Ishq Ki Taqdeer ~ A SOTY FF - Page 3

They all understand and say that Abhi will not be forgotten or replaced. They are just moving on. But some moves will make it difficult to ever come back.

chapter 5

Rohan has a very difficult time ahead. He has played the supportive role forever, but when does he get some love for himself?

Originally posted by: coderlady

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

Actually this is the continuation of the story of the first film of Student Of The Year.

In that film, Rohan and Shanaya were a couple but Shanaya later chooses Abhi so Rohan loses his love

Slowly her heart is feeling the warmth she had forgotten to feel. Just a little at a time.

She actually laughed after a long time. She felt light enough to let her pain go.

Little by little, the heart is finding a new rhythm. It started with trust and faith and comfort. But love is not far behind.

chapter 6

The jealousy hit when she spotted Maya next to Rohan. A sure sign that something is brewing.

She said the words for the first time. To Rohan, it would be the words to last a lifetime.

I need to go back and re-read "Student of the Year" to recapture their dynamics and how she made her choice.

Chapter 7 (Between Thunder and Heartbeats)

The Playful Chase — With a Melody in the Air

What began as a moment of confession turned into something lighter — tender yet electric, like the air before a summer storm.
Shanaya stepped back instinctively, her pulse racing, eyes glinting with a mix of shyness and mischief.
“Ishq Wala Love” began playing softly in the background — the tune playful, romantic, and achingly familiar.

Rohan raised a brow, a teasing smile curving his lips.
“You think you can just drop a confession like that and run?”

She folded her arms, feigning calm though her cheeks were flushed.
“Who said I’m running?”

“Oh, you’re definitely running,” he chuckled, taking a slow, deliberate step forward.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “Try catching me then.”

Before he could react, she spun around, the edge of her saree pallu brushing against him as she darted toward the hallway.

“Shanaya—!” he called after her, laughing as he followed.

Elsewhere, under the heavy monsoon sky, rain hammered against the asphalt as Abhimanyu stumbled through puddles, each step agony. Blood soaked through his shirt, his breath ragged, yet his voice barely rose above the storm:
“Shanaya… Shany…”

Back in the Singh Mansion, the once silent house echoed with Shanaya’s laughter — clear, bright, startlingly alive. It bounced off the walls, filled the corners that had long held silence and grief. Her laughter merged with the faint melody of Ishq Wala Love, as though her heart itself had found its rhythm again.

“Rohan, stop!” she half-laughed, half-squealed as she slipped past the sofa, nearly colliding with a cushion he’d tossed aside earlier.

“Not until you let me finish what you started!” he shot back, his voice warm, teasing, utterly undone by the sight of her smiling again.

She turned, dodging him by inches, breathless, her eyes sparkling with unguarded joy.
“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I would,” he grinned, quickening his pace.

Outside, Abhimanyu fell to his knees on the slick street, clutching his side. The world tilted, pain lancing through his body, but he whispered again — hoarse, desperate:
“Shanaya… please…”

Inside, Rohan and Shanaya circled the living room like two dancers caught in an improvised rhythm — fast, slow, light, and teasing — as if the universe itself had set their chase to a love song only they could hear. She grabbed the edge of the table for balance; he caught her reflection in the glass cabinet — eyes shining with amusement and something deeper.

Just as she darted toward the staircase, he reached out — his fingers brushed hers. She gasped and tried to slip away again, but this time, he caught her wrist — gentle, firm, inescapable.

The world went still.

Somewhere beyond, Abhimanyu staggered forward again, vision blurring as rain and blood mingled. He sank to the pavement, whispering her name one last time before the darkness closed in:
“Shanaya… I need you…”

A shiver ran down Shanaya’s spine. The laughter that had filled the air moments ago froze. Her smile faltered as she looked up at Rohan.
“Rohan… I… I think I heard him,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Rohan’s expression softened with concern. “Who?”

“Abhimanyu…” Her fingers clutched his shirt, heart hammering.

He drew her closer instinctively, grounding her. The warmth of his touch steadied the tremor in her voice, but the echo of that name — Abhimanyu — lingered like a haunting note beneath the melody.

Shanaya pressed her forehead to his chest, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know why… I just felt like I heard him.”

