Now the next chapter after this target is completed.

Today's target -
‼️No Target actually, next update will be on Monday.‼️

(But do comment & vote guys!!)

खुद से ही करके गुफ्तगू,

कोई कैसे जिए,
इश्क तो लाज़मी सा है,
ज़िंदगी के लिए।
दिल क्या करे,
दिल को अगर
अच्छा लगे कोई।

झूठा सही, दिल को मगर
सच्चा लगे कोई।

जीने भी दे,
दुनिया हमें,
इल्ज़ाम ना लगा।
एक बार तो,
करते हैं सब,
कोई हसीन ख़ता।
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After freshening up, I picked up my phone and stepped out of my room. The weight of unfinished work pulled at my thoughts, but I carried it as I always did. Alongside my duties as a cardiologist, I manage our medical firms and hospitals spread across the country.

Rajvardhan is more than just a name-it's a legacy. Decades of relentless labor, strategic intelligence, and calculated risks have made it an empire. The name alone commands respect and draws clear lines of authority. People don't dare cross those lines, not when they know what stands behind it.

Descending the stairs, my steps were steady but deliberate, my thoughts shifting to the tasks awaiting me. There was never just food on the table; it was a battlefield of decisions, responsibilities, and expectations.

Every move mattered.

"Aagye aap, Siddharth," my mother's voice broke the silence as I reached the hall. She stood near the dining table, balancing a tray of freshly cut salad. The sight made me pause for a moment longer than I should have.

I had told her countless times not to overexert herself, but her stubbornness matched her quiet strength. I nodded in acknowledgment, letting her words drift into the quiet hum of the household. There were only a few maids lingering about, finishing their tasks in silence.

"I was about to ask Noor to call you,"

she said, her voice calm but expectant. I nodded again, a habit of mine when I preferred actions over words. Her words passed me, but my attention betrayed me for a fleeting moment. My gaze flickered toward the kitchen door-where I knew she'd be.

Noor.

But as quickly as my eyes searched, they retreated. I willed myself to look away.

Stay in control.

I straightened my posture, gripping the phone in my hand a little tighter. The air was thick, and the silence around me held more than I cared to admit. Every step, every glance, every word spoken or left unspoken had its place in this house. And I knew better than anyone that losing control wasn't an option.

I took my mother's hand and gently guided her to sit on the sofa beside me, another ingrained habit. For me, my mother isn't just my parent; she's my anchor, my God. The only woman in my life who has seen every side of me-the strength, the flaws, the silence.

She pulled me back when I was drowning in the shadows of my past. After Noor's father, she is the only person I owe my life to.

My Maa.

As we sat, the faint tinkling of anklets reached my ears, breaking the quiet rhythm of the room. I didn't need to look to know who it was. But my eyes, defying my restraint, turned toward the sound. There she was, Noor, walking in with a pot in her hands. Her movements deliberate but unhurried.

She placed the pot on the table, her eyes moving across the room, searching for something-or maybe someone. I followed her gaze without realizing it.

She wore a simple green saree, her hair tied in a bun that had already loosened with the day's work. Bangles adorned her wrists, their soft chime adding to her presence.

She looked... disheveled, yet undeniably captivating. Not polished, not perfect-but enough to hold my attention longer than it should.

Noor.

The name suited her far too well. The name itself felt like a whisper in the dark-soft, yet radiant, illuminating everything in its path. Her light brown eyes, like pools of melted amber, caught the fading sunlight and held it there, as if they could trap the warmth of the day.

The faint mole above her lip, a subtle mark of imperfection, only made her more real, more alive. It was in the way her quiet grace seemed to fill the room, in the way her presence unraveled me without a single word.

She was a puzzle I shouldn't be trying to solve, but the pieces pulled me in anyway. I shouldn't be drawn to her-yet, here I was, helpless against the quiet storm she stirred inside me.

Something about her demanded to be noticed. And I, despite my resolve, was guilty of obeying.

Her eyes stopped on me, widening just slightly in surprise. I remained stoic, my expression unreadable as always. But she? She wore her emotions on her sleeve, an open book for anyone willing to see.

And then, just as quickly, she turned away, her steps rushing back to the kitchen like she was running from something. A flicker of a smile threatened my face, but I didn't let it show. Control had always been my armor, and I wasn't about to lower it now.

"Apki hi biwi hai, bete. Muskura sakte ho aap," my mother's words broke my thoughts.

(She's your wife, son. You're allowed to smile.)

I glanced at her briefly but turned away, hiding any reaction that might give me away.

