Page 73 of ARIDHI: His Never-Ending Desire

The corridors of the hospital felt too quiet for my liking, even with the occasional murmur of a nurse passing by or the distant sound of beeping monitors.

That silence wasn’t peaceful.

It was the kind of quiet that seeps into your bones and makes you question everything around you.

Ruvit was alright as his injury was nothing vital. But the vulnerable image of him had gnawed at me.

The doctor said he was stable and should be kept under observation for the next five days.

But being stable wasn’t enough to make me less worried or something.

Not when he’d taken a bullet meant for me.

Not when he bled all over my arms whispering my name like a prayer he didn’t want to stop repeating.

I stood near the window of his room, staring out at the dim skyline of the morning view.

My arms folded tightly across my chest, like they were holding me together. I might shatter otherwise.

The sound of hurried footsteps pulled my attention, and when I turned to look at the approaching people, there they were.

Ruvit’s family.

Ritu aunty looked like she was about to fall down. Her eyes were dull as they landed on her son.

“Ruvit!” She gasped, rushing to the side of his bed. The tears followed their path down her cheeks.

Manoj uncle followed his wife. His eyes brimmed with pain as he placed a trembling hand on Ruvit’s shoulder.

Behind them came Manish bhaiya—composed but worried, followed by Ridhima whose face was almost pale.

She engulfed me in a hug as soon as she entered inside the room.

“Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, filled with concern. “Yes, I am fine.” I smiled faintly, when we pulled away.

And finally, Ruvit’s grandmother stepped inside.

Her eyes met mine for just a second, and I saw in them the gratitude, fear, and trust, all at the same time.

“Thank god, he is fine.” Ritu aunty whispered, brushing her fingers across his hair. “I was so scared after watching the news.”

She sniffed beside her husband as he wiped the tears from her face with his handkerchief.

“Where is Rishika?” I directed my question to Ridhima, who stood beside me, arms crossed.

“She wanted to come but she had exams. So, maa left her with Abhir.” Ridhima replied softly to which I nodded.

A few minutes later, Manish bhaiya looked at me. “Why did this happen, any clues?”

“No.” I replied firmly, not wanting to reveal anything I might know. “Not yet. But I ought to find the truth.”

I couldn’t make decisions recklessly.

It was a life or death situation, assumptions won’t get me anything. I wanted true facts.

And for that, I needed to research deeper about Ishir.

So, I decided to leave when a familiar voice called me from behind. “Aridhi.” My heel turned around on an instinct.

Grandma stood in front of me. “Let’s have a conversation.”

?

The twilight breeze, coming from the hospital window, lifted the hem of her saree ever so slightly.

A glass of untouched water rested on the small cane table beside her.

Ruvit’s grandmother, the woman I always found confusing because of her intentions and bipolar behaviour with me.

But today, I could sense something different in her.

She looked older. Not in the way time touches us, but in the way guilt does.

When she said she wanted to have a conversation with me like we were sorta long lost besties, I was wondering.

Wondering about what exactly she had in her mind even when her grandson took the bullet for me.

I thought maybe they would hate me for it. Maybe, blame me for Ruvit’s current condition.

But they didn’t.

They, in fact, didn’t talk about the accident, about my grandfather, about the press conference, nothing.

They were all so focused on Ruvit, they unseen me. I didn’t mind it but yes, I felt it deep in my heart.

But she?

Grandma took the initiative to talk to me, as if there were things that needed to be said between us.

Without the chaos of the media, family’s intervention, or the burning tension that had shadowed our house since the truth came out.

As we stepped into the soft glow of the hospital lane, I greeted her gently.

She blessed me but her eyes were fixed on some distant, unseeable point behind me, clearly avoiding my eyes.

Was she feeling awkward?

“I wanted to thank you for what you did five years ago. Thank you for protecting Ruvit.” I began, when she didn’t.

“Protecting?” She echoed. “Or hiding?” Her voice wasn’t defensive. It was rather regretful.

Although we already had this conversation before but this time, it felt more personal.

It felt like she was finally, freely admitting her wrong doings. And she was actually sorry about it.

But she wasn’t entirely wrong in that case. I realised it now, with this mess around me, how her actions were justifiable.

