Now, the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -.
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दम नाल दम भरूंगी रांझेया वे
दम नाल दम भरूंगी रांझेया वे
जिवें कहेगा करांगी रांझेया वे
जिवें कहेगा करांगी रांझेया वे

मेरा जिस्म ते जान ईमान वी तू
मेरा जिस्म ते जान ईमान वी तू
मेरा रब रसूल कुरान वी तू
मेरा रब रसूल कुरान वी तू

सर कदमां ते धरूंगी रांझेया
सर कदमां ते धरूंगी रांझेया
जिवें कहेगा करांगी रांझेया वे
जिवें कहेगा करांगी रांझेया वे

आ आ..

तेरे हुक्म ते जान निसार कर सां
तेरे हुक्म ते जान निसार कर सां
तेनु सोहणेया राज के प्यार कर सां
तेनु सोहणेया राज के प्यार कर सां

तेरा पानी वी भरूंगी रांझेया वे
तेरा पानी वी भरूंगी रांझेया वे
जिवें कहेगा करांगी रांझेया वे
जिवें कहेगा करांगी रांझेया वे

________________________

"I'm leaving. Going back home."

Sidharth's voice was calm and steady. Too steady. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held his dadi's gaze, unflinching. He wasn't here to argue. He wasn't here to explain.

He was their just to declare.

This place was never his. Not truly. It was a house filled with ghosts-shadows of things he had buried long ago but never truly escaped. Every corner whispered of a past he had no desire to remember. Every wall had seen him as a child- Four year old, five year old, six years old, too small, too helpless, too broken. And now, standing here as a man, as someone who had rebuilt himself from the ashes of that suffering, he knew one thing for sure. He did not belong here.

He was only ever here for his grandfather. And now, that purpose was fulfilled. There was nothing left to hold him back.

Sidharth didn't glance around the room. He didn't acknowledge the stares, the tension thick enough to choke on. His family was here, all of them, watching him, waiting for something-maybe an outburst, maybe hesitation, maybe regret. They would get none. His face remained cold, motionless, detached.

The only warmth in the room was beside him.

Noor.

His Noor.

Her presence was the only thing keeping him tethered, the only reason he hadn't already walked out. Her hand was in his, small and delicate, but strong. He squeezed it just once before turning away. That was all he needed. That was all that mattered.

Without another word, he moved. The weight of the past did not deserve another moment of his time.

But just as he reached the door-

"Hamari baat abhi khatam nahi hui hai, Sidharth."

The voice stopped him.

His steps stilled. His back straightened. His fingers twitched.

The anger came slow, creeping like a silent storm before the thunder struck. His jaw tightened. His eyes closed for a brief second. He did not want to turn around. He did not want to hear that voice ever again.

His father.

Of course, it had to be him.

Sidharth exhaled sharply through his nose, his grip on Noor tightening as if grounding himself. The emotions that surged through him were raw, unfiltered, too close to hatred but not quite there. Despise. Disappointment. A rage that had never truly settled never truly faded.

And yet, he did not turn.

Noor's fingers curled around his own, a gentle, reassuring squeeze. A reminder.

He was not the little child waiting for some attention anymore.

Nor was he alone. He has his Noor.

He was a man now. A husband. A son to the woman who had stood by him loved him unconditionally. And he would not waste another second on those who never did.

His silence was louder than words.

He would leave.

And this time, he would never look back.

"Siddharth!"

His father's voice roared through the room, thick with authority, loud enough to shake the very walls. It wasn't just a call-it was a demand, an order laced with the weight of a man who had always been obeyed.

Sidharth stopped.

His fingers twitched, his breath sharpened, and his grip on Noor tightened-so tight that she felt it. She looked up at him, her heart hammering in her chest. He was on the edge.

She had seen him break hours ago, shattering in her arms like a man who had held on for far too long. But this-this was different. The man standing beside her now wasn't breaking. He was burning.

