Morning sunlight slipped through the thin cream curtains of Isha's room, falling softly across her sleeping face highlighting her features.

She was curled up across the bed, blanket twisted around one leg while her hair spread messily over the pillow.

Peaceful.

One arm rested beneath her cheek while the other hung lazily off the side of the bed near scattered assignments and half-open medical books still lying on the bed from last night.

The room itself was tiny but comfy.

A study lamp.

Sticky notes near the wall.

Then-

TRRRRNNNNG.

Her fourth alarm screamed through the room sharply.

Isha groaned immediately, face scrunching in irritation before she blindly reached for the phone with closed eyes and turned the alarm off without even checking the time.

Silence returned. For exactly fifteen minutes before her alarm rang again.

Isha opened her eyes slowly with visible struggle, blinking groggily toward the curtains while sunlight hit directly across her face now.

"ughh..."

She sat up lazily, hair completely ruined, before grabbing a rubber band from beside the pillow and tying her open hair into a rough messy ponytail while walking toward the washroom half asleep.

Twenty-five minutes later, she walked out again already dressed for college.

Her favourite white anarkali with pink border.

Her damp hair still slightly wet near the ends.

Pretty in the effortless kind of way she herself never noticed.

One look at the time on her phone made her freeze.

"Oh shit."

She hurriedly grabbed her bag, stuffed notebooks inside, took her phone in one hand and rushed outside the room.

The dining table was occupied.

But not for her.

She didn't even glance toward the kitchen.

Didn't expect breakfast either.

Habit.

Outside, Vivaan already waited beside his bike wearing a black t-shirt and lazily scrolling through his phone.

"You're late again," he muttered while handing her the spare helmet.

"ohh, i didn't knew thank you for telling me" she replied sarcastically before sitting on bike.

Vivaan smirked while starting the bike.

The roads of Jaipur were already crowded by the time he dropped her outside college.

Before she could get down properly, he pulled out money from his pocket and pushed them toward her.

"Ishi, eat something from canteen."

She frowned immediately.

"Vivaan-"

"Take it."

She stared at him for two seconds before sighing softly and taking the money anyway.

Then she reached forward and deliberately ruffled his already messy hair.

"Sometimes I feel like you're my older brother, not younger."

Vivaan instantly fixed his hair and whispered

"Bye."

"Bye, Vee.

Isha walked toward the college building while Vivaan waited till she disappeared inside before finally driving away.

The corridor of the medical college buzzed with the usual late-morning chaos when a loud familiar voice suddenly echoed behind Isha.

"Can't you come on time at least one day?"

Isha turned instantly.

Kritika stood at corridor with two other girls beside her.

Black fitted top.

Silver hoops.

Perfect makeup.

Confidence dripping from every expression.

Meanwhile Isha stood there with slightly messy tied hair, and kurti.

Still she looks perfect

she smiled immediately and hug her. Then she whispered gently

"Happy birthday, Kritika."

Kritika hugged her back.

"Thank youuu."

Then she pulled back and looked Isha up and down dramatically.

"God, you actually came dressed like this today too."

Isha blinked.

"What's wrong with this?"

"Nothing," Kritika replied sweetly and rolled her eyes lightly before fixing a strand of hair.

"Seriously, Isha, one day I'm throwing away all your boring clothes myself."

Then she said firmly,

"You're joining us tonight, by the way."

Isha's smile weakened instantly.

"You know I don't like clubs and late night parties"

Kritika sighed dramatically.

"Oh my God, here we go again."

"I'm serious, Kritika"

"No, I'm serious." Kritika folded her arms. "Do you know how embarrassing it is when people ask why my own friend never shows up anywhere?"

A flicker of guilt crossed Isha's face immediately.

"That's not what I mean-"

"Then what do you mean?" Kritika interrupted sharply before softening her tone again almost instantly. "We're not asking you to commit murder, babe. It's literally just one party."

Party.

The word itself made something uncomfortable twist inside her chest.

Dark rooms.

Loud bass.

Flashing lights.

