Siya's life in Chandipur was marked by resilience and solitude, her days consumed by nurturing the vibrant blooms of her flower shop. Abandoned at birth and haunted by the mystery of her parents' disappearance, she had grown accustomed to the whispe...
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(Warning ‼️)
The embers of my cigarette burned low, casting faint shadows on the ashtray as I crushed it beneath my fingers. Smoke lingered in the cool air of the morning, curling around me like the unanswered questions I couldn't seem to escape. Tanishk's wedding had gone without a hitch; smooth, almost too smooth. It was as if the universe was conspiring to lull me into a false sense of calm.
But I wasn't a fool.
Suresh Sharma; the father of my Ras Malai was the one thread I couldn't ignore. No papers, no evidence, nothing concrete. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that he held something crucial. Something that tied the Rathores and Sharmas together, something that could lead me closer to the man I had been hunting for years. My father.
Devraj and Mahendra... The names echoed in my mind like a haunting melody. Men I had eliminated with my own hands, and yet, they seemed to leave breadcrumbs for me to follow. And now Vidyut's shadow loomed, his family's connection to this tangled mess gnawing at the edges of my sanity. I couldn't let this go unresolved.
Today, though, everything was supposed to come together. Today, the pieces would align, and the truth would finally reveal itself. I had to protect my family....Siya's family because I refused to let my mother shed another tear. Watching her cry was a pain I couldn't endure.
Lost in thought, I nearly missed the sound of anklets chiming softly behind me. The delicate jhan-jhan broke through the haze, grounding me instantly.
I turned, my eyes finding her.
Finally, the queen decided to grace us with her presence after spending her morning on a walk with a pregnant lady she rescued earlier. She stood there in a red wine ghagra-choli, her head covered with a sheer dupatta, the morning sunlight filtering through the fabric and painting her skin with a warm glow.
"Rathore Sahab," she said, her tone cutting and sweet all at once.
"If you're planning to smoke yourself into an early grave, don't think I'll sit crying over you. Now gargle this before Maa-sa smells it and takes the rolling pin to you," I chuckled low, taking the freshener from her hand.
"Stressed," I muttered, by way of excuse. Her gaze softened for a moment before she squinted again, clearly unconvinced. She turned away, the soft jingle of her anklets teasing me as her ghagra swayed with each step. She passed me one last glance over her shoulder, and I knew....this woman would be my undoing. I followed her, watching the crimson dupatta slip from her head to her shoulders, revealing her braid in all its glory.
The braids danced on her waist as she moved, and my hand moved of its own accord. I grabbed her braid, pulling her back into me with a firm tug. She gasped, her hands shooting to the base of her braid as she turned to glare at me.
