Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -.
‼️4.3k votes and 2.8k comments on this chapter.‼️
______________________________________

ज़मीन से आसमान तक हम

ढूंढ़ आए जहाँ सारा
बना पाया नहीं अब तक
ख़ुदा तुमसे कोई प्यारा

बातों में तेरी हैं बदमाशियाँ
सब बेवजह की हैं तारीफ़ें
मैं लिख दूँ आसमान पर ये
कि पढ़ लेगा जहाँ सारा

हुआ न होगा अब कोई
यहाँ हम दो सा दोबारा
मैं दुनिया भर की तारीफें
तेरे सजदे में लाया हूँ

मैं तुमसे इश्क़ करने की
इजाज़त रब से लाया हूँ
(रब से लाया हूँ)
(रब से लाया हूँ)

तू ही जो रूबरू मेरे
बड़ा महफ़ूज़ रहता हूँ
तेरे मिलने का शुक्राना
ख़ुदा से रोज़ करता हूँ

हमको पता है ये नादानियाँ हैं
आवारा दिल की हैं आवारगियाँ
ये दिल पागल बना बैठा
इसे अब तू ही समझा दे

दिखे तुझमें मेरी दुनिया
मेरी दुनिया तू बन जा रे

_________________________________________

"Aap thik hai?"
(Are you okay?)

His voice was low, husky, still rough from the weight of his own pleasure. But it held something else too-concern, tenderness, something that pulled Noor from the hazy, trembling aftermath of what had just happened.

She was still pressed against the cold marble, her body weak, her breath uneven. Sidharth's own chest rose and fell rapidly, his forehead still slightly damp, his muscles tense beneath her fingertips. He was still catching his breath, still recovering, yet the first thing he did-his very first thought-was to ask about her.

Noor blinked, trying to focus, but she was still lost in the lingering heat of his touch, in the way his hands had owned her, worshiped her. Her lips parted, but no words came out-only a soft breath, a quiet exhale that carried the remnants of what she had just felt.

Sidharth tilted his head, watching her with a depth that made her shiver.

His fingers, the same ones that had unraveled her, now moved with the gentleness of a whisper, brushing a stray lock of damp hair from her cheek. Noor flinched at the cool air against her flushed skin, and his touch lingered just a second longer than necessary.

A quiet sigh left him, as if even now, even after all of that, he still couldn't get enough of touching her.

He didn't say anything for a moment. he just watched her.

Then, slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to her forehead.

It wasn't rushed, wasn't hurried. It was soft, warm, lingering-as if sealing something between them.

And then another.

And another.

Gentle, quiet kisses, each one placed with such deliberate care that Noor felt her chest tighten. He kissed her cheeks next, his lips barely grazing her skin, warm against the cool dampness of her face. One kiss, then another, each one melting into the next, so tender it almost ached.

Noor barely realized when her arms lifted, fingers hesitating before resting against his damp shoulders, anchoring herself to him. Her body still trembled, too overwhelmed, too lightheaded, too-

Sidharth exhaled softly, his breath fanning over her cheek.

"Cherry..." his voice was softer now, no longer rough with desire but carrying something deeper, something unspoken.

Noor made a sound-something between a hum and a sigh. She still wasn't entirely here yet, still floating between reality and the echoes of the way he had touched her.

Sidharth's arms tightened around her for just a second before, carefully, he shifted his hold. With slow, careful movements, he lifted her off the cold marble, his grip steady, secure. Noor gasped quietly, instinctively clutching onto him, her fingers curling into his skin.

His lips brushed against her hair in silent reassurance.

"Hold on," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She did.

He carried her effortlessly, moving with slow, unhurried steps until they were under the warm stream of the shower once again. He held her for a moment longer, then, just as gently, lowered her onto her feet.

Noor wavered slightly, her legs weak, but before she could stumble, Sidharth was already there. His hands were on her waist, steadying her, his touch firm yet gentle.

A small, knowing smirk flickered across his lips. "Can't even stand properly, Cherry?"

Noor's face burned, her gaze dropping, but she had no strength to snap back.

His smirk softened, replaced by something else-something unreadable - something that made her stomach flutter.

Then, wordlessly, he reached up, fingers brushing over her cheek once more. This time, he didn't stop there. With slow, deliberate movements, he tucked her damp hair behind her ear, smoothing it away from her face. The strands clung stubbornly to her skin, and he took his time, his fingertips warm and careful as he combed through them, collecting each stray lock with unspoken patience.

Noor swallowed, unsure why something so small, so simple, felt so... intimate.

Once he had gathered all of her hair to one side, his gaze flickered back to hers. For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then, with quiet finality, he turned away.

Noor blinked, watching as he stepped fully under the shower, letting the water cascade over him, over his face, his shoulders, his chest. His hands ran through his damp hair, eyes closing briefly, as if trying to wash away something more than just the remnants of their shared heat.

Noor didn't move.

She just watched.

And for the first time, she wondered-what was Sidharth thought right now?

Sidharth's fingers traced the water absentmindedly, the ripples expanding outward, just like the warmth in his chest. His gaze never left Noor, who stood just beside him, her flushed cheeks a shade deeper than before. He could still feel her breath against his skin, still hear the soft, helpless sounds she had made when he had held her so close. He knew she was shy, but he also knew something else-she was his. And tonight, she had given herself to him in ways that made his heart ache with something deep, something possessive, something entirely devoted.

And he wasn't done with her yet.

Siddharth leaned forward slightly, his knuckles brushing against her cheek as he whispered, "Come, Cherry, join me. Or do you want to shower alone now?"

