Chapter 28: Wanting, Despite Everything

Morning at Rathore House didn’t wake up gently.

It erupted.

Like someone had shaken festival spirit straight into thewalls.

Incense drifted softly through the house, losing steadily against the richer smell of ghee and fried modaks, and Sonali’s rapidly disappearing patience.

“Pihu! Don’t touch that-”

“I’m not touching it, Mamma!”

“You are standing on it!”

“I’m supervising!”

Sameer Rathore stood in the center of the living room with a phone pressed to his ear, expression caught somewhere between ACP and exhausted logistics coordinator.

“Yes, yes, bring the idol carefully… no, not that lane,the turn is too narrow… the one we finalized… hello? Hello?”

The line disconnected.

Rathore stared at the screen for a long moment.

Then at the ceiling.

Then briefly at the concept of human cooperation itself.

“…Fantastic.”

Across the room, Sonali moved like controlled lightning.

One hand adjusted flower strings near the mandir. The other rearranged the pooja thali. A third invisible hand appeared to be holding the entire household together through sheer force of will.

“Sameer, Pandit ji will be here any moment.”

“I know.”

“Guests will start arriving.”

“I know.”

“And Bappa is still not here.”

Rathore inhaled deeply.

The kind of inhale officers took before raids and married men took before answering honestly.

“We’re getting Bappa.”

“When?” she snapped, not even turning around.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it again.

Because at that exact moment-

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Both of them froze.

Sonali turned slowly, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“If that’s society’s children asking for modaks again-”

She opened the door.

And stopped.

Arjun stood there.

White kurta.

Simple. Clean. Sleeves rolled slightly upward like he had dressed for the occasion but didn’t know what to do with the feeling afterwards.

For a second, the noise inside the house dimmed.

Sonali’s expression softened instantly.

Warmth replacing irritation so naturally it almost hurt to witness.

“Arjun,” she said quietly.

Family, without needing to say the word.

She stepped forward immediately, both hands rising to his face, cupping his cheeks lightly like she was reassuring herself he was actually standing there.

“Finally.”

Arjun stilled for half a second under the touch.

Not uncomfortable.

Just unfamiliar with gentleness that expected nothing back.

Then Sonali ruined the moment immediately.

“You’re late.”

There it was.

Balance restored.

Arjun exhaled faintly.

“Traffic.”

“Liar,” she said instantly, pulling him inside by the wrist. “You left late.”

The house hit him all at once.

Noise. Warmth. Movement. Life.

His eyes moved automatically out of habit.

Doors. Windows. People. Exits.

The old training never rested.

But then his gaze slowed.

Marigolds hanging unevenly near the mandir.

Tiny footprints of rangoli powder across the floor.

Pihu’s cardboard “Bappa house” collapsing bravely in one corner.

A steel plate filled with flowers near the sofa.

Domestic chaos.

Familiar in all the wrong ways.

Something tightened quietly in his chest.

So, he did what he always did when feelings approached too close.
He became useful.

He hadn’t even fully stepped in when-

“ARJUN CHACHUUUU!”

A tiny missile launched towards him.

Pihu collided into him at full speed, arms wrapping around his legs before he could prepare himself.

And just like that-

His shoulders dropped.

Not fully.

Just enough.

“There you are,” he murmured, bending slightly to lift her effortlessly.

“I made Bappa’s house!” she announced proudly, already pointing towards the dangerously tilted cardboard structure.

Arjun looked at it seriously.

“Yeah! I can see that.”

Pihu waited eagerly.

He nodded once.

“Highly advanced architecture.”

She gasped happily. “RIGHT?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Sonali called out from behind them.

Arjun almost smiled.

Almost.

Pihu held his face suddenly. “You wore white!”

Arjun blinked once.

“…Apparently.”

“Mamma said festivals need colors.”

His gaze flicked briefly towards Sonali.

She was pretending not to hear.

“Put her down and come here,” she ordered. “If you had arrived on time, half this disaster would’ve already been solved.”

Arjun set Pihu down carefully.

He didn’t sit.

Didn’t remove his watch.

Didn’t ask for tea or water.

Like he had already decided not to stay long.

“You should’ve come earlier,” Sonali continued, already shoving a tray into his hands without warning.

He took it immediately.
Accepting tasks was easier than accepting affection.

“Flowers aren’t tied properly, the rangoli is incomplete, and your dear friend is busy fighting vendors.”

“I am not fighting,” Rathore argued from across the room, phone back at his ear. “I am explaining.”

“To five people simultaneously.”

“Because they are all wrong.”

Arjun moved quietly through the room after that.

Like he remembered the house without trying to.

He secured the loose marigold string properly this time.

Shifted the brass lamp two inches away from the walkway before someone tripped on it.

Straightened a frame near the entrance.

Adjusted the cloth beneath the mandir.

Efficient. Silent. Instinctive.

Rathore looked up midway through another phone call and paused.

Because Arjun wasn’t asking where things belonged.

He already knew.

Distance had happened between people.

Not places.

Pihu followed Arjun everywhere like an aggressively loyal intern.

“Chachu, I’m in charge today.”

“Of course you are.”

“Papa isn’t listening to me.”

“That sounds accurate.”

She nodded solemnly, deeply validated.

Across the room, Sonali watched quietly for a second longer than necessary.

Arjun fit into the house too naturally for someone who behaved like a visitor.

And maybe that was the saddest part.

Rathore finally ended his call and checked the time.

Immediately, something shifted.

The room didn’t quiet.

But the warmth thinned slightly.

Duty entering the space before anyone invited it.

“We have to leave,” he said.

Sonali turned sharply. “What?”

“DSP Vikram Deshmukh’s place,” Rathore replied, already reaching for his keys. “First Ganpati after posting. It is a protocol visit.”

The word itself drained the room a little.

Because everyone there understood what it meant.

Duty did not care if your own house remained unfinished.

Duty did not wait for family.

Sonali stared at him in disbelief.

“Now?”

“We’ll be back.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“That is not a time, Sameer.”

Rathore rubbed his forehead briefly.

“I know.”

Pihu looked between them, confused by the sudden shift.

“Papa?”

Rathore crouched in front of her immediately, softening his voice.

“We’ll bring Bappa and come back, okay?”

She nodded slowly.

But the excitement in her face dimmed just enough to notice.

Sonali didn’t argue further.

Didn’t complain.

But when she spoke again, her voice was quieter.

“Be back on time.”

Not angry.

Not dramatic.

Just important.

Like someone who understood too well how often “soon” became midnight in their world.

Rathore looked at her for a second longer than usual.

Then nodded once.

“I will.”

Arjun picked up his keys from the table.

His gaze drifted across the house one last time.

The unfinished rangoli.

The flowers.

The incense.

Pihu fixing cardboard walls with tape.

His eyes lingered half a second too long.

Then he looked away before the feeling could settle.

“We’ll be back,” he said quietly.

This time, it sounded less like reassurance.

More like a promise he intended to keep.

Pihu believed him immediately.

Sonali watched both men walk towards the door.

Two officers leaving their unfinished home behind because some senior somewhere expected their presence.

The door opened.

Closed.

But the house still felt like it was waiting for them.

--

This room looked like a crime scene.

Not the violent kind.
The fabric-induced emotional breakdown kind.

The bed was buried under:

• one pink nauvari saree (traitor)
• two rejected YouTube tutorials
• three safety pins already sacrificed in battle
• and one increasingly unhinged Riya Mukherjee

Riya stood in the center of it all.

Blouse. Petticoat. Pride hanging by a thread.

“This,” she announced, pointing at the saree lying like an innocent snake, “is a scam.”

Kabir, currently crouched on the floor with his phone, looked up.
“You said that ten minutes ago.”

“I meant it more now.”

On the screen, a cheerful woman in a perfectly draped saree smiled like she had never suffered in her life.

“Now simply take the pleats and tuck them in neatly…”

Riya lunged forward and paused the video.

“SIMPLY?” she repeated, outraged. “SIMPLY?”

Kabir pressed his lips together.
Lost the battle in two seconds.

“Okay, okay,” he said, standing up, rolling his shoulders like he was about to enter combat. “We follow steps. Step by step. We’re intelligent people.”

“We were intelligent people, Kabir,” she corrected darkly. “Before this fabric entered our lives.”

-

Attempt #4

Kabir held one end of the saree.

Riya held the other.

Both looked at each other like this was a hostage negotiation.

“Okay,” Kabir said, squinting at the paused video. “We wrap it around once.”

“Clockwise or anti-clockwise?”

“…wrap.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Just- turn.”

Riya turned.

The saree twisted.

Kabir panicked.

“Wait… no… this is not how physics works…”

The entire drape collapsed.

Again.

Riya froze.

Then slowly turned to him.

“You said you knew what you were doing.”

“I said I watched the video,” he defended.

