Advait closed the car door with a frustrated sigh, his footsteps heavy as he walked up to the mansion. His mind churned with anger, the events of the day replaying in his thoughts. The chaos at the office had left him tense, and it was all sparked by his father’s latest interference.

Earlier that day, Tej had hired additional employees—new faces that weren’t needed, that hadn’t been requested, and all without consulting anyone. The decision wasn’t just impulsive; it threatened the harmony and structure Advait had worked hard to build. Adding insult, Tej had demanded the resignation of Advait’s trusted team members, someone who’d contributed significantly and was essential to their ongoing projects.

The situation wasn’t just disruptive; it was an affront to Advait’s authority and the trust he’d cultivated within his team.

Tej seemed intent on stirring up trouble within the office, determined to create a situation that would pressure Advait into leaving the CEO position.

Though Tej's motives were clear, Advait's strength and determination were stronger, and he wasn’t going to give up easily.

He opened the door to the room, finding it dimly lit, with only a soft glow casting shadows across the walls. Drishti was sitting at her desk, her back to him, lost in thought.

Advait stepped in and switched on the main lights. Drishti didn’t turn around; she knew who it was without looking.

"Why are you still awake this late?" he asked, walking toward the changing room. When no answer came, he glanced back, noticing her absorbed in her diary, her pen moving slowly as if lost in her own world. Assuming she might be studying or simply hadn’t heard him, he sighed and stepped into the changing room to slip into something more comfortable after a long, frustrating , tiring day.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Drishti’s gaze shifted toward it, her eyes burning with quiet anger. It was the only emotion she could cling to now, a mix of frustration and hurt. Anger at him—for ignoring her, for coming home so late without a word, for slipping back into a routine that made her feel invisible.

But, beneath it all, she was just as angry with herself. Angry for letting him get away with it, for holding back her feelings, and for always waiting—hoping, maybe, that he’d notice the effect his actions had on her. This unspoken ache twisted inside her, feeding the resentment that had quietly built up over time.

Drishti closed her diary with a quiet sigh, standing up to head toward the bed. She took a few steps, but just as she was about to settle in, the door opened, revealing Advait in his casual t-shirt and lower, looking tired from the day. She cast a quick glance at him, her expression unreadable, and then continued walking toward the bed without a word, her silence speaking louder than anything she could have said.

Advait paused, noticing her restrained expression, but said nothing, letting the quiet tension settle between them as she climbed into bed.

"Kya hua, Drishti? Kuchh hua hai?" he asked, picking up his phone, his eyes fixed on the screen, barely looking at her.

Drishti climbed down from the bed without answering, her face turned away. "Should I bring dinner for you?" she asked, still not meeting his gaze.

At her question, Advait finally looked up, setting his phone down on the table beside the bed. They were positioned on opposite sides, and for a moment, he simply observed her, recognizing the familiar silence that now stretched between them. This wasn't the first time she’d responded like this—quiet, withholding—and he knew something was bothering her. He’d warned her before not to keep things bottled up, to talk to him rather than resort to silent treatment.

"Bring dinner later," he said, his tone more firm this time. "I asked you something. Did you answer me?" He stepped closer, his gaze steady on her as he closed the distance between them.

Drishti glanced at him briefly but then looked away, her response evasive, mirroring the way he had ignored her earlier. She turned slightly, brushing off his question, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an answer.

Advait felt a surge of frustration, realizing that she was deliberately ignoring him now.

“Have you already had dinner, or should I bring it for you?” Drishti’s voice was soft, her eyes cast downward, but her question only fueled Advait’s simmering frustration. She was avoiding his gaze, brushing off his questions, and the restraint he’d been holding onto all day began to slip.

As she tried to step away, he reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her down onto the bed. The hold was tighter than he intended, but her indifferent behavior had pushed him to his breaking point. Tears sprang to her eyes, a painful reminder of how distant he’d become—first, he ignored her, and now he’d gone too far. She looked up at him, her hurt only intensifying his guilt.

The door to their room was still open, and his raised voice echoed down the hall. “I asked you a question, didn’t I?” he demanded, his voice louder than he intended. “How many times do I have to tell you, when I ask something, I expect an answer!”

At that moment, Riddhima appeared at the door, her eyes quickly assessing the scene. She looked from Advait’s tense stance to Drishti’s tear-streaked face, understanding the situation almost immediately. Setting a water jug on the bedside table, she stepped in, positioning herself protectively beside Drishti. Advait took a step back, realizing just how far he’d crossed the line.

Riddhima wrapped an arm around Drishti, pulling her into a comforting hug. “What happened, sweetheart?” she asked softly, casting a sharp, reproachful look at Advait. “I know he must have done something. Just tell me.”

Through hiccups and shaky breaths, Drishti whispered, “I want Ma…”

Advait watched, feeling a pang of regret, He reached out. Great, he thought . Now I’ll be washed by my wife , Chachi, and Ma.

…………..