Sidharth clenched his jaw, eyes still fixed forward. He wouldn't turn. He wouldn't look back. He had sworn he wouldn't. But his father had always been the one trigger he could never control. And as that voice echoed again, that voice that had shaped his childhood in ways he wished it hadn't, he felt it-the slow, seething anger rising from a place too deep, too scarred.

"Maine kaha, meri baat khatam nahi hui hai."
("I said, our conversation isn't over.")

A gasp echoed from behind. His dadi. His mother. He could hear his mother's desperate murmur, but he could sense her pleading expression without even looking. His dadi, too, must have stiffened. I must have tried to stop this before it spiraled into something that couldn't be undone.

But none of that mattered.

Sidharth wasn't a boy anymore. He wasn't a son waiting for acceptance. He wasn't a shadow seeking validation from a man who had never truly seen him.

He was Sidharth Singh Rajvardhan.

And he was not alone.

His shoulders squared, his stance unshaken. He had Noor's warmth beside him, her presence anchoring him to the present. She was his pillar, his home.

And for the first time in his life, he had somewhere to lean. He had someone who would stand beside him no matter what storm raged within him.

His voice, when it came, was quiet-but it was the kind of quiet that silenced a room.

"Meri aur aapke beech koi baat, raaz ya rista kabhi shuru hua hi nahi ki khatam ki jaye"
("There was never a conversation, a secret, or a relationship between us that needs to be ended.")

It wasn't just a statement. It was a verdict.

His father had been nothing more than a presence in his life-just there, like a piece of furniture in the house. A man who had the title of 'father' but never the role. And now, Siddharth was done pretending there was anything left to say.

His jaw clenched harder, his breath deep, controlled. His feet moved, ready to step forward, to leave this place once and for all.

"Baat, raaz, aur rista... sab kuch hai hamare beech. Tum yoon beech mein baat chhod ke nahi ja sakte."
("There is a conversation, a secret, and a relationship between us. You can't just leave in the middle of it.")

This time, Siddharth did something he hadn't planned.

He tilted his head slightly.

A slow chuckle escaped his lips-not soft, not warm, but edged with something unreadable. Something dark.

Then, finally, he turned.

His father stood there, tall and rigid, eyes burning with fury, hands clenched behind his back as if restraining himself. His face was red with anger, his breath harsh. They were similar in height, similar in presence, but that was where the similarity ended.

Sidharth smiled.

Not a kind smile. Not even an amused one.

It was the kind of smile that mocked, the kind that stripped authority from the man in front of him without needing to say a word.

"Aapke banaye niyam manunga main?"
("You think I will follow the rules you made?")

He let out another chuckle, this one deeper, sharper.

Throwing his head back slightly, he turned again, as if this conversation had already bored him. His father opened his mouth, ready to throw more words, but before he could-

Sidharth leaned in.

His posture was relaxed, yet there was something in his eyes, something that demanded attention. The distance between them was barely enough for his next words to land exactly as they should.

"Main Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan hoon. Mujh par niyam, kaayde, ya kanoon sirf meri biwi ke lagte hain. Bitha le baat apne dimaag mein."

("I am Siddharth Singh Rajvardhan. Only my wife has the right to impose rules, laws, or principles on me. Engrave this in your mind forever.")

The room was silent.

No one dared to breathe.

And for the first time, Sidharth saw something flicker in his father's eyes. Not just anger. Not just dominance.

For the first time, his father saw him.

Not as a boy. Not as a shadow of himself.

But as a man who could no longer be controlled.

The air in the room is thick, charged with something raw, something unspoken yet deafening. Sidharth's father, a man of power and control, clenches his fists, his knuckles turning white. His jaw tightens, and his chest rises and falls with restrained fury. The way his son just declared his independence, his defiance-it's something he can not tolerate. His breath is heavy, and then-

"SIDDH-"

But before he can even finish, before his voice can rip through the air like a blade-

Noor moves.

Quick, instinctive. As if her body reacts before her mind can catch up.

