Page 70 of ARIDHI: His Never-Ending Desire

The morning had that fake calmness about it—the kind that makes you trust silence, until it betrays you.

I was seated at my usual seat of the dining table, still wearing Ruvit’s shirt, my hair tied in a braid.

Everything about the scene screamed normal. Comfortable.

Mum was in the kitchen humming, Papa flipping through the paper, and Ruvit scrolling his phone beside me.

Vinayak bhaiya sat across from me, still half-asleep, cradling a cup of tea and blinking at the ceiling like the fan owed him answers.

It was quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

Until it didn’t feel normal.

My phone buzzed once. Then again. Again. And fucking again.

Then Papa’s. Then Ruvit’s.

I looked down at my phone.

First instinct? A spam notification. Or maybe some new dumb trend.

But what blinked on my lock screen stopped my breath in its throat.

The silence of the house had never felt so heavy, so suffocating.

It was calm before the storm, the one I had always known was coming.

It was the one that had been a festering wound in the back of my mind for years.

And suddenly his words from yesterday echoed, a chilling whisper. “If you don’t leave him, I will release it all.”

My phone vibrated again on the polished glass table, demanding my attention.

With trembling hands, I picked my phone.

It was a news alert, one of many, but this one felt different. Personal.

I blinked as the words blurred, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I didn’t need to open the link to know. This was his warning, a threat, after all.

The air grew thick, the walls of my sanctuary closing in.

My fingers worked on the video—the accident, the crash—Ruvit’s car colliding straight into my grandfather’s.

The frame shook, the sound of metal-on-metal, and the gut-wrenching silence after.

I wanted to scream when my eyes drawn to the wall-mounted television screen. It was a mosaic of chaos.

Every channel, every news anchor, screamed the same story.

The low hum of the television quickly escalated into a cacophony of panicked voices and flashing images. It was everywhere.

The grainy footage flickered on screen, a ghost from my past.

Nah. No. Nope.

We didn’t close that matter for this. At that time, it had been a tragic accident for which rain was to be blamed.

Nothing else. Not anyone. Not Ruvit.

But now, those truths were erupting, fiery and undeniable.

A headline flashed across the bottom of the news screen that had auto-switched to a live broadcast in the background.

“Business Queen Aridhi Agarwal to marry her Grandfather’s murderer?” A venomous accusation.

A frantic reporter, drenched in the artificial glow of the studio lights, pointed at the footage, dissecting every frame, every angle.

They spoke of the unusual trajectory, the precise impact, the way it looked less like an accident and more like an execution.

The intentional murder my gut had always screamed it was. But it wasn’t, when Ruvit told me the truth.

The clatter of Mum’s spoon falling onto the marble floor was the only sound. Papa dropped the paper, stunned silently.

Bhaiya and Ruvit were staring at the television. Silent. Jaw clenched.

My breath caught. My stomach lurched. I turned pale.

It felt like someone had opened the windows of my soul and let a winter storm rush through.

My phone buzzed again, a relentless vibration against my palm. And I startled.

“Did you see it, sweetheart?”

It was him, the puppeteer, pulling the strings of my carefully constructed world, watching it unravel.

A cold dread seeped into my bones when another message flashed.

“Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I warned you.”

My palms were sweating. Not from guilt. But because it was real now.

My fear was back. Not as a memory.

As a destruction.

There was once a time when I wanted to find the so-called murderer of my grandfather.

There was once a time when I used to believe the same as these reporters claimed.

But after knowing the truth and trusting Ruvit, I shoved that memory in a corner.

However my parents?

They had accepted it as an accident long ago, buried it with grandpa, never intending to dig up the past.

Now, they have confronted with the damning footage and the media’s relentless accusations against Ruvit.

I stared at the screen, paralyzed.

The media was a frenzy, their voices overlapping, each one amplifying the next.

“Is Ruvit forcing Aridhi to marry him in order to clean his image and escape the consequences of this accident?”

The question hung in the air, a poisoned dart aimed directly at me.

I looked at the faces of my parents, occupied by news, their expressions were a mix of horror and disbelief.

Mum’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide with a dawning, terrible realization. Papa, usually so stoic, looked utterly broken.

