Hai ..

Hello ...

Happy reading.....

This time I am updating before target but from now I am not going to update before completing the target

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Beach House – Early Morning

The soft golden hues of dawn streamed through the expansive glass wall of the secluded beach house. The ocean outside whispered lullabies in its calmest rhythm, as if conspiring with nature to preserve the tranquility inside.

Arohi stirred gently.

The warm sunrays fell across her face, causing her eyelids to flutter open. Her lashes blinked slowly, adjusting to the light—and then her eyes widened slightly as she took in the position she was in.

She was in Rudra's arms.

One of his arms was wrapped firmly around her waist, a protective hold, like he was afraid to let go even in sleep. The other arm was tucked under his head. Her own head rested against the solid warmth of his bare chest, rising and falling in sync with his deep, even breaths.

For a moment, she just lay there, still, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. His heartbeat had become her lullaby.

Slowly, she lifted her head, her tousled hair falling across her cheek. Her gaze found his face. His expression was serene—his lips relaxed, his eyes closed, his breathing soft. He looked like peace personified, untouched by the chaos of the world.

And then—

Last night came rushing back.

The wine.

Her laughter.

Her tears.

How she had finally broken her silence.

How she told him everything.

And how he—without blinking—had held her and promised to fight for her… even if it meant going against her sister.

A sharp ache bloomed in her chest.

A single tear rolled down from the corner of her eye and disappeared into the fabric clinging to his skin. She quickly lowered her head back to his chest, curling closer, as if the closeness would somehow delay the heartbreak she knew was inevitable.

She whispered to herself, barely audible, as if scared her words might shatter the fragile peace of the morning:

“I understand your feelings, Rudra… I really do. But you deserve someone so much better than me. I know you'd never leave me… but I can’t stay with you either. Everyone who gets close to me… their life falls into darkness. That’s why staying away from me is better for you.”

Her voice cracked with the weight of her own belief.

She sniffed, composing herself, and continued softly:

“I see how hard you’re trying… but I can’t choose between you and my mission. I made a promise to myself… and until I succeed in what I set out to do, I won’t be able to live in peace.”

It wasn’t rejection.

It was restraint.

A fight between love and purpose.

And for now, purpose was winning.

Her voice was filled with quiet pain. Not because she didn’t love him—she did. But her goal was a shadow that refused to let her rest.

She gently lifted her face, brushed away the wetness from her cheeks, and placed the softest kiss on his cheek—a silent thank you, a silent goodbye, a silent apology.

Then she whispered near his ear:

"Sorry… for breaking your heart… again and again."

As the sunbeams dared to stretch across Rudra’s face, Arohi frowned protectively. She slowly and carefully untangled herself from his embrace—his arms loosened without protest. She didn’t want to wake him, not when he looked so content, so peaceful.

Grabbing her dupatta from the floor, she tied it between two hooks across the glass wall, creating a makeshift curtain. The light dimmed.

Then she turned and glared at the sun.

“Don’t disturb his sleep,” she murmured, like scolding an old friend. Then with a soft sigh, she disappeared into the bathroom.

And just then—

Rudra’s lips twitched. Slowly. Deliberately.

A small, victorious smirk crept onto his face.

His eyes remained closed, but his heart was wide awake.

He had heard every word.

She thought she was whispering to herself, but every confession had reached him—echoed in his chest where her head had rested. The weight of her pain, her love, her restraint—it had touched him deeper than any kiss ever could.

“i know rooh Rooh…” he thought, the name only he used for her, “…“I know, You love me just as deeply as I love you.”

Then, the smirk faded into a confident smile.

“Don’t worry. One day, you’ll say it out loud. And that day will come… that’s not a hope, that’s a Rudraksh Singh Suryawanshi promise.”

The ocean roared softly in approval, as if nature itself had chosen sides. Its waves gently lapping at the shore—carrying away her fears, and bringing his promise back in return.

********************

Otherside in ammaji khota

Early Morning

Isha slowly opened her eyes. The rays of the early sun filtered through the cracked window, casting light over the broken walls of Ammaji’s khota . But today, something felt different. There was no fear in her heart not of Ammaji, not of society, not of judgment. Only hope. For the first time in a long while, she felt alive.