His voice was soft, teasing, but it carried that deep, unspoken understanding that always existed between them. A part of him was giving her a choice, but another part of him already knew her answer.

Noor looked down for a second, her fingers curling against the surface of the water as if grounding herself. She was still trembling from his touch, her body still remembering the way he had claimed her. Her heart was racing-partly because of the offer, partly because of the way his voice curled around her name like a whispered promise.

And then, she made the mistake of looking down.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Sidharth was standing now, fully, completely bare before her.

Her eyes widened-stunned, unprepared. The water droplets sliding down his skin only accentuated the sheer size of him. He was broad, all muscle and strength, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His skin was flushed from their earlier passion, but what stole her breath was lower-where he was still hard, thick, and utterly demanding.

Her lips parted, her entire body freezing, her gaze locked helplessly on him. She shouldn't be staring. She knew she shouldn't. But her eyes wouldn't move away.

"Cherry?"

His voice was lazy, full of amusement, and she knew-he knew.

A smirk curled on his lips, teasing, knowing, as he tilted his head slightly. "Where are you lost?"

Noor sucked in a sharp breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. The embarrassment hit her all at once. Her face burned, her pulse skittering wildly as she snapped her gaze upward. But the damage was done. She had looked. And now, she couldn't unsee it.

Her entire body trembled with shyness, and before she could stop herself, she stammered, "A-Akele."

("A-Alone.")

Sidharth's smirk deepened, something dark and playful flickering in his gaze. He didn't move immediately, just let the silence stretch between them, watching her squirm under his attention. Her entire face was red, her hands in fist as if it could somehow save her from this moment.

And then, without a word, he stepped forward & knelt before her, his movements unhurried, deliberate-like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

His large hands found the waistband of her panties, fingers slipping beneath the delicate fabric, the touch sending a tremor through her. Noor's breath hitched, her toes curling, her fingers digging into her own palms as heat spread through her body.

His lips brushed over her navel, soft yet searing, his warm breath ghosting over her skin. She shivered, her knees threatening to give out, but before she could fully process the sensation, Sidharth stood again, towering over her. Noor barely had a second to react before strong arms wrapped around her, lifting her with ease, as if she weighed nothing at all.

Noor gasped, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders, her heart hammering as he carried her effortlessly, as if she belonged nowhere else but in his arms.

He took two-three-long strides before dropping her into an empty bathtub.

Another surprised gasp left her lips as her back met the cool porcelain. Before she could even process it, he reached for the tap, twisting it open. Warm water rushed in, swirling around her, filling the tub slowly. Noor blinked, her mind struggling to keep up.

Sidharth moved with ease, adding something into the water-a fragrant oil - a few drops of something calming. Noor barely noticed the scent of roses and sandalwood drifting in the air. She was too busy processing him.

He knelt beside the tub again, his presence overwhelming, his bare skin still damp from before. Noor still couldn't look at him properly. Her hands curled into tiny fists in the water, her heart thudding wildly against her ribs. The embarrassment of everything-of what she had just seen, of how he had caught her looking-was still burning inside her.

And then, his fingers found her chin, tilting her face up.

A soft, warm kiss landed on her forehead, slow and lingering, as if he was sealing something into her skin.

"Relax here, Cherry. I'll leave you alone. Mujhe cold shower lena hai."

("I need to take a cold shower.")

His voice was unbearably tender, full of something so deep, so understanding that Noor almost melted on the spot but with a hint of teasing.

Sidharth stood up, his muscles shifting under his skin, his presence still filling the space even as he moved away. Noor exhaled shakily, letting herself sink a little further into the warm water, trying to hide, trying to cool her racing thoughts.

But she couldn't stop herself from looking.

Through the slight fog on the glass, she watched him step into the shower cubicle. He turned on the water, letting it cascade over his body. Noor's breath hitched. He was beautiful-larger than life, powerful, and yet, at this moment, completely at ease. His back muscles flexed slightly, his broad shoulders moving as he ran a hand through his wet hair.

And then she saw it-the ink on his skin.

A tattoo.

Wings.

They stretched across the back of his neck, right where his spine met his shoulders. The intricate details stood out against his skin, bold and striking. It suited him-this man who felt like both her protector and the storm that consumed her.

Noor swallowed, her fingers gripping the water as she watched him.

Sidharth's body moved with a quiet, effortless power. He wasn't bulky, but he was large, his tall frame dominating the space. Every line of muscle, every shift of movement, was utterly captivating. She felt her cheeks heat again.

She didn't even realize how long she had been staring until he stepped out of the shower.

A white towel hung low around his waist, drops of water still clinging to his skin. Noor's eyes immediately darted away, her heart slamming against her ribs.

But she heard the soft chuckle.

Before she could process it, Sidharth walked toward her again.

He didn't say anything at first. Just knelt beside the tub again, leaning in close. Noor felt her breath hitch as his warmth neared her once more.

Then-softly, gently-he pressed a small kiss to her cheek.

"Come out soon. Hmm?"

His voice was quiet, a whisper against her skin. He pulled back just slightly, his fingers brushing against her face before he straightened.

And then-just to tease-he patted her cheek once.

Noor's lips parted, flustered beyond belief, but before she could say anything, Sidharth had already turned, walking toward the door.

She was still staring after him when he left.

And her heart was still racing.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Noor stepped out of the bathroom, her skin warm from the bath, her heart still fluttering from the lingering traces of Sidharth's presence. Her mind was a whirl of emotions-shyness, a touch of embarrassment, and something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name yet.