She steps forward, standing between them.

A shield.

A barrier.

Her small frame is in contrast to the towering presence of both men, yet at this moment, she feels unbreakable.

"Bas kariye aap!"
("Enough, stop it!")

Her voice is clear, firm-not loud, but it cuts through the room like steel.

Sidharth, who had been standing rigid, his rage boiling just beneath his skin, stills.

His father's eyes widen, momentarily stunned-not at her words, but at her audacity. Noor, who had always been quiet, who had always lowered her gaze, softened her tone, respected every boundary drawn for her- was now standing against him.

Standing for Siddharth.

Her chest rises and falls, her heartbeat hammering against her ribs so violently that she fears they might shatter. But she doesn't step back.

Because at this moment, there is only one thing in her mind.

Sidharth.

The boy within him.

The wounds he never allowed to heal.

The damage she refuses to let deepen.

And so, she doesn't just stand there. She shields him.

Not from the anger, not from the words.

But from the past, that still tries to own him.

From the man who still thinks he can break him.

Her fingers tighten into fists at her sides, but her voice, despite her racing heart, remains steady.

She will not let him break again.

Not today.

Not ever.

Right till then.

The silence in the room was heavy, pressing against Noor's skin like an unseen force, but she did not falter.

"Noor, aap beech mein baat boliye Noor. Yeh baap-bete ke beech ki baat hai."
("Noor, don't interfere. This is between a father and his son.")

His father's voice held the weight of years, the authority of a man who had never been questioned in his own home. But tonight, something was different. Tonight, Noor did not lower her gaze.

She had never been one to stand in the middle of a storm. She had always been the quiet one, the one who existed in her own world, safe in her shell.

But Sidharth... for him, she was ready to break through the walls she had built, ready to step into the fire.

Sidharth, who had always carried the weight of a world that never let him breathe freely. Sidharth, who had wounds deeper than anyone could see. Sidharth, whose soul had been hardened by pain but whose heart was still soft, still untouched in ways the world never noticed.

She had noticed.

She had loved him in all his silence in all his storms. And today-today, she would be his shield.

Sidharth was watching her. His eyes, dark as the night outside, were fixed on her, tracing every breath she took. He had always admired her and loved her in a way that words could never fully capture. But now-now, as she stood before him, her posture firm, her fingers tightening around his hand-he felt something shift inside him.

His father's voice still lingered in the air, but Noor did not wait for it to settle. She lifted her chin, the softness of her past replaced by something unshakable, something that belonged to Sidharth. And when she spoke, her voice carried the weight of a promise.

"Jinko aap beta bula rahe hai, woh mere pati hai. Hum beech mein nahi aa rahe, Hum unka hissa hai ab. Jo teer unke liye hai, woh mere seene chedta hua hi jaa payega un tak."

("The one you call your son is my husband. We are not coming in between We are a part of him now. Any arrow meant for him will have to tear through my chest first before it reaches him.")

The room stilled.

The weight of her words settled like thunder, crashing into every soul present. It was not just a declaration-it was a claim, a vow. A moment where love stood as a shield, where devotion turned into armor.

Sidharth's breath hitched. He had always known Noor loved him-deeply, in ways that went beyond spoken words. But this... this was different. This was a love that stood against the world. A love that refused to cower.

For a moment, he forgot everything. The anger, the tension, the fight with his father-none of it - existed. There was only her. His Noor. The woman who had always been so small in front of him, so delicate in his arms, yet now, she stood before him taller than the gods themselves.

The only thing left in him at that moment was her.

His Noor.

His wife, who stood before him like a shield, claiming him.

"Bahu hai aap Noor, bahu ki tarah hi-"
("You are a daughter-in-law, Noor. Behave like-")

But before he could finish, Noor lifted her face a little higher, her eyes locking onto his with a quiet challenge.

"Iss ghar ki bahu hone se pehle, hum humare Sidharth ki biwi hai. Wahi dharm nibha rahe hai hum. Inke aur in tak pahunchne wale dukh ke beech mein ab hum khade hai."

