Hello.... I'm back.

First of all...

Happy New year to all of you. 🎊🎊🎊

Hope this 2025 brings loads of joy prosperity and growth in your life. May you, your families and your friends are blessed with abundance of love and health. 💖💖✨✨

Sorry for being absent. My semester exam started, got over with them this 31st only.

Hope you enjoy the chapter.

Do leave inline comments.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The warm sunlight fills the garden painting the floor golden. I settle into my chair, books spread out on the small table before me. 

It's late morning, and the air feels crisp and alive, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest. I breathe in deeply, letting the moment soothe me. 

Today is better, much better. And it's all because of Abhiraj and a warm cozy sleep.

His presence last night, and the way he coaxed me out of my emotional slump without judging me, it still lingers in my chest. 

I am feeling lighter, more focused. 

I decided to continue agriculture today, though it isn't my favorite but I don't hate it too. And at any cost I'm not going to overwhelm myself.

I flip through my notes, highlighting the important topics with my pen. And start with APMC mandi, last time I read, the concept was not that clear.

An hour or two later a soft ping from my phone interrupts my rhythm. I glance at the screen. It's a message from Abhiraj.

What are you doing?

My lips curl into a smile. 

Feeling good, right?

Are you stuck on anything?

I take a moment to reply, my fingers dancing across the keyboard.

                                                                                                                  Studying agriculture. 

And yes, I'm feeling much better.

 Thank you for asking😊. 

Nothing tricky yet, but I'll let you know if something comes up.

I send the message and keep my phone back, but when the screen remains blank, my smile falters. 

Delivered but not read.

Frowning, I stare at the screen for a second longer than necessary.

He's probably busy. He's always juggling ten things at once, meetings, calls, emails. 

I wait a minute or two, but when no reply comes, I put the phone face down on the table and force myself to return to the mandi and e-portals on my page.

The words blur slightly as my mind drifts back to the phone. 

Why am I getting so restless? He must have gotten a call or something.

It's ridiculous, but I glance at it every few minutes. 

Each time, it's the same, silence.

I sigh, tapping my pen against the edge of the table. When the urge to check becomes too strong, I reach for my phone again. 

My hand freezes mid-air, hovering over the phone, when the thought strikes me—a light, fleeting thing at first, like a dandelion seed drifting into my mind uninvited.

Am I... crushing on my husband?

The thought seems absurd. 

I chuckle, half-shaking my head, but the warmth creeping up my neck betrays me. It's as if my body knows something my mind is just beginning to understand.

Aren't crushes supposed to be for teenagers? 

Those giddy, fluttery feelings when that person walks into the room, the way their voice feels like the background music to your daydreams. 

But this? He is Abhiraj. My husband.

And yet, my mind rewinds, his presence and his warmth. Last night when he coddled me to his chest, coaxing me to sleep. The way his voice softened for me.

I feel a pang in my chest. 

I press my hand to my cheek, feeling the heat there. 

I can't help but laugh softly again, shaking my head. A crush on my husband? It's ridiculous. It's...

But is it?

I look down at my phone again, the silence between his last message and now, suddenly stretching long and thin. 

My lips press into a wry smile.

It's so silly to feel disappointed when he doesn't reply right away, but I do. 

It hits me then, I do have a crush on him. 

Not in the awkward, stumbling way of adolescence, but something deeper, something quiet and slow-burning. 

It's like discovering a melody hidden in a song I've heard a thousand times, always there, but only now I'm listening closely enough to hear it.

I rest my chin on my palm, a shy smile tugging at my lips. 

When did this happen?

The phone pings again, jolting me out of my reverie. 

I grab it faster than I probably should, and when I see his name flash on the screen, a laugh bubbles out of me, a giggle, bubbly, light and breathless.

What is happening to me?

I open the message, still smiling. 

Neil just forwarded me a few groups. 

They organize weekend pottery classes and other activities. 

Thought you might like them.

Pottery? I blink at the screen, rereading the message. Then another ping:

What do you prefer though? 

There's also yoga, painting, and a cooking workshop. 

Any of these sound good?

I bite my lip, feeling a bit confused. They all sound intriguing, but I'm not sure which one to pick. After a moment, I type:
    

 I think I'd enjoy pottery. It sounds calming.