“That woman lied.”

-

Attempt #6

“Okay, this time we make pleats,” Kabir said with confidence he absolutely did not possess.

Riya stared at the fabric in her hand.

“…How many?”

Kabir blinked.

“…standard amount?”

“What is a STANDARD AMOUNT, Kabir?!”

“Don’t shout, I’m thinking!”

“You’ve been thinking for twenty minutes!”

-

YouTube Tutorial #5

A new woman appeared.

Even calmer.

Even more dangerous.

“Take five to seven pleats depending on your comfort…”

Riya paused it again.

“My comfort is gone.”

Kabir nodded solemnly. “Understandable.”

-

Attempt #9

Kabir stood behind her now, trying to gather pleats.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re breathing too aggressively.”

“I need oxygen for basic survival.”

“Not right now you don’t.”

She turned her head slowly. “Say that again.”

“…please breathe normally.”

The pleats looked decent.

For exactly three seconds.

Then they slipped.

And the entire structure betrayed them again.

Riya stared at her reflection.

Then at Kabir.

Then back at the saree.

“I will go in your kurta. But I will not fight this fabric again.”

“No, No,” he said immediately.

“Yes.”

“You bought this, yourself,” Kabir pointed out.

“You made me buy this.”

“You said it matches my kurta.”

“I was a FOOL.”
“You were colour-coordinated,” Kabir corrected.

-

Minutes later, the safety pin phase began.
Dignity left the room first.

Kabir held a fistful of safety pins like a man accepting his fate.

“Now that everything looks okay, we secure it,” he said.

“With what confidence?” she asked.

“With engineering.”

“Oh my God! That’s worse.”

And then:

• Pin one: successful
• Pin two: slightly concerning
• Pin three: questionable but stable
• Pin four: “if this opens in public, I am disappearing forever”

Riya stood still while Kabir worked with the focus of a bomb defusal expert.

“Don’t move,” he said again.

“I’ve been standing still long enough to develop roots.”

“Good.”

“I hope you know,” she said, eyeing him, “I’m one beep away from being dismantled at security.”

He laughed and stepped back finally.

Looked at her.

Really looked.

The saree was… holding.
Barely.
Like a diplomatic agreement after war.

Riya turned towards the mirror.

Adjusted the pallu slightly.

Then looked at him.

“Well?” she asked.

Kabir didn’t answer immediately.

For a second, the room… settled.

“You look…” he exhaled, “…breath-taking.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re just relieved it’s over.”

“That too,” he admitted. “But also… this. You look… unfair.” He placed a hand over his heart.

She rolled her eyes.
The smile arrived anyway.

And then, she noticed- Kabir.

Still.

In his boxers.

She blinked.

“You haven’t dressed.”

He looked down.

Then at her.

“…In a minute,” he said, already pulling his t-shirt over his head.

“Must be nice,” she muttered and earned a chuckle from Kabir.

For the first time since the war began- they stood still.

No fabric attacking them.
No tutorials judging them.
No pins threatening betrayal.

Just… them.

Riya paused, then circled her hand lightly in front of him,flicking it away.
“No nazar,” she muttered, making him blush.

She then reached up, fixing the crease near his shoulder.

Kabir’s hand rested lightly at her waist- careful, mindful of the architectural masterpiece she was now wearing.

“You’re going to survive this,” he said softly.

She smiled faintly. “I just hope.”

“You stayed,” he added quietly.
And this time, neither of them was talking about the saree anymore.

She understood.

Her fingers tightened slightly in his kurta.

“So did you.”

The room finally stopped fighting them.
No collapsing pleats.
No tutorials.
No fabric disasters.
Just warmth settling softly between them.

She rose on her toes and kissed his forehead.

Just then, a pin shifted.

Riya froze.

“…Did something move?”

Kabir blinked.

“…don’t breathe.”

She stared at him. “Not this again.”

They both burst out laughing.

“Come on,” he said, picking up the keys.

She took one careful step.
The saree held.
She looked at him.

“We’re not touching anything.”

She nodded immediately, adjusting her pallu one last time.

Took his hand.

This time- Carefully. Deliberately.

And together, they stepped out.

Into a world that had no idea what they had just survived.

--

The doorbell didn’t ring.
It announced.
Like it already knew chaos had arrived.

Sonali, already mid-command, “Pihu don’t touch the rangoli-”, pulled the door open with the speed of a woman surviving purely on festival adrenaline and irritation.

And paused.

Riya stood there.

Pink nauvari saree.
Slightly crooked pleats.
Pallu behaving like it had independent political ambitions.
Expression: I survived something. Don’t ask what.

Beside her-

A man.

Immaculate.

Ivory kurta. Perfect fall. Sleeves just right.
The kind of man who looked like he belonged on a festive magazine cover titled:

Effortlessly Ethnic, Emotionally Unbothered.

Sonali blinked once.

Then twice.

Then her eyes narrowed.

“Oh,” she said slowly, leaning against the doorframe, “so this is the boy.”

Riya groaned softly. “Di-”

Kabir folded his hands instantly. “Hi. Namaste.”

Polite. Grounded. Dangerous.

Sonali’s brows lifted.

“Hm,” she hummed, circling him like a quality inspector. “Decent greeting. Good posture. Clothes ironed. Suspicious.”

Kabir smiled faintly. “I try to maintain basic human standards.”

Riya snorted.

Sonali’s lips twitched.

Approval: pending. Interest: visible.

“Come in,” she said finally, stepping aside. “Before your saree resigns publicly.”

Riya clutched her pallu protectively and stepped inside.

Kabir followed.

And immediately felt Riya grab his wrist.

She leaned closer urgently.

“I need to pee.”

Kabir blinked.

“…Okay?”

She stared at him.

“You don’t need my permission,” he replied calmly. “We’re not married yet.”

There was one full second of silence.

Then Sonali burst out laughing.

Riya smacked Kabir’s arm hard enough to offend his ancestors.

“NOT LIKE THAT.”

Kabir frowned.

Riya looked down pointedly.

Kabir followed her gaze.

The saree.

Oh.

“Oh no.”

Now he looked concerned.

Very concerned.

“No, no, no, that’s not survivable.”

Sonali rolled her eyes. “Both of you are unbelievable.”

She grabbed Riya’s wrist.

“Come. Before your entire architecture collapses before Bappa even arrives.”

Riya shot Kabir a look that somehow contained betrayal, panic, and trust simultaneously.

Kabir watched her go like a man who had just handed over alive explosive to someone else.

Then he turned.

And found himself face-to-face with Pihu.

Who was staring at him.

Not smiling.
Not blinking.
Just… evaluating.

Kabir crouched slightly. “Hi.”

No response.

“Hello?” he tried again.

Pihu crossed her arms.

“Why do you keep whispering in Puchchi’s ear?”

Kabir blinked.

“…I- what?”

“You make her laugh,” she continued accusingly. “Whenever she comes here, she only talks to me.”

Kabir suddenly understood why children bit people in cartoons.

“I think she laughs because I’m funny,” he said carefully.

Pihu narrowed her eyes.

“I’m funny too.”

Kabir nodded seriously. “I can see that.”

She stepped closer.

“This is my house,” she informed him.

Kabir leaned in slightly.

“And I am a guest.”

“I get priority.”

That-

That was a mistake.

Pihu gasped like he had personally insulted democracy.

“NO!”

She spun dramatically and ran away shouting,

“Mummaaaa! Puchchiiiiii!”

Kabir winced.

“Oh, this is going to be a problem.”

-

A few minutes later, Sonali walked back.

Alone.

Riya: not visible.

Kabir straightened immediately.

“Where is-”

“Alive,” Sonali said calmly. “Sit.”

She handed him a small packet.

Closed. Mysterious.

Kabir frowned. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

He did.

And froze.

Safety pins.

Dozens of them.

Familiar.
Traumatic.

His entire engineering degree stared back at him.

He looked up slowly.

“…These are mine?”

Sonali smiled sweetly. “Yes.”

“Why do you have them?” he asked cautiously. “Has my marvel collapsed?”

She didn’t answer.

Just pointed towards the hallway.

Kabir turned-

And forgot how breathing worked.

Riya walked out.

And this time-

The saree wasn’t fighting her.

It flowed.

Perfect drape. Clean pleats. Pallu falling elegantly instead of threatening civilization.
A soft gajra rested in her hair.
A delicate Marathi nath framed her face.

She didn’t look like she had survived a battle anymore.

She looked like she had always belonged here.

Kabir stood there silently.

The packet in his hand tilted slightly.

A few safety pins slipped out onto the floor unnoticed.

Blinking suddenly felt unnecessary.

Possibly illegal.

“…Okay,” he breathed. “That’s unfair.”

Riya tilted her head slightly. “Better?”

“Dangerously better.”

Sonali folded her arms smugly.

