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Posted: 2 days ago
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Intro:

When fate tears apart a perfect marriage, Shanaya's world collapses after Abhimanyu's tragic disappearance. In her grief, Rohan becomes her strength, leading to a reluctant union bound by duty, not desire. Just as Shanaya begins to feel love again, destiny returns in the form of the man she thought she lost forever.

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Aleyamma47 thumbnail
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Posted: 2 days ago
#2

Chapter 1 (Once More, at St. Teresa’s)

The Silver Reunion

The invitation came in gold — embossed with the crest of St. Teresa's College.
"Silver Jubilee Celebration – Honoring the Class of Legends."

Abhimanyu Singh smiled faintly as he handed it to Shanaya while she fastened her earrings.
"You think Rohan will show up?" he asked casually.

Shanaya glanced at her reflection — graceful, poised, with a quiet maturity fame couldn't buy.
"He hasn't attended any reunion in years," she replied, her tone light, though her eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"Then maybe it's time," Abhi said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "Let the past finally see how happy we turned out."

She leaned into him, smiling — and he kissed her forehead.
Seven years of marriage, endless flights, fashion shows, late-night boardroom calls — and still, they made time for quiet breakfasts and long drives.
No kids, but no regrets either. Just two people who chose love over ego.

The Return to St. Teresa's

The campus hadn't changed much — the manicured lawns, the red-brick archways, the faint echo of cheers from old tournaments.
The moment Abhi and Shanaya entered, the crowd turned — nostalgia flooded the air.

"Abhi Singh, the legend himself!"
"Shanaya Singhania-Singh, the style queen!"

They smiled, waved, posed for pictures. But amid the laughter and lights, Shanaya's eyes lingered on the doorway — almost expecting someone.

And then he came.

Rohan Nanda.

He arrived late, as usual — but when he did, it felt as though the room paused to breathe.
Tall, still effortlessly charismatic, with the same mischievous eyes that had once held the world's attention.
Only now, there was something else in them — a quiet sadness he'd learned to hide behind charm.

Abhi turned, surprised, then smiled sincerely. "Rohan."

"Abhimanyu," Rohan replied, extending a hand.
For a second, it was the same old energy — rivalry, pride, and beneath it all, a buried brotherhood.

Then Shanaya stepped forward.
Their eyes met. Seven years dissolved in that instant.

"Hi, Rohan," she said softly.

He smiled — the same boyish grin, slightly cracked at the edges. "You look... exactly like I remember."

Her smile wavered. "And you look like you've seen too many cities."

"Maybe I was just looking for one face," he said quietly.

Abhi's hand slipped around Shanaya's waist. The gesture wasn't possessive — just natural. Still, it made Rohan's heart sink.

The Night Walk

The celebration stretched on — laughter, champagne, speeches. But Rohan couldn't join in.
He watched Abhi and Shanaya dance together — their eyes speaking a language that once confused him.

He stepped out onto the old football field, the night air cool and bittersweet.
And soon enough, a familiar voice followed.

"Still avoiding the crowd?" Shanaya asked.

He turned. "Still reading me too well."

They walked in silence for a while, the same ground where they'd once fought over love and pride.
Finally, Rohan said, "I used to think you chose the trophy over me. Then I realized you just chose him."

Shanaya stopped, her voice soft but firm. "I didn't choose him against you, Rohan. I chose the person who made me feel like I was enough — without competition."

He looked at her, eyes glistening. "And he still does, doesn't he?"

She nodded. "Every day."

Rohan chuckled sadly. "Lucky guy. I tried everything — success, travel, distractions. But none of it worked. I still see you in every crowd."

"Then maybe," she whispered, "it's time to stop looking."

He smiled faintly. "Maybe. But tell me one thing, Shanaya — are you happy?"

Her answer came without hesitation. "Completely."

That one word — completely — broke him a little. But it also freed him.

The Farewell

The next morning, Abhi found Rohan sitting alone near the St. Teresa's gate.
"You didn't say goodbye," Abhi said.

Rohan looked up, smirking. "Didn't want to ruin your morning romance walk."

Abhi laughed, sitting beside him. "You could've told me you were still in love with her."

Rohan's smile faded. "Would it have changed anything?"

Abhi shook his head. "No. But I'd have understood better."

They sat quietly — two men who once fought for a title, realizing they'd both lost and won in different ways.

"Take care of her," Rohan said finally.

"I always have," Abhi replied softly. "And I always will."

Rohan stood, straightened his jacket, and looked back at the campus one last time.
"Funny," he said. "They called it Student of the Year. But I think it was really just Lesson of a Lifetime."

Abhi smiled. "Guess we all graduated after all."

As Rohan drove away, the morning sun rose over St. Teresa's — bright, forgiving, infinite.
Shanaya watched from afar, her fingers entwined with Abhi's.

The past had finally taken its bow.
And love — in all its imperfect, enduring forms — had found peace.

The Storm Over Farway

The next morning after the reunion, the Singh residence glowed with quiet domestic peace — the kind that comes only after years of understanding.
Abhimanyu sat by the kitchen island, sipping his black coffee while scrolling through his phone.

Shanaya entered in a satin robe, her hair tied loosely, carrying two plates of toast.
"Morning, Mr. Business Tycoon," she teased. "Already conquering the world before breakfast?"

He smiled, looking up. "Not today. Just a small crisis in Farway. The board wants me there for an emergency meet."

Her brow furrowed. "Farway? That's across the coast — you mean you're flying today?"

"In a few hours," he said, setting his phone aside. "I'll take the chopper. Be back by tomorrow evening."

She folded her arms. "Then I'm coming with you."

Abhi chuckled. "Shanaya, it's a business trip, not a vacation."

"I don't care. You've barely been home this week. If I can't travel with you, when do I even get to see you properly?" Her voice softened, vulnerability slipping through.

He rose, came closer, and gently touched her chin. "You will see me — just not in storm clouds and boardrooms."

"Storm clouds?" she repeated.

"Yeah. They said the weather near the Farway coast is rough. I'll manage."

"Then all the more reason I should come."

He shook his head. "No, Shanaya. I need you here — handling the press launch for your new line. And..." He hesitated, a rare crack in his composed tone. "I don't want you anywhere near turbulence."

Her eyes glistened. "You make it sound like goodbye."

He smiled faintly. "It's just a meeting. Twenty-four hours, tops. Then dinner at that Italian place you love, deal?"

She tried to smile but her throat tightened. "You promise?"

He kissed her forehead. "Always."

The Farewell

The helipad atop the Singh Tower was bathed in morning haze. The chopper blades began to spin as Shanaya clutched his hand.

"Call me when you land," she said, raising her voice over the roar.

"Already on my list," he shouted back, smiling.

"Don't forget your vitamins!"

"Bossy as ever," he teased.

She leaned in and hugged him tightly — longer than usual, as if her heart sensed something her mind refused to name.
"Just... be safe, okay?"