"Maa..." I began, my tone even, controlled.

"Ha beta, bahut masoom hai meri Noor," she said, her voice unusually tender.

(Yes, son, my Noor is very innocent.)

Her words settled into the quiet air, resonating in a way I hadn't expected. There was something about the way she spoke of Noor-soft, warm-that brought a strange kind of calm to my restless thoughts.

"Maa, aap jaanti hain," I said, my voice lower now, more measured.

(You know, Maa.)

"Ha, aur mai phir bhi keh rahi hoon. Zindagi agar dusra mauka de, to pakad lena chahiye. Har baar itna khubsoorat aur masoom mauka nahi deti."

(Yes, and I'll still say it-when life gives you a second chance, you should seize it. It doesn't always offer something this pure and beautiful.)

Her words sliced through the walls I had carefully built, but I didn't let it show. I turned my face away, my jaw tightening as the weight of her truth pressed against my resolve.

My past isn't kind, Maa. It's a storm that doesn't let me see beyond.

"Dil mat toorna uska, hmm? Lekin iska matlab ye nahi ki khud ko takleef dena. Baki aap samajhdar ho."

(Don't break her heart, hmm? But that doesn't mean you should hurt yourself either. The rest, I know you'll understand.)

I lifted my gaze to meet hers, the warmth in her eyes a sharp contrast to the cold reality I had lived. My mother had a way of saying things that went beyond words of making you hear the unspoken.

"Hai na, beta?" she said, her hands cupping my face like they had done countless times before. The softness of her touch carried the same unwavering love and strength it always had, even when I was a boy.

(Right, son?)

I exhaled slowly, the weight of her words pressing deeper than I wanted to admit.

The conversation with my mother lingered in the air, her words etched into the silence between us. Every syllable weighed on me, as if she were speaking truths I didn't want to hear. But it wasn't new. My mother had a way of making me confront things I'd rather keep buried.

I glanced at her once more, the familiar softness in her gaze, a sharp contrast to the cold, unfeeling world I navigated. She had always been my rock. Even when the weight of my own decisions threatened to crush me, she remained unshaken.

"Jee Maa," I murmured, the words slipping out like a reluctant vow, but I couldn't argue with her. There was a truth in everything she said.

Still, it didn't make my past easier to bear, nor did it make my future clearer.

I didn't let myself linger on it. I couldn't afford to.

Just as the moment settled, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall-soft, almost hesitant, like someone unsure of the next step.

Noor.

She appeared, balancing two cups of tea in her hands, the delicate porcelain gleaming under the soft light. Without a word, she set them down on the table in front of me, the movement fluid, graceful-almost practiced. But then, as quickly as she had entered, she was gone, her presence like a fleeting shadow that disappeared before I could fully comprehend it.

There was something about the way she moved, something quiet and understated. But it was enough to catch my attention, enough to make me notice.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, the faint trace of her scent lingered in the air-a blend of sandalwood and jasmine. The fragrance, soft yet intoxicating, filled the space around me.

I closed my eyes involuntarily, inhaling the rich, heady perfume, feeling it seep into my senses. The scent was so familiar, yet it had a strange way of stirring something in me, something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a long time. It was a warmth that was both comforting and unsettling.

I breathed in again, deeper this time, the fragrance enveloping me, making it hard to concentrate. But just as quickly, I caught myself. My mind sharpened, my posture straightened jaw clenched, and I opened my eyes.

She messed with my mind.

No. I couldn't afford distractions. Not now. Not ever.

But the lingering scent, the memory of her presence, remained-unspoken, unnoticed by her, but impossible to ignore.

The memory of yesterday hit me like a sudden gust of wind-Noor, walking into my office with tea. Unannounced. Unexpected. I hadn't asked for it, but there she was, setting it down in front of me like it was the most natural thing in the world with tea in her hand.

I lifted the cup without thinking, ready to take a sip. But the taste... It wasn't sugar. It was salt.

A tight, familiar anger gripped me instantly. I was about to fling the cup across the room-about to discard the offense with a single motion.

But then, her eyes.

I froze. Her gaze was steady, expecting, almost begging for a word, but there was something in it that stopped me. My jaw clenched, the muscles in my fist tightening around the porcelain handle. I could feel my body screaming to throw it, to end the nonsense.

For me, my tea is important. I don't like to joke around it.

But I didn't.

I swallowed it instead. Every bitter drop, controlled. Unmoved. Silent. But inside, I was a storm-fighting the urge, the anger that burned beneath the surface.

