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Shivansh's POV
The first sound that woke me wasn't the alarm.
It was a strange quiet place…
A kind of silence that sits on your chest, but in a good way.
Light, warm, peaceful.
The world was still asleep when I opened my eyes.
4:12 AM.
For a second, I didn't even breathe. My heart felt… full. Like something was blooming inside my chest after years… years of cold, dry emptiness.
For the first time in years, I wasn't waking up with heaviness.
For the first time in years, I wasn't waking up with my sister's face haunting me.
For the first time since Isha left me…
…I wasn't waking up alone.
Isha was asleep beside me.
Her breath is warm. Her hand resting on my chest like I belonged to her.
And God… I do.
I belong to her in a way that scares me sometimes.
And I realised—
This is what I begged for.
This is what I cried for.
This is what I prayed for.
I slowly removed her hand — carefully, quietly, kissing her knuckles before I slipped out of bed.
"I'll be back before you wake up, meri jaana…" I whispered, brushing my fingers on her cheek.
I went straight to the shower.
Freezing water.
Hands trembling.
Not from cold…
From the feeling inside me.
Today…
I wasn't going to beg.
Today I was going to say thank you.
I wore a plain white kurta-pajama. Simple. Pure. Something inside me wanted to look… clean. Like I was standing in front of someone who knew everything about me.
White kurta.
White pajama.
Straight simple hair.
No royal rings, no watch, nothing.
Just me.
Me… and the promise I made.
When I stepped outside, the guards straightened.
"Gaadi nikaalo," I said. My voice wasn't cold today. It was calm.
Jaipur's early morning air hit me the moment I stepped out. Soft. Quiet.
Like the city knew what this morning meant to me.
The driver opened the door, but I gently pushed it down.
"Main khud chalata hoon."
He stared. "But Rana s—"
"Bas. Aaj main akela jaaunga."
He nodded.
I got in, started the car, and began driving.
The sky was still dark.
Rads were empty.
Only one thought ran in my mind:
"I asked God for her. And I got her back.
Now I have to return where I once broke open."
And the entire way… my mind kept replaying one thing—
The day I fell on my knees in that tiny, silent mandir and cried like a broken man because I thought I lost her.
The same mandir I found by accident.
The same mandir where I washed the floors because I had nothing else to offer.
The same mandir where Guruji told me,
"Tumhari awaaz mein dard nahi… sachchai hai."
I reached.
It still looked the same.
Small. Old.
A cracked bell.
A faint smell of agarbatti.
A stillness that could break a person open.
I walked in slowly, barefoot.
Every step felt familiar.
Bent down.
Touched the cold stone floor.
I picked up the bucket and the cloth kept at the side — the same ones I had used months ago — and I began washing the floor. Quietly. Patiently. Like I had done before.
Rearranging the fallen flowers.
Lighting the diya.
Checking the wick twice, like always.
Only after everything was perfect did I fold my hands before the deity.
Not because I wanted something…
Because I finally had everything.
When I finished, I stood up — and exactly then, Guruji walked inside.
He didn't look surprised.
He never does.
He smiled softly.
"Aagaye tum."
I turned.
Guruji.
Same soft eyes, same simple smile that somehow made you feel both exposed and protected.
I bowed and touched his feet.
He placed a hand on my head.
Warm. Heavy. Meaningful.
He looked at me for a long moment.
I swallowed hard. For a second, my voice didn't come.
Then it broke.
"Guruji…"
He came closer, taking a long look at me — my clothes, my face, my eyes.
"Chale gaye the. Beech mein kahin dikhai nahi diye.
I thought… maybe the boy who cried here wasn't coming back."
I swallowed.
Because yes—
there was a boy who cried here.
A boy who broke here.
A boy who begged God here.
I wasn't that boy anymore.
"Main gaya nahi tha, Guruji.
Main… lad raha tha."
I let out a shaking breath.
I didn't hide anything this time.
"Us din jab main yahaan aaya tha…
I didn't come to pray.
I came to break.
I came to beg.
I came because I didn't know where else to go."
My throat tightened.
"I cried for hours.
I begged God like a madman…
'Bas usse wapas bhej do.'
Woh meri Isha…"
(my voice cracked)
"…jo mujhse cheenli gayi thi."
Guruji placed a hand on my shoulder.
Guruji:
"And now, beta?
Ab kyun aaye ho?
Aaj tumhare chehre pe dard nahi… sukoon hai."
I looked up at the idol.
The diya flickered like it understood.
"Us din… main sirf ek cheez maangne aaya tha."
My voice cracked.
"Isha."
Guruji nodded, as if he always knew.
"Aur aaj?"
My throat tightened.
"Aaj main… sirf shukriya kehne aaya hoon."
He waited.
And suddenly the words poured out of me like they'd been trapped inside for too long—
"Guruji… main uss din yahan gir gaya tha. Floor pe. Royaa tha. Maine kaha tha ki agar Isha mujhe wapas mil jaaye… main phir kabhi kuch nahi maangunga."
I looked straight into his eyes.
"Aaj… woh mere paas hai."
Guruji placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Toh phir tumhara yahan aana band toh nahi hona chahiye. Ya Tum soch rahe ho ki ab tumhe yahan aana nahi chahiye,
kyunki jo maanga tha, mil gaya?"
I nodded.
"Meri poori zindagi mein…
I never asked God for anything.
I stopped believing.
After my sister died, I thought—
if God was real, He wouldn't take her.
Then I lost Isha too.
And I broke completely."
My fingers curled.
"But that night…
when everything inside me died…
somehow I walked here.
Cried here.
Cleaned this mandir like a madman.
And for the first time in years,
I actually prayed."
I took a long breath.
"Guruji… pehle main yahan isliye aata tha kyunki mujhe kisi ki zarurat thi."
