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Important

Author's note- (Read till end please)

First of all, thank you! Thank you for all the beautiful comments and love you've given my book. You have no idea how much it encourages me to write more. I see you, I hear you, and I appreciate you.

Now, about the critics-I don't call them bad comments. Criticism is a part of this journey, and I'm grateful for it because it pushes me to improve. But I also feel it's my duty to clarify a few things.

Some of you feel the pace is slow, I repeat emotions, or there aren't enough dialogues. Here's the thing: I write deep. My stories aren't meant to rush or skip emotions. I want you to feel every thought, every shift, every silent moment. I want my characters to feel alive to you. When you reach that moment-whether it's romance, heartbreak, or intensity-I want you to understand why it's happening and what led them there.

And let me make one thing very clear: I don't want my readers to just need my book-I want them to crave it. I want you to crave my characters, crave for more, and feel that obsession building with every word. I'm not here to give you what you think you want. I'm here to make you feel what you didn't even know you needed.

Building a connection takes time. These characters are new to each other, and they're carrying their pasts, insecurities, and emotional baggage. You can't expect love, obsession, or big romantic moments to happen in 10 days. If I rushed it, you'd lose that connection, and the story wouldn't hit the way it should.

As for the dialogues, they're coming-but first, I need to set the stage. When they finally talk, when those walls break, I promise it will be worth it. You'll feel it.

Trust the process. I've come this far because readers like you believed in my writing, and I'm asking you to do it again. Have a little more patience, a little more trust in me, and I promise you'll crave what's coming next.

Thank you for being here and loving this story-because trust me, the best is yet to come. Now enjoy♡
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इश्क़ की धूनी रोज़ जलाए
उठता धुआँ तो (उठता धुआँ तो)
कैसे छुपाए? (कैसे छुपाए?)

हो, अखियाँ करें जी-हज़ूरी
माँगे हैं तेरी मंज़ूरी
कजरा स्याही दिन रंग जाए
तेरी कस्तूरी रैन जगाए

मन मस्त-मगन, मन मस्त-मगन
बस तेरा नाम दोहराए
मन मस्त-मगन, मन मस्त-मगन
बस तेरा नाम दोहराए
हो, चाहे भी तो भूल ना पाए
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"Your eyes are so beautiful," I whispered softly, my voice barely audible even to myself.

He lay facing me, so close that I could see every detail-his long lashes resting against his skin, his hair falling messily across his forehead.

He looked... peaceful.

Nothing like the man who spent his days with short, quiet answers and longer silences. I stared at him for a moment longer, letting the words I'd spoken settle in the space between us.

And then I noticed his hand. My brows furrowed as my gaze flickered down to where his fingers had, once again, found their way inside my kurti, resting warmly against my stomach. I blinked, the corners of my lips twitching into a small, shy smile before I whispered, half teasing,

"How do your hands always end up here?"

There was no reply. Of course-he was still fast asleep.

I let out a soft chuckle, the kind that escaped when you didn't mean it to, quiet and light. "Only if he was awake" I mumbled, a little laugh slipping through.

"You wouldn't even stand this close to me, let alone-" I trailed off, pressing my lips together, heat rushing to my face.

It felt strange-this quiet morning, this closeness that neither of us would dare in the hours we spent awake. My eyes flickered back to him, lingering longer this time. Lately, it didn't feel so hard to breathe around him.

There were moments-small, fleeting ones-where the silence wasn't so heavy anymore. Where his presence didn't make me feel like I was all alone in this house.

Today felt like one of those mornings, and I couldn't help but smile. How can someone look so... calm? I thought to myself as my gaze traveled to his hair, soft and tousled in a way that made me want to reach out. And for a moment, I did. My hand lifted halfway, but then I froze, feeling that nervous knot twist in my stomach again. I swallowed, pulling my hand back before it reached him.

No Noorie.

But looking at his peaceful face so close, my heart skipped a beat. Still looking at him, I bite my lips when a random thought passed my mind. I remember from a drama how the heroine wakes up their man. But I couldn't do that short of thing.

I wouldn't. But then with beating heart I decided something.

I leaned toward his ear, my heart thundering inside my chest.

"Good morning," I whispered, leaning in just enough that the words brushed past his ear, like a secret I didn't want him to hear. A small giggle left my lips at my action.

I'm so dramatic.

Gently, I peeled his hand away from my stomach-careful, almost reluctant-and slipped out of bed. My bare feet touched the cool floor, but my heart felt warm, lighter somehow. I glanced at him one last time before heading toward the bathroom.

Something about today was different-soft and good in a way I couldn't explain.
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The towel felt soft against my hair as I rubbed it dry, standing in front of the mirror. My saree was loosely draped around me, still incomplete, but I didn't mind. I had this habit of wearing my saree in front of mirror. I couldn't wear it on the wet floor.

Today, I had washed my hair, and now they fell in wet waves over my shoulders, dripping water onto my blouse. I reached for the comb and began untangling the knots gently, watching myself in the mirror.

