Rudra started the car again, not in a hurry this time. His hand rested casually on the gear, eyes moving between the road and the woman beside him.
Anaya, still recovering from the stolen kisses earlier, ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tie it into a bun with the rubber band on her wrist. But before she could secure it, Rudra reached out and gently took the band from her fingers.
"Unhe bhi jeene ka haq hai," he murmured with a smirk.
("Even they have the right to live,") he teased, referring to her open hair.
Anaya glanced at him, amused. "Aisa kyun?"("Why's that?")
"Because you only leave your hair open when you want to look beautiful."
She raised an eyebrow. "Toh aap keh rahe ho ke main abhi khoobsurat lag rahi hoon?"("So you're saying I look beautiful right now?")
He didn't answer directly. Instead, he placed the rubber band into his pocket, his smirk deepening.
"You don't need to tie your hair around me," he said, voice now firmer, more possessive.
"But… it's hot," she whispered under her breath.
Rudra glanced at her, eyes dark with amusement. "The heat isn't just around you, Anaya. It's in this car too."
Her cheeks flushed, and she turned her face toward the window. So softly, barely audible, she whispered:
"You're hot too…"
He heard it.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, the smirk returning—this time slower, more dangerous. But instead of driving home, Rudra suddenly turned the car toward a quieter road, away from the city lights.
"Yeh raasta ghar ka nahi hai."("This isn't the way home.")
"I know."
"Rudra… hum kahaan jaa rahe hain?"("Rudra… where are we going?")
He didn't answer.
A few minutes later, the car pulled up to a quiet hillside viewpoint. The view overlooked the city, lights glittering in the distance, and the moon shining above them.
He turned off the engine. Silence settled between them. The only sound was the soft hum of their breathing.
Then, slowly, he turned to her, eyes dark and full of meaning.
"Say that again."
She blinked. "What?"
"That I'm hot. Say it again."
She laughed nervously. "I was joking."
"I'm not." His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
He leaned in closer, his hand sliding to cup her cheek, thumb brushing against her jaw.
"You said I'm hot," he whispered. "Say it. One more time."
She swallowed. "Why does it matter?"
"Because you've never said it before," he murmured.
Her breath hitched.
He leaned in more, his lips brushing hers, feather-light. Teasing.
"You know I spend the whole day holding myself back," he said. "From grabbing you when you walk into my office… from kissing you when you speak back to me… from locking the cabin door and pulling you against me when you roll your eyes."
"Rudra…" she breathed.
"But then you sit next to me in my car, with that hair… and you whisper things like that."He leaned toward her ear. "You think I can ignore that?"
She didn't respond. Her body was betraying her—breathing quick, fingers shaking.
"You really think I can drive home after this?" he asked, voice like molten honey.
She was half across the seat now, close enough to feel his heartbeat. Her hands rested on his chest as he brought his lips down to hers again. This time, it wasn't soft. It wasn't shy. It was consuming.
She kissed him back with all the energy she'd tried to suppress, hands curling into his shirt.
Her bun fell apart completely, hair falling over his hands. He smiled into the kiss.
"Good," he whispered. "That's how I like it."
She pulled back slightly, gasping. "You're impossible."
"And you're irresistible," he replied, pressing kisses to her temple, her cheek, down her neck. Each one slower… more intense.
"Rudra… someone might see…"
"No one's here."
"But…"
"If they do, let them. You're my wife."
"Kabhi kabhi darr lagta hai," she confessed.("Sometimes I get scared.")
"Of what?"
"Of how easily you undo me," she whispered.
Rudra cupped her face gently. "That's because you're mine. You're allowed to fall apart with me. And I'll always be here to catch you."
Her eyes softened. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You're not just hot, Rudra. You're home."
His eyes closed briefly, holding in the emotion her words stirred.
Then, placing a final kiss on her forehead, he whispered, "Damn right I am."
They settled back into their seats, and he restarted the car.
But the silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy with unsaid promises and slow-burning love.
He reached out and took her hand in his, fingers locking with hers.
And this time, they weren't just driving home.
They were driving toward something deeper… something unspoken.
Something only they could feel.
.______..______..______.📑.______..______..______.
Evening kissed the city skyline with hues of orange and soft lilac as the clock struck 6:07 PM. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting a golden halo across the windshield of Rudra's black Mercedes. Inside the car, elegance sat quietly—wrapped in silence and satin.
Anaya sat on the passenger seat, legs crossed, head resting lightly against the side window. Her hair was softly curled, falling in natural waves over her beige blazer. She looked effortlessly stunning—formal yet feminine.
Rudra, dressed in a crisp black suit and deep wine shirt, his jaw freshly shaven and eyes sharp as ever, turned the steering wheel with one hand and glanced at her with the corner of his eye.
They were supposed to be going out for dinner.
But as Rudra turned left—away from their usual route—Anaya frowned softly and sat up straighter.
"Rudra… this isn't the way to the restaurant," she said, her voice low and puzzled.
He didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he slowed the car in front of a quiet, upscale mall complex, the evening lights flickering to life across the glass building.
Anaya blinked. "Why are we here?"
Rudra smiled.
Without answering, he unbuckled his seatbelt, stepped out of the car, and walked around to her side. The night air carried the scent of earth and faint jasmine from nearby trees. The wind was cool, soft.