Almost immediately, another message pops up.

Great. 

There's one happening at a park near the lake this weekend. 

It's a good break from all the studying. 

You should go.

A park by the lake? The idea is appealing. I sit back, imagining myself surrounded by the gentle murmur of water, my hands shaping clay into something.

He sends me a few links to the pottery class details and some other activities. I scroll through them, my heart unexpectedly light.

This one looks great. Thanks, Abhiraj.

I reply, and send him a smiley face.

He responds with a simple:

You're welcome. 

Take a few hours for yourself, okay? 

You deserve it.

His words leave a strange, happy ache in my chest. I glance out at the garden, the sunlight painting everything in soft hues of gold. For a moment, I let the peace of the morning settle over me again.

I pick up my pen again, but my focus has shifted entirely.

My mind is no longer on agriculture. Instead, it's caught on pottery classes, golden sunlight, and the tiny little crush I discovered I have on my husband.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Saturday Morning

The pottery class is set up in the middle of the park, near the lake. It's late December, and the air has that crisp, invigorating chill.

I hug my shawl a little tighter around myself, tugging my cap to properly cover my ears, my breath fogging up in the cool morning.

The instructor, a woman with a wide smile and bright eyes, waves us. 

"Good morning, everyone!" she chirps, clapping her hands together. 

"Let's get started, shall we?"

I find a spot near the edge of the circle, a little away from the others.

It's not that I don't want to interact, but the unfamiliarity of the crowd is making me hesitant. 

I smile politely at a few people around me, but no one really engages, and that's fine. I'm used to this kind of quiet.

The instructor begins by introducing the materials laid out on the tables—mounds of cool clay, wooden tools, and tiny bowls of water.

I lean in, my curiosity piqued as she explains the steps to molding a basic pot.

"Clay has its own personality," she says, her husband nodding enthusiastically beside her. 

"It can be stubborn sometimes, but with patience and practice, you'll get the hang of it."

I smile faintly at her words, feeling a small flutter of excitement. Maybe this is exactly what I need, a calming, tactile activity to clear my mind.

Just as I'm beginning to relax, a voice breaks through the group's quiet chatter.

"Sorry, everyone! I'm late!"

I turn toward it instinctively, and my eyes land on Dhriti walking towards the group. She's dressed warmly but stylishly.

She introduces herself quickly, "Hi, I'm Dhriti. So sorry to disrupt, traffic was a nightmare this morning!" Her voice is smooth, and she flashes a dazzling smile at the group.

I feel my own smile forming in response, as she approaches the circle. 

When our eyes meet, I smile wider, a little relieved to see a familiar face. But her reaction catches me off guard.

Her smile falters, just for a fraction of a second, before she plasters on another one. It's smaller this time, forced.

"Hi," I say softly.

"Hi," she replies after a pause.

She looks away, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and turning her attention to the instructors.

I blink, confused. Did I say or do something wrong? Or she is just uninterested.

Dhriti takes a seat directly opposite me, and I catch her glancing at me once or twice.

The instructors dive into the session, showing how to wedge the clay to remove air bubbles.

I focus on the process, pressing my hands into the cool, soft material. The sensation is calming, pulling my thoughts away from the odd exchange.

"Now, center your clay on the wheel," the husband instructs, demonstrating with practiced ease. 

"This is the trickiest part, but don't worry. We're here to help!"

I mimic his movements, my hands a little unsure as I try to keep the clay steady. The wheel hums under my touch, and for a moment, I'm lost in the task.

But then I feel it again. I glance up and catch Dhriti looking at me. 

I offer her another small smile, hoping to break whatever strange tension seems to be hanging between us.

She doesn't return it, instead shifts her gaze back to her wheel.

The rest of the class proceeds smoothly, though I can't help but ponder upon the unusual behavior of Dhriti. 

I focus on my clay, trying not to overthink it.

By the time the session wraps up, I've managed to shape a small, uneven pot. 

"Not bad," I murmur to myself, sitting back for a moment to admire my work.

It's far from perfect, but I've created something with my own hands.

"That's really good for a first try."

The voice startles me, and I glance up to find Dhriti standing beside me. She gives me a tight smile. 

"Thanks," I reply, brushing my hands on my apron. "Yours looks great too."

Her pot is far more refined, its edges smooth and even. 

