But she could see he wasn't. She walked toward him, stood in front of him, and said in a voice that was firm yet gentle,
"No, you're not fine. You're still a little tipsy, and I know your head is hurting. Right?"

He simply looked at her... then nodded.

"That's why you should sleep on the bed. It's cold. If you sleep on the floor, you'll get sick," she insisted.

"Aa—" he began to protest.

But she didn't let him finish. She grabbed his hand and guided him to the bed, pressing him down until he sat.
"Sleep here," she said.

He looked up at her—quiet, obedient, almost vulnerable. She raised her eyebrows as if asking, Are you going to lie down or not? He sighed, lowered himself slowly, and lay back on the pillow.

"Good," she whispered, turning to leave.

But suddenly, his hand shot out and grabbed hers.

She turned immediately. "What happened? Do you need something?"

"Yes," he breathed. "You."

"Huh?"

"I—I mean... he hesitated, his thoughts spiraling, his voice stuck somewhere between fear and hope. He wanted to tell her everything—about Nisha dii, about Bella, about the lies and the guilt that were slowly crushing him—but the courage simply wasn't there. What if she got angry? What if she walked away? What if the only stable thing in his chaotic life—Aanya—slipped through his fingers? His chest tightened painfully as he exhaled and whispered the single word that had been lodged in his throat for days. 

"Stay."

Aanya looked at him, confused, brows slightly furrowed.
"Stay with me," he repeated, softer this time, almost pleading.

"I'm not going anywhere, Ishaan," she said gently, glancing around the room. "I'm just a few feet away."

He shook his head, and the vulnerability in his eyes made something inside her shift.
"No... stay here. With me. In the bed," he said, the words trembling out of him. "Can—can you please sleep with me tonight?"

Aanya froze, her eyes widening. It wasn't the request—no, it was the honesty behind it, the longing he wasn't able to hide anymore. She opened her mouth, ready to deflect, to remind him of boundaries, of distance, of everything they weren't supposed to be yet.

But Ishaan interrupted, voice heavy with quiet desperation.
"How long, Aanya? how long will we reamin like this? Sleeping separately, living separately, pretending like we're strangers? If we want to fix our relationship... truly fix it... we have to start somewhere. If you keep pushing yourself away, if I keep pretending I'm okay with this distance... how will we ever give this marriage a real chance?"

His words hit her like a wave—unsteady, raw, painfully real. She looked at him, truly looked at him. Behind the tired eyes and the shaky breath was a man trying, finally trying, to reach out. And maybe... she wanted to reach back. he was right If they genuinely wanted to give their marriage a real chance—if she wanted to accept him—then they needed to act like a married couple. They needed to let their walls down.

She slowly sat beside him, the cushion dipping under her slight weight. For a moment, they said nothing—just breathed the same trembling air.
"Ishaan," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "do you really want to give our marriage a real chance?"

He met her gaze without hesitation. "Of course, Aanya. Didn't I tell you?"

"And your decision won't change," she asked softly, "even when the truth comes out?"

A shadow passed through his eyes—because he knew the truth. He knew Aransh was innocent. He knew that Aransh had never betray anyone. He knew everything. and he wants tell her.
But not tonight.
Tonight, he only wanted her to stay not to leave.
So he squeezed her hand gently and said, "Even after the truth comes out, my decision won't change. You are my wife now. And you'll remain my wife. Always."

A shy, fragile smile appeared on Aanya's lips, warming her whole face. She breathed in deeply, like she was gathering courage from the air around them.
" you are right we have to start from somewhere."  she whispered. okay "Then... let's give us a chance."  but i didn't forget you yet, you have to earn my forgivness. she said with rasie brow with teaseing glint.

I know' i know you're not easy i have to earn youre trust and forgivness. and i will. he said with honesty.

They were seated so close now their hands still intertwined. The room had fallen into a heavy, delicate silence—one that neither of them dared to break. they where so lost in each other that neither of them noticed when the space between them disappeared.  Ishaan's breath was uneven, warm against the coolness of the night. Aanya couldn't look away from him; something about the rawness in his eyes held her in place. He looked exhausted... but there was something else hidden beneath the tired lines—something fragile, something longing.

 They didn't realize they had leaned a little closer, until she felt the gentle brush of his breath on her cheek. Ishaan noticed. His gaze flickered down to her lips for a second—just a second—but it was enough to send a soft tremor through her. Her heart stuttered in response, her fingers tightening unconsciously around his.

The room felt small now. Too small.
Too quiet.
Too intimate.

The curtains moved soundlessly with the breeze, but it felt like the world itself had paused, waiting.

Ishaan swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Slowly—so slowly—it almost felt unreal, he leaned in. Not boldly, not confidently... but like a man terrified of ruining the moment. Like someone approaching a sacred thing they never thought they deserved.

Their foreheads touched first.

A soft, warm press.
The gentlest point of connection.

Aanya's breath hitched. His skin was warm; she could feel the tiniest tremble in him, the faintest brush of his hair against her skin. Ishaan closed his eyes, inhaling her presence as if it gave him strength. His hand rose hesitantly, fingertips brushing against her cheek before settling fully against her jaw—warm, steady, protective. she didn't flinch. she didn't pull away.