Fixing the pleats of my saree, I tucked them neatly into the waistline, smoothing the fabric against my hips. The mirror caught my reflection, and I couldn't help but smile. There was something about getting ready that made me feel alive-like Each stroke of kajal, each piece of jewelry I wore, brought out parts of me I'd almost forgotten.

When I reached for the sindoor, I paused. Through the mirror, my eyes wandered to him-still fast asleep, his face turned toward me.

For a moment, I stood frozen, watching him. My cheeks warmed, turning a deep red, and a shy smile crept onto my lips. Shaking my head softly, I quickly looked away, focusing back on myself.

I carefully parted my wet hair and filled the line with a soft red. The bindi came after, small and round, sitting perfectly on my forehead. I added a light touch of powder to my face, just enough to brighten my skin before picking up the waist chain. My fingers moved quickly, clasping it around my stomach. It sparkled faintly in the morning light, sitting snug against my saree.

The final touch was the anklets. They jingled softly as I slid them on, the delicate sound filling the room with a melody I loved. I paused, lifting the edge of my saree slightly to admire them.

His first gift to me, I thought, my heart warming at the memory. I smiled, letting my fingers trace the silver designs briefly before letting the fabric fall back into place.

As I moved, the anklets sang again, and I found myself tilting my head, listening to the soft jhan-jhan they made. It felt like music, like something only I could hear, something just for me. I straightened up, adjusting the pallu over my shoulder and taking one last look at myself in the mirror.

I wasn't sure why, but today felt... good. Light. Like something was different. Or maybe it was just me.

My eyes wandered back to Sidharth ji, his face peaceful and unbothered, the way it always looked when he was asleep. I didn't know why, but I couldn't stop looking at him.

The calmness on his face had a pull I didn't understand. My heart thudded a little louder, and before I knew it, my feet moved on their own. I took slow, careful steps, barely breathing, trying to silence the jingling of my anklets.

Standing beside him, I felt my chest tighten, a strange mix of nervousness and something softer, something warmer. My gaze lingered on him-the curve of his lips, the way his lashes cast faint shadows on his cheeks. He looked so different in sleep, like someone who could never carry the weight of harsh words or cold stares.

Then I saw it-a small tendril of hair resting on his forehead, out of place. My breath hitched. My fingers twitched, and before I could think twice, I leaned in just a little. The world around me felt far away as I raised my hand, trembling slightly.

The moment my fingers brushed his warm skin, a rush of something unexplainable shot through me. My heart skipped a beat, my cheeks burned, and my hand froze mid-air for a second too long. It felt like touching something fragile, something I wasn't sure I had the right to.

I bit down on my lip and pulled my hand back, but not before a small smile crept onto my lips. It wasn't a forced smile, not one I practiced in front of the mirror. This was different-soft, shy, and uncontrollable. My chest fluttered as if something unfamiliar was taking root inside me.

"Aapke baal chu lu?" I whispered softly, the words barely audible, meant only for him. My voice shook, and I wondered if I even wanted him to hear it.

(Can I touch your hairs?)

But then he shifted, and my heart stopped. My breath caught, and a wave of panic rushed over me. What was I doing? My cheeks burned hotter as I took a hurried step back, the jingling of my anklets betraying me despite my caution.

I didn't wait to see if he'd wake up. I turned and rushed out of the room, my hands clutching the fabric of my saree tightly. Once outside, I leaned against the wall, pressing a hand to my chest, feeling the erratic beat beneath it. My lips twitched, and I couldn't help but laugh softly at myself.

What was happening to me? Why did his face make me feel things I couldn't name? My heart felt heavy and light all at once, like I was carrying a secret even though I didn't fully understand. And yet, for reasons I couldn't explain, it felt right.
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I stood beside Maa, holding the puja thali, the faint fragrance of agarbatti (incense sticks) filling the air. The morning rays of sunlight fell softly on the tulsi plant as Maa began chanting the rosary prayers. I folded my hands, closing my eyes, silently joining her.

The air felt calm, the rhythmic sounds of prayers blending with the chirping of birds. But then, I heard a voice-a deep, familiar male voice that interrupted the moment. My eyes fluttered open, and I glanced toward Maa.

To my surprise, I saw a man hugging her from behind. My heart skipped a beat before recognition settled in. It was Veer bhaiya. His face lit up as he pulled back and looked at Maa with warmth that only a son could have.

"Maa" he asked, his voice filled with affection.

(Maa)

Maa turned around, her face breaking into a bright smile before she hugged him tightly. "Veer! Tu kab aaya?

(Veer! When did you come?)"

"Bas kal raat ko hi pahucha, Maa."

(I just arrived last night, Maa.)

I smiled softly, watching them. I had seen Veer bhaiya briefly during the engagement and wedding. We hadn't spoken much, but his warmth and kindness had left a good impression. He felt like an elder brother, someone who could light up a room effortlessly.