When the right intentions meet wrong situations, people misunderstand.

And maybe, it was too tiring to explain yourself in that situation, you let other people portray you as a villain.

Just like that, you let the fire grow until it turns against your own self.

Actually, not everything is needed to be morally right, when you are already surrounded by wrong people.

Sometimes, you have endured enough.

Her face turned slightly to meet my gaze, and I saw the lines around her eyes.

“What I did, it saved him. But it also silenced the truth, which was wrong. And I don’t know if I did that for him, or for myself.” She admitted.

The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just heavy.

“If I think from my grandpa’s side, yes, I don’t fully agree with what you did. But if I think from Ruvit’s side, it was fine. I understand why you did it and I will never judge you on the basis of that. You were scared, just like I was when I saw that video for the first time. So, we are even.”

She shook her head. “I should have known that this day was coming, whether I hid the truth or not.”

“The deed is already done. We can’t change it. But we can make it work in favour of us.” I reassured.

I just couldn’t let anyone threaten me for choosing between my late grandfather and my future husband. Anymore.

Both were the people I was gonna fight for. Towards their justice. Towards my revenge.

“You both could’ve named me in the press conference. But didn’t.” Her voice was quiet. “Why?” She asked.

I smiled. “The press conference was meant to prove me and Ruvit against the world. Not me vs him or his family.” I took a pause.

“Besides, I have more important matters to attend to.” She looked away as I added, but not before I noticed the glint of tears.

“I was wrong about you.” She looked down. “I thought you were modern. Too bold and independent. Too wrong for Rathore’s.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. Her apology was already threaded in every word she spoke.

“I’m sorry.” She confessed, her voice trembling just once. “For judging you and meddling into your professional life. For keeping the truth buried. And, for thinking you weren’t good enough for him and my family.”

I breathed in slowly, nodding once. “I’ve made peace with it. But that doesn’t mean we’re safe.”

She stiffened slightly, sensing the shift in tone.

“There’s someone out there who’s been watching everything, as we have discussed about this matter earlier. I think he might even know about you, covering up the accident.”

Now her expression hardened. Her eyes sharpened with an old fire. “Let him do whatever he wants.”

She continued. “Yeh koi khel nahi hain, Aridhi. Yeh zindagi hain. Aur yaha jeene k liye jeetna parta hain.”

(This is not a game, Aridhi. This is life. And to live here you have to win.)

I let out a small breath, seeing her confidence. That was the woman Ruvit had inherited his strength from.

But strength didn’t mean immunity. “Still,” I murmured. “Just be careful. Please. I can risk my business, not my people.”

Risking your business was nothing in comparison to risking the lives of the people you love.

And if risking my business meant I could protest my loved ones, then bring it on.

For the first time, she reached out, placing her palm over mine. It wasn’t a warm, motherly gesture.

It was a silent alliance.

“You’ve already proven yourself.” She smiled. “I believe in you and Ruvit. Together, you both are undefeatable.”

We stood like that for a moment.

Two women from different generations, brought together by one man they both loved.

?

The hospital, even at this hour, hummed with a restless energy.

It was a place I never wanted to be at because it reminded me of my helplessness when my grandfather was taking his last breath.

It was a place that always whispered vulnerability and fear into your soul.

But tonight, it held the one person I couldn’t bear to be without.

Ritu aunty’s voice on the phone had been laced with a familiar mix of exasperation and concern.

“He is refusing to eat, Aridhi, like a stubborn kid. I told him you were coming, but he just grumbled something about being tired.”

The underlying message was clear: Only you can get through to him.

My heart lurched in worry and a strange sense of inevitability.

Of course, he’d be difficult. That was Ruvit. And of course, I would go. That was me, when it came to him.

Even if it meant postponing my work.

I navigated through the labyrinthine corridors, each turn bringing with it a fresh wave of anxiety, and different glimpses of life.

When I finally reached Ruvit’s room, the door was slightly ajar. I pushed it open gently, stepping into the hushed space.

The light of a bedside lamp was casting soft shadows, and in the bed, Ruvit lay propped up, his right arm was suspended in a sling.

He looked a little worn around the edges, but his eyes, when they met mine, were the same deep, captivating pools that always managed to disarm me.

