Page 97 of Cherish my Heart

Rudrani sighs like she’s seen too much disappointment in life at five years old and flops next to me. “Papa was not happy,” she mutters, pulling at a blade of grass between her fingers.

I glance down. “About what?”

“That I had to dance with a boy in the function,” she says with an exaggerated pout, then giggles. “He glared at the poor boy like he wanted to eat him. Mumma scolded him so much. She said, ‘Grow up, Rudraksh! She’s five!’”

I burst into laughter. That sounds about right. My bhaiya has always had this unhealthy obsession with protecting what he loves, like the world’s a battlefield. God help the boy Rudrani decides to like when she’s actually grown.

“Mumma said, ‘You’re not her bodyguard, you’re her father.’ But Papa was like, ‘No boy needs to hold her hand to dance. She could’ve danced solo.’”

I snort, shaking my head. “Of course he said that.”

Rudraksh Bhaiya has always had a savior complex. As a kid, he’d walk me to school and wait outside until the last bell rang, even though we lived barely ten minutes away. And now he’s turned into the same volcano of possessiveness for his daughter.

But Bhabhi? She’s the only person on Earth who can tame that man. She just raises an eyebrow, and Rudraksh Bhaiya turns into the most obedient husband alive. I smile to myself,thinking how love makes the strongest men pliable. And clearly, my brother has no escape from his queen.

Across the verandah, Abhimaan sits on a wicker chair near the edge, his laptop balanced on his knee. His brows are furrowed as he scrolls through something, tapping intermittently, his jaw tight in concentration.

He’s been like that for the past half hour—half-tuned in to us, half-immersed in work, sleeves rolled up, hair messy from the wind. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t glanced at him at least twenty times, secretly wishing he’d look back and say something ridiculous. Or swoon-worthy. Either works.

Rudrani suddenly stands and dusts her frock like she’s about to attend a very important meeting.

“I need to go talk to him,” she says solemnly.

“Who?”

She points her chin in Abhimaan’s direction. “That man.”

I raise a brow. “What for?”

She sighs. “Grown-up things. Work. You won’t understand.”

I place a dramatic hand on my heart. “I’m wounded.”

But she’s already marching off, her tiny sandals tapping against the floor, her hair bouncing behind her. She stops in front of Abhimaan and folds her arms across her chest. Abhimaan finally looks up and eyes the five-year-old; he then looks at me as if questioning what he is supposed to do, but I shrug. I mean, I could help, but I am really interested in what is going to happen and how he will handle it.

He blinks at her, surprised. “Yes, ma’am?”

Ma’am?I almost snicker. She clears her throat. “I have a business proposal.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing, hugging Simba tighter to suppress the bubbling amusement.

“A… what?” he asks, completely thrown off.

“You work with Bua, right?” She begins, tone-dead serious. “So you must be smart.”

“Uh… thank you?”

“But not too smart,” she adds quickly, eyeing him like she’s evaluating a job candidate. “Because Bua is smarter. She helps you, na?”

He coughs, and I see his lips turn up in amusement. “She… she does. Quite a lot, actually.” He says softly, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he eyes me.

Rudrani nods approvingly, then gets down to business. “So if you want to marry her, you need to first ask me.”

Abhimaan stiffens, blinking at her like she just threatened national security. “I—I what?”

My mouth drops open, and Simba, clearly offended by my sudden jolt, leaps out of my lap and struts away with his tail in the air.

I stare at Rudrani, horrified and amused in equal parts, while she stands like a pint-sized gatekeeper to my dignity.