Rajveer braced himself for the fallout. He sat rigidly on the edge of the mattress, his strict armor instinctively slipping back into place as the weight of the recording settled over the room. He expected her to turn to him with a flash of anger in her eyes. He expected disgust, or at least a barrage of sharp, demanding questions about the dangerous secrets he had brought home from Europe under the guise of a simple family wedding.
But Devika didn't yell. She didn't even look at him.
Instead, her large round eyes remained fiercely locked onto the night-vision feed, her mind operating at a terrifying, tactical velocity. The corporate ledger and the billions in offshore accounts didn't seem to register to her at all. Her entire focus was locked onto a single, chilling phrase Vishal Hooda had uttered: the attack during the baarat.
"Baarat par hamla karenge..." she murmured under her breath, her fingers twitching automatically as if she were already calculating defensive perimeters and sniper positions in her head. "Public gathering hogi. Crowd control mushkil hoga. Internal security tight karni padegi..."
She was already treating it like an operational glitch that needed immediate troubleshooting, completely bypassing the massive revelation about his secret life.
After several minutes of watching her map out tactical countermeasures in her head, Rajveer couldn't take the silence anymore. He cleared his throat, his voice dropping into a quiet, hesitant tone. "Devika... Aapko koi farq nahi padta? Un saare secrets se... jo aapne abhi sune?"
Devika finally blinked, snapping out of her tactical trance. She turned her head to look at him.
What she did next made Rajveer's heart melt completely.
She didn't look betrayed; instead, a soft, incredibly tender smile broke across her face, completely softening her fierce operative exterior. She let out a small, airy chuckle, shaking her head.
"Hume kyun farq padega, Rajveer?" she asked, her voice dropping into a soothing, gentle cadence. "Aap is gaddi ke vaaris hain. Hume pata hai ki aap jo bhi kar rahe hain, is parivar aur is rajya ki hifazat ke liye kar rahe hain. Dada sa ne aapko ye zimmedari aise hi nhi di. Aap kaabil hai iske."
She leaned slightly closer to him, her eyes searching his face with a warmth that completely dismantled his remaining defenses. "Aapke paas chahe jitne bhi secrets hon, ya aapka past chahe jitna bhi khatarnak kyun na ho... hume koi dikkat nahi hai. Humne aapse apni marzi se shaadi ki hai, toh iska matlab yeh hai ki hum aapke har ek sach ke sath khade hain."
Rajveer stared at her, completely speechless. In less than two minutes, this extraordinary woman had looked into the darkest corners of his world, accepted it without a single shred of judgment, and immediately offered to stand as his shield.
The tactical planning lasted for another hour. Together, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the dim light of the laptop, they systematically rewrote the security protocols for the upcoming baarat.
When the last encryption key was set and the perimeter commands were quietly dispatched to Vikram and Jai, Devika let out a long, dramatic sigh. Tiredly, she threw herself backward onto the mattress, her elbows still propped carefully on the mattress to keep her heavily patterned, drying hands elevated in the air.
She turned her head toward him, her eyes glittering under the dim ceiling light. "Chaliye, ab sabse important kaam, Hukum sa."
Rajveer at once turned towards her, his expression sharpening into immediate, professional focus, expecting a final, critical security threat they had missed. "Kya hua? Koi aur leak hai?"
Instead of answering, she lifted her dark, intricate palms a little higher, turning them toward him. "Apna naam dhundiye!"
Rajveer blinked, the sudden shift from high-stakes military strategy to age-old wedding tradition catching him entirely off guard. "Humara naam?" he asked, shifting his posture and sitting up properly on the bed.
"To ab kya padosi ka naam likhvayen?" she shot back, a mischievous smirk breaking across her face. "Dard de raha hai humara haath, jaldi!"
Rajveer looked at the dizzying maze of geometric lines, floral motifs, and traditional Rajput patterns covering every square inch of her skin. Realizing this was going to require precision, he carefully took the wrist of her left hand, supporting it gently so as not to smudge the dark green paste. He shifted his weight, laying down flat on his stomach beside her, his elbows propped on the mattress as he began examining the mehendi designs with wrapped, undivided attention.