As they spoke, Maa suddenly asked, "Aur Abhimanyu kahan hai?"

(And where is Abhimanyu?)

I frowned slightly at the name. Lately, I have been hearing a lot about this Abhimanyu. Who was he? Why was everyone so fond of him? The questions circled in my mind, but I stayed silent, observing.

Veer bhaiya sighed. "Woh kuch ghar pe zaruri kaam tha, toh chale gye."

(He had some urgent work at home, so he left.)

Maa shook her head with a fond but exasperated smile. "Yeh ladka bhi na!"

(This boy, I tell you!)

"He said he'll be back day after tomorrow... ya shayad aaj hi aa jaye."

(Or maybe he'll come today itself.)

Veer bhaiya chuckled, his tone casual.

I watched quietly, holding the thali, a small smile tugging at my lips. The bond between them was heartwarming, and yet, a faint curiosity lingered in my mind about Abhimanyu.

Who was this man everyone seemed to adore?

Veer bhaiya's smile was warm and inviting, but I was startled when he bent down suddenly, his hands moving toward my feet. Instinctively, I stepped back, clutching the puja thali tighter.

"Veer bhaiya!" I blurted, my voice a mix of shock and nervousness. "Aap aisa nahi kar sakte.

(You can't do this.)"

He straightened up, raising an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Kyun nahi?

(Why not?)"

"You're elder to me," I said, trying to make my point clear. My words came out hurried, almost stumbling over each other.

"Aap mujhse bade hain.

(You are elder to me)"

"Bade?" Veer bhaiya repeated with a soft chuckle. "Par rishton mein toh aap mujhse badi hain, bhabhi."

(But in relationships, you are elder to me, bhabhi.)

He emphasized the word "bhabhi" with a teasing smile.

"Mujhe toh aapke pair chhoone chahiye."

(I'm supposed to touch your feet.)

I stared at him, unsure of how to respond. My cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Please, Veer bhaiya," I said, laughing nervously.

"Hum yeh sab nahi karne dege"

(I won't let you do all this.)

Maa, who had been watching the exchange with a smile, placed her hand lightly on my shoulder. "Chhodo Veer," she said, her tone affectionate.

"Woh abhi naye rishtey aur rasmon ko samajhne ki koshish kar rahi hai."

(She's still trying to understand all these new relationships and customs.)

Veer bhaiya shook his head lightly, still smiling, and stepped back. "Theek hai, Maa. Aapki baat maan leta hoon."

(Alright, Maa. I'll listen to you.)

Maa turned to me, her expression softening. "Noor beta, chalo. Garden chaltein hain.

(Noor, come. Let's go to the garden.)

I nodded, relieved as the moment passed. Veer bhaiya walked beside Maa, chatting casually as we made our way to the garden.

The air was fragrant with the smell of roses as we entered the garden. I trailed behind slightly, letting my fingers skim over the delicate petals of the blooms. The soft rustling of leaves and the vibrant colors around me filled me with a quiet sense of joy.

As I glanced around, something caught my eye-a patch of tulips, fresh and blooming, standing out in their vibrant beauty.

My steps slowed, and my breath hitched. Tulips? I couldn't remember seeing them here before. I moved closer, almost in a trance, and stood before them. My fingers trembled as they brushed against the petals.

A memory stirred-a faint image of Baba, kneeling in the garden with me, showing me how to plant tulips. His laughter echoed faintly in my mind, his hands guiding mine as we carefully pressed the bulbs into the soil.

My heart swelled with an inexplicable warmth. The sight of those flowers, their delicate petals glistening in the morning light, felt like something out of a dream. My lips quivered with an unspoken smile as tears welled in my eyes, spilling over silently.

I touched the petals again, this time letting my fingers linger, almost afraid they'd vanish if I blinked.

The tulips held a part of my childhood, and in this moment, they felt like a quiet promise-one that reminded me of love, warmth, and memories that would always stay with me.

Their soft petals, vibrant and fresh, swayed gently in the breeze as if welcoming me. I knelt down without a second thought, my trembling fingers brushing over the delicate petals.

They were perfect-so perfect.

My chest swelled with a strange warmth. Tulips-Mine favorite.

Baba's, too.

They held pieces of my childhood, memories I hadn't touched in so long. For a moment, it felt as if I was back in those days, standing in Baba's garden, hearing his laughter.

I wasn't able to form any sentence, any word.

"Bohot sundar lag rahe hain," my mother-in-law's voice pulled me slightly out of my daze. She was smiling as she turned to the gardener, her tone full of gratitude.

"Tumne bahut accha kaam kiya, Bhola.

(They look so beautiful. You've done a great job, Bhola.)

Bhola scratched his head awkwardly.

"Malkin... main ne nahi lagaye." He glanced at me briefly, his voice lowering a little.

"Malkin...Bahurani , mujhe nahi pata yeh kaise aaye."