He had that peculiar look on his face, a mix of boredom, defiance, and a hint of a smile playing on his lips, as if he knew exactly why I was there.

Aunty was perched on a chair by the window, her expression a careful blend of relief and long-suffering patience.

The moment she saw me, a genuine smile touched her face, and she gave me a silent nod.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Aridhi.” She mouthed, her eyes twinkling. “He has been impossible to control.”

I walked closer to the bed, my gaze sweeping over him, checking for any subtle signs of discomfort.

My eyes lingered on the cast, a sharp pang of protectiveness hitting me. He was fine, they assured me. But still.

“What’s this I hear about a certain patient being an absolute menace, even after getting shot?” I began, my voice deliberately light.

There was a teasing lilt designed to provoke him.

“I am glad you heard that.” His voice was a little rough, but his eyes were bright, focused solely on me.

I loved how the storms and grey energy in his eyes softened into dusty clouds whenever they crashed with my oceanic eyes.

As if he saw a clearer version of himself in my eyes.

“I also heard you’re staging a hunger strike.” My arms were crossed, already in my dramatic mode.

“Refusing to eat, defying doctor’s orders, causing a general ruckus. Is this true, Mr. Ruvit Rathore?” I accused, raising my eyebrow.

He scoffed. “They are just exaggerations. A slander, in fact. I was simply contemplating my options.”

Then he shifted slightly, wincing imperceptibly, and my heart clenched.

Only if I could take over his pain.

“Contemplating your options?” My voice echoed, before I picked up the covered tray on his bedside table.

It held a small bowl of bland-looking soup, some toast, and a glass of juice.

Typical hospital fare.

“Your options include eating the very necessary food so you can take your medicine and start healing. Not starving yourself into a weaker state.”

“It’s hardly appetizing.” He grumbled, his gaze fixed on the tray with disdain.

“And don’t get me started on the medicine.” He sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes.

“I know the food here is not to your liking but the medicine is crucial, Mr. Drama King.” My tone held a playful scolding in it.

“It’s for the pain, for the infection. To make sure you get better faster so you can get out of this dreadful place.” I continued.

Then I reached out, my fingers tracing the outline of his forehead in a silent reassuring manner.

He caught my hand, his grip warm, sending a familiar jolt through me. “If I take the medicine, I’ll fall asleep. How will I stare at you then, baby?”

His voice dropped to a conspiratorial, innocent whisper, but his eyes were sparkling with mischief.

My breath caught as he smooched my wrist.

The banter, the playful jokes, the flirting, the intimate touching, it was all so undeniably Ruvit.

Amidst the lingering presence of his injury, his actions were a work of normalcy, a reminder of the vibrant, charming man he was.

For me.

A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me.

“You’ll have plenty of time to stare at me when you’re fully recovered and back to being your usual, annoying self.” I chastised, though my smile betrayed my true feelings.

Aunty cleared her throat from the corner, as if dictating her presence.

Ruvit’s eyes flickered to her briefly, a smug grin spreading across his face. “See, Mum? I told you she’d come.”

Aunty just shook her head, affection on her features. “You know, Aridhi, he wouldn’t even do anything. Just lay there, moping.”

“I was not moping.” Ruvit protested, a wounded dignity in his voice. “I was simply conserving my energy.”

“For what?” I teased. “For your grand escape plan?”

“Perhaps.” He winked. “But now that you’re here, I might just conserve it for more important things.” His gaze intensified.

“Right.” My cheeks reddened but I shook my head, pointing at the soup. “More important things like eating this.”

My expression suddenly turned stern.

“What?” Butterflies erupted in my stomach, the way he said the two syllables.

“You know I cannot have it by my own hands. So, feed me, my Mrs. Rathore.” I picked up the spoon as he declared.

I chuckled, a low sound that filled the quiet room. “Alright, alright.”

“And promise to tell me everything that happened today in detail. Don’t try to hide anything.”

His tone shifted, the seriousness breaking through his playful facade.

All the memories came crushing my brain. And I hated how easily he could see right in my mind and soul.

My smile faltered slightly. “We’ll talk about that later.” I said gently, offering him a spoonful of soup.

“After you’ve eaten and taken your medicine. One step at a time, Ruvit.”

