Mohabbat ke Safed Raaste ~ A Mayra Five-Shot [Completed] - Page 2

I'm curious about Rudra's backstory now and I can't help but think that there's some connection between Rudra's mom and Maya.

Chapter 3 (Shadows and Reflections)

Shadows Across Snow

MJ Roy’s office was a cathedral of glass and silence, broken only by the faint clink of ice in his whiskey. The city stretched below him, restless and bright, but his attention was fixed on the man seated across from him—his investigator.

“Speak,” MJ said, tone clipped, leaving no room for hesitation.

“She’s careful, sir. Works as a taxi driver. No family mentioned. Locals say she keeps to herself. Doesn’t mingle.” The man paused, lowering his voice. “But your son? He’s drawn to her. Tonight, they went to the lake. Just the two of them.”

MJ’s jaw tightened, lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “A frozen lake under the stars? How cinematic.” He swirled his glass slowly. “But cinema ends when the lights come up. Find out everything—where she lives, who she speaks to, what she hides. Any weakness, I’ll use it.”

“Already in motion, sir,” the man replied.

MJ leaned back, voice low and dangerous. “Good. Because the mountains won’t protect them. And when Rudra falls, he won’t be the only one to bleed.”

He dismissed the man with a flick of his hand, already plotting, already twisting Rudra’s future like a marionette string.

Echoes of the Lake

Maya’s room above the jeep garage was small but neat. She had tossed her shawl onto the chair, left her boots by the door, yet the night clung to her like a restless shadow.

She paced once, twice, then stopped at the cracked window. Outside, the town slept beneath a blanket of snow, chimneys smoking faintly, the market’s laughter faded. But her chest wasn’t still.

Her fingers brushed her cheek where Rudra’s hand had lingered, brushing away a snowflake. She cursed herself for remembering. He’s just another passenger. A spoiled city boy who’ll leave when he’s bored.

But the image of the frozen lake rose again—shimmering under the stars, silvered by the moon. His words echoed: “Sometimes the moment itself is enough. Even if it’s fleeting.”

She pressed her palms against the cold sill, eyes hard, though her reflection betrayed her. Behind the guarded stare flickered something fragile, something dangerous—hope. And that frightened her more than the storms outside.

Rudra at the Lodge

Across town, the lodge lay wrapped in silence, hallways dark except for the porch lantern. Rudra lay stretched on the narrow bed, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Sleep didn’t come.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the lake—the stars mirrored off the ice, Maya’s hair catching snowflakes, the brief softness in her eyes before she rebuilt her walls.

She doesn’t see MJ Roy’s son. She just sees me.

The thought warmed him more than the quilt. For once, he didn’t feel like an heir carrying a family name. He felt like… Rudra. Just Rudra. And that was enough.

Still, doubt lingered. He knew the world he came from. And he could sense Maya carried shadows of her own. Could fleeting moments survive reality?

His hand drifted over the nightstand where a candle burned low. He hummed softly, unsteady—“Chaha Tujhe Dil Ne Mere…”—until the flame guttered, leaving him in darkness.

The Watcher in the Shadows

Outside, a figure shifted deeper into the trees. The investigator’s eyes stayed fixed on the lodge window, phone in hand, breath clouding the cold air.

“Sir,” he whispered, “the boy hasn’t slept. He keeps looking out at the snow. The girl is in her quarters. I’ll keep watch.”

MJ’s voice bled through like steel wrapped in velvet: “Good. Don’t blink. Not for a second.”

The man pocketed his phone, fading into shadow as the storm thickened around Manali.

Pulled Toward the Unknown

Maya lay awake long after, her bed untouched. She turned toward the shadowy outline of the mountains, snow glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. Her chest tightened with a pull she couldn’t name, a sense that her life was no longer entirely her own.

It was as if something vast, inevitable, had begun. And she couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard she tried.

Morning Routine, Fractured

First light filtered through thin curtains, dusting the floor with gold. Steam rose from her morning chai, curling lazily in the quiet. She moved through her routine with mechanical precision—sweeping, checking tires, arranging the small counter. Each motion silenced the memory of the lake and Rudra’s words.

“Focus on work. Don’t think. Just do,” she muttered, stirring the chai, spoon clinking against the clay cup.

Outside, the snow crusted into sparkling white. Birds flitted between pines, but the mountains felt vast, empty, waiting. Maya tried to convince herself the lake, the night, and Rudra were fragments of a story already closed.

Then the jeep’s engine rumbled, faint but unmistakable.

Her heart stumbled.

Through the garage door, Rudra appeared, boots crunching on frost. The jacket he had draped over his shoulder last night now hung neatly, but the mischievous glint in his eyes had not dimmed.

“Good morning,” he said casually, voice teasing. “Thought I’d check if the mountains are treating you kindly.”

Maya froze, hands gripping the broom. “Rudra… I—”

“Relax,” he said, raising his hands, grinning. “I come in peace. No detours, no cliff threats.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line. She wanted to brush him off, remind herself her fragile equilibrium didn’t need him intruding. Yet the corner of her resolve frayed.

“Why are you here?” she asked, sharper than her pulse allowed.

“Curiosity,” he said lightly. “And maybe… to see if you were really going to disappear into the mountains like you pretend every day.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t turn away. The words were an unspoken challenge. His presence disrupted the careful order of her morning.

