Where is bride mr. Mehra his father asked?
There parents are looking down they don't have words to say to them that there daughter run away from her own marriage...
Sorry Raghuvanshi sahab mai aapke hath judta ho mujhe maaf karde .
Ab kuch nhi ho sa...
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The moment she steps inside the house and the door closes behind her, I don't drive off immediately.
Instead, I sit there for a second, watching the entrance, my fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. Her scent lingers in the car—fresh mango and something floral—and strangely enough, it grounds me.
That little incident at college had shaken me more than I’d like to admit. The call from the dean still echoes in my ears. “Mr. Raghuvanshi, Anika had a minor accident.”
Minor.
And yet I felt like the earth had slipped from beneath my feet.
I push the thought away.
She’s home. Safe.
I start the car again and drive toward my office.
---
By the time I reach the building, the sun is high in the sky, casting sharp shadows on the pavement. My team greets me as usual—quick bows, soft murmurs—but I barely register them. My mind is somewhere else entirely.
Anika. Her voice. Her book. That book.
She was reading dark romance. That’s what she said. “Bohot pasand hai,” she’d said when I asked her.
And then... I said I’d build a library.
Not just any library.
A dark romance library.
I smirk at the thought as I step into my office, loosening my tie. Itni simple cheez pasand nahi hai madam ko, I think, mildly amused. (She doesn’t like simple things, does she?)
“Sir,” my secretary, Reema, walks in with a tablet. “Your meeting with the design team is at three—”
“Cancel it,” I interrupt, taking a seat behind my desk.
She blinks. “Cancel? But—”
“Main ghar mein ek library banana chahta hoon.” (I want a library built at home.)
She stares at me like I’ve grown a second head.
I look up at her and say clearly, “Romance novels honi chahiye. Har genre ka. Lekin zyada dark romance pe focus ho.” (There should be romance novels. From every genre. But focus more on dark romance.)
She clears her throat awkwardly. “Sir… are you sure your wife wants a dark romance library?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Kyun? Kya problem hai?” (Why? Is there a problem?)
She fumbles. “Nahi sir, bas… dark romance thoda…” (No sir, just… dark romance is a bit…)
“Mujhe pata hai,” I mutter, waving her off. “Main khud dekh leta hoon.” (I’ll check it myself.)