She shrugs modestly. "I've done this a couple of times before."

The conversation falls into silence, but she doesn't move away. 

Instead, she shifts slightly, as if debating something.

"You know," she begins, her voice quieter now, "I wasn't expecting to see you here. It's been a while."

I nod, unsure where she's going with this.

 "Yeah, it has. I've been busy with studying and... life, I guess."

And of course you ignored me when we met on Janmashtami.

Her smile tightens, and she looks down at her hands, which she rubs together absently. 

"I'm leaving. Do you want to walk to the exit together?"

She glances at me, surprise flickering across her face before she nods. "Sure."

We walk side by side through the park, our steps falling into an awkward rhythm. Dhriti remains quiet.

Just as we near the exit, a voice calls out from behind us.

"Dhriti!"

We both turn, and I see a woman approaching. Her face lights up when she spots Dhriti, and she breaks into a run.

Dhriti's expression shifts instantly, her eyes brighten, and a genuine smile spreads across her face.

"Mitanksha!" she exclaims, rushing toward her. The two women embrace, their laughter ringing out in the chilly air.

I hang back, watching them. And I find myself smiling too.

"How have you been?" Mitanksha asks, pulling back to look at Dhriti.

"Good! Busy, as always," Dhriti replies.

"And you? It's been years since we last met."

Mitanksha waves a hand.

"Oh, you know, same old. Work, the usual. Planning to get married this February.

I was thinking of calling you but something or the other kept me occupied. And see we met today.

But enough about me. You tell? How's Abhiraj? When are you both planning to get married?"

My heart skips a beat. I glance at Dhriti, whose smile falters for the briefest moment. Her hand tightens around Mitanksha's.

"We're not together," Dhriti says quietly, her voice clipped.

Questions swirl in my mind, but I try controlling them, forcing myself to remain still. 

Mitanksha looks taken aback but quickly recovers, giving her a sympathetic smile.

"Ohh," she says softly. "I didn't know. None of our friends mentioned."

Dhriti shakes her head. "It's fine. It was a long time ago."

They exchange a few more pleasantries, but I can't focus on their words. My gaze keeps darting to Dhriti.

Abhiraj? Is it...my husband they're referring to? Or someone else?

Finally, Mitanksha bids her goodbye and walks away, leaving us alone again.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself.

"Dhriti," I begin, my voice trembling slightly.

"Was Mitanksha talking about...Abhiraj, your some friend?"

She glances at me, her lips parting as if to respond, but she closes her mouth.

"Please," I say, my voice firmer now. "I need to know."

She exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. "No, Ishika. Abhiraj as in my ex-boss and college mate."

The words hang in the air.

I try to keep my expression neutral, but inside, I'm reeling. My brain refuse to comprehend what she's saying.

"Your ex-boss," I echo, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Are you talking about... my husband?"

Dhriti's gaze meets mine.

"Yes," she admits softly.

"Abhiraj Sigh Rajvansh...he and I, we were in a relationship."

My stomach churns, and I feel a wave of dizziness wash over me.

I clutch my fingers tightly into a fist, trying to process what I've just heard.

"I didn't know," I say, more to myself than to her. 

My thoughts race, her hesitation when we first met. The strange distance when I saw her at Abhiraj's parents' house.

Her overly polite demeanor around him. How she behaved strangely whenever Abhiraj was near me. All of it makes sense now.

"It was before you two got married. We were together for a few years, but it didn't work out. We ended things."

My heart thuds loudly in my chest. "Why are you telling me this now?"

Abhiraj and Dhriti. Together.

My throat feels tight, and the clay under my nails suddenly itches. I look at her, trying to read her face.

Her eyes are cautious, her face tensed.

"Ishika," she says softly, breaking the silence.

"I didn't mean to blindside you with this. But it wasn't my place to share."

I swallow hard, my voice coming out weaker than I'd like.

"You were in the same house I am sharing with my husband. You agreed to work for me. Your ex boyfriend's wife."

My fingers tremble slightly, and I clasp them together to steady them. 

"Do you still love him?" I'm sacred to hear the answer. But I need to know. They both were under the same roof in my absence.

"It doesn't matter. There's nothing for you to worry." She quicky reprimands. 

