Page 64 of ARIDHI: His Never-Ending Desire

The day dragged like a body without breath—dull, colorless, repetitive.

Meetings rolled into each other, faces blurred, and conversations faded into the background hum of disinterest.

I sat there, flipping through investment documents I didn’t care to understand, letting my fingers turn pages while my mind wandered somewhere entirely else.

The only thing that pulled me back was my phone. It buzzed once. Then again. Then again.

Not the usual rhythm of emails or reminders, but sharp and urgent. It was the kind of buzz that felt like a heartbeat gone wrong.

Still, I ignored it. Nothing could be more wrong than Aridhi not here with me.

Until the assistant walked in.

He looked like someone had handed him something he didn’t want to carry.

His steps were hesitant, his eyes searching mine like he was trying to soften a blow he couldn’t avoid delivering.

Without a word, he handed me the tablet.

I should’ve known from the way he held it. Like it burned.

The headline hit hard.

The words didn’t register at first. I just stared at them, blinking like the sentence might change.

Then I saw the image.

Her.

Her hair dusted in concrete, her cheek streaked with dirt. A scrape near her ankle.

She was upright, but something in her eyes—caught mid-expression—looked wrong.

Not fear. Not pain. Just… hollow.

Time didn’t just slow. It shattered.

I stood. My chair screeched against the floor, but I barely heard it.

There was no thought. Just movement.

I left the room without looking back. Without giving anyone the decency of an explanation. None of them mattered.

Only she did.

My fingers trembled as I booked the next nonstop flight to Mumbai. Two hours. Every second in between already felt unbearable.

Dhruv called. I didn’t pick up.

Maa’s messages poured in. I didn’t read them.

Without a few minutes, I reached Rathore mansion and went directly to my room.

I packed in a daze—if you could even call it that. Tossed whatever I saw into a bag, not thinking, not caring.

My grandmother—can she just die?—tried to stop me at the door.

“It’s inauspicious, Ruvit! You can’t meet her before the wedding. You know the rituals—”

I didn’t let her finish.

“She could’ve died. What good are rituals if she’s not alive to marry me?” I yelled.

Even Papa’s voice was calm, diplomatic, like he could reason with me. I didn’t give him the chance.

And before anybody else could speak, I was already walking out to the airport.

?

The flight was hell.

I couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t stop replaying that image of her. Her expression. Her dust-covered skin.

What if the picture had been worse? What if I’d seen a body instead of a bruise? What if I’d waited?

Ugh, no. It’s the second time when I let my Aridhi fight alone.

I kept refreshing the news, hoping for another headline. Anything to tell me she was okay. But it was all static. Repetition.

By the time the plane landed in Mumbai, I was already on my feet, pushing past the people ahead of me.

At this rate, my reputation was the last thing I could worry about.

The sky was pouring, like it had something to mourn. Or maybe it just knew I had something to protect.

Even the god knows our love story.

I got into the first cab I saw, gave the address, and sat there for barely ten minutes before the traffic froze around us.

Honks blared. Wipers slapped at the windshield. And that was enough.

I couldn’t sit still anymore.

I paid the driver, mid–way and got out.

Through puddles and streets and strangers who didn’t matter, I just ran.

Rain drenched me completely, soaked through my clothes and into my bones.

My blazer stuck to my back. My shoes squelched. My hands were cold and shaking, but none of it mattered.

I just needed to see her.

To hear her voice. To know that she was breathing.

The distance between the airport and Agarwal mansion wasn’t far when I saw the glimpse of it from the point where I was standing.

I ran in that direction and soon, in my peripheral vision, I saw the enigma.

The big iron gates of the Agarwal mansion opened the second the guards saw me.

They didn’t ask questions. Just stepped aside like they understood this wasn’t a moment anyone could interrupt.

I stepped into the house, leaving a trail of water behind me as a garden, filled with different flowers, greeted me.

And suddenly, I could feel her presence in my bones, in my whole body. As if my soul tinged with happiness due to her presence.

With the urgency and desperation, I rang the doorbell. When it didn’t work, I knocked on the door. Again. And then again.

It was her mother—my future mother-in-law—who opened the door.

Her mouth opened to speak something, but my eyes were already behind her, ready to meet those blue eyes who have been ruling over me since day one.

And there. She was there.

Sitting on the couch.

Alive.

Dressed in an oversized tshirt and shorts, an ice cube pressed against her knee, her face pale but steady.

Her father sat beside her, looking at me with sympathy.

Vinayak bhaiya paced with a phone at his ear, tension in his every move. But he stood still when he saw me, drenched in rain.

But all I saw was her.

Her eyes met mine, and in their depths, I saw a reflection of my own emotions.

The storm that raged within me seemed to find its echo in her gaze. And finally I broke.

I walked past Aarti aunty and dropped to my knees in front of my queen.