He drew back, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Always am."

Then he climbed aboard.
Shanaya stepped back, waving as the helicopter lifted into the sky.

She watched until it became a speck among the clouds.

The Flight

Inside the cabin, Abhimanyu fastened his seatbelt and checked the reports again. The pilot's voice came through the headset.
"Sir, looks like heavy cloud buildup over the western corridor. We might have to divert."

"Whatever you need," Abhi replied calmly.

Outside, the sky thickened — pale blue fading into steel gray. Lightning flickered far ahead.

Ten minutes later, turbulence hit.
The helicopter jolted sharply. Abhi grabbed the seat arm, heart pounding.

"Captain?"

"Just a rough patch, sir. We'll steady out—"

Static filled the line. The instruments began to blink red.

The pilot cursed under his breath. "We're losing direction! The storm's pulled us off course!"

The chopper lurched violently, the horizon spinning in the window.

Abhimanyu's phone slipped from his hand. He looked out — rain slashing across the glass, the world disappearing into white.

And somewhere, back home, Shanaya's phone buzzed once — Abhimanyu Singh: Last seen — 9:47 a.m.

-----

To be continued.

Aleyamma47 thumbnail
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Posted: a day ago
#3

Chapter 2 (When the Sky Fell Silent)

The Wait That Never Ends

Shanaya paced the living room, her silk robe slipping from her shoulder as rain pattered against the windows.
Her phone lay on the coffee table — the screen frozen on the last seen timestamp. 9:47 a.m.

She sank into the couch, hugging her knees. “It’s just a flight… it’s just a storm…” she whispered, though her voice betrayed her panic.

The reality refused to settle. Abhi should have called. He always calls.

Minutes stretched into an eternity. Every siren in the distance made her heart leap. Every buzz of her phone, a cruel tease.

The Breakdown

By late afternoon, Shanaya could barely hold back tears. She clutched a framed photo of their wedding day — laughing under sunlight, oblivious to the world’s storms.
“I can’t lose you,” she murmured. “Not now… not ever…”

Her emotions spilled over as she dialed Rohan’s number impulsively. He answered on the third ring.

“Shanaya?” His voice was sharp with concern.

“Rohan… I… he’s gone. I can’t… something happened!” Her words trailed into a strangled sob.

Rohan’s heart stopped. “What do you mean?”

“The helicopter… the storm… I don’t know where he is!”

There was silence on the line. Then Rohan’s voice softened, almost painfully.
“I’m coming. Hold on. I’ll be there.”

The Search Mission Begins

By evening, Rohan had arrived at the helipad where Abhi had departed. The authorities were already mobilizing search helicopters and coast guard teams.
Shanaya, still trembling, held onto Rohan as they watched the storm clouds churn above the Farway corridor.

“I… I can’t lose him, Rohan,” she whispered.

Rohan’s hand tightened around hers. “You won’t. We’ll find him. He’s Abhimanyu Singh — he doesn’t give up that easily.”

But even as he said the words, his heart ached with a secret truth: he’d never stopped loving Shanaya. And the thought of losing Abhi — the man who had claimed her heart — terrified him, yet stirred something he had buried for years.

The Helicopter Crash

Meanwhile, high above the storm, the private helicopter fought against the violent winds. Visibility was near zero, the GPS spinning erratically.

“Captain, we’re losing orientation!” the co-pilot yelled, gripping the controls.

Abhi tightened his harness, eyes scanning the instruments. The storm howled like an animal around them. Lightning flashed dangerously close, and the rotor blades shook violently.

Then — a sharp jolt. The helicopter dipped, a metallic screech piercing the roar of rain.

Abhi braced himself. The world outside became a blur of gray and white, rain battering the glass, wind shaking the frame.

A deafening crash, a final thud, and then silence.

Somewhere in the distance, the Farway terrain stretched endlessly, cloaked in rain and mist.

Abhi Singh opened his eyes slowly. He was alive — but the world was upside down, the helicopter wrecked around him, the storm still raging. Pain radiated through his side, his hand cut and bleeding.

And in the quiet between raindrops, he whispered to himself:
“I need to get back to her…”

The News No One Wanted to Hear

The scene cuts back to Shanaya and Rohan — watching the storm, phones buzzing with sporadic updates. The uncertainty is suffocating. Every tick of the clock drags the world into gray despair.

Shanaya wraps her arms around herself, tears streaking her cheeks.
“Please… please let him be alive…”

Rohan’s gaze is fixed on the dark horizon, the flicker of lightning reflecting his own fear. “He’s alive. He has to be.”

The storm had finally eased over Farway, leaving a gray, heavy sky. But the air was thick with fear, hope, and dread.

Shanaya sat on a bench at the helipad base, drenched and trembling, her hands clasped over her knees. Rohan stood beside her, jaw tight, scanning the horizon where the helicopter had vanished hours ago.

“The storm is over,” one of the rescue officers announced. “We’ve deployed search parties across the expected flight corridor and nearby forested areas.”

Shanaya clutched her chest. “And… no sign of him?” Her voice cracked.

The officer hesitated. “There are scattered wreckage reports. Both the pilot and co-pilot’s bodies were recovered… but nothing else. No trace of Mr. Singh.”

Her breath hitched. “Nothing? Not even—?”

“No. Nothing. The helicopter went down in a remote area. The storm and terrain likely destroyed most of the evidence.”

Rohan’s hands clenched into fists. He forced himself to stay calm, though his mind screamed in disbelief. “So… he’s gone?”

The officer shook his head slowly. “We have to presume the worst, ma’am. For the time being, yes.”

Shattered Promises

Shanaya felt as though the ground had been ripped from under her. She tried to cry, but no tears came — only a hollow, aching silence. Every heartbeat thudded like a hammer in her chest.

Rohan stepped closer, hesitating. “Shanaya… I’m… I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes, red and wide, fixed on him. “Sorry?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Do you know what it feels like to lose him? To watch everything you love disappear…?”

“I can only imagine,” Rohan said quietly, guilt and sorrow lacing his tone. “But you’re not alone. I’m here.”

“Not alone?” Shanaya’s laugh was hollow. “You don’t understand. He’s gone, Rohan. Abhi… my Abhi…” Her body shook as she broke down for the first time.

Rohan wrapped an arm around her, letting her sob into his shoulder. He didn’t pull away, though every fiber of him ached — because she was his, heart and soul, in a way he had never let himself admit. And yet, she was married to someone else. Someone gone. Or… presumed gone.

Echoes of Loss

The rescue officer handed over a small, crumpled note from the pilot: “Tried… to save him… couldn’t…”

Shanaya read the words aloud, voice trembling. “He tried… he—” The sentence broke as her tears fell.

Rohan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “We have to… we have to let the authorities handle the search. But we’ll come back tomorrow, at first light. Maybe… maybe there’s still hope somewhere.”