That was enough.

I stood up slowly, as if my movement would make the world spin less violently.

My phone vibrated again.

Now everyone knows what you were trying to hide.

Your career? Finished.

Your reputation? Shattered.

Your love? Well, let’s see how long that lasts.

I turned and walked into the hallway, through the long stretch of glass and walls that suddenly felt too narrow.

Locking the door of my study, I collapsed onto the floor like my bones had finally admitted they couldn’t carry this anymore.

The room spun.

No. No. No.

Aridhi, you know, it was an accident.

Your Ruvit didn’t do anything.

He was just a victim of that accident.

I knew the truth. But the truth wasn’t loud enough in a world built on headlines and hate.

Before Jaipur’s event, my grandfather had been known simply as the formidable businessman, WAR.

His personal life, his family, had been kept fiercely private.

But then I stepped into the light, revealed my identity, and my connection to him.

And now, that connection was being twisted into a weapon against me.

And Ruvit—the love of my life.

I knew it. The stalker had unleashed his storm, and I was caught in its eye, exposed and vulnerable.

He was enjoying this. Every agonizing moment of it.

Another message popped up on the screen. Speaking of the devil, here it was.

“You could’ve stopped this, you know. All you had to do was leave him. But no, stubborn as ever, my Aridhi.”

I gritted my teeth in disgust, violently throwing the phone away.

It hit the table with a thud sound. I didn’t bother to care if it broke.

Because right now? I needed to think.

To breathe. To not go mad from the silence swallowing me whole.

The footage was everywhere. Everyone had seen it. Everyone had made their conclusions.

And I was caught in the middle of a public execution.

Of my career.

My love.

Myself.

How could I possibly navigate this, when the very foundation of my future, my love for Ruvit, was now tainted with the blood of my past?

And how could I escape the chilling grip of a stalker who knew all my secrets, and wasn’t afraid to expose them?

She walked out of the room without a word, her silence louder than the headlines blaring across every screen.

I didn’t follow her—not because I didn’t want to, but because some battles had to be chosen alone.

And if this one turned into a war, I would be waiting for her.

If she wanted to fight for us, I would become her shield, her sword, her unwavering ally.

The television played on, flashing the footage that now painted me as the villain in a tragedy.

Reporters dissected each frame like it was sacred text, amplifying it until every word burned.

“Business Queen Aridhi Agarwal to marry her Grandfather’s murderer?” The anchor’s voice was gleefully poisonous.

Another channel ran the same clip under a different banner. “Rain or Revenge? Was it a Hit and Run disguised as a tragedy?”

I didn’t speak. I didn’t blink.

Not even when the footage showed my car skidding straight into her grandfather’s vehicle, slowed down frame by frame.

I already knew what I had done—or rather, what I had been made to look like I’d done.

And for the first time, I truly understood what my grandmother had feared when she destroyed the evidence years ago.

Then came the quiet voice of Aunty, almost fragile in its disbelief.

“Is this the same scene?” She didn’t turn to face anyone, just stared at the screen with a kind of hollow devastation. “Papa’s accident?”

[Papa here refers to father-in-law.]

Uncle’s response came after a long pause. “Yes, it is.”

She raised her hand to her mouth, as if trying to hold something back—shock, grief, maybe guilt.

“But…I thought that it was just a crash due to heavy rain.” She said.

“No names were mentioned back then.” Uncle said quietly, his fingers curling against the table as if he were holding back decades of rage.

“No second car. No collision. It was gone before it reached the press.” He added carefully.

Her eyes met mine then, wide with confusion but not accusation. Not yet. “Ruvit, what is this? What are they saying?”

At least she didn’t look at me like she believed in the headlines.

Rather, she wanted me to say that it was all wrong. Fake. Incorrect.

And it was. But how do I exactly explain that to her?

Because what they were showing wasn’t fiction. It was reality. But twisted, weaponized, and dropped like a bomb.

I didn’t get the chance to speak before Vinayak’s voice echoed in the room like a cold front.

“Why is every single channel calling this an attempted murder?” His phone was still buzzing in his hand, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t need to raise his voice, the steel in his tone carried enough weight.