He was so utterly focused on tracing the microscopic script hidden within the henna that he was entirely unaware of how Devika was looking at him. From her position on the pillow, she simply stared down at his profile, her gaze soft, warm, and intensely loving as she watched the fierce, calculating crown prince squinting at her palms like a scientist over a microscope.
The silence stretched. Twenty minutes passed, then thirty. Rajveer's brows furrowed in deep concentration, his eyes scanning her palms, her wrists, and the intricate peacock motifs, completely lost in the maze.
Finally, after nearly forty minutes of eye-straining work, he gave up. He looked up at her, his eyes silently pleading for help.
Devika let out a soft, musical giggle at his defeated expression. Leaning in slightly, she whispered a single, cryptic hint: "Finger."
His gaze immediately snapped to her fingers. He carefully inspected them one by one until his eyes locked onto her index finger. Hidden beautifully within a tight, swirling pattern of vines, the words were written in microscopic, elegant script: Rajveer Singh Rathore.
A profound wave of quiet pride and triumph washed over him. "Mil gaya," he announced, his voice dropping into a rare, boyish excitement as he proudly pointed his finger at the spot like a child showing off a prize.
Devika got up, giggling happily at his reaction as she prepared to slide off the bed to finally wash off the dried paste. But before her feet could touch the floor, Rajveer's hand shot out, gently catching her by the fabric of her sleeve, stopping her mid-movement.
"Are? Humara inaam?" he asked, his voice laced with an innocent, playful demanding tone. After forty minutes of absolute mental labor, he firmly believed he deserved a reward.
Devika paused, a knowing, playful smirk spreading across her lips as she looked back over her shoulder. "Inaam?"
Rajveer nodded in mock-seriousness, perfectly mimicking the exact authoritative expression he had seen her use whenever she was demanding her own way over the last few days.
Devika let out a soft breath, smoothing down the heavy pleats of her green lehenga by moving her waist as she stood up by the bedside. "Dete hain. Sabar kariye."
She stood there for a second, looking entirely innocent, completely catching him off guard. Then, before Rajveer could even register the movement, she suddenly bended down toward him. Her face blurred in his vision as she leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering, and incredibly warm peck right against his cheek.
The scent of her skin and fresh henna flared in his senses for a fraction of a second before she instantly pulled away, spun on her heel, and ran out of the bedroom, her anklets chiming frantically as she vanished into the dressing area.
The room fell into an absolute, ringing silence.
Rajveer remained frozen on his stomach, his hand still suspended in the air where he had been holding her sleeve. He slowly raised his fingers, his touch drifting to the exact spot on his cheek where her lips had just been. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a drum, his mind completely blank. It took a long, uncharacteristic amount of time for the sharpest mind of the Rathore lineage to finally register exactly what had just happened.
---
The next morning arrived with the thunderous sound of shehnai and dhol echoing from the main courtyard. Today was the critical 'Mame Khan' ritual—the ceremony where the maternal uncles arrive laden with gifts, clothes, and blessings for the wedding couple. Because Rajveer and Devika were the eldest bhaiya and bhabhi of the house, they held the prestigious responsibility of welcoming the uncles at the grand threshold and managing the intricate ceremonial exchange.
Rajveer stood in front of the dressing room mirror, adjusting the collar of his rich, royal blue sherwani. He had barely smoothed down the silk when the door burst open.
Devika strode in, looking like an ethereal vision in the same royal blue and gold Rajasthani poshak. Her hands, now washed clean of the dried henna, revealed a deep, rich mahogany stain. Around her neck, the royal choker sparkled, but it was the radiant, knowing glow on her face that made Rajveer's breath catch.
He immediately recalled the burning sensation of her lips on his cheek from the night before. Devika caught his reflection in the mirror, her eyes instantly dropping to his cheek before she flashed a brilliant, completely shameless grin.
"Hukum sa! Aap abhi tak taiyaar nahi hue?" she gasped dramatically, walking right up to him. Before he could utter a word of defense, she grabbed his wrist with her fresh, fragrant hands and practically dragged him out into the corridor. "Chaliye! Maamasa aur Kakasa gate par pahunch chuke hain. Agar hum late hue toh Maa sa hum dono ko kachcha chaba jayengi!"