They hadn't crossed any lines, not really, but to her, what had just happened felt intimate, bold in ways she had never imagined. She wasn't sure how to meet his eyes after this.

She let out a quiet sigh, her hands gripping the towel wrapped securely around her. And then, as she took a step forward, realization struck her. Her saree. She had forgotten to bring it inside.

Her lips parted in disbelief at her own carelessness. How could I forget? She clenched the towel tighter, cursing herself under her breath, but as soon as the memory of how she had rushed inside earlier surfaced, her irritation faded, replaced by the heat creep her neck. She shook her head, unwilling to dwell on it. Quickly, she made her way to the closet, her bare feet soundless against the cool floor, and pulled out the saree, hoping to dress before he returned.

Just as she unfolded the fabric, she heard his voice.

Noor froze.

But then, she noticed the faint echo of another voice on the line, and she exhaled. A call. He's on a call. Still, urgency gripped her as she hurriedly slipped into her blouse. The moment she tightened the hooks, she winced. A dull ache radiated through her chest-tender, swollen.

They're already sore. My periods must be near. She thought.

She sucked in a breath, willing herself to ignore the discomfort, leaving the first two hooks undone for relief.

She moved on to the petticoat, tying it in a rushed knot, then grabbed the saree, draping it over her shoulder, fingers working quickly to make the pleats. She had just started folding the fabric when two hands appeared in her line of vision.

Large, steady hands.

She looked up.

Sidharth stood before her, the phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, his posture relaxed yet utterly commanding. His eyes-those blue deep, knowing eyes-held her with quiet amusement.

Before she could react, his fingers brushed against her blouse, fastening the remaining hooks with effortless precision. The movement was gentle, unhurried, and something in the simplicity of it made her breath catch. He didn't tease her, didn't speak, but she felt his awareness of her. Every small wince, every shallow breath-he noticed it all.

Her hands stilled against the saree pleats as he took over, kneeling effortlessly before her.

Noor blinked, stunned.

His large hands smoothed out the pleats with practiced ease, straightening the fabric, perfecting the folds as if it were second nature to him. She watched in silence, her heart swelling in a way she couldn't quite put into words. This-this was love, wasn't it?

Not grand declarations, not dramatic confessions, but in the way he knelt before her, in the way he made the world slow down for her, in the way he did something as simple as fixing her saree without a second thought.

She felt a small smile tug at her lips.

Sidharth finished, rising to his full height. His phone call was still ongoing when, suddenly, she heard him saying.

"That's enough for now. I'll talk to you later. "

Saying this, Sidharth reached for her saree's pallu, the loose end of the fabric that draped it perfectly over her shoulder. With quiet confidence, he adjusted it, tucking it neatly into place. His knuckles brushed against her skin in the process, sending a shiver down her spine.

And then, without missing a beat, he cut the call.

The moment the phone left his grasp, his full attention was on her.

Noor barely had time to react before he placed the phone down on the dressing table and cupped her face in his warm, calloused hands. His touch was gentle, reverent, as if she were something precious. And then, without a word, he leaned in, pressing the softest of kisses to the tip of her nose.

"Har beetate din ke sath aap mujhe aur khoobsurat lagti hain."

("With each passing day, you look even more beautiful to me.")

Noor's breath hitched, her heartbeat stumbling over itself.

She looked up at him-at the warmth in his gaze, the tenderness in his smile-and for a moment, the world felt too small to hold the depth of what she felt.

She then picked up the red glass bangles, her fingers tracing over them as she slipped a few onto her wrist. The contrast against her yellow saree was striking-like the first golden rays of dawn meeting the deep crimson of a setting sun. The colors reflected in her eyes as she admired the way they shined under the soft morning light.

Sidharth, who had just ended his call, leaned slightly against the dresser, watching her. His gaze fell on the red bangles, and without a second thought, he reached out, gently holding her wrist mid-motion.

"Laal chudiya kyu pehen rahi hai aap? Peeli nahi hai?"

(Why are you wearing red bangles? Don't you have yellow ones?)

Hearing him, Noor finally looked up-really looked at him for the first time that morning. The second their eyes met, warmth bloomed on her cheeks, turning them a shade almost as deep as the bangles themselves. Flustered, she quickly lowered her gaze and shook her head, her fingers fiddling with the remaining bangles.

"Par mai laya to tha."
(But I did bring them for you.)

At that, her breath hitched. The redness on her cheeks deepened, spreading all the way to her ears. She bit the inside of her cheek, still not looking at him as she mumbled,

"Haan laye the... par t-toot gayi."
(Yes... but they broke).

"Toot gayi? Kaise?"
(Broke? How?)

Noor lifted her gaze again, but this time, her expression shifted. Her eyes, which had been soft and shy a moment ago, now held a sharpness, a silent accusation. Sidharth's brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the sudden change in her demeanor. Before he could ask, she answered.

"Aapse tooti."
(They broke because of you.)

Sidharth blinked.

"Us raat... Jab aap ruk hi nahi rahe the... Aap hai hi-!"

(That night... when you just wouldn't stop. You-!)

The realization hit her mid-rant. Her words, her voice, everything-she suddenly became aware of what she was saying. Her lips parted in horror as her eyes widened, her breath hitching.

Sidharth just stood there, blinking at her, his mind catching up to what she had just confessed in her moment of flustered frustration.

Noor, on the other hand, reacted faster. She turned around in a hurry, hoping to escape before he could say anything, but before she could take even a step, his hand shot out.

A firm grip around her waist. A swift pull.

She gasped as she was suddenly drawn back against him, her palms landing flat on his chest. His arm wrapped securely around her, his hold unyielding yet effortless. His warm breath fanned against her temple as he leaned closer, the teasing lilt back in his voice.