Shanaya shook her head violently. “Hope? There’s no hope! He was my everything! And now… now he’s gone!”

The night descended slowly, swallowing the helipad in shadow. The rescue teams returned, solemn and silent, delivering the news to friends and family who had flown in.

Rohan and Shanaya stayed on the bench, holding onto each other, even as the world around them began to retreat into darkness.

Somewhere in the storm-ravaged distance, the mangled helicopter lay hidden, rain still dripping from its broken frame. And inside, Abhimanyu Singh struggled to keep consciousness — alone, injured, and unsure if rescue would ever come.

But Shanaya and Rohan had no idea.

For them, the world had ended.

For Abhimanyu, the fight for life had only just begun.

The days that followed were heavy with silence. The Singh residence, usually filled with warmth and laughter, felt like a mausoleum. Shanaya wandered from room to room, touching objects that reminded her of Abhimanyu — his favorite coffee mug, the stack of unread reports he always left on the desk, his watch lying on the nightstand.

Nothing moved her more than the wedding photo on the wall. They were smiling, eyes bright, oblivious to storms of any kind. And now… it felt like someone had stolen the sun from her life.

Rohan refused to leave her side. He stayed close, pretending calm, offering practical help — scheduling counselors, coordinating with authorities, arranging daily meals. But beneath the facade, his own heart was bleeding.

He watched her cry herself to sleep, each tear a reminder of what he could never have, yet couldn’t stop wanting.

One evening, Shanaya sat on the terrace, staring at the night sky. Rohan joined her silently, leaning on the railing.

“Do you ever… wonder if he’s really gone?” she asked, voice barely audible.

Rohan hesitated. “I… try not to. But sometimes… I can’t help imagining him walking through that door, smiling like nothing ever happened.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “That’s the cruelest part. I married him, I love him… and yet, all I can do is imagine him dead. And you —” her gaze flicked to him — “you… what are you feeling?”

He swallowed. “Shanaya… I can’t lie. I never stopped loving you. But I… I can’t do anything. Not now. Not when he’s… missing.”

Her head dropped. “You always were honest with me. Even when it hurt.”

Rohan reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “I’m here. For whatever you need. Even if it’s just… a shoulder to lean on while the world falls apart.”

Shanaya closed her eyes, letting herself lean into him — not as a replacement, not as love, but as a lifeline in the storm.

Hints of the Unknown

Meanwhile, distant from the city, somewhere among jagged cliffs and rain-soaked trees, Abhimanyu Singh clung to consciousness. His side ached, his head throbbed, and every breath was a battle. The wreckage of the helicopter surrounded him, half-buried in mud and debris.

He was alive. But the storm had erased any immediate hope of rescue. Every distant sound of thunder felt like a countdown. Every blink of lightning revealed the sharp edges of wreckage around him.

For Shanaya and Rohan, he was gone — presumed dead.

For Abhimanyu, survival was now a solitary fight against pain, weather, and time itself.

Emotional Crossroads

Back in the city, Shanaya and Rohan sat in quiet companionship, haunted by grief and uncertainty.

“I should go back to work tomorrow,” Shanaya whispered, though she didn’t move.

Rohan shook his head. “No. Stay. The world can wait. Right now… all that matters is that you don’t have to face this alone.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but this time there was a fragile strength. She knew her heart still belonged to Abhimanyu, but for the first time, she allowed herself to lean on Rohan — just a little — for survival through the storm of loss.

Outside, the night deepened. Somewhere, out there in the storm-ravaged wilderness, a man refused to surrender.

And the story — far from over — held its breath.

-----

To be continued.

Aleyamma47 thumbnail
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Posted: a day ago
#4

Chapter 3 (The Void He Left Behind)

Official Declaration

A week passed. Then two.
The search teams came back empty-handed every time.

The storm had cleared, but it had taken more than clouds — it had taken hope.
Each day began with a flicker of prayer and ended with silence.

Every ring of the phone made Shanaya’s heart leap — only to sink again when it was another condolence call, another empty reassurance, another polite lie wrapped in sympathy.
Rohan had tried to convince her to eat, to rest, but how could she, when the only person who could calm her wasn’t there to do it?

The once-vibrant Singh mansion had turned into a shrine of stillness.
Abhimanyu’s cufflinks remained on the dressing table, his favorite watch still ticking faintly inside the drawer. The scent of his cologne lingered in their room, haunting her more than comforting her.

And then, one morning — a knock on the door shattered that silence.

It wasn’t a casual ring, not the hesitant press of a friend. It was measured. Official.
Shanaya’s blood ran cold. Her trembling hands reached for the handle, and as she opened the door, two men in uniform stood before her — crisp air force jackets, caps tucked under their arms, faces marked with the heavy discipline of those who carry bad news often.

“Mrs. Shanaya Singh?” the older officer asked gently.

Her lips parted, her heart hammering in her ears. “Yes…”

The man took a deep breath before speaking, as if preparing himself for the weight of what he was about to deliver.
“The investigation into the missing helicopter has been concluded.”

Her throat tightened. The air around her seemed to vanish. “And…?”

The officer exchanged a brief look with his junior, then extended a sealed envelope stamped with the Aviation Safety Authority’s insignia — bold, red, final.

His voice lowered.
“The final report confirms that the crash site has been fully examined. Both pilots were recovered earlier. Despite extensive efforts, there’s been no trace of Mr. Abhimanyu Singh. Given the time elapsed and the conditions, he is now being officially declared deceased.”

Shanaya’s grip on the doorframe faltered. Her lips parted, but no words came out — only a faint, broken whisper of his name.
“Abhimanyu…”

The pause that followed was unbearable.

The officer bowed his head slightly. “I’m deeply sorry for your loss, ma’am.”

The word deceased echoed like thunder.
Cold. Final. Unforgiving.

It was as though the entire mansion exhaled in grief. The chandeliers above trembled faintly, the grandfather clock in the hallway struck noon — steady, merciless, and cruelly alive.

Shanaya blinked — once, twice — as if her mind refused to process what her ears had heard. Then the letter slipped from her hand, fluttering to the marble floor, its sharp edges cutting through the heavy silence.

Her knees buckled, her breath came out in broken gasps.
“Ma’am—” the younger officer reached forward, alarmed, but she staggered back, shaking her head violently.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice trembled, choked by disbelief. “No, you’re wrong… he promised he’d call me once he landed… he promised me dinner the next day… he promised—”

The words dissolved into sobs as she backed away, clutching her chest as if trying to hold her heart in place.

Rohan appeared in the doorway, his face drained of color.
He froze at the sight — the uniforms, the letter, Shanaya trembling like a broken reflection of the woman she used to be.

“Shanaya!” he shouted, rushing to her side just as her body gave way.

She collapsed against him, her sobs tearing through the air. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, but she couldn’t hear him — couldn’t feel him.