"Aaj main isliye aaya hoon kyunki mujhe shukriya karna tha."
He studied my face.
I continued.
"Mujhe pata hai aap soch rahe house ki ab jo chains tha vo mil gya toh ab nhi aana magar aisa nhi h, Par sach ye hai ki ab mujhe yahan… maangne nahi aana."
My chest tightened.
"Isha meri zindagi ka sabse bada vardaan hai. Aur main jaanta hoon… yeh mujhe aise hi nahi mila."
Guruji watched me silently.
I wasn't finished.
"Main har jagah gaya tha—Mandir, Masjid, Gurudwara, Church… kyunki Isha har jagah ki thi."
"Maine har dharm se ek hi cheez maangi thi. Woh."
I blinked away the burning in my eyes.
"Aaj main isliye yahan hoon… kyunki mujhe kisi cheez ki zarurat nahi."
"Main bas… shukriya kehne aata rahunga. Jab bhi dil chahe."
Guruji smiled again — that calm, knowing smile.
"Tumhari bhakti sachchi hai, beta. Kyunki woh zarurat se nahi… pyaar se aati hai."
My voice dropped to a whisper.
"Guruji… main bhagwaan se pehle kabhi itna nahi juda. Lekin Isha ne…"
I pressed my fist to my chest.
"Usne meri har cheez badal di."
Guruji nodded knowingly.
"Aur tum wapas aaoge. Jab dil kahega. Jab tumhare paas kuch kehne hoga."
I gave a tired laugh, wiping my eyes.
"Aaj main bas yeh kehne aaya hoon ki…
Isha wapas aa gayi."
Guruji closed his eyes for a moment, murmuring a blessing.
"Khush raho. Uska dhyaan rakho. Aur apne parivar ka bhi."
I nodded.
"Guruji…
main akela nahi hoon ab.
Meri Isha… mere paas hai."
Guruji said softly, "Woh tumhari taaqat thi.
Aur tum uske."
I bowed down again, touching his feet.
"Thank you…
for being here… when I don't have anyone."
Guruji placed his hand on my head again.
"Ab sab kuch mil gaya, beta.
Par yaad rakhna—
jo Ishwar deta hai,
use sambhalna padta hai.
Aur tum…
ab taiyaar lagte ho."
I closed my eyes.
"I will protect her,
even from myself if needed.
I will love her in silence if she wants.
I will fight the world if needed."
My voice dropped to a whisper.
"I will never let her go again."
Guruji smiled and said,
"Bas yahi vishwas…
tumhe phir se Ishwar ke kareeb layega."
The diya flickered gently between us.
And for the first time in years…
I felt whole.
Then he touched my head gently — like a grandfather blessing a child.
And for the first time in years…
I felt light.
The moment I stepped out of the Mandir, the early-morning air felt different.
Colder.
Calmer.
Almost… forgiving.
My kurta was still damp from the water I had splashed while cleaning the floor. My sleeves were rolled up, the scent of incense still clinging to my skin. And yet, my heartbeat—my heartbeat was not settling.
It was still saying the same thing, again and again.
"Isha. Isha. Isha."
I sat inside the car, rested both my hands on the steering, leaned my forehead against it, and exhaled shakily.
"Mandir ho gaya…" I murmured to myself. "Ab Masjid."
Masjid was always the second place I went when… when I lost her.
When Isha was taken away from me, when I felt split, when I felt half-dead—I had stood barefoot at the steps of this Masjid and begged like a broken man.
Today… today I wasn't broken.
But I was still trembling.
With gratitude.
With fear of losing her again.
With love that was almost painful.
Masjid
The car stopped in front of the old Masjid—the same one I had cried outside for hours months ago. The sky was still dark; azaan would begin in some time.
I stepped out.
The marble was cold beneath my bare feet.
My heart tightened.
That same ache. That same memory.
Me, sitting against these very steps… head down… face wet… asking Allah to return her.
I swallowed hard and walked inside.
The silence was heavy—beautifully heavy.
Only the soft humming of the early-morning breeze echoed through the arches.
I folded my hands behind my back and lowered my head.
"Assalamu alaikum," I whispered softly, voice shaking as I walked toward the quiet prayer area, though it was empty.
A maulvi sahab, the same old man who had once seen me crying here, lifted his eyes from his tasbeeh. He recognized me immediately.
His gaze softened.
"You," he said quietly, almost surprised. "Aaj bahut waqt baad aaye ho, beta."
I nodded. "Haan. Bahut waqt baad."
He walked toward me, slow and steady, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Tab ro rahe the…" he reminded me gently.
"Ab kaise aaye ho?"
My throat closed.
I looked up at him, eyes burning. "Shukriya kehne."
He smiled. "Toh mil gayi tumhari dua?"
I breathed out a shaky laugh.
"Mil gayi, Maulvi sahab. Mil gayi. Mujhe… meri Isha waapas mil gayi."
He nodded with a knowing smile, as if he had always expected this.
"Allah ke ghar se maange hue rishton ko koi duniya nahi tod sakti," he whispered.
I swallowed. My hands curled. My voice broke.
"Main yahan… roz aane ka wada nahi kar sakta," I admitted truthfully. "Meri zindagi… meri zimmedariyan… sab kuch badal raha hai."
Maulvi sahab looked at me carefully.
I continued. "Par jab bhi mujhe lagayga… ke meri saansein bhaari ho rahi hain… jab bhi mujhe lagega ke mujhe Allah ki zaroorat hai… main aaunga. Ussi tarah jaise pehle aaya tha. Dil lekar aaya tha. Aas lekar aaya tha."
He nodded softly. "Aur aaj?"
I looked up at the dome, eyes stinging.