Aanya leaned into his touch instinctively.

Her eyelashes fluttered shut.

For a long moment, they simply breathed together—his breath mingling with hers, their foreheads still touching, their noses almost grazing. It was a moment suspended in time, soft and impossibly tender.

Then... Ishaan moved.

He tilted his head a fraction, letting the tip of his nose brush hers.
A feather-light touch.
Barely there, yet enough to send a warm shiver down her spine.

Aanya's lips parted—not in invitation, but because her breath simply escaped her chest, stolen by the closeness.

Ishaan paused again, giving her a silent chance to pull away.

She didn't.

So he leaned in that tiny inch more.

And......

Their lips touched.

Soft.
Barely a whisper.
A tender stroke, like the first bloom of dawn touching the world.

Not a kiss of passion, not hunger, not urgency...
but pure gentleness.
A shy, trembling connection, full of hesitation and unspoken promises.

Ishaan's lips brushed hers—just a light caress—slow, controlled, almost afraid of breaking her. Aanya felt warmth spread through her chest, her fingers loosening only to slide up his arm, holding onto him gently as if to tell him:
It's okay... I'm here.

He kissed her again, still slow, still soft, his lips moving with a sweetness that made her heart ache. Each touch of his mouth felt like a question.
Is this okay?
Are you with me?
Can I hope?

And when she kissed him back, she answered all of them.

Their kiss deepened only by a breath—still innocent, still tender, still fragile—but with a newfound warmth. A warmth that spoke of trust. Of healing. Of two broken people finding a safe place in each other.

When they finally parted, their lips were still only a breath apart, foreheads touching once more. Neither opened their eyes right away. Neither spoke.

They just stayed there, sharing the same air, the same silence, the same gentle heartbeat between them.

It was their first kiss.
Soft, slow, shy...
A kiss that didn't ignite a fire, but lit a candle.
A small, steady glow—enough to warm the darkness between them.

And it felt like the beginning
of something real.

Ishaan opened his eyes first, breath unsteady, chest rising and falling as if he had run miles just to reach this moment. His vision settled on her — For a moment, he simply looked at her — really looked at her — as if trying to memorize every delicate detail of her face.

Aanya still had her eyes closed.

There was something impossibly serene about her, as if time itself had stopped just to let him look at her. Her lashes fanned over her cheeks like the faintest shadow. The soft light in the room brushed over her skin, highlighting the delicate curve of her jaw and the faint flush warming her cheeks. Her lips, still tender and a little swollen from their first kiss, looked heartbreakingly soft.

His mind raced, but his heart... his heart went silent.
Silent in awe.

She looked fragile and strong at the same time.
Innocent yet brave and bold.
A storm and a sigh.

The kind of beauty that didn't shout — it whispered straight into a man's soul.

When she finally opened her eyes, slowly, almost uncertainly, he felt something sharp and sweet pierce through him. Her gaze, still hazy from the kiss, met his with a softness he had never seen directed at him before. It undid him. Completely.

Their eyes met.
A silent collision.
Quiet.
Electric.

Neither spoke.
Neither needed to.

No words, just breathing — both of them inhaling each other's warmth, exhaling nerves they didn't know they were holding. The silence between them wasn't empty; it was heavy, thick, alive... filled with everything they had been afraid to say. and for a moment the world narrowed to the soft rise and fall of their chests. Ishaan could feel his heart pounding, almost painfully, but he didn't hide it. Not tonight.

His lips hovered a breath away from hers, trembling slightly — waiting, asking, offering her every chance to pull away if she wasn't ready. His heart hammered against his ribs like it wanted to break free from his chest.

Aanya didn't move back.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't look away.

She simply... breathed him in.

And that was all the permission he needed.

He closed the distance, capturing her lips again — a soft, trembling kiss at first. A kiss soaked in caution and emotion, in the terrifying sweetness of beginning something delicate and real. His hand rose to her cheek, thumb brushing lightly against her skin, holding her as if she were something precious.

She melted into him, her fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him closer with a need she had never dared show before. The warmth of her touch sent a shiver down his spine.

The kiss deepened naturally.
Their breaths mingled.
Their hearts stuttered.

What began tender slowly shifted into something fuller.
Something warmer.
Something neither of them could control anymore.

His fingers threaded through her hair; she leaned into his touch like she had been waiting her whole life for it. Their lips moved in a rhythm that felt older than them — unspoken longing, unspoken fear, unspoken desire, all meeting in one fragile, sacred point.

He moved closer, unable to help himself.
She leaned back, welcoming his closeness without a hesitation.

Within seconds, the world tilted — her spine touched the soft mattress as he followed her down, bracing himself carefully so his weight never crushed her. His forehead rested against hers for a moment, both of them breathing hard, eyes half-open, staring at each other with a mix of awe and hunger.

And then their lips met again — this time with urgency.