Her world had gone silent.
There was no sound left, except the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the steady rhythm of her shattered heart.

Rohan looked over her shoulder at the officers, his eyes glistening with fury and helplessness. They gave a sympathetic nod and quietly left, closing the door behind them.

As it clicked shut, Shanaya’s muffled cries echoed through the empty house — raw, endless, and unbearably human.

Outside, the sky had cleared, a cruel contrast to the storm raging within her.
And somewhere, far away, the wind carried the scent of rain — as though heaven itself was mourning Abhimanyu Singh.

The Long Silence

The days after the declaration passed like blurred photographs — faint shapes, muted sounds, and a silence that pressed against every wall of the Singh mansion.

Shanaya didn’t speak for days.
Her voice, once warm and lilting, had withered into whispers that trailed off halfway. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping. Even her tears seemed to dry, leaving only an emptiness that hollowed her from within.

The housemaids tiptoed through corridors, afraid to make noise. The curtains remained drawn, shutting out the sun that once flooded their mornings. The only sign of life came from the faint hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of the grandfather clock — the same one that had marked the moment her world fell apart.

Rohan visited every morning and stayed until night. He didn’t try to speak much — words had lost their meaning anyway. He simply sat beside her, bringing food she wouldn’t touch, reminding her softly to drink water, helping her lie down when her body refused to move.

Sometimes she would sit by the window, staring at the sky, murmuring things no one else could understand.
“He hates the rain… he always said storms made him restless…”
Rohan would stand silently behind her, listening — because interrupting her grief felt like sin.

At night, when she finally drifted into uneasy sleep, Rohan would cover her with a blanket and step outside the room, his hands clenched in helplessness.
He would walk to the terrace, look up at the stars, and whisper into the dark,
“Why did you have to go, Abhi? Why leave her like this… why leave me watching her break?”

The Singh and The Singhania family watched all this in heavy silence.
Shanaya’s mother, once regal and strong, now looked smaller — her eyes swollen from tears she refused to shed in front of others. She adored her daughter and watching her fade away each day was unbearable.

One evening, as the family gathered in the dimly lit living room, Rohan stood by the fireplace, lost in thought. Shanaya’s mother approached him quietly.
“Beta,” she said softly, “you’ve done more for her than anyone could. She listens to you… or at least, she lets you be near her. That means something.”

Rohan nodded faintly, though his throat tightened. “She doesn’t see me, Aunty. She only sees her loss.”

The woman sighed, looking toward the stairs that led to Shanaya’s room. “Still, she breathes because of you. If you weren’t here, I don’t think she would have lasted this long.”

Behind her, Abhi’s grandaunt (the sister of Abhi’s late grandmother who Abhi dearly loved)— the formidable Singh who had once ruled the household with discipline and grace — spoke from her rocking chair, her tone soft but decisive.
“Maybe it’s time we stop letting her live in ghosts,” she said, her wrinkled hands clasping the edge of her shawl. “Abhimanyu is gone… and she’s dying with him, little by little. Rohan is the only one who can bring her back.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.
Rohan looked up sharply. “What are you saying?”

The elder’s gaze was unwavering. “I’m saying what everyone is afraid to. Shanaya needs to live again — and if you love her, truly love her, maybe you can help her do that. Maybe… you’re meant to.”

Rohan’s heart pounded painfully. He wanted to protest, to say it was too soon, too cruel — but when he thought of Shanaya, pale and hollow-eyed, clutching Abhi’s shirt as she slept, he couldn’t find the strength to argue.

He swallowed hard, looking away. “She’ll never forgive herself if she moves on.”

“Then don’t make her move on,” the elderly woman said quietly. “Just help her move… forward.”

That night, Rohan returned to Shanaya’s room. She was sitting on the floor by the bed, clutching a photograph of her and Abhi — her thumb tracing the edge of his face. Her eyes were distant, glassy.

He knelt beside her, speaking softly.
“You can’t live like this, Shanaya. He wouldn’t want you to.”

She didn’t reply. Only a faint whisper escaped her lips.
“I don’t know how to live without him.”

Rohan’s chest tightened. He gently took the photo from her hands and set it on the nightstand.
“Then let me help you remember how.”

For the first time in weeks, Shanaya looked at him. Her gaze was empty but searching, like someone trying to see through fog.

And as Rohan met her eyes, he knew — the woman he loved was still in there somewhere, buried beneath grief and guilt. All she needed was time… and someone who wouldn’t give up.

He made a silent promise to himself that night — not to replace Abhimanyu, not to claim what wasn’t his, but to protect what was left of her heart until she could stand again.

Outside, the rain began once more — softer this time, almost like a lullaby.
And somewhere far away, under a torn canopy of trees, Abhimanyu Singh stirred weakly in the wreckage, his breath shallow but alive.

The world believed him gone.
But fate, as always, had other plans.

The Unspoken Bond

Days blurred into nights. Shanaya moved like a shadow through her own home, her laughter a memory that haunted the walls. Rohan never left her side. He prepared meals she didn’t eat, brought her books she didn’t read, and quietly ensured the world outside didn’t intrude on her grief.

She hated that she depended on him, yet she did. It was a lifeline she couldn’t deny. He didn’t smother her; he simply existed in the same space, a steady presence amid the chaos of her heartbreak.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, she would wake, disoriented and trembling. Rohan would be there instantly, silent, brushing a stray hair from her damp forehead, holding her until her body unclenched, until her sobs slowed.

“Rohan…” she whispered once, barely audible.
“Shh,” he murmured, not forcing words. “It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

And in that moment, even though her mind screamed his presence was wrong, forbidden, she allowed herself to lean into him.

Shanaya’s mother and Abhimanyu’s grandaunt watched from afar, their eyes heavy with both sorrow and determination. Shanaya’s desolation had lasted long enough. It was time someone took gentle control.

“Rohan is the only one keeping her tethered to life,” the elderly woman said, her voice steady. “We can’t force love, but we can guide her.”

Shanaya’s mother nodded, her hands clenched. “It’s subtle. No pressure. But he needs to be her anchor now — and she needs to allow it. That’s all we can do.”

Meanwhile, Rohan remained unaware of their silent orchestration. To him, every shared glance, every quiet gesture was survival — not strategy. He was there because he couldn’t bear to see her collapse, and because, somewhere in the depths of his heart, he had never stopped loving her.

Shanaya, though outwardly fragile, felt a strange sense of safety in his presence. She would never admit it — not aloud, not to herself — but she had begun to rely on him. The warmth of his hand on hers, the faintly teasing lilt of his voice even in moments of grief, became the faintest thread pulling her back from despair.

One afternoon, she found herself sitting on the terrace, staring at the gray horizon. Rohan joined her quietly, placing a cup of tea in her hands.

“Drink,” he said softly. “It’ll warm you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then took the cup. Their fingers brushed — and for the first time since Abhimanyu’s disappearance, she didn’t recoil.