"Oh? Mujhse toot gayi?"
(Oh? So, it broke because of me?)

He pulled her in even more, and their bodies now flush against each other. Noor's hands, still resting on his chest, curled into fists, trapped between them. The only space left was where their rapid heartbeats drummed against each other.

Sidharth's lips curled into a playful smirk. Lowering his head slightly, he brushed the tip of his nose against hers-slow, deliberate, teasing. His voice was a murmur against her lips, just a whisper away.

"Kya karu, biwi hi itni haseen hai ki unko pyaar karte waqt andaza hi nahi hota, kya toota kya bacha"

(What can I do? My wife is just too beautiful. When I love her, I forget everything else... even what's broken & what's left)

Noor's eyes widened at his audacity, her face practically burning now. He said it with such innocence, as if he wasn't fully aware of the effect of his words.

She glared up at him, scandalized, but Sidharth only blinked back at her-his expression completely unbothered, almost angelic, as if he hadn't just said something so sham

Gathering her composure, she attempted to push him away. But the moment she did, his arms only tightened around her.

Closer.

No space left between them now.

Her hands, still curled into small fists, were the only barrier, but even they were crushed between their bodies. Noor stilled, her breath uneven, her lashes fluttering as she tried to look anywhere but at him.

Sidharth, thoroughly enjoying himself, let his smirk deepen. He leaned in once again, this time pressing the lightest of pecks on her lips-barely there, fleeting, like a stolen secret.

Noor's eyes snapped up to his in utter disbelief, irritation flashing in her gaze, but before she could say anything, he tilted his head slightly and murmured,

"Acha, sorry, Cherry. Mai aur la dunga aapke liye."
(Alright, sorry, Cherry. I'll bring more for you.)

This time, there was no teasing in his tone. His voice was soft, genuine, carrying a sincerity that made her breath catch in her throat.

She blinked up at him, startled by the sudden shift, and before she realized it, a small smile found its way to her lips.

Sidharth watched her smile, and something in his expression softened even further. His voice was still gentle, his words still laced with warmth as he added,

"Infact, mai aapke liye roj nayi nayi chudiya laaya karunga."
(In fact, I'll bring you new bangles every day.)

Noor's smile grew at that. The simplicity of his words, the promise in them-it was the kind of sweetness that made her heart ache in the best way.

But just as she was about to thank him, she noticed it.

The change.

His expression, once purely affectionate, now had something else lurking beneath. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the corner of his lips twitching-there was a shift, a teasing glint returning.

And then, his voice dropped, carrying a meaning she wasn't prepared for.

"Tab agar raat ko kuch karte karte toot bhi jayegi to aapko bura nahi lagega."
(That way, even if they break at night... you won't feel bad.)

Noor froze.

It took exactly one second for the meaning to sink in.

And when it did-

"Beshram!"
(Shamless)

She gasped, mortified, her hand instinctively balling up into a fist as she smacked it against his chest.

Sidharth, the menace that he was, only laughed. A full, rich, unapologetic laugh. He threw his head back, the sound of his amusement echoing through the room.

Taking advantage of his loosened grip, Noor wiggled out of his arms, pushing him aside just enough to break free.

Before he could react, she turned on her heel and bolted.

Sidharth, still laughing, watched her go, shaking his head in amusement.

God, he loved teasing his wife.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.

We were late for breakfast. It was not too late, but late enough that the elders had finished eating and left the dining table. I knew we would have to face the others. The teasing ones.

And as expected, when Siddharth ji and I sat down, Veer bhaiya, Adarsh, and Aakriti didn't even try to hide their amused glances. They were looking at me. I'm not saying anything, just looking.

I kept my gaze fixed on my plate, determined not to acknowledge them much. But the silence-or rather, their silent teasing-was unbearable. So, to fill the moment, I spoke.

"Veer bhaiya, wo achar pass kariyega, please?"
(Veer bhaiya, can you pass the pickle, please?)

I didn't look up. I just waited for him to pass it. But before he could, Sidharth ji who was sitting beside me suddenly stood up. My breath caught as he leaned forward, reaching for the pickle bottle himself. He picked it up, twisted the lid open, and wordlessly dropped a spoonful onto my plate.

I felt my ears grow warm. It wasn't like he hadn't done this before-he had, many times-but never under such watchful eyes. I could feel them, all of them, slipping even deeper into their silent observation.

Before I could fully process the moment, he placed another paratha on my plate.

"Rehne dijiye... hum le lenge."
(It's okay... I'll take it myself.)

I whispered, barely audible, but I knew they all heard. My fingers clenched slightly around my spoon as I forced myself to eat, ignoring the glances I was receiving.

And then-

A hand.

I stiffened.

Something-someone-had placed a hand on my thigh under the table. The unexpected touch sent a jolt up my spine, and before I could stop myself, I choked on my food.

Immediately, two glasses of water were thrust in front of me. My hand instinctively reached for one as I turned slightly towards Adarsh. Without thinking, I sipped from his glass, too focused on stopping the coughing to notice anything else.

A warm hand rubbed my back, while another gently patted my head. It was a familiar, comforting gesture.

I relaxed.

Once relaxed, I glanced at the glass in my hand. The glass in my hand... it was still full.

Then, my eyes shifted to the other glass-the one I had actually sipped from.

Realization dawned. I drunk from Adarsh's glass..

Slowly, I turned towards Adarsh, about to thank him, when-

And then-

Clink.

The sound of a glass being placed down-not too hard, not too soft. Just enough to make me look.