“You’re welcome,” she announced proudly. “Original design. Not whatever pin-based terrorism the two of you created earlier.”

Kabir barely heard her.

His attention was gone entirely.

Riya smiled faintly under the way he was looking at her.

“What?” she asked softly.

“You look…” He exhaled once. “…illegal.”

Sonali groaned dramatically. “God save me from people in love.”

Kabir finally walked towards her.

Paused.

And glanced sideways toward Pihu.

Who was already suspicious.

Very suspicious.

“Pihu,” he said, eyes still on Riya.

“What?”

“I think someone is distributing modaks in the kitchen.”

Pihu gasped.

“WHERE?”

She turned instantly.

And Kabir shamelessly used the opportunity.

He pulled Riya closer by the waist and kissed her.
Quick.
Warm.
Entirely worth the risk.

Pihu spun back around.

Too late.

“HEY!”

Kabir pointed vaguely again. “Emergency modak situation.”

And while she turned again, he kissed Riya once more.

Sonali burst out laughing.

“Shameless!” she declared.

Riya hid her face, smiling helplessly.

Kabir looked completely unrepentant.

Pihu turned back again.

Saw Riya smiling in Kabir’s arms.

And looked personally betrayed by destiny.

“NO! Puchchi is my guest!”

She ran forward and wrapped herself around Riya immediately.

Kabir stared.

“…Excuse me?”

“She is MY Puchchi,” Pihu declared possessively.

Kabir folded his arms.

Riya looked between them.

Helpless.
Amused.

Sonali leaned back against the wall, enjoying every second.

“Good,” she murmured. “Let them fight. Whatever keeps them busy.”

And then, minutes later, without discussion, something shifted quietly.

Kabir picked up the half-fallen marigold string and fixed it properly.

Riya adjusted the rangoli symmetry.

Kabir moved chairs aside before guests arrived.

Riya aligned diyas near the mandir.

He untangled flower wires.

She reorganized pooja trays.

Together, they moved through the house with effortless rhythm.

Not helping.

Belonging.

That was the difference.

Sonali watched from the kitchen doorway silently.

Impressed in the deeply dangerous elder-sister way.

Not because Kabir was charming.

Though he was.

Not because he was helpful.

Though he clearly was.

But because he fit beside Riya naturally.

No performance.

No force.

Just ease.

Pihu climbed onto a stool beside Kabir while he tied flowers.

“You know how to do this?” she asked suspiciously.

“No,” Kabir admitted honestly. “But I’m trying.”

Pihu considered this deeply.

Then silently handed him another flower string.

Trust granted.

Kabir looked oddly pleased by that.

Three minutes later, he reached automatically for Riya’s hand while passing behind her.

Pihu slapped his hand away instantly.

“No.”

Kabir blinked.

“Why?”

“She’s helping me.”

“She can help you while holding my hand.”

“No.”

Kabir looked at Riya helplessly.

“You’re encouraging authoritarian behavior.”

“She’s six,” Riya reminded him.

“She’s a dictator.”

Pihu nodded proudly.

Riya laughed again and walked away with Pihu clinging to her hand.

Kabir watched them go.

Offended.
Jealous.
Hopelessly gone.

“…I miss peace,” he muttered.

“You never had peace,” Sonali informed him calmly while passing by.

And honestly?

She was absolutely right.

--

At one point, while fixing flowers near the mandir, Riya looked up accidentally.

Kabir was across the room.

Arguing with Pihu over who got to sit beside her during aarti.

Both equally serious.

Both equally possessive.

And somehow-

The sight settled something quietly inside her chest.

Warm. Steady. Right.

Like home arriving before you realize you were searching for it.

--

The house had crossed the line between preparation and invasion.

Guests had started arriving.

Footwear crowded near the entrance. Voices overlapped. Someone’s auntie had already claimed permanent authority over the sweet table. Children ran through the hallway with the spiritual purpose of destruction.

And through all of it, Sonali stood near the mandir trying very hard not to lose her mind.

“Sameer is not answering.”

That was the fourth time she had said it in six minutes.

Riya looked up from serving guests. “Di, he’ll be here.”

“He said that forty minutes ago.”

Kabir glanced toward the entrance instinctively.

Still no sign of Rathore.

Only growing noise.

Only waiting.

Just then, Kabir’s phone buzzed.

His expression shifted the moment he saw the screen.

Small change.

Immediate.

Riya noticed.

Of course she did.

He stepped slightly aside and answered quietly, “Yeah.”

Sid’s voice came through the line.

“I’m leaving for the venue in ten.”

Kabir straightened subtly.

“I’ll be there on time.”

His eyes flicked unconsciously toward Riya across the room.

Still helping Sonali.

Still smiling faintly while fixing marigolds with Pihu hanging off her arm like emotional luggage.

Safe.

For now.

“I’ll see you at the wedding,” Kabir said quietly.

The call ended.

But he stayed standing there for a second longer than necessary.

Thinking.

Calculating.

Riya watched him once.

Read the silence immediately.

She excused herself softly and walked towards him.

“What happened?”

Kabir rubbed the back of his neck once.

Rare hesitation.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

“That sentence never ends well.”

A faint smile flickered.

“My friend’s wedding is today.”

Riya blinked.

“…Today today?”

“Yes.”

“And you forgot?”

“I remembered yesterday.”

“That is still forgetting.”

“Fair.”

She folded her arms lightly. “And?”

“I should go,” Kabir admitted finally.

But his body betrayed him completely.

Because even while saying it, his hand had already found hers unconsciously.

His shoulders remained angled toward her.

Waiting.

Not leaving.

Riya noticed all of it.

The hesitation.

The guilt.

The fact that he had said I should go instead of we should go.

And the fact that every instinct inside him clearly wanted the opposite.

“You want me to come with you,” she said softly.

Kabir looked at her immediately.

A beat.

Then honesty won.

“Yes.”

Quiet.

Simple.

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

There it was.

Not dramatic.

Not possessive.

Just true.

Riya’s expression softened instantly.

“You could’ve just said that.”

“I was trying to sound reasonable.”

“You failed.”

“Completely.”

A smile tugged at her mouth.

Then she glanced toward Sonali.

Concern flickered.

“We should tell Di.”

-

Sonali took the news exactly like a woman already one inconvenience away from spiritual collapse would.

“You’re LEAVING?”

Kabir looked appropriately guilty.

“It’s my friend’s wedding,” he explained carefully. “I genuinely forgot.”

“How does someone forget a wedding?”

Kabir considered it seriously.

“…Poor memory and time management and of course... a distraction?” he pointed towards Riya.

Sonali stared at him.

“Minus points for this.”

Riya hid a laugh.

“And you,” Sonali turned toward her instantly, “you’re going too?”

Kabir opened his mouth automatically.

“Actually she can stay-”

But his entire face betrayed him before the sentence even finished.

Riya almost smiled.

“He wants me there,” she interrupted calmly.

Kabir sighed softly.

“Yes.”

Pihu gasped dramatically from the sofa.

“NO! Puchchi cannot go! You can go.”

Kabir pointed at her immediately. “See?”

Riya burst out laughing.

Sonali watched the three of them for a second before shaking her head helplessly.

“Fine,” she muttered finally. “Go. But come back before evening aarti.”

“We’ll try,” Riya promised softly.

Sonali’s expression dimmed slightly after that.

Just a little.

“I still haven’t made Sameer meet you,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

“We’ll try to come back soon,” Riya assured gently.

Sonali nodded.

Not fully convinced.

But accepting.

Kabir reached for Riya’s hand automatically.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Before my friends kill me.”

They were almost at the door when-

DHOOM.

The first dhol beat exploded through the building.

Then another.

And another.

The entire lane outside erupted instantly.

“BAPPAAA AALAAAAA!”

Voices rose together.

Loud. Joyous. Wild.

The energy hit the house like a wave.

Guests rushed towards the entrance. Children screamed excitedly. Someone started throwing flower petals before the idol had even arrived.

“Oh God,” Sonali breathed, instantly switching into command mode. “Pihu come here! Someone light the diyas! Wait- no- careful with the rangoli-”

Chaos swallowed the house whole.

Kabir tightened his grip around Riya’s hand instinctively.

“Stay close,” he said near her ear.

She nodded.

Outside, the procession had arrived.

Orange gulal burst into the air.

Marigold petals scattered everywhere.

Smoke curled through the lane.

Dhol vibrations shook through the ground itself.

And at the center of it-

Sameer Rathore and Arjun Rawte stepped forward carrying Bappa.

The idol moved forward through flowers, devotion, and exhausted hands.

Rathore was already sweating.

Arjun looked carved out of restraint and concentration.

The crowd surged around them.

People dancing.

Laughing.

Shouting prayers loud enough to shake the sky.

The weight of the idol dug into Arjun’s shoulders.

Dhols pounded against his ribs.