As the salty bitterness slid down my throat, I stared at the cup in my hand, my jaw tight, every muscle in my body fighting the urge to crush it. But then, I remembered her-Noor, standing there, her eyes full of that naive excitement, that expectation.

I couldn't bring myself to break it, to destroy that light in her gaze, not when it shone so brightly with hope.

I had promised myself I wouldn't let her affect me, wouldn't let her weaken my resolve. But as I set the cup down, I realized I had let that promise slip, just enough to keep her smile intact, to protect that little spark in her eyes. And for a moment, I wondered if I even wanted to fight it. My hand is steady, but every muscle taut with restraint. I didn't let her see it.

She wouldn't.she didn't know, but I knew it.
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"Sir, Malkin called you for dinner," one of the maids said, standing at the door.

I nodded without looking up. Shutting the file in front of me, I leaned back in my chair.

It was Noor's father's report-sent by a colleague of mine, a cancer expert. After consulting with him, I had to know if there was any chance of saving him. The doctor he was seeing wasn't even close to being qualified for this. There had to be another way.

I took off my glasses, ran a hand through my hair, and stood. I wasn't done with the day, but I wasn't going to wait any longer.

My family. Picture-perfect, huh? I chuckled-more in irony than humor. They weren't what they appeared to be. The smiles, the politeness-it was all a facade. Deep down, they were darker, more twisted than anyone would ever guess. But that's the game we play.

I descended the stairs, my presence unnoticed by Noor and Aakriti, who were talking to Adarsh. They were too absorbed in their conversation.

I sat at the table, like always. The silence followed me. My father wasn't here. Neither were my uncles. But that didn't bother me. They were just names, empty chairs.

The moment I sat down, the noise of the room died. Silence settled in, as expected. People knew where they stood when I was around.

As I sat, I scanned the room, not missing a single detail, not a single movement. My eyes caught every flicker of expression, every shift of body. People were easy to read, especially when they didn't think I was paying attention.

But Noor... she was different. Her actions, every tiny shift, every detail about her was burned into my mind. It wasn't something I could avoid. And I wasn't even trying to.

Noor stood up to serve me again today, her movements graceful, deliberate. I could feel her presence before she even came close. The scent hit me again-Fuck!

I closed my eyes for a split second, inhaling the fragrance like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. Like It had become a part of me now.

As she approached, her waist came into my view, peeking through the saree. For a moment, my eyes lingered on it. Against my will, they followed the smooth, exposed skin. I'm trying to get a glimpse of it, just one glimpse.

But soon the realization drowned upon me, and my breath hitched slightly, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to look away. But the image remained vivid.

I remembered the softness of her stomach under my hand, the smoothness, the curve of it, and how it felt when I held her like that, night after night. I could almost feel it again, my hand pressing lightly against the soft flesh.

Fuck Fuck fuck

I clenched my fist under the table, my nails digging into my palm. I had promised myself I would control this. I had to. But with each passing moment, my resolve was slipping, bit by bit. I exhaled through my nose and forced myself to look away.

She served my plate, and my eyes darted to her own. Her plate was barely touched. She had barely any food. It irritated me, yet I stayed silent. I noticed everything about her-every tiny detail, every reaction. And this was no different. My jaw tightened. She needed to eat more, and I'd make sure of it. I couldn't help it. She needed to gain weight.

I tried to push that thought aside, but as she took the rice pot to serve me more rice, the sight of her moving made something twist inside me. I didn't like it. It wasn't the way things were supposed to be. I wasn't used to letting anyone do my work, least of all her.

But I didn't stop her. I let her serve me, and I wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because I didn't want anyone to see the dynamic between us. Or maybe, just maybe, I was letting her get under my skin, more than I was willing to admit.

After we all all were halfway done with the dinner, I noticed she again stood up
She tried to reach for the rice pot again, and I watched as the rice in my plate was running low.

Without thinking, I spoke, my voice low and commanding,

"Baithye aur dinner kariye."

(Sit down and have dinner.)

Her body froze for a moment, and I could see the surprise flicker in her eyes before she masked it quickly. I watched her reaction closely, every small movement. She hesitated for a moment, her hands still hovering near the rice pot.

Noor, the way she looked at me, the way she almost didn't respond-it struck something inside me. She wasn't like the others. Her expression didn't betray her, but I could feel it. And I knew she didn't know I was watching her every move.

Then my gaze shifted to my mother, sitting across the room, her eyes full of hope, silently watching the exchange between us. I could feel her gaze on me, the unspoken question in her eyes, the expectation of something I wasn't ready to give.

