Next Day

Drishti was walking down the hallway, lost in thought, when Simran suddenly dashed past her in a hurry. Startled, Drishti stumbled, her shoulder slamming into the rough surface of the wall. She gasped as a sharp pain shot through her, the sensation of skin tearing unmistakable. A quick glance down revealed blood beginning to seep through her saree, staining the fabric.

Simran turned around, her eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God, bhabhi! I'm so sorry-I didn't see you!"

Drishti forced a smile, even as the pain throbbed with every heartbeat. "It's nothing, really." She replied, her voice gentle. "Don't worry about it."

Simran hesitated, guilt clouding her features, but Drishti gave her a reassuring nod before turning and heading towards her room. The moment she closed the door behind her, she let out a shaky breath, her hand instinctively going to her injured shoulder. She winced, trying to ignore the growing pain as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

Just then, the bathroom door swung open, and Rakshit emerged, his hair damp, his chest bare, wearing only a pair of pants that clung to his frame. Drishti's eyes widened in surprise before she quickly looked away, a flush creeping up her neck.

"Can't you knock before you come out?" she snapped, her tone sharper than intended.

Rakshit smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

"It's my room and my house. I can do whatever I want."

Drishti rolled her eyes, crossing her arms defensively.

"Ofcourse Mr. Shergill. How could I get forget? Very typical of you. The great Rakshit Shergill, ruler of all he surveys, too important to bother with basic decency."

He leaned against the doorframe, clearly enjoying their banter.

"Decency? From the woman who barged into my life and turned everything upside down?"

She shot him a withering glare. "I didn't barge in. You just weren't paying attention, as usual."

The tension between them crackled like electricity, their words laced with sarcasm and something unspoken beneath the surface. Drishti stood abruptly, intending to escape the growing intensity, but as she turned, Rakshit grabbed her right shoulder, his fingers pressing down on the exact spot where she was injured. The sudden jolt of pain made her gasp, and she instinctively tried to pull away.

"Don't touch me!" she hissed, her voice trembling slightly.

Rakshit's grip tightened, his expression darkening with something close to jealousy.

"Right, you don't like it when I touch you. But you're so close with my brother, aren't you? You two share a great friendship."

Drishti met his gaze, her eyes blazing with defiance despite the pain. "Yes, I am close to him. Because your brother is good-better than you in every way. And yes, we share a great friendship."

His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw clenching.

"Oh really? Do you like talking to him that much?"

"I do!" She snapped, but the pain in her shoulder was becoming unbearable. "Now let go of me! Just... let go."

He released her hand, watching her with an inscrutable expression as she walked away, her breath unsteady. He stared at his hand, now stained with blood, his heart skipping a beat. Panic flickered in his eyes as he quickly checked his own body, but realization hit him like a punch. "Mrs. Shergill is injured?" he murmured, his voice barely audible, a mix of surprise and concern.

IN THE KITCHEN

Drishti tried to compose herself as she entered the kitchen. The weight of the morning's events hung heavily on her shoulders-both literally and figuratively. She began preparing the dishes for her first rasoi, her movements careful and precise despite the pain. When Mahima entered, Drishti could feel the older woman's disapproval without even looking at her.

When she turned, Mahima's glare was unmistakable. Drishti quickly stepped forward, attempting to touch Mahima's feet for blessings, but Mahima coldly moved her feet away, the gesture stinging more than any physical wound.

"Do you need anything, Maa?" Drishti asked, her voice quiet, almost timid.

"Don't you dare to call me 'maa'!"

"I'm sorry. Is there anything you need, aunty?"

Mahima handed her a long list of dishes, her tone curt. "Make these." She ordered before turning and leaving the room, not even sparing her a second glance.

Drishti sighed, the weight of her new responsibilities pressing down on her as she looked at the list. There were so many dishes to prepare, and each one felt like a test she couldn't afford to fail. She began chopping onions, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the burning in her shoulder. That's when Rakshit entered the kitchen, holding a menu card.

