Tum Meri Adhoori Dhun ~ Rajdheer SS ~ Chapter 2 on pg 1

In 1998, singer Bhanu Shukla and music director Mahadev Tiwari fall deeply in love, only to separate because of ego and heartbreak. Decades later, fate reunites their unfinished melody through Rajji Bajpayee and Dheeraj Tiwari, whose chaotic romance unknowingly echoes a love story that time could never truly erase.

Cast & Characters

Garvita Sadhwani as Young Bhanu Shukla / Manasi Salvi as Old Bhanu Bajpayee

A gifted singer with a fiery temper and an intensely emotional heart, Bhanu loves deeply but struggles with pride and vulnerability. Once passionately in love with Mahadev Tiwari, fate leads her toward a different life with Yash Bajpayee. Beneath her strength lies a woman forever haunted by unfinished music and love.

Aasim Khan as Young Mahadev Tiwari/ Shakti Anand as Old Mahadev Tiwari

A calm, talented music director from Hardoi, Mahadev balances Bhanu's storms with patience and quiet affection. Thoughtful, observant, and emotionally restrained, he carries the scars of a love lost to ego and timing. Even years later, music remains his refuge, and Bhanu remains the melody he never truly forgot.

Garvita Sadhwani as Rajji Bajpayee

Vibrant, stubborn, and unapologetically dramatic, Rajji lights up every room she enters. Beneath her chaotic energy lies fierce loyalty and emotional depth. A college excursion to Delhi unexpectedly changes her life when she collides with Dheeraj Tiwari, beginning a romance that unknowingly mirrors her mother's unfinished past.

Aasim Khan as Dheeraj Tiwari

Calm, sharp-witted, and effortlessly charming, Dheeraj hides his emotions behind humor and composure. Unlike Rajji's expressive nature, he observes more than he speaks. Arriving in Delhi for a friend's wedding, he never expects a stubborn stranger to disrupt his carefully controlled world and awaken emotions he cannot ignore.

Chapter 1 (When Music Became Home)

Hardoi, 1998

The Storm Inside SurSangam Studios

Rainwater dripped steadily from the old tiled roof of SurSangam Studios, one of the most famous recording spaces in Hardoi. Outside, the streets smelled of wet mud and monsoon rain, while inside the studio, another storm was brewing entirely.

“This is the LAST time I’m singing this line!”

Bhanu pulled off her headphones dramatically and glared through the recording booth glass.

“Either finalize this take or find another singer, Mahadev!”

The tabla player immediately looked down at his instrument.

The keyboardist slowly stopped playing midway.

Even the sound engineer avoided eye contact.

Nobody in the studio liked getting trapped between Bhanu’s temper and Mahadev’s impossible perfectionism.

Behind the glass panel, Mahadev sat calmly in his chair, adjusting the audio levels without the slightest panic on his face.

White kurta. Sleeves folded neatly. Calm eyes that somehow became even calmer when Bhanu lost her temper.

“You’re missing the emotion in the last line,” he said softly into the microphone.

Bhanu stared at him in disbelief.

“Emotion?” she repeated loudly. “You made me sing this song sixteen times!”

“Seventeen,” Mahadev corrected gently.

The musicians exchanged helpless looks.

Bhanu shoved the recording booth door open and stormed straight into the control room.

“You enjoy irritating me, don’t you?”

Mahadev removed his headphones slowly and looked up at her with that infuriatingly patient expression.

“That depends,” he replied. “Are you irritated?”

A few people instantly hid their laughter.

Bhanu pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t joke with me right now!”

“I’m not joking.”

“You rejected a perfect take!”

Mahadev leaned back slightly in his chair.

“You sang the lyrics correctly,” he said calmly. “But not the feeling.”

Bhanu folded her arms angrily.

“Oh, really? And what feeling am I supposed to magically create now?”

Mahadev looked at her quietly for a second.

“The feeling of missing someone you can’t live without.”

The room fell silent.

Bhanu’s expression flickered for the briefest moment before she quickly looked away.

Only Mahadev could do this to her.

Only he could turn her anger into nervous silence within seconds.

Anyone else speaking to her like that would have already been thrown out of the studio.

“You think you know everything,” she muttered.

“No,” Mahadev said softly. “Only you.”

