“Aap sirf meri biwi nahi…”

He cupped her cheeks, his touch feather-light.

“Meri ardhangini ho aap.

Jitna haq ek aatma ka shareer par hota hai…

utna hi haq aapka mujh par.”

Her lips curved into a small, shaky smile as tears glimmered in her eyes.

“Kyuu?

Kyuu aap humse itna pyaar karte hain?” she whispered, almost scared of the answer.

He leaned a little closer, voice dropping to a soft confession.

“Kyuki tum mere andhere mein roshni bankar aayi…”

His thumb gently brushed her cheek.

“Tumne mujhe pyaar woh diya…

jo mainne kabhi kisi se poochne ki himmat bhi nahi ki.

Aur meri ardhangini…”

His gaze softened further,

“itni pyaari hai ki… bas ek nazar unhe dekh loon,

toh poora din jeene ka mann kar jaaye.”

“R…really?” she breathed, eyes glistening, heart trembling.

He gave a tiny smile — the kind he only ever gave her.

“Every heartbeat of mine says so.”

The moment his words settled in the air,

her cheeks warmed — too shy to hold his gaze any longer.

She quickly leaned forward and hid her face in his chest,

fingers clutching his shirt like he was the only solid thing in her world.

Vikram stilled for a second…

then a slow, tender smile tugged at his lips.

He wrapped his arms around her,

pulling her even closer — as if she belonged there,

as if that space on his chest existed only for her.

“Sharma gayi…” he murmured,

his voice teasing,

but soft enough to melt her further.

She lightly hit his chest with her fist,

not letting go.

“Bas… aise mat dekha kijiye,”

she whispered, her voice muffled in his shirt. Vikram's hand slid up to the back of her head,

fingers gently threading into her hair.

“kese, sunshine?”

he answered,

his breath brushing the crown of her head.

He kissed her hair —

slow, reverent —

like she was his prayer and peace together.

☆☆☆☆

“Inaya… tum mera saath dogi na?” Kartik’s voice was low, almost hesitant, as his fingers brushed through her hair — not romantic, just instinctive comfort. He rested his forehead lightly against her shoulder.

“Hamesha,” she said — no dramatic pause, just certainty.

He tried to smile, but his mischief slipped in,

“Pakka? Kahin aisa na ho… ek din tum bol do ‘bye Kartik’ aur chali jao.”

Inaya let out a small laugh — the kind that happens before tears,

“Kartik… me kisi ke dil ke sath ni khelti...

to tum ye tension to le na hi mat. Main mar jaungi, par tumhara saath nahi chhodungi.”

Her words were simple. Honest.

And that — that broke him a little.

Kartik blinked rapidly, looking away as his throat tightened.

“My moonlight…” he whispered, and the laugh that escaped him was real.

“you might be the first person in my life who cares about me that much ,that's why I'm always afraid... what if you also leave me like my mother.”

Inaya turned his face back to hers, wiping the tear that escaped.

“Kartik… don’t be afraid. Even if I have to cross every line this world has drawn, I’ll still choose you—at your worst, at your lowest, when you feel most unlovable.you don’t have to be perfect for me. Even when you fall apart, even when the world turns its back, I’ll still be there—loving every broken piece of you.” she replied softly.

Kartik looked at her with half love and half admiration in his eyes and then wrapped his arms around her. Tightly. " i love you .. my moonlight."

“i love you too.. buddhu," she said, smile reaching her eyes.

☆☆☆☆

“What happened?”

he asked the moment he stepped inside.

She was lying on the sofa… eyes blank, lost somewhere far from reality.

His chest tightened at the sight.

He quickly walked over and kneeled beside her, gently cupping her face.

“Butterfly…”

his voice softened — cautious, careful.

She blinked, coming back to her senses, finally noticing him.

“A-aap…” she stuttered, sitting up in a hurry.

Rivaan didn’t let go of her hand.

“Tell me what happened,”

he said, voice low but filled with concern.

His eyes searched hers — trying to read the pain she was hiding.

Her throat closed up as tears suddenly spilled out.

She tried to stop them… failed.

The next second, she threw her arms around him —

hugging him like he was the only thing keeping her from breaking apart.

Her sobs shook against his chest.

“R-Rivaan…”

she cried his name, voice trembling.

He held her even tighter, one hand stroking her hair,

the other rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“Ssshh… butterfly… tell me.”

His tone was gentle but firm.

“If you don’t tell me, I swear I won’t talk to you for two months.”

“N-no… please…

I-I’ll t-tell you…”

she sobbed harder, her fingers clinging to his shirt like lifeline.

"A-Aditya… h-he… t-tried to…" she stuttered badly between sobs, her fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if her life depended on it.

That one broken sentence was enough. His entire world went still — his breath, his heartbeat, everything. Silence filled the room, but inside him? A storm had already begun to rage.

His jaw clenched, eyes turning darker than night itself — anger, protectiveness, and pure wrath simmering beneath the surface.

He cupped the back of her head gently, pulling her closer into him, like he needed to shield her from even the memory of what had happened.

“Bas,” he whispered, voice low and dangerously calm. “you need to rest.”

She kept clinging to him, crying helplessly — her fists tightly gripping his shirt. Without wasting another second, he slid one arm under her knees and the other around her back, lifting her gently into his arms in a bridal carry.

Her tears dampened his shoulder as she buried her face in his chest, trembling.

He held her closer, jaw set with a quiet fury burning inside him, and walked toward their room — every step heavy with the promise of destruction for the one who hurt her.

He laid her down softly on the bed, making sure her head rested on the pillow. But she didn’t let go — her fingers still locked around his wrist like she feared he might disappear.

So he didn’t leave.