"Do you still have feelings for him? and does he still love you?," I ask again, my voice quiver a little.

"It doesn't matter. We broke up for a reason. He is your husband. That's what matters. He's all yours now."

"I trusted you," I say, my voice trembling. "I thought you were my friend."

"I didn't mean to betray that trust," she says, her voice urgent now.

"I cared about you. I still do. That's why I'm telling you this."

Her phone rings. She glances at the I'd.

"I'm sorry, Ishika," she says softly before turning away.

He's all yours now.

But is he?

Why didn't he tell me?

Didn't I deserve to know? My eyes well up.

I watch her go, my nails dig tightly into my skin. 

A bitter laugh bubbles up in my chest, as tears drip down my cheek, but it dies before it reaches my lips.

Of course, he didn't tell me. This marriage wasn't something he wanted in the first place.

It wasn't built on love or trust; it was an arrangement, a compromise.

Why would he think it was important to tell me about someone from his past?

He should have told me. 

I glance towards the lake. My mind blank.

The only though swirling in my mind is that they were all alone in our home in my absence.

None of them told me the truth.

I scoff. Typical.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

I'm sitting on the sofa in the living room, Ivaan's small head resting on my lap. His tiny fingers playing idly with mine, twisting and untwisting.

My gaze drifts to the window, but I'm not really seeing anything.

I'm still unable to control my thoughts. Everything feels so complicated and mysterious. I don't know anything about my husband's life. He literally brought his ex girlfriend to help his own wife. 

How could he?

I tighten my grip on Ivaan's fingers without realizing it, and he looks up at me, his big, curious eyes scanning my face.

"Mama, does it hurt?" he asks softly, his little voice breaking through the fog in my mind.

I blink down at him, confused for a moment. 

Then I realize what he means and quickly loosen my hold. 

"No, bubba," I say, forcing a smile. "Mama's just thinking."

He nods, and resumes his fiddling.

For a moment, I envy his simplicity, the way his world revolves around toys, snacks, and cartoons. No hidden pasts, no tangled emotions. No insecurities.

I take a deep breath, my heart pounding against my ribs. I can't stay here. 

Not at the moment. My mind isn't at ease, and I just can't figure out how to start this conversation with him. And I'll send up giving him a silent treatment.

I need to get away, even if it's just for a little while. Somewhere I can breathe.

I glance down at Ivaan, still playing with my fingers.

 "Ivaan," I start, my voice quieter than usual.

"Do you want to go to Nani's home for some time?"

He looks up at me, his brows furrowing slightly. 

"Nani? But I don't want to meet Badi Nani. She always makes me eat those green things and scolds me." His nose scrunches adorably in distaste, and I can't help the small laugh that escapes me.

"Nani is back to her flat, we'll be going there. Just the two of us. It'll be fun."

He seems to think about it, his fingers pausing mid-twist. 

"What about Mr. Big?" he asks, tilting his head. 

My chest tightens at the mention of him.

I try to keep my voice steady as I reply, "He won't be coming, he's busy. It'll just be us this time. But we'll have lots of fun, I promise."

Ivaan's lips press into a thoughtful line, and then he nods, a smile spreading across his face. 

"Okay! Will Nani make that yummy rice for me?"

I chuckle, brushing my fingers over his cheek.

"I'm sure she will if you ask her nicely. How about we leave today itself? Tomorrow is Sunday, and we can enjoy the whole day there."

His eyes light up, and he bounces slightly in excitement. "Yes, let's go today! Can I take my cars with me?"

"Of course," I say, smiling faintly. His excitement is infectious, and for a moment, it lightens my heart. 

"Go pack your bag. Don't forget your toothbrush this time, okay? I'll come after some time to check."

He scrambles off my lap, running toward his room. I watch him go, my smile fading as soon as he's out of sight.

I sink back into the sofa, exhaling shakily. My hands rest on my lap, trembling slightly.

I'm not running away, I tell myself. This is just a break. I need time to clear my head, to figure out what to say, what to ask.

Staying here, surrounded by questions and his unbothered presence, feels impossible right now.

The image of Abhiraj and Dhriti together flashes in my mind again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head as if that could erase it. The doubt is consuming my mind.

"We'll leave today," I murmur to myself.

 "Just for a little while."

