RUDRAKSH
I’ve been racking my head over this new project, but no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep drifting back to Shivani. I can’t get the image of her out of my mind—the way she looked when I picked her up that day. Stunning, of course. But more than that, she looked... shaken, fearful. Like something had deeply unsettled her.
What lingered with me even more was how she spoke to the driver. There was something genuine in her tone—a warmth I haven’t seen her express even with her own parents. It makes me curious. Protective, even. I don’t want to jump to conclusions or push her into discomfort, but I also can’t stand the idea of her getting hurt. So, I did what I had to—looked into his background.
The man’s record is clean. No red flags. He lost his wife and daughter in a tragic bus accident and has no other family. My instincts tell me he’s not a threat. But they also tell me that Shivani’s been through far more than she lets on.
Still, all of that aside, what shocked me the most was the way she ran into my arms that day. Don’t get me wrong—it was the best feeling in the world. When I closed my eyes that night, I could still feel it. Her soft body pressed to mine, my arms instinctively tightening around her like I’d never let go.Her hair brushed against my cheek, leaving behind the scent of something warm and uniquely her. The memory clung to me like her perfume—lingering, addictive.
But here’s the thing—she’s not someone who likes being touched. I’ve noticed the way she stiffens when someone tries to hug her, how she always maintains a certain distance. It’s subtle but unmistakable. Which makes that hug even more precious.
The intercom buzzes, dragging me out of my thoughts. “Mr. Malhotra, I’m done with my work. Can I leave?” Maya, my secretary, informs me and questions me at the same time with hesitation. I glance at the clock. It’s already past eleven.
“Is my work done, Ms. Maya?” I ask calmly.
A pause.
“No, sir.”
“Then no, you can’t leave yet.” I hang up.
I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. I don’t usually make people work late, but this project matters—and she knows it. Still, I make a mental note to have her dropped home safely. If she’s working late under my roof, her safety is my responsibility.
Another thirty minutes pass before I finally wrap up. I send my driver to drop Maya home and decide to drive myself. The streets are quiet, city lights casting long shadows across the road as I head home.
By the time I reach home, it’s nearly midnight. I park and quickly jog over to the house. As I step inside, I head straight to the bedroom, shrugging off my blazer. The only thing I want now is rest. My shoulders ache. The stress. The overthinking. It’s all catching up. Shaking my head, I walk over to the washbasin in the washroom and splash cold water on my face.
Quickly, I change into a tee and joggers, then walk to the kitchen. My stomach grumbles from being empty. I haven’t eaten anything after a brief snack at noon. I am not really used to it. Maa usually leaves dinner for me in the fridge—she knows how I work. Sometimes I heat it; other times I cook something small. Cooking helps settle my nerves.
But when I enter the kitchen, I freeze.
The light is on, and Shivani is fast asleep at the dining table, her head resting on her folded arms, a book still clutched in her hands.
A soft smile tugs at my lips. She looks... peaceful. Her obsession with books is adorable. But sleeping like that? It can’t be comfortable. Her neck will ache in the morning.
Softly, I walk over and gently ease the book from her fingers. Her face is calm, a slight pout on her lips. A few strands of hair frame her face, casting shadows across her cheeks. Her long lashes rest against her skin like she’s dreaming something good. She looks peaceful. And somehow, this quiet kitchen feels warmer with her in it.
Lucky. That’s how I feel.Damn lucky.
I lean in and softly tap her shoulder. She stirs, but doesn’t wake. I try again, and this time her eyes flutter open. She looks around, dazed, and rubs her eyes.
She looks impossibly cute.
“Why are you sleeping here, darling?” I ask gently.
She blinks up at me, still half-asleep. Then her eyes widen in realization, “Oh no… Did I fall asleep?” she murmurs.
“I was waiting for you,” she informs after a pause.
My heart skips a beat at her response. No one’s ever waited for me before. Not like this.
“Why?” I ask, caught off-guard.
She fiddles with the ring I gave her. “Maa told me you usually come home late,” she says softly, “but I didn’t like the idea of you eating alone. So... I waited.”
And just like that, she floors me. Again. This woman—my wife—barely knows me. Yet she waited. Just so I wouldn’t eat alone.
She tries to stand. “I’ll heat up the food—”