As they reached the grand entrance, the courtyard was a sea of relatives. The maternal uncles stepped forward, their arms laden with heavy silver platters. According to custom, Devika, as the eldest bhabhi, had to perform the traditional aarti and apply the tilak, while Rajveer stood beside her to offer the ceremonial cocoanuts and shawls.
But Devika wouldn't be Devika if she didn't inject pure chaos into a solemn ritual.
As she lifted the heavy silver aarti thali, she leaned subtly into Rajveer's side, her shoulder brushing his arm. "Raj," she whispered under her breath, her eyes fixed on the approaching uncles while her lips barely moved. "Aapko pata hai, Maamasa bahut kanjoos hain. Aaj unke wallet se sabse zyada shagun nikalwana hai. Jaise hi hum tilak lagayenge, aap unke pair pakad lena aur tab tak mat chhodna jab tak woh moti rakam na nikalen."
Rajveer's eyes widened in sheer horror under his royal turban. He was the crown prince of this big empire, not a highway robber targeting his own uncles. "Devika, kya bakwaas hai yeh? Hum aisa kuch nahi karne wale," he muttered back through gritted teeth, trying to maintain a serene, welcoming smile for the guests.
"Karna padega," she whispered back sweetly, wiggling her eyebrows.
The moment the eldest uncle stepped up, Devika applied the vermillion tilak with perfect grace. But the moment Rajveer leaned down to respectfully touch his uncle's feet as per protocol, Devika deftly used her foot beneath the heavy layers of her lehenga to lightly tap the back of Rajveer's ankle, throwing him slightly off balance.
To save himself from tripping, Rajveer had no choice but to firmly anchor his hands around his uncle's knees, holding on a second longer than normal.
"Dekhiye, Maamasa! Rajveer toh aashirwad liye bina chhod hi nahi rahe hain!" Devika announced loudly, her voice dripping with innocent mischief.
The entire gathering burst into loud laughter. The uncle, thoroughly amused and delighted by his nephew's sudden, uncharacteristic 'devotion,' heartily patted Rajveer's back, pulled out a thick envelope of cash, and placed it on the platter.
Rajveer straightened up, his face flushed. He glared down at his wife, but Devika simply looked at him from beneath her translucent ghunghat, her eyes sparkling with absolute triumph. She leaned in close to hand him the next ceremonial shawl, her breath fanning against his neck. "Dekha? Humne kaha tha na. Aapka yeh gambhir chehra bohot kaam aata hai."
The contact sent a sudden, electric jolt straight down his spine. The physical proximity, combined with the shared secret of her mischief, made the formal crowded courtyard feel incredibly intimate.
Later, as the family sat down for the grand Mame Khan feast, the seating arrangement was packed. Space was tight, forcing Rajveer and Devika to sit incredibly close on a low wooden bajuot. Their knees brushed continuously beneath the heavy traditional fabrics.
Every time Rajveer tried to shift to give her space, Devika would subtly slide closer, her bangles clinking softly against his forearm. She picked up a piece of a rich, almond-stuffed mithai from her plate. Instead of eating it, she turned to him, her eyes completely devoid of the morning's teasing, replaced instead by a soft, simmering warmth.
Without a word, she held the sweet up to his lips, repeating the exact gesture he had shown her the previous night over the laptop.
Rajveer looked at her, his heart doing a violent flip against his ribs. The entire extended family was sitting right there, talking and laughing, completely oblivious. He looked into her deep, round eyes, seeing the quiet challenge and the blooming affection written clear across them.
Accepting the challenge, Rajveer leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against her mahogany-stained fingers as he took the sweet from her hand. He didn't break eye contact for a single second.
Devika's breath caught. The bold, fearless princess suddenly found herself completely trapped by his intense, unwavering gaze. The crimson flush rushed instantly to the tips of her ears, and she hurriedly pulled her hand back, her fingers tingling from the brief, electric brush of his lips.
Rajveer chewed slowly, a slow, incredibly smug smirk spreading across his face as he watched his personal wife suddenly become very interested in staring down at her empty plate, her fierce, mischievous energy completely melting into the sweet, blooming rhythm of their romance.