("Before being the daughter-in-law of this house, I am my Sidharth's wife. That is the duty I am fulfilling. I now stand between him and any sorrow that tries to reach him.")

A hush fell over the room, deeper than before. No one moved. No one even breathed.

Siddharth stared at her-at his wife, his Noor. He had seen her in love. He had seen her in pain. But he had never seen her like this. Never seen her turn into a storm, never seen her fight not just for him but as him.

His breath hitched, his fingers twitched in hers, the urge to pull her close, to bury his face in her warmth, overpowering everything else.

His mother, sitting in the corner, smiled gently. She had always known. She had always believed Noor was the best choice for her son. His grandmother, who had been holding her breath, finally let it go, her rigid form relaxing. And yet, his father-he could not believe what he had just heard. The daughter in law, who had once been so quiet, so obedient, had spoken back.

But none of it mattered.

Because Siddharth was lost.

Lost in his Noor.

His tiny, fragile-looking wife, who had just proven she was stronger than anyone in the room.

Stronger than even him.

Aakriti, Veer, and Adarsh-the siblings who had grown up watching Sidharth's suffering-exchanged glances. And then, slowly, a small, knowing smile tugged at Veer's lips.

He had prayed for this moment. Had prayed for his brother to have someone who would stand beside him, someone who would never let him break.

And today, his prayers had been answered.

He looked up, silently thanking the heavens. He had always known Noor was something else. But now, he understood why her father-why their secretary sahib-had chosen his daughter for Sidharth. He had always known Noor was strong. But now, now he knew why she was the only one who could ever stand beside his brother.

His father recovered from the shock, his voice cutting through again, though weaker now, as if Noor's words had shaken something in him.

She turned to Sidharth, not sparing another glance for anyone else. And then, in a voice that carried no hesitation, no fear, she spoke again.

"Chaliye."
(Let's go.")

She did not ask. She did not wait. She simply held his hand and pulled him forward, out of the suffocating walls of this conversation.

Sidharth followed. He would have followed her anywhere.

His body moved, but his heart-his heart - felt something new, something unfamiliar. It was not just love. It was more. It was the feeling of being held, of being protected.

It was the realization that love was not just about giving, not just about standing in front of someone to shield them. Sometimes, love meant standing behind them. Letting them fight. Letting them win.

For so long, Siddharth had believed that it was a man's duty to protect his wife. That he was the one who had to stand in front of her, who had to take every storm upon himself.

But tonight, Noor had shattered that belief.

Because this evening, it was her standing before him. Her standing for him.

And in that moment, Sidharth understood-this was not just his love. This was his partner. His equal. His Noor.

Sidharth-who had spent his life fighting battles alone, carrying burdens alone, standing alone-

Walked beside her.

Everything else faded.

His heart-his heart had never felt this before.

Love wasn't just about passion.

Love wasn't just about protecting.

Love was this-

Having someone who stands for you.

Who holds your hand and says, "Let's go."

Who tells the world, "You want to hurt him? You go through me first."

And in that moment, as Noor led him away, Siddharth knew-

He had never been more in love in his life.
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The car moved in a steady rhythm, gliding over the road as if it carried the weight of something unspoken. The city lights flickered in the distance, blending into the golden hues of the setting sun. Inside the car, silence wrapped around them-not the heavy kind, not the suffocating kind, but the kind that hummed with meaning.

Sidharth had a small, almost imperceptible smile on his face, his fingers still woven with Noor's. His grip was gentle, casual, but he hadn't let go. Neither had she.

His thoughts drifted back, back to the fire in her voice, the way she had stood between him and his father like a shield made of something unbreakable. He had never seen anyone do that for him before. Not once in his life. No one had ever stood for him, not in the way she had. And for the first time, the bitterness, the quiet ache inside him, didn't feel as sharp.