(Ma'am... I didn't plant them. Madam..Bahurani, I don't know how they got here.)

My mother-in-law frowned lightly, confusion crossing her face. Before she could say more, Veer bhaiya's voice filled the silence.

"Toh shayad doosre maali ne lagaye honge," he said with a sly smile, folding his arms casually.

(Then maybe another gardener planted them.)

All our eyes turned to him at once, and he raised his brows, looking almost amused at the attention.

"Veer, yeh kya keh rahe ho tum?" my mother-in-law asked, giving him a curious glance.

(Veer, what are you saying?)

Veer shrugged lightly, his eyes flicking briefly to me before looking away.

"They're bhabhi's favorite flowers; that explains a lot." he said nonchalantly and then, without waiting for a response, turned on his heel and walked away

I blinked, his words echoing faintly, but the joy in my heart drowned them out. The tulips, their beauty, and-it was all too overwhelming.

I knelt down further, leaning in to gently press a kiss to one of the petals. My heart felt so full, I could almost hear it. This moment, this simple yet profound joy, was all I needed.

Even as Veer bhaiya words lingered somewhere in the background, I stayed lost in the warmth of the flowers, their scent, and the memories they brought back. A smile stretched across my face, a tear slipping down my cheek. It felt like my inner child had finally found its long-lost treasure.
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The room was quiet, almost too quiet. The ticking of the clock on the wall felt louder with each passing second. I sat on the sofa, my hands clenched tightly in my lap, trying not to glance at the clock again. But it was impossible not to.

"Das baj gaye... itni der toh kabhi nahi hui unko," I thought, my heart heavy with worry.

(It's 10 pm. He never come this late)

He was never late. Never. The dining table was ready, everything neatly arranged just the way he liked. I had even folded his napkin twice because the first fold hadn't seemed perfect.

Everyone has gone to sleep. Maa told me to have dinner & go to room. That it was normal for him to come late but I denied.

The shadows in the room stretched longer as the night deepened. My eyes kept darting to the door. Each creak of the wooden floor, each faint sound from outside, made me sit up a little straighter. He should've been home by now.

And then, the door opened.

I straightened immediately, relief washing over me, but my heart still felt like it was beating in my throat. Sidharth ji.

He walked in, his figure casting a long shadow into the room. His face looked tired, so tired, but his posture was as strong and unyielding as ever. The kind of presence that could quiet a room without a word.

His white shirt was open at the collar, and his sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms. He held his coat in one hand, his glasses still perched on his nose, masking his eyes from me.

He just walked towards the stairs, his steps firm, measured, and commanding. It was like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and wouldn't let anyone see the cracks beneath it. But his eyes, like he sensed it. They were looking down at my direction. I know the darkness wasn't allowing him to see me.

I sat there, my heart racing for reasons I couldn't understand. Maybe it was relief that he was home, or maybe it was the way his presence filled the room. But before I could stop myself, my lips moved.

"Suniye..."

My voice sounded small, even to me. I don't know if he heard it at first, but he stopped. Slowly, he turned fully, his hand resting on the staircase railing. His eyes, hidden behind his glasses, locked onto mine.

The air felt thick, the silence between us heavy. My palms grew sweaty as he turned fully and began walking toward me. Each step he took made my heart beat faster, louder.

And then he was standing in front of me.

I couldn't look up at him for long. His towering frame, the quiet strength he exuded, made me feel small in a way I couldn't explain. My throat felt dry, and I clutched the edge of my dupatta tightly, my eyes fixed on the floor.

I didn't know what to say. Didn't know what he was thinking. And yet, all I could feel was the strange warmth spreading in my chest-the same warmth I felt every time he was near.

The dining table was quiet except for the faint sound of the clock ticking in the background. Sidharth ji was standing in front of me, his strong presence making my breath falter. He wasn't saying, just looking at me. Deeply.

I tried to focus, to say something that didn't betray how flustered I felt.

"Uh... aap fresh ho jaiye, main dinner serve karti hoon," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

(You freshen up, I'll serve dinner.)

He didn't reply immediately. Instead, he looked at me for a moment, his piercing gaze making my heart skip a beat. Then his eyes shifted to the dining table, where I had kept two plates, both turned down.

I blinked, confused at what he was doing. Then his gaze lifted back to me, and I saw something in his expression-something different.

"I'll eat first. Then I'll freshen up," he said quietly, his deep voice steady, yet it sent a shiver down my spine.

Without waiting for my reply, he walked over to the table and sat down, pulling his plate closer. My eyes widened slightly, and before I could process what was happening, he turned my plate upright, too.

I stood there for a second, unsure of what to do, until I realized he was waiting. Quickly, I hurried to the kitchen, trying to steady my nerves. My hands fumbled as I grabbed the serving dishes, but my mind was elsewhere.

"Its good he'll eat dinner first." I muttered under my breath, a small smile tugging at my lips.