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Third persons pov

 Abhiraj steps in, loosening his tie after a long day. He expects to find Ishika in a lighter mood and to tell about her pottery class.

But the sight that greets him stops him in his tracks.

The suitcase on the bed draws his attention first, then Ishika emerges from the closet, a pile of clothes in her arms.

For a moment, he's struck silent. Packing? His brows knit together in confusion as he moves closer.

"What's this?" he asks, his tone betraying his unease.

Ishika stiffens slightly at his voice but doesn't look at him. 

"I'm packing," she says.

Abhiraj frowns and keeps his laptop bag on the sofa.

 "Where are you going?"

"To my mother's place," she replies, turning toward him with clothes still in her hands. 

Her voice is calm, her expression carefully composed, but their is tension in the room. 

"I haven't seen her since I got back from Seattle. I thought it was about time."

Abhiraj's chest tightens. 

"Suddenly?" he asks, the word slipping out before he can stop it.

"Yeah," Ishika says with a small shrug, giving him a faint smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. 

"I just felt like visiting her." She turns her attention back to folding clothes, seemingly unbothered, but the atmosphere in the room feels heavy.

He watches her for a moment, trying to make sense of the abruptness.

Just this morning, she had mentioned her pottery plans. He thought she'd come back in high spirits and they'd tal.

But now she's leaving.

"When will you be back?" he asks after a pause, his voice quieter now.

She hesitates for a second before replying. 

"I'm not sure," she says, her face giving away her confusion. She glances at him again with that same faint smile.

He nods slowly, though her words echo in his mind. Not sure. The room feels colder all of a sudden.

He turns away, heading to the closet to hang up his blazer.

As he unbuttons his shirt, a part of him wants to ask more press her, maybe, about why she's leaving so abruptly.

But the air between them is too brittle, and the thought of her brushing him off again makes his chest ache. 

He sighs and heads toward the bathroom instead.

"When will you leave?" he asks over his shoulder, his hand on the bathroom door.

"Tonight," She replies, her voice softer now.

Abhiraj stops mid-step. Tonight. The word catches him off guard. He turns slightly but doesn't look at her. 

"All right," he murmurs before stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Inside, he leans against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

She's leaving tonight. The thought echoes in his mind, and he feels a sudden gush of loneliness he wasn't prepared for. 

He runs a hand through his hair, the cool air of the bathroom doing little to calm him.

When he steps out, Ishika is still packing, the suitcase now zipped up and placed by the door. She looks up briefly, her expression neutral.

"I'll take Ivaan with me," she says quietly.

He nods, his throat tightening.

 "I'll drop you," he offers.

Ishika shakes her head, immediately. "No there's no need, the driver will drop us. You don't need to worry."

Abhiraj frowns, the automatic refusal stinging more than he'd like to admit. 

"I'll drop you," he says again, this time more firmly. His gaze locks with hers, leaving no room for argument. 

"Let me know when you're ready."

She hesitates, her lips parting as if to protest, but something in his tone silences her.

She nods reluctantly, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

Abhiraj watches her for a moment longer before turning away, his jaw tight.

He grabs a fresh shirt from the wardrobe, buttoning it with precise, almost mechanical movements.

The routine calms him, offering a small distraction from the storm of thoughts swirling in his mind.

He's never been good at asking the questions that matter or saying the things he should.

Now, as she prepares to leave, he's regretting his choice of staying silent more than ever.

"I'll refuse the driver then," Ishika says softly.

"Good," he replies, his tone clipped.

He doesn't look at her, afraid that if he does, she'll see the vulnerability he's trying so hard to mask.

Ishika lingers by the door, her hand resting on the suitcase handle.

For a moment, he thinks she might say something more, but she doesn't.

She turns and walks out, leaving the room unnervingly quiet.

As the door clicks shut behind her, Abhiraj stands in the center of the room, his hands hanging limply by his sides.

He's alone now, and the realization sinks in, heavy and unrelenting. The emptiness of the space mirrors the ache in his chest, but he doesn't move.

Instead, he lets the silence envelop him.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

Abhiraj steps into the silent mansion, the click of his shoes echoing.

He pauses in the foyer, his gaze sweeping over the darkened interiors, before climbing the staircase to his room.