The floor was cold, hard, unforgiving—but it didn’t matter. I needed to be lower than the ground she walked on.

I needed to know I hadn’t lost her.

My hair dripped water onto the marble. My breaths came out ragged as I cupped her face.

My voice—when it finally found me—was barely above a whisper.

“Say something.”

Her lips parted, and I thought she might speak, might offer some reassurance or some words of comfort. But she didn’t speak.

But her eyes—God, her eyes—held everything I felt. Fear. Relief. Something just barely stitched together.

I didn’t know how long we stayed like that. A second? A minute?

Then she leaned in. Carefully. Slowly.

The ice cube slipped away, revealing the wound on her ankle. My chest clenched.

I held her, like she was made of something too soft that I was afraid to break with my hands.

She didn’t flinch when I reached out. Just stared. Just felt comfortable.

I hesitated for a breath, then pulled her into me. My hands wrapped around her neck as her chin met my shoulder.

Her body fit against mine like it always had—like it never forgot.

She clung to my shirt, her fingers twisting in the soaked fabric.

And I held her like I’d never held anything that mattered this much, my face buried in her hair, as I let out a shuddering breath.

I felt a sense of calm wash over me, a sense of peace that I hadn’t felt in hours.

It was as if, in this moment, everything was going to be okay, as long as we were together.

The room didn’t disappear, but it faded. The world didn’t pause, but it softened. Nothing else existed but her heartbeat against my chest.

I didn’t care how soaked I was, or how many people were watching. I didn’t care about traditions or customs or the damn wedding countdown.

I only cared about the girl who could’ve been gone today. But wasn’t.

Because she was in my arms and I knew that I had to make sure that nothing ever hurt her again, that nothing ever made her feel like she was in danger.

And I wasn’t letting her go again. Not for anything. Not for anyone.

Someone cleared their throat behind us.

I didn’t move. Aridhi didn’t either.

But the moment shattered like thin glass as we pulled back slightly.

My eyes shifted beside her. Her father’s face was unreadable. Not angry, but definitely not calm.

The silence in the room grew heavy. Not because I wasn’t supposed to be there—but because everyone knew why I was.

The rules had been broken, and no one had the heart to lecture the man who just ran through a storm for the woman he loved.

“I hope you realize what you’ve done, Ruvit,” He said, his tone low, “Coming here before the wedding, this isn’t something we can just ignore.”

I looked him in the eye, “I’d rather face a hundred rituals in hell than spend one more second not knowing if she’s alive.”

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickered between us, then landed on Aridhi, whose fingers still curled around my sleeve.

Her mother stepped in next, always the bridge between fire and fury, “Beta, we understand. We do. But this has consequences.”

“I’ll take all of them,” I said, “Gladly. Just not losing her.”

No one said anything for a moment.

Vinayak finally broke the silence with a dry sigh, arms crossed, trying to look pissed but failing.

“You’re lucky she’s okay. Or I would’ve made you take the next flight back through the window.”

I smirked faintly, “You could try.”

He narrowed his eyes, but there was a ghost of relief behind them. Even he couldn’t deny it.

The family trickled out of the room gradually, giving us the space we needed—even if it broke every custom they believed in.

It was just me and her again.

And for the first time since I walked in, I saw her fully.

Her skin was pale, her shoulders tense. The scrap on her ankle, a scarlett colour of the wound, made my throat tighten all over again.

I was still on my knees when I gently brushed a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

She met my gaze, then looked down again.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” She whispered.

“I didn’t think I’d ever stop running.” I replied.

That made her smile—just barely.

The corners of her lips twitched, then faded, “I didn’t get to process it, not really. It happened so fast. And then, you were here.”

“I shouldn’t have waited for a news alert to tell me you needed me,” I said, voice low, “I should’ve already been there. Should’ve known something was off.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like it was.”

She sighed, her arms hugging herself as she leaned forward.

“I didn’t think I was scared,” She said after a moment, “Not until everything collapsed in front of me like an incomplete dream. I was scared when I felt myself failing.”

I reached over, slid my hand into hers.

Warm. Shaking. But she didn’t pull away.

“The Aridhi I know isn’t scared of anything, especially failure.”

“I know,” She trailed, “But it just felt like that.”

“You could’ve died, Aridhi,” I whispered, diverting the topic, “And I would’ve lost my entire world without a warning.”

She blinked, tears gathering in her lashes but refusing to fall.

“You came in the rain,” She said instead, voice uneven, “Completely drenched. The entire living room floor is a mess.”

“I would’ve swum through fire if it meant reaching you faster.”

Finally, she laughed—soft and broken and perfect. Her fingers tightened around mine.

“I thought about you when it happened, and maybe that’s why, it felt like a failure.” She said.

I raised my brows, “Yeah?”