It was silly, but I couldn't help feeling a little happy that he wanted to eat first. It meant we could eat together.

As I placed the dishes on a tray, my eyes drifted to him through the open doorway. From the kitchen, I had a clear view of the dining table. He was sitting there, waiting, his shoulders broad and strong even in his relaxed posture. His fingers drummed lightly on the table, and his face, though calm, seemed softer somehow.

A warmth spread through my chest, and I found myself smiling. My thoughts drifted back to my parents, to the way my mother would always wait for my father to come home no matter how late it was. They would sit together for dinner, talking softly about their day.

The memory made my cheeks flush, and I quickly shook my head, trying to focus. "Yeh kya soch rahi ho, Noorie?" I whispered to myself.

(What are you even thinking, Noor?)

I picked up the tray and walked to the table, determined to stay neutral, to not let my silly thoughts show. Placing the dishes down carefully, I stood there, ready to serve.

My fingers hovered over the handle of the bowl when suddenly, Sidharth ji reached out.

His hand brushed against mine as he took the dish from me and placed it back on the table. The contact sent a wave of heat through me, and I froze, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Baithiye," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. It was commanding.

(Sit.)

Before I could react, his hand gently wrapped around my wrist, guiding me to the chair beside him. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, my skin tingling where his fingers had touched me. I sat down, still dazed, still trying to understand what was happening.

He didn't say anything, didn't even look at me. Instead, he began taking the bowls one by one, placing them around my plate. My eyes followed his every movement, confused but unable to look away.

There was something about him tonight. His face wasn't cold like it usually was. There was a warmth, a quiet softness in his actions that I couldn't place.

Finally, he picked up his own plate and held it out to me.

"Serve" he said, his voice calm but with a hint of something I couldn't define.

"Please"

I kept looking at him for a second. What was he doing? I was shocked, but before I could think anything further, he again called my name for me to come out of my thoughts.

I stared at him, my hands trembling slightly as I took the plate. My eyes met his for a brief moment, and I felt my breath catch again.

There was something in his gaze, something that made my heart flutter and my cheeks burn. Even though his face was neutral, his eyes were giving it all. The glasses couldn't hide the change.

I looked down quickly, my fingers clumsy as I began serving. My heart was racing, my thoughts a jumble of emotions I couldn't untangle. But one thing was clear-this moment, this warmth - felt like something I never wanted to let go of.

I picked up the serving spoon, my hands still trembling slightly as I placed the food on his plate. Sidharth ji remained silent, his focus seemingly elsewhere as he pulled his phone put and placed them on the table, then began to roll up his sleeves further. His movements were deliberate, slow, and precise, as if he had all the time in the world.

I finished serving and straightened up, clutching the ladle tightly to keep my hands steady. Without looking at me, he picked up his fork and began eating, his posture straight and composed.

The silence was thick but not suffocating. It felt... charged, somehow, like there was something unspoken hanging in the air between us.

I quickly served myself, trying not to let my clumsiness show. My fingers fumbled slightly as I reached for the dish, but I managed to place everything neatly on my plate. Taking a deep breath, I began eating keeping my gaze fixed on my food, though I couldn't help glancing at his plate every few moments to see if he needed anything.

The quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable-it was my own nerves, making me restless. My body felt warm, my palms slightly sweaty, and there was a tingling in my arms, as if I were overly aware of his presence. My heart was fluttering wildly, but I couldn't understand why.

From the corner of my eye, I felt his gaze shift toward me. It wasn't direct, but I could feel it-a weight, a pull, like he was watching me while pretending not to. My fingers tightened around my fork as I took small bites, hoping to distract myself, but my mind was everywhere except on the food in front of me.

Every movement of his-lifting his fork, adjusting his plate-echoed in my ears. My pulse quickened each time I thought I caught his eyes on me, but I didn't dare look up. There was something about this moment, this silence, that made me feel unsteady yet safe, nervous yet... warm.

I swallowed hard, trying not to let my clumsiness take over. My legs were crossed tightly under the table, my toes curling against the wooden floor in an attempt to ground myself. I shifted slightly in my chair, wishing my racing heart would calm down, but it only seemed to pick up speed.

I didn't know what was happening to me. What was this strange, fluttering feeling in my chest, this tingling heat in my skin? I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling, but it was no use. This silence, his presence, everything about this moment was making me feel something I couldn't name.

He didn't say a word, didn't even glance directly at me again after that. But somehow, that only made the air around us feel heavier, like something unsaid was quietly building. My fingers grazed the edge of my plate, my body tense and unsure of what to do next.

I felt like I was balancing on the edge of something-something I wasn't ready to fall into just yet.
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The clock ticked closer to midnight, but sleep was far from my mind. I glanced at the quiet walls, the silence almost comforting, and let my eyes drift toward the garden outside. A smile tugged at my lips.

Those tulips... my tulips. They must be waiting for me. The thought filled me with an excitement I couldn't explain, almost like a child planning a harmless mischief.