"Aaj," I whispered, "Main sirf shukriya kehne aaya hoon. Mere rishte, meri mohabbat, meri Isha… sab mujhe waapas mil gaya."
"Allah ta'ala tumhari mohabbat ko hamesha hifazat de," he blessed me warmly.
I closed my eyes as he placed his hand on my head.
For a moment, I felt peace.
Raw, real, grounding peace.
Then, with slow steps and a full heart, I walked back outside.
Before leaving, I turned once more toward the Masjid.
"Aaj main toot kar nahi, poora hokar jaa raha hoon," I said under my breath. "Shukriya."
Church
The sky was turning a soft shade of purple by the time I reached the church.
This was the third place.
The place where I didn't even have the strength to enter last time.
I had only stood outside…
…hands on the locked gate…
…begging silently because I didn't have words left.
Today I pushed open the gate.
The gentle sound of morning bells echoed faintly.
The inside was dim, peaceful, drenched in golden traces of dawn. I walked slowly toward the front, toward the altar, feeling that familiar heaviness in my chest.
A nun arranging flowers looked up at me and paused.
"You came again?" she asked softly.
I inhaled sharply. "Yes."
"You were crying the last time," she reminded me delicately.
I nodded. "I remember."
"You asked for someone with all your heart," she said. "Did you receive them?"
I felt my throat tremble.
"I got her back," I whispered. "My Isha."
She smiled—pure, warm, like someone who understood love in its purest form.
"Then today you have come with a fulfilled heart?"
I nodded. "I'm here to say thank you."
She placed a hand over her heart. "God listens, child."
My voice broke again. "I didn't believe that before. After my sister died… I stopped believing. And when I lost Isha too… it felt like God hated me."
She stepped closer. "And now? What do you believe now?"
I looked up at the cross, eyes wet.
"I believe He listens," I whispered. "Because I begged her. Every single day. I cried in every holy place I could find. I begged like a man drowning…"
My breath shook.
"…and Isha came back."
The nun nodded. "Faith is not about coming every day. Faith is about remembering God when your heart calls."
I exhaled. "Exactly. That's all I can offer. I won't come regularly… maybe… maybe I can't. But I will come whenever I feel like I need to. Whenever I feel lost. Or grateful."
She smiled. "That is enough."
I stepped forward, knelt down gently, and closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I whispered, voice heavy. "For giving her back. For… for returning my life to me."
For a few seconds, nothing existed except my breath and my gratitude.
Then I rose, nodded respectfully, and walked back toward the exit.
Before leaving, the nun said softly, "Take care of her."
I turned back with a faint, emotional smile.
"I will," I promised. "I won't lose her again."
And I meant every syllable.
The sky was turning a soft blue when I reached the Gurudwara.
That calm… that silence…
It hits differently.
The engine of my car stopped, but my heartbeat did not. It was racing—fast, loud, almost scared.
Maybe because this was the last stop.
My last prayer.
My last thank you.
I stepped out, adjusting my white kurta. The air was colder here. My breath fogged out as I walked inside.
The moment my foot touched the marble staircase, everything around me slowed.
The faint sound of kirtan floated in the air.
A peace—not the kind I ever felt in Mandir or Masjid or Church.
Something else…
Something that felt like home, like warmth, like an arm around my shoulder saying,
"Aa gaya puttar? Late hi sahi… par aa gaya."
I removed my shoes, washed my hands, covered my head, and walked in.
I folded my hands in front of the Guru Granth Sahib.
For a long moment, I didn't say anything.
I just breathed.
Held my chest.
Closed my eyes.
And the first words that slipped out weren't planned.
"Main wapas aa gaya… Guru Sahib."
My voice cracked right there.
"Last time jab yahan aaya tha na… haan…" I exhaled, trembling slightly. "Main toot chuka tha. Bilkul."
I looked up.
"Tab Isha chali gayi thi. Aur main… main begar ban ke bhaagta fir raha tha. Mandir, Masjid, Church… pata nahi kaha kaha gaya. Bas… usse wapis maangne. Usse wapis laane."
My jaw tightened as I inhaled deeply.
"Aaj… woh wapas hai."
My throat suddenly felt heavy.
The kind of heavy that comes only when the truth finally gets space to breathe.
"Aaj main wapas Isha ke saath hoon.
Par phir bhi… main yahan aaya."
My voice lowered, softer.
"Pata hai kyun?
Kyuki… aapne sun liya.
Aapne mujhe wapis di voh ladki… jo meri saansein chalati hai.
Aapne mujhe wapis diya mera vishwas… jo main kho chuka tha."
The kirtan grew louder as if answering him.
"Main yahan maangne nahi aaya. Bas… shukriya kehne aaya hoon."
I sat down on the cool marble floor, cross-legged, palms on my knees.
And then… it all came out.
"Guru Sahib… agar koi pooche na… ki main ab Mandir-Masjid-Church-Gurudwara jaaunga ya nahi…
Toh main ek hi baat bolunga—
Jab bulayenge, tab aaunga.
Jab toot jaunga, tab aaunga.
Jab hasunga, tab bhi aaunga… shayad."
I let out a small laugh.
"Par jab tak Isha mere saath hai… mujhe pata hai… main kabhi akela nahi hoonga."
I looked at the saffron flag outside waving gently in the wind.
"Pata hai… Isha ko lekar jo darr tha na… voh ab nahi hai.
Aapne sab theek kar diya.
Sab."
"Main aaj bhi ussi tarah aaya hoon jaise us din—subah ka andhera, thandi hawa, aankhon me paani…
Par farq sirf itna hai ki—
Us din main aapko pukar raha tha.
Aaj main aapko dhanyavaad bolne aaya hoon."
My voice dropped to a whisper.
"Bas… ek vada aur karna hai."
I folded my hands again.