Sidharth ji.

His jaw was clenched. His fingers, still curled around the glass he had just placed down, were tense.

I frowned slightly, not understanding why he looked... like that.

Before I could ask, Adarsh spoke up, as if nothing had happened.

"Bhabhi, aapne parathe dahi ke saath try kiye?"
(Bhabhi, have you ever tried paratha with yogurt?)

I shook my head, still slightly dazed.

Without another word, Adarsh picked up a bite and held it out toward me. I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm forgotten to thank him. He was like a younger brother-the one I never had.

Leaning forward slightly, I took the bite from his hand. It was good. It's surprisingly good.

"Bahut accha lag raha hai."
(It tastes really good.)

Adarsh grinned.

"Arey bhabhi, mere ideas hote hi acche hain."
(Of course, Bhabhi, my ideas are always great!)

He picked up another bite and held it out for me again. I giggled at his playful expression before leaning in for the second bite.

And just as I was about to take it-

A hand.

From behind.

Quick.

The bite disappeared from Adarsh's hand before it could reach me.

I blinked, my head snapping to follow the movement.

Sidharth ji.

He placed the bite on his own plate without saying a word, his expression unreadable.

Adarsh blinked.

"Bhai?"
(Brother?)

Sidharth ji didn't look at anyone, but his voice was calm when he finally spoke.

"Dusre ke haath se khane se khana khud ko nahi lagta."

(Food doesn't give nutrition when you eat from someone else's hand.)

I stared at him.

Heh?

His lashes lifted slightly as he finally looked up, his eyes sweeping over the table, meeting everyone's gaze briefly before settling back down.

Adarsh, still confused, tilted his head.

"Aap ye sab kab se manne lage, bhai?"
(Since when do you believe in all this, bhai?)

Sidharth ji didn't answer immediately. He looked up again, this time his expression shifting-cool, sharp, unwavering.

"Aaj se. Aur details doon tumko?"
(From today. Want me to give you details?)

His tone.

It wasn't anger.

But it wasn't anger either.

Adarsh quickly shook his head, dropping the conversation as he focused back on his own plate.

I just sat there, completely lost.

Why... why was he acting like this?

I turned my head slightly, catching Veer bhaiya and Aakriti.

They both suddenly started laughing.

Veer bhaiya even threw his head back, his laughter echoing in the dining hall.

My confusion only grew.

What was so funny?

Sidharth ji is angry & they are laughing?

Before I could ask, Sidharth ji suddenly stood up.

I turned to look at him as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. Then, his gaze dropped to me.

"Noor, breakfast khud ke haathon se karne ke baad, zara ek cup chai leke library mein aaiyega."

(Noor, after eating with your own hands, bring a cup of tea to the library.)

I blinked.

His tone was neutral. But the way he said khud ke haathon se...

And then-another glance at Adarsh.

A very specific glance.

I barely had time to process before he added, softer this time-

"Please."

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

I sat there, mouth slightly open, completely dumbfounded.

What just happened?
.
.
.
.
.
.

The tea was ready. I carefully placed the cups on the tray, adjusting them so they wouldn't spill. The warmth of the freshly brewed tea spread through my fingers as I picked up the tray, ready to take it to Sidharth ji

But just as I turned, a loud thud echoed through the house. It wasn't an ordinary sound-it was heavy, like something had fallen. My brows furrowed.

A sense of urgency filled the air. Footsteps rushed past me. Maa, Dadi, and the others hurried upstairs with worried expressions. Something was wrong.

I frowned, gripping the tray tightly. What was happening?

I followed them, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. As I neared the library, the atmosphere thickened. The heavy silence was broken by a voice-Sidharth ji's voice. Loud. Angry.

My heart pounded.

I stepped closer. My hands were damp against the tray, but I didn't care.

Through the slightly open door, I saw them-Sidharth ji and his father, standing face to face.

Sidharth ji's eyes burned with something fierce. His fists were clenched, his chest rising and falling with sharp breaths. His father stood opposite him, his expression just as tense. The air between them crackled like a storm waiting to explode.

I didn't understand what was happening.

And then, Sidharth ji spoke. His voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Naam unhe chahiye jinka wajood doosron ke sahaare tikta hai. Par main Sidharth Singh Rajvardhan hoon. Ye virasat, ye khandan, ye sab kuch mujhse hai; main kisi ka mohtaaj nahi."

("Only those who depend on others need a name to survive. But I am Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan. This legacy, this family-it exists because of me. I am not dependent on anyone.")

His voice was powerful, unwavering.

I had never seen him like this before.

His usually composed face was twisted in anger. His eyes burned with a fire that I couldn't understand. His hands were rigid at his sides, the veins on his arms standing out.

His father's expression was just as intense. They were locked in a silent battle, neither backing down.

I felt frozen. My fingers gripped the tray tighter. The warmth of the tea had long disappeared against the cold tension in the air.

What was happening?

Why was he saying this?

Why did it feel like everything was shaking?

I swallowed, unsure whether to step forward or stay hidden. My feet refused to move. My voice refused to work.

I had never seen Sidharth ji so furious.

And for the first time, I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do.
.
.
.
.

I stepped into the library, my jaw tight, my hands itching to throw something-preferably that teeny shit Adarsh out of the house.

"Why did he need to feed my wife?" I muttered under my breath, fingers running through my hair in frustration.

My Noor-my Noor-had her own man. I was there. I could have fed her. Why would she take food from someone else's hand when I was there?

I exhaled sharply, yanking open the top button of my shirt.