Gulal burned faintly in his eyes.

Everything blurred together into one overwhelming wave of colour and devotion.

Kabir had been holding her hand through the chaos until the crowd split them apart.

Someone spun carrying flowers.

A child darted across the lane laughing.

“Riya-”

The name left Kabir loudly but reached Arjun quietly.

He looked up.

Something still appeared inside the chaos.

Pink.

A flash of gajra.

A familiar profile turning through clouds of orange powder.

That was all.

One glance.

One impossible glance.

Her.

Everything else kept moving.

Only Arjun stopped.

His grip on the idol shifted slightly.

His breath caught.

Actually caught.

Because there she was.

Caught between clouds of orange powder and moving bodies.

Real.

Close enough to destroy his balance completely.

The pink saree.

The same eyes.

The same face he had been failing to forget for weeks.

The procession thundered around him.

But sound dulled anyway.

The crowd blurred.

For one impossible second, the entire world narrowed into one moving figure wrapped in pink.

“Riya-”

Not spoken.

Escaped.

Beside him, Rathore’s head turned immediately.

Not because of the name.

Because of the way Arjun had said it.

Like a man dying of thirst seeing water.

Arjun moved before he realized it.

One step.

Then another.

Eyes fixed through the crowd.

But the moment shattered almost instantly.

More gulal exploded into the air.

And when the smoke of color cleared-

She was gone.

Arjun stopped completely still.

His heartbeat refused to settle.

He searched the crowd immediately.

Left.

Right.

Pink saree.

Gajra.

Anything.

Nothing.

Gone.

Like the festival itself had imagined her.

And somewhere across the crowd, Kabir finally found her.

Worried relief hit his face so fast it almost looked painful.

“There you are,” he exhaled, reaching her in two quick steps.

Before she could answer, he took her hand firmly again.

Protective. Certain.

“Come on,” he murmured near her ear. “Before this crowd kills us both.”

For one brief second, they stopped near the edge of the lane.
Away from the pushing crowd.
Away from the dhols shaking the ground.

Bappa moved past slowly through clouds of gulal and flower petals.

Kabir loosened his hold around her hand gently.
Both of them folded their hands and bowed their heads instinctively.

No words.
No elaborate prayer.

Just one quiet moment stolen from the chaos.

Riya looked up first, eyes soft beneath the drifting orange powder.
Kabir glanced once towards the idol too.

And somehow, standing there together in the middle of noise and devotion and complete disorder-
it felt enough.

“Let’s go!”

Riya nodded instantly, adjusting her slipping pallu while Kabir guided her carefully through the sea of people.

“Arjun.”

Rathore’s voice came quieter now.

Careful.

Arjun looked at him slowly.

Still distracted.

Still searching somewhere beyond the crowd.

Rathore studied him for a second.

Then practicality returned.

“It can’t be her,” he said gently over the noise. “I completely forgot to invite her.”

That landed harder than expected.

Arjun looked back towards the procession again.

Trying to bring back his lost composure.

Because for one impossible second,
he had stopped feeling alone inside the crowd.

--

This room smelled of damp walls, burnt tobacco, and silence.

Not ordinary silence.

The kind that settles after bad news reaches dangerous men.

A single bulb flickered overhead.

No one complained.

No one moved much either.

Five men sat scattered across the room, shadows cutting across their faces. A radio hummed softly somewhere in the background before one of them switched it off irritably.

The sound felt disrespectful here.

At the center table lay a photograph.

Jamaal.

Someone had placed a glass beside it.

Untouched.

Like an offering.

No one spoke his name immediately.

As if saying it aloud would confirm something none of them were ready to accept.

Finally, one of them muttered quietly,

“Woh akela nahi tha…”

Another man laughed bitterly.

“Aur phir bhi mara gaya.”

The words landed hard.

Nobody argued.

Because nobody knew how.

Jamaal wasn’t supposed to die.

Not like that.

Not him.

One of the younger men shifted uneasily. “Kisi ne andar ki khabar di thi kya?”

No answer came.

Only cigarette smoke curling slowly towards the ceiling.

Then-

A chair scraped.

Everyone straightened instantly.

The man near the window finally turned around.

Older. Calmer.

Far more dangerous than the rest.

He looked at Jamaal’s photograph for a long moment before speaking.

“Baadshah bahot naraaz hain.”

Silence deepened.

The younger one swallowed visibly.

Another asked carefully, “Kitna?”

The older man’s jaw tightened slightly.

“Jitna tum soch bhi nahi sakte.”

That changed the air in the room.

Because anger was one thing.

But Baadshah’s grief?

That was worse.

Much worse.

One of them looked down uneasily. “Jamaal bhai… unke sabse kareeb the.”

The older man nodded once.

“Bhai se badhkar.”

A beat.

“Unhone kabhi kisi ko Jamaal ke barabar nahi maana.”

The bulb flickered again.

Outside, thunder rolled faintly somewhere far away.

Inside, no one breathed too loudly.

The youngest among them finally whispered,

“Ab kya hoga?”

The older man looked at him slowly.

And smiled.

The smile that appeared didn’t belong in mourning.
It belonged in anticipation.

He leaned forward dramatically.

“Elan hoga.”

His eyes lifted slowly.

“Hisab hoga.”

The words settled like knives.

One of the men asked carefully,

“Toh ab?”

The older man’s gaze shifted towards the dark doorway at the end of the corridor.

Locked.

Hidden behind iron bars.

And for the first time that night-

Something almost eager flickered in his eyes.

One word left his mouth.

Low.

Certain.

“Rihaayi.”

The room went still.

Not confused.

Afraid.

Because everyone there understood exactly what that meant.

A chair pushed back immediately.

Weapons checked.

Phones picked up.

Engines waiting outside started one by one.

The photograph of Jamaal remained behind on the table.

Watching.

Somewhere far away,
behind iron bars and unfinished revenge,
something dangerous was about to walk free.

--

The wedding hall glowed like it had swallowed an entire sunset.

Gold lights draped from the ceiling in soft cascades. Fresh mogra hung from pillars. The air carried that unmistakable mixture of incense, perfume, flowers, and too many relatives asking too many questions at once.

Traditional shehnai floated through the space gently beneath the louder rhythm of conversation and laughter.

And in the middle of it all-

Kabir stood still for a second.

Just one second.

Watching Riya beside him.

Pink nauvari.

Gajra resting against dark hair.

The tiny Marathi nath Sonali had insisted on.

And eyes that were already moving everywhere with quiet fascination.

She looked…

Like she belonged in every version of home he had never allowed himself to imagine.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured softly beside him.

Kabir blinked once.

“I’m still recovering from the damage you inflicted upon me today.”

Riya rolled her eyes in response.

“I mean it.”

She smiled faintly.

And then-

“KABIRRR!”

A voice boomed across the hall like an attack warning.

Before Riya could even react, three men crashed into Kabir at once.

Literal collision.

One grabbed his neck.

Another slapped his shoulder.

The third pointed dramatically.

“YOU BROUGHT HER.”

Kabir nearly lost balance. “Good to see you too, idiots.”

“No no no,” another interrupted immediately, staring at Riya in complete betrayal. “THIS is Riya?”

Riya blinked.

Kabir suddenly looked deeply concerned.

“Control yourselves,” he warned instantly.

Which was the exact wrong thing to say.

Because now all three men looked even more excited.

“Oh my God,” one whispered dramatically to another. “He actually manifested her.”

“Shut up.”

“No seriously,” the second one added, looking at Riya with genuine disbelief. “We thought you were fictional.”

Riya burst out laughing.

Kabir closed his eyes briefly.

Finished.

His social death had arrived.

One of them stepped forward immediately and folded his hands respectfully.

“Hi bhabhi.”

Kabir choked.

Actually choked.

Riya turned slowly.

Kabir looked ready to physically disappear into another dimension.

“Don’t start,” he warned through clenched teeth, while pulling him back.

But he didn’t care.

Because the group had already gathered around her with the excitement of people finally meeting a celebrity they had been hearing about for years.

And in a way-

She was.

“You have no idea,” another friend declared dramatically, “how much this man talks about you.”

Kabir pointed instantly. “Enough.”

“No no,” Riya interrupted immediately, now interested. “Continue.”

Traitor.

Absolute traitor.

The boys looked delighted.

“See this?” one of them said proudly, pulling out his phone. “A mission briefing.”

Before Kabir could stop him, he shoved the screen towards her.

A blurry photo.

Kabir asleep against a wall during transit.

And in his hand-

A photograph.

Her photograph.

Riya looked at it.

Then slowly at Kabir.

Kabir looked offended. “Why do you people take pictures of me sleeping?”

“Because you become emotional in low battery mode.”

Another one jumped in immediately.

“He carries your picture during missions.”

Kabir groaned softly.

“Laminated.”, one of them added.