“You can’t just keep showing up,” she said, voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.

Rudra tilted his head, studying her. “Can’t I?”

Silence fell, punctuated by the whistle of wind through the pines and snow crunching under boots. Maya’s mind raced, recalling the frozen lake, the brush of his hand, the song he hummed—all the fragments she had tried to tuck away.

She shook her head, telling herself she could still control this. “I have work. Rules. You don’t just stroll into someone’s life without notice.”

He smirked, leaning against the jeep. “Maybe rules are meant to be tested.”

For the first time since the night at the lake, Maya felt her walls waver. The mountains were silent witnesses; the snow sparkled in quiet judgment. Deep inside, she realized she didn’t want to hide from him—not entirely.

Disrupted Routine

Maya set down the broom, trying to focus on the jeeps. Rudra followed quietly, leaning against the hood.

“You’re quiet this morning,” she muttered, avoiding his gaze. “Plotting something?”

“Just observing,” he said, eyes tracing the neat rows of vehicles. “You take pride in your work. It suits you.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she masked it behind a frown. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Oh, I think it already has,” he countered, smirking.

She ignored him, crouching to inspect a tire. Their hands brushed lightly—a heartbeat where the world shrank to that touch.

Maya jerked back, masking her pulse with a cough. “You… shouldn’t be here.”

“I keep hearing that. Yet here I am,” he said, teasing.

Before she could respond, a faint vibration broke the quiet—the distant buzz of a phone somewhere in the lodge. Rudra’s eyes flicked toward the mountains.

“It’s probably just the wind,” Maya said.

But somewhere in the shadows of the town, a phone line had already carried word back to Mumbai. MJ Roy’s investigator noted every movement, every interaction, cataloging it like prey.

Rudra rose, brushing snow from his jacket. “Well, I should let you work. Don’t want to ruin your perfect morning.”

Maya’s glare was sharp. “I don’t need… company.”

“You clearly do,” he said softly. “Even if you don’t admit it.”

She opened her mouth to protest but found no words strong enough. The warmth in her chest, the echo of the lake, the way the snow seemed to hold its breath—she couldn’t ignore it.

As he climbed into the jeep, she exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself. The mountains loomed silent, the wind carrying both snow and whispers of the storm to come. Far away, MJ Roy watched, his plans already shaping shadows over Manali.

Maya returned to her routine, hands shaking slightly as she worked. She didn’t know whether to feel exhilarated or wary—but she knew one thing: the fragile balance of her life had already been disrupted, and there was no easy way to restore it.

By midday, the sun had climbed higher, yet her thoughts kept drifting to the lake, to the jeep, to Rudra. Every sound—a footstep, a distant jingle—made her heart skip, reminding her she was no longer entirely in control.

In Mumbai, MJ Roy’s eyes gleamed as he reviewed his notes. Every detail, every interaction, every fleeting glance—cataloged. The moment to strike would come.

MJ Roy’s Maneuver

In his office, MJ Roy leaned back, eyes scanning multiple screens displaying Manali from angles both obvious and hidden. Every movement of Maya, every glance Rudra cast, was captured and cataloged. His fingers drummed lightly on the glass desk, a conductor orchestrating a symphony of observation and control.

“Status,” he said into the phone.

The investigator’s voice came, low, precise. “She leaves the jeep garage at dawn, follows a strict route for her rounds. She interacts with locals sparingly, keeps doors closed. Rudra shadows her every step. Their interaction is… intimate, though fleeting.”

MJ’s lips curved into a thin, controlled smile. “Good. And her vulnerabilities? Emotional attachments, habits, anyone she trusts?”

The investigator paused. “She trusts very few. Her defenses are high, but there are cracks… small ones. Moments of distraction, of hesitation. They surface when she’s alone, or when someone she doesn’t expect challenges her.”

“Perfect,” MJ murmured. His voice was almost velvet, but the threat underneath it was steel. “We’ll test those cracks carefully. Not with force, but with whispers. Subtle probes. Let her think the choices are hers, while we guide them.”

He flipped to another screen, observing Rudra laughing softly at something Maya said, her brow furrowing in irritation, the warmth between them undeniable. “Ah,” he whispered, “the boy has found fire. But fire is fragile. Too much wind, and it dies… or spreads where I want it to.”

“Instructions?” the investigator prompted.

“Continue the watch. Photograph her routine, note who she talks to, where she pauses, what she avoids. Send someone close, someone invisible, to test her reactions to… small crises. Nothing overt. Nothing she can trace back to us. I want her subtly unbalanced, her trust questioned, her attention pulled in ways that suit our purposes.”

“Yes, sir.”

MJ Roy leaned forward, eyes narrowing on the screen. “And Rudra… leave him tempted, let him linger in the warmth of her presence, unaware of the storm gathering around them. By the time he realizes, it will be too late to protect her. Or himself.”

He let the words hang, as precise and lethal as a scalpel. In his mind, control was not just a goal—it was the air he breathed.

Ripples in Manali

Maya’s hands trembled slightly as she swept the floor, trying to ignore the hum of unease in her chest. Something in the morning felt off, though she couldn’t name it. Rudra had left only minutes ago, yet the space he had occupied seemed charged, lingering like a ghost in the garage.