I turned my head sharply, my jaw clenched harder than before. I wasn't about to let my mother see weakness. Not now, not ever. I didn't need that pressure. I wasn't ready to deal with the weight of those hopeful eyes just yet.
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I walked into my office, the familiar scent of leather and polished wood grounding me. Walking toward the window ny eyes naturally drifted to the garden. It wasn't something I usually paid attention to, but tonight, it was hard to ignore.

Akriti and Noor were out there, walking together, talking softly. Their laughter, light and free, cut through the stillness of the night like a cruel reminder.

I gritted my teeth and turned away, pushing the distraction to the back of my mind. The work in front of me was more important. It always had been.

I didn't have the luxury of being distracted. The rules had always been simple: control. That was what I excelled at-keeping my distance, maintaining order, never letting anything or anyone pull me out of my space.

But tonight, the files in front of me blurred, and the clock ticked on without mercy. Hours passed, and I tried to bury myself in the work, but it was useless. Every time I focused, I found myself thinking about her. Her touch, her perfect, her eyes

Why?

I didn't know the answer, but the feeling was there, clawing at me. I got up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sound too harsh in the silence of the room. I walked over to the window again, my hands buried deep in my pockets, and stared outside. My gaze lingered a moment longer than it should have.

It was just after midnight, and I couldn't shake this restlessness. I wasn't tired. I should've been. But my mind was racing. The bed-the comfort of it-was supposed to offer some relief, but instead, it felt like a trap.

I felt it pulling at me, almost like a rope tightening around my chest. The warmth of the blankets, the softness that should've been inviting, suddenly seemed foreign.

It wasn't just the bed. It wasn't sleep. It was... her. The thought made me freeze, my heart stuttering in my chest. I hadn't let my guard down for anyone in years. I never allowed myself to. But after the wedding, everything had started to change. I wasn't the same man I used to be.

This is not me, I told myself, clenching my fists.

I had always been in control. I had always kept my emotions in check. But now, standing here, fighting against this pull I couldn't explain, I felt like I was losing my grip.

Since the wedding, something had shifted. I had let her in, even when I knew better. And now, I was slipping. Rules I had followed for years were breaking, and I couldn't stop it. Not now. Not after that first look in her eyes.

What the hell is happening to me? I muttered under my breath.

I let the frustration surge inside me, letting the anger push away the thoughts that threatened to consume me. Emotions are a luxury, I told myself, my voice low and cold in the empty room.

Trust is dangerous. People take it too lightly. They let themselves be vulnerable and then wonder why it hurts so much when they're betrayed.

Betrayal. It was always lurking in the back of my mind, always at the forefront of everything I did. I had been burned before, and I never forgot the sting. The scars were there, deep and permanent. No one could ever be trusted. No one.

But as the words left my mouth, they felt hollow. The bitterness wasn't enough to drown out the ache I felt in my chest. I scoffed, wiping a hand over my face. I was the one who had been betrayed, but here I was, still questioning everything. I'm still wondering why this... thing between us-between me and her-was happening.

I wasn't supposed to feel this way. I had been trained not to.

I forced myself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face, hoping the shock of it would clear my head. But as soon as I looked back in the mirror, I knew it wasn't enough. The same weight pressed down on me, the same ache in my chest, the same feeling that I was slipping further into something I couldn't control.

I walked back to the door, my body rigid, but as I opened it, everything inside me stopped.

There she was. Curled up in bed. Cuddling that damn pillow again. That cherry-shaped pillow that had always bothered me. I didn't know why it bothered me so much, but it did. The sight of her, so soft and vulnerable, hit me like a wave.

I stood there for a moment, frozen, as I felt something stir deep inside me. It was a sensation I couldn't quite name, something sharp and painful, but also... unfamiliar.

I didn't like it. I didn't want to like it.

Jealousy, the word flickered in my mind before I pushed it away. I had never been jealous of anything. Ever. But this... this was different. She was so close. And yet, I was so far from her.

I could feel my pulse in my temples, my chest tightening with something I couldn't control. The thought of her, holding that damn pillow, of her being so... comfortable without me, twisted something inside me.

Fuck me

I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts. I didn't need this. I didn't need her. But standing there, looking at her, I knew deep down that I was lying to myself. I didn't want to admit it, but it was already too late.

I walked to the bed, my steps heavy, but my resolve firm. The sight of her curled up, clutching that pillow like it was her lifeline, still burned in my mind. My jaw clenched as I stood there for a moment, staring at her. I had told myself-no, promised myself-that I wouldn't let this... whatever this was take over me. Not tonight.