A Love Everyone Already Knew About

The musicians immediately pretended to become extremely busy.

Everyone in Hardoi’s music circle already knew about Bhanu and Mahadev.

The famous singer with a volcanic temper.

And the quiet music director who somehow handled her like she was made of glass instead of fire.

Mahadev turned toward the musicians.

“Ten-minute break.”

Nobody wasted a second escaping the room.

Within moments, the studio was empty except for Bhanu and Mahadev.

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

Bhanu stood near the console with her arms crossed stubbornly.

“You embarrassed me in front of everyone.”

Mahadev watched her for a long moment before standing up.

He walked toward her slowly, stopping just close enough for her to catch the faint scent of rain and sandalwood on his clothes.

“You know why I keep making you repeat lines?”

Bhanu refused to answer.

“Because when you sing properly,” he continued quietly, “people forget the world around them.”

Bhanu’s anger weakened immediately.

That was the problem.

Mahadev never fought her anger with anger.

He softened it instead.

And somehow that affected her far more.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

“And you’re dramatic.”

Bhanu gasped. “Excuse me?”

Mahadev smiled faintly.

There it was.

That stupid smile.

The one capable of ruining every argument she planned.

“You were born angry, Bhanu.”

“And you were born irritating.”

“Maybe.”

Bhanu tried to remain annoyed but failed miserably when he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

The movement was soft. Familiar.

Intimate in the way only long love stories become.

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” Mahadev murmured.

“I’m always angry.”

“I know.”

Bhanu finally laughed softly.

The sound echoed warmly through the studio.

When Music Sounded Like Love

Outside, Hardoi continued drowning in rain.

Inside, Bhanu forgot every reason she had for being angry.

Mahadev walked back toward the console and replayed the unfinished melody filling the studio softly. Bhanu listened quietly as the tune floated through the speakers.

“This song is impossible,” she said after a moment.

Mahadev glanced at her. “Why?”

“Because every time I sing it, it feels too real.”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“That’s why it will become memorable.”

Bhanu looked at him carefully.

“How do you always know what I’m feeling?”

Mahadev adjusted one of the sound controls casually.

“You speak through your voice before you speak through words.”

Bhanu stared at him silently for a few seconds.

Then she shook her head dramatically.

“That sounded very poetic.”

“It was supposed to.”

“You definitely practiced saying that.”

Mahadev laughed softly under his breath.

And just like that, the storm disappeared again.

Because no matter how fiercely Bhanu burned, Mahadev always knew how to quiet the flames without ever trying to extinguish them.

Bhanu walked back into the recording booth with a dramatic sigh, adjusting the dupatta over her shoulder.

“If this take also gets rejected,” she warned, pointing at Mahadev through the glass panel, “I’m leaving.”

Mahadev pressed a button on the console.

“You say that every day.”

“And one day I’ll actually do it.”

“No,” he replied calmly. “You’ll come back after ten minutes.”

Bhanu narrowed her eyes.

“You’re very overconfident.”

“You’re very predictable.”

The musicians burst into laughter before immediately becoming silent when Bhanu glared at them.

Mahadev hid his smile behind his hand.

Bhanu placed the headphones back on and closed her eyes as the music began again.

The studio slowly filled with the soft sound of violins.

Then Bhanu started singing.

And suddenly everything changed.

The same woman who argued, shouted, and threatened to quit every fifteen minutes transformed completely when she sang.

Her voice carried emotion so naturally that even silence seemed to listen.

Mahadev watched her quietly through the glass.

This was his favorite version of Bhanu.

Not the angry one.

Not the dramatic one.

This one.

The Bhanu who disappeared into music so completely that the world around her stopped existing.

The final line approached.

Bhanu opened her eyes slightly, looking toward Mahadev while singing the last words.

Something in her voice shifted.

Softer.

More vulnerable.

As though she actually understood the ache hidden inside the lyrics now.

The song ended.

Silence filled the studio.

Nobody moved.

The tabla player looked emotional.

One of the assistant musicians actually whispered, “Perfect…”

Mahadev slowly removed his headphones.

Bhanu immediately crossed her arms defensively inside the booth.

“Well?” she demanded through the microphone. “What impossible flaw did you find now?”

Mahadev looked at her for a long moment before pressing the recording button.

“That,” he said quietly, “was beautiful.”