He opened his mouth, a surprisingly obedient gesture, and swallowed the soup. His eyes, however, never left mine.

There was a silent understanding passing between us. And that moment was so intimate to be ignored.

The world outside was in chaos, fueled by lies and misunderstandings.

But between us, with our playful bickering as well as underlying worry, there was a sanctuary.

A familiar comfort that reminded us what truly mattered.

I continued to feed him, spoon by spoonful, the mundane act infused with a deep current of affection and concern.

Ritu aunty watched us, a serene smile on her face. She knew, just as I did, that this wasn’t just about food and medicine.

It was about reassurance.

It was about proving that even when the world turned against him, he wasn’t alone. He had me.

Once the bowl was empty, I handed him the glass of juice and the small cup with his pills.

He took them without argument, though he gave me another mock-dramatic sigh.

“Fine.” He mumbled, swallowing the medicine. “But I fully expect to wake up to your beautiful face. No sneaking off.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I murmured, my thumb stroking the back of his hand. “Now, try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Promise, Ardhangini?” He tilted his head, holding my hand.

Whoever said women become childish in love forgot to mention about men being childish for his woman.

“Promise.” Tilting my head, I mirrored him. He gently pressed a kiss to my knuckles, my heart fluttering.

As his eyelids began to droop because of the medicines taking effect, I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Good night, my Ruvy.”

He was safe. And I will make sure of it every time.

?

The constant ticking of the wall clock felt like a warning, against the white walls of the hospital.

Ruvit had finally fallen asleep after having his medicines.

His breathing was deep and steady.

Ritu aunty was forced by her elder son to have dinner and stay the night in Agarwal’s mansion.

I insisted on staying here because I promised Ruvit. So, here I was, sitting on the couch beside his bed.

My phone was clutched between my fingers, but I wasn’t scrolling through it.

I was deep in my own thinking because deep in my heart, Ishir’s presence at the press conference still haunted me.

It was all so wrong.

Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong face.

There was malice in his eyes that didn’t match the casual person he pretended to be before.

But I wasn’t sure, nevertheless. I still couldn’t say it with certainty.

Maybe it was really a coincidence and I was overthinking it.

With a sudden ping, my phone buzzed with a new email, grabbing my whole attention.

I unlocked the screen, expecting some random newsletter or brand promotion. But it wasn’t from Myntra. Or Nykaa. Or Flipkart.

It was anonymous.

No subject. No sender ID. Just one line in the preview. “You look beautiful even when you are scared.”

My stomach dropped.

There was also an attachment with the email, two photographs.

When I clicked the first photograph open, my whole body instantly froze except my fingers that were trembling.

Standing in the middle of Central Park, New York, my younger self—when I was just 21—was standing under an umbrella.

It was raining as faint mist curled around the trees.

My jacket was draped loosely on my shoulders, my navy blue dress fluttering against the air pressure.

My hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, my face holding no expression.

I was looking at no one in particular because it was the last time when I had admired rain.

It was the day when I went back to the USA, after witnessing the death of my grandfather in India, and becoming the business queen no one knew.

The title which should have made me happy and proud didn’t matter in that rain because it just reminded me of the tragedy and my first ever panic attacks.

But here was the catch—I never posed for this photo. I never shared it with anyone.

This angle, this distance, it was taken from across the street, behind a bush.

From somewhere that wasn’t supposed to see me.

I kept staring at the image, hoping that it might change. But it didn’t. It remained still like me.

Under the photo, was a handwritten note in red ink, in messy, almost aggressive strokes.

“You despised rain because it took your grandfather from you. And I despise it because it touched your skin.”

I dropped the phone, a brand new phone Naksh gave me, this morning.

The clatter against the floor jolted me like a slap.

My heart thundered inside my chest, slamming against my ribs like it wanted out.

He was there five years ago. He knew me before we even “met” in that very place.

He had been watching me long before he had ever approached me.

My breath stuttered when the memories of that day forced my brain to recapitulate.

Rain.

It fell in sheets, unrelenting, as if New York itself was trying to wash away the mess inside my head, but failed miserably.

I stood frozen in the middle of Central Park, a black umbrella shielding me only halfway.