And suddenly-

her mind drifted there again.

That night.

The memory she spent years trying to bury deep enough that it stopped breathing inside her.

Blurred lights.

Cold fear.

Voices she couldn't remember properly anymore.

Trembling fingers.

Panic quietly crawled beneath her skin,cold and suffocating, Swallowing the lump in her throat, she looked at Kritika and whispered softly,

"Kritika, can we not just go to a cafe or movies or shopping?"

Kritika stared at her for one second before letting out a small dry laugh.

"That's why you don't have any friends, Isha."

The words landed brutally.

"So selfish."

One of the girls beside Kritika smirked slightly while Kritika rolled her eyes again.

"Everything always has to happen according to your comfort."

Isha's fingers tightened around her bag strap instantly.

The guilt came immediately.

Maybe she really was difficult.

Maybe something genuinely was wrong with her.

"No, I just-"

"Forget it," Kritika cut her off coldly before turning away.

She started walking away with the other girls.

And Isha's mind immediately spiraled toward the fear of losing the only friend she had.

"No- wait..."

She hurried after her almost immediately, nearly stumbling over her own steps.

She said quickly. "Okay, I'll come."

Kritika slowed.

Then a small satisfied smirk crossed her lips before disappearing beneath fake sweetness again as she turned back.

"I knew you would."

Then Kritika hooked her arm around hers casually.

"Good. And don't go home after classes. We're going straight to my hostel to get ready."

Isha nodded and as she turned

Thud

She slammed into something-or someone

Hard.

The collision knocked the breath right out of her, her bag slipped off from her shoulder, and the world tilted.

But she didn't fall.

A hand caught her. Not gently. Not roughly either. Just firm. Steady. Grounding. Fingers spread across her waist like a warning or a claim.

Her nose was just inches from someone's chest, the faint scent of cologne and something dangerously male lingering between them.

She looked up.

And froze.

Ocean-blue eyes stared down at her black ones, His gaze was sharp like ice.

Her eyes betrayed her before she could stop them. They scanned everything his wristwatch, the curve of his jaw, the rolled-up sleeves that made authority look effortless.

He wasn't handsome. He was intense.

He was on a call, phone pressed between shoulder and jaw but his words had stopped.

He held me there. Just long enough to feel every second stretch into something else entirely.

"Watch where you're going..." he murmured, voice deep enough to tangle around her spine.

He should have stepped away. But instead, he leaned a fraction closer, his voice dropped, ammused. Dangerous.

"...little kitten."

She couldn't speak. Her breath had caught somewhere between her lungs and throat. She looked like a girl caught in a moment she wasn't meant to survive.

His lips curled barely. Not a smile. A flicker of curiosity. Mischief. Interest.

And then he let go.

She stumbled back a step, nearly tripping over her own feet. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean-I was just-"

But he was already walking away, cool and unbothered, phone back to his ear like the moment hadn't just short circuited her entire nervous system.

She blinked after him and whispered,

"Who the hell he is?"

Kritika stood behind her, frozen mid-step, her expression unreadable. But she saw her eyes flick from her to him and back again. Jealousy flashed across her eyes.

The voice Still echoing in Isha's head.

"Little kitten"

Confused.

Kritika was staring at her and asked, "Who was he?"

Isha's shooked her head and whispered

"I don't know"

But part of her wasn't sure if she wanted to know.

---

RATHORE MANSION

A sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom glided through the iron gates of the Rathore mansion. The moment the vehicle rolled to a halt, uniformed guards straightened, their boots echoing as they marched forward.

One of them swiftly stepped up, opening the door with bowed head.

Rudraksh stepped out.

The soft thump of his polished shoes against the marble . His face unreadable, jaw clenched, eyes colder.

Not a single light was on in the main mansion. The rest of the house was asleep.

He never entered through the main hall.

He took the path only he used one that led to a separate wing, detached from the rest of the royal estate.

Glass doors slid open as motion sensors caught his presence. Inside, the ambience was dark, minimalistic, and unforgiving charcoal walls, glass floors, and a private bar glowing faint blue in the corner.