They all burst out in fits of laughter.

“He talks about your food preferences like national security intel.”

Kabir closed his eyes briefly.

Betrayal.
Pure betrayal.

“He knows how you are feeling, even when he is in Leh.”

“That is not scientifically possible,” Riya argued weakly.

“It is for him,” another one said immediately.

“And don’t even get us started on the mood analysis.”

Kabir froze.

Riya narrowed her eyes dangerously.

“Mood analysis?”

Three traitors spoke together.

“If Riya sends ‘okay’ instead of ‘okay :)’ this man enters military-grade panic. Your use of emojis in a message is directly proportional to how good your mood is!”

Riya stared at Kabir.

Kabir stared at the ceiling.

Seeking divine intervention.

“He once made us stop for forty minutes,” anotherfriend added emotionally, “because he thought you sounded ‘slightly off’ oncall.”

“She was slightly off that day- emotionally distant.”

Riya burst out laughing so hard she almost bent forward.

And Kabir-

Kabir just stood there.

Embarrassed beyond recovery.

But also…

Happy.

Hopelessly happy.

Because she fit.

God, she fit.

Among his people.

His noise.

His history.

Like she had always been missing from it.

One of the friends leaned towards her confidentially.

“Honestly, bhabhi, we know your schedule better than our own.”

Kabir pointed sharply and whispered to no one in particular.“Stop calling her bhabhi. She won’t like it.”

But Kabir noticed it too, that Riya didn’t protest.

Didn’t correct.

Didn’t awkwardly deny it.

Instead- a faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she adjusted her pallu softly while laughing with his friends.

That was all.

But Kabir saw it.

And something deep inside him shifted quietly.

Dangerously.

Hope. Warm. Terrifying.

Real.

The groom suddenly appeared from across the hall.

“ROHAN!”

Kabir called out instantly.

The groom turned and immediately broke into a grin.

“Finally!”

The two hugged tightly.

Real warmth.

Real history.

Riya watched quietly.

And for the first time fully understood something:

Kabir belonged somewhere too.

Not just in missions.

Not just in shadows and operations and survival.

Here.

Among people who laughed louder around him.

People who knew him before pain sharpened him into discipline.

Rohan pulled back and looked at Riya instantly.

“So, this is the RIYA.”

Kabir sighed dramatically. “Not you too.”

Rohan ignored him completely and folded his hands warmly.

Riya congratulated the groom, and handed him the bouquet and gift they had brought for the couple.

“Thank you. And thank you.”

Riya blinked. “What is the second thank you for?”

Rohan smiled faintly.

“First for being here, and second, for making him happy.”

That landed softly.

Dangerously softly.

Kabir immediately looked away.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Enough emotions. You’re getting married, not dying.”

Rohan laughed loudly.

“Still emotionally stunted. Good.”

The wedding rituals began slowly.

Beautifully.

The hall quieted in waves.

Relatives settled. Priests chanted.

Riya sat beside Kabir now.

Closer than before.

And gradually-

Something in him changed.

Not visibly at first.

Just quieter.

The teasing faded.

The constant sarcasm softened.

His attention stayed fixed ahead.

Watching. Absorbing.

“The bride will come now”, Varun told Riya as the antarpat rose while soft shehnai floated through the air like memory itself.

The bride entered beneath a phoolon ki chaadar while women ululated softly.

The groom smiled nervously.

Families cried discreetly.

Someone’s uncle cried very openly.

And Kabir…

Kabir watched like a starving man seeing warmth through a window.

Riya noticed eventually.

Not because he moved.

Because he stopped moving.

His hand had found hers unconsciously at some point.

Fingers intertwined slowly.

Tightly.

Not romance.

Anchoring.

She glanced sideways at him.

His eyes remained fixed ahead.

The mangalashtak began.

The crowd showered akshata.

Laughter broke when the bride tried to garland the groom first.

Someone shouted advice.

Someone shouted louder advice.

And Kabir smiled.

Softly.

The kind of smile that almost never reached his face anymore.

Riya’s chest tightened unexpectedly.

Because she realized-

He wasn’t just enjoying this.

He was feeling it.

Deeply.

Beside them, one of the friends leaned closer to Riya and whispered helpfully,

“Now they’ll do the pheras.”

Riya nodded quietly.

“The seven promises,” another explained warmly. “Not just husband-wife things. Partnership things.”

Kabir heard that.

His grip tightened slightly around her hand.

Partnership.

The word settled somewhere dangerous inside him.

The pheras began slowly around the sacred fire.

And something happened to Kabir then.

Something nobody noticed fully.

Not even Riya.

Because outwardly, he remained calm.

Still. Quiet.

But internally-

Doors began opening.

Small ones first.

Then larger ones.

Things he had buried years ago.

A home.

Laughter in kitchens.

Someone waiting for him to return.

Festivals.

Arguments over curtains.

Tiny domestic chaos.

Belonging.

He had spent so long surviving that he had never allowed himself to stand still long enough to want.

Wanting was dangerous.

Wanting meant attachment.

Attachment meant loss.

And yet-

Tonight, watching a friend begin a life instead of merely continue one…

Kabir felt something bloom anyway.

A fragile thing.

Hope.

He looked at Rohan smiling helplessly at his bride.

At families gathering around them.

At rituals older than memory itself binding people together in front of fire and witnesses and gods.

And then slowly-

Very slowly-

His eyes shifted towards Riya.

Still listening attentively to his friends explain rituals.

Still adjusting her saree every six minutes like it was an unstable structure.

Still beautiful enough to physically disrupt him.

And suddenly-

Without permission-

His mind betrayed him.

Riya beside a mandap.

Riya laughing beneath wedding flowers.

Sindoor. Mangalsutra.

A home where no one had to leave at dawn.

Where goodbye wasn’t built into loving her.

The thought hit him so hard he actually stopped breathing for a second.

Because this wasn’t fantasy anymore.

This wasn’t stolen warmth anymore.

This was permanence.

And for the first time in years,
Kabir wanted it.

With her.

The realization terrified him quietly.

Because he had never belonged to anything long enough to imagine forever.

Orphanages taught you early:

Nothing stays.

No one stays.

And yet this woman beside him-

This impossible woman who had stepped into his world piece by piece without ever asking him to become smaller-

Made him greedy for things he had never dared touch.

Family. Ritual. Roots.

A future.

Riya looked at him then.

Immediately noticing the difference.

“What?” she whispered softly.

Kabir blinked once.

Like waking up.

“Nothing.”

Lie.

Small. Fragile.

She studied him carefully.

Because something had changed.

She didn’t know what exactly.

Only that his eyes looked softer than before.

Quieter.

Like some battle inside him had paused.

The sindoor ritual began.

The bride lowered her gaze slightly.

The groom’s hands trembled faintly while filling her maang.

The hall erupted into applause.

And beside Riya-

Kabir’s thumb brushed once against the back of her hand unconsciously.

Almost reverently.

Riya felt it.

Her heartbeat shifted strangely.

Not fast.

Just… deeper.

The friends nearby kept talking cheerfully.

Explaining customs.

Joking. Laughing.

But Kabir barely heard them anymore.

Because somewhere between sacred fire and wedding vows-

He had accidentally started imagining a life he would no longer know how to walk away from.

And that frightened him almost as much as it healed him.

Beside him, Riya leaned lightly against his shoulder.

Happy simply because he was happy.

Still unaware that tonight had planted something irreversible inside him.

A beginning.

Quiet. Sacred. Dangerous.

The kind that changes a man slowly from the inside out.

--

The apartment was too quiet.

Not peaceful quiet.

The other kind.

The kind that leaves a man alone with his own head.

Arjun shut the door behind him harder than necessary.

The sound echoed once.

Then settled.

Just like everything else eventually did.

Except tonight, nothing inside him seemed interested in settling.

He loosened the collar of his kurta sharply and walked straight towards the cabinet.

No pause. No thought.

Just habit.

A glass.

Bottle uncapped.

Amber liquid poured with mechanical precision.

The first sip burned.

Good.

At least something felt familiar.

He leaned both palms against the counter for a second, head lowered.

And instantly-

Pink.

Gajra.

A glimpse through flying gulal.

Riya.

His jaw tightened violently.

“No.”

The word came out low.

Immediate.

Like a refusal.

Not to her.

To himself.

Because Rathore was right.

It couldn’t have been her.

He had forgotten to invite her.

Forgotten completely.

Which meant-

He had imagined her.

Imagined her so vividly that his heartbeat had nearly stopped in the middle of a crowd.

His grip tightened around the glass.

That was the part bothering him most.

Not the mistake.

The reaction.

The way time had frozen.

The way his chest had tightened the moment he saw that pink saree.

The way he had looked at her-

No.

Not looked.

Reached.

Like something inside him had moved before thought could stop it.

And Rathore had seen it.