He gazed at her when he saw her eyes were filled with tears. Worry sparked all over him.

"What happened? Why are you crying? Did someone said something to you? Something happened?"

"Ah no. I was chopping onions so..."
He sighed in relief.

She wiped her eyes and continued chopping onions. She noticed the menu card from her side eye and asked "What's this?"

"You don't have to show off and complete all these rituals." Rakshit replied, his voice devoid of its usual mockery, almost as if he was offering a lifeline. "This is a restaurant near our house. I always order from there. The phone number is on the back-just call them and order whatever you want. Take it from the backdoor. You don't need to do all this."

Drishti finally looked up, her eyes meeting his with a quiet determination. "You came to the mandir, so I can manage this. It's not a big deal. You don't worry."

He leaned in closer, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm not worrying, Mrs. Shergill."

"Then? You think I'll put poison in the food? If so, you don't worry. I'm not as bad as you." She winked, her tone playful.

"Mujhe toh bas is baat ki fikr hai, ki tum banaogi kya, aur khilaogi kya." He spoke, his voice mocking.

She handed the menu card back to him, her voice firm. "Then feel free to order something for yourself from the same restaurant, Mr. Shergill."

Rakshit's eyes flashed with irritation. "Aren't you flying a little too high, Mrs. Shergill?"

Drishti turned back to her work, dismissing him with a wave. "How about you go sit at the dining table and let me do my work, Mr. Shergill?"

He left, but not before she whispered under her breath. "Bedil kahi ka..."

Later, as everyone gathered for breakfast, Drishti carefully arranged the dishes on the table, her shoulder burning with each movement. She went back to the kitchen to bring the chapati, and when she returned, she was startled to find Rakshit standing there, waiting for her. His expression was unreadable, but there was something different in his eyes-something softer.

Without a word, he reached out and gently wiped the flour off her forehead with his thumb. Drishti froze, caught off guard by the unexpected tenderness in his touch. Her heart skipped a beat, but she quickly masked her emotions, focusing on serving the food.

Akshit and Divya watched it all with playful smiles lingering on their face.

Akshit whistled, smiling, as he saw his bhai caring for Drishti.

Rakshit shot him a glare and Akshit turned away, gulping.

"Akshit beta sambhal ke... Kahi tera hi bhai teri pitai na karde.."

Everyone complimented her cooking, even throwing glances of surprise her way. But Mahima remained silent, her disapproval hanging heavy in the air like a cloud that refused to part.

"Wah bhabhi! What a food!" Akshit exclaimed. She just smiled at him.

Divya said "Damn Ms PA-- I mean Mrs. Shergill, nice aalo tikki. Loved it!"

Drishti mumbled a small "thank you." She served Rakshit with a smile and whispered, just enough for him to hear

"Maine isme zeher daala hai." Her tone was playful.

Rakshit chuckled, whispering back

"Tum jaisi wife ho toh zeher khaane me kaisi sharam." He shot back, his eyes mischievous and playful, and for the first time, his cold nature seemed to dissolve. Drishti was enjoying this banter as much as him.

"Ik mulaqat me... baat hi baat me... unka yun muskurana gazab hogya..."

Akshit sang as soon as he noticed Drishti's smile and Rakshit's eyes on hers.

"Chup chap khana khao khao warna yeh plate tumhare muh pe de maarungi!" Divya whispered, who was sitting just beside Akshit.

"What did I did now?!" He asked making faces.

"Stop ruining their moment you fool!"

He sighed and started eating.

After the meal, Rakshit approached Drishti, his voice soft, almost gentle. "Let's go. We need to talk."

Drishti crossed her arms, her guard instantly going up. "Why? Do you want to scold me again?"

He sighed, a hint of exasperation in his tone. "It's nothing like that. Just come with me..." He paused and took a deep breath before he let out that one word which he never spoke in his life until today. "Please."