I checked the time again. It was late, and I wasn't even sure if he had gone to bed. "Bas do minute... sirf do minute," I whispered to myself, convincing my heart as much as I was convincing my mind. (Just two minutes)

Would Siddharth ji notice? Would he mind? Maybe he wouldn't even know.

I adjusted my sari, pulling the pallu over my head as if it would shield me from getting caught. My anklets jingled softly with my first step, and I froze.

"Chup... bilkul chup!" I muttered, glaring at them like they were conspiring against me.

(Silence. Only silence)

Stepping carefully, I moved toward the door, each creak of the floor making my pulse race.

The cool breeze hit me the moment I stepped outside, and I took a deep breath, the air filling me with a kind of peace I hadn't felt all day. The garden stretched before me, tulips swaying slightly in the gentle wind. I couldn't help but grin.

"Aap log mujhe miss toh nahi kar rahe the?" I murmured, crouching down to touch one of the flowers. Its petal felt soft against my fingertips, like silk.

(Were you guy's missing me?)

Walking slowly through the rows, I forgot everything. The quiet, the late hour, even the chill in the air-it all disappeared. All I saw were the tulips, their beauty magnified under the moonlight. My heart felt light, and before I knew it, I was brushing my hand against one bloom, then another, marveling at their softness.

The breeze picked up, sending shivers down my spine. Hugging myself, I smiled, twirling slightly as my sari swayed around me. The stars above were twinkling, the air was cool, and for once, I felt... free. I thought, running my fingers through the flowers.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the night, deep and firm.

"Noor, Aap yahan kya kar rahi hai?"

(Noor. What are you doing here?")

I froze. My breath caught, and my heart started pounding so hard I could hear it. That voice-it was his voice. It was strong, like it carried the weight of a hundred unsaid things, but there was something warm about it too. Slowly, I straightened, my hands trembling as I turned toward him.

My eyes found him standing at the end of this part., his figure barely illuminated by the light coming. His body straight, hand wrapped backward. He was far away from me. His gaze locked on me, and I felt my knees weaken. My chest tightened, my cheeks burned, and I couldn't look away.

The silence after his voice felt heavier than the night itself. My heart raced, thudding in my chest as I stood there, unable to look at him. I didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe too loud, afraid of what would come next.

And then, I heard the sound of his steps. He was walking toward me.

I dared a glance, just enough to notice the shawl wrapped around his shoulders, and another one folded neatly in his hand as his hand were more free now.

He was still wearing his glasses, the faint moonlight reflecting off them, giving his serious expression a softer edge. His shirt was slightly creased, as if he'd been awake for a while, but somehow... he looked different tonight. There was something in the way he carried himself-straight-backed, rigid, and yet, something else I couldn't place.

He stopped in front of me, holding out the shawl without a word. My eyes darted to his hand, then to his face, and then quickly back to the ground. My throat felt dry. I gulped, trying to steady myself.

"Main... main bas garden mein thi," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper. Don't know why, but around him, all my confidence is gone. All I can feel is my shyness & nervousness.

("I... I was just in the garden.")

My fingers fidgeted with the edge of my sari, and I dared another glance up. He was looking at me-not harshly, not softly, just... looking. My cheeks burned under his gaze. What was he doing here? Why now?

And then, as if reading my thoughts, he broke the silence.

"Flowers pasand hain aapko?" He asked out of nowwhere. His voice was neutral, steady, but it felt like it carried something more.

("Do you like flowers?")

I froze again. My hands were still trembling as I looked up at him, but just for a second before my gaze dropped back to the ground. He was looking around the part of garden I was standing.

He was standing so close, and I could feel his presence in a way that made my heart beat even louder. The shawl, his glasses, the way the light breeze caught the edge of his shirt... it all seemed unfairly perfect.

"Please wrap this shawl," he said after a moment, his voice calm but firm. "It's cold."

I hesitated, my hands moving slowly to take the shawl from him. My fingers brushed against his for the briefest moment, and it was like my skin burned where they touched. Quickly, I wrapped it around myself, feeling the warmth seep into me-not just from the fabric, but from the gesture itself.

Why he was awake till now?

My cheeks were on fire now, and I was certain he could see it. He didn't say anything else, just turned and started walking past me, further into the garden.

I stayed rooted to my spot, watching as he moved among the tulips. The breeze swayed them gently around him, the faint rustling of petals the only sound in the night. He stopped after a few steps and turned slightly, his gaze moving over the flowers before landing on me again.

"Tulips," he said, his tone softer now. "Apko pasand hain?"

("Tulips. Do you like them?")

His question caught me off guard. My lips parted, but no words came out at first. The way he was looking at me-it wasn't intimidating, but it wasn't casual either. There was something in his eyes tonight, something that made my chest tighten. This made my heart skip a beat.

Finally, I nodded, my lips curving into the smallest smile. "Haan," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Yeh mere favorite hain."