Her phone vibrated silently on the counter. A message flashed: “Check the supply order. Someone called for confirmation.”

Frowning, she noted the unfamiliar number, replying mechanically. But deep down, an unshakable sense of being observed prickled at her skin. The mountains outside seemed sharper, the shadows longer, as though they carried secrets meant for her alone.

Every small sound—the scrape of a boot on ice, a distant door, the wind shifting through the pines—felt amplified. She shook her head, attempting to dismiss it. Paranoia, she told herself. It’s just morning, just work.

But the unease lingered. Somewhere far away, in a city of glass towers, MJ Roy smiled as his plans unfolded exactly as he had envisioned.

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To be continued.

Chapter 4 (Whispers in the Snow)

The sun had climbed higher, yet Manali’s streets remained hushed under the crisp winter light. Maya moved through her morning chores with practiced precision, but something felt… off.

First, a missing delivery—supplies she had expected were nowhere to be found, though the order had been confirmed the night before. Then, a familiar taxi pulled up at the edge of the garage, engine off, empty. Snow crunched under invisible footsteps, yet no one was there.

Her pulse quickened. Maybe it’s nothing—just winter, just coincidence. But the small disruptions persisted. A note slipped under the garage door—handwritten, unsigned—reading: “You’re being watched.”

Maya froze, heart thundering. Her hands trembled as she tucked it into her pocket, trying to dismiss the dread curling through her chest. Even the jeeps seemed subtly altered—tires frostbitten, positions shifted. Someone was probing her life, pulling at the threads of her carefully ordered world. Rudra had left only hours ago, yet the feeling of intrusion lingered, sharper than the winter air.

Focus. Work. Don’t panic. But deep in her gut, a small, insistent voice whispered: No. This is deliberate.

Far away in Mumbai, MJ Roy sipped his whiskey, eyes flicking over surveillance feeds. Every reaction, every subtle shift in her routine, was exactly what he had anticipated. The storm around Maya was gathering—not with snow or wind, but with calculated, invisible pressure. And he was already several steps ahead.

Closer in the Cold

The late morning sun cast long shadows over Manali, yet the chill didn’t deter Rudra. He knocked at Maya’s garage door. She opened it to find him standing there, scarf loosely draped, a playful glint in his eyes.

“You promised no more surprise visits,” she said, though the edge in her voice was softened by something she didn’t quite want to name.

“I know,” he replied, leaning against a jeep. “But you didn’t say anything about accompanying me to the market. I need your expert opinion on which apples to pick.”

Maya hesitated, then sighed. “Fine. But just this once.”

They walked through the narrow, snow-dusted lanes, pointing out small details the other had never noticed—the curve of a rooftop, sunlight reflecting off frozen puddles, the scent of fresh bread from the bakery. Hours passed like minutes. They carried supplies for the garage together, laughing when Rudra stumbled over a crate or Maya cursed at a slippery patch of snow. Even the simplest tasks felt lighter when shared.

As they paused by a frozen stream, Rudra’s gaze drifted to the reflection of the mountains. “I never told anyone this,” he said quietly. “When I was eight… my mother… she passed away. A car accident. I hardly remember her face, her voice.”

Maya’s hands tightened around her backpack straps. Her throat constricted, not just with empathy, but with recognition of the same ache she had carried for years. Shuffled between hostels and strangers’ homes, growing up without parents, she had learned to survive in solitude. Walls became second nature.

“I’m… sorry,” she murmured.

He gave a faint, rueful smile. “It’s fine. Life moved on, I guess. You learn to carry it quietly.”

Maya looked down at the snow beneath her boots. “I… grew up without parents too. Most of my life, I’ve been alone. It makes you careful, protective. Walls… second nature. But hearing you… I feel like we’re on the same boat. Both lost. Both carrying shadows. Maybe… that’s why this feels… easier with you than with anyone else.”

Rudra’s eyes softened. “Easier… and real. Nothing like pretending. You don’t have to be anything you’re not with me.”

She took a small step forward, chest lightened by the fragile connection forming between them. For the first time in a long while, she felt seen—not as a taxi driver, not as a caretaker, but as Maya.

Lingering Threats

The rest of the day slipped by in shared laughter and camaraderie. They fixed jeeps, Rudra teasing her meticulous checks while Maya mocked his casual approach. Later, they wandered through the snow-blanketed town, stopping at the bakery for steaming cups of chai, watching children throw snowballs. Each glance, each touch, each laugh deepened the bond quietly forming between them.

Yet even in these small joys, subtle disruptions crept in. The taxi Maya usually drove appeared at odd hours, engine running though no passenger in sight. Supplies went missing or arrived late. Notes, unsigned, slipped under the garage door—warnings, veiled threats, messages she couldn’t yet interpret fully.

Far above in Mumbai, MJ Roy monitored every moment with meticulous precision. Every smile, every glance, every accidental brush of hands between Rudra and Maya was cataloged. “See how she trusts him,” MJ murmured, swirling amber liquid in his glass. “Notice how the walls crack when he’s near… Very good. Very good indeed. Now… let’s see how easily they fall apart under pressure.”

Back in Manali, Maya shivered, pulling her shawl tighter as she sorted deliveries. Rudra handed her a crate with a playful bow. Her mind flickered constantly to the strange intrusions—the empty taxi, the cryptic notes—but with Rudra beside her, the unease didn’t feel as heavy.