Rohan brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, his eyes steady and gentle.
“Shanaya, you’re safe,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Outside, flashing lights cut through the rain as paramedics lifted Abhimanyu onto a stretcher. His lips moved weakly, still calling her name — his last thread of consciousness tied to her.
“Shanaya…”

Inside, Shanaya’s fingers gripped Rohan’s shoulders. She still felt that shiver, that echo — as though somewhere her name had been spoken with a kind of desperation that reached across time and distance.

But Rohan’s presence — his warmth, his heartbeat beneath her palm — tethered her back to now.

Her laughter returned, soft and uncertain at first, as he spun her gently, trying to bring her back to light. The faint melody of Ishq Wala Love floated through the room, stitching the two worlds together — joy and fear, love and longing — all converging into one fragile heartbeat.

Two souls — one chasing love in laughter, another chasing life through pain.

And in between them stood a name — Shanaya — the single thread holding both worlds together.

Shanaya’s breath hitched as Rohan drew her closer, her back grazing the wall. The laughter melted into silence, replaced by something deeper — the weight of emotion too long buried.

He stood inches away, thumb tracing slow circles on her wrist, his gaze unflinching.
“Shanaya…” he murmured, voice low and rough with feeling.

She met his eyes — trembling, breathless, on the edge of surrender.
“You really won’t give up, will you?”

“Not on you,” he said simply.

And in that heartbeat, all her fear and guilt seemed to dissolve.

When he leaned in this time, she didn’t move away.

Their lips met — soft at first, hesitant, then deepening into something slow, aching, and inevitable. It wasn’t just a kiss — it was laughter, release, rediscovery. It was Ishq Wala Love come alive — every touch, every breath, every emotion that words could never hold.

Outside, the rain fell harder, drumming against the windows like applause — as if the universe itself had been waiting for this.

When they finally parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, eyes closed.

And for the first time since she lost Abhimanyu… Shanaya truly smiled — not to hide pain, but because she felt alive again.
Alive to love, alive to hope, alive to the rhythm that beat quietly beneath it all —
a heart rediscovered.

The Stillness After the Storm

The silence that followed their kiss was almost sacred. Rain still whispered against the windows, and the faint echo of Ishq Wala Love drifted like a lullaby through the dimly lit room.
Shanaya’s fingers trembled where they rested on Rohan’s chest. He covered her hand with his, steady, wordless, letting her feel the warmth of his heartbeat under her palm.

Neither spoke; the world outside had faded to nothing but rain, music, and breath.

When he cupped her face again, she didn’t look away. Her lashes fluttered shut as he kissed her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—each touch slower, surer, as though they were relearning how to love, how to trust, how to begin again.

She whispered his name, and it came out like a promise. He drew her into his arms, her head against his shoulder, his breath stirring her hair. Time stretched thin, suspended between thunder and heartbeat.

Then his hand reached her shoulder, covered by the soft sleeve of her blouse. He tenderly slid the fabric aside and pressed a gentle kiss against her bare skin. Shanaya flinched at the warmth of his lips on her shoulder. He looked up at her face, searching for permission, and when her eyes gave it, he slowly unpinned the other side of her saree and, step by step, let the drape fall away from her body. Once the drape was pulled away, he gradually unbuttoned her blouse, loosened her underskirt and removed her undergarments until she was completely naked. Shanaya shivered in the coldness of her uncovered body. Rohan undressed himself and embraced her to let the heat of his body warm her. The warmth of his embrace made her forget the chill in the air. Time seemed to slow as they held each other, every heartbeat speaking the words neither dared to say aloud.

The lights dimmed when a gust of wind cut through the curtains, wrapping them both in the muted glow of the rain. The world softened; words no longer mattered.

In the dim light, Rohan’s hands gently traced the contours of Shanaya’s nude figure, careful and tender. Every touch was electric, and she shivered—not from cold, but from the closeness between them. His hands first reached for her breasts then they moved downwards letting his fingers glide along her curves, feeling the softness and subtle strength of her body. Then Rohan gently lifted Shanaya’s bare silhouette and placed it onto the bed where he finally entered her and they became one body and one soul.

The camera of their story would pull back then—only silhouettes visible against the windowpane, rain tracing lines down the glass like tears finally set free.

Elsewhere, in an unknown hospital, Abhimanyu muttered Shanaya’s name once again, and it hung in the air like a question waiting to be answered.

The music rose once more, tender and slow, blending with the rhythm of the falling rain. The night folded around them, gentle, forgiving, and infinite.

And as the storm outside began to fade, Shanaya finally let herself do what she’d denied for so long—she let herself feel loved again.

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To be continued.