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. "So, you do know how to request, Mr. Shergill. A miracle, indeed."

Rakshit clenched his jaw, but there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Fine, I'll come."

They walked to the kitchen together, and Rakshit went to the cabinet, retrieving a jar of turmeric. Drishti watched him, her suspicion flaring. "What are you doing?"

He didn't answer, instead he turned to her and said, "Stay still."

"I won't." She quipped back, turning to leave, but he moved swiftly, setting the jar down and gently but firmly grabbing her waist, lifting her onto the counter before she could protest. "Mr. Shergill-" she began, but he silenced her with a look.

"Just stay still." He repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

She reluctantly obeyed, her heart pounding as he carefully moved her pallu aside, revealing the injury she had tried so hard to hide. His expression darkened when he saw the blood-stained fabric, and without a word, he dampened his handkerchief in water and began to clean the wound.

The moment the cold fabric touched her skin, she gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Her fingers instinctively clutched his shirt, holding on tightly as if to anchor herself through the pain. Rakshit worked with surprising gentleness, his touch soft and careful, almost as if he was afraid of hurting her more.

When he applied the turmeric, he blew softly on the wound, trying to ease the sting. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen seemed to fade away. There was something raw and vulnerable in his gaze, something that made Drishti's heart ache in a way she hadn't expected.

"I... I really didn't knew... like... I mean.." he struggled to complete his words, his mind going back to her wound and how much it ached him. He was not someone who showed or expressed feelings easily, so it was a little hard for him.

He looked at her, their eyes locking together as he said,

"Jb tum kamre me aayi... mujhe sach me nhi pta tha tumhe chot lagi hai...I didn't knew. Or else, I would've never held your hand like that."

She laughed, a genuine one. She glanced at his face and laughed again.

"Tumhe hasi aa rhi hai?" He asked, frustrated.

"No no.. I mean.... you said so many words, such a long speech. But not those 3 magical words."

"Three magical words? I love you?"
He asked, the confusion clear in his voice.

Drishti's laughter died down, replaced by a sudden blush that crept up her cheeks. Her eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and embarrassment flickering across her face. The playful challenge she'd issued was meant in jest, but now that Rakshit had mentioned it, she felt a flutter of nervousness. The weight of his gaze, combined with her own unexpected reaction, made her heart race faster.

She could feel a rush of heat rising to her cheeks, her usual composure slipping away. The atmosphere between them shifted subtly, the playful banter giving way to a more vulnerable, intimate moment.

Rakshit watched her closely, his confusion melting into a mix of concern and something softer. The blush on her cheeks was unmistakable, and for a moment, the playful tone of their conversation seemed to disappear. His gaze softened, as if he was seeing her in a new light, and he took a hesitant step closer, his expression a blend of curiosity and apprehension.

Drishti shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling the intensity of the moment. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her earlier laughter now a distant memory. The room seemed to shrink around them, filled with a charged silence that spoke louder than any words could.

Drishti rolled her eyes, refusing to let him see how much those words affected her..

"No, dumbo! Its 'I am sorry'."

"Oh, its okay. I forgive you." He spoke, the coldness in his voice shifting away as she glared at him and made faces.

"Talking to you is useless." She spoke and it made him chuckle.

After he was done, Rakshit washed his hands, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words. Drishti, regaining her composure, hopped off the counter, determined not to let him see how much he had affected her.

"You're welcome." He called after her, his voice tinged with an odd mix of sarcasm and sincerity.

She paused, turning back with a smirk. "Oh, you want me to say thank you? I might have said it if it were anyone else, but to you? I'll pass, Mr. Shergill." She turned and walked away.

Rakshit watched her, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "Ajeeb ladki hai." He murmured under his breath as she left the kitchen.

As he walked to his car, he couldn't shake the image of her injured shoulder from his mind. He got into his car, started the engine, and drove off to the office, his thoughts a chaotic mix of frustration and concern.