As the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the town in gold and shadow, Maya and Rudra paused on a bridge overlooking the frozen river. Silence hung comfortably between them, a shared peace almost forbidden in the storm of MJ Roy’s looming interference.

“I don’t want to think about what’s coming,” Maya murmured, breath fogging in the crisp air.

“You don’t have to,” Rudra replied, hand brushing hers briefly. “We have this. Now. That’s enough for me.”

But deep inside, both knew the calm was temporary. The storm—MJ Roy’s cold, calculated obsession—was gathering momentum. And soon, the threads holding their fragile connection together would be tested like never before.

Snow Games and Shared Laughter

The next morning air was crisp, the sun glinting off fresh snow, painting Manali in a serene white glow. Maya stepped out of the garage, scarf snug around her neck, cheeks flushed. Rudra was already there, grinning, his gloves dusted with snow.

“Ready for a proper snow day?” he teased, tossing a snowball that barely missed her shoulder.

Maya squealed, scooping up snow to retaliate. Their chase wound through the narrow lanes of the town, sliding on icy patches, tumbling into soft snowbanks, and laughing until their sides ached. Each stumble brought them closer—Rudra steadying her with a playful grip, Maya shoving him back with mock indignation—yet beneath the laughter, her heart thrummed at the closeness.

In a small clearing, they paused, breathless. “Let’s build a snowman,” Rudra suggested, and Maya agreed, kneeling to shape the snowy base. She placed a slightly crooked carrot for its nose; he added pebbles for eyes, then a scarf she handed him. Their hands brushed more than once, lingering just a moment too long, awareness settling between them like the hush of falling snow.

An Almost-Kiss

Rudra leaned close, his forehead brushing hers. “It’s just us here,” he murmured, voice low.

Maya’s chest tightened; her heart raced. The world seemed to shrink—the snow, the mountains, the sun—all fading into the quiet bubble they shared.

She tilted her face, closing her eyes. Their lips were inches apart, almost meeting, when a sudden voice shattered the moment:

“Hey! Stop there!”

Both jerked apart. From behind a cluster of pines, a man stepped into view, pretending to adjust his gear but his eyes locked on them. Rudra’s gaze hardened.

“They’re watching,” he hissed, grabbing Maya’s hand.

Her heart pounded, but instinctively, she followed his lead. “Run!”

They sprinted through the snow-laden streets, weaving between houses and snowbanks. Behind them, MJ Roy’s men pursued, silent and determined, shadows against the sparkling white.

The Cliff Edge

They reached the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a frozen valley. Rudra skidded, trying to slow down, but Maya’s foot caught on a rock. Both tumbled over the edge, rolling uncontrollably downwards. Snow sprayed around them as they crashed against the slope.

The pursuing men skidded to a halt at the top, shouting, but lost sight of the pair as they vanished into the valley below.

Rudra’s body slammed against the icy ground, freezing through him, while Maya, trained in the local terrain, quickly assessed the situation. She grabbed his arm. “Hold on! I’ve got you!”

Using her knowledge of hidden paths and crevices, she guided him carefully, avoiding obvious trails and leaving no trace. Rudra’s teeth chattered, his limbs stiff, but Maya’s grip was sure, steady, and protective.

Safe Haven

Finally, they reached a small abandoned house hidden among dense pines. Maya pushed open the creaking door, ushering Rudra inside. The warmth was meagre, but better than the biting wind.

“Are you okay?” she asked, tension threading her voice.

“I… yeah, thanks to you,” Rudra managed, though his teeth still chattered. His eyes met hers, and for a fleeting second, fear melted into relief—and something deeper.

Maya set him down carefully on a tattered blanket. “We’re safe for now. They won’t see us here.”

Rudra nodded, finally able to breathe without running, his hand brushing hers in silent gratitude.

Far away in Mumbai, MJ Roy swirled his whiskey with a calculating smile. “The chase begins. Let’s see how long their little bubble lasts under real pressure.”

The Cold and the Confession

Inside the dim house, Rudra collapsed onto the blanket, trembling violently. The icy wind had seeped into his bones during the fall, and each shiver wracked his frame.

Maya knelt beside him, her hands hovering helplessly over his arms. “Rudra… you need warmth. Come closer,” she urged, but he barely responded.

“I… I have to tell you something,” Rudra whispered, voice ragged. “It’s why this… all of this… is so dangerous.”

Maya’s chest tightened. “Dangerous how? Tell me.”

He took a shuddering breath. “My father… MJ Roy… he’s not just controlling. He’s ruthless. My mother—she died in a car accident because of him. He made it happen. I was in the backseat. I survived. She didn’t.”

Maya’s eyes widened, a sharp pain piercing her chest. She clasped his icy hands in hers, pressing them against her warmth. “Rudra… that’s… unbearable. To lose her, to carry that… I can’t even imagine.”

Rudra’s shivers worsened. His lips turned blue, his breaths shallow. Maya wrapped her arms around him, rubbing his shoulders, trying to generate warmth. “Hold on… you have to stay with me. Don’t give up now,” she pleaded, voice breaking.

She stripped off her shawl and blanket, wrapping him tightly, layering any scraps of clothing she could find, trying to warm his freezing body. She coaxed sparks from flint and sticks, but the flames remained weak, barely offering relief.