"That little shit needs to understand I am a big brother, not him," I scoffed, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

My Noor wasn't anyone's responsibility but mine.

I paced once, twice, shaking my head. My mind refused to let go of the image-her taking food from someone else's hand. It was a small thing. But it wasn't. Not to me.

I exhaled through my nose, the air sharp, burning. My fingers curled into fists before I forced them to relax.

She was mine in a way that had nothing to do with papers or traditions.

Mine, because she carried my my soul, my love, my existence with her. Mine, because when I breathed, I only felt alive when she was near.

My jaw clenched. No. Noor didn't need anyone else. If she was to take something from someone's hand, it would be from mine. If she was to depend on someone, it would be me.

I ran a hand through my hair, sighing. The top button of my shirt was already undone, but I felt suffocated still. My gaze shifted to the window, my eyes scanning the path she would take to reach me.

She was taking too long.

I could almost imagine hearing her anklets, the soft chime of her bangles-small, familiar sounds that only I noticed, that only I cared about. I would know the moment she stepped in, even before she spoke. Noor carried a presence, a scent, a feeling that reached me before she did.

But the air was still. And then-

"Ye kya sun raha hoon main? Kya kar rahe ho tum?"
(What am I hearing? What are you doing?)

A voice-low, steady, and the one I despite the most.

Not my Noor.

I didn't turn. I didn't need to. The storm had already arrived.

"Sidharth."

The voice settled into the air, unwelcome. It had no weight in this room, not for me. My jaw tightened, the muscle flexing as I forced myself to breathe evenly. I slid my hand into my pocket, curling my fingers into a fist. The sharp press of my nails against my palm grounded me.

I did not turn.

My chest rose as I inhaled, broadening my stance, making space for myself. I would not shrink, I would not move-not for him. Even as his presence crawled closer, even as my name left his lips once more, demanding, waiting, I remained still.

My father.

I lifted my gaze, my blue eyes turning to ice. Cold, unyielding. Staring straight at him, the man I despised most in this world.

Sidharth stood there, his tall frame unmoving, his blue eyes darkening with something unreadable as they locked with the same shade staring back at him.

His father.

The man who had given him his name, his blood-but never a place in his heart.

The silence between them was thick, pressing against the walls, waiting to snap. The air itself carried weight, the kind that came before a storm. But Sidharth didn't fidget. He didn't move. His presence alone was enough to make the air feel heavy.

He was standing straight, his shoulders relaxed, his hands deep in his pockets-yet there was something about him, something unshakable. As if even if the world came crashing down, he would not waver. A man who did not need to prove his power. It was there. In the way he stood. In the way he breathed.

Then, slowly, his lashes lowered for a moment before he looked away, breaking the stare first-not in defeat, but in sheer disinterest. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. Too soft. The kind of softness that did not need volume to be heard.

"Jo bhi sun rahe hain, sach hi hoga."
("Whatever you're hearing must be the truth.")

And just like that, he turned, as if he had already dismissed this entire conversation. As if this-his father, the accusations, the questions-was not worth his time. His steps were slow, measured. Controlled.

But before he could take another step, a hand gripped his bicep.

The touch was firm, unyielding.

Siddlharth's gaze dropped. First to the hand, then to the man who dared to hold him back.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, with nothing more than a sharp flick of his wrist, he shook off the touch. Not aggressively. Just... effortlessly. Like brushing off dust.

His father's voice rose behind him.

"Sach hoga? Kaise kar sakte ho tum ye?!"
("The truth? How could you do this?!")

It wasn't a question. It was disbelief. A demand. A plea, almost.

Sidharth did not react. He did not look up. He did not even acknowledge it-until, slowly, his lashes lifted, and his blue eyes found the same pair once again.

There was something in them this time. Not rage. Not arrogance. Something colder. Something deeper.

A history that did not need words. A wound that did not need bandages.

His jaw tightened, his fingers curled inside his pockets, but his voice? His voice was like steel, smooth but cutting.

"Main marzi karu. Aap mere beech mein nahi bol sakte."
("I will do as I please. You cannot interfere.")

A storm was building in the library. But Sidharth? He had always been the eye of it.

The library was suffocating with tension.

Sidharth's father did not blink. His blue eyes darkened further, the weight of his authority settling into his voice.

"Bhool mat, pita hoon tumhara. Tumhare beech bhi bol sakta hoon aur tumhare faisle bhi le sakta hoon."
("Don't forget, I am your father. I can interfere in your matters, and I can make your decisions.")

The words hung in the air, heavy, demanding, final.

Sidharth stilled.

For a moment, it seemed like he had not heard his father at all. His shoulders remained relaxed, his breathing slow, his stance unmoving. But then-his lips twitched.

A breath of laughter escaped him.

Low at first.

Then it grew.

It wasn't humor. It wasn't amusement. It was cold. Mocking. It echoed through the library, curling around the heavy bookshelves, seeping into the silence like poison.

His father did not move. But his jaw clenched tighter.

Sidharth turned slightly, his blue eyes gleaming with something unreadable as he looked at the man who had just called himself his father.

"Pita?"
("Father?")

The word rolled off his tongue like a foreign thing. Like something he did not recognize.

And then-he laughed again.

Slower this time. Deeper.

Without another word, Sidharth walked toward the chair near the bookshelf. His steps were unhurried, yet every move carried something heavy-something that weighed down the air itself. Reaching the chair, he placed his hand on its backrest, his fingers pressing lightly into the wood.

He turned.

The laughter had faded.

The mocking curve of his lips was still there, but his eyes-they told a different story.

Blue, piercing, yet hollow.