Bhanu blinked.

The musicians exchanged knowing smiles.

Compliments from Mahadev were rare.

Genuine praise from him was even rarer.

Bhanu tried to hide how happy she suddenly looked.

“Hm,” she said casually. “Obviously.”

Mahadev chuckled softly.

The Drive Back Home

The recording session wrapped up nearly an hour later.

By the time everyone finally stepped outside the studio, the rain had reduced to a light drizzle.

Hardoi’s streets glistened beneath yellow streetlights.

Mahadev locked the studio door while Bhanu stood nearby under the awning, humming the melody they had recorded earlier.

“You’re still thinking about the song,” he observed.

“I’m thinking about how much you tortured me.”

Mahadev looked at her dryly. “Same thing.”

Bhanu laughed.

A motorcycle passed through the wet road nearby, splashing muddy water dangerously close to her sandals.

“Disgusting!” she complained instantly.

Mahadev shook his head with amusement before removing a clean handkerchief from his pocket and kneeling slightly to wipe the mud from her sandal.

Bhanu froze.

“Mahadev…”

“It’ll stain,” he replied simply.

People passed by on the street.

A few instantly recognized them.

Some smiled knowingly.

Others whispered to each other.

Bhanu looked embarrassed suddenly.

“Everyone’s staring.”

“Let them.”

“You don’t care about anything.”

“I care about important things.”

He stood back up slowly.

Bhanu looked at him quietly for a moment.

Then she asked softly, “And what’s important?”

Mahadev held her gaze steadily.

“You.”

For once, Bhanu had absolutely nothing to say.

The drizzle continued around them.

Somewhere nearby, an old radio played a romantic song faintly through static.

And for a brief moment, Hardoi felt impossibly still.

Mahadev opened the passenger-side door of his jeep for her.

Bhanu raised an eyebrow dramatically.

“Such manners.”

“I’m trying to impress you.”

“You’re very late.”

Mahadev smiled lightly. “Did it work?”

Bhanu pretended to think seriously before getting inside.

“A little.”

A Song, A Road, And Them

The jeep moved slowly through Hardoi’s rain-soaked streets.

Soft music played from the cassette player while droplets slid across the windshield rhythmically.

Bhanu rested her chin against the window, watching tiny shops and glowing streetlights pass by outside.

Mahadev glanced at her briefly.

“You’re unusually quiet.”

“I’m tired.”

“You only become quiet when you’re thinking too much.”

Bhanu sighed dramatically.

“Must you analyze everything about me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Mahadev turned the steering wheel casually.

“Because you’re interesting.”

Bhanu looked at him suspiciously.

“You flirt very seriously.”

“And you fight very seriously.”

“That’s because people are annoying.”

Mahadev smiled faintly.

“And what am I?”

Bhanu looked at him for a few long seconds before answering softly—

“My favorite annoyance.”

The Tea Stall Confession

Mahadev slowed the jeep near a small roadside tea stall glowing beneath a flickering yellow bulb.

Bhanu frowned immediately.

“Why are we stopping?”

“Tea.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

Mahadev parked the jeep calmly. “And?”

“And civilized people sleep at this hour.”

“You screamed at me for three hours,” he replied while stepping out. “You lost the right to call yourself civilized.”

Bhanu gasped dramatically before quickly getting out after him.

The tea seller instantly recognized them.

“Arre, Mahadev bhaiya!” he exclaimed happily. “Recording khatam ho gaya?”

Mahadev nodded with a small smile.

“Do chai.”

The old man’s eyes shifted toward Bhanu knowingly.

“And Bhanu bitiya?” he asked carefully. “Aaj gussa kam kiya ya zyada?”

Bhanu folded her arms.

“Very funny.”

The tea seller laughed nervously while Mahadev quietly hid his amusement.

Rain dripped from the edge of the tin roof as the two stood beside the stall waiting for their tea.

Hardoi at night felt softer somehow.

Quieter.

More honest.

Bhanu rubbed her palms together against the cold breeze.

Without a word, Mahadev removed his shawl from the jeep and placed it around her shoulders.

Bhanu looked up at him.

“You’ll get cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I usually am.”

The tea seller handed them steaming glasses of chai.

Bhanu carefully blew on hers before taking a sip.

Then immediately made a face.