My chest was tight, but for once—not in pain.
In peace.
"Jab tak main saans le raha hoon… Isha ko kabhi chodne nahi dunga.
Kabhi nahi."
"And the day I fail… main phir yahan aaunga.
Aur aap mujhe phir sahi raasta dikhana.
Jaise aaj dikhaya."**
Just then, an old Sikh uncle with a kind smile came closer and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Beta… shukar manan wale dil bahut kam hote hain. Rab ne tere andar bahut roshni rakhi hai."
His voice was soft, like a blessing.
I smiled faintly.
"Uncle… roshni Isha hai. Aur usse wapas bhejne wale… Rab."
Uncle nodded.
"Rab sada tere naal rahe."
I touched his feet without thinking.
He blessed me again.
I accepted kada prasad with both hands, closed my eyes, and took a bite.
Sweet. Warm. Pure.
Like Isha.
Like peace.
Like belief.
As I walked out, the rising sun hit my face.
And for the first time in years…
I felt new.
Whole.
Alive.
I looked at the sky and whispered,
"Aaj nahi… har din shukriya.
Bas har. Ek. Din."
Then I walked toward my car.
Calm.
Certain.
Ready to return to the only person who ever made me fall to my knees and look up at God—
Isha.
The palace was still half-asleep when I entered.
Soft lights, cold marble, the faint smell of incense someone must have lit early in the morning.
I handed my car keys to the guard quietly.
"Sir, aap itni subah—"
"Shhh," I whispered, "sab so rahe hain. Aur… aaj koi awaaz nahi honi chahiye."
He nodded immediately.
Inside, a few staff members were cleaning, mopping the floor, and arranging cushions. Everyone stopped for a second and looked at me—because I was still in my white kurta pajama, hair slightly wet from the bath, a calm smile on my face that nobody had seen for years.
I didn't stop for anyone.
My feet were already moving…
toward our room.
I opened the door slowly.
And there she was.
Isha.
Fast asleep.
Completely wrapped like a tiny ball inside my blanket… on my side of the bed.
As if she naturally knew where I slept.
My heart just… stopped for a second.
"Yeh ladki mujhe barbaad kar degi," I whispered to myself, smiling.
Her hair was all messy, one curl stuck to her cheek, lips slightly parted… she looked peaceful in a way that made my chest feel tight.
I stepped closer, slowly, and quietly.
I sat on the edge of the bed and just stared at her for a minute.
This is what I begged for.
This is the person I cried for.
This is the girl I went to mandir-masjid-gurudwara-church for.
She was here.
Sleeping on my side.
In my life.
In my arms last night.
I exhaled deeply.
"Meri Isha," I whispered, "agar main apko aise roz dekh paun na… toh main dus baar mandir jaaun."
I touched her forehead lightly. She didn't move.
Then I thought:
"Okay… if I woke up early, then why not make breakfast for her?"
I smiled at myself.
So I got up, went to my chamber kitchen — the small private one attached to my room.
Before Isha returned to my life, I had already prepared everything for her without telling anyone:
– her clothes arranged by colour
– her favourite Assesrios and scrunchies
– extra blankets because she gets cold
– and a fully stocked kitchen because I knew she never eats breakfast properly
I opened the fridge.
Half of it was stuff she liked.
Of course it was.
I whispered to myself, like a fool in love:
"Pancakes… haan, woh toh pagal ho jaati hai pancakes pe."
I took out the batter ingredients, whisked everything, and heated the pan.
The kitchen is filled with the warm, sweet smell of butter and vanilla.
Then I squeezed fresh oranges for her juice.
I made black coffee for myself.
Stacked pancakes—golden, soft, fluffy—the way she likes.
I arranged everything neatly on a tray.
Pancakes.
Orange juice.
Black coffee.
Cutlery.
A small rose from the garden—just because.
Then, holding the tray carefully, I went back into the room.
She was still curled up like a squirrel.
I placed the tray on the side table and sat beside her again.
"Isha…"
I nudged her shoulder gently.
Nothing.
"jaana… utho."
She groaned and pulled the blanket over her head.
"Go away… I don't want to… Sone do…"
I laughed softly.
I picked her up—literally scooped her tiny curled body into my arms.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," I whispered into her hair.
She fought like a kitten.
"Nahin… mujhe nahi uthna…"
"Par main uth gaya hoon," I said, teasing, "aur mujhe bhook lagi hai."
She peeked one eye open… barely.
Then she sniffed.
Then her eyes opened a bit wider.
She sniffed again.
"P—pancakes?"
Her voice was so sleepy and soft that I nearly kissed her right there.
"Haan," I said, smiling, "mere haathon ke. Fresh. Apke liye."
She sat up immediately like a five-year-old who smelled chocolate.
"You made pancakes?"
"Yes, madam."
"For me?"
"For kis aur ke liye banaunga? Dhruv ke liye?"
She shot me a tiny glare but her mouth was already watering.
I lifted the tray.
She didn't wait.
She grabbed the plate like she hadn't eaten in ten years.
"Isha… brush toh kar leti?"
With her mouth FULL of pancake, she answered:
"Mmmhmhh…"
(which I think meant: "Don't disturb me.")
I bit my lips to hide a laugh.
She was eating so fast, so happily, like she was scared someone would snatch it away.
I leaned on my elbow, watching her.
She wasn't even looking at me.
Just eating.
Her cheeks are full.
Her eyes closed in happiness.
Her legs folded like a tiny frog.
Her hair falling everywhere.
And she had no idea how beautiful she looked.
I shook my head.
"Tum na… bilkul 65 saal ki auntie ki tarah khaati ho."
She glared at me with a mouth full of pancakes.
I burst into laughter.
She swallowed and muttered, "Shut up…"
Then she looked at me…
Paused…
And suddenly her expression changed to something else.