He removed his coat slowly, throwing it over the back of the chair with a heavy sigh.

Lighting a cigarette, he walked toward the balcony, shirt sleeves rolled, gaze fixed at the darkness of udaipur.

As he unlocked the phone.

3 new messages.

> "Sir, a case of internal manipulation in student files. Sensitive board matter. We request your direct presence. Royal Medical Institute, Jaipur."

Typical.

They only called when things were about to burn.

He picked up his personal phone.

Then he opened the Aarav-Dev thread. Aarav's last message was a selfie with a stupid flower filter.

He replied:

> "Anaya lands at 11 a.m. udaipur airport. You'll pick her up. Don't be late."

> "If she waits more than 3 mins, I'll kill you."

Delivered. Read. Left on seen.

He dropped both phones on couch and stood near the window.

He turned from the window, undid the cufflinks on his sleeves, and walked to washroom.

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Steam curled heavily through the black-marble bathroom.

The sound of running water echoed sharply.

Rudraksh stood beneath the shower with his head slightly lowered as cold water poured over him in heavy streams, sliding through dark wet hair before tracing slowly down the hard lines of his shoulders and back.

The tattoo stretched viciously across his skin.

A massive black snake coiled from the left side of his shoulder blade, winding diagonally across his muscular back before disappearing near his waist.

Dark.

Sharp.

The serpent's mouth rested near his shoulder, fangs slightly exposed while droplets slid across the black ink like venom itself.



Water ran slowly along the curves of the tattoo, he pushed his wet hair back with one hand before lifting his gaze toward the mirror ahead.

Blue eyes stared back at him through the steam.

Cold.

Heavy.

He shut the shower off. A white towel rested low against his waist as he stepped barefoot across the dark floor toward the balcony doors, wet hair still dripping slowly.

Droplets slid from his neck across his chest before disappearing beneath the towel.

The early udaipur air moved lightly against him as he stepped onto the balcony overlooking the enormous Rathore estate below.

Servants moved somewhere near the gardens.

Fountains echoed faintly.

Rudraksha lit a cigarette calmly.

Orange fire reflected briefly against his blue eyes before smoke curled slowly into the cold air around him.

Then-

His personal phone rang sharply against the table nearby.

A shrill ringtone breaking the silence.

Rudraksha glanced toward the screen.

Abeer Rajvansh.

A sigh left him before he picked up the call.

"What?"

"Rude," Abeer gasped dramatically from the other side.

"I'm hanging up."

"WHATTTT- NOOOOO-"

The scream was loud enough that Rudraksha pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, expression completely deadpan.

"Abeer fucking Rajvansh," he said coldly. "Speak up."

"I have an important meeting with Italian clients."

Rudraksh took another drag from the cigarette before walking back inside.

"So?"

"So?" Abeer repeated in disbelief. "SO? That's all you have to say?"

"Yes."

"Rudra," Abeer whined. "Be serious for once."

"I am serious. You have a meeting. Attend it."

"I have business to run."

That finally made Rudraksha stop.

Slowly, he turned toward the private study room connected to his wing.

Massive wooden doors opened into a dark luxurious space lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, black marble flooring, dim gold lighting, and large glass windows overlooking the estate grounds.

Files already rested neatly across the enormous desk waiting for him.

Without another word, Rudraksh disconnected the cigarette into the ashtray before walking toward the desk.

He pulled open one file calmly while sitting down in the leather chair.

Water still glistened faintly against his chest beneath the black robe he had thrown on carelessly.

"Oh," he drawled while opening the papers lazily. "So finally you remember you have a business."

Abeer clicked his tongue dramatically from the other side.

"Because the way you spend hours lying uselessly in my cabin," Rudraksha continued calmly, "it doesn't look like you own a company."

"Please, sweetheart," Abeer said dramatically. "Attend it for me."

"I'm not your slave."

"But you are my jaan."

"Dickhead."

Abeer ignored that completely.

"I'll send you the location and file. Love y-"

The line went dead.

