ISHQ-E-MOHABBAT

53. " Deep " , "Doll"

As I held the delicate silver necklace in my hand, bargaining with the vendor, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. It took me back to a time and place where someone special would carefully select necklaces just like this one.

I could still see him—his eyes scanning the market stalls, determined to find the perfect piece.  I could almost hear his voice, that low, familiar murmur, *"You look beautiful, doll. This necklace was made for you."*

The memory hit me hard, and for a moment, I was lost in it. The vendor’s voice snapped me back to reality, "Madam, price ki baat kar rahe hain?" (We're discussing the price, ma'am).

I blinked, pushing the past aside as I resumed negotiating, though the memory lingered like a soft whisper in my mind.

---

Later that day, I was curled up on the couch, absorbed in my book. I could feel Abhimaan’s eyes on me, but I stayed engrossed in the pages, not wanting to break the spell of the story. Rajeev, his assistant, approached.

“Sir, your appointment with Mr. Rathore is scheduled for now.”

Abhimaan nodded but didn’t move, his gaze still fixed on me. I could tell he didn’t want to leave, but I didn’t want to be in the way of his business.

“I’ll head to your room,” I said, marking my place in the book. “You can focus on the meeting.”

He smiled, his eyes softening. “Thanks, Jaana. I’ll join you soon.”

I walked away, feeling the comfortable silence of his office bedroom wrap around me. But I wasn’t alone for long. From behind the door, I heard Mr. Rathore’s voice, and curiosity got the better of me. Tiptoeing to the door, I cracked it open slightly, just enough to see him.

And there he was—Deep.

The air shifted, and my heart skipped a beat. Time seemed to freeze as our eyes met. The years apart melted away, and I whispered his name, “Deep.” Emotion cracked my voice.

Without thinking, I rushed into his arms. It wasn’t a romantic hug, but one filled with the warmth of a long-lost connection. “Deep, it’s so good to see you!” I exclaimed, tears of joy soaking into his shirt.

Yet, as I held him, I felt a strange tension. His arms around me were hesitant, and when he whispered, *"My doll,"* his voice was thick with emotion that ran deeper than brotherly affection.

To me, it was a reunion with an old friend, but as I looked into Deep’s eyes, I saw something more—a flicker of longing that went beyond friendship. In that moment, I realized his feelings for me weren’t just platonic.

I pulled back slightly, searching his face for answers, but he gave nothing away. His warm smile remained, masking the complexity beneath. I returned his smile, though my mind whirled with questions, understanding that this reunion was only the start of something more complicated.

---

Just as I stepped back, I felt Abhimaan’s presence. He strode toward us, his movements sharp and purposeful. His eyes locked onto Deep with a mix of curiosity and wariness, but his arm quickly snaked around my waist, pulling me close.

“Jaana,” he said, his voice low but possessive. “Do you know him?”

I looked up at Abhimaan, then back at Deep. “He’s the only family I have left,” I said softly. “He’s my best friend.”

I felt Abhimaan’s grip tighten ever so slightly, his possessiveness radiating through his touch. His eyes remained on Deep, a silent message clear in his gaze: I wasn’t his to lose.

But I smiled as I introduced them, hoping to ease the tension. “Deep, this is my husband, Abhimaan Shekhawat.”

Deep’s eyes widened, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Ah, the famous King of Rajasthan,” he said with amusement in his voice. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Abhimaan’s arm stayed firm around me, his tone cool but civil. “Likewise, Deep. Jaana speaks of you often.”

The atmosphere between the three of us was thick with unspoken emotions—friendship, love, and protectiveness intertwining. But as I glanced up at Abhimaan, I knew one thing for sure: he would never let me go, and for that, I was deeply grateful.