That made it worse.

Much worse.

Arjun took another drink immediately.

Longer this time.

But his mind betrayed him again.

Riya.

Turning through color and noise.

The impossible softness of that one second.

The way her name had left his mouth.

Breathless. Raw.

Like weakness.

Like want.

His expression hardened instantly.

He shoved the glass aside and walked towards the balcony sharply.

Night air hit his face.

Did nothing.

His pulse still hadn’t fully settled.

Pathetic.

That word came quick.

Cold.

Necessary.

Because what exactly had happened back there?

He had seen a woman in a crowd and forgotten himself for a second.

Forgotten training. Forgotten control. Forgotten reality.

All because some reckless part of him had wanted it to beher.

Wanted.

That thought disgusted him immediately.

Arjun shut his eyes briefly.

And saw her again anyway.

Laughing in the office.

Arguing. Stubborn. Bright.

Alive in places he had spent years keeping dead inside himself.

He opened his eyes instantly and turned back inside.

Enough.

He needed grounding.

Reality.

Something solid.

Something that reminded him who he actually was.

His gaze shifted towards the shelf near the wall.

Roshni’s photograph stood there quietly.

Still untouched by time.

Still capable of destroying him in silence.

Arjun stared at it for a long moment.

Then walked closer.

His fingers brushed the edge of the frame once.

Carefully. Reverently.

This was real.

Not hallucinations in crowds.

Not dangerous distractions.

This.

Loss.

Ashes.

Blood.

Promises carved from grief.

His eyes shifted lower.

To the file beneath.

He forced his thoughts to Sikander.

Jamaal. The island. The bullet. The rage.

That night returned instantly.

Hot. Violent.

Jamaal collapsing.

Him pulling the trigger again.

And again.

Not because he needed to.

Because he wanted to.

His jaw clenched.

Good.

That version of himself made sense.

That man he understood.

A weapon. A wound.

A man too ruined to deserve softness.

Too damaged to build a life around anything except revenge.

He picked up the glass again immediately.

Another drink.

Then another.

Trying to drown the rest.

But alcohol failed him tonight too.

Because even through the burn-

The memory returned anyway.

Pink.
Noise.
One impossible second.

Arjun shut his eyes hard.

Enough.

He reached for his phone abruptly.

One name.

No hesitation.

Kabir.

The call rang.

And rang.

No answer.

His jaw shifted.

He called again.

Nothing.

Again.

Still nothing.

A strange irritation crawled beneath his skin.

Not because Kabir missed the calls.

Because tonight felt wrong.

Everything felt slightly off balance.

He opened the message screen finally.

Typed.

“When do we meet next?”

Sent.

No reply came.

Arjun stared at the screen.

The silence felt deliberate.
That sharpened something instinctive inside him.

Avoidance. Distance.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

Still no reply.

That irritated him more than it should have.

Arjun tossed the phone onto the table sharply and leaned back into the couch.

The room tilted faintly.
Alcohol.
Exhaustion.
Maybe both.

Another drink disappeared into the glass.

Then another.

The alcohol softened edges.

But not thoughts.

Because somewhere underneath the numbness-

His heart still remembered that single second in the crowd.

And worse-

It remembered how badly it had wanted it to be real.

That frightened him more than Jamaal’s blood ever had.

Because enemies made sense.

Revenge made sense.

Pain made sense.

But this-

This unbearable pull towards something living and warm and dangerous-

Threatened everything he had built to survive.

Arjun looked towards Roshni’s photograph again.

Then away immediately.

Like guilt itself had taken shape.

“You don’t get this,” he muttered quietly into theempty room.

Not anger.

Sentence.

“You don’t get this.”

Another drink.

Another attempt at silence.

Outside, the city kept moving.

Inside, Arjun Rawte sat alone in dim light, drowning his heartbeat beneath alcohol because accepting what it wanted felt far more terrifying than death ever had.

--

The moment the hotel room door unlocked-

Riya vanished.

Not walked.

Vanished.

Kabir barely had time to push the door open before she shot past him like someone being chased by ghosts.

Straight into the washroom.

The door slammed shut behind her.

And from inside came-

“Oh, THANK GOD.”

Kabir closed the room door slowly behind himself.

Then laughed.

Not loudly.

Just helplessly.

Because honestly?

Fair.

Completely fair.

He slipped off his watch, placing it on the side table carefully while unbuttoning his kurta.

His shoulders ached pleasantly.

His cheeks still hurt slightly from smiling too much today.

And somewhere deep inside him, the warmth from the wedding still lingered stubbornly.

The rituals.

Her hand in his.

Her beside his people.

The way she hadn’t objected to ‘bhabhi’ even once.

Dangerous memories.

Very dangerous.

The washroom door burst open again.

Kabir looked up instinctively.

And blinked.

Because the transformation was genuinely impressive.

The elaborate nauvari saree?

Gone.

The gajra?

Gone.

The nath?

Gone.

In their place-

His oversized black T-shirt hanging off one shoulder.

Tiny shorts.

Bare feet.

Completely unbothered hair.

And the expression of a woman who had returned from war.

Riya walked straight past him with zero grace left in herbody.

“I can’t believe I have survived,” she declaredweakly.

Then immediately face-planted onto the bed.

Kabir stared at her for two seconds.

Then burst out laughing again.

“Mature response.”

“I’m not listening to criticism from the man who almost cried at a friend’s wedding, that too during the vidaai.”

Kabir froze.

“…I did not.”

“The bride’s parents looked less sad.”

“I wasn’t that sad!”

She stretched one arm towards him blindly from the bed, while controlling her smile.

“Come here, you senti Dulhan.”

Kabir’s heart almost stopped.

Which was becoming a serious health issue around her.

Because Riya initiating affection was still deeply unfair to his nervous system.

He walked over slowly, placing her saree he had been folding,on the chair.

Still smiling faintly.

Still in his ivory kurta.

The moment he reached the bed; she grabbed his wrist dramatically and pulled.

Kabir stumbled forward with an undignified “Riya-”

And landed beside her.

She immediately curled into him like it was instinct.

Head on his chest.

Leg thrown over his.

Warm. Comfortable. Home.

Kabir’s entire brain shut down for half a second.

Because this woman-

This terrifying woman-

Had spent the entire day stepping deeper into his world without hesitation.

His people. His traditions. His memories. His joy.

And now she was lying on his chest in his T-shirt looking devastatingly soft while smelling faintly of mogra and exhaustion.

This should not have been allowed legally.

“You tired?” he asked quietly, brushing a loosestrand of hair away from her face.

Riya made a sleepy sound against his chest.

“Mhm.”

“How tired?”

“I fought a saree today, Kabir.”

Fair.

He chuckled softly.

Silence settled after that.

Not empty.

The kind that sinks comfortably into bones.

Riya’s fingers lazily traced the embroidery near his kurta collar.

“You looked very happy today,” she murmured softly.

Kabir’s hand paused briefly against her back.

He looked down at her.

She hadn’t lifted her head.

Hadn’t looked at him while saying it.

Just said it quietly.

Like fact.

“I was,” he admitted after a moment.

Her lips curved faintly against his chest.

“I know.”

That should not have affected him so much.

But it did.

Because she had noticed.

Not the obvious things.

The real things.

The parts he himself had barely understood.

His fingers moved slowly through her hair.

Then, casually-

“Would you ever wear a saree again?”

Riya lifted her head just enough to look at him.

Sleepy eyes.

Soft face.

No teasing this time.

“Anytime and every time you ask me to.”

Kabir forgot how breathing worked.

Again.

At this point his lungs deserved compensation.

Something in his expression shifted instantly.

Too open. Too vulnerable.

And Riya noticed immediately.

“Oh no,” she murmured. “That affected you emotionally.”

“You can’t say things like that casually.”

“You literally watched me almost collapse in public because of that saree.”

“And I’d still ask again.”

Her smile softened slowly.

God.

That smile.

Kabir looked away briefly, pressing a kiss against her forehead before his emotions embarrassed him publicly.

Riya snuggled closer immediately.

Possessive little thing.

“I still can’t believe Pihu didn’t like you.”

Kabir looked offended instantly.

“She doesn’t just dislike me, she hates me. That child is territorial.”

Riya burst out laughing.

Kabir narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

“You enjoyed it.”

“She loves me.”

“She challenged me.”

“She’s six.”

“She wanted me gone.”

Riya laughed harder now.

Kabir sighed dramatically.

“And you,” he accused quietly, “encouraged her.”

“I did not.”

“You literally let her slap my hand away.”

Kabir looked genuinely betrayed.

Riya pinched his cheek affectionately.

“You were jealous of a child.”

“I was displaced.”

“You were jealous.”

“She kept stealing my girlfriend.”

Riya grinned lazily. “Girlfriend.”

Kabir blinked once.

Then groaned softly.