He lay down beside her, wrapping his arms around her again, letting her hide inside his warmth and heartbeat — the safest place she knew.

“Butterfly… please stop crying,” he whispered, his voice cracking despite how hard he tried to stay composed.

His heart was breaking with every sob that left her lips.

He brushed away her tears with trembling fingers, hating that he couldn’t take away her pain instantly.

“I’m right here,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers.

“No one… and I mean no one gets to hurt you. Not while I’m breathing.”

She cried harder, gripping his shirt like her life depended on it, and he pulled her even closer — wishing he could shield her from the world forever.

He leaned closer, his breath uneven as he looked at her tear-stained face.

Helpless… that’s what he felt — seeing her break like this.

He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead first, letting his lips linger there for a second,

as if trying to take away every fear running in her mind.

Then… a soft kiss on her nose — warm, reassuring… almost like a promise that she was safe.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

He hesitated for a heartbeat — making sure she wanted the closeness…

then he pressed a slow, feather-light kiss against her lips.

Not out of desire.

Out of love.

Out of the need to make her feel protected… his.

His lips still hovered close to hers when she whispered his name, voice shaking,

“Rivaan… don’t… don’t leave me.”

His chest tightened painfully.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her as if trying to shield her from the entire world.

“I’m right here,” he murmured against her hair,

“I’m not going anywhere… ever.”

She clutched his shirt desperately, fingers trembling.

Her tears had slowed, but the fear still lived in her eyes — and he saw all of it.

He lifted her chin lightly with his fingers, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“No one… no one gets to hurt you,” he said, his voice low…

a softness coated in something brutal and dangerous beneath.

“For as long as I breathe, no one will scare you again.”

She breathed shakily, leaning her forehead against his chest, finding comfort in his heartbeat.

Rivaan tightened his hold once more — gentle with her,

but inside him… a storm was already rising.

He kissed the top of her head, eyes darkening with a promise:

“They touched what’s mine…

and I don’t forgive that.They dared to lay a hand on what’s mine…

and for that, I will end them.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Kritika pushed her new car to 80, the engine humming like a promise. Hair whipping in the wind, music loud, city lights racing behind her — finally, a night that felt hers.

A turn ahead made her slow—

HONK!!!!

Blinding headlights filled her mirror — too close.

A black SUV lunged from behind—

SLAM!

Her body jerked forward, seatbelt biting into her shoulder.

“What the—?!”

Her breath stuttered, fingers tightening on the wheel.

The SUV didn’t stop.

It shoved her again — sharper — forcing her dangerously toward the edge.

This wasn’t carelessness.

This was intent.

The SUV raced ahead and brake-checked her.

She swerved — tires screaming — a near miss.

Her heart pounded like a warning siren inside her chest.

For one suspended second… she froze.

Then her expression changed.

Fear burned away.

Anger took the wheel.

“Wrong girl,” she muttered — jaw clenched.

She slammed the accelerator.

Her car shot forward — hunting.

The road curved into a darker lane.

The SUV tried to disappear there.

Bad decision.

She caught up.

Overtook.

Cut him off —

SCREECH!

Both cars skidded to a halt.

Her heels clicked loudly as she stepped out — each step a promise of destruction.

She walked to his window, voice cold as steel:

“Gaadi chalani aati nahi ya sirf peeche se maarna hi aadat hai?”

One sharp knock on the window.

“Get. Out.”

The driver scrambled out — terrified.

“M-ma’am! I’m sorry! Please… sir ko late ho raha tha—”

Kritika slammed her palm on the hood — BANG.

“Agar mujhe kuch ho jata?

Tumhare ‘sir’ ka time zyada important hai ya kisi ki zindagi?”

The driver kept glancing at the backseat — tinted glass hiding someone with power.

Kritika noticed. And smirked dangerously.

“Toh sir ko bolna — agli baar tameez se gaadi chalayein.

Nahi toh, main unki gaadi ka kabristan dekhwa dungi.”

The door behind the tinted glass opened.

Arav stepped out.

Tall. Sharp. Unbothered.

Black shirt rolled to the elbows.

A face made to be obeyed.

His eyes swept from her… to the dent… back to her.

“What’s the issue?” voice firm, calm authority.

Kritika didn’t blink.

“Your driver hit my car,” she stated.

“And I don’t let people walk away from their mess.”

He stared — for a moment, intrigued by the fire in front of him.

“Zubaan sambhaal kar,” he said softly.

“That driver works for me.”

“And that’s why you will take responsibility.”

Arav stepped closer — too close — testing boundaries.

“You think shouting makes you right?”

“I don’t need volume,” she replied.

“I have proof.”

A beat of silence — tension thick, electric.

“What’s your name?”

He asked like it was a challenge.

“Kritika. Kritika Roy.”

Her voice didn’t waver.

He repeated it in his mind — committing to memory.

Kritika Roy.

“You’ll get your damage done,” he said.

“But next time — watch your tone.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh.

“Next time, your car will know better than to come near mine.”

“Insurance cover ho jayega?” she asked.

“Kharcha chhota hai,” Arav shrugged.

“Process bada hota hai.”

“I’ll handle the process.”

“No.”

He pulled out his phone.

“Insurance will need both our numbers.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re threatening me for a number?”

“I’m preventing unnecessary drama.”

His tone stayed maddeningly calm.

She hated that he made sense.

Kritika held out her hand.

“Phone.”

He placed it in her palm — gaze locked.

She typed fast.

Saved.

Returned the phone — not gently.

“My number is for paperwork only.”

“I don’t chase strangers,” he said.

She smirked.

“Good. I don’t run from anyone.”

She sat back in her car, door slamming shut.

Just before driving off — she checked her mirror.

He was still watching.

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