The soft hum of morning in Mussoorie drifted through the open kitchen windows, birds chattering in the pine trees, the distant rumble of a scooter on the sloping road below. Golden sunlight pooled over the granite countertop, catching in the steam curling from two cups of tea.

Yahvi sat perched on a high stool, her elbow resting lazily on the counter, her chin propped in her palm. She watched Vedansh at the stove, his focus absolute as he stirred onions and green chilies in a sizzling pan. The warm fragrance of tempered spices mingled with the sharp freshness of chopped coriander, wrapping the kitchen in comfort.

It had been two months since their marriage, and yet every morning like this still felt unreal to her. In her heart, she was still learning the rhythms of sharing a home—how the sound of his footsteps on the wooden floor was the first thing she noticed when she woke, how his quiet presence could make even silence feel warm.

She loved these little things, the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated, how his voice softened when speaking to her, the unspoken care in small gestures. But as she sat there, her mind drifted to the one space between them they hadn’t yet crossed. Forehead kisses, lingering hugs, his fingers tangled with hers—they filled her chest with warmth, but she longed for something deeper, more consuming.

Did he not desire her? Or was he holding back?

Yahvi gave herself a small shake, pushing the thought away. She didn’t want to spoil the ease they shared. Relationships had their own pace, and she told herself to trust his.

Her gaze wandered to the memory of her first week here, opening cupboards to find almost nothing inside except eggs, coffee, and a lonely jar of jam. Nita Aunty had admitted with a guilty smile that Vedansh often skipped proper meals, surviving on toast or omelets. Yahvi remembered the flare of indignation she’d felt then, protective and oddly possessive. Within a week, she had filled the kitchen with fresh vegetables, grains, and spices, making sure he ate well.

A small clink of metal on ceramic pulled her back. Vedansh had turned off the stove and was walking toward her, a plate in hand. He set it before her, then brushed his fingers gently over her forehead.

“Where are you lost?” His voice was low, threaded with quiet curiosity.

Yahvi blinked up at him, smiling softly. “Nowhere.”

His hand shifted, cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking slow, idle circles. “Eat,” he said simply, pushing the plate closer.

The scent of poha rose up to meet her, mingling with the subtle note of his cologne. Her stomach answered with a small growl, and she took a sip of tea before picking up her spoon. Beside her, Vedansh took his seat, the morning light catching on the clean line of his jaw. She let her eyes linger there, tracing the unruly fall of his hair.

Impulse tugged at her. Setting her spoon down, she stood and stepped between his legs, looping her arms around his neck. The sudden closeness made her pulse quicken. She tucked her head against his chest, breathing him in.

Vedansh’s arm slipped easily around her waist, anchoring her. He speared a piece of omelette with his fork and held it up to her lips.

“Taste this.” His tone carried a flicker of amusement.

She bit into it, eyes widening in appreciation. He chuckled at her expression, brushing an errant strand of hair from her face.

“Why is my chatterbox so quiet today?” he murmured.

Yahvi smiled faintly against his shirt. “Lazy,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re allowed to be lazy,” he said, pulling her a little closer. “Sometimes I just want to sit and watch you breathe.”

Yahvi's cheeks flushed at his words as she closed her eyes, letting the warmth of his body seep into hers.

"You know what I love about mornings like this?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

Yahvi looked up at him and shook her head, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What's that?"

Vedansh's gaze softened, his fingers tracing the curve of her jaw.

"I love how it's just us, in our own little world. No distractions, no noise. Just us, together."

Her breath caught at the quiet sincerity in his voice. Before she could respond, her gaze landed on the small bowl of chocolate syrup she had set aside earlier for dessert. A spark of mischief danced in her eyes.

Without warning, she dabbed a little onto his cheek. His eyes widened in disbelief before narrowing playfully.

“You little sneak.”

Yahvi burst into laughter, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe it off, only smearing it further. Vedansh caught her wrists with ease, his grip warm but unyielding.

“I think you’re trying to make a mess on purpose,” he said, his tone dropping into that deep, teasing register that always made her heart skip.

She wriggled in mock protest, her laughter ringing through the kitchen. He didn’t release her, just pulled her closer until her hands rested against the solid curve of his bicep. Then, with a wicked smile, he leaned in and rubbed his syrup-smeared cheek against hers.

“Vedansh!” she gasped between giggles, arching away, though her hands stayed on him.

His beard scraped lightly against her skin, sending an unexpected shiver through her.

“Your beard is prickly!” she laughed, her fingers brushing along his jaw.

“I’ll shave,” he murmured, his gaze fixed on hers.