My fingers were clenched around the handle, knuckles white, breath shallow.

Rain always reminded me of endings. The most tragic one belonged to my grandfather.

My boots were soaked, my dress sleeves clung to my arms, with my jacket hanging on my shoulders.

I couldn’t even feel the cold.

All I could feel was that rising sense of tightness in my chest again.

I closed my eyes harshly.

Just breathe, Aridhi. Don’t panic.

In. Out. In.

No, it wasn’t working.

Just when I was about to actually take a long breath, a gentle, careful voice reached my ears.

“Are you okay?” I flinched, even when the voice didn’t want me to get startled.

My head snapped in his direction.

He was standing a few feet away, drenching in rain as he held no umbrella, a look of deep concern etched into his otherwise clean-shaven face.

My eyes widened with suspicion.

Strangers didn’t talk to strangers here. Especially not on rain-soaked afternoons in Central Park.

“I’m fine.” I replied, almost too quickly.

“You don’t look like it.” He stepped closer but not enough to invade my space. “Sorry, I just.. you seemed like you were having a problem.”

I gripped the umbrella tighter, my throat moving down in order to gulp.

“I’m not a creep. I promise.” He smiled faintly. “I’m Ishir. Ishir Khurana.” The name didn’t register.

But the calm in his voice? It did. It broke through my panic attack, surprisingly.

“I just moved here.” I murmured, a rare confession from my tightly guarded mouth. “I’m figuring things out.”

He nodded as if he understood perfectly. “Brooklyn or Manhattan?” He asked, conversationally.

“Brooklyn.” I answered, my voice barely audible.

“Then you’ve already made a smart decision. Manhattan’s chaos is overrated.” He joked. And despite myself, I let out a weak chuckle.

His expression softened further.

“Sorry if this is strange. I’ve had days like this too.” He glanced at the sky. “The kind of rain that feels like it’s not falling, it’s ruining.”

I didn’t respond. Because his words held a gleam of power, wisdom and authority.

Somewhere, behind the curtain of wet leaves and distant honks, the world dimmed for a moment.

Not from the rain, but from the quiet sense of being seen by a complete stranger.

“I should go.” I said eventually, the moment growing too raw. But before I turned, he spoke again.

“If you ever need a place to sit and breathe, there’s a café near East 74th. Corner spot. It’s famous for espresso. You might like it.”

Then he stepped back, vanishing like he never existed.

He didn’t push. He just gave me that quiet invitation.

And for someone like me, who didn’t trust easily, didn’t ask for help, it was the first thread in a very long string.

I didn’t know it then.

But that rainy day in Central Park was the day Ishir Khurana planted himself in my life.

And today?

I was unearthing the poison beneath his roots. It wasn’t a coincidence. It was his plan.

?

The rain had cleared.

New York was still soaked in its usual cocktail of sirens, screeching tires, and endless ambition, but that day, I finally had space to breathe.

A week had passed since Central Park.

I didn’t expect to see him again.

But here I was, standing at the door of a quiet café with gold-rimmed windows and soft jazz music curling out into the street.

East 74th. Just like he’d said.

I told myself it was a coincidence.

That I wasn’t here because of a stranger’s voice in the rain. That I just happened to be near.

But I knew better how wrong I was because curiosity kills the cat.

I stepped in as the scent of roasted coffee beans hit first. Then the hum of conversations around me.

I found a table by the window and dropped my bag, ordering the strongest espresso on the menu.

I was engrossed in the format of my latest project until I heard that same manly voice. “I knew you’d come.”

When I blinked up, he was already standing in front of me, a cup in his hand, as if he’d been waiting for me to come here since that day.

I blinked again. “Ishir?” He smiled. “You remembered my name.”

“I don’t usually forget the names of strangers who appear during my breakdowns.”

“Fair.” He said with a small smirk. “Can I sit?” I hesitated before giving him a nod.

Not because I trusted him, but because something about his presence wasn’t uncomfortable.

He was just there, with no expectations.

“I didn’t expect to see you again, though.” I said, sipping my coffee. He shrugged. “That’s New York for you. Small city with big secrets.”

I raised a brow. “Is that your philosophy?” He leaned back. “No. Just an observation.”