“This is too hot!”

Mahadev nearly laughed.

“You complain about everything.”

“Because everything irritates me.”

“Especially me.”

“Obviously.”

Mahadev leaned casually against the jeep, watching her over the rim of his tea glass.

Bhanu noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m looking.”

“There’s a difference?”

“A big one.”

Bhanu rolled her eyes but failed to hide her smile.

The rain became slightly heavier again, trapping them beneath the tiny shelter of the tea stall roof.

For a few moments, neither spoke.

Then Bhanu suddenly asked quietly—

“What if one day I stop singing for you?”

Mahadev looked at her properly now.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because nobody understands your voice like I do.”

Bhanu’s expression softened.

“And if someone else does someday?”

Mahadev took a slow sip of tea before answering.

“They still won’t know you.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside her.

Dangerously deep.

Bhanu looked away first.

Because sometimes Mahadev spoke so gently that it frightened her.

As though he had already memorized every broken, angry, stubborn piece of her heart.

The Promise Beneath The Rain

By the time they finally left the tea stall, the rain had almost stopped.

The roads shimmered beneath moonlight hidden behind clouds.

Mahadev drove more slowly now, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel while old songs played softly from the cassette player.

Bhanu absentmindedly hummed along.

Then suddenly—

“Stop the jeep.”

Mahadev blinked.

“What happened?”

“Just stop.”

Confused, he pulled over near an empty field at the edge of town.

Bhanu stepped out immediately.

Mahadev followed her with a frown.

“What are you doing?”

Instead of answering, Bhanu walked straight into the middle of the wet road and stretched her arms outward toward the night sky.

The cold wind blew through her hair wildly.

Mahadev stared at her like she had lost her mind.

“Bhanu!”

She turned toward him with a grin.

“Come here.”

“It’s freezing.”

“You’re boring.”

Mahadev sighed in defeat before walking toward her.

The road around them was empty.

Only distant crickets and dripping rainwater filled the silence.

Bhanu looked up at him suddenly.

“Promise me something.”

Mahadev’s expression softened immediately.

“What?”

“That no matter how much we fight…” she said quietly, “…we’ll never become strangers.”

Something about her tone made him pause.

For the first time that night, Bhanu didn’t sound dramatic.

She sounded afraid.

Mahadev stepped closer.

Close enough to feel her trembling slightly from the cold.

“We fight every day,” he said softly.

“Exactly.”

“And every day we come back to each other.”

Bhanu looked at him silently.

Mahadev gently held her hand.

“That’s not going to change.”

The wind moved softly around them.

Bhanu stared at their joined hands for a few seconds before whispering—

“You promise?”

Mahadev smiled faintly.

“I promise.”

------

To be continued.

This is the story based on "Poovellam Kettupar"

They lost their chance at love once. Will their children reunite them?

She was fiery, he was calm. They were good together. Why did they walk away?

Chapter 2 (The Love Story Hardoi Already Knew)

The Famous Bhanu-Mahadev Fights

By the next morning, Hardoi already knew Bhanu and Mahadev had fought again.

Nobody knew the reason.

Nobody ever knew the reason.

But everyone always knew when it happened.

Because on fight days:

• Bhanu entered studios like a thunderstorm.
• Mahadev became suspiciously quieter than usual.
• Musicians avoided eye contact.
• And tea consumption inside SurSangam Studios increased dramatically.

“Should we postpone today’s rehearsal?” one assistant whispered nervously.

The tabla player shook his head immediately.

“No. Yesterday they were fighting. Today they’ll flirt again.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re impossible people. Don’t question their process.”

At that exact moment, the studio doors flew open.

Bhanu entered wearing a deep blue salwar suit, sunglasses, and an expression suggesting she was prepared to destroy lives.

Everyone instantly became busy.

Mahadev looked up from his notes briefly.

“You’re late.”

Bhanu removed her sunglasses slowly.

“You’re alive. Be grateful.”

The keyboardist quietly muttered, “Yes, they’re definitely still fighting.”

Mahadev calmly continued writing something on his music sheets.

“You switched your phone off.”

Bhanu sat down dramatically across from him.

“I was angry.”

“You were angry because I slept.”

“You slept during our argument!”

“It was two in the morning.”

“You still could’ve stayed awake emotionally.”

