'Devil In Love' 𝗦𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗸: 𝗢𝗻𝗲
•𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆•
Anirudh Roy Chowdhury a well-known billionaire and mafia king.
Bondita Das a simple, innocent girl.
Anirudh, a formidable figu...
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She stepped out first.
The moment her feet touched the cold marble of the veranda, the rain welcomed her like it had been waiting just for her. Her white dress clung to her softly with every drop, outlining her like a dream made of mist and moonlight. I couldn’t look away. She was laughing—twirling, her arms wide, face lifted to the sky like she belonged to it.
And maybe she did.
“Rudh!” she called out, turning to look at me, eyes gleaming with mischief and love, “Zinda ho ya barish se dar gaye?”
(Are you alive or scared of the rain?)
I stepped out, letting the rain hit me in waves.
Cold.
Wild.
Real.
But nothing compared to the fire in her eyes.
She ran toward me, completely drenched, her bangles clinking with every move, her smile—chaotic magic. “Aap bohot boring ho, Mr. Mafia,” she teased, circling around me. “Thoda jeeyein, aise!” She splashed water at me with her foot.
(You’re so boring, Mr. Mafia. Live a little, like this!)
“Hum jee toh rahe hain,” I murmured, watching her every movement, my voice dropping low.
(I am living...)
Just watching her laugh like that—hair stuck to her cheeks, raindrops sliding down her collarbone, her dupatta sticking to her as if the rain wanted to hold her too—God. It was all too much.
She came closer, tugging at my wrist, “Dance with me!” she giggled.
“Pagli! Hum aur dance?” I asked, smirking.
“Aapke saath toh pagle hona hi padega na!” she quipped back.
(I’d have to lose it with you anyway!)
And just like that, I did.
I let go. Of the world. Of the weight. Of everything.
Her hands locked with mine, our fingers tangled like they were made to stay that way. She guided me with soft steps, playful spins, pressing close to my chest as she whispered, “Dekha? Itna mushkil nahi hai khush rehna... jab aap mere saath ho.”
(See? It’s not that hard to be happy… when you're with me.)
Our foreheads met, the world fading behind the sound of raindrops and her heartbeat pressed against me.
I looked at her—completely. Unapologetically. And whispered, “You look like a miracle tonight, Bacha.”
Her smile trembled.
“Then hold on to your miracle, Rudh,” she whispered, “because this time, I’m not letting go.”
And under the storm, we stayed. Holding. Breathing. Loving—without needing a single word more.