“I thought if this is the end, he won’t even be here to yell at me for not taking the damn safety measurements.”

I chuckled, “I would’ve been furious. But I would’ve held you first.”

“You did.”

“I always will.”

We sat there in silence again, her forehead resting lightly on mine, the rain still pouring outside like the world wasn’t ready to stop mourning yet.

But for now, we had peace.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway. When I looked behind, Aarti aunty walked in quietly, carrying a folded set of clothes.

“They’re Vinayak’s,” She said, placing them on the couch, “You’ll catch a cold like this.”

I looked down at myself. My clothes were soaked through, still dripping onto the carpet.

I hadn’t noticed, but now that she mentioned it, I probably looked like I’d crawled out of a river.

“Thanks, aunty,” I said, standing reluctantly, “Sorry for this mess.” I scratched the back of my neck, in guilt.

She smiled softly, “It’s a good mess. Just change before you freeze.”

She walked out with the grace only mothers carry—leaving behind warmth without saying too much.

I turned to Aridhi, who was now watching me like I was some science experiment caught halfway between soaked and stupid.

“You know,” I said, peeling off my blazer and running a hand through my wet hair, “I didn’t plan on entering your house like a romantic hero.”

She smirked, “You look like a drenched crow instead of a romantic hero.”

“A sexy crow, though.” She rolled her eyes at my comment, but the faint flush on her cheeks gave her away.

“Where should I change?” I asked, holding up the borrowed shirt.

Her gaze flicked to the hallway, then back to me.

“The guest room’s there. And mine upstairs.” She started, but I didn’t wait for the full sentence.

Instead, I stepped toward her, and before she could even blink—I scooped her up into my arms.

She gasped, “Ruvit!”

“What? Can’t a man carry his almost-wife to a warm room after surviving heartbreak, rainfall, and Mumbai traffic all in one day?”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. In my arms. Again.”

Her arms instinctively circled my neck, the same way they always had. Like they belonged there.

As I walked past the hallway to take the stairs, we heard a voice behind us.

Vinayak bhaiya, of course.

“My clothes and my sister? This is getting personal, bro.”

“I’ll return the clothes,” I called over my shoulder, “Can’t promise the sister.”

I heard aunty laugh somewhere from the kitchen, “Don’t lock the door, okay?”

“What do you mean by that!?” Aridhi replied—too fast, too defensive.

We absolutely would.

Taking the stairs and going in the way she directed, I nudged her room’s door open with my shoulder and stepped in.

The moment we were inside, the mood shifted.

Her room smelled like her—roses and worn paper and something I could never quite name. Her room speaks about her.

I placed her down gently on the bed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead.

“Still breathing?” I murmured, leaning in just enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin.

“Barely,” She whispered, eyes fixed on mine, “Your drama’s heavier than the crane that almost killed me.”

I chuckled, and without breaking eye contact, unbuttoned the soaked shirt clinging to me.

Each movement was slow, deliberate. When I peeled it off and tossed it aside, her gaze dropped.

And stayed.

Her eyes dragged over every inch of my chest, my stomach, the lines of muscle carved from years of discipline and ache.

“You’re staring.”

“I’m observing.” Her voice was far too steady for how hard her chest was rising.

“Naked observation, then?” I teased, voice low, rough.

She tried to glare. God, she tried. But her eyes betrayed her—dark, hungry, lingering.

“You were supposed to change,” She mumbled, lips parting as I moved closer, the borrowed shirt still dangling from my hand.

“Maybe I will,” I said, leaning in until our noses almost touched, “After you say thank you.”

“For?”

“For loving me like this. For surviving. For still being here when I nearly lost you.”

She exhaled, a soft, shaky laugh escaping her lips, “Desperate Romeo, huh?”

“I’d drown a thousand times if it meant getting to kiss you after.”

I tossed the dry shirt to the couch, planted one hand beside her hip, and with the other, tilted her chin up until her breath was mine.

“You scared me.” I said quietly.

Her brows pinched, lips quivering, “I scared myself.”

“I would’ve lost my fucking mind if anything happened to you, Aridhi. Don’t ever do that again.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” I interrupted, eyes locked on hers, “But I need to feel you. All of you. Right now.”

Her lips trembled.

“I didn’t know I’d miss you like this,” She confessed, “Like my soul forgot how to exist without yours.”

I kissed her. Not soft. Not slow.

Hungry. Like I was starving for her.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging me closer, deeper. Her legs locked around my waist, pulling me down until every inch of me was pressed against her.

She moaned into my mouth, and I swallowed it like it was salvation.

Her skin was warm beneath my hands, her spine arching under my touch as I slid her shirt up, baring inch after inch of the woman who belonged to me.

She shivered when my fingers grazed the underside of her ribs.

“Don’t be gentle.” She whispered against my lips, voice thick with need.