Even Mahadev looked impressed by the logic.

Bhanu folded her arms stubbornly.

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s my dialogue,” Mahadev replied calmly.

A few musicians accidentally laughed.

Bhanu glared at them instantly.

“None of you have work?”

Everyone immediately scattered.

Mahadev finally looked at her properly.

There was still irritation on her face.

But beneath that—

something softer lingered.

Something only he ever noticed.

“You ate breakfast?” he asked casually.

Bhanu blinked.

“What?”

“Breakfast.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“So no.”

Bhanu looked offended.

“How do you always know?”

Mahadev simply pushed a paper packet toward her.

She opened it suspiciously.

Hot samosas.

Her favorite.

Bhanu stared at him.

“When did you buy these?”

“This morning.”

“You knew I’d skip breakfast?”

“You always skip breakfast after fighting.”

Bhanu looked away immediately.

And there it was again.

That terrifying feeling.

The feeling that Mahadev understood her even better than she understood herself.

It made loving him easy.

And frightening.

Music Rehearsals And Hidden Smiles

The rehearsal started an hour later.

Mahadev stood near the harmonium explaining a new composition while musicians carefully followed his instructions.

Bhanu sat nearby pretending not to pay attention.

In reality, she watched him constantly.

The way his fingers tapped rhythm unconsciously.

The way he closed his eyes while hearing melodies in his head.

The way his voice softened while discussing music.

Nobody else saw these things.

Bhanu did.

Because Bhanu noticed everything about him.

“Bhanu.”

She blinked.

Mahadev was looking directly at her now.

“You’re supposed to sing the next part.”

“Oh.”

The musicians instantly exchanged amused looks.

Bhanu cleared her throat awkwardly before standing up.

Mahadev started playing the melody slowly.

The room quietened.

And once again, the world narrowed down to just two people and music between them.

Bhanu sang softly at first.

Then stronger.

The lyrics floated beautifully through the studio.

Mahadev watched her with complete concentration.

Not as a music director.

Not even as a lover.

But as someone witnessing something sacred.

Bhanu noticed his expression midway through the song.

And suddenly forgot the lyrics entirely.

The music stopped.

Mahadev raised an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Bhanu looked horrified.

“You distracted me!”

“I was sitting quietly.”

“You were staring!”

“That’s because you’re singing.”

The musicians immediately looked away to hide smiles.

Bhanu pointed accusingly at him.

“See? This is your problem!”

“My problem is appreciating my singer?”

“Your problem is existing.”

Mahadev nodded thoughtfully.

“That sounds serious.”

Bhanu failed to stop herself from laughing.

And just like that, the fight disappeared again.

Like it always did.

Hardoi Starts Talking

By evening, Bhanu and Mahadev were seated outside the studio sharing tea while discussing lyrics.

Which meant the entire city officially considered them reconciled again.

“Three days,” the tea seller told another customer confidently. “This fight lasted only three days.”

Across the street, two local boys grinned.

“They’ll definitely get married.”

“Obviously.”

“They already behave like husband and wife.”

Bhanu overheard that sentence immediately.

She nearly choked on her tea.

Mahadev calmly continued reading the lyrics sheet as though nothing happened.

Bhanu glared at him.

“Did you hear what they said?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not reacting?”

“What reaction do you want?”

“I don’t know! Something!”

Mahadev finally looked at her.

Then very casually asked—

A Question Bhanu Was Not Ready For

“You don’t want to marry me?”

Bhanu stared at Mahadev as though he had personally set Hardoi on fire.

The tea glass nearly slipped from her hand.

“What kind of question is that?!”

Mahadev calmly took another sip of tea.

“A normal one.”

“There is nothing normal about you.”

“You still didn’t answer.”

Bhanu looked around immediately.

Two aunties across the street were already staring at them with dangerous interest.

One of them whispered something excitedly to the other.

Bhanu lowered her voice instantly.

“Mahadev!”

“Hm?”

“People are listening!”

“That usually happens when humans speak loudly in public.”

Bhanu glared at him furiously.

“How are you this calm all the time?”

Mahadev folded the lyrics sheet carefully.

“Because one of us has to be.”

Bhanu opened her mouth to argue—

then stopped.

Because unfortunately, he was right.

Again.

“I’m leaving,” she announced dramatically, standing up.