He should be angry. His father's rage, his own helplessness, the way everything had played out-it should have left behind a storm inside him. But it didn't. Because all he could think about was Noor's voice, unwavering, unshaken.

"Jinko aap beta bula rahe hai, woh mere pati hai."
(The one you are calling your son is my husband.)

Something in him had cracked open at that moment. Something that had always longed for someone to claim him like that. He had spent his whole life being the son who disappointed the man who was never enough. But today, in front of everyone, Noor had claimed him as hers.

His fingers tightened slightly around hers, and that was when he felt it-her trembling.

He glanced at her briefly, stealing a glance from the corner of his eye. Noor sat beside him, holding his hand with both of hers, pressing it close as if trying to ground herself. Her nails dug slightly into his palm, and though her face was turned away, he knew.

She was not as unaffected as she wanted to seem.

She had always believed in respect. Always believed that elders, no matter how cruel, deserved obedience. But today... today, she had broken the very rules she was raised with.

And it had made her feel powerful.

A sudden giggle broke through the silence-light, unexpected, and full of something so pure that it made Sidharth's heart skip a beat.

He turned toward her, his small smile growing as he saw Noor's face, eyes crinkling, cheeks flushed, lost in a world of her own thoughts. She was still holding onto his hand, still pressing her nails against his skin, but now, she was smiling.

A real, beautiful smile.

"Kya hua?"
(What happened?)

She didn't hear him at first. She was still lost in the memory, in the echo of his voice when he had said-

"Mujh pe niyam kaide ya kanoon sirf mere biwi ke lagte hai"

Her stomach twisted with warmth. She had always dreamed of being brave, of speaking for herself, of having the strength to push against the world when needed. But she had never thought she'd actually do it.

And she had never thought it would feel this good.

She shook her head, still smiling, and whispered, "Kuch nahi."
(Nothing.)

But Sidharth was watching her, really watching her, and in the next second, before she could register what was happening, he reached over, unbuckling her seatbelt in a single, effortless motion.

Noor's breath hitched. What-

Before she could blink, she was no longer in her seat.

She was in his lap.

Her gasp barely had time to escape before she realized-the car was no longer moving. She hadn't even noticed when he had stopped. She turned, heart pounding, but Sidharth was calm, entirely at ease, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

His hands were on her waist, firm and warm, holding her in place as if she belonged nowhere else but here.

"Sidharth-"

He did something near the seat, and before she could react, it tilted back slightly, creating more space. She caught herself with both palms against his chest, steadying herself as her breath came in small, uneven pulls.

She should say something. She should tell him they were in the middle of the road, that someone could see them, that-

But then she saw his face.

The soft, lingering smile. The way his eyes held something deep, something raw.

One hand moved from her waist, sliding up, fingertips brushing her jaw before cupping her cheek. His touch was featherlight, but it set her entire body alight.

And then-his lips.

Not on hers. Not yet.

A kiss to her cheek. Slow. Lingering.

Another. This time, just near the corner of her lips, as if he was savoring the moment before he took what he really wanted.

His breath was warm against her skin, his hold on her firm yet impossibly gentle. His lips brushed over her jaw, pressing another soft kiss there before he whispered,

"Par mujhe hua hai."
(But it happened to me).

Noor froze, a small frown pulling between her brows.

Hua hai?
(It happened?)

She blinked, and before she could stop herself, her fingers traced his face, scanning his expression for something she couldn't name.

"Kya?"
(What?)

Sidharth didn't answer.

Instead, his grip shifted, the hand on her cheek sliding down, curving around her neck, tilting her face toward his.

And then, before she could think, before she could breathe-

His lips were on hers.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate.

It was slow. Deep. Certain.

Like he was saying something without words. Like he was making her feel the answer instead of hearing it.

Noor's eyes fluttered shut as warmth spread through her, filling every inch of her skin, every breath in her lungs. Her fingers curled into his shirt as she melted into him, into the way his lips moved against hers-soft yet demanding, tender yet full of something undeniable.

