5 Months Later...

He was holding a withered dahlia—the very one she had planted. She had always been drawn to nature, to the calm that came from dirt under her nails and the fragrance of freshly bloomed petals. Her favorite place was the garden, always humming to herself while planting something new. It gave her happiness—simple, honest happiness.

Now, that dahlia mirrored him. A fleeting moment between life and death—beautiful in its decay, tragic in its silence.

The decision hadn't been easy. But the day he walked away, he convinced himself it was the right thing—for her, and for Aryana. They deserved peace, something his presence could never offer.

So what if his odyssey to love would remain unfinished?

The people he loved most were happy.

Right?

But sometimes, when the silence was too loud and the nights too long, he wondered... if he hadn't left, would they have wanted him to stay? Would they have chosen him the way he chose them every single day in his heart?

Do they miss him... the way he misses them?

Has she moved on?

The thought burned. Jealousy—a cold flame licking at the edges of his heart. He couldn't have her. But letting her go? That was a lie he told himself every morning.

Because she wasn't just a chapter in his life.

She was the entire book.

His phone rang, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He answered without checking the screen.

"Sir, your jet is ready... Shall we go?" came Ron's voice, professional and calm.

A low hum in response, then silence.

He slid the phone back into his pocket and looked once more at the dying flower in his hand. Its petals curled inwards, like secrets kept too long. With a breath he didn't realize he was holding, he stepped out of the car, carrying the dahlia with him.

Ron nodded, seeing his boss approach, flanked by guards like shadows.

The jet hummed with power as they boarded. Ron, ever the watchful second, ensured everything was in order. After what happened four months ago, he took no chances. His boss had made enemies—more than before. But Ron knew one thing: as long as he breathed, nothing would touch Arjun.

Because Arjun Rajvansh wasn't a good man. No. He was a storm wrapped in silk, the most lethal man Ron had ever seen. He'd witnessed him dismantle his own father—one of India's most powerful men—without a flicker of guilt. That kind of man fears nothing, spares no one.

Their destination: Cambridge. An important deal.

After checking into the hotel, Ron swept through the room with military precision before Arjun entered.

Arjun, now inside, sat at the desk, laptop open, mind half-present. That was when his phone lit up.

The name on the screen made him frown.

Her.

Didn't he make it clear? There was no relationship left. No calls. No ties.

He declined the call.

It rang again.

A sigh. He picked up, irritation sharp in his tone.

"What?"

"Arjun... bete, did you reach safely?"

His jaw clenched.

"I told you not to call me. Your husband's fine. He wants to talk to you—I've arranged everything. Go see him if you want."

A soft sob answered him.

"Arjun, I didn't call for that... Can't I ask about my son's safety?"

His laugh was bitter.

"I preferred it when you ignored me. Be that woman again."

The line went dead.

He cracked his neck, fury simmering beneath his skin, and returned to his work.

That evening...

His car was rolling through the city after a long, exhausting day. The kind of day that numbed his thoughts—almost.

Almost.

Because the truth always floated back.

Everyone is happy.

Krish, with his family. His mother, now someone else's mother.

His brothers. His sister.

He was happy for them.

That should've been enough.

The rain began—soft, hesitant, despite the sun still lingering in the sky. The glass fogged up gently, distorting the world into something dreamlike.

And then... he saw her.

A blur at first.

Someone standing under a white umbrella, clad in a light blue saree.

He should've turned away. Looked out the other window.

But his body didn't move.

The raindrops clung to the glass like tears and through them, she appeared. Side-profile, graceful, exactly how he remembered her—perfect.

His heart thudded.

His driver spoke, but the words didn't register.

His still point in this turning world.

And everything else faded away. He walked toward her like a man possessed, the sound of rain drowning out everything but the storm inside him.

Each step felt surreal—like walking into a memory.

She hadn't noticed him yet. She was facing the street, holding the umbrella with one hand while tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear with the other.

His fingers twitched.

God, how he missed that...

The scent of rain mingled with the faintest trace of her—that familiar floral perfume, subtle but unforgettable. It hit him like a blow to the chest.

He stopped a few feet away, unsure.

What was he doing? What would he even say?

She was standing there—just like he remembered. Light blue saree, umbrella in hand, unaware that the man watching her had once vowed he'd never walk away again.

He had kept his distance for months.

He had swallowed the ache.

Buried the guilt.

Let her believe he was gone for good.

But now that she was in front of him, breathing the same air, painted in the same sky...

Something inside him snapped.

He stepped out of the car without thinking.

Not even Ron's voice could pull him back.

Because Miro was no longer the man who let go for their sake.
He was now the man who remembered what he had promised.

"If I ever see her again... I won't let her go. Even if it burns the whole world down."

She turned.

The moment their eyes met, her breath caught—and so did his.

"Ar...  Arjun..." she whispered. The name tasted like a sin on her tongue.

He hadn't heard it in months.

And yet it still owned him.

"You look exactly like I remember," he said, voice low and dark, his eyes devouring every inch of her. "But different... like something's missing."

"I lost something," she whispered, "when you left."

His lips twitched. "Did you think I was gone for good?"

"I hoped you were," she confessed. "Because hoping otherwise hurt too much."

He stepped closer, his presence like a shadow wrapping around her.

"I made you a promise," he murmured, tilting her chin up with a finger. "If I ever saw you again—I wouldn't leave."

Tears welled in her eyes. "What does that mean, Arjun?"

"It means," he said, his voice a growl laced with something feral, "you're coming with me."

She backed up a step. "You don't get to just decide—"

"I do," he said, cutting her off. "I do. Because I gave you up once. And it nearly destroyed me. I'm not doing it again. You don't have to forgive me. But you will be mine."

She blinked, shocked by the sheer possessiveness in his tone.

"Why now?" she asked, barely audible. "Why this version of you?"

He took her hand—firmly, possessively—pressing it to his heart.

"Because this version is real. Broken. Unforgiving. And willing to burn everything to have the only thing that's ever mattered."

Later that Night

She sat on the sofa, watching Aryana sleep, wrapped in a soft blanket with a book clutched to her chest. Arjun stood by the window, rain still dripping from his coat, a tumbler of scotch untouched in his hand.

"I hurt you," he said quietly. "I walked away thinking it would save you."

"It didn't," she replied without turning. "It only taught me how to live with pain."

He closed the distance, sat beside her.

"I don't deserve a second chance."

She met his eyes, voice sharp. "Then why are you here?"

"Because I'm selfish enough to take it."

A silence.

Not awkward.

Not soft.

But electric.

He took her face in his hands—rough, sure.

"No more goodbyes. No more sacrifices."

"And what if I say no?"

He leaned in, lips brushing her jaw. "You won't."

"You sound so sure."

"I am," he whispered, "because your soul already knows who it belongs to."

Days Later

They disappeared from the world.

No headlines. No messages.

Just gone.

Some say she went willingly.

Some say Arjun never gave her a choice.

But if you ask her—when she's curled in his arms, darkness all around, his hand tangled in her hair and his lips against her neck...

She'll tell you:

"He is dangerous. Unforgiving. Possessive."
"But when he loves, he loves like fire."

And Arjun?

He never looked back.

He had her.

And he would never let her go again.

Not in this life.

Not in any other.

"The Odyssey didn't end in light.
It ended where it always belonged—
in the arms of the dark."

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Hey Lovilies....