“No,” she countered, softer now. “I love your five o’clock shadow.”

Something in his expression shifted—warmer, more intent. His hands slid up her back, fingers tracing the nape of her neck. She tilted her head slightly, eyes fluttering closed as his lips grazed her cheek. The air between them felt charged, heavy with something unspoken.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, her breath catching.

The doorbell rang, sharp and insistent.

They both stilled. Vedansh exhaled slowly, the faintest trace of frustration in his eyes.

“It must be Nita Aunty,” Yahvi said, stepping back with a small, knowing smile before padding toward the door.

He watched her go, her laughter already mingling with the sound of their house help’s voice. Running a hand through his hair, Vedansh turned toward the stairs, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. A cold shower, he decided, might not be the worst idea.

***

The boardroom still smelled faintly of freshly brewed coffee and the ozone tang of the projector. Vedansh closed his laptop with a quiet click, the murmurs of departing executives fading as the heavy glass door swung open.

From the far end of the room, Shekhar Mehra approached, his daughter Anaya gliding at his side. Shekhar’s smile was all polished charm.

“Congratulations, Vedansh,” he said smoothly. “You handled that meeting with precision.”

Anaya’s gaze lingered on him longer than necessary. “Your points were sharp, and you addressed every concern with ease. Impressive as always.”

Vedansh gave a curt nod, his expression strictly professional. “Thank you.”

Anaya’s lips curved, ready to press further. “Vedansh, I was thinking....”

“Excuse me,” he cut in, tone polite but edged with finality.

Without waiting for a response, he stepped past them, Raghav and Zoya falling into step on either side. Anaya’s smile faltered, and Shekhar’s eyes followed Vedansh’s retreat with a flicker of something colder—surprise, maybe, or quiet warning.

The corridor outside was hushed, the low hum of the building’s central AC filling the air. Anant Singhania was waiting, hands folded behind his back. His expression gave away little, but there was a tension in his shoulders.

“Vedansh,” he began, voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency, “Come home. Your mother misses you.”

Vedansh’s jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. “I’m busy, Dad.”

From a few steps away, Viraj’s voice slid into the space between them, slow and mocking. “Busy hiding your new plaything from us? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

The air in the hallway seemed to drop a few degrees. Vedansh’s hand shot out, gripping Viraj’s collar, his voice low and lethal.

“You have no right to speak about my personal life.”

Viraj’s smirk faltered as Vedansh shoved him back. Anant stepped in quickly. “Control yourself, Vedansh.”

Vedansh’s eyes flicked to his father, their depths sharp with old resentment. “You weren’t there when I needed you. Don’t try now.”

Anant’s expression softened, the faintest thread of regret pulling at his features. “Son, we—”

“No.” The single word was like steel. “I don’t need you anymore.”

Viraj gave a short, humorless laugh. “Still pretending you’re above us? You forget how you used to cry for attention as a kid.”

Vedansh’s anger simmered, but his voice remained controlled. “That was then, Viraj. I learned not to expect anything from this family.”

He turned on his heel and strode toward the elevator, but Viraj followed, words dripping venom. “You think all this work makes you untouchable, don’t you?”

Vedansh stopped, his shoulders squaring. “No. It makes me disciplined. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

Viraj’s face darkened. “At least I’m not hiding behind a mask of perfection. You’re no saint.”

“Enough,” Anant snapped, his patience fraying. “Let him go.”

Vedansh’s final glance toward his father was devoid of warmth. “Don’t reach out, Dad. I’m done with this.”

The elevator doors slid open, swallowing him, Raghav, and Zoya in polished steel. Inside, the air was taut with unspoken concern, Raghav met Zoya’s eyes, both reading the same truth. The rift was deeper than they’d thought.

Back in the hallway, Anant turned on Viraj, his voice sharp. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you see you’re pushing him further away?”

Viraj’s hands clenched at his sides. “And what about him? Acting like he’s above his own family?”

“That’s because you’ve given him no reason to feel otherwise,” Anant shot back. “Your constant taunts have driven him away.”

Viraj’s tone sharpened. “And you? You’ve done nothing to fix it. Don’t put this all on me.”

Anant’s eyes narrowed, his voice low with finality. “I’m putting it on both of us. But your disrespect stops here.”

Viraj’s jaw flexed, and without another word, he turned sharply, footsteps echoing as he stormed away, leaving Anant alone in the corridor, weighed down by a silence heavier than any argument.