His hand tightened at her waist, pulling her impossibly closer, as if even the space between their breaths was too much.

And for that moment, in the dim light of the setting sun, with the world outside fading into nothing-

Nothing else mattered.

Not the road. Not the people they had left behind.

Not even the storm waiting for them back home.

Because right here, right now, they had each other.

And that was enough.
.
.
.
.
.

The moment we reached home, she had jumped out of the car, her excitement carrying her straight to the tulip garden before I could even pull the keys out of the ignition. Now, standing by the trunk, pulling our bags out, my eyes couldn't help but find her.

Noor stood there, her delicate fingers brushing over the soft petals of a white tulip. The golden light from the garden lamps bathed her in a glow, and for a second, I swore she didn't belong to this world-too soft, too divine, too untouched.

Her lips curled into a smile, the kind that had no hesitation, no shyness. It was open, unguarded, and pure. My heart clenched. How long had it been since I'd seen that? Since I'd seen her like this-light as air, with no chains of expectations, no burden of rules?

She leaned down, her lips brushing against the tulip in the gentlest kiss, and something inside me broke.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the strap of a bag before I placed it down in the trunk. My eyes traced her, from the loose end of her sari swaying in the night breeze to the silver shimmer of her jhumkas , catching the dim light as she moved.

(earrings)

Beautiful.

I made a mental note to raise the gardener's salary. The tulips were blooming perfectly in our absence. But right now, that didn't matter. Right now, all that mattered was her-Noor, my Noor.

A sigh left my lips as I shut the trunk, instructing the servants to take the luggage inside. But my feet moved in the opposite direction. Toward her. Always toward her.

She was still lost in the flowers when I reached her. My hands slipped into my pockets as I watched her, standing just behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her presence. Before she could turn, I placed my hands on her waist, pulling her back slightly-just enough for her to feel me.

She stilled.

Her breath hitched.

I leaned in, brushing my lips against her cheek from behind, feeling her shiver at the sudden touch. My wife. My brave wife.

Her cheeks turned the softest shade of pink. My heart, already weak from everything she did, melted all over again.

I closed my eyes, lowering my forehead to rest against the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply.

Home.

This was home.

Not the city we had just returned from. It was not the place where we had spent the last few days, no matter how beautiful it was.

This.

The scent of her skin. The warmth of her body against mine. The way the tulips around us swayed in the night air, as if they too, knew that she belonged here. That I belonged here-with her, in her, for her.

I smiled against her neck, my grip on her waist tightening ever so slightly. Noor, still holding onto her moment with the tulips, let out a soft sigh, as if she, too, had found something she didn't know she was searching for.

And maybe she had.

Maybe we both had.

Maybe this was the start of something neither of us had imagined.

Maybe this was us-starting anew.

She turned toward me, her eyes searching mine, her soft hands cupping my cheeks with the gentleness only she had.

What happened?

She didn't say it out loud, but I knew. I always knew.

I shook my head, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to the tip of her nose. A giggle escaped her lips-soft, airy, the kind of sound that made my heart weak. But then, as if suddenly remembering where we were, she glanced around and lightly smacked my shoulder.

A warning. A silent Siddharth, behave.

I grinned, watching the way her cheeks flushed, the way her fingers curled just slightly as if she was trying to steady herself. But how could she steady herself when I wasn't planning to let go?

Before she could take a step back, I caught her wrist, pulling her closer, my arms wrapping around her waist as I pressed a teasing kiss to her lips. It was quick, barely there, but enough to still her body against mine.

She blinked. Stunned. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came.

And then-just as expected-her brows drew together, her lips forming the smallest pout, and she smacked my shoulder again, her face painted with mock anger.

I should've apologized. But I didn't.

Instead, I laughed.

A deep, unrestrained laugh, the kind that made my chest feel lighter. Oh, my wife. My Noor. So soft, so delicate, yet so fierce when she wanted to be. I could never get enough of her.

She huffed, turning to leave, but I wasn't done.