Pushing the door open, he is met with an eerie stillness. The bed is neatly made, but the suitcase on it is gone. His chest tightens as he realizes, he's alone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease. He moves toward the wardrobe, pulling out a t-shirt and a pair of loose pajama bottoms to change. 

The blanket feels cool as he slides beneath them. He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, his arms resting at his sides. 

The minutes tick by, but sleep remains elusive.

He shifts, turning onto his side to face the window.  He closes his eyes, hoping the sound of his own breathing might lull him into rest.

But the stillness only deepens the disquiet in his chest.

With a frustrated sigh, he flips onto his other side, then back again. The restlessness gnaws at him, making it impossible to stay still.

Finally, he sits up, raking a hand through his hair. His gaze drifts to the television mounted on the wall.

Maybe distraction will help.

Reaching for the remote, he switches on the TV, the sudden glow illuminating the room. The volume is low, just enough to fill the silence.

He scrolls aimlessly through channels before settling on a music station. A soft tune plays.
(Na Tum hame jano)

ना तुम हमें जानो
ना हम तुम्हें जानें
मगर लगता है कुछ ऐसा
मेरा हमदम मिल गया

ना तुम हमें जानो
ना हम तुम्हें जानें
मगर लगता है कुछ ऐसा
मेरा हमदम मिल गया

He turns off the bedside lamp, letting the dim light from the screen cast flickering shadows.

Laying back on the bed, he tries to focus on the sounds. But his mind refuses to quiet, and his chest begins to feel tight.

His breathing quickens, and he places a hand over his chest instinctively.

The sensation is unfamiliar, unsettling. His other hand trembles as he grips the edge of the blanket.

"What... what is this?" he murmurs to himself, his voice barely audible.

He closes his eyes, trying to regulate his breaths. Inhale, exhale.

Slow and steady. But the tightness persists, and his hands continues to shake. He presses his palm harder against his chest. 

His gaze drifts to Ishika's pillow. He hesitates, then reaches for it with his trembling hands, pulling it close. Her fragnance wraps around him. He closes his eyes trying to breathe in her scent.

ये मौसम ये रात चुप है
ये होठों की बात चुप है
ख़ामोशी सुनाने लगी है दास्ताँ

ये मौसम ये रात चुप है
ये होठों की बात चुप है
ख़ामोशी सुनाने लगी है दास्ताँ
नज़र बन गयी है दिल की जुबाँ

His breathing slows, the sharp edges of his panic beginning to dull. He buries his face in the pillow, inhaling deeply, and an unexpected calm washes over him.

The trembling in his hand subsides, but his throat tightens.

An ache spreads through his chest. The feeling is unfamiliar, disturbing. 

He doesn't understand it, but it feels like something has broken open inside him, something he's been holding back for too long, something even he wasn't aware of.

Clutching the pillow to his chest, he shuts his eyes tightly, his jaw clenching as he fights against the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.

ना तुम हमें जानो
ना हम तुम्हें जानें
मगर लगता है कुछ ऐसा
मेरा हमदम मिल गया

The silence of the room feels overwhelming, yet he can't bring himself to turn on the light or reach for his phone.

The seconds stretch into minutes, and he lies there, motionless except for the faint rise and fall of his chest.

His mind circles back to the moment he dropped Ishika and Ivaan off. 

A sharp pang cuts through him, and he exhales shakily.

मोहब्बत के मोड़ पे हम
मिले सबको छोड़ के हम
धड़कते दिलों का लेके ये कारवाँ

मोहब्बत के मोड़ पे हम
मिले सबको छोड़ के हम
धड़कते दिलों का लेके ये कारवाँ
चले आज दोनों जाने कहाँ

His fingers tighten around the fabric, and for the first time in years, he feels utterly lost.

As the faint strains of music from the television continue to play, Abhiraj lies in the darkness, grappling with emotions he can't name and a void he doesn't know how to fill.

ना तुम हमें जानो
ना हम तुम्हें जानें
मगर लगता है कुछ ऐसा
मेरा हमदम मिल गया ...

To be continued...

Hello Reader's...

So how was the chapter? Did you'll like it?

Finally Ishika came the know about the relationship between Dhriti and Abhiraj.

But he doesn't know and Ishika is bad at confrontation.

Any comments about it?

Will update soon. Till then take care of yourself and don't forget to 👇