Mahadev nodded casually.

“Okay.”

Bhanu blinked.

“Okay?”

“You said you’re leaving.”

“You’re not stopping me?”

“You’ll come back in five minutes.”

Bhanu looked genuinely offended now.

“You think I can’t stay angry?”

Mahadev finally looked up at her properly.

“No,” he said softly. “I think you can’t stay away.”

And just like that, her heartbeat betrayed her again.

Bhanu hated when he spoke like that.

Not because she disliked it.

Because she liked it too much.

The Entire Studio Ships Them

The next morning, SurSangam Studios was unusually energetic.

Not because of work.

Because Bhanu and Mahadev had apparently entered a “soft romance phase” again after their recent fight.

The musicians had theories about these phases.

Fight Phase:

• Bhanu threatens murder.
• Mahadev becomes quieter.
• Everybody suffers.

Romantic Phase:

• Bhanu brings homemade food.
• Mahadev smiles more.
• Everybody suffers differently.

“Definitely romantic phase,” the drummer whispered confidently while setting up instruments.

“How do you know?”

“She wore jasmine flowers today.”

The assistant gasped.

“That serious?”

“Very serious.”

At that exact moment, Bhanu entered the studio carrying a steel tiffin box.

The entire room went silent.

Mahadev looked up from the harmonium.

Bhanu placed the tiffin in front of him casually.

“I made breakfast.”

The musicians exchanged emotional looks immediately.

Mahadev raised an eyebrow slightly.

“You cooked?”

“I can cook.”

“I know. I’m just surprised your kitchen survived.”

The musicians nearly choked trying not to laugh.

Bhanu smacked his shoulder instantly.

“You’re horrible!”

Mahadev opened the tiffin slowly.

A soft smell of aloo paratha filled the room.

For a second, he simply looked at the food quietly.

Bhanu suddenly looked nervous.

“You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to.”

Mahadev tore off a piece calmly.

Then took a bite.

The entire studio watched like this was a national event.

Mahadev chewed thoughtfully.

Bhanu looked seconds away from emotional collapse.

Finally, Mahadev nodded once.

“It’s good.”

The musicians burst into applause dramatically.

Bhanu looked scandalized.

“Why are all of you behaving like this?!”

“Because,” the tabla player declared emotionally, “true love still exists.”

Bhanu threw a cushion at him.

Mahadev laughed properly this time.

A rare, real laugh.

And Bhanu immediately forgot why she was pretending to be annoyed.

Lyrics Only They Understood

Later that afternoon, Mahadev sat beside the piano writing lyrics corrections while Bhanu leaned over his shoulder reading them upside down.

“You changed this line.”

“It sounded incomplete.”

“It was romantic.”

“It was dramatic.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“For you, maybe.”

Bhanu snatched the notebook from his hands.

Mahadev watched with amusement as she read the lyrics aloud dramatically—

“Dil ko aadat ho gayi hai… sirf ek awaaz ki…”

Her voice softened unconsciously while reading the line.

Mahadev noticed immediately.

“That line suits you,” he said quietly.

Bhanu looked up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mahadev leaned back in his chair.

“You get restless when I disappear for one day.”

Bhanu looked offended.

“That is completely false.”

“You called my house twelve times during our last fight.”

“I was checking if you were alive.”

“At two in the morning?”

Bhanu froze.

The musicians nearby immediately pretended not to listen.

Mahadev’s eyes filled with quiet amusement.

“You were worried.”

“I was bored.”

“You missed me.”

“You’re delusional.”

Mahadev smiled lightly.

Bhanu hated that smile.

Because it always looked like he already knew the truth before she admitted it herself.

The Woman In The Red Saree

That evening, SurSangam Studios hosted a small music gathering for local artists and producers from nearby cities.

Which meant two things:

1. Bhanu was already irritated.
2. Mahadev was pretending not to notice.

“I don’t understand why I have to attend these things,” Bhanu muttered while adjusting the bangles on her wrist.

“Because you’re the lead singer of the album.”

“And?”

“And civilized people support their team.”

Bhanu narrowed her eyes instantly.

“You’ve been using the word civilized a lot lately.”

Mahadev looked thoughtful.

“I’m trying to inspire growth.”

Bhanu gasped dramatically.

Before she could argue further, one of the assistant musicians entered the room.