“Don’t repeat words in that tone.”

“What tone?”

“That soft one.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is.”

She laughed again quietly.

And God-

He could stay inside this sound forever.

After a moment, she tilted her head up again.

“Your friends love you.”

Kabir made a face immediately. “Those traitors?”

“They adore you.”

“They publicly humiliated me.”

“They also think I’m fictional.”

Kabir sighed into the pillow. “Do I talk too much?”

“You carry my photo during missions, sorry, laminated photo.”

Silence.

Kabir stared at the ceiling.

“…In my defense-”

“There is no defense.”

“That’s a nice photo.”

Riya actually covered her face laughing now.

“And mood analysis?” she continued accusingly.

“You use punctuations and emojis aggressively.”

“Oh my God.”

“You do.”

She shoved his shoulder weakly while laughing.

Kabir smiled into her hair quietly.

Happy.

So stupidly happy.

After a moment, her voice softened again.

“The wedding was beautiful.”

Kabir nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

The word came quieter this time.

Different.

His hand tightened slightly around her waist unconsciously.

Riya noticed the shift again.

Subtle.

But there.

“You really liked the rituals,” she murmured.

Kabir looked at her for a second longer than necessary.

Then smiled faintly.

“I liked seeing everyone happy.”

Not fully true.

Not fully false either.

Riya studied him carefully.

Like she could sense there was more beneath the answer.

But she didn’t push.

Instead, she kissed his jaw softly and settled back onto his chest again.

That somehow hurt him emotionally even more.

After a while, she yawned dramatically.

“Okay,” she mumbled. “Now change.”

Kabir blinked. “Hm?”

Then rubbed his neck once.

“I actually have to go out for a bit later.”

Riya looked up immediately.

“With your friends?”

Kabir nodded.

“They’re all in town after the wedding.”

He was lying to her, again, but Kabir’s face stayed easy.

Controlled.

“Okay! You should go.”

Kabir narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” she explained wisely, “you are permitted temporary freedom.”

“How generous.”

“Be back soon.”

He smiled. “I will.”

“And no getting drunk and emotional.”

“I don’t get emotional.”

“Yeah,” Riya replied dryly.

Kabir reconsidered.

She poked his chest lazily.

Then she suddenly sat up halfway.

“Oh God-”

“What?”

“I have to call Sonali Di.”

Kabir winced slightly.

“…Right.”

“We literally abandoned Ganpati.”

“We got emotionally kidnapped by your saree and my friends.”

“She’s going to kill me.”

“She likes you too much.”

“She will kill you then.”

“Fair.”

Riya reached for her phone while falling backwards dramatically onto the mattress again.

Kabir finally stood up properly.

The kurta came off next.

He changed into dark jeans and a black T-shirt casually while she ordered ice cream with the seriousness of emergency medical care.

“One death by chocolate.” she muttered into thephone. “No, two!”

Kabir looked over immediately.

“Two?”

“I’m healing.”

“From?”

“The saree.”

Reasonable.

Entirely reasonable.

By the time the order was placed, Kabir was ready.

Riya had already cocooned herself inside the blanket again.

His T-shirt swallowing her whole.

Hair everywhere.

Phone in hand.

Ice cream emotionally awaited.

Kabir stood there for a second longer than necessary just looking at her.

The domesticity of it hit him suddenly.

Hard. Dangerously hard.

This.

This exact thing.

Coming back to someone.

Being expected back.

Soft clothes.

Shared exhaustion.

Tiny conversations that meant nothing and somehow everything.

His chest tightened strangely.

Riya looked up immediately.

“What?”

Kabir blinked once.

Then walked back to the bed, bent down, and kissed her forehead slowly.

“Nothing,” he murmured.

Lie.

Again.

Riya smiled softly anyway.

“Go,” she whispered. “And be back soon.”

Kabir smiled faintly.

Then finally headed towards the door.

And behind him-

Riya curled deeper into the blanket, already dialling Sonali while waiting for sugar and comfort and Kabir to come back home to her.

--

Night had finally settled over Rathore House.

Not quietly.

Exhaustedly.

The marigolds drooped slightly now. Diyas had burnt lower. Half the sweet boxes sat open on the dining table like casualties of celebration. Somewhere in the distance, faint dhol beats still floated through the city, softer now, tired with devotion.

Inside the bedroom, Pihu had surrendered dramatically to sleep across the middle of the bed.

Still wearing one sock.

Still clutching half a modak in her hand.

Sonali stood near the cupboard folding clothes while Sameer sat at the edge of the bed removing his watch with the slow movements of a man whose soul had officially clocked out hours ago.

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

Just breathed through the silence of finally being done.

Then Sonali looked towards him.

“You know what the best part of today was?”

Sameer hummed tiredly. “Surviving it?”

“No.” She smiled faintly. “Everything actually went well.”

That made him pause.

Because she was right.

No disaster. No broken mandir.

No electrical failure. No fight between relatives.

No emergency calls dragging them away midway.

By their standards, it had practically been divine intervention.

Sameer leaned back slightly on his palms. “Miracle.”

Sonali laughed softly under her breath.

Then sighed.

“My friend came today.”

Sameer frowned, trying to remember through the mental fog.

“O yeah, she was supposed to be here today.”

She threw a towel at him.

“You didn’t even meet her.”

“I barely met my own house today.”

“That’s not the point,” Sonali muttered, still folding clothes. “She stayed for almost two hours and still couldn’t meet you.”

Sameer winced faintly. “Sorry.”

“Shree and Chotu were here too. But your team’s new joinee didn’t come?”

That made him look up immediately.

“Yeah. I forgot.”

Sonali stared at him.

“You forgot what?”

“I never officially invited her.” He rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I told Rawte. Then the DSP thing happened, work happened, chaos happened…” He exhaled sharply. “I completely forgot.”

Sonali watched him for a second.

The room quietened again after that.

Pihu shifted in sleep between them, mumbling something aggressively about modaks before going still again.

Sameer’s expression softened automatically.

Then, quieter now, Sonali asked,

“Arjun left all of a sudden today after you brought in Bappa. He looked lost. Is he okay?”

That question lingered differently in the room.

Because with Arjun, nothing was ever answered casually anymore.

Sameer leaned back against the headboard slowly.

Thinking.

“He was…” He searched for the word. “Present.”

Sonali looked at him carefully.

“That’s rare.”

“Very.”

He looked towards the closed bedroom door absentmindedly, like his thoughts had wandered elsewhere completely.

“I saw something strange today.”

Sonali waited.

Sameer spoke slowly now.

“Not strange maybe.” A pause. “Just… new.”

She sat beside him properly this time.

“What happened?”

Sameer rubbed his thumb absently against the edge of hiswatch.

“There was a moment during the procession.” His brows pulled together slightly, remembering it. “For one second, he looked…”He exhaled softly. “Alive.”

Sonali frowned faintly.

“Alive?”

“You know what I mean.”

And she did.

Because Arjun Rawte had spent years functioning like a man surviving instead of living.

Duty. Revenge. Anger. Silence.

Everything else buried somewhere too deep to touch.

Sameer looked ahead quietly.

“I think…” He stopped midway.

Then tried again.

“I think he’s finally starting to look towards someone again.”

Sonali’s expression changed immediately.

Not shock.

Carefulness.

Hope was a dangerous thing around broken people.

“He would never admit it,” Sameer continued quietly. “Forget admit. He’d rather fight God himself than say it aloud.”

A faint smile tugged weakly at Sonali’s lips.

“That sounds accurate.”

“But I know him.” Sameer’s voice softened further. “And lately…” He paused. “There are moments where he forgets to stay empty.”

That sentence sat heavily between them.

Because both of them knew what it had taken for Arjun to survive the last few years.

And what it would cost him to finally let himself feel anything again.

Sonali rested her head lightly against Sameer’s shoulder.

“Do you think he’ll allow himself to move on?”

Sameer went quiet for a long moment.

Outside, somewhere far away, another faint chant of Ganpati Bappa Morya drifted through the night air.

Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t know.”

Honest.

Tired.

“But maybe…” His gaze lowered toward sleeping Pihu. “Maybe he’s getting tired of carrying everything alone.”

Sonali’s fingers curled loosely around his hand.

“He deserves love. But more than that… peace.”

Sameer gave a humorless smile.

“He wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“Still.”

“I just don’t wanthim to lose himself completely before life gives him another reason to stay.”

Sameer looked down quietly after that.

Because somewhere deep down, beneath all the irritation and old wounds and unfinished history-

Arjun was still family.

Broken. Infuriating.

Stubborn beyond reason.

But family.

And for the first time in years, Sameer had seen something dangerous in his eyes today.

Not rage. Not revenge.

Want.

The kind that scared men like Arjun the most.

--

The hotel corridor was quiet again by the time Kabir stepped out.