A softness.
A nervousness.
Her eyes dropped to my lips for a second.
And then she panicked internally.
I saw it.
Her whole face went uh oh how do I kiss him with pancake mouth?
I raised an eyebrow.
"Apke dimaag mein kya chal raha hai, jaana?"
She froze like she got caught stealing.
Her mouth was still full.
"N—nothing…"
I smirked.
"Haan. Bilkul. Apke muh ke andar poora pancake factory hai aur aap kuch nahi soch rahi?"
She looked so troubled, so confused, so embarrassed that I almost pulled her into my arms again.
I pulled her straight into my arms — effortless, like she belonged there, like she always did.
Her tiny frame fit against my chest so perfectly that it made me inhale sharply.
God.
How is it possible to miss someone even when they're right in your arms?
She looked up at me, eyes still sleepy, cheeks pink, lips soft and swollen from the pillow.
"Shivansh…" she whispered, almost complaining, almost shy.
I tightened my arms around her waist.
"Hmm?"
She blinked slowly, staring at my mouth instead of my eyes, and then — like a startled kitten — she looked away immediately.
I smirked.
"So you were staring."
Her face burned scarlet instantly.
"Shut up… I—I wasn't. I was just… looking."
"Looking?" I teased. "At what? My soul? My nose? My future wife's favourite breakfast stuck on her face?"
She gasped and hit my chest lightly.
"There's nothing on my face!"
"There is," I said, leaning in.
Her eyes widened. "W-Where?"
I gently touched her cheek with my thumb.
"Here… it's called cuteness. Extremely sticky. Very hard to remove."
Her jaw dropped.
"You're impossible."
"And you're mine," I replied, my voice dropping lower. "Good combination."
She opened her mouth to say something smart, but her eyes drifted to my lips again — her expression so shy, so adorably awkward that my heart actually twisted.
She wanted to kiss me.
Badly.
But she didn't know how to start… she was hesitating, overthinking, panicking, inhaling, exhaling too fast.
I watched her.
Quiet.
Patient.
Letting her try.
She leaned forward… just one inch.
Then froze.
Her eyes darted away. "I… I don't— I mean—"
Another attempt.
She reached up, her small hand cupping my jaw with trembling fingers…
But at the last second, she panicked and turned her face away again, burying it in my chest.
"I can't do it," she mumbled against my kurta. "You're looking at me too much."
I wrapped one arm around her back and the other under her thighs, lifting her fully into my lap.
Her gasp was instant.
"Shivansh!"
"Yes?"
"You can't just— pick me up like that—"
"I can," I whispered against her forehead. "And I will."
She hid her face again, completely red.
"You want to kiss me," I said softly.
"I don't— I— maybe— no— shut up—"
"And you're failing… adorably."
She pushed at my chest weakly, embarrassed beyond belief.
"Stop talking…"
"I will," I murmured. "As soon as you look at me."
She shook her head violently.
"No!"
"Look. At. Me. Isha."
Slowly… very slowly… she raised her eyes.
Big. Black. Nervous. Innocent.
I cupped her jaw gently.
And I couldn't help it — a tired, relieved smile spread across my face.
"This," I whispered, brushing my thumb across her lower lip, "is what I begged God for. This exact moment. This exact face. This exact girl."
Her breath hitched.
"I tried," she whispered, voice tiny. "I'm just… awkward."
"You're perfect."
"No I'm not—"
"Shh."
I leaned closer.
"This time…" I murmured, "let me kiss you."
And I did.
Slow first — painfully slow.
My lips touched hers softly, giving her time… giving her space… giving her heart a whole minute to understand what was happening.
She melted instantly.
Her fingers curled into my kurta.
Her breath trembled.
Her lips pressed back — hesitant at first, then desperate, then unsure again.
I deepened the kiss only when she whispered my name against my mouth.
"Shivansh…"
That one whisper broke whatever distance was left between us.
I pulled her tighter into my arms.
Her legs instinctively folded around my waist, her small hands fisting the fabric at my shoulders like she was afraid I'd disappear.
Her breath, her heartbeat, her warmth — everything was trembling.
She wasn't thinking anymore.
Not about yesterday.
Not about her breakdown.
Not about being awkward.
She was just mine.
I pulled away only one inch, breathing against her lips.
"Still shy?" I teased gently.
She shook her head breathlessly.
"No…"
"Still scared?"
"No…"
"Still thinking too much?"
Her forehead touched mine.
"No, Shiv… not anymore."
I smiled.
"Good," I whispered, brushing her lips again.
"Because I'm not letting you go today."
She blushed so hard she hid her face against my neck.
And I held her there… tighter… longer… feeling her breath, feeling her heel, feeling myself breathe again too.
Because God didn't just give her back.
He gave me back

Author's POV
Isha's mind clicked suddenly, a jolt of realization running through her like electricity. What was she doing? She had let herself get lost in his arms, felt a warmth, a connection—something she hadn't allowed herself in years—and now… now it feels dangerous. Too fast, too close, too intimate.
Her chest heaved as memories crashed into her, uninvited: the days when she had suffered silently, the nights she had cried herself to sleep, the helplessness, the betrayal, the grief she had carried for five years. Her fingers clenched at the fabric of his kurta as a surge of panic rose inside her.
"No… no, I can't do this," she whispered, almost to herself. Her voice trembled. She pushed him away gently at first, then stronger, her heart pounding, tears threatening to fall again. "I… I can't—how can I enjoy this? How can I—after everything?!"
Shivansh froze, confusion flashing across his face. He opened his mouth, about to speak, but she cut him off with a trembling shout.
"Don't touch me! Stay away from me! Don't… don't you dare take advantage of my weak moments!" Her words were raw, jagged, and full of emotion.
