Page 63 of ARIDHI: His Never-Ending Desire

I sat curled into the living room sofa, a quiet corner of calm for once, sipping tea and flipping through the business section of the newspaper.

The headlines were predictable. Market shifts, diplomatic tensions, another startup crash.

I circled one article with a pen, noting it for later, when my mobile phone tinged with a notification.

Picking up the phone from the table, a smile formed on my lips.

I tapped on the voice notes Ruvit sent me, his voice deep and teasing.

“Jaan,” I squealed as if he was standing right in front of me, “I’m begging you to let me breathe you in.”

I didn’t realise when I started blushing.

Dark thoughts covered my brain, when familiar footsteps padded in behind me.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Reforming myself, I smiled without looking up, “Hey, bhaiya.”

Vinayak bhaiya dropped onto the couch beside me like gravity owed him a favor.

When I turned in his direction, he looked worn out. Not physically, just that faint fraying around the eyes people try to hide with smiles.

“Meeting?” I asked knowingly, lowering the phone.

He groaned, flopping his head back against the cushion, “You have no idea. Two hours of straight chaos. People arguing over percentages like their life depends on it.”

I chuckled, taking another sip of tea, “That’s because their life does depend on it.”

He tilted his head, smiling faintly, “Fair.”

I waited while he pulled himself together.

Eventually, he started recounting the highlights—profit margins, product timelines, brand projections.

Agarwal Industries, no doubt has its name established since my grandfather’s era, bhaiya’s innovation and hardwork can’t be ignored.

He made sure it remained the way our grandfather wanted, despite new trends and skills.

I listened, nodding at the right moments, adding a thought here and there.

We’d always had this rhythm since childhood—he spoke, I decoded.

Our passion for business has always been fire. But today, something was off.

His words were steady, but his eyes weren’t. They kept darting—toward the window, toward the carpet, anywhere but mine.

When he paused to take a breath, I asked quietly, “Bhaiya, is everything okay?”

His gaze snapped to me, and for a heartbeat, I saw something unguarded flash in his eyes.

Then it was gone.

“Yeah,” He said quickly, too quickly, “Just overthinking related to work stuff, that’s all.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You sure?”

Bhaiya hesitated—barely—but I caught it.

Then he smiled, ruffling my hair like I was twelve again, “Come on, don’t start turning into Ruvit with those interrogation eyes.”

I laughed, but something in my chest didn’t.

Because that flash I saw earlier—it wasn’t just stress. It was deeper. Something like guilt. Or fear.

Still, I didn’t press. Not yet.

Instead, I leaned back into the cushions, when he suddenly asked, “Speaking of Ruvit...he’s okay, right?”

My chest warmed as I recalled the voice note, “He is fine, just eager to meet me.”

“It’s just the matter of two weeks more,” He said, then added a sly smile on his face, “Then you will become Mrs. Rathore.”

My cheeks heated as bhaiya’s smile softened. Genuinely, this time.

He was saying all the right things. His voice was easy. But the weight behind it didn’t match the words.

Something was eating at him. And it wasn’t just business.

I let the silence stretch between us, just long enough for him to fill it. But he didn’t.

So I asked, one last time, my voice was barely above a whisper, “Bhaiya… is there something you’re not telling me?”

His eyes flicked back to mine—and for the briefest moment, I saw it.

Regret.

But just as quickly, it vanished beneath another gentle grin, “No, kiddo. Don’t worry. Just tired. That’s all.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

But his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Besides,” He started, his voice more calm and composed this time, “We need to prepare for your wedding.”

I nodded at him with a smile, “Yes, but I don’t want anyone to stress.”

“Everything is fair when it comes to you, little sister.” He chuckled before adding, “How is your racing hub doing?”

Yes, that. My Racing Hub.

The construction started a few days ago. And yet, it looks like a masterpiece.

“Great.” I need to check on the site.

?

The sky over Mumbai was a bleak shade of steel. Overcast, but not threatening.

It matched the concrete tones of the racing hub rising like a skeleton behind the security gates.

The site looked alive—machines growling, sparks flying in the distance as workers torched through panels.

I stepped out of the car, tugging my blazer straight. The gravel crunched under my heels as I moved toward the site entrance.

Wind brushed through the fabric of my pants as the faint scent of tar and dust filled my lungs.

There were no perfumes here, no polite voices. Just raw iron and potential.

Men in yellow helmets shouted orders over the noise of drills and generators. It was noisy, messy, but beautiful.

This was my empire.

Born not from inheritance—but from obsession.

Every beam, every bolt, every sharp corner of this design was mine. This wasn’t just a racing facility. It was a statement.

Naksh stepped behind me with the day’s checklist loaded into his tablet.

“I’ve told the safety supervisors to double-check the wind-stress simulations on the garage roofing.”

I nodded absently, my gaze scanning the tall cranes and clanging scaffolding.

“Good,” I replied, “Let’s make it quick. I want to meet with the simulation architects before lunch.”

Something about the site felt different today.

Nothing obvious. Just a tension in the air—like a pause that hadn’t yet become silence.

The cranes towered above, arms outstretched like frozen giants mid-motion.

I moved along the walkway, boots crunching across temporary gravel as the workers paused to greet me.