***

The front door creaked open, and Vedansh stepped inside, the cold drizzle still clinging to his jacket. A faint scent of pine and wet earth trailed in with him. His shoulders were tense, his jaw set, the argument with his father and brother still echoing in his head.

"You were a mistake, Vedansh."
"Dad never wanted another child."

Viraj’s voice wouldn’t stop replaying. His father’s look—tight-lipped disappointment—hit just as hard.

Then he saw her.

Yahvi, curled up on the sofa under a blanket, book in hand, firelight brushing her cheeks in gold. She looked up, and her frown melted into a warm smile.

“Hey,” she said, like the day had been waiting just for him.

Something in his chest eased. He kicked off his shoes, and before he could say a word, she was setting her book aside and crossing to him.

“Rough day?” she asked, cupping his face. Her fingertips grazed the day-old stubble on his jaw.

He just nodded. No explanation. No strength for one.

She didn’t press, just wrapped her arms around his waist and held on tight. “Okay. No talking. Let’s forget it. I missed you.”

She tugged him toward the couch. He sank into it, the cushions swallowing him up. When she tried to get up, he caught her hand and pulled her into his lap. She laughed softly but stayed there, looping her arms around his neck.

“Did they… say something again?” she asked, her voice low.

Vedansh hesitated, then lowered his head to her shoulder. She felt his deep breath warm against her collarbone.
“Alright,” she whispered, threading her fingers through his hair. “You don’t have to tell me.”

For a while, they just stayed like that—his heartbeat slowing against hers.

“Just being here with you…” his voice was muffled against her. “…makes it better.”

She smiled faintly, pressing her lips to his temple.

When he finally asked about her day, her eyes lit up.
“Chaotic. The new book launch turned the bookstore into a mini stampede. But I escaped for a bit to watch the sunset… and tried those garlic momos from Library Bazaar.”

“You bought me some?” he asked.

“I did.” Her grin turned sheepish. “And then I ate them. All of them.”

He chuckled, the sound loosening something tight inside him.

They talked until her words grew slower, her eyes heavier. Her head dropped onto his shoulder, and she let out a quiet sigh.

Vedansh shifted carefully, lifting her into his arms. She stirred as he carried her to the bedroom, the moonlight sliding across her face. He laid her down, brushing a strand of hair away before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Even in sleep, her lips curved into the faintest smile.

He slipped under the blanket, pulling her close. Outside, the rain tapped softly against the windows, but in here, wrapped around her, the noise faded.

***

Vedansh’s running shoes thudded against the winding Mussourie road, breath clouding in the crisp morning air. The quiet hills rolled out around him, but his mind stayed sharp, restless.

By the time he reached his street, sweat dampened his temples. He slowed, rolling his shoulders back before heading inside. A quick, hot shower rinsed away the chill, and he pulled on a soft grey T-shirt and loose pajama pants.

Coffee in hand, he stepped out onto the balcony. The morning sun stretched over the hills, spilling gold across the rooftops. For a moment, peace wrapped around him—until his phone rang.

“Raghav?” he answered, expecting banter.

“Did you see the news?” Raghav’s voice was tight.

“No,” Vedansh said, his brow creasing.

“I’m sending you something. Just… brace yourself.”

A notification pinged. Vedansh glanced down—and the words on the screen made his blood roar in his ears.

Save the Date: Vedansh Singhania & Anaya Mehta to Get Engaged! #EngagementAlert #BusinessRoyalty

His grip tightened on the phone. “What the hell is this?” The anger in his voice cut through the morning quiet.

“You didn’t know?” Raghav asked sharply.

“Why would I?” Vedansh’s tone was ice. “They’d better have a damn good reason for this stunt.”

“I think your family’s made some deal with the Mehtas,” Raghav said carefully, then hesitated. “And… I’m pretty sure it was Mr. Mehra himself who leaked this to the press. Probably to corner you into saying yes.”

Vedansh let out a humorless laugh. “A deal? And a cheap publicity stunt to pressure me? I’m not some business transaction, Raghav. My wife is sleeping inside this house, and they expect me to play along?”

His gaze slid through the open balcony doors to where Yahvi lay curled under the blanket, her hair spilling across the pillow. The tightness in his chest shifted, anger folding into a fierce protectiveness.

“They try to push this,” he said, voice low, “and they’ll regret it.”

“Ved, don’t do anything rash...”

“I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. And our marriage,” Vedansh cut in.

He ended the call without waiting for a reply. For a long moment, he just watched Yahvi breathe, steady and unaware. His fingers curled around the balcony railing, the morning sun warm against his skin, but his resolve colder than steel.

No one was going to take her from him.

***