“Keep talking to me,” she whispered desperately. “Tell me everything… I’ll stay with you.”

“I’ve spent my life hiding from him, avoiding his wrath… and now he’s after you too,” Rudra rasped.

Maya tried hot compresses, rubbed his hands, urged him to sip water—but nothing seemed to work.

“No, no, no… not like this,” she cried, shaking him gently. “Rudra! Stay awake! Don’t leave me here alone!”

But despite her frantic efforts, his body remained stiff, his shivers relentless. Maya pressed her forehead to his, whispering prayers, urging him to fight, the helplessness cutting deeper than any threat MJ Roy could unleash.

Then, her hands trembling, she made a choice. She gently loosened his clothes, peeling them away with tender care, revealing pale skin that quivered with each shallow breath. Her heart ached at the sight, and instinctively, she pressed her palms against him, offering the warmth of her own body.

Feeling the chill slowly ebb, she didn’t stop there. One by one, she shed her own clothes, letting herself be bare beside him, skin to skin. She wrapped her body around his, careful and protective, letting her warmth seep into him, filling the cold spaces where illness had taken hold.

Gradually, Rudra’s shivers subsided. His breathing steadied, and color returned to his cheeks. Maya felt a rush of relief, her chest swelling with joy as she realized her presence, her warmth, was helping him recover. A quiet, triumphant happiness leapt within her—this was more than care; it was a bridge between them, fragile and tender, yet fiercely alive.

For a long while, she simply held him, listening to the soft rhythm of his breath against her chest. The storm outside howled against the thin walls of the abandoned house, but inside, a cocoon of warmth had formed—raw, unguarded, and achingly human.

Rudra stirred, his lashes fluttering as though waking from a long nightmare. His eyes, heavy but clearer than before, lifted to hers. The warmth of her body still cocooned him like a fragile shield against the cold, and for the first time in years, the guarded walls inside him faltered.

“Maya…” his voice broke, thick with emotions he could no longer contain. “I don’t know how to thank you… for saving me, for staying…”

Her lips parted to answer, but the words never came. The intensity in his eyes silenced her, rooting her to the moment. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Rudra hovered over her, his face close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath mingling with hers.

Her heart raced, torn between fear and anticipation. This closeness was new—frightening yet achingly right. When his lips brushed against hers, it was tentative, searching, as though asking permission. Maya trembled, but she didn’t pull away.

The kiss deepened, soft at first, then more urgent as moments of unspoken feelings poured into it. Rudra’s hands caressed her with reverence, while Maya clutched at him, both yielding to a pull neither could resist.

Their bodies pressed together, the intimacy of skin against skin overwhelming, and when he finally entered her, Maya gasped, a sharp sting of pain stealing her breath. Rudra stilled instantly, searching her face, his touch gentle as if afraid she might break.

But after a heartbeat, she held him tighter, whispering through the ache, “Don’t stop… please.”

And so he moved again—slowly, carefully—until the pain melted into something deeper, something she had never known before. Together, they found a rhythm, tender yet consuming, as though the storm outside had given way to fire within.

For Maya, it was the first time—raw, vulnerable, a crossing of boundaries that forever bound her to him. For Rudra, it was surrender—of fear, of loneliness, of everything he had buried.

The storm raged beyond the walls, but within, silence bloomed. Skin to skin, breath to breath, they moved as one—finding rhythm in fragility, strength in surrender. The dying embers in the hearth glowed brighter, as though answering the secret fire kindled between them.

And in that fragile, fiery union, the world outside ceased to matter. Winter yielded to spring, frost to flame, as two broken souls discovered a single heartbeat—burning together, bound together, beyond pain, beyond fear.

Next Morning

The pale light of dawn crept into the abandoned house, touching the tangled blanket where Rudra and Maya lay entwined. Their bodies, bare beneath the fragile cover, still carried the heat of the night they had shared—an unspoken surrender that had bound them in ways deeper than words could hold.

Maya stirred first, her cheek resting against Rudra’s chest, her skin warmed by the steady thrum of his heartbeat. For a fleeting moment, she kept her eyes closed, as if afraid the fragile magic of the night might shatter in the daylight.

Rudra’s arm tightened around her instinctively, pulling her closer. He stirred, blinking into wakefulness, and when his gaze fell on her, still nestled against him, a quiet smile broke through the exhaustion on his face.

“You stayed,” he whispered, voice hoarse but laced with awe.

“I’ll always stay,” Maya murmured back, her hand brushing against his jaw with tender reverence. The memory of their union lingered in her body—raw, new, and achingly present, a reminder etched into every breath she drew.

For a while, they said nothing more. They simply breathed each other in, wrapped in a silence that was both fragile and eternal. Outside, the storm had passed, but inside, their world still burned with the fire they had kindled together.

When at last they rose, the morning felt reluctant to let them go. They dressed quietly, hurriedly gathering clothes scattered in haste the night before. Maya winced slightly, her body tender from the intimacy of their first night, but she carried it with a secret glow. Rudra noticed, his gaze lingering on her with a mix of pride and protectiveness, and reached for her hand. She gave it willingly.

Together, hand in hand, they pushed open the weathered door of the house, stepping into the pale sunlight of the valley.