The kiss turned warmer.
Hungrier.
Desperate in a way that came from months of distance, misunderstandings, silent longing, and nights they pretended they didn't care.

Aanya's hands slid from his neck to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt.
Ishaan's touch went from cautious to certain, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw, then the back of her neck, then the line of her waist in a slow, trembling sweep — as if memorizing her.

Every breath between them deepened.
Every exhale grew heavier.

They weren't thinking anymore.
They weren't holding back.

Emotions they had buried burst free — in the way he pressed his forehead to hers, in the way she whispered his name under her breath, in the way their kisses shifted from soft to fierce to breathless.

He hovered over her, trying to stay gentle even in urgency.
She arched toward him without fear, without hesitation.

And slowly... completely... they slipped into each other.

Two wounded hearts, two lonely souls — finally finding warmth.
Finally finding a home that felt like it had been waiting all along.

They surrendered to the night — to the closeness, the comfort, the unspoken love neither had admitted yet. They let every wall fall, every distance fade, every fear dissolve into the feel of each other's breath and heartbeat.

And what happened next...
the details belonged only to them.

A night sealed in softness and fire.
A night that changed everything.
A night that would become a memory they'd carry for a lifetime.

Because that night, without either of them saying it aloud—

they chose each other.
Completely.
Irrevocably.

And it truly felt like...
the beginning of something real.
___

After a long, bruising night that had drained every ounce of strength from their bodies, they finally began to drift toward sleep—two souls tangled in exhaustion, wrapped in the fragile warmth of each other's presence. The room was quiet, the kind of quiet that feels sacred, as if the entire world had taken a step back to give them space to breathe.

Ishaan's arm was draped around her, his breath feather-soft against her hair. She felt his heartbeat—slow, tired, but steady—under her cheek.

And in that half-dark, half-dream state, something inside him cracked open.

He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice trembling with the weight of a truth he had carried for far a days.

He whispered the words he was terrified to say, the words he feared might change everything...

Words he never thought he would have the courage to speak aloud. 

In that tender half-dark, he exhaled it.

"I love you."

The words broke out of him like a secret escaping its prison, soft but shaking with the weight of everything he had felt, everything he had buried. He spoke them believing she was asleep, believing the night would swallow his confession whole.

But she wasn't.

She heard him. Every syllable.
And in that single fragile moment, something inside her heart burst open—hope blooming like dawn after the longest night.

Happiness trembled through her chest, soft and warm, filling the cracks she had learned to hide.

She didn't move.
She didn't speak.

She simply let the words settle inside her like a prayer she never thought she'd receive.

Soon, sleep pulled both of them under—but she carried his confession with her, holding it close like treasure.

___

The morning arrived gently—sunlight spilling through the curtains in pale, golden ribbons, touching the room with a soft, early glow. Birds were chirping outside, the kind of peaceful sound that usually promises a good day.

But peace shattered the moment she woke up.

Still wrapped in the warmth of sleep, she instinctively stretched out her hand, expecting to feel him beside her—the heat of his skin, the rise and fall of his breath, the presence she had grown used to during the night.

But her fingers met nothing.
Just cold sheets.

Her eyes snapped open.
She sat up abruptly, her heart thudding against her ribs. The place beside her—where Ishaan had held her, whispered to her—was empty. Worse, it wasn't just empty...

It was cold, as if no one had slept there at all.

A slow, icy dread crept down her spine.

Maybe he's in the bathroom, she told herself, trying to steady her breath.
She listened—waited—for movement. The click of a lock. The sound of water. Anything.

Minutes passed.
Ten full minutes.
Nothing.

Her chest tightened painfully.
A terrifying thought took root... one she didn't want to believe.

Did he leave?
Did he walk out after everything that happened?

She looked down at herself—his shirt hung loose on her body, carrying his scent, the memory of his touch. With it came a flood of last night—his warmth, his confession, the softness in his voice.

No... he wouldn't just leave after that... right?

But then another thought cut her like glass.

What if he regretted everything?
What if he woke up and realized he shouldn't have been with her?
Why if he thought it as mistake.
What if his "I love you" slipped out only because he was overwhelmed?

She tried to reason—
He wasn't drunk.
He wasn't confused.
He said it so softly... so honestly...

Then why?
Why leave without a word?
Without looking back at her even once?

Her heartbeat began to race, panic twisting in her stomach.

He didn't go downstairs... it's only 7 in the morning. He wouldn't be up this early... unless he wanted to leave before I woke up.

Her breath caught.

Did I mean so little that he walked away without a second thought?
Was last night nothing for him?
Am I the only one who held it like something sacred?

Every hopeful thought from the night collapsed into fear, confusion, and a pain sharp enough to make her chest ache.

She sat there, clutching the bedsheet, wearing his shirt, carrying his words in her heart—
and yet feeling more abandoned than ever. A lone tear scape from the corner of her eyes.

Ohhhhhhhb myyyyyyyyyhhhhhhhhhh gudddddddddddddddddddddd it's happened finally. Ok that's it i don't know what to say.

Drope your thoughts down 👇
And hit that star
Thank you bye byeeee.🫀😊