Rudraksha had already disconnected.

For three full seconds, silence settled inside the study again except for pages turning beneath his fingers.

Then his phone buzzed once.

A message from Abeer appeared on the screen.

> Noir Vault Club, Jaipur. 11

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MedCollege, Jaipur

It wasn't every day that silence fell on the most chaotic campus in Jaipur. But that morning, it did.

Because he arrived.

The low purr of a matte-black Rolls-Royce Phantom echoed across the main gate of MedCollege, turning every head. Students, professors, even the chai-wala by the canteen paused cups mid-air.

The car door opened with a quiet hiss.

And Rudraksh singh Rathore stepped out.

Jet-black tailored kurta hugging his broad frame, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal veins and a gold strapped watch.

Behind him, his three luxury SUVs followed, his guards stepping out and melting into the crowd invisible but alert. Not because he needed protection, but because the world needed protecting from him.

Students parted like waves. Professors lowered their gazes, one tried to speak-

"Good morning, Mr. Ratho-"

"Where's the boardroom?" he cut in, voice sharp, deep. No greeting. No smile.

One of the peons stammered, "S-sir... first floor, Admin wing... left-"

He was already walking away.

Leather shoes against marble.

He reached the glass-walled boardroom, pushed open the door himself, and entered like he owned not just the room but the building.

Inside, the other members of the medical board scrambled to stand.

"Sit down," he ordered flatly. "You're wasting minutes that cost more than your salaries."

Rudraksh removed his sunglasses and placed them on the table, revealing eyes so cold they silenced every whisper.

He adjusted the gold pen in his hand. Then spoke again, firmly,

"Let's begin. And keep it short. I have more important things to do than fixing your mess."

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.

The doors of the boardroom slammed shut behind him with a quiet finality.

His expression remained unreadable, voice low as he spoke into his phone.

"Tell Singapore to wait. I don't sit in back-to-back meetings like a salaried puppet."

The polished marble corridor leading to the canteen was bustling with students.

And yet, the moment he stepped in the atmosphere shifted.

"Sir, the Jaipur press is waiting near-"

"Let them wait," he snapped, gaze fixed ahead. "I don't perform for headlines."

Then-

A sudden turn.

A girl. A flash of white.

And-

Thud.

Bag slipped, her little frame slammed into his chest.

His hands shot out. One arm wrapped around her waist, firm, dominant. The other instinctively steadied her bag.

She didn't fall. He didn't let her.

And just like that, time broke.

She looked up.

And he forgot the conversation. The corridor. Even his own name.

Eyes.

Big, black, soft too soft for this world.

Like the kind that didn't know how to hate. Like the kind you write about in poems.

She was in a simple kurti a cotton white one with a dull pink border. Loose strands of hair framed her innocent face. Her lips parted slightly, confused, apologetic.

She didn't speak. She didn't need to.

Her eyes said enough.

Startled. Fragile. And yet, something in her gaze held him still.

His fingers tightened slightly at her waist not to hold, but to feel.

She blinked.

So did he.

His voice, when it came, was low.

Velvety. Laced with dark amusement. Measured.

"watch where you're going...."

She gasped softly. Still no words.

That made him smirk.

His gaze lingered. Down to her trembling fingers clutching the edge of her bag. Then back to her eyes. The way they widened when she realized he still hadn't moved.

He leaned in just slightly enough for her to feel the heat of his presence.

"Little Kitten."

He stepped back. Just like that. Smooth. Effortless.

But something lingered in the air.

Something thick. Heavy. Unspoken.

She stood frozen heart pounding in her chest, unsure whether she should run or breathe.

"Sir... Who was that?"

Rudraksh didn't glance back. His lips curved faintly as he walked away.

"No one."

She shook her head and walked away in the opposite direction, whispering to herself,

"Who the hell does he think he is?"

Rudra, halfway up the stairs, heard her.

And smirked.

But he didn't turn back.

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Bye Airahearts💗

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(Thankyou to the readers who commented...means lot for me💗)

Ur author

Aira

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