“You always… make it feel like someone is watching over me,” she murmured.

“I am,” he replied quietly. “Not to replace him… just… to make sure you survive the storm.”

Shanaya’s eyes glistened with unspilled tears. “I don’t know if I can survive without him,” she admitted, voice trembling.

“You don’t have to be alone in this,” Rohan said. “I’m here. Always.”

For a fleeting moment, the grief and guilt melted, leaving only the fragile possibility of connection — an unspoken bond forming in the shadows of sorrow.

And in the background, the family began their quiet, deliberate maneuvering. They whispered to each other, shared glances, plotted gentle nudges, all aimed at a singular, unspoken goal: ensuring that Shanaya could live again, and that Rohan’s heart, which had waited patiently for years, might finally find the chance it deserved.

The stage was being set. Slowly, imperceptibly, life — and something more — was beginning to stir again.

------

To be continued.

Aleyamma47 thumbnail
Monsoon Magic MF Contest Participant Thumbnail Love-O-Rama Participant Thumbnail + 3
Posted: a day ago
#5

Chapter 4 (Fated Relations)

The Proposal

The Singh mansion hummed with quiet deliberation. While Shanaya remained secluded in her grief, the elders moved with purpose behind closed doors.

In the drawing room, Abhimanyu’s grandaunt and Shanaya’s mother sat with measured calm, discussing the delicate situation.

“She has barely touched food or spoken in days,” the elderly woman said, her fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest. “Rohan is the only one who has managed to keep her grounded to life, even in the smallest ways.”

Shanaya’s mother nodded. “We cannot force her heart, but we can guide it. He has waited for her all these years… and now she needs someone to anchor her.”

“Then the time has come to act,” the Singh declared, her voice steady and unwavering. “We must proceed carefully, but with purpose — for her sake… and for his.”

By the following evening, Rohan found himself summoned to the drawing room. Shanaya’s parents and the Singhs were seated in their usual positions, calm yet firm.

“Rohan,” Abhimanyu’s grandaunt began, her tone soft but unyielding, “we are grateful for all you’ve done for Shanaya. Your presence has kept her from… unraveling completely.”

Rohan nodded, unsure where this was heading. “I only did what anyone who cared would do,” he said carefully.

The grandaunt leaned forward. “You care for her. She knows it. And she needs someone to care for her in a way that is constant, unwavering. We… we believe it should be you.”

Rohan’s jaw tightened. He had expected gratitude, perhaps a quiet acknowledgment, but not this bold declaration. “Ma’am… Shanaya… she’s still grieving Abhimanyu. I couldn’t—”

“You won’t be replacing anyone,” the grandaunt interrupted gently. “We’re asking you to help her live. To help her find joy again. That is all.”

Meanwhile, in her room, Shanaya was unaware of the meeting. But soon enough, the family turned their attention to her.

“Shanaya,” her mother began cautiously, “Rohan has been by your side every day. He cares for you. You must… at least consider what the family is asking.”

“I will not consider anything!” Shanaya snapped, her voice sharp, the edge of grief sharpening into defiance. “He is not Abhimanyu! He can never be Abhimanyu! And I… I am not ready for anything else. Do you understand?”

The Singhania’s gaze softened, though her resolve did not waver. “We understand your pain, child. But we also know the human heart, and its need for companionship. Time does not erase loss, Shanaya… but it does allow life to continue. If you allow it.”

Shanaya’s hands trembled. “I… I cannot. I will not. Do not speak of this again.”

Her mother exchanged a quiet glance with the grandaunt. “We’re not giving up,” she whispered. “We will guide her, slowly, gently. But she cannot remain in this state forever. She is still alive, and she must live.”

Over the next few weeks, subtle nudges became routine. Rohan was encouraged to spend more time with her — reading together, walking in the garden, small dinners in private.
Shanaya resisted every advance, flinching at any touch, guarding her heart fiercely.

Yet, in the quiet moments, when she allowed herself to let go even slightly, she began to notice the constancy in Rohan — his patience, his quiet attentiveness, the way he seemed to understand her without words.

It frustrated her. It frightened her. But somewhere deep inside, beneath grief and guilt, a fragile seed of trust, of warmth, began to take root.

And all the while, the family watched from the sidelines, satisfied that the first steps of a careful plan were taking hold.

The stage was set.
Shanaya’s heart resisted — but life, as it always did, had its own designs.

Reluctant Ties

The Singh mansion hummed with an uneasy energy. Shanaya sat stiffly in the drawing room, arms crossed, eyes blazing, as the family tried — again — to broach the subject she had already refused more times than she could count.

“Shanaya,” the Singhania began, her tone calm yet commanding, “we have discussed this at length. Rohan has been here for you, through the darkest days. You cannot — and must not — remain trapped in grief forever.”

Shanaya’s laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Trapped in grief? Do you think I need lessons in survival from people who have no idea what it feels like to lose your entire world?!”

Her mother’s eyes softened. “We do understand, child. More than you think. But life doesn’t wait for grief. Rohan can help you stand again — not replace, not erase, but guide you back to living.”

Shanaya shook her head violently. “No! I will not marry him. I will never…! He is not Abhimanyu. He can never be. And you — all of you — cannot force this!”

Rohan, standing quietly at the side, clenched his fists. He wanted to speak, to argue that this wasn’t about force, but about love. Yet he stayed silent, knowing that pressuring her now would shatter the fragile trust she had begun to place in him.

The Singhania leaned forward, voice firm. “Shanaya, this is not about forcing you. It is about ensuring your heart survives. You must agree — for yourself, not for anyone else. Rohan will never betray your love for Abhimanyu. But he can hold the space for you to heal.”

Shanaya’s head dropped, tears prickling her eyes. “I… I can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking.

Her mother’s hand found hers. “Child, we are asking you to try. Just try. Let Rohan in, even a little. If your heart cannot, at least let your life move forward.”

Hours passed. Shanaya’s defiance wavered under the weight of love, loyalty, and the subtle insistence of family who refused to watch her fade away.

Finally, she spoke, voice trembling, almost inaudible:
“…I… I will… try. But don’t mistake it for… for forgetting. Or replacing. I will not. Ever.”

The room exhaled collectively. Rohan, silent until now, simply stepped closer and offered a tentative hand. “That’s all I ask, Shanaya. Just a chance… to be here for you.”

Her fingers hovered over his, then, with a reluctant trust, she allowed them to intertwine.

The family exchanged quiet smiles. The first battle was won — not by love, but by hope.

Outside, the skies darkened with an evening storm, echoing the turmoil that still lingered in Shanaya’s heart. Yet for the first time in weeks, there was movement — a fragile step forward into a future she never thought she would embrace.

The stage was set for a marriage neither she nor Rohan had wished for, yet fate, in its quiet insistence, had chosen for them.