Uncle tried to interject, but he cut him off.

“They’re saying someone tried to kill WAR. That it wasn’t an accident. And they’re saying it was you.” He looked at me—no rage, no disgust.

There was just scrutiny in his gaze when he added. “You were in that car. Weren’t you?”

I nodded, my throat tight. “Yes.”

“And the footage?”

“It’s real.” I answered, forcing the words out like they might shatter on my tongue.

He turned to his parents next. “Did either of you know this?”

They shook their heads in unison. Aunty’s voice came out firm. “No.”

Her hands trembled. “In fact, we were told it was a weather-related crash. That his car slid into the building. There was no second vehicle. No name. Nothing.”

“We didn’t question it.” Uncle added, his tone hollow. “No one did. We accepted it out of respect for your grandfather.”

Vinayak returned his gaze to me, the weight of his silence enough to drag the floor. “What do you have to say about it?”

I stared at him for a beat.

“It was indeed just an accident.” I said the first thing that came in my mind as if I wanted to clear the most important thing first.

A sigh of relief escaped aunty’s lips.

“At that time, I didn’t know whose car collided with mine. I woke up in a hospital after the crash and my memories were lost.” I continued.

Vinayak studied me like a man trying to solve a puzzle missing just one last piece.

“You love her?” He asked suddenly. I didn’t hesitate. “With everything.”

“Then you better start explaining more thoroughly.” He said, his eyes were fixed at me.

“Because outside these walls? The world thinks you murdered my grandfather. And their WAR.” He added quietly.

Then, without any doubt, I explained everything to them.

I told them about the accident, about the day that left my memory fractured.

I told them how I woke up in a hospital with no recollection of what happened, how I believed I had simply been unlucky.

I told them how later, when the truth began to trickle back into my mind, I confronted what had happened.

I told them how the brakes had failed. How I hadn’t known it was WAR’s car until it was far too late.

How I had never been told the full story, because my grandmother had already made it disappear.

I told them everything.

When I finished, there was no sound in the room. Just the TV playing the accident footage again, like a haunting echo.

“Aridhi knew all of this?” Vinayak asked finally, his voice unreadable.

I nodded. “Yes. I told her the night of the reunion party. She chose to stay. She believed me.”

He gave a bitter chuckle, no humor in it. “Your grandmother sure knows how to clean up a mess.”

Aunty said next. “But she did the right thing. Otherwise, this was where it had led to.” She pointed at the tv screen.

“We don’t have time for that.” I looked at uncle’s hardened face, who was deep in thinking.

“There was someone who sent that same accident video to Aridhi before. You missed it at that time. And now, that someone took advantage of the video again. That means your grandmother didn’t remove all the evidence, after all. And that someone is currently a threat to us.”

No doubt from where my Aridhi got her smartness.

Vinayak nodded slowly. “Then we need to find out who’s behind it. Now.”

Aunty touched my shoulder gently, her touch warm despite everything we had just unearthed. “We believe in you, Ruvit.”

“Thank you.” I murmured. “For trusting me.” She smiled, small but real.

“Oh c’mon, you are my only son-in-law because of whom my daughter smiles everyday. Trusting you is the bare minimum.”

Vinayak stood, already texting rapidly. “I’ll prepare a press statement. We’ll shut this nonsense down before it grows teeth.”

Uncle rose too, heading toward his study. “Ruvit, go, check on Aridhi.”

As they left, I stood frozen for a moment longer, staring in the direction of hallways she had disappeared up.

Let the world scream.

Let the headlines bury me.

But if she was breaking somewhere, I needed to be the one who held her together.

While the world was accusing me of murder, the only thing that mattered was the girl who still stood beside me.

I knew where she was.

Not in her room. Not in the guest lounge. Not curled up in any corner out of guilt.

She was in the study. Her sanctuary.

The one place where no one entered unless she let them in.

The corridor outside her study was silent, too silent—like the air itself had paused to hold its breath.

The kind of stillness that felt wrong. Heavy.

I stood in front of the door, my palm flat against the dark wood. The handle was locked, as I expected.

But I didn’t knock. Not immediately.