And there—like a nightmare solidified into flesh—stood MJ Roy, flanked by his men, their shadows long against the snow. His eyes locked on them, sharp and unrelenting, burning with a fury that froze Maya in place.

“Maya…” Rudra whispered, tightening his grip on her trembling hand.

MJ’s voice cut through the silence like a blade. “Enough of this farce, Rudra. You’re coming with me.”

Before Maya could protest, MJ’s men moved forward, seizing Rudra and tearing him away from her grasp. She stumbled, reaching out desperately, but their hands slipped apart.

“Maya!” Rudra’s cry echoed against the cliffs, raw and helpless, before he was forced back toward his father.

Maya stood rooted in the snow, breath caught in her throat, the warmth of the night ripped away in an instant—leaving her hollow, trembling, and utterly shattered.

Maya’s Collapse

The snow swallowed the last echoes of Rudra’s cry. Maya stood frozen, her hands still outstretched, as if the air itself had stolen him away. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into the snow, her breath tearing out in ragged sobs.

The abandoned house loomed behind her like a hollow shell, its fragile cocoon of warmth now shattered. Her skin still bore the tender ache of the night they had shared, but now it felt like salt in a wound—proof of a love snatched cruelly from her grasp.

“Rudra…” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her tears burned hot against the biting cold, streaking her face as the storm closed in. Every flake that fell seemed to echo her despair, burying her in silence.

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To be continued.

Chapter 5 (Storms and Beginnings)

MJ and Rudra — Mumbai Confrontation

Rudra sat tensely in the sleek leather chair of MJ Roy’s Mumbai office, the city lights sprawling below. His wrists were sore from the men who had dragged him from Manali, but the pain was nothing compared to the knot in his chest.

“Why?” Rudra demanded, voice raw. Why can’t you let me live my life? Why take her from me?”

MJ leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but his words cut like ice.
“She is not for you, Rudra. That girl will ruin you. She has nothing—no family, no future. Do you want to throw away your name, your empire, for a roadside orphan?”

“She’s everything to me,” Rudra shot back, eyes blazing.

For a moment, MJ’s jaw tightened, but then his voice softened, almost fatherly.
“If she means so much, then fine. I will go to Manali myself. I’ll speak to her. If her love is true, she will wait for you. If not, better you know now than later.”

Rudra hesitated, torn between defiance and a desperate hope. Against his instincts, he nodded, believing—wanting to believe—that his father was finally willing to understand.

MJ’s Arrival in Manali — Manipulating Maya

Two days later, Maya sat outside the garage, eyes swollen from sleepless nights, when a sleek black car rolled quietly into the lane. Her heart stopped as MJ Roy stepped out.

She froze, every muscle taut with fear. “Where’s Rudra? What have you done to him?”

MJ’s thin smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Rudra is safe,” he said smoothly. “But he sent me here with a message.”

Her chest tightened. “What message?”

His gaze pinned her in place. “He wants this to end. He asked me to tell you… he no longer wishes to see you. No ties, no burdens. It’s over.”

Maya’s world wavered. Her breath hitched, her legs threatening to give way. “No… no, that’s not true. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—”

MJ’s voice cut through her protests like ice. “You think you know him? You don’t. He has moved on. And so should you. You… you can make this easier for yourself. Let go.”

Her hands trembled as she tried to speak, to argue, but words refused to form. MJ extended a folded envelope, placing it gently in her hands. “Take this. He wanted you to have it.”

Inside was money—more than she could ever imagine. And as her eyes met MJ’s, the cruel truth sank in: she could trade her pain for comfort, for security, for a tangible, yet hollow, relief from the heartbreak he had orchestrated.

The snow around her glittered innocently, mocking her devastation. She wanted to run, scream, fight—but MJ’s words, and Rudra’s supposed rejection, wrapped around her like invisible chains.

MJ turned, leaving her frozen in the snow, tears streaming, the envelope trembling in her fingers. His men followed silently. “I’ll be back in Mumbai soon,” he called over his shoulder, as though she were nothing more than a pawn in his game. “Think about your choice.”

And then they were gone. Alone, Maya sank onto the bench, clutching her scarf as if it were Rudra himself. Her heart cracked open, hollowed by disbelief and pain.

MJ’s Return — Shattering Rudra

When MJ returned to Mumbai, Rudra rushed to meet him, hope blazing in his eyes. “You saw her? What did she say? Does she still—”

MJ cut him off, his tone clinical, merciless.
“I gave her a choice. To prove her love. I offered her money… and she took it without hesitation. Comfort over you.”

The words landed like a blow. Rudra staggered back, his chest caving beneath the weight of betrayal. “No… Maya wouldn’t. She—she loves me…”

“Love?” MJ scoffed, his voice edged with cruelty. “Love doesn’t fill stomachs or pay bills. She saw her chance to escape poverty, and she took it. You were nothing more than a passing distraction.”

Rudra’s breath came ragged, denial burning in his throat. “Lies… she would never—”

MJ leaned forward, his gaze sharp, steady. “Then look for yourself. I left her a reminder of my generosity.” He slid an envelope across the table, its presence heavy, poisonous.

Rudra’s trembling hands refused to touch it. His heart hammered, vision blurring, the memory of Maya’s warmth and their fragile union colliding with MJ’s cold words. The thought that she had chosen money over him cut deeper than the mountain frost ever had.