Tying the Knot

The court was small, almost intimate — a stark contrast to the grandeur of weddings Shanaya had once imagined. Only the closest family members were present: the Singhs, Shanaya’s parents, Rohan’s cousins, and a few friends and relatives who had quietly witnessed her grief and recovery.

Shanaya’s hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her eyes lowered, heart fluttering with a mix of apprehension and unease. She had fought against this, resisted it with every ounce of defiance in her, yet here she was — standing at the threshold of a union she had not wished for, bound by circumstance, care, and family insistence.

Rohan, beside her, was composed, yet his dark eyes held a storm of emotions — patience, reverence, and a quiet yearning. He reached for her hand gently, a silent reassurance. She didn’t pull away.

The registrar’s voice echoed softly in the room. “Do you, Shanaya Singh, take Rohan Nanda as your husband, to stand by him, honor him, and share your life with him, in all circumstances?”

“I… I do,” Shanaya murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“And do you, Rohan Nanda, take Shanaya Singh as your wife, to stand by her, honor her, and share your life with her?”

“I do,” Rohan replied, steady and sincere.

There were murmurs of congratulations, quiet smiles, a few nods of approval. The ceremony was simple — no grand decorations, no elaborate rituals — just a promise between two hearts, one hesitant, one steadfast.

After the registrar signed the papers, Rohan took a deep breath. He reached into the small pouch he had brought with him, producing a delicate mangalsutra and a small box of sindoor.

Shanaya’s eyes widened, and she swallowed nervously. “Rohan…”

“Shanaya,” he said softly, voice low but unwavering, “this isn’t about replacing anyone. This is about being here… with you. I want to honor you, protect you… let me do this.”

Her hands trembled slightly as he tied the mangalsutra around her neck, the golden chain resting lightly against her collarbone. Then, with gentle reverence, he applied a line of sindoor on her forehead.

The gesture was quiet, understated, but it carried the weight of protection, devotion, and an unspoken promise. Shanaya’s eyes filled with tears — not entirely of grief, not yet of love, but of surrender, acceptance, and something fragile blossoming between them.

Rohan held her hand a moment longer, their fingers entwined, as the room stayed silent, witnessing the solemn beauty of the moment.

For Shanaya, it was the beginning of a life she hadn’t chosen — yet somehow, amidst lingering sorrow and reluctant hope, she felt the faintest warmth of safety and trust.

And for Rohan, it was the culmination of years of quiet devotion, patience, and unspoken love finally finding its place, however hesitant, beside the woman who had always held his heart.

The chapter closed softly, with the two of them stepping out of the courthouse together — not yet lovers, not yet fully healed, but bound in a promise that would define the days ahead.

-----

To be continued.

Aleyamma47 thumbnail
Monsoon Magic MF Contest Participant Thumbnail Love-O-Rama Participant Thumbnail + 3
Posted: a day ago
#6

Chapter 5 (The Silence of Bonds)

Shadows of the Heart

The Singh residence, once brimming with laughter, piano notes, and overlapping conversations, now echoed with an unfamiliar stillness. The clink of teacups, the hum of the chandelier, even the ticking clock sounded too loud — reminders of a time when joy had lived here.

Shanaya moved through the mansion like a reluctant guest in her own life. Her footsteps were soft, her silences long. Every corner seemed to whisper Abhimanyu’s name — the piano he once played, the armchair where he had dozed off reading, the balcony where they had planned their future.

Rohan, patient and grounded, tried to adjust to his role as husband — but he could feel the distance in her every gesture. Her politeness was precise, almost rehearsed, as though she were afraid of giving him the wrong impression. Each word she spoke was weighed carefully; each silence, guarded.

Their first breakfast together had been painfully silent. The sound of the cutlery scraping against porcelain filled the air between them. Shanaya toyed with her toast, her gaze fixed on her plate. Rohan watched quietly, his calmness both unnerving and comforting.

“I thought… maybe we could talk,” he ventured gently.

“About what? How I’m supposed to love you? Or how I’m supposed to forget him?” she asked sharply, bitterness cutting through the fragile peace.

He didn’t flinch. His eyes remained kind. “Neither. I just want to understand how you’re feeling. No expectations.”

The sincerity in his voice disarmed her. She had expected insistence, guilt, or pity — not this quiet patience that neither demanded nor withdrew. It unsettled her, this man who waited without pressing, who existed without intruding. For the first time, her grief wasn’t met with resistance, but with understanding — and that frightened her more than anger ever could.

The Awkward Days

Evenings were the hardest. The house felt too big, the rooms too silent. Shanaya spent hours locked in her studio, pretending to work but mostly staring at unfinished sketches. Downstairs, Rohan’s soft humming or the sound of a guitar strumming filled the emptiness, but neither spoke much.

He often found her standing on the terrace late at night, her shawl drawn tight, eyes fixed on the distant city lights.
“You’re awake late,” he said softly one night.

“I can’t sleep. I keep thinking about him,” she replied without turning.

“I know,” he said simply. “And that’s okay. You don’t have to force it away. I just want you to know — I’m here.”

The wind rustled between them, carrying unsaid things. For the first time, she looked at him — really looked — and saw not pity, but quiet companionship. His words carried no pressure, no hidden motive. They were just… there.

For the first time in weeks, something within her stirred — not love, not forgiveness, but trust, fragile and unsure.

Moments of Unintentional Connection

Days blurred into one another, stitched together by routine and polite civility. Yet, small moments began to break through. Rohan remembered her favorite tea blend, left her scarf neatly folded before he left for work, fixed the jammed window in her studio without being asked.

She tried to dismiss it all — tell herself it didn’t mean anything — but couldn’t. His small acts of care chipped gently at the walls she had so carefully built.

One evening, she recounted a mishap at her design studio. Rohan listened, then chuckled softly.
“Stop laughing at me,” she said, half-irritated.

“I’m not,” he smiled faintly. “I just like seeing you human again.”

The words lingered long after he left. Later that night, when she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she was smiling — a small, hesitant smile she hadn’t seen in months.

A Fragile Warmth

One rainy afternoon, thunder rumbled softly in the distance. Shanaya sat sketching by the terrace window, the faint scent of wet earth curling through the air. Rohan appeared quietly, holding two steaming cups of tea.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, setting one beside her.

She blinked. “You… remembered?”

He smiled gently. “I pay attention.”

Her fingers tightened around the cup, warmth seeping through her palms into her chest. The gesture was simple, but it made her heart ache — not from pain, but from tenderness she hadn’t expected to feel again. She didn’t thank him; words would’ve ruined the moment. Instead, she simply sat there, feeling his quiet care settle around her like a soft blanket.

Comfort in Presence

Gradually, silence between them began to change — from cold and heavy to calm and familiar. They learned to share space without speaking: she sketching by the window, he reading on the couch.