("Yes, they're my favorite.")

The words felt strange on my tongue, like I hadn't spoken in ages. But as I said them, the tension in my chest eased slightly. I looked down again, trying to hide the warmth spreading through me.

The tulips swayed in the breeze, their soft fragrance wrapping around me, and for a moment, the night felt magical in a way I couldn't explain.

The soft hum escaped his lips, deep and resonant, as if it carried the weight of something unsaid. My breath hitched. The sound rippled through the quiet night, and I couldn't stop my eyes from flickering toward him.

He stood tall, the shawl wrapped around his broad shoulders making him look... regal, almost. For some reason, this night felt warmer and colder all at once.

I pulled the shawl tighter around myself, feeling its soft fabric against my skin. Yet, it wasn't just the shawl-the air carried a warmth I hadn't noticed before, a warmth that came from his presence.

My heart thudded against my ribs, each beat stronger than the last. Goosebumps spread across my arms, not from the chill but from something deeper, something unspoken.

He was here, with me. And it was that thought-just that thought-that made my steps falter before I began moving again.

I walked forward, my sandals brushing lightly against the gravel path. The tulips swayed gently in the night breeze, their vibrant heads bowing as though acknowledging him, us. My fingers grazed a petal absentmindedly, its softness grounding me when everything else felt overwhelming. Maybe his presence wasn't as intimidating as before. Maybe tonight was different. Maybe I felt... safe.

The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't suffocating. I could feel his gaze on me, steady and unreadable, and my stomach twisted in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. My fingers brushed against a small tulip plant, one still waiting to bloom.

Before I knew it, I was bending down, scooping a little water from the small fountain nearby. The moonlight reflected in its rippling surface, and the coolness of the water sent a shiver down my spine.

Carefully, I let the droplets slide from my fingers onto the budding tulip. Its leaves glistened under the moonlight, and for a moment, I felt like I could breathe again.

"It's the smallest plant here." His voice came from behind me, deep and steady, startling me so much that I almost dropped the water still cupped in my hand.

I froze, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure he could hear it. Slowly, I stood up, my fingers trembling slightly as I wiped them on the edge of my shawl. I didn't dare turn around at first.

He was speaking. Speaking to me.

His presence was overwhelming, so close yet so composed, and I didn't know if I could meet his eyes without my knees giving out.

Finally, summoning a courage I didn't know I had, I turned to face him. The moonlight played across his features, softening the sharp lines of his face. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and it felt like it reached right into the parts of me. I tried so hard to hide.

"Aapka pasandida phool kaunsa hai?" I asked, my voice trembling but determined.

("What's your favorite flower?")

The words escaped before I could stop them, and for a moment, I wanted to take them back. What if he thought I was foolish? What if I had overstepped? My hands clenched the edges of my shawl, and I stared at the ground, bracing for his answer.

But he didn't laugh or dismiss my question. Instead, he just looked at me, for a whole two minutes,his gaze softening ever so slightly.

"Tulips."

His answer was simple, yet it sent a warmth spreading through my chest. My eyes darted up to meet his, and for a brief moment, the world around us seemed to pause. The soft rustle of the tulips, the distant murmur of the breeze-it all faded into the background.

And there, under the moonlit sky, I smiled. It wasn't big or bold, just a small, hesitant curve of my lips. But it was enough.

The moment his deep voice carried the word "Tulips", something within me stirred. My lips curved into a smile-a big, genuine smile, though I didn't know why.

For some reason, I couldn't stop myself. There was a flicker in my eyes, too, a warmth I hadn't felt in so long. Without thinking, I looked up at him and said softly,

"Woh toh mere bhi pasandida hain..."

("That's my favorite too...")

The words left my lips before I realized how closely he was watching me. His gaze didn't waver, and as it settled on me, I felt the warmth spreading to my cheeks. My face burned, and I quickly looked down, biting the inside of my lip to stop myself from smiling too much.

Why is he looking at me like this?

Then I heard it-a soft chuckle. It wasn't loud, but it was enough to make me glance up through my lashes. He was chuckling at me. The sound was low, almost teasing, but there was something about it that made my heart race even faster.

He started walking toward me. His steps were slow but purposeful, and I couldn't move. The air between us seemed to shift, heavier, charged. My hands gripped the edge of the small fountain I was leaning over, and in my nervousness, I tried to straighten up. My movements were too sudden, too clumsy, and my foot twisted beneath me.

Before I could even cry out, I felt it-a firm, warm hand wrapping around my waist. It steadied me, pulling me back from the fall. The contact sent a jolt through my body, and my breath hitched as my eyes shot up to meet his.

His face was close-so close. The glasses he still wore couldn't hide the intensity of his gaze, the piercing blue of his eyes. My heart thudded against my chest, so loud I was sure he could hear it. His body was near, almost touching mine, and his hand on my waist felt like it was burning through the fabric of my dress. I shivered, not from the cold but from the closeness, the tension that wrapped around us like a second shawl.