He opened her door.
She looked up at him, confused but intrigued.
With gentle fingers, Rudra reached out and took her hand in his, helping her out of the car like she was something made of glass and stardust.
"We're here for a little shopping," he said softly, fingers still wrapped around hers.
Before she could ask more, he lifted his other hand and caressed her hair, brushing back a loose strand behind her ear. His thumb lingered at her cheek for a second longer than needed.
"You look good… no, beautiful," he said, his voice barely above a whisper."But we never had a shopping date, did we?"
Anaya's brows lifted in surprise. A shopping date?
"Office se seedha mall?" she said with a soft laugh.("Directly to the mall from office?")
He didn't laugh. Instead, he leaned closer, placed a hand on her waist, and gently pulled her toward him.
"Kabhi kabhi routine todna chahiye, Mrs. Rudra Singhaniya," he whispered.("Sometimes, we need to break the routine, Mrs. Rudra Singhaniya.")
She looked up at him. His eyes weren't teasing. They were serious. Warm. Possessive. Loyal.
And in that moment, Anaya knew—this wasn't just shopping. It was him trying, in his own way, to create something ordinary… together.
With his hand still around her waist, they walked slowly toward the mall entrance. Under the golden ceiling lights, their shadows moved like one.
Inside, the mall was calm. A few couples, families, and soft instrumental music playing in the background. Every store was lit with warm yellow lights. The staff offered smiles. But Rudra didn't look at anyone else.
His hand never left hers.
.______..______..______..______..______..______.💕.______.
As the automatic glass doors slid open, Rudra walked in like he owned the world and everything inside it.
The guards at the entrance gave a small bow. The staff inside turned to look.
He wasn't just handsome. He was undeniable.
Sharp jaw, powerful stride, and eyes that burned like secrets—they were walking flames. And beside him was his flame's only match, Anaya, dressed in a soft peach suit, cheeks glowing under the warm mall lights.
Anaya was still wrapping her head around this impromptu visit when he suddenly leaned closer and whispered near her ear, voice deep and low:
"Main yahan kuch kharidne nahi aaya, Anaya. Main yahan apni biwi ke saath waqt bitaane aaya hoon."("I haven't come here to buy anything, Anaya. I've come here to spend time with my wife.")
She looked at him—heart suddenly slow, breath caught.
As they walked deeper into the designer store, a graceful female staff member approached, clipboard in hand, professional smile ready.
"Good evening, Sir. What would you like to see in our store today?"
Rudra didn't even blink.
He didn't look at the racks.
He looked straight at Anaya—who was now admiring a deep maroon Indo-western dress at a distance.
His voice was commanding. Effortless. And intimate.
"For my wife—only your best. Show her the latest collection. Something no one else dares to wear. Something that matches her aura."
The female staff's smile didn't falter, but her eyes widened a little. Rudra's presence did that to people.
"Yes, Sir. Ma'am, please come with me."
She gently led Anaya toward the trial section, where modern yet regal outfits—structured gowns, embroidered lehengas, and timeless sarees—were displayed like art.
Rudra didn't follow.
He watched her walk. Eyes never leaving her back. Like a hawk guarding its most sacred treasure.
As Anaya reached the changing section, Rudra spoke again—this time louder, to the staff:
"Khaas logon ke liye hi khaas kapde hote hain. Meri biwi woh ek hai."("Special clothes are only for special people. My wife is that one.")
Anaya turned at his words. Her cheeks flushed. Her heart raced.
The staff smiled shyly, stepping away to give space.
As Anaya entered the trial room, Rudra leaned against a pillar near the entrance, phone in hand—but his eyes were only waiting for her.
When she stepped out, wearing a midnight-blue lehenga with silver threadwork, looking like a forgotten goddess—his silence was dangerous.
He walked up slowly, eyes moving over every inch of her, then meeting hers.
"Main duniya ke har mall mein gaya hoon… par yeh pehli baar hai jab kisi outfit ne meri saans le li ho."("I've been to every mall in the world… but this is the first time an outfit has taken my breath away.")
She looked down, nervous.
He stepped closer.
His voice dropped to a near whisper.
"Tumhe dekh kar lagta hai… main paap bhi karoon toh sirf tumhare liye."("Looking at you… makes me feel like I'd even sin—only for you.")
She looked up, eyes wide.
He smiled slightly. No teasing. Just truth wrapped in danger.
Then, with perfect confidence, he turned to the staff again:
"Pack this. And the one she'll try next. And the one after that too. If she touches it, it's mine."
The staff nodded, already moving.
Anaya stepped forward, eyes narrowing in amusement. "Are you buying the whole store?"
He tilted his head, dark eyes holding hers.
"Tumhe sirf ek joda kapdon ka laga? Mujhe toh lagta hai tum pe poori duniya kharch doon, tab bhi kam hai."("You thought this was just clothes? I feel like I could spend the whole world on you, and it still wouldn't be enough.")
She went silent.
And for that one second—he knew she felt it too.
The pull.
The power.
The silent vow in his eyes:
"Main sirf tumhara hoon, Anaya. Aur tum… meri."("I belong only to you, Anaya. And you… are mine.")