"I… Isha, wait—" Shivansh tried to reach out, his voice low and concerned, "I'm not— I'm not here to hurt you, never—"
But she was already moving, panicking, her body shaking as she stumbled toward the bathroom. He followed carefully, his hands hovering, not daring to cross her boundary.
"I… I need… I need time!" she yelled, voice breaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. She slammed the bathroom door behind her, locking it.
Shivansh's heart thudded painfully in his chest. He pressed his forehead against the door softly. "Isha… please… I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. Just… talk to me when you can."
Inside, Isha leaned against the cold tiles of the shower wall, shivering as she turned on the water, letting it hit her skin cold and merciless. The icy water was supposed to awaken her, shock her into clarity, but her thoughts were still trapped in the labyrinth of her pain and confusion.
"Why… why is this happening? How can I even think about him like that? How can I—after everything—feel this warmth?" she whispered to herself, voice muffled by the sound of running water.
Shivansh's voice was soft but persistent outside the door. "Isha… I'm right here. I'm not going to cross your line. I'm not going to hurt you. Just… let me be near, even if you can't look at me yet."
She shook her head violently. "No! You don't understand… you can't… I can't…"
Shivansh closed his eyes, swallowing hard, feeling every tremor of her pain from outside the door. "I know, Isha. I know exactly what you've been through. I'll wait. I'll stay here as long as it takes. I… I just can't leave you now, not again."
Minutes stretched like hours. Isha let the water cascade over her, freezing, grounding, trying to wash away the mix of fear and desire and the leftover pain that had clung to her body for years. Shivansh didn't move. He didn't knock or push. He just stayed, breathing softly, whispering occasionally, trying to soothe her with his presence alone.
"Isha… you're safe. You're not alone. Not ever again. I promise," he murmured, voice breaking just a little.
Her hands trembled as she reached for the tap to turn the water off. For a moment, she felt utterly vulnerable, exposed, but also… relieved that he hadn't forced himself in.
"I… I need time," she whispered again, voice almost a sob.
"I'll give you all the time you need," he said, quietly, almost a prayer. "I'll wait. I can wait forever. I'm not leaving your side, ever. Not until you're ready."
She leaned against the wall, shivering but slowly breathing deeper. For the first time in years, she felt a strange combination of anger, grief, and… safety. He hadn't crossed her boundary. He was waiting, and somehow, that made the world feel a little less broken.
Shivansh's voice softened even more. "Isha… when you're done, I'll be right here. Just… come out when you're ready. No rush, no pressure. I swear."
Her hands tightened around the cold metal, her reflection in the shower glass blurred by steam and tears. Slowly, painfully, she allowed herself to calm, feeling the icy water soothe her, the reality of his patience grounding her.
Outside, he stayed in the same spot, silent except for the occasional whisper. "Isha… I'm right here. You don't have to say anything. Just… breathe. That's enough."
And slowly, he patience was on a thin line because she is not responding anymore and the water sound is coming and already minute turns into almost half an hour.
Then he did what he should have done long ago..
Shivansh froze in the doorway, his heart hammering as he saw her—his Isha—shaking, hair wet, and hands pressed against the cold bathroom door. The sounds of running water, the sudden splashes, even her ragged breathing—it all cut through him like a knife.
"Isha…" he whispered, stepping closer. His voice was soft, but every inch of his body was rigid with worry. "Hey… Isha, what are you doing? Are you okay?"
The shower paused for a second. A muffled, strained voice replied, "Stay away… don't… don't come near me!"
He halted. His chest tightened. "I'm not going to touch you without your permission. I swear. But please… talk to me. Please, just say something, Isha."
She opened the tap again, letting cold water hit her, shivering violently under it. "I… I don't… I can't…" her voice cracked. "How… how can you… how can you even… be here? After everything? You… you forced everything. You can't… can't be here…"
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, just to gather himself. "I know… I know, Isha. I know you're hurting. I know the past—it wasn't fair. I know what you went through, every single moment. And I'm sorry… for all of it. But right now, I'm not here for myself. I'm here for you."
A long pause followed. The water continued splashing, cold and unforgiving. She was trembling, and he could see her from the open doorway, pressed against the tile floor, as if she was trying to make herself disappear.
"I don't want… I can't… you don't understand! How can you… how can you…" she gasped, sobbing. "How can you… even… think that… I can… forgive you…"
He took a slow step closer, crouching so his voice would reach her ears. "I don't expect forgiveness, Isha. Not now, not ever, if you're not ready. I don't want anything from you except for you to know that I will never hurt you. Ever. Not now, not yesterday, not tomorrow. I swear on it."
She sniffled, the sound of despair and frustration rattling him. "You… don't know… you don't know what I… what I've been through… five years… five years of nothing… and you… you can't just…" Her voice broke.
Shivansh's throat tightened. His own eyes burned, and he fought the tears back. "I do know, Isha. I know every sleepless night, every lonely moment, every scar you carry. I know because I've been right here, waiting, hoping… praying. And now… now you're here, and I won't let a single second pass where I can't protect you."
She flinched as if his words touched too close, then pulled the shower knob further, letting water cascade over her shoulders. "You… you don't understand… I don't… I can't… I need… time!"
"Yes," he whispered firmly, placing a hand on the wall just a few inches from her shoulder, careful to give her space. "Time. You'll get all the time you want. I'll wait. I'll wait as long as you need. I'm not leaving. Not now. Not ever."
The water splashed harder, and she fell to her knees, pressing her face into her palms. "Why… why are you here? Why can't you leave me alone… why… why do you have to…"
"Because I love you, Isha. Because I can't… I can't stand the thought of you hurting alone. And because I need to make it right, even if it takes a lifetime."