For a moment, neither of us moved. His grip stayed firm but gentle, and I was lost in the way he looked down at me. My heart beating fast in my chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze-something that made my stomach twist in ways I couldn't understand.

After what felt like an eternity, I managed to steady myself. As I tried to step back, I felt his hand slide down, but it didn't leave mine. Instead, his fingers interlocked with mine, warm and steady, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He didn't say anything. He just began walking, tugging me gently to follow him. For a moment, I froze, unsure of what to do. But then, I let him guide me, my steps slow and hesitant.

My mind raced with questions. Why is he holding my hand? Why isn't he letting go? But then I glanced at our hands, his larger one completely enveloping mine, and a small, shy smile crept onto my lips.

The warmth of his touch, the quiet way he led me-it felt like care. Like something I'd never known before. It feel so good.

After a few steps, he stopped and turned to face me. His gaze softened, though the dominance in his presence never faded.

"Be careful."His tone was calm, but there was a hint of amusement in it.

Before I could respond, his voice dropped slightly, quieter but more firm.

"Do you understand. Yes?"

The way he said it, the way his words carried both authority and concern, made my heart skip another beat. His grip on my hand didn't loosen, and I couldn't look at him without feeling the heat rush back to my cheeks. I quietly nodded at him.

As we walked further into the garden, his hand still holding mine, I glanced up at him again. His expression was unreadable, but for the first time, I didn't feel intimidated.

Instead, I felt... safe. A small, hesitant smile stayed on my lips, even as my thoughts spiraled.

Why won't he let go of my hand?

But deep down, I didn't want him to.

The sound of the fountain echoed faintly, blending with the chirping of night birds. His hand was still holding mine, warm and steady in the chilly evening.

The mansion was surrounded by a sprawling garden, divided into parts, each blooming with different flowers. We were walking along the largest section-now called the tulip garden.

My heart thudded against my chest, skipping a beat every time his fingers shifted slightly. I couldn't bring myself to look at him, afraid that he might catch the blush on my face.

His presence was so close, his scent-a mix of earthy and something crisp and clean-surrounding me completely.

We reached the edge of the garden where the tulips ended, and other plants began. He stopped, but his grip didn't loosen. The warmth of his hand seeped into me, making my cold fingers feel alive again. It was magical, this silence between us. The only sounds were the fountain and the occasional rustle of leaves.

Just as I started to wonder what he was thinking his deep voice broke the quiet.

"Noor," he said, pointing toward a hibiscus plant near the tulips.

I looked up at him, his sharp features softened in the moonlight. His glasses caught a faint reflection, but I could still see the intensity in his eyes. He was focused on the plant, his voice steady and calm as he continued,

"Is plant ki scientific value bohot zyada hai. Yeh flowers medicine ke liye use hote hain."

("This plant has a lot of scientific value. These flowers are used for medicine.")

I blinked, surprised. He wasn't just talking-he was explaining, his tone confident yet patient. His voice was so soothing, so commanding, that I couldn't help but listen. There was something endearing in the way he spoke, how seriously he explained something so simple.

A small smile crept onto my face, and before I knew it, I was looking at him. He was explaining scientific value of plants to me. Don't know why this made me feel warm inside.

He moved to another plant, this time pointing toward a small jasmine bush. "Aur yeh... iska scent therapy mein use hota hai. Relaxation ke liye."

("And this... its scent is used in therapy. For relaxation.")

I couldn't stop smiling now. He was so focused, so utterly lost in what he was saying, that it made my heart flutter. Butterflies danced in my stomach as I watched him shift from one plant to the next, explaining their values with such ease.

It was... cute. The way his brows furrowed slightly when he spoke, the way his voice deepened when he emphasized something important-it was all so charming. And the fact that he was speaking to me, explaining all this to me, made it even more special.

As he talked, I felt my fingers instinctively held his hand like was holding mine. I wasn't tightening my grip, but I wasn't letting go either. It was almost natural now, like my hand belonged there.

He paused for a moment, feeling the shift in my hold, and I panicked slightly. Did I do something wrong? But he didn't say anything. Instead, he continued speaking, his voice as steady and commanding as before.

I felt safe. Comfortable. His hand in mine, his voice filling the quiet night, the warmth of his touch fighting off the cold-it all felt so... right. My heart raced, but I didn't feel nervous anymore. I felt something else. Something I couldn't name.

I wasn't nervous. I was enjoying. This night was too perfect.

I looked at him again, my cheeks warming as I took in the sight of him. The way he stood, tall and confident, yet not intimidating. The way he spoke, like he knew exactly what he was talking about but wasn't showing off.

He was dominating in the most effortless way, and yet, he was kind.

And me? I was falling. Slowly, without even realizing it. In the way, I smiled when he talked, in the way my hand stayed in his, in the way my heart leaped at his every word-I was falling for Sidharth ji

And I didn't even know it.
________________________________________

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