Sliding into bed, I kept my distance. The mattress dipped under my weight, and for a second, she stirred, turning slightly toward me. That's when I saw it again-her arms wrapped around that damned pillow, her face pressed against it like it held all the comfort in the world.

Why does she have to cuddle it?

The pillow was shaped like a cherry, and I couldn't help but notice how much she resembled one herself. The way her cheeks flushed whenever I looked at her, soft and red, like they were competing with the real thing.

She didn't need a cherry-shaped pillow-she was one.

A cherry

The thought slipped out of nowhere, uninvited, and I frowned. I wasn't trying to be poetic or dramatic, but there it was. The pillow didn't deserve her attention. She didn't need it; she was it. And yet, here I was, lying inches away, while she clung to that silly thing like it was the only thing in her world.

My jaw tightened, but I stayed silent, watching her, wondering if she even knew what she did to me.

Something uncalled stirred deep inside me, a mix of restlessness and frustration. My mind began to twist, fighting against itself.

Why does it bother me?

I knew why, of course. I didn't want it to, but it did. She was too close and yet too far, and I hated that something as trivial as this could affect me. I shouldn't be feeling like this. Not for her. Not for anyone.

I closed my eyes, trying to shut it all out. Control yourself, Siddharth, I growled inwardly. Control was my identity, my very core. But lately-ever since those brown eyes had locked onto mine-it felt like everything was slipping. Like I was slipping.

I turned away from her, my back stiff, and tried to force my mind into submission. But no matter how hard I tried, her presence invaded every corner of my thoughts. My body burned with frustration. My chest tightened. And I hated it. This isn't me.

But I couldn't deny it anymore. I was restless because of her. Her scent-soft, warm, unbearably sweet-clung to the air, teasing me, mocking the walls I had spent years building around myself.

I sat up abruptly, my patience finally breaking. Fuck this. My hand shot out before I could stop myself, gripping the pillow she held so tightly. She murmured something incoherent in her sleep, her hold slackening just enough. And then I did it-I yanked the damn thing from her arms and threw it across the room with a force that felt almost primal.

For a brief second, the act of throwing it brought me relief. I exhaled heavily, feeling the tension in my chest ease. But then, as she shifted in her sleep, her arms now empty, the ache returned, sharper than before. Goddamn it, I cursed under my breath.

I leaned closer, my hand brushing against her skin, my palm finding its way beneath her kurti to the bare warmth of her stomach. The touch was electric, burning through every layer of resistance I had left.

I knew it was wrong-I fucking knew-but I didn't care.

Bastard. The word echoed in my mind, sharp and unforgiving. That's what I was, wasn't I? A man who couldn't control himself. A man who broke his own rules just to chase the peace he found only in her.

I pulled her closer, my arm wrapping around her waist as I buried my face in her neck. Her scent overwhelmed me-sweet and soft, intoxicating in a way nothing else had ever been. My lips brushed against her skin, not intentionally, but not entirely by accident either. I couldn't stop myself anymore. I had fought, I had tried, but it was always the same.

The restlessness that had consumed me just moments ago began to fade, replaced by a warmth that seeped deep into my bones. Her skin, her scent, the softness of her body-it was all too much, too good, too... right.

And I hated myself for it.

My fingers tightened slightly against her stomach, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath. The chaos in my mind, the noise that never stopped, finally went silent. There was no betrayal here, no pain, no bitterness. Just her. Just this moment.

This was the peace I had been chasing all day. No, not just today. Every night. Every damn night since that first time.

It had started unintentionally, back at her father's house. When I saw her sleeping so peaceful where I wasn't able to sleep a wink, I held her. I searched for peace, and I unknowingly held her in my sleep.

I hadn't meant to fall asleep holding her. It had just... happened. I had told myself it was an accident, a mistake, something I wouldn't let happen again. But it had.

Again and again.

And now, I sought it out. I didn't even try to fight it anymore. Not really. Because every time I slipped into her arms, the chaos faded. The control I prided myself on-the control I had clung to all my life-meant nothing compared to the peace I found here.

I tightened my hold, pressing closer, my lips brushing against her neck as her soft breaths fanned against my cheek. This is what I need, I thought. Not the cold emptiness of my office. Not the restless tossing and turning in bed. This. Only this.

Her warmth surrounded me, and for the first time that day, I felt myself relax completely. My eyelids grew heavy, the exhaustion finally catching up to me.

But just before sleep claimed me, I whispered to myself the truth I had been denying for too long:

I'm slipping, and it's all because of her.

________________________________________
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