One evening, a chill crept in. Shanaya shivered without realizing it. Without a word, Rohan walked over and draped his jacket over her shoulders.

She looked up, startled. “You didn’t have to.”

He smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But I wanted to.”

For a moment, she didn’t move. The warmth of his jacket, his nearness, his quiet presence — all of it felt dangerously comforting. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned slightly toward him, allowing herself to feel the peace that came with simply being near him.

Shared Laughter and Glances

It happened unexpectedly. Shanaya returned home late from her studio, covered in blotches of blue ink after a printing mishap. She muttered curses under her breath, her hair escaping its bun.

Rohan looked up from the couch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Did the canvas win this time?”

She glared, but the corner of her lips curved. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” he grinned. “You should’ve seen your face.”

For a heartbeat, she tried to suppress it, but laughter burst out — soft, genuine, unguarded. Rohan joined in, his chuckle low and rich. The walls of the house seemed to breathe again, carrying echoes of warmth instead of sorrow.

Quiet Realizations

Life slowly found rhythm again. Mornings began with quiet greetings instead of silence. Rohan remembered how she liked her coffee — one sugar, no milk — and how her favorite chair needed to face the sunlight. He didn’t ask; he just knew.

At first, she dismissed it as mere courtesy. But over time, she noticed how his attention was never performative. He didn’t seek appreciation; he just cared — naturally, consistently.

It unsettled her. Not because she disliked it, but because it made her realize how easily she could begin to rely on him.

Moments of Vulnerability

One evening, as rain began to fall again, Shanaya sat by the glass window, lost in thought. Her sketchbook lay open, untouched.

Rohan appeared quietly, two cups of tea in hand. “You’ve barely touched this,” he said, placing one beside her.

“I… wasn’t thirsty.”

He didn’t argue. “You don’t have to pretend,” he said softly. “You can let it out here, if you want.”

Something inside her cracked. She didn’t cry, but the tightness in her chest eased. His presence was steady, his silence unjudging. She exhaled deeply, her trembling breath loud in the quiet.

For the first time in weeks, she felt the relief of being allowed to feel.

Unspoken Affection

As the days passed, subtle moments accumulated — glances that lingered too long, laughter that came too easily. Rohan began to notice the softness in her eyes when she looked at him. Shanaya began to notice the quiet steadiness in his.

He remembered her favorite music, her late-night work habits, the way she frowned when concentrating. She started looking forward to his company — his voice in the evenings, the sound of his guitar, the comfort of his calm.

Late one night, she caught herself watching him as he read by the lamp, his face half-lit in gold. Something inside her fluttered — hesitant, alive. She didn’t dare name it, but she didn’t deny it either.

The First Gentle Confession

It happened on an ordinary night. Shanaya was about to head to bed when she found Rohan in the corridor, his expression unreadable.

“Shanaya,” he began softly, his tone steady, “I know this isn’t easy. I know your heart still belongs to someone else. But I want you to know — I’m here. Always. No expectations, no demands — just… presence.”

Her breath hitched. The sincerity in his voice broke through her walls. “I… I know,” she whispered, her voice barely a tremor. “And I appreciate it. More than I can say.”

He nodded gently, offering her a faint smile before walking away. She stood there, heart pounding, realizing that something had changed.

It was small, almost invisible — but it was real. A bridge of trust. A spark of understanding. A quiet promise that maybe, someday, love could find its way back to her heart again.

The Calm Before the Storm

That night, the house was still — too still. The faint hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence, broken only by the distant sound of rain against the balcony railings. Shanaya lay on her side, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the bedsheet, her thoughts refusing to rest.

Sleep had become a luxury she rarely allowed herself. Each night carried memories she didn’t want to remember — Abhimanyu’s laughter echoing in corners, the ghost of old promises that once meant forever. But tonight was different. The memories were there, yes — soft, distant — but they no longer felt suffocating. Something new had begun to fill their space.

It was Rohan’s voice she heard now, his laughter, his calm steadiness that seemed to steady her too. The way he looked at her — not with pity, but with quiet understanding — had started to unsettle her in the gentlest of ways. He didn’t demand her healing, didn’t try to fix what was broken. He simply stayed, as though his presence alone was enough.

And that… that terrified her. Because she had spent so long learning how not to feel, and suddenly, she found herself feeling too much.

Her heart betrayed her in the smallest of moments — the way it skipped when he brushed past her in the hallway, the way she caught herself listening for his footsteps, waiting for his soft “good morning.” It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was something that had the dangerous potential to become love if she wasn’t careful.

She turned on her back, staring at the ceiling as the shadows shifted in the faint moonlight.
“Don’t do this,” she whispered to herself. “You can’t do this again.”

But her heart, stubborn and alive, no longer listened to logic. It remembered the sound of his laughter, the gentleness in his eyes, the way his jacket had felt when he draped it over her shoulders.

By the time she finally closed her eyes, she wasn’t thinking of the past anymore. She was thinking of Rohan.
And somewhere — outside the fragile stillness of that night — the winds of fate began to stir, ready to test the quiet world they had built.

-----

To be continued.

Aleyamma47 thumbnail
Monsoon Magic MF Contest Participant Thumbnail Love-O-Rama Participant Thumbnail + 3
Posted: a day ago
#7

Chapter 6 (When Walls Fall)

The Unexpected Visit

The morning light poured into the kitchen as Shanaya absentmindedly stirred the pot on the stove. The aroma of roasted vegetables mingled with basil, filling the air with warmth. She didn’t know why she was doing this — making his favorite meal, carefully packing it into the steel tiffin he usually carried.

He had mentioned the late rehearsal over breakfast, rubbing his temples as he spoke, his voice rough with exhaustion. She had noticed the faint dark circles beneath his eyes, the way he’d brushed off his hunger with that lazy half-smile.
Something inside her had softened — it always did when it came to him.

So here she was, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, stirring pasta as if it were a secret she couldn’t quite admit.
“It’s just lunch,” she murmured, trying to convince herself. “Just lunch. Don’t make it more than that.”

But the reflection in the tiffin lid betrayed her — flushed cheeks, the nervous flicker in her eyes, the kind of tenderness that came only from caring too much.

An hour later, she found herself driving across town. The city blurred past as her mind raced ahead of her — what if he thought it was silly? What if it meant something it wasn’t supposed to?
When she reached the studio, her heart stuttered.

Through the glass wall, she saw him — Rohan, guitar in hand, head bent, completely lost in the music. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the sunlight painting his skin in amber and gold as he strummed with quiet focus. Around him, laughter and chatter filled the air, his team moving in rhythm with him — but he looked like the calm center of their storm.

Shanaya’s lips curved unconsciously — until she saw her.
Maya. Striking, confident, and effortlessly at ease beside him.

Maya leaned close, whispering something into his ear. Rohan chuckled, his smile easy, unguarded — the kind of smile Shanaya hadn’t seen in a long time. Then, without hesitation, Maya’s hand brushed his arm. Light, familiar. Intimate.