A dark smirk played on mine, “I wasn’t planning to be.”

My mouth trailed down her neck, her collarbone, marking her in ways no one else ever would.

Her nails dug into my bare back, leaving trails that burned. Her shirt disappeared somewhere behind us. So did everything.

I wanted her undone.

Completely.

Her breaths turned to gasps as I moved lower, mapping every inch of her with lips and tongue and desperate hands.

I worshipped every whimper, every arch, every tremble.

“I am yours.” I breathed, against her skin.

“Mine.” She smiled but then begged, her voice breaking, “Now hurry, I need to feel you.”

And when I finally slid into her, when our bodies met like they’d been built for collision, the rest of the world didn’t just disappear.

It burned away.

There was no rhythm. Only instinct. Only fire.

She matched me thrust for thrust, her hips rising to meet mine like she’d been waiting for this since the day we met.

She cried out my name like a prayer and a curse in one breath.

My hand tangled in her hair. Her legs locked tighter around me. We moved like something raw, something rough.

She shattered first—quiet, then loud, her head thrown back, fingers clutching me like I was the only thing anchoring her to earth.

And I followed, fast and hard, crashing into her like a tide I couldn’t stop. And just like that, I wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t just sex.

It was grief. Relief. Worship. Fury. It was a reminder that we were here.

Still breathing. Still alive.

Still, irrevocably, each other’s.

?

The room smelled like rain and skin and something sweeter—her.

We lay tangled in sheets, her leg thrown over mine, her head tucked beneath my jaw. The air was warm, a little humid, a little heavy, but it didn’t matter.

I could’ve stayed like this forever.

Her fingers were tracing idle shapes along my chest. Circles, maybe. Or nothing at all. Just a habit. Just the need to touch something real.

My hand rested on the small of her back, thumb brushing lazy patterns along her bare spine. I felt her heartbeat there, soft and steady, like it had finally calmed.

No words. Not yet.

There was no need for them.

She shifted, half-asleep, and I felt her lips brush against my collarbone. A ghost of a kiss. Maybe even accidental. Still made my pulse stutter.

“You okay?” She murmured, voice thick and groggy.

I didn’t answer. I just kissed the top of her head.

She made a content sound, something between a sigh and a hum, and curled closer.

Like she wasn’t finished being close to me. Like even the space between our breaths was too much distance.

And god, I loved her for that.

Outside, the rain had slowed. The sky still grumbled low, like a beast finally tired of roaring.

But here, in this dim, warm silence—I had everything.

Her skin. Her scent. Her breath.

I just needed to be here. With her.

She shifted slightly against me, her thigh still slung over mine, and mumbled something into my chest.

I glanced down, “What was that?”

She looked up, messy hair and sleepy eyes, a slow smirk tugging at her lips, “I said, don’t think you’re forgiven just because you showed up soaking wet and half-crazy.”

“Oh?” I raised a brow, lips twitching, “So the running through traffic, airport madness, and near heart attack didn’t earn me any points?”

“You’re at maybe 60 percent.”

“Sixty?” I scoffed, pretending offense, “Jaan, I broke every family rule, kissed you like the world was ending, and gave you a night you’re definitely going to remember.”

She bit her lower lip to hide her smile.

“Sixty-five.”

“Unbelievable,” I muttered, “Tough competition.”

She poked my chest, “You’re lucky I didn’t kick you out for tracking mud on my floor.”

“I’d do it again.”

“Track mud?”

“No. Make love to you like that.”

She flushed, eyes darting away, “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not? It’s true. You want me to lie?”

“No,” She grinned, “Just maybe whisper it next time. Less chance of me combusting.”

I leaned closer, brushing my lips against the shell of her ear, “I’d still say it,” I whispered, “Let’s have another round of sex.”

She shivered, smacked my shoulder, then tucked herself back under my arm.

Silence settled again, but it was filled with smiles and half-hearted glares.

Then, out of nowhere, she said, “So, did you bring your own clothes or are you going to wear Vinayak bhaiya’s entire wardrobe?”

I groaned, “Why would you say that while we’re cuddling? The mood is dead. Murdered.”

She burst out laughing, burying her face in my neck, “It had to be asked!”

“I’m not answering that.”

“You just did.”

We lay there grinning like idiots, her laughter slowly fading into a sleepy yawn.

“I will just buy new clothes,” I muttered, adjusting the blanket around us, “You are coming with me on the shopping.”

“Deal.” She whispered, her voice heavy with sleep.

And just like that—her fingers slipped between mine again, and peacefully slept against my chest, as if the world hadn’t tried to steal her just a moment ago.

I watched her for a long time. Memorizing the rise and fall of her breathing, the way her lashes kissed her cheeks, the curve of her mouth even in sleep.

And I made myself a promise.

Let the world burn.

Let storms return.

But she’d never face them alone again.