Not yet.

Before she could step away, I grabbed her wrist again, pulling her back against me. Her back collided with my chest, and I wrapped my arms around her, resting my chin near the curve of her neck.

She shivered.

Not from the cold.

Not from fear.

But from me.

She tried to move, tilting her head slightly as if trying to escape the warmth of my breath against her skin. But I held her tighter, closing my eyes as I inhaled deeply.

Home.

That was what she smelled like. That was what she was.

I had spent days away, but no place, no moment, no air felt as right as this. As her.

"Bhook lagi hai."
(I'm hungry).

I murmured against her skin. It wasn't a question.

She stilled, then turned her head slightly to look at me, searching my face. Her eyes softened, and whatever anger she had melted away in an instant.

She sighed, her fingers sliding over mine as she gently unwrapped my arms from around her waist. But she didn't let go.

Still holding my hand, she led me inside.

Straight to the kitchen.

Noor moved with ease, pulling out a pan, her hands reaching for the stove. But before she could light it, I stepped forward, my hands finding her waist.

A soft gasp left her lips as I lifted her effortlessly, placing her on the counter. She blinked, adjusting herself as she stared at me in surprise.

Her lips parted, and then-

"Bhook lagi thi na aapko?"
(You were hungry, right?)

I hummed in response. "Hmm, lagi hai."
(Yes, I am.)

She sighed, her lips pressing into a thin line. "To banane dijiye mujhe khana."
(Then let me cook.)

I smiled, picking up the pan from beside her before setting it back down with a little too much force. My hands rested on either side of her on the counter as I leaned in, my face dangerously close to hers.

"Maine kaha tha mujhe bhook lagi hai, yeh toh nahi bola ki meri thaki haari biwi mere liye khade hoke khana banaye"

(I said I was hungry, not that my tired wife should stand and cook for me).

She blinked, clearly caught off guard.

I smiled. A slow, deliberate smile before bumping our noses together. Her breath hitched, and then, finally, a giggle slipped past her lips.

Oh, that sound.

I could burn the whole world if it meant keeping that sound. That smile.

She was happy.

And I-God, I would do anything to keep her like this. Always.

"Aap bas mujhe pyaar kariye, sab khud ho jayega."
(Just love me. Everything else will happen on its own.)

Her brows furrowed, and I couldn't help but laugh.

I threw my head back, laughter spilling out freely because, oh, my wife was too cute. Too adorable. And she had no idea just how much she owned me.
.
.
.
.
.

The kitchen smelled of warmth-garlic, butter, and the rich creaminess of the pasta I stirred. The low hum of the stove filled the silence between us, the occasional clatter of utensils, the only sound. Noor sat on the counter, watching me, though she pretended not to.

She always did this-quiet, reserved, pretending as if she was unaffected. But I saw everything. The way her fingers curled into the hem of her dress, the way her breath hitched when I got too close, the way her eyes followed my every movement even when she tried to look away.

A smirk tugged at my lips.

She thought she hid herself well. She didn't.

I turned off the stove, plated the pasta, and set it on the counter between us. A simple dish, yet perfect. It would do for now.

Noor reached out for the spoon, her fingers delicate, her movements hesitant.

I caught her wrist.

"Noor, mai hu toh spoon kyun?"
(I'm here so why spoon?)

Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched beneath mine, but she didn't pull away. She never did.

Slowly, I let her go, watching as the color rose to her cheeks, that soft flush that spread down her neck like the petals of a blooming rose.

I picked up the fork, twirling the pasta lazily. A thought slipped into my mind-unbidden, wicked.

I let the fork hover near her lips. Close. So close she could feel the warmth of the food, could smell the richness of it. Her lips parted slightly, unconsciously, instinctively.

But I stopped. I didn't let her eat. I smirked looking at her reaction.

Her lips were parted, her breath shaky, her cheeks impossibly red. Noor. My Noor. She looked at me with those wide, startled eyes, half a plea, half a challenge, but mostly-she knew. She knew exactly what I wanted.