“Mahadev sir, everyone’s waiting outside.”

Mahadev nodded.

Then he looked toward Bhanu—

and stopped speaking entirely.

Bhanu frowned slightly.

“What?”

Mahadev didn’t answer immediately.

For the first time all evening, the calm expression on his face disappeared completely.

Bhanu looked down at herself self-consciously.

The red saree suddenly felt too bright.

Too noticeable.

“What happened?” she asked again, quieter this time.

Mahadev exhaled slowly.

“You look…”

Bhanu waited.

“…dangerous.”

She blinked.

“That’s your compliment?”

Mahadev stepped closer casually.

“If I say what I’m actually thinking,” he murmured, “we’ll never leave this room.”

Bhanu’s heartbeat stumbled instantly.

And Mahadev—annoyingly aware of his effect on her—walked past her toward the door calmly.

“Come before the guests assume we fought again.”

Bhanu stared at his back in disbelief.

Then muttered under her breath—

“One day I’ll kill this man.”

Everyone Could See It

The gathering was hosted in the courtyard of an old haveli converted into an event venue.

Warm fairy lights hung from trees.

Soft ghazals played in the background.

Writers, singers, and musicians moved around discussing projects over tea and snacks.

And somewhere in the middle of all that—

Bhanu and Mahadev continued behaving like two people painfully in love.

Mahadev introduced her to producers.

Bhanu corrected his song explanations dramatically.

Mahadev silently handed her water before she asked.

Bhanu fixed the collar of his kurta mid-conversation without realizing it.

At one point, an elderly lyricist smiled while watching them.

“How long have you both been married?”

Bhanu nearly inhaled her drink.

“We’re not married!”

The old man looked genuinely surprised.

Mahadev, meanwhile, looked entirely unbothered.

“People ask us that a lot,” he said calmly.

Bhanu turned toward him in horror.

“That is NOT helping!”

The elderly man laughed warmly.

“It’s obvious you love each other.”

For once, Bhanu had no dramatic comeback ready.

Because sometimes hearing the truth aloud felt strangely intimate.

Mahadev glanced toward her briefly.

And for a second, the noise around them faded.

No musicians.

No guests.

No music.

Just Bhanu looking at him beneath golden lights while the entire world quietly noticed what they already meant to each other.

Jealousy Looks Ugly On Bhanu

Unfortunately for everyone involved, the peaceful atmosphere lasted only forty minutes.

Then singer Reema Malhotra arrived.

Beautiful.

Elegant.

And entirely too interested in Mahadev.

“Mahadev ji!” she greeted brightly before touching his arm lightly. “I heard your new compositions are brilliant.”

Bhanu’s expression changed instantly.

The assistant drummer whispered nervously—

“Oh no.”

Mahadev greeted Reema politely while Bhanu stood nearby holding her juice glass like it had personally offended her.

Reema smiled sweetly.

“You never called me for your new project.”

Mahadev replied calmly, “Bhanu’s voice suited the songs better.”

Wrong answer.

Terrible answer.

Bhanu immediately looked less angry.

Reema, however, laughed lightly.

“You’re still obsessed with her voice?”

Mahadev answered without hesitation.

“Yes.”

Bhanu froze.

So did half the musicians listening nearby.

Reema clearly hadn’t expected such a direct response either.

“Well,” she said awkwardly, “that’s very loyal of you.”

Bhanu tried—and failed—to hide her satisfaction.

Mahadev looked genuinely confused by the tension around him.

Which somehow made the situation worse.

The moment Reema finally walked away, Bhanu turned toward him.

“You could’ve answered more politely.”

Mahadev blinked.

“I was polite.”

“You embarrassed her.”

“I answered honestly.”

Bhanu crossed her arms.

“You really don’t notice when women flirt with you?”

Mahadev looked thoughtful for a second.

Then—

“You notice enough for both of us.”

Bhanu looked scandalized.

“I do NOT care!”

Mahadev nodded calmly.

“Of course.”

“I’m serious!”

“You threatened to break a juice glass five minutes ago.”

“That was unrelated.”

Mahadev smiled faintly.

Bhanu hated how impossible it was to win arguments against him.

Mostly because he never actually fought.

He simply waited for her emotions to expose themselves naturally.

------

To be continued.