We talked. About the city. About business. About ambitions.

He mentioned casually that he ran a tech-finance company in Brooklyn, with a few interns and too many investors.

I asked him why he approached me that day in the rain.

He paused, then replied. “You looked like someone who didn’t want to be saved, but maybe needed to be seen.”

And just like that, the walls I had so carefully built around me cracked. Not enough to collapse, but just enough to let in a shadow.

From that day on, I began to see him more.

At networking events. In business projects. On construction sites.

He always had the perfect line, the right amount of concern, the kind of friendship that didn’t ask for much, but gave just enough.

And me?

I was so focused on my goals, I didn’t think twice about the pattern.

Now, years later, staring at that photograph he mailed me, a photo that proved he was always watching me, I couldn’t help but whisper to myself.

“You found me long before I found you.”

But I promise you, Ishir Khurana. This time, I’m watching you. And I don’t forgive monsters.

Shaking my head, I scrolled down to open the second photograph.

Again, my photo. But this time? Behind the wheel.

I was smirking in the photograph, maybe from that race night.

It wasn’t just a candid click. The angle was too close as if someone had been watching me from mere feet away.

My eyes widened with horror as I zoomed in, recognising the background.

The blurred strip of concrete, the hazy neon lights, the outskirts of the city, right after I had left the highway.

A faint tremor ran through me.

It was the night when Ruvit and I went for a car date after confronting grandma.

And the race with that unknown black car guy, that wasn’t just about speed.

That was him, the stalker, Ishir Khurana, trailing me, playing with me, and testing me.

And now it all made sense.

The precision. The calculated aggression. The damn cigarette flicked out the window.

It was a message. Not a challenge.

A memory flashed like a whip, his car swerving into my lane, trying to force me to lose control.

The way he braked out of nowhere when I was about to hit the sharp turn.

Back then, I thought it was a thrill-seeker who underestimated me.

But no. He didn’t want to win.

He wanted to push me to see if I’d break. But I broke him rather.

Nevertheless, I didn’t recognise the predator wearing a familiar smile, and that’s why this photograph existed today.

Below the photograph was written. “You won the race because I let you.”

My jaw was locked, my nails digging in my skin, already feeling disgusted.

One thing was clear that he didn’t want to be my partner.

He wanted to possess me. And when he couldn’t, he tried to kill me.

A shiver crawled down my spine.

Aridhi, if he could plan to kill you, then he might have done such acts before.

And suddenly, with this conspiracy, a new thought crawled its way in.

Did he sabotage Ruvit’s car brake failure before?

But in what way, he would be connected to Ruvit five years ago?

I took a long breath. If my life was messed up, I was the reason behind it because I didn’t notice the dots before.

Damn it!

He sent me the accident video and made it public. He was behind all those anonymous messages.

He sent me that photograph of mine from the car date and from New York’s park.

And not to forget, he approached me after my grandfather’s death, even when he was living in the USA before that.

I remembered once he said that he heard about me through a common foreign-domestic project before actually meeting me.

So, it all makes sense now.

A chuckle escaped me, filled with sarcasm. “Wow, Ishir Khurana. You pretended to be my friend, played victim, and accused my Ruvit?”

I was feeling like a fool.

Does that bastard know I could file a case against him under cybersecurity?

But won’t that be an easy punishment for him? Of course, it was.

So, now you see who you have messed with.

I will tell you, what Aridhi Agarwal is. I will show you how to use someone’s trust against them.

Properly.

Standing from the couch, I walked towards Ruvit’s bed and looked over at him.

His hand was still bandaged, arm secured, but his face was peaceful. Like even in sleep, he could feel that I was near.

I caressed his hair, kissing his forehead lightly. “You always protected me, Ruvit. Even from things I didn’t see coming. And now, it’s my turn.”

The next time Ishir tried to hurt someone I loved…oh, too bad, he wouldn’t get the chance.

~·~

Aridhi be like: Tu dekh beta ab. Tujhe to me btati hu. ??

Sorry for not updating yesterday. I got a sudden assignment.

So, today, I increased the chapter length.

Hope your every doubt is cleared.

If not, the next pov will be of Ruvit. Maybe his side of story will do.

Otherwise just ask me in the comments! ??