It was harmless. Probably professional.
But it felt like something inside Shanaya splintered.

She froze. The lunchbox trembled slightly in her hands. The warmth that had carried her through the morning turned sharp, cold. Before Rohan could glance her way, she stepped back, hiding behind the pillar near the door.

Her throat tightened. What was she even doing here — showing up uninvited, bringing lunch like some doting wife?
Maya laughed again, and that sound — soft, easy, his smile in response — was enough to undo her completely.

Shanaya turned on her heel and walked out quickly, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely breathe.
But just before she left the corridor, she placed the lunchbox carefully on a small stool outside the studio door — the one where the crew usually left deliveries.

By the time she reached her car, her pulse was racing, her eyes stinging.
She wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
Not for him. Not again.

And yet, as she gripped the steering wheel, one truth pulsed through her — she cared.
More than she had ever meant to.

Her voice caught, her chest heaving as she pressed a trembling hand over her heart.

The Sting of Jealousy

The drive home was a blur of noise and silence. Shanaya barely registered the honking cars or flashing lights. Her fingers clenched the steering wheel as her heart pounded in uneven rhythms. Every time she blinked, she saw that moment again — Maya’s hand on Rohan’s arm, his easy smile, the comfort that seemed to pass between them.

It shouldn’t have mattered.
She told herself that over and over, but the words felt hollow.

By the time she reached home, anger had replaced confusion — a defensive anger, the kind that shields pain from spilling over. She pushed the door open, dropped the lunchbox on the counter with a loud clang, and paced across the living room, her breath shallow and uneven.

“Ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. “Completely ridiculous. I have no right to feel this way.”
But the ache in her chest refused to listen.

She sat down, only to stand again a moment later. The house felt suffocating. Everywhere she looked — the couch where he sometimes napped, the corner table where they shared tea — carried traces of him. Her vision blurred.

She didn’t even realize she was crying until the doorbell rang.

The Confrontation

Rohan stood on the threshold, rain still clinging to his hair and shoulders. He looked confused, worried — and a little breathless, as if he’d come straight from the studio.

“Shanaya,” he said gently, stepping inside, “why did you leave like that? I saw you from the window—”

“I shouldn’t have come,” she cut him off sharply. “It was a mistake.”

He frowned. “A mistake? You brought lunch for me. You left it there and walked out without saying a word. What happened?”

“Nothing,” she said too quickly. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Then why are you upset?”

Her composure cracked. “Because I saw you with her, okay?” she snapped, the words spilling before she could stop them. “That girl — Maya, whatever her name is — laughing with you, touching your arm like she had every right to—”

She stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she was admitting. Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw.

Rohan took a slow step closer, his voice steady. “You’re jealous.”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smiled faintly. “I’m not. I just… didn’t think you’d care enough to storm off like that.”

“Of course I don’t care!” she said, her voice trembling now. “You can talk to whoever you want, smile however you want, it’s none of my business.”

Rohan’s expression softened. “Then why are you shaking?”

That undid her. The walls she’d built so carefully around her grief, her guilt, her heart — all began to crumble at once.

“Because I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I was supposed to move on quietly, keep my head down, survive. And then you came into my life — patient, kind, impossible to ignore — and I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop feeling—”

She broke off, pressing a trembling hand to her chest, as if trying to still her racing heart.

The Confession

Rohan stood frozen for a moment, staring at her — really staring — as if he’d never seen her before. The tremor in her voice, the tears clinging to her lashes, the rawness she could no longer hide… it all undid something deep within him.

“Shanaya…” he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, until the space between them was charged with quiet electricity. “Say it. Please.”

Her lips parted, trembling as though the words were too heavy to carry. She met his gaze — steady, searching, afraid — and in that moment, everything she’d buried came rushing to the surface.

“I think…” she exhaled shakily, a tear slipping down her cheek, “I think I’ve fallen for you, Rohan. And it terrifies me.”

The words seemed to echo in the stillness that followed, sinking into the air like the final note of a song.
Outside, the rain softened, tapping gently against the windowpanes as if listening.

Rohan’s breath hitched. For a long, suspended moment, he didn’t move. His eyes searched hers, almost afraid that if he blinked, the truth might dissolve like a dream. Then, slowly — cautiously — a smile began to form on his lips. Not the easy, teasing one she was used to, but something different. Tender. Disbelieving. Overjoyed.

“Do you have any idea,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, “how long I’ve wanted to hear that?”

Her chest tightened. His tone — that quiet blend of relief and wonder — made her heart ache in the best possible way.

Rohan took another step closer, his presence warm, grounding. He reached up, hesitating for a brief second before his fingertips brushed away the tear on her cheek. His touch was feather-light, reverent, the kind that asked permission rather than assumed it.

“Shanaya,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the faint curve of her jaw. “You don’t have to be afraid. Not with me.”

Her breath caught. Their eyes locked — a silent exchange of everything they hadn’t said, everything they’d both been fighting to deny. The air between them seemed to hum, charged with something magnetic and inevitable.

Rohan leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to step away. His breath mingled with hers, warm and unsteady. She could feel the faint tremor in his hand where it still cupped her face — a rare sign of vulnerability from the man who always seemed so composed.

Her pulse quickened. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the sound of their breathing and the rain outside, threading around them like music.

He stopped when their lips were barely an inch apart — close enough for her to feel the whisper of his exhale against her skin. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

But Shanaya didn’t move. Instead, she smiled — a small, teasing curve of her lips that glimmered through her tears.

“Not so easy, Mr. Perfect Husband,” she murmured, voice low and playful, though her heartbeat betrayed her calm.

Rohan blinked, caught off guard. Then, for the first time that night, a soft laugh escaped him — low, husky, disarming. “Oh really?”

“Really,” she said, lifting her chin a little, though her voice wavered. “You think one confession earns you a reward?”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief that always managed to break through her defenses. “I don’t need a reward,” he said softly. “Just… confirmation.”

Her lips parted in surprise — and before she could reply, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his fingertips lingering at the side of her neck. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, the kind that left her both breathless and weightless.

The moment stretched — delicate, dangerous, beautiful — hovering on the edge of something neither of them could turn away from anymore.

------

To be continued.

coderlady thumbnail
Posted: a day ago
#8

What a twist of fate! To lose someone and to have them come back at a time when you can not even accept them back in your life easily.

coderlady thumbnail
Posted: a day ago
#9

What was it about Rohan's name that triggered something in her? What did it trigger?

coderlady thumbnail
Posted: a day ago
#10

Rohan is sad for some reason. A love lost or never found? Was there anything between him and Shanaya?

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Posted by: sarveshjoshi42 · 8 years ago

Let's me introduced the Characters Ritik Raheja (Arjun Bijlani) : A very rich business tycoon and elder brother of Ranveer and Ragini Ranveer

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