She swung her legs over the edge of the cot and winced in pain as her feet touched the cold floor. The sharp ache shot up her legs, a reminder of yesterday’s bruises… but it also echoed Shivaksh’s words, strong and grounding. She took a deep breath.

“No more hiding. No more suffering in silence. I’ll face it all - on my own.”

She freshened up and dressed in a simple yellow salwar suit. A color of new beginnings. Hope. Strength. She stood in front of the small cracked mirror, tied her hair, and prepared herself for a regular day at the office - or so she thought.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air from downstairs.

“Sonali!” Isha gasped and dashed down the rickety stairs.

What she saw froze her in horror and fury.

A man had Sonali by the hair, dragging her like an animal. Mayuri was trying to stop him, but he slapped her so viciously that she collapsed to the floor.

"Saali! You ran off with all my money and now you want to stop working? Who the hell gave you the right to quit? Suddenly you want dignity? Where was this dignity for the past fifteen years? Got one job and now you're done with this work?!" he yelled, venom lacing every word.

Ammaji sat watching the scene unfold, chewing pan with an evil smirk on her wrinkled face. The other women stood nearby, helpless, scared, their eyes wide but their feet frozen.

Isha rushed forward and tried to free Sonali from his grip, but the man shoved her aside and slapped Sonali so hard that her lip split, blood trickling from the corner.

Isha's hands curled into fists. Her jaw clenched. No. Not again.

She stood up.

And without hesitation, slapped him hard across the face. The force knocked him to the ground.

Silence.

This was not the old Isha—the one who trembled, who begged for mercy.

This Isha was different. This Isha had fire.

She grabbed the man by his collar and slapped him again, this time with the back of her hand. Then another. And another. Each slap was for every woman who’d ever been silenced in Ammaji’s khota.

Ammaji rose, startled, about to interfere. But Isha turned sharply, raising a finger to her.

"Ayeeeee! Chup !" she roared, her voice echoing like thunder.

She pointed directly at Ammaji’s face.

"You stood there and watched that animal hurt everyone, and you said nothing! Then say nothing now!"

Her voice was like a blade, slicing Ammaji's pride in half.

Ammaji stepped forward in rage, but Rangeela subtly signaled her to stop—reminding her of the CCTV camera, silently recording everything… and of Shivaksh, who was watching.

Isha turned to the women who were still standing in stunned silence.

"Why are you just standing there?! What’s happening to Sonali today can happen to any of you tomorrow! Someone will come and claim your body, your voice, your dignity—just like that! And what will you do then? Keep dying every day? Or fight back once and for all?!"

Her words were fire. Truth. A war cry.

The man, furious, lunged at Isha again.

"You dared to raise your hand at me? I’ll show you what I can do—"

But this time, Isha grabbed his hand mid-air, twisted it behind his back, and pinned him with ease.

Her voice turned ice-cold.

"Till now, we stayed silent, and you all did what you pleased. But those days are over. There’s no one here who fears anymore. Understand that."

She stepped forward, her eyes blazing.

"From this moment on, no man in this khota  will raise his hand against any woman. And if anyone tries? We’ll cut that hand and hand it back to you in the other!"

Her voice wasn’t just defiance—it was a declaration of revolution.

The goon tried once more to attack, but before he could make a move, the women rallied together. One by one, they stepped forward—Mayuri, Sonali, even the timid ones—grabbing sticks, slippers, whatever they could find. And they fought back.

The same hands once decorated with delicate bangles, today became the fists of rebellion.

The same women who were once called weak showed the world what strength really looked like.

Ammaji stood frozen in the corner of the hqll, watching her empire of fear crumble brick by brick. Her lips trembled, her fists tightened around her pan, her face red with rage. And all because of one woman.

Isha.

The woman who had dared to rise.

And far away, in another part of the city, Shivaksh watched it all on his phone, through the CCTV feed. His eyes didn’t blink. His heart swelled with pride.

He whispered to himself with a soft smile,

"That is real you isha , you’re not just a survivor. You are the storm that shakes the foundation of every tyrant’s home.”