He sank into a chair, crushed by despair. The night they had shared—the fire, the intimacy, the promise of something real—was torn apart before it had even begun, replaced by doubt and unbearable loss.

MJ leaned back, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. “Rudra, heartbreak can be a teacher. Let it teach you. And remember… I’ll always be several steps ahead.”

Rudra closed his eyes, the room spinning. Beyond the glass windows, the Mumbai skyline glittered indifferently, mocking his storm of grief and disbelief.

After MJ’s departure from Manali, Maya moved through her days like a shadow. She tried to reach Rudra—calls, messages, even clandestine visits—but every attempt was intercepted, blocked, or mysteriously silenced. Far away in Mumbai, Rudra’s hands shook as he tried to contact her. Every text he sent, every call he made, was blocked, traced, filtered. MJ had anticipated this—cut off every bridge before suspicion could spark. Each unanswered attempt echoed cruelly, like a whispered betrayal.

“Chaha tujhe dil ne, mere sanson ne dhokha diya…”
The words seemed to hum in Maya’s mind, each note a mirror to her heartbreak, a reminder that love could both heal and betray.

Days bled into nights. Maya wandered through Manali in silence, the familiar streets now oppressive in their emptiness. She kept herself busy—repairing jeeps, running errands—but inside, a quiet ache threaded through every heartbeat. She refused to cry in front of anyone; her silence became her shield, her isolation a ritual.

Yet life stirred within her. Weeks later, Maya discovered she was carrying Rudra’s child. The revelation was terrifying, sacred—a fragile promise folded into her solitude. Her belly began to swell, a quiet testament to the life that had begun in the fragile cocoon of warmth they had shared.

Society, however, was merciless. Whispers followed her through the streets: “She’s abandoned… carrying another’s child?” Passing glances, snide laughter, judgmental murmurs—each cut sharper than the winter wind. Even in the garage, where she had once found comfort, subtle sneers and quiet comments reminded her of the scrutiny she could not escape.

Still, within the curve of her belly, she discovered a quiet, unyielding strength. Each kick, each movement of the life inside her, pulsed hope, tethering her to resilience. The whispers and mockery hardened her resolve—she would endure, she would protect this life, and she would not bow to cruelty or manipulation.

At night, Maya pressed her hands to her belly, whispering to the child, to herself, to Rudra: “We will survive this. We will endure. No one will take this away from us.”
“Chaha tujhe dil ne, mere sanson ne dhokha diya…”
The words became a lullaby for hope and grief, binding her to love that refused to die, even in silence.

Meanwhile, in Mumbai, Rudra sank deeper into despair. Believing Maya had chosen wealth and comfort over him, he drowned in rage, bitterness, and alcohol. The warmth, the intimacy, the hope he had shared with Maya became a burning ache in his chest. He drank to numb it, smoked to forget it, roared in his apartment at shadows and silence. Rage simmered beneath every movement, a dangerous, raw thing that left him hollow. Friends reached out; he dismissed them. Work became mechanical, life a blur of whiskey, smoke, and memory.

Two worlds, separated by distance and deception, echoed with the same pain. In Manali, Maya grew resilient and protective, carrying both hope and life; in Mumbai, Rudra spiraled into isolation, haunted by loss and betrayal. MJ’s manipulations had succeeded—at least on the surface—but beneath the despair, the threads of love and truth remained, fragile yet unbroken.

A Shocking Revelation

One evening in Mumbai, Rudra sat slouched in his apartment, the weight of grief and alcohol clinging to him. The TV flickered across the room, broadcasting news from the Manali region. Then, suddenly, a familiar face appeared on-screen—Maya.

She stood alone amidst snow-dusted streets, her hands resting gently on a rounded, nine-month belly. The reporter spoke of her resilience, but Rudra barely heard the words. His eyes stayed fixed, unblinking. The reality struck him like lightning: the child growing within her was his. His heart twisted with shock, guilt, and longing.

An overpowering need surged within him—he had to see her, to confront the truth, to protect what was his.

Flight to Manali

Without a moment’s hesitation, Rudra boarded a flight. Snow fell steadily as he drove through the winding roads, his mind a storm of desperation and fear. He needed answers. He needed to make things right.

When he finally reached Maya’s garage, he found her bent over her tools, her face pale but resolute. She looked up, startled, and for a fleeting moment her eyes reflected fear, guilt, and unspoken words.

“Rudra,” she whispered, almost pleading.

He stepped closer, his voice trembling. “Maya… why? Why didn’t you reach out? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her chest heaved as she faced him, tears threatening to spill. “I tried, Rudra… I tried to reach you—calls, messages… I even came looking for you. But every time, I was cut off. As though someone had blocked every bridge between us. I wasn’t keeping you away… I was trapped too.”

Rudra’s eyes widened as the truth sank in. Every blocked call, every unanswered message, every moment of doubt—now it all made sense. MJ Roy had manipulated them both. Anger flared in them, mingling with relief, grief, and the ache of lost time.

The revelation cut deep, rage and sorrow clashing in Rudra’s chest—but before reconciliation could take root, Maya froze.

Her face contorted in pain, a sharp cry tearing from her lips. “Rudra… I—I think… it’s time…”

Labor had begun. Rudra caught her as she staggered, his arms holding her trembling frame. Panic surged as the snowstorm outside raged louder, the wind howling against the walls. The roads were buried in white, slick and impassable—there was no way to reach the hospital.