She shook her head violently. "You… you don't get it… you don't… don't…"
He crouched lower, voice soft but firm, a tether in her chaos. "I do get it. I get it better than anyone. That's why I'm not touching you. That's why I'm standing here and listening. Say whatever you want… yell… cry… hate me… I'll take it. I'll take it all. Just… don't shut me out completely. Please."
The water ran cold over her hair and shoulders. Her breaths were sharp, and he could see the tremble in her hands. "I… I can't… I can't forgive you… not now…"
"That's okay," he said, his voice breaking softly. "Not now. Maybe never. I'll accept that. But I can't… I can't leave you here alone like this. I can't. So please… let me stay. Let me be here for you, even if you hate me. Just let me…"
She looked up, water dripping down her face, eyes wide, chest heaving. For a moment, it was like the whole world stopped, and he saw everything—the pain, the hesitation, the fear—and yet the tiny flicker of trust buried deep in her gaze.
Shivansh swallowed hard. He knew she wasn't ready, but he had to hold this space for her. "I'll stay right here, Isha. Right here. Until you tell me to go. Until you feel safe. Until… until you're ready. I promise."
The minutes stretched into an eternity. She whispered nothing, just let the cold water hit her, let her body shake, let the tears fall. And he remained, silently, firmly, unwaveringly, a shield she hadn't asked for but desperately needed.
Eventually, when her body began to tremble less, when her sobs quieted into broken, shallow breaths, he softly stepped closer. "Come out when you're ready. Take your time. I'll be right here."
No words. Only the sound of water, the quiet hum of her ragged breathing, and his heartbeat, echoing, steady, unyielding.
He stayed there until she finally took a deep breath, as the water stopped, as she wiped the tears from her face, she realized… maybe she could breathe. Maybe she could start again.
She turned the knob, and cracked the door just enough to let a sliver of light and presence meet him. His hand stayed on the wall, unwavering.
"You're still here," she whispered, voice small, unsure.
"Always," he said, voiced a gentle promise. "Always, Isha."
And in that moment, even through the storm of her pain, the walls of five years of scars began to tremble—not broken, not healed, but… moving.
The bathroom door opened slowly—just a crack, just enough for her trembling fingers to appear first. Then her eyes. Red. Swollen. Still scared, still angry, still confused.
Shivansh stood exactly where he promised.
Not touching the door.
Not moving an inch.
Not forcing anything.
He straightened a little when he saw her silhouette in the faint steam. "Isha…"
She didn't step out fully. She stayed behind the door—half-hidden, half-breaking.
"Why?" she whispered, voice barely steady.
His brows knit. "Why what?"
Her grip on the door tightened. "Why are you still here?"
"Because I told you—"
"No!" she snapped suddenly, her voice sharp like cracked glass. "Don't give me that line. 'I'll stay.' 'I'll wait.' 'I'll protect you.' Stop saying all that!"
He inhaled deeply. "Isha—"
"No! Stop calling my name like that too!"
Shivansh's jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell faster now—not in anger, but in helplessness.
She finally stepped out, wrapped in a towel, dripping wet hair stuck to her face, her eyes burning with a type of frustration that had been held too long inside.
"You don't understand anything!" she said, pushing past him, not wanting his scent close. "You think standing outside that door makes everything fine? You think waiting two hours suddenly makes you… good? Makes us… normal?"
He turned, keeping distance. "I never said that."
"You didn't have to," she shot back. "Your stupid actions say it all. The breakfast, the waking up early, all this—just stop pretending."
"Pretending?" His voice dropped dangerously low, hurt now stark in his eyes. "I'm not pretending, Isha."
She laughed bitterly—painfully. "Of course you're not. Of course Shivansh Raghuvanshi never pretends. He only destroys people and then magically expects them to return smiling!"
He stepped back as if she had slapped him.
"Isha…" His voice broke. "I'm trying."
"Well, I'm not!" she snapped. "I'm not ready to sit on your lap and kiss you and act like nothing happened!"
He swallowed.
"And I'm not staying in this marriage," she continued, breathing heavily. "I told you yesterday. I'm telling you today. And I'll tell you tomorrow again—"
"Don't," he said quietly, almost pleading. "Don't say it."
"I WILL say it!" she shouted, tears welling again. "DIVORCE, Shivansh! I want a divorce!"
He stiffened.
The word hit him harder than any wound he'd ever taken.
A visible flinch.
A barely audible inhale.
And then the crack—deep inside—echoing silently in the room.
He looked at her with something raw, unfiltered. "Why do you keep saying that like I… like I'm some kind of poison that touched you?"
She turned away, chest heaving. "Because you ARE the reason I suffered—"
"And you're the reason I survived!" he fired back before he could stop himself.
She froze.
"You think I don't remember who I was the day you were taken from me?" his voice grew louder, not angry—but desperate. "You think I don't remember what I became? I stopped living, Isha. I stopped breathing. I stopped believing in anything."
Her eyes flicked toward him, but she didn't speak.
He stepped closer—but still maintained distance. "And then you come back. Broken. Shaking. Hurt. And all you want is to run away again?"
"You don't get to say that," she whispered, shaking. "You don't get to tell me what I want or what I should feel!"
"I'm not telling you," he replied, eyes glistening. "I'm asking. Why? Why divorce? Why again?"
She sucked in a breath, her voice barely steady. "Because I'm scared, Shivansh. Because I'm tired. Because you hurt me more than anyone ever could. Because last night—this morning—I don't know who I am around you. I don't know why I feel things I shouldn't. And every time I feel something… I remember the pain too."
Her voice cracked open.
"And I hate myself for it…"
Shivansh's throat tightened, pain slicing through him. "Isha… I'm not asking you to forget. I'm asking you to not leave."
