𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ᡣ𐭩 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐢 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 They hated each other. Academic rivals. Family friends. Nothing more. Years apart felt like freedom- Until fate brought them face to face again. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒔... I kissed her back. Once. Twice. But then I forced myself to pull away. Her eyes fluttered open in confusion. I cupped her face gently, brushing my thumb across her cheekbone. "l'll hate myself tomorrow if I take advantage of this moment." "I'd never hate you," she whispered, eyes heavy-lidded. "You're the only place I feel safe." And it hit me harder than the kiss. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 𝑺𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆... I broke the kiss, breathing heavy, my forehead resting against hers. "You belong to me," I whispered, voice raw. "I'm your husband, Ruhi. Not him. Me." She swallowed hard, her lips still trembling. "I know," she whispered. "I didn't mean to-" "No. Listen to me." He cupped her face, firm but not rough. "You're mine to hold. Mine to protect. Mine to kiss. Mine to fight with. Mine to lose sleep over. Not some asshole who thinks a toy will get him what he wants."

"See a future with him, pretend to move on... but when it's time to become a bride, it'll be for me. You can hate me all you want, but my name will be in your fate." The monitor backstage buzzed with Swaraj Malhotra's voice, slick with self-satisfaction. "Dhananjay Singhania ke paas na toh bahu hai, na hi bahumat." I almost pitied them. Almost. "Sir?" my aide whispered. "We're live in two." I smiled, not the charming kind they use for posters, the other one . the kind that didn't reach my eyes. The kind that meant someone was about to regret underestimating me. The one that makes my team nervous. Because they know when I smile like that, it means I'm about to ruin someone's perfectly planned day. I walked up to the stage, every step measured. The anthem played. Composure is a crown, and I wear mine well. The Chief Justice handed me the Constitution, his expression solemn. "Repeat after me." as he gestured me forward, the Constitution opened before him. I raised my right hand. "Main Dhananjay Singhania..." My voice echoed back through the hall, too calm, too rehearsed. I could already imagine Swaraj watching this on his fancy LED, smug and proud of his own line. "Main Dhananjay Singhania, shapat leta hoon ki main apne pad ke kartavya..." The words droned on, heavy and holy. Every syllable was a performance loyalty, integrity, service. Funny. Everyone in this room had sold those words long ago. And then I saw her. Front row. White saree. Minimal makeup. Hair tied loose. Sitting right in front , her father's daughter, my rival's pride. I forgot the cameras. The promises. The Politics. "Bahumat toh mil gayi..." I said into the microphone, pausing deliberately. The Chief Justice froze. The crowd murmured. My security chief mouthed something that looked suspiciously like "sir please don't-" Too late. "Ab bas bahu ki kami thi." In one sentence, I did two things - proposed to my rival's daughter and declared a war.