Book One of "The Roses" Series
✿PINK ROSE✿
Vikrant was a man shaped by shadows-ruthless, calculating, and unyieldingly cold. In his world, softness was a weakness, and mercy was a foreign concept. He had climbed the ranks of the underworld, his name...
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The cold metal of the gate pressed against my warm hands. Winter was breathing its last, yet the biting wind still kissed my skin, and the fallen leaves twirled like ballerinas caught in its relentless dance.
Winter has always been my favourite season—hot chai, cosy duvets, and the simple comfort of bajra with kadhi. Each year, I’d look forward to its arrival, to the stillness it brought, the excuse to be lazy without guilt.
But this winter? It felt empty, colder than usual. No matter how many layers I wear, the chill lingers. Maybe because the one who warmed my world is farther than ever. And now, as winter slips away, I find myself craving that warmth, longing for it in a season that’s already saying goodbye.
My fists tightened, hands trembling yet steadied by the surge of confidence in my veins. I barely walked; instead, I sprinted to my car, flinging open the door and sliding inside as if the warmth could vanish with the next gust of wind.
My fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the steering wheel, and I started the engine, moving toward my destination with a smile—the first genuine smile in a while. Just the thought of his reaction when he sees me... would he hold that same unreadable, stoic expression? No, he wouldn’t. I promised myself that.
But my hopes fell the moment I reached his place. The watchman told me he wasn’t home, not even at the office. Disappointment washed over me. Where could he have gone?
A soft smile graced my lips as my footsteps echoed in the stillness. I slipped back into the car, turning the key once more, anticipation buzzing in my veins.
I rolled down the window, craving the sharp sting of the cold wind—it felt like my penance. The thought of his warmth filled my heart; I wanted to dive into that ocean, his gentle care enveloping me like the tide. In his depths, I wouldn’t need air; his presence alone would sustain me. I wanted to drift deeper, exploring every hidden world within him, each uncharted shore of his heart.
I pulled the car to a stop and stepped out, surrounded by towering trees that wrapped me in their comforting presence. Moving toward the lone borefine in the clearing, my steps crunched over fragile, golden leaves scattered like delicate memories. Each step set off a faint crackle, reverberating around me in the quiet forest. Every tree, branch, leaf, and stone seemed to listen.
My feet halted on their own when I saw him—a tall figure clad in black jeans and a coat that blended with the night. There was no mistaking who it was; he carried a presence that seemed almost unreal. Standing by the lake, his hands rested in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the still water.
"You came?" His deep voice broke the silence, sending a shiver down my spine, though his eyes never left the lake. My fingers curled tightly into the fabric of my pink coat, but I found myself speechless, the air between us as quiet and still as the water itself. I couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink as I took in his back, the calm strength that emanated from him.
Then, he turned. His green eyes found mine, a deep, intoxicating gaze that held me captive. My breath hitched, my heart pounding louder with each passing second, as though every beat was echoing back to him.
"I... I feel cold," I finally managed to say, my voice barely louder than a whisper. The boots, warm coat, and scarf seemed useless against this chill. I longed for his warmth, for the gentle reassurance of his love and care.
In my heart, I wanted him to be the first face I saw each morning, the last I saw before sleep pulled me under. His silence was oddly comforting, as if we shared an understanding beyond words. Just being near him filled me with a quiet happiness, a magic he cast without effort, without even knowing.
These… these have to be the symptoms of love, right?
But if they’re not, then I don’t need another reason to love him. If I were to write down every bit of my love for him, that book would be endless—a story that could never be finished. And I’d proudly show it to the world, every single page of it.
He released a soft chuckle, and that smile—the first sentence I’d write in our story. His smile was like the first drop of rain, delicate and life-giving, and I, the farmer whose fields longed for this blessing, felt like the only soul alive under that sky.
The farmer gives thanks all year, knowing those gentle rains made everything possible. And even I thank him, for staying by my side, even when I tried to push him off the highest mountains. But he was stubborn. Each time I pushed him away, he climbed back—relentless, like the persistent ant that finds its way back inside no matter how far you send it.
A tear pricked at the corner of my eye, but I held it back, swallowing the knot in my throat. Since I was a child, I always believed that if someone could make you cry, then you loved them—truly, deeply.
I love him.
Wait—do I really? Yes, yes, I do. But deep down, I know that no matter how much I love him, my love could never match the depths of his.
I whispered it again to my heart, I love him. This time, there was no resistance, no excuses, no hesitation. My heart didn’t deny it, didn’t question it—just accepted it, easily, as if it had always known.