Because a part of me was afraid of what I’d hear on the other side.

I pressed my forehead gently against the door and closed my eyes, trying to calm the erratic thumping in my chest.

That footage turned me into something monstrous.

“Aridhi,” I said softly, knowing she wouldn’t answer. “Open the door.”

No response. I didn’t expect one.

My hand stayed on the handle. Not trying to open it. Just there.

“I didn’t follow you earlier because I thought maybe you needed time. Space. But I can’t give you more of that right now. Not when I know you’re hurting.”

Still silence. Still no rustle from within.

My other hand curled into a fist at my side.

I hated this—this helplessness, this distance, this door that might as well have been a thousand miles wide.

The world outside didn’t know her.

They didn’t know how she fought to forgive.

They didn’t know how she chose love when logic told her not to.

They didn’t know how she carved peace from chaos every single day.

And they sure as hell didn’t know how she broke.

But I did. All of it.

So I stepped back, just slightly, and said the words I hadn’t used for anyone else but her. “Please.”

A moment passed.

Then another.

And finally—I heard the faintest shuffle. Like someone moving on the floor.

I leaned close again. “Aridhi?”

A shaky voice, barely audible, came through the door. “It’s broken.” My heart jumped. “What is?”

“My phone.” She murmured, more to herself than to me. “I threw it.” I closed my eyes.

Just the fact that she answered was enough to steady me for a second.

“Then let me be the one you talk to.” I whispered. “You don’t need a screen for that.”

She didn’t say anything, but I could hear her breath. Unsteady. Thin.

Like she was trying not to cry anymore because crying meant admitting it hurt.

“I can sit outside the whole night if I have to.” I said gently. “But I’m not leaving until I know you’re okay.”

The lock clicked.

It was the softest sound I’d ever heard, and yet it shattered me.

I opened the door slowly. Hesitantly.

She was on the floor, knees drawn to her chest, her head resting against the leg of the couch.

Her braid had loosened, strands falling across her face.

Her eyes were swollen, not from crying—but from breaking.

The room around her looked undisturbed. Except for her phone, lying in broken condition near the table, the screen splintered.

And her. Looking like a storm had passed through her and taken everything soft with it.

I stepped inside, slowly, as if sudden movement might make her vanish.

She didn’t look at me.

So I didn’t speak. I just dropped to the floor beside her.

I was not touching her yet. Not intruding. I was just there.

Minutes passed like that. Quiet. Breathing side by side.

Finally, she spoke. “They’re calling you a murderer.” Her voice was raw. “I know.” I said. “But you know me.”

“I thought I was prepared.” She whispered, her voice feeling foreign to my ears.

“I thought I could handle anything if it came back. But seeing it like that, I felt like I was standing in the wreckage all over again.”

I rested my forearm on the couch, just beside her head, my other hand slowly reaching for hers.

“Aridhi.” I called out, voice rough now. “You are not alone. I am here for you. Your family is here.”

She nodded slowly, not looking up.

“I know.” She replied, her voice heavy.

“But the world doesn’t care. They care what they see. And all they see is the crash. The blood. My name tied to yours.”

Her fingers twitched in mine and I tightened my hold.

“They’ll move on. Headlines will change. But I won’t. I’ll stay here. And I’ll protect you, even if it means burning down the other people.”

She looked at me finally. And I saw it in her eyes.

The fear.

Not of me. Not of the past.

But of losing control. Of being seen as weak. Of being dragged through fire while holding onto something as fragile as love.

The woman who carried something as pure as the ocean in her eyes, was now feared of drowning in it.

The woman who looked at the sky like it was her limit, didn’t dare to look at the storm covering it.

“I hate that I let him do that.” She started suddenly. “The stalker. He said he’d ruin everything if I didn’t leave you. Now, look.”

I brushed the hair from her face. “He hasn’t ruined anything. He just threw a burning matchstick. But we’re not made of paper.”

She almost smiled. Almost.

But the tremble in her lip gave her away.

I leaned closer. Not to kiss her. Just to anchor her. To show her that even here—on the floor, in this wreckage—I was hers to hold.

“You’re allowed to fall apart.” I said softly. “Just don’t do it alone.”