Her lashes fluttered as I lifted a bite to her lips, the creamy sauce glistening under the dim kitchen light. She hesitated, but I held the fork steady, the weight of my stare making her open her mouth for me. Just like that. Slow. Soft. Submissive.

I didn't let her take the bite completely. No. That was mine, too.

Half inside her mouth, half outside -I leaned in. Closer. Until the warmth of her breath mixed with mine, until there was nothing between us but the taste of pasta and the tension pulling her toward me. My lips brushed over hers, taking my share, claiming my bite from between her lips, letting my teeth graze just enough to make her shiver.

She gasped, pulling back slightly, but I wasn't done. Noor was trembling, trapped in this moment, in me. Her lips glistened, her chest rising and falling too fast, too deep. Her fingers curled into fists against her lap, and I smiled. My shy little wife, burning under my touch.

The taste of butter, cream, and something sweeter-something intoxicating-spread over my tongue. Her breath caught. A soft, helpless little sound escaped her throat, muffled against my lips.

She stilled.

Then-

She melted.

Her breath hitched as I reached forward, my fingers ghosting over her wrist before wrapping around it, thumb pressing down just enough to feel her pulse stutter beneath my touch. I lifted her hand, guiding it to my chest, pressing her palm flat against my pounding heart. She felt it. She knew.

She was trembling. And I leaned in again.

I deepened the kiss, taking my time, savoring every second. The way her lips parted beneath mine, the way her breath mixed with mine, the way she tasted-sweet, soft, utterly intoxicating.

I pulled back slowly, just enough to see her face.

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips glistening, her breath uneven.

She blinked up at me, dazed, her lashes fluttering like she was struggling to process what had just happened.

Her voice was barely a whisper.

"K-Kya kar rahe hai aap..."
(What are you doing)

I tilted my head, smirking slightly.

"Bhook lagi hai... kha raha hoon."
(I'm hungry so I'm eating)

Her throat bobbed with a nervous swallow.

She knew.

She knew exactly what was on my mind.

And still, she didn't move away.

I lifted another bite to her lips, watching her hesitation, watching the way her fingers curled against her lap as if she was trying to resist.

She thought I would do it again.

She was right.

And just like this, the last bite vanished between us the same way, stolen between parted lips and mingled breaths. Noor's hands tightened into fists, her knuckles pale, her nails digging into the fabric of my shirt

She was shivering

And I hadn't even touched her properly yet.

Her lashes flickered, a soft whimper escaping her lips, and that was all it took.

I leaned in again, claiming her mouth-this time, without the teasing. Without the hesitation. A kiss, deep and demanding, raw and unapologetic. Something I was craving to do all day.

She melted, hands slipping up to clutch my shirt, her nails pressing into my skin. My grip tightened at her waist, fingers digging into her soft flesh before moving higher, cupping her breast, feeling her arch into me, breathless and burning.

I swallowed her sighs, deepening the kiss, drinking her in like she was the only thing keeping me alive. My hand squeezed, a silent claim, a promise, a warning.

"A-Arth"

Noor gasped against my lips, her fingers trembling as she clutched my shoulders, trying to hold on to something-anything-as I pulled her impossibly close.

Her body, warm and soft, pressed against mine, her lips swollen and wet. Her nails scraped down my arm, desperate, needy. I loved it. I loved how her body responded to mine, how her breath stuttered, how she let herself drown in me.

By the time I pulled back, she was shaking, her lips parted, her entire face a deep, intoxicating red. Apples would lose against her. I smirked, watching her try to regain her breath, her eyes hazy, her pulse wild.

I reached forward again, brushing my thumb over her lower lip, swollen and soft from my kisses. She shivered, her fingers tightening around my wrist.

A smirk curled at my lips as I squeezed her breast again, watching the way her mouth fell open, the way her breath turned uneven.

She was already breathless.

And I hadn't even started yet.

__________________________

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