She shook her head, tears falling again. "I can't breathe here—"
"I will give you space," he whispered quickly. "Time. Distance in the same room if you need. But don't say divorce. Please. Not again. Not today."
She looked at him.
Broken. Confused. Terrified.
And angry—angry at the chaos he still created inside her.
"I don't trust you," she whispered.
"I'll earn it back," he said immediately.
She blinked hard. "What if you fail?"
"Then I'll still stay," he whispered. "Because losing you again is the one thing I won't survive."
She looked away.
Silence—thick, heavy—settled in the room.
And somewhere in that silence, the tension didn't break.
It tightened.
It twisted into something deeper.
Something frightening.
Something neither could run from anymore.
The room floor was still wet, droplets of cold water trailing across the white marble. Isha's breath trembled, her shoulders rising and falling unevenly as she sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a towel and guilt. Her hair dripped onto the mattress, forming tiny dark circles.
Shivansh stood near the door, not touching her, not stepping closer—just watching with a kind of afraid tenderness that looked wrong on a man like him.
He waited.
For her words.
For her anger.
For her anything.
And she finally gave it.
A whisper first.
A trembling shake of her head.
Then—
Again
"Divorce."
His entire body snapped like someone struck a matchstick inside him.
Shivansh inhaled sharply, the sound loud in the silent room.
"Isha…" His voice was low, almost breaking. "Please don't—"
"I want a divorce," she repeated, louder this time, eyes glassy, hurting. "I can't do this, I can't… I don't want this… I can't stay with you."
Shivansh's jaw clenched hard enough to hurt himself.
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then slowly—dangerously slowly—he walked toward her, stopping in front of her knees.
"Say it again," he whispered. Not anger. Not ego. Just pain.
"Look in my eyes and say it again."
Isha looked up, and her lips trembled.
But she still said it.
"I… want a divorce."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes?
They burned.
"You think I don't know why you're saying this?" he asked, voice heavy.
"You think I don't see you breaking from inside? You think I don't see how scared you are?"
"I'm not scared," she snapped, her voice cracking. "I'm TIRED. I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of trying to act normal. I'm tired of pretending I'm okay. You don't understand—"
"I understand everything," he shot back, stepping closer, his voice rising. "I understand your pain more than anyone. More than even you sometimes."
"You don't!" she yelled, standing now, throwing the towel on the bed. "You don't understand what it's like to relive everything in one second! To suddenly FEEL something good and then REMEMBER everything bad YOU caused!"
Shivansh stepped back like she slapped him.
The words hit him square in the chest.
He swallowed. Hard.
"So that kiss?" he whispered. "That moment in my arms this morning? That didn't come from you? From your heart? From your real feelings?"
Her lips parted.
She froze.
He knew he caught her.
Shivansh's expression cracked open with grief and anger mixing together.
"You enjoyed it, Isha," he said quietly but firmly. "You let me kiss you. You kissed me back. Don't lie now."
"I—" she stuttered, taking steps backward, hitting the wall. "I didn't mean to— I wasn't thinking— I just—"
"That's the problem!" he shouted, voice raw. "The moment you remember the past, you punish me. But the moment your heart responds to me, you punish yourself!"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"It's not that simple," she cried.
"It IS that simple," he said, breathing hard. "You're scared of being happy with me."
"I'm scared of YOU!" she screamed, chest heaving. "I'm scared of this marriage. I'm scared of trusting you. I'm scared of falling for you AGAIN because I know you can destroy me AGAIN!"
His eyes softened. Pain flickered.
And then he whispered the one thing she wasn't prepared for.
"I'm scared too."
She stilled.
Shivansh took a shaky breath, stepping closer but still not touching her.
"I'm scared of losing you again, Isha," he said, voice trembling for the first time in years. "Scared that one breakdown, one memory, one nightmare… and you'll run away."
She wiped her face roughly. "Then let me go."
"No," he said immediately. "I won't let you go."
"You don't own me!" she snapped.
"I don't want to own you!" he fired back. "I WANT YOU. I WANT US."
Her chest tightened painfully.
He continued, voice low, shaking.
"You say divorce like it's a switch. Like it solves everything. But you know the truth? You don't want a divorce. You want peace. And you think leaving me will give you that peace."
She looked away, tears blurring her vision.
He stepped closer.
"Look at me."
She didn't.
"Look. At. Me."
His voice dropped to a whisper.
She slowly lifted her eyes.
And that was his breaking point.
"If divorce was the answer," he whispered, "I would sign the papers. Right now. I swear, Isha, I would."
Her breath stopped.
"But it's not the answer. And you know that."
"I…" she whispered, voice trembling. "I just want to breathe."
He exhaled slowly, painfully.
"Then breathe. I'm not stopping you. I'm right here."
Silence followed.
A thick, suffocating silence.
Then—
Isha whispered, "You hurt me… so much."
His eyes glistened.
"I know," he whispered. "And I'm paying for it every single day I see you flinch. Every time you cry. Every time you look at me like I'm the worst mistake of your life."
Her lips quivered.
He took one step back—not forward.
Giving her space.
Giving her air.
"But don't ask for divorce," he said softly. "Not when you're hurting. Not when you're panicking. Don't destroy us in a moment of fear."
She sank to the floor slowly, overwhelmed.
Shivansh dropped to his knees too, but he didn't touch her.
He placed his hands on the floor instead, inches away.
"Isha… please," he whispered. "If you want time, take it. If you want space, take it. If you want me silent, I'll stay silent. If you want me far… I'll move away."
Her heart squeezed painfully.
"But don't say divorce…"
His voice broke.
"Don't throw away what we can fix."
She looked at him—broken, scared, confused, drowning in her emotions.
And this time…
she didn't say the word.
She just cried.
And he sat with her.
Quiet.
Hurting.
But refusing to leave.
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Ish💗