His Bride

3 | Daughter

Dhruv's Pov

I hadn't planned on following her. It was a whim, a pull I didn't entirely understand, yet it felt as natural as breathing. As I left the university grounds, my gaze caught the gleam of her car, a sleek black Benz, pulling out onto the road, and before I could think twice, I found myself trailing behind. There was something about her that lingered, a quiet allure, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to her than what I'd seen at the university.

The drive took us down Rajasthan's long, winding roads, the countryside sprawling with its vast, golden fields and occasional clusters of village life. She drove with a measured, unhurried grace, as though she knew every curve and turn intimately. I kept my distance, following with a steady rhythm as I tried to make sense of what I was doing. It felt strange, almost out of character, to be drawn into someone else's life in this way. Yet there was a pull, a silent call, urging me to see her world beyond the lecture halls and grand ceremonies.

It didn't take long to realize where we were headed. The road led straight to the Rajasthan Royal School of Elites, a prestigious academy known for its exclusivity and high standards. I remembered Mr. Raj, the university secretary, mentioning that she had a daughter enrolled there. A slight surprise had flickered across my mind then, but now, as I watched her pull up to the school gates, I felt that surprise turning into something else—a quiet curiosity, a need to understand the world she had built around her.

I parked a little way off, far enough to remain unnoticed, and watched as she stepped out of her car. Even in her simple attire, there was a poise to her movements, the same grace I had seen on stage, unfiltered and natural. She walked with a lightness, a confidence that seemed to ripple through the quiet schoolyard. I found myself leaning forward slightly, my gaze following her as she stood waiting by the gates, glancing down the walkway with anticipation.

Then, as if on cue, the school doors swung open, and a young girl came running out. She was small, her hair loose and bouncing as she sprinted across the yard, her excitement palpable even from a distance. Her school uniform was pristine, a neat blazer over a crisp white shirt, and her face—she was a mirror of her mother, carrying the same elegance but with a softer, more innocent glow. The resemblance was undeniable, as if fate had taken the essence of Arushi and distilled it into this child, this small being whose world revolved around her mother.

The girl reached her, and Arushi knelt down, opening her arms in welcome. They embraced warmly, a sight so genuine it was almost disarming. Watching them, I felt a strange pang of something I couldn't quite place—an unfamiliar feeling, but not an unwelcome one. Arushi brushed a stray lock of hair from her daughter's face, her hand lingering with a tenderness that softened her entire demeanor. The girl's laughter rang out, clear and bright, echoing in the quiet afternoon air, and I could see the joy in Arushi's eyes as she smiled down at her daughter. Here, in this moment, she was not the poised professor from RU. She was simply a mother, her world narrowed down to this one little girl who clung to her with complete trust and love.

They spoke quietly, words exchanged in soft, murmured tones I couldn't hear, but the affection was palpable. Her daughter's hands clutched at her jacket, as if reluctant to let go even for a moment. And Arushi, with a gentleness that seemed reserved only for her child, ran her fingers through the girl's hair, her smile gentle and unguarded. There was an intimacy to it, a purity in their bond that felt unbreakable, timeless.

I watched them, mesmerized, as if they were part of a scene from a life I'd only glimpsed from the outside. In that embrace, in the way they looked at each other, I saw a different side of Arushi—one I hadn't anticipated. At the university, she was composed, almost reserved, a woman of quiet strength and mystery. But here, with her daughter, she was someone else entirely. Her face softened, her laughter free, unrestrained, as she held her daughter close. She lived two lives, it seemed—one as a professor within the stone halls of RU and another as a mother, devoted and nurturing, here in this quiet part of Rajasthan.

And as I watched them, a realization began to settle in. Whatever had brought her here, whatever decision had led her to leave behind the familiarity of London, it wasn't merely about ambition or career. There was something more profound, a purpose that went beyond the title of professor or the prestige of Rajasthan University. This life she had built was for her daughter, a world carefully crafted to give her a future and a sense of belonging. The move, the new job, even the house she'd chosen—each decision was a part of this carefully woven fabric she had created to support her child.

For reasons I couldn't quite explain, I found myself drawn into the intricacies of her life, curious about the journey that had brought her here. There was a depth to her that felt both intriguing and unexpectedly intimate, a strength tempered by a vulnerability she kept well-guarded. I wanted to understand her, to see the life she'd left behind and the life she was building now, in a place as far from her past as possible.

As I sat there, concealed by distance but unable to tear my gaze away, I felt a strange sense of reverence, as if I were witnessing something sacred, something deeply personal. Her world—a world that was somehow as foreign to me as Rajasthan itself—had begun to feel unexpectedly close, like a mystery waiting to be unraveled.