A few looked shocked to see me in person. I liked that. Let them know who signs their checks.

Naksh jogged over with a file. I took the file, flipping through, nodding as I walked.

The details printed in the file barely registered because my mind kept drifting.

Not to the project.

But to bhaiya’s expression this morning. That flicker in his eyes. That soft smile that felt wrong.

I hadn’t been able to shake it.

And now, standing here—on what should’ve felt like solid ground—my instincts were tapping gently at the back of my skull.

“Be careful here, ma’am,” One of the supervisors called out, “The crane’s rotating frame is mid-shift. It won’t swing your way, but still, stay focused.”

I gave him a nod before scaffolding toward the southern edge where the observation deck would overlook the track.

Naksh was explaining something about underground drainage points when it happened.

A sound.

Faint at first. And then suddenly heavy.

The ground seemed to vibrate under my feet due to the sounds of metal grating coming behind me.

Someone yelled. Then another. Their voices rose, layered with something I didn’t recognize at first.

Panic.

I turned toward the crane on the east side. Its neck had shifted.

And it snapped forward. Not slowly. Not gradually. It snapped forcefully and powerfully.

I blinked once and the world changed.

The crane lurched forward. Towards me.

The screech of steel against steel was louder than anything I’d ever heard.

And then came the wind. A heavy gust of displaced air and grit as something massive crashed to the earth.

A beam flew through the air like a javelin, landing five feet from where I stood.

I didn’t even hear myself yell as my body froze.

I didn’t feel Naksh’s hand yank me backward. I only knew that the sky had disappeared.

The air was sharp with the tang of smoke and metal and panic.

The structure beside us groaned, then caved inward—collapsing into itself with a thud that rippled under my feet.

Something exploded at the back. A power box. Sparks flared, lighting the dusty air with gold for half a second before it blinked out.

Naksh pulled me behind a stack of loaded beams. My back slammed into the concrete, and I gasped.

Breathing felt foreign. Like I’d forgotten how.

My vision was fogged in grey and panic as I saw my incomplete dream collapsing in front of me.

?

Everything slowed down after that as sirens wailed somewhere.

One of the workers was yelling that someone was trapped beneath a pile of steel rods.

Another was crying hard, panicking sobs that rose above the rubble.

My palms stung. Dust clung to every strand of my hair. My ankle throbbed where I must’ve twisted it.

But none of that mattered.

Because when I looked at the broken frame of what was supposed to be my future—my dream—I didn’t feel heartbreak.

I felt violated.

This wasn’t just a failure of machinery. This wasn’t bad luck. This was betrayal.

I stood up slowly, shrugging Naksh’s hand off my arm as he asked if I was okay.

I didn’t answer him. I just kept staring at the mess. The place that should’ve been perfect.

My bones were buzzing, not with injuries, but pain.

A kind of pain that meant I have failed.

?

I sat on the couch of the living room, with ice pressed to my ankle and silence wrapped around my shoulders.

Papa settled beside me, patting my back and continuously asking if I was fine.

Mum rushed around the house, probably preparing her herbal remedies, when she had already treated the wound.

Vinayak bhaiya was packing back and forth, the phone pressed against his ear and his tone was sharp as he barked orders for the thorough investigation of the site.

It was already 6:00 PM—four hours had already passed—and relentless and heavy rain was falling over the city.

But I was still stuck there.

The crash. The accident. The moment. Everything replayed in my mind again and again.

I probably had a hundred messages on my phone—family, partners, the media. I ignored them all.

I was too tired to pretend I wasn’t shaken.

But what kept circling in my mind like a vulture wasn’t just the crash.

It has something to do with my timing.

The placement of the collapse. The precision of how the crane landed. The way I had just stepped aside before that beam drove into me like a sword.

Too close. Too exact. Too… deliberate.

My body shivered. I shrugged off that thought. But I couldn't.

Is someone planning to kill me?

Or just wanted to scare me?

When I thought it was enough for the day to end, a sudden movement at the door throbbed everyone’s attention.

It’s rare how I didn’t even flinch at the sudden doorbell.

Papa looked up. Bhaiya stopped pacing.

Mum wiped her hands on a towel and stepped into the hallway.

Then came the knock—harder this time. Sharp. Urgent.

Mum opened the door, and my eyes widened.

I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t him. He shouldn’t be here.

He stood just outside the threshold, chest rising and falling like he’d run through the rain rather than under it.

Water streamed down the curve of his jaw, dripping from soaked strands of hair onto the marble floor.

His shirt clung to him like a second skin, plastered against his frame as if he didn’t even bother to care about the rain.

The desperation.

One hand was still clenched at his side. And his eyes…

They weren’t soft. They were storm and steel. They were grey, just like the clouds.

I didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.

I didn’t even need to.

Because in that single moment, I forgot the crash, the fear, the dust still caked into the folds of my clothes.

All I could think was—He came.

He didn’t ask for permission. He didn’t wait for anyone to speak. He stepped inside like he belonged here.

And threw himself on his knees in front of me.

Somewhere deep inside me in that moment, I felt my heartbeat do something stupid.

Like believe I was safe now. Even when I knew I wasn’t.

Nothing mattered as long as he was here.