If someone looked closely, they would see it-the cracks. The wounds left open for too long. The years of something unspoken. Something buried.

He smiled, but his eyes...

His eyes had lived through too much.

"Pita ka matlab samajhte hai aap?"
("Do you understand what 'father' means?")

The words were not loud. They did not need to be.

His father stilled.

The room turned colder.

Something in the way Sidharth had said those words-soft, yet sharp-sent a shiver through the older man's spine.

For a brief second, it wasn't the Sidharth standing in front of him. It was the Sidharth from years ago. The boy who had once-

No.

His father straightened, ready to respond, but before he could-

"Na hi main aapko apna pita maanta hoon, na hi main aapko mere beech ya mere liye bolne ka haq deta hoon."

("I neither consider you my father nor give you the right to interfere in my matters or speak for me.")

Sidharth's voice was controlled, but the fire beneath it was unmistakable.

For the first time, something shifted in his father's face.

Sidharth tilted his head slightly, his gaze unblinking, his body language as effortless as before. But there was something else now-something raw, something dangerous.

The past had resurfaced.

He could feel it.

He had walked into this library needing nothing more than a little peaceful moments with his Noor& cup of tea from Noor. That's all. He had called her for it. He had wanted to sit, breathe her, and let her warmth settle into his chest.

But now-

Now, he felt something else entirely.

His hands curled tighter around the backrest of the chair.

He needed his Noor.

He needed her scent, the sound of her bangles, the familiarity of her presence. He needed her to walk in, just once, so he could remind himself that the past did not have the power to pull him back.

But Noor was not here.

Instead-

Instead, there was only this man.

The man who had never been a father to him.

The man who dared to act like one now.

Sidharth exhaled slowly, his gaze bleeding fire, anger, years of something he had locked inside.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Bhuliye mat. Ye haq aap bohot pehle kho chuke hain."
("Don't forget. You lost that right a long time ago.")

His father did not speak.

Because there was nothing left to say.

It was in the air.

It was in the silence.

It was in Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan's very being.

It was the silence before a storm, the kind that thickened the air, made it harder to breathe, and filled the lungs with something suffocating.

And Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan was standing in the center of it.

His body was still-too still-but beneath that controlled exterior, the storm inside him was anything but calm.

His breath was heavy, measured, each inhale deeper than the last as if he were forcing himself to stay tethered, to not let the fire in his veins consume him whole.

But his body-his body told the truth his silence tried to hide.

His fists were clenched, nails biting into his palms, his knuckles white from the force. The muscles in his jaw twitched, his teeth grinding together. His veins, sharp against his skin, pulsed angrily, feeding the heat of his rage.

And his eyes-those sharp, piercing blue eyes-were not just burning.

They had turned red.

The moment his father's words from earlier had hit him, something inside him had cracked. It was not a sudden, violent break-it was slow, deep, the kind of crack that came from old wounds being ripped open again and again.

Still, Sidharth did not move.

For seconds that felt like eternity, he stood there, forcing his breathing to stay steady, forcing his heart to stop hammering against his ribs.

But then-

He turned.

The movement was slow, controlled, deliberate. His gaze lifted, locking onto the man who stood across from him-the man who had once been his everything.

And when he spoke, his voice was low, steady, but it carried a weight that made the air itself tremble.

"Ussi din kho chuke hain aap... jis din aapne apne bete, jise shayad aapne kuch na maana ho... par jisne aapko bhagwan maana tha... uski jaan se pyaari ek zid lagayi thi."

("You lost that right the day you placed your stubbornness above your son-the son whom you may have never considered anything... but who once considered you his God.")

Each word was spoken with a slowness that made them heavier, as if he wanted them to sink, to pierce, to wound just as deeply as he had been wounded.

His breath, however, was no longer steady.

It was coming out harsher now, his chest rising and falling with an intensity that was becoming harder to control.

And then-

It snapped.

"Ussi din Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan ke liye uska baap mar gaya tha!"

("That day, for Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan, his father died!")

The roar of his voice shattered through the silence.

The walls did not shake, but the weight of his fury made it feel like they should have.

His father's eyes widened-just for a second, just long enough for Siddharth to see it.

A flicker of something.

Something like shock.

Something like pain.

But Sidharth didn't care.

His chest was heaving, his heartbeat a wild, erratic drum inside him. His head was pounding, his vision swimming at the edges, but he refused to look away.

For the first time in his life, he did not lower his eyes in front of his father.

And for the first time in his life-

His father stepped forward. Not in anger. Not in attack. But in something colder.

Deadlier.

One step.

Then another.

The distance between them was closing, but the tension-

The tension only grew thicker.

"Sidharth."

The name came out like a command.

Deep. Low.

A voice that once held the power to bring Siddharth to his knees. But not anymore. Siddharth didn't react.

Didn't move.

Didn't blink.

His father clenched his jaw, something burning in his gaze, and when he spoke again, it was sharper, cutting into the air like a blade.

"Mar gaya mere liye?"
("I died for you?")

His voice was not loud, but it didn't need to be.

It was the kind of voice that carried weight, the kind that demanded to be heard.

A slow, humorless chuckle left his lips, but it was not amusement-it was something bitter, something dark.

"Ye jo naam, virasat jispe tum ghamand kar rahe ho... wo maine hi diya hai tumko."
("This name, this legacy that you take such pride in... I am the one who gave it to you.")

The words did not faze Siddharth.

If anything, they only made something colder settle inside him.

His father's voice still carried the weight of authority, of command, of a man who had always been obeyed.

But Sidharth-

Siddharth was no longer a boy who listened.