Advait had been on the receiving end of a half-hour lecture, sitting on the sofa as both his mother and Chachi took turns admonishing him for raising his voice at Drishti. Riddhima, not one to miss an opportunity, chimed in repeatedly, saying, “Just imagine, Bhabhi, I was only heading back with the water jug, and I could hear his voice all the way in the hall!”

Under his breath, Advait muttered, “Vihaan was right when he said you’re all overacting… I believe him now.”

Riddhima shot back instantly, patting Drishti on the head while she clung to Anjali, “Look, Bhabhi, he has no shame left!”

Anjali pulled Drishti closer, her voice soft. “Why did he shout at you?” she asked, but Drishti remained silent, unwilling to explain.

“That’s exactly why I shouted! She never responds when I ask anything!” Advait said, his frustration surfacing again. Anjali and Riddhima both turned sharp glares at him before looking away, clearly unimpressed.

Anjali resumed her gentle coaxing, brushing Drishti’s hair back. “It’s alright, my child. Don’t say anything if you don’t want to. Some people just make it a habit to shout at innocent souls the moment they lay eyes on them.”

Advait clicked his tongue in frustration, his fingers tapping nervously on the sofa armrest. He’d shouted at her, yes—but deep down, he knew it wasn’t just anger. It wasn’t that he intended to hurt her. He hated seeing her shut him out—that silence that cut deeper than any words could. He didn’t like it when she wouldn’t answer, when she closed herself off completely, like there was a wall between them that he couldn’t tear down.

He could feel his heart sink as he looked around at her family gathered around her—Riddhima, Anjali—all concerned for her. In that moment, he understood why she turned to them so easily. They gave her the comfort he couldn’t. They listened, they cared, while he was left pushing her away with his own insecurities.

He knew he had to control himself and keep a grip on his emotions. That’s why he had tried to keep his anger in check, not wanting to scare her, not wanting to be like everyone else who had hurt her. But sometimes, when emotions ran high, it was impossible to stop the slip-ups. His frustration with her silence, her unwillingness to engage—it all built up inside him, and before he could stop himself, it came out in a way he regretted.

Now, seeing her with her family, the weight of what he had done settled on him. He had pushed her further away, and for what? To prove a point? To make her respond? He hated that he couldn’t just communicate with her, that she felt she had to retreat into herself to protect whatever fragile space she had left.

He cursed under his breath. I shouldn’t have shouted. She didn’t deserve that. But the damage was done, and now he could only hope she would forgive him.

Like this, how will he make her trust in him?

…………….

Anjali and Riddhima left the room, but not before shooting Advait a pair of stern looks. He raised his hands in surrender, offering them a small, placating smile. As soon as they left, he closed the door quietly, exhaling in relief before turning back to the bed.

Drishti was asleep, her breaths soft and steady. Advait walked over and gently lay beside her, taking a moment to look at her from behind. Slowly, he placed his hand on her shoulder, testing . She didn’t stir, lost in deep sleep. With care, he shifted closer, sliding his hand under her head to cradle it as he gently helped her turn to face him.

He studied her peaceful expression, a softness entering his gaze.

He lifted his face and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his eyes filled with a deep, lingering guilt. Softly, he murmured, "I know... I shouldn’t have shouted at you. You're so sensitive ." He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his hand lingering as if silently apologizing. "I promise, Drishti... I won’t let my anger hurt you ."

As he looked at her sleeping face, a mixture of tenderness and regret washed over him. Holding her close, he silently vowed to protect her from his own demons.

……………

Drishti’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze softening as they landed on Advait’s face, just inches away from hers. For a moment, her breath caught—she could see every detail of his peaceful expression, the calmness masking a world of secrets buried beneath.

Unable to resist, her hand moved slowly, coming to rest over his heart. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling its steady beat beneath her fingers, a rhythm that seemed to speak of a silent, unspoken depth between them. A small smile crept onto her lips as she let herself sink into the moment, forgetting every hurt and every tension and savoring the quiet closeness between them.

“Zinda hoon,” he murmured, eyes still closed, his voice soft but steady. Drishti started to pull her hand away, feeling a bit self-conscious, but before she could, his hand gently caught hers, guiding it back over his heart.

Surprised, she looked at him, her fingers resting once more against the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat. It felt as if he wanted her to feel the life pulsing within him, as though that simple touch could convey everything he couldn’t put into words. There was a silent plea in the gesture, a quiet reminder of his presence, his vulnerabilities—of everything he kept hidden behind walls of anger and silence.

In that moment, they were connected by more than just touch; they were bound by the weight of unsaid words, shared glances, and unspoken promises.

"Aap ke marzi chali hai ," Drishti whispered, her voice laced with frustration. "Man chaha toh najar uthakar dekha bhi nahi, man chaha toh chilla diya, aur chaha toh haq jata diya aur chaha toh pyaar..."

She stopped abruptly, her cheeks coloring as she realized what she had almost said. Advait’s lips curled into a knowing smirk.

"Aur kya? Man chaha toh…?" he teased