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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ABHIMANYU POV:
I don't remember the last time I took a full day off like this.
Meetings can wait. Deals can be postponed.
America will still be there tomorrow morning.
But today today belongs to her.
I'm sitting in the passenger seat of our car, something I almost never do. The steering wheel is in her hands, and even that thought makes me smile. Anika. My wife. Concentrating so hard like she's handling the most important responsibility of her life.
She adjusts the seat, checks the mirrors exactly the way I told her to, lips pressed together in focus. Her brows are slightly furrowed, and I swear, I've negotiated billion-dollar contracts with less seriousness than the expression on her face right now.
"You're holding the steering too tight," I tell her gently. "Relax your shoulders."
She exhales and loosens her grip a little. "If I relax too much and hit something, you'll blame me forever."
I chuckle. "I trust you." That makes her glance at me just for a second but I see it. That soft look. The one that always melts me without permission.
The car moves smoothly. She really is a fast learner. Her foot control is good, her turns are careful, and she listens actually listens to every instruction I give her. Pride swells quietly in my chest.
To tease her, I casually reach forward and touch the small Mahadev idol placed on the dashboard, murmuring a silent prayer with a smile playing on my lips.
She notices instantly. Her eyes narrow, and she glares at me with those pretty little eyes that can never truly scare me, no matter how hard she tries.
"Abhimanyu," she warns, voice low.
"What?" I ask innocently.
She shakes her head, pretending to be annoyed, but the corner of her mouth betrays her. "You're distracting me on purpose."
"Me?" I place a hand on my chest. "I'm just asking Mahadev to keep us safe."
"Hmph," she says, eyes back on the road. "Mahadev also knows when someone is being mischievous."
I laugh openly now.
This, this is the long day she planned.
Not a fancy date. Not flowers or candlelight.
Just her. Driving. Learning. Trusting me enough to sit behind the wheel while I sit beside her.
I remember earlier, when she first said she wanted me to teach her driving. I'd raised an eyebrow and asked teasingly, "So this is the long day planned, Anika baby?"
She'd smiled then. That soft, dangerous smile.
And said nothing.
That silence had melted me faster than any words could.