She leaned into me then, her head resting against my shoulder.

Slow but progress.

I wrapped my arms around her, breathing in the silence, the fear, the pain—and promising with everything in me, I wouldn’t let it consume her.

I pressed a kiss on her forehead as she was still breathing like someone who’d been held underwater too long.

Half an hour passed.

We stayed in the same position and for the sake of her, I didn’t care about my own knees.

Then suddenly, a wince escaped her lips. “Ow.” I looked down. “What happened, sweetheart?”

“My butt hurts.”

I blinked. “What?”

“This rug sucks. It’s all fancy and expensive and not the least comfortable. I think my spine is going on strike.”

I stared at her. “You had a whole meltdown and came back with butt pain as the headline?”

She gave me a side glare. “Pain is pain.” I cracked a small grin. “Want me to kiss it better?”

She shoved my arm with exactly zero amusement. “Don’t even try to.”

Ignoring the ache in my legs, I stood up, holding out a hand. “C’mon. Before your dramatic ass fuses to the floor.”

She stared at my hand like she was plotting something against it. But then she took it.

I yanked her up—on purpose—and yep, she stumbled right into me. “Ruvit!”

“What? Reflexes are part of the package.” I replied innocently, when her hand met my shoulder.

She stared, no, glared. “You planned that.”

“I have planned various things, darling, and believe me this isn’t the slightest bit of it.” My grin widened as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re such a—”

“Sexy genius?”

She snorted. “I was gonna say menace, but sure, let’s go with delusional.”

“Delusional sexy genius. Got it.”

She pulled back a little, trying to hide her smile. “You’re the worst.”

“Okay but like the fun kind of worst.” My hand slid to her waist and I finally felt at home.

She sighed dramatically. “I feel like I got hit by emotional traffic.” I said in the same dramatic tone as hers. “I was in the passenger seat.”

We stood in silence for a beat before she added. “If I was driving, you might be dead by now.”

I chuckled, tilting my head. “Already killing your future husband?”

“On the same note, I might marry someone else, more attractive than you.” She dared to shrug.

Leaning forward, I punctuated my words against her earlobe.

“Courageous of you to think about other men when I already have imprinted myself in you, Jaan. Each and every part of your body and soul is now mine, for eternity.”

She blushed when I held her hand, pressing a kiss on her engagement ring.

I reached over, brushed some hair off her face. “You okay now?”

She nodded. “Still mildly traumatized, but I think your flirting wrapped in stupidity is helping.”

“I think your mouth needs severe punishment, darling.” I held her chin with my fingers but she tilted her head.

“Even your punishment screams love, Mr. Rathore.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulder.

And I felt my muscles relaxing under her touch. I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“I’m kinda in love with you, future Mrs. Rathore. So, that’s wae, giving you a punishment actually becomes my punishment.”

She smirked. “Kinda?”

I pecked on her lips. “Madly.” Kiss. “Addictively.” Kiss. “Obsessively.” Kiss. “Eternally.” Kiss.

She looked at me for a beat, then muttered, her cheeks getting red.

“I should’ve known falling for you came with zero peace and endless poetries.” She grinned nevertheless.

“You got the exclusive package, babe. No refunds.” Her eyes turned warmer now as she replied. “Good. I’m not giving you back.”

I grinned back. “Yeah, please don’t. I’ve seen what’s out there. It’s terrifying without you.”

She laughed, the kind that made her shoulders shake.

That sound?

Yeah. That was the win.

I leaned down closer, her breath hitching. “Well, if your ass is still hurting, I can massage it for you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not funny, Ruv.”

“I’m just saying, Ruv’s Ardhangini. Supportive fiancé behavior. Nothing more.” I pulled her closer, our lips brushing against each other.

Kanhaji, I was devastatingly in love with her.

She laughed again.

Loud, this time. Head thrown back, the sound echoing through the study that moments ago felt like a coffin.

That laugh was everything.

That laugh meant I hadn’t lost her.

That laugh made me happy.

~·~

Sometimes, I think how did I make Ruvit? ???

Because I am kinda in love with the fictional male lead I created. ??

Stay tuned for the next boring chapter! ??