The Delivery

Rudra knew he had no choice—he had to stay. He helped Maya onto a blanket near the fire pit, his hands trembling as he guided her breathing, whispered words of comfort, and tried to ease her pain.

The storm howled outside, but inside, a fierce determination took hold. Rudra became her anchor, every cry and shiver igniting a protective fire within him.

“Maya, hold on—just breathe,” he whispered, brushing damp hair from her forehead, his own voice breaking with fear.

Her cries sharpened as pain seized her in relentless waves. She clutched his hand with desperate strength, gasping through ragged breaths. “It hurts… Rudra, it hurts so much…”

“I know, Maya… but you’re stronger than this storm,” he urged, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Just breathe with me. In… out… you can do this.”

Another contraction hit, wracking her body. She arched in pain, nails digging into his palm. Rudra held on tighter, steadying her as the storm rattled the walls.

“Push, Maya,” he begged, voice trembling but firm. “When you feel it—push. I’m right here.”

Her body trembled as she bore down with all her might. Minutes stretched endlessly, each contraction fiercer than the last. Her voice cracked into sobs, her strength faltering.

“I can’t…” she gasped, face pale.

“Yes, you can,” Rudra whispered fiercely, his forehead pressed to hers. “For us. For our baby. You’re not alone—I’m with you every second.”

With his words in her ears and his hand in hers, Maya pushed again, her cries echoing through the garage. The struggle was raw, primal, every ounce of her strength poured into the moment.

And then—amidst the storm’s fury, amidst their tears and prayers—a fragile, piercing cry split the air.

Rudra’s hands shook as he lifted the tiny, writhing bundle, his heart collapsing and soaring all at once. “It’s… it’s a girl,” he whispered, his voice breaking into a laugh, a sob. He placed the baby gently on Maya’s chest.

Tears mingled with her sweat as Maya cradled the child, pressing a trembling kiss to her forehead. Rudra wrapped his arms around them both, his heart flooding with awe, fear, and devotion.

In that sacred moment, their broken pieces found their way back together. Their daughter had become the bridge that healed what was torn apart.

MJ’s Arrival and Defeat

The crunch of tires over snow. The growl of engines cutting through the silence.

The garage door rattled as heavy boots approached. Rudra’s body stiffened, his arms instinctively shielding Maya and their daughter. A moment later, the door flung open.

MJ Roy stood silhouetted against the storm, flanked by his men. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the scene—Rudra kneeling, Maya cradling their child, the fragile cocoon of love that had defied every cruelty.

For a long moment, silence hung heavy. The crackling firelight flickered across MJ’s face, revealing not triumph, but something else—hesitation.

Rudra rose, fury blazing in his eyes. “Stay back, Dad. You’ve taken enough from us. You won’t touch her. You won’t touch our child.”

MJ’s men shifted uneasily, waiting for his command. But MJ didn’t move. His gaze lingered on the newborn—tiny fists curled, her face serene despite the chaos of her arrival.

Something fractured in his expression, a shadow of humanity breaking through the armor of control. He had orchestrated lies, torn them apart, tried to chain Rudra’s life to his will—but here, before him, was proof that some bonds could not be broken.

Maya’s voice, weak yet steady, cut through the silence. “You can destroy lives, Mr. Roy… but you will never own them. Rudra is mine. This child is ours. Nothing you do can change that.”

Her words, her defiance even in exhaustion, struck deeper than any blade. MJ’s jaw tightened, his hands clenched at his sides—but then, slowly, he stepped back.

He glanced at his men, his voice hollow. “Let them be.”

A murmur of confusion rippled through the group, but none dared question him. MJ’s eyes lingered one last time on the family—Rudra standing protectively, Maya cradling the baby, the fire casting them in a glow of unshakable unity.

Defeat settled on his shoulders like the snow outside. For all his power, all his schemes, he had lost.

Without another word, MJ turned and walked into the storm, his men trailing silently behind.

The Beginning of Forever

Snow fell gently outside, dusting the garage in white. Inside, Rudra held Maya close, their daughter nestled between them. They laughed softly, tears still clinging to their cheeks, hearts light for the first time in months.

Rudra brushed a strand of hair from Maya’s face. “We’re together… finally.”

Maya smiled, exhaustion and joy mingling. “And nothing can take this away.”

Their daughter cooed, small fingers curling around Rudra’s thumb, a living testament to their love, their survival, and their unbroken bond.

Outside, the world remained chaotic, storms still lingering—but inside, in that fragile, warm cocoon, Rudra and Maya found a new dawn. Hands intertwined, hearts mended, they stared down at the little life they had created, knowing that some love was stronger than any force, any manipulation.

And in that moment, the family of three smiled—whole, unshakable, and free.

-----

The End.

MJ is already pulling the strings. At least there is no harm planned for Maya, just distractions.

The men are there, following them. Can she get to hidden places they can't get to?

MJ got his wife killed? Why did he feel the need to do that? Was she a threat?

They were found. MJ has way more resources. Now Rudra has been taken away.

MJ manipulated both to think what he wanted them to think. Will they escape this?

Where did MJ suddenly find his humanity? A baby can do wonders, but people like MJ are beyond that feeling.