Slowly, he tilted his head.

And then, without breaking his father's gaze-

He laughed.

A deep, low chuckle that was quiet yet deafening in the charged silence.

"Naam? Virasat?"
("Name? Legacy?")

The words were barely above a whisper, but they sent a shiver through the air.

And then, with the grace of a man who knew exactly what he was-

He straightened.

His shoulders rolled back, his stance powerful, commanding, unshakable.

And when he spoke again, his voice was no longer just sharp.

It was final.

"Naam unhe chahiye jinka wajood doosron ke sahaare tikta hai."
("A name is needed by those whose existence relies on others.")

His father's face did not change, but his silence spoke louder than any words.

"Par main Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan hoon."
("But I am Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan.")

The weight of his name alone felt like a statement.

A warning.

A promise.

"Ye virasat, ye khandan, ye sab kuch mujhse hai."
("This legacy, this family-everything exists because of me.")

His voice was no longer angry. It was cold. Firm. Unbreakable.

"Main kisi ka mohtaaj nahi."
("I am not dependent on anyone.")

His father did not reply.

But something in his eyes changed.

And then-

A scent.

Sandalwood. Jasmine.

Soft. Familiar. Faint

But just enough for him to notice.

His breath hitched.

His body, once coiled like a predator ready to strike, relaxed-just slightly.

Noor.

Standing at the door.

And suddenly- Everything else ceased to exist. His heart was still hammering. His pulse was still erratic. But as his gaze found hers- the world quieted. And for the first time since stepping into this room-He breathed.

Sidharth didn't say a word. He didn't need to. His body spoke for him-shoulders tense, fists clenched at his sides, and breaths heavy with restrained fury.

His Noor was here. He needs her.

He turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his movements sharp, controlled, yet carrying the weight of a storm ready to break free. The room was thick with silence, but the unspoken words in the air were deafening.

His mother stood still. She didn't stop him. She didn't ask him to stay. Instead, she stepped aside, offering him the space to leave. It was a quiet acceptance, a wordless acknowledgment of the battle raging within him.

And then-his fingers wrapped against Noor's.

A single touch. A moment frozen in time.

Before he even realized it, his hand closed around hers. Not gently. Not hesitantly. But urgently. With an urgency that sent a jolt through his veins, as if she was the only anchor holding him to the ground. His breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest second, and his heartbeat-already rapid-slammed violently against his ribs. A fine sheen of sweat formed at his temples, his body reacting to her presence in a way that defied reason.

Noor was silent. But she looked at him-eyes deep, unreadable, yet carrying something that made his chest tighten. And then, ever so slightly, she tightened her grip around his hand.

A silent promise.

A quiet reassurance.

Siddharth exhaled sharply. His world had narrowed down to this moment, to the warmth of her fingers curled around his, to the wordless understanding between them. But the weight of watching eyes pressed against his back, reminding him that they were not alone.

And then, a voice.

His father's voice.

"Barson pehle majboori me hui galti tum bhool nahi pa rahe, beta." (You still haven't forgotten a mistake made out of helplessness years ago, my son.)

Sidharth's fingers twitched. His hold on Noor tightened. His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he fought to control the anger threatening to consume him.

"Socho jara..." His father's voice was slow, deliberate, each word cutting like a blade.

"Agar meri jagah tum hote... aur jise tum zid keh rahe ho... uski jagah tumhari Noor hoti toh-"
(Think for a moment... if you were in my place... and the stubbornness you call mine... was about your Noor instead-)

The snap was instant.

Sidharth turned so fast the room itself felt smaller, the air heavier. His veins bulged against his skin, his eyes darkening to a molten red, burning with unfiltered rage. His entire frame radiated heat, his muscles coiled so tightly it seemed like he was barely holding himself together. His breath was heavy, ragged, and as he raised a finger toward his father, the room fell into a suffocating silence.

"Sambhal ke,Wo Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan ki biwi hai." His voice was low, dangerous. A warning. A threat. The words were not just words. They were a statement, a declaration, an unshakable truth.

(Be careful, she is Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan's wife.)

"Koi bazaar se kharidi hui cheez nahi. Jiska daam koi tol sake." His voice deepened, every syllable laced with fury. His jaw clenched tighter, his chest rising and falling with barely contained aggression.

(She is not some object bought from a marketplace.Whose worth can be measured by anyone.)

His body tensed even further as he stepped forward, towering over his father, making his presence impossible to ignore.

"Unka naam bhi agar kisi ki zubaan par aaye...To sirf izzat ke saath hi aaye."

(If her name ever leaves anyone's lips-Then it should only be spoken with respect.)

His words rang through the air like a final verdict. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as he spoke. His voice had gone quieter, deadlier.

The silence that followed was deafening. No one dared to speak. No one dared to move.

Sidharth's fingers curled around Noor's even tighter, grounding himself in the only thing that mattered-her. Without another word, without sparing his father another glance, he turned. And this time, he walked away.
Taking Noor with him.

Not once looking back.

Not once caring about what was left behind.

Because Noor was with him.

And that was all that mattered.

_________________________________

How was the chapter? Hope you'll
like it!

Thoughts about Sidharth?
Thoughts about noor?

Any favorite moments from this chapter? Do comment.

So, if you're curious to read further, the next 5 chapters are already up on ScrollStack! All you need to do is follow me there, and you'll always be a few chapters ahead as I have planned that this book will be 5 chapters ahead on scrollstack than on wattpad.

A small spoiler from chapter-50 (It's already uploaded on stck & is paid)

╰┈➤Follow me on Instagram & scrollstack for spolier and early updates.