Too quiet after the kind of day they had just survived.

The moment he reached the parking lot, something inside him tightened.

Fast. Hard.

Kabir unlocked the SUV, slid into the driver’s seat, and shut the door.

Silence.

Then instantly-

His expression changed.

The warmth disappeared first.
Then the ease.

His jaw hardened as he pulled out his phone immediately.

Sid.

Calling…

Ringing…

Nothing.

Kabir frowned and called again.

Switched off.

That made his stomach drop.

No.

Sid never switched his phone off during active movement.
Never.
Not after establishing contact.

Kabir opened the messages quickly.

Location shared.

The wedding venue.

Because that had been the plan.

Crowded public place.
No suspicion.
Meet quietly.
Move later.

Except Sid never showed up.

Kabir’s eyes darkened slightly.

Something was wrong.

His thumb moved quickly across the screen.

Kabir:
Where are you?

Kabir:
Pick up.

Kabir:
Sid.

Delivered.
Not seen.

His grip tightened around the phone.

Think.

Possibility of surveillance.
Possibility of exposure.

The phone vibrated suddenly in his hand.

Arjun calling.
Again.

Kabir stared at the screen for half a second too long.

Arjun had called too many times today.

And men like Arjun Rawte did not repeat actions without instinct getting involved somewhere.

The phone continued vibrating.

Kabir exhaled once through his nose.
Then answered.

“Hi… ACP. What’s up?”

Silence for two seconds.

Then Arjun’s voice came low and rough through the speaker.

“You sound delighted.”

Drunk. Heavily.

Kabir closed his eyes briefly.

Fantastic.

“You called me seventeen times.”

“Nineteen.”

“You counted?”

“I was bored.”

Despite everything, the corner of Kabir’s mouth twitched briefly.

“Alcohol and honesty,” he muttered. “Dangerous combination.”

Arjun ignored that completely.

For a moment, silence settled between them.

Not awkward.
Never awkward.

The kind built over months of operations, bullets, coded conversations, and trusting each other with their backs long before they trusted each other with words.

Then Arjun spoke again.

Too casually.

“When are we visiting the mall next?”

Kabir went still.

There it was.

The code.
The mall. The mission.
The next move.

Kabir stared ahead through the windshield, eyes sharpening slightly.

“Not anytime soon,” he said evenly. “We don’t need more clothes right now.”

Silence.

Tiny. Sharp.

On the other end, Arjun said nothing immediately.

And somehow, that worried Kabir more than questions would have.

Because Arjun’s instincts never arrived loudly.

They arrived quietly.

Like pressure before a storm.

“You sure?” Arjun asked finally.

Still calm.
Still drunk.
Still sounding casual enough that most people would miss it completely.

Kabir kept his tone steady.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“You sound tired.”

“Hm. Long day.”

Easy answer.
Normal answer.

Too normal.

And that was enough.

Arjun leaned back slowly against the couch, glass loose in his hand now.

Kabir was pretending everything was fine.

He was good at it too.

That was the problem.

Men trained to survive suspicion learned very early how to hear the difference between silence and concealment.

And lately, Kabir had started choosing his words too carefully around the mission.

Small pauses.
Tiny redirects.
Answers polished a second too smooth.

Nothing obvious.

But Arjun noticed anyway.

That irritated him more than it should have.

Because Kabir was one of the very few people Arjun never second-guessed during operations.

Not after everything they had survived together.

And yet tonight, something about this conversation felt measured.

Controlled.

Like Kabir was deciding how much truth to hand over before speaking.

Arjun said nothing about it.

Just listened.

Because somewhere beneath the irritation sat another truth he disliked far more:

Without Kabir, he had no path to Sikander.

Kabir was the lead.
The bridge.
The only thread still moving.

And Arjun knew it.

Knew it enough to feel vaguely disgusted with himself for using him like this.

Using people came easily during operations.

This didn’t feel like that.

Which somehow made it worse.

On the other end, Kabir’s fingers tightened unconsciously around the steering wheel.

Arjun had noticed something.

Not facts.
Not details.

But enough.

And Kabir hated that more than he wanted to admit.

Because once upon a time, he would have trusted Arjun blindly in situations far worse than this.

Then the island happened.

And Kabir had watched something in Arjun change that night.

Not visibly.
Not in ways anyone else would probably notice.

But since then, operations around him had started feeling sharper somehow.

Less predictable.

Like there were moments where Arjun stopped pulling himself back in time.

The memory flashed briefly behind his eyes again.

Blood.
Gunfire.
Jamaal collapsing.

And Arjun continuing long after the mission had already ended.

Kabir’s grip tightened harder.

He respected Arjun.
Trusted his instincts. Trusted his skill.

Hell, part of him would still trust the man with his lifewithout hesitation.

But missions survived on control.

And lately, for the first time, instinct had started replacing certainty.

That bothered him deeply.

Because this wasn’t just about protocol anymore.

People like Sid were inside this operation now.

Lives rested on decisions made in seconds.

And Kabir no longer knew whether Arjun’s investment in the mission ended at Jamaal…
or somewhere far more personal.

The silence stretched again.

“Heard from your tailor?” Arjun asked casually.

Code again.

Sid.

Kabir’s head tilted faintly.

Too close.

But his voice remained easy. Controlled.

“No.”

Immediate answer.

Arjun’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

There.

So, the problem wasn’t imaginary.

Outside the windshield, the parking lot lights flickered faintly.

Every instinct inside him screamed movement.

Find Sid.
Now.

But Arjun was listening too carefully tonight.

“Kabir.”

The tone changed slightly.

Quieter.
Cleaner beneath the alcohol.

Kabir’s jaw hardened faintly.

“Yeah?”

Then simply-

“Nothing. Good night.”

The call disconnected.

Kabir stared at the dark screen afterwards for a long moment.

Tense. Thinking.

Because neither of them had said anything openly.

Not really.

But something had shifted anyway.

Arjun had started noticing spaces where trust used to feel effortless.

And Kabir, for the first time, had started choosing caution where instinctive faith once existed.

Kabir leaned back slowly against the seat after the call ended.

For a brief second, exhaustion pressed hard behind his eyes.

Because this wasn’t simple anymore.

Not after the island.
Not after watching Arjun lose himself like that.

Kabir respected him.

Maybe more than he respected most people.

Arjun was still the man he would choose beside him in a fire fight without needing a second thought.

But operations could not survive emotions men refused to acknowledge.

And whatever Arjun was carrying now, grief, rage, obsession, guilt, something worse, it had started bleeding into the mission.

That made him dangerous.

Not unreliable.

Dangerous.

Kabir rubbed a hand slowly across his face.

Because the cruel part was:

he didn’t want to shut Arjun out.

He wanted answers.

Something honest enough to explain why a man like Arjun Rawte had started looking at this mission like survival instead of duty.

Because until that happened,
Kabir couldn’t afford to trust blindly anymore.

Not with the mission.
Not with his people.
Not with lives resting on unstable decisions.

And somewhere else across the city,

Arjun sat alone with a half-empty glass and a growing certainty settling coldly inside his chest.

Kabir was moving ahead without him.

Maybe carefully.
Maybe for reasons Arjun didn’t fully understand yet.

But distance had entered the operation now.

And Arjun could feel it.

His jaw tightened slowly.

No.

He wouldn’t allow that.

Not when Kabir was still his only real path to Sikander.

His only lead.
His only opening.
His only chance to finally finish what had started years ago.

The thought should have felt tactical.

Instead, guilt crawled beneath it quietly.

Because Kabir trusted him.

And somewhere along the way,
Arjun had started depending on that trust while still using the man attached to it.

That realization sat ugly in his chest.

But not ugly enough to stop him.

Not now.

Not when revenge was finally beginning to move again.

Because fractures between men like them never arrived with explosions.

They arrived in pauses.

In instincts.

In the things left unsaid.

--

Author’s Note:

This chapter was written in a bit of a whirlwind honestly 🌙
A lot of random late-night typing, emotional damage, saree warfare, and me staring at walls over fictional men refusing to communicate properly.

So now I’m nervously handing it over to you guys 👀

Tell me how the chapter felt using a colour:

🩷 Pink → soft longing / warmth / belonging
🧡 Orange → chaos / devotion / festival energy
💛 Yellow → hope / healing / beginnings
❤️ Red → love becoming dangerous
🖤 Black → hidden truths / emotional spirals
💙 Blue → grief / silence / things left unsaid
💚 Green → growth / second chances
🤍 White → peace before the storm

And tell me WHY you picked that colour because I really want to know what stayed with you after this chapter 🥹

Also:
Who won today’s chaos Olympics?
• Kabir & Riya vs the saree
• Pihu vs Kabir
• Arjun vs his own heartbeat
• Sonali vs the entire festival
• Kabir’s friends exposing him publicly

See you in the next chapter ✨