******************

Later That Morning – Beach House Kitchen

The aroma of freshly chopped garlic mingled with the scent of salt-kissed air as waves danced beyond the open glass doors. Rudra stood shirtless at the kitchen counter, a white towel hanging loosely around his neck, sweat glistening across his collarbones. The early light streamed in through the windows, casting golden lines across his tense jaw and furrowed brows.

But there was something else in the air today—unspoken pain.

Each motion of his hands was mechanical, too precise, too rushed. Like he needed to do something to drown the ache clawing at his chest. The knife in his hand sliced through a tomato, then an onion, and then—

Steel met skin.

A sharp gasp escaped his lips, followed by a loud clatter as the knife hit the marble floor. Blood surged from the gash on his palm, trickling in angry rivulets down his wrist. He stared at it for a moment… detached. As if the pain was welcome. As if he wanted to feel something that would match the torment inside.

From the hallway, a soft patter of rushed footsteps broke the stillness.

“Rudra!”

Arohi’s voice tore through the air, brittle and panicked.

She ran in, barefoot, her dupatta trailing behind her like the tail of a storm. Her eyes widened at the sight of his injury—her breath caught somewhere between horror and helplessness.

“What the hell were you thinking?! Why weren’t you careful?”

Her voice trembled, and so did her hands as she lunged for a cloth from the counter. Without thinking, she pressed it against his bleeding palm, applying pressure, her fingers brushing his skin in desperate urgency.

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.

His gaze locked on her—unwavering, stormy.

“Why do you care?”

His voice was soft. Too soft. The kind of calm that came just before everything broke.

“You don’t love me, right?”

She froze. The bloodied cloth slipped slightly under her fingers.

“You keep saying you can’t be with me. That I deserve better. Then why the hell does it matter if I bleed, Arohi?”

Her heart thudded. Loud. Deafening. She wanted to say something—anything—but her lips parted and no words came.

Because she did care. Too much. But she was too afraid to admit it.

So, she did what she always did.

She turned to leave.

The moment her fingers slipped from his hand, something inside Rudra snapped.

No. Not again. Not this time.

He moved without thinking, driven purely by emotion. In one swift motion, his uninjured hand circled around her waist and pulled her back against his chest, his grip firm—possessive. She let out a soft gasp, her back colliding with the hard plane of his bare torso. Her breath hitched as she felt his warm skin against her cotton kurti, his heart pounding just as violently as hers.

“No more running, rooh,” he whispered, his voice low, husky, thick with restrained desperation.

He turned her slowly to face him, his fingers grazing her skin, igniting goosebumps in their wake. Her hands instinctively landed on his chest to steady herself—but it did nothing to stop the way her body trembled under his touch.

Their eyes locked.

For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

And then—

He kissed her.

Not softly.

Not sweetly.

But with the kind of raw, unspoken passion that only came from a place of deep longing.

His lips crashed onto hers, hungry , aching—for everything she had tried so hard to deny. It was as if he was pouring months of silent love, hurt, frustration, and devotion into that one kiss. His hand slid up her spine, threading into her hair, anchoring her close as if letting go of her now would destroy him.

Arohi gasped against his mouth, startled by the force of his love.

But she didn’t pull away.

She couldn’t.

Because despite every wall she built, every excuse she gave herself, she was his. She always had been.

Her fingers clutched his shoulders as her lips melted into his, surrendering to the fire he ignited. The kiss deepened—slowly now, tender and bruising all at once—like they were both afraid and desperate to taste more, to say everything their words never could.

She whimpered softly when his thumb brushed along her jaw, tilting her head just enough to kiss her more deeply, more meaningfully.

Their foreheads touched when they finally parted, breathless, their chests heaving in rhythm. His eyes searched hers , not for answers, but for truth.

“You care, rooh …” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, lips ghosting against hers.

“You feel everything I feel. Even if you’re not ready to say it.”

She said nothing.

But the tears pooling in her eyes, the way her fingers gripped his arms, the way her lips still trembled from the kiss—it said more than any words ever could.

And Rudra…

He smiled through the ache in his heart.

Because even if she wouldn’t admit it today—her heart already had.

Their foreheads still touched. Her breaths were uneven, heart racing from the kiss they just shared. Rudra could feel every tremble in her body, every hesitation she tried to suppress. But still, she said nothing.

He cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing away the tear trailing down her cheek.

“Tell me something, Rooh,” he whispered, the softness in his voice almost unbearable. “Just admit it… even if it’s just once. Please.”

His words weren’t a demand.

They were a plea.

A soul-deep cry of a man holding on by a single thread.

Arohi’s lips parted, the silence stretching like a noose between them.

Her eyes flickered—pain, guilt, love, everything he wanted to see—just for a moment.

And then…

“I want to go back home.”

That’s all she said.

No eye contact. No explanations.

Just those six words.

And like that, it shattered him—for the nineteenth time.

His arms slowly loosened around her waist, as though the life had been drained from them. His fingers fell away from her face like leaves in autumn—quiet, defeated.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, soft and broken.

“Of course you do,” he murmured, eyes glistening. “Because every time I come close to reaching your heart, you shut the door harder.”

She looked away, blinking rapidly. If she met his gaze again, she might break too.

She couldn’t afford to.

Not yet.

Rudra took a step back. The space between them filled with unsaid things, with the ghost of the kiss they shared… now just a memory she’d pretend didn’t happen.

But he didn’t regret it.

He never would.

“Go,” he said quietly, almost too calmly. “But don’t pretend you’re leaving because you don’t feel anything. Leave because you’re scared of how much you do.”

And with that…

He turned away.

Letting her go, once again—while silently hoping the twentieth time, she might finally choose to stay.

*******************

The once warm glow of the beach house now felt distant, muted by the thick silence between them.

Arohi stood by the glass railing, her eyes fixated on the endless stretch of waves crashing against the shore, trying to steady the storm brewing within her. Behind her, Rudra moved without a word—calm on the surface, but his soul burned with a quiet ache.

His phone lay on the teakwood table beside the recliner. He picked it up, thumb hovering for a moment, as if hoping she might change her mind.

She didn’t.

"Get the jet ready," he said into the phone, his voice low, clipped. "We leave for Mumbai in an hour.  "

The pilot acknowledged the command.

Rudra ended the call and set the phone down gently, like every movement now had to be calculated, restrained. Because his emotions? They weren’t.

He stood still for a moment, watching her. The way the wind teased strands of her hair. The way her arms were folded tightly around herself—as if protecting her heart from the one man who had already claimed it.

"It’s done," he said finally, his voice carried gently by the breeze. "The jet will be ready soon."

She didn’t turn. Only nodded once. A small, mechanical gesture.

Rudra ran a hand through his hair, swallowing hard. He wanted to say something—anything—that could make her stay, even if it was just one more day. But he knew better now.

So he looked at her for a moment longer.

Then turned and walked away, not because he gave up—but because love sometimes meant giving space, even when it tore you apart.

*****************

Absolutely, Devi. Here's a detailed and emotionally rich scene set in the grandeur of Shivaksh Haveli, with a slow-burn tension within Shivaksh as the world around him celebrates.

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Shivaksh Haveli – Grand Living Room

The golden light of the late afternoon poured through the high-arched jharokhas of the ancestral haveli, setting the ornate marble floors aglow with a royal warmth. Chandeliers sparkled above, and fresh mogra garlands draped the carved pillars, adding a heady fragrance to the air.

The Shivaksh Haveli, centuries old yet untouched in its elegance, was alive with celebration today. The royal family of Udaipur had gathered—graceful women in silks, men in regal bandhgalas, and elders seated with pride in their eyes. Laughter rang like temple bells as silver trays of sweets and sharbat passed from hand to hand.

In the center of it all sat Hukum Sa Shivaksh Singh suryawanshi, poised in his ivory kurta with gold threadwork, his face calm… too calm.

Beside him, Rani Madhavi, his mother, glowed with pride. A woman of fierce dignity and gentle words, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Shivaksh," she said, turning toward the dignified young woman seated across from him, "meet Sugandha again… properly this time. Not across business tables and briefings."

Shivaksh offered a practiced, respectful smile as his gaze met Sugandha’s—Princess of Jaisalmer. Elegant, articulate, refined. They had indeed met a few times—she was poised and graceful, every inch the perfect royal bride.

Sugandha gave a slight nod, her voice polite. “It’s a pleasure, Hukum.”

Everyone seemed content. The elders smiled with satisfaction. The dates were being finalized. Panditji was reciting auspicious timings.

But amid the noise and joy, Shivaksh's chest felt heavy. Not with pressure. But with something unexplained… and frighteningly real.

“What’s happening to me?”

He sat still, hands folded, but his thoughts were a storm behind his calm eyes.

“Why does this feel wrong? Everyone's happy… mother’s happy, Sugandha is perfect. Yet my heart is… restless. Why does it feel like I’m walking into something I’m not ready for?”

He stole another glance at Sugandha—her eyes calm, her smile flawless.

But the ache only grew stronger.

“Why is my mind not cooperating with my heart? Why do I feel like I’m betraying something… or someone I haven’t even met?”

His fingers curled slightly into his palm.

“This isn’t fear. It’s something deeper. As if I’m about to write a chapter that doesn’t belong to my story.”

He turned his gaze to the floor momentarily, trying to ground himself.

The claps echoed as the priest announced the wedding mahurat. Everyone rejoiced.

Madhavi turned to her son with hope. “It’s fixed, beta. Jaisth Shukla Paksha—just six weeks away. We must begin preparations immediately!”

Shivaksh nodded.

But inside him, the storm roared louder than ever.

And no one heard it but him.

*******************

Modern High-Rise – Conference Room, Mumbai

Floor-to-ceiling glass windows bathed the room in sharp afternoon sunlight, reflecting off polished wood and chrome. The city below buzzed with life, but inside the pristine conference room of Rajvansh InfraTech, the air was thick with anticipation.

Suits and ties crowded the long table, diagrams and blueprints projected on the screen. A group of eager foreign investors spoke animatedly, one of them pointing to a 3D model of a futuristic township project.

“Mr. Suryawanshi, if we secure this collaboration, your brand will redefine the cityscape. We’re ready for a 20% equity share exclusive rights on Phase 2. Just imagine the possibilities!”

But Shivendra , the man of the hour, the iron-willed tycoon known for commanding attention with a single glance, was… silent.

His elbow rested on the table, fingers pressed against his lips, eyes distant. He wasn’t watching the screen. He wasn’t hearing a single word.

Because his mind… had betrayed him.

It wasn't the project on his mind. It was her.

Isha…

Her eyes.

Soft. Honest. A storm of questions and calm in one gaze.

The way she’d touched his hand while tending to his cut—so delicately, as if afraid he’d break.

Her voice echoed in his ears now, more clearly than anything happening around him.

“Did I say something wrong, Shivaksh?”

His brows furrowed slightly.

Shivaksh?

That name again.

But why… why did it sound like she was calling out to me?

“Then why did I hear ‘Shivendra’ instead of Shivaksh?”

He exhaled slowly, the question tightening in his chest like a knot.

“…Mr. Suryawanshi? If you could just review this clause here—we’re ready to finalize.”

Silence.

All eyes turned toward the man at the head of the table.

Shivendra blinked, slowly returning to the room, but not to the moment.

Then, without a word, he stood.

No apology. No excuse.

Just a low, curt statement:

“This discussion can wait.”

And he turned—walking out of the room, ignoring the startled investors and his assistant scrambling behind him with files.

---

Corridor – Outside the Meeting Room

The hush of the hallway swallowed the chaos behind him. He loosened the top button of his shirt, like he couldn’t breathe.

What the hell are you doing to me, Isha?

You’ve only brushed against my life once, and now I can’t silence you.

His hands curled into fists as he leaned back against the cool marble wall, jaw tense.

She had no right to invade his thoughts like this. No right to make him—Shivendra Suryawanshi—lose control.

Yet she had.

And the worst part?

He didn’t want it to stop.

*********************

And that’s it for today’s chapter. I hope it touched your heart.

We all carry storms within us, some louder than others…

But life has a way of throwing a curve when we least expect it.

What kind of storm awaits them now? Will it shatter bonds or reveal hidden truths?

Stay tuned.

Your support means the world to me—your votes, your words, they breathe life into this tale.

Let’s meet in the next chapter, after 70 votes and a few heartfelt comments that reach straight to the soul.

Precap:

An unexpected turn is about to unfold… between Sh

ivaksh, Isha, and Shivendra.

Three hearts.

Two names.

One truth.

And a choice that will change everything.