---
While Rajveer and Devika were navigating the sweet, electric currents of their private universe, the rest of the Rathore clan was spiraling into a collective state of panic. The family's initial suspicion from breakfast yesterday—that the newly returned heir and his bride had gotten into a catastrophic fight—was no longer just a theory. It was an established fact in the minds of their relatives, fueled entirely by a series of spectacular, unintended coincidences.
The first misunderstanding solidified during the main Mame Khan gifting ritual. When Rajveer had stood rigidly beside Devika, his intense, burning glare was entirely directed at her because she had just tripped him into hugging his uncle's knees. But to the elders watching from the couches, Rajveer's locked jaw and dark, brooding expression looked like pure, unadulterated anger directed 'at' his wife.
"Rajveer ka chehra dekh rahin hai aap," Maa sa whispered frantically to his aunt, her hands wringing in her lap. "Ek baar bhi muskuraya nhi uspar. Kaise gusse se dekh raha hai humari maasum bacchi ko."
The coincidences only worsened during the grand feast. Because the seating arrangement on the low bajots was so tightly packed, Rajveer and Devika were communicating entirely through micro-movements to avoid causing a scene. Every time Devika subtly nudged Rajveer's knee under the table to tease him, Rajveer would stiffen, clear his throat sharply, and look away to regain his composure.
To Harsh and Avani, who were watching from across the aisle like hawk-eyed detectives, this looked devastating.
"Bhaiya bhabhi ke taraf dekh tak nhi rahe hain," Jai muttered to Avani, his face falling in deep stress. "Unhone apne haath se mithai khilai, phir bhi. Silent treatment de rahe hain."
"Aur aapne dekha bhai kitni jaldi bhabhi ne apne haath kheech liye," Avani whispered, her eyes wide with catastrophic dread. "He Shiv Ji!! Kahin shaadi hote-hote in logon ka divorce na ho jaye."
Vikram, sitting nearby, ran a hand over his face in sheer exhaustion. "Uss Hooda ke chakkar mein dono ka mood kharab ho gaya hoga. Hume hi kuch karna padega."
The siblings shared a look of uniform despair, their shoulders slumping as they imagined the grand royal wedding collapsing into a cold war before it even officially began.
Meanwhile, entirely oblivious to the dark clouds of tragedy their family was inventing, Rajveer and Devika were entirely trapped in their own world. When Devika 'accidentally' bumped her foot against his under the table for the fourth time, Rajveer didn't pull away. Instead, he deliberately trapped her ankle between his own boots beneath the heavy silk of her poshak, holding her captive.
She tried to pull back subtly, but Rajveer's grip was unyielding, firm, and entirely deliberate. A frantic, chaotic flutter went off in her chest.
Glancing around the crowded hall out of the corner of her eye, she realized half the aunts were staring directly at their row.
Leaning her head marginally toward his shoulder, her voice dropped into an urgent, breathless whisper beneath her translucent ghunghat. "Nhi karen. Itne saare log hain. Izzat ka khayal karen!"
Rajveer didn't move a single muscle in his face. To the rest of the dining hall, the eldest Rathore heir looked as regal, stern, and unbothered as ever, his posture stiff and disciplined. But beneath the edge of his royal turban, a dark, rich amusement danced in his eyes.
He leaned in just enough for his deep voice to cut through the clinking of silver cutlery, hiding a heavy smirk as he spoke directly into her ear. "Kyun? Aapne bada khayal kar liya humari izzat ka. Subah se tang kar rahi hain hume!"
Devika's breath hitched at his sheer audacity. Realizing her formal pleas weren't going to loosen the trap around her ankle, she completely abandoned her tactical persona.
She turned her face toward him, her lower lip instantly pushing out into a ridiculously cute, dramatic pout. Her big, round eyes looked up at him with a look of pure, exaggerated innocence as she gave a tiny, desperate tug against his boots.
"Hum to bacche haina," she whispered back in a small, whining tone, her voice dripping with mock helplessness. "Taras khao dimple waale handsome aadmi!"
Rajveer's chest rumbled with a quiet, suppressed laugh.
He slowly, deliberately released his grip, his boots sliding back just an inch to give her space, though his sleeve lightly brushed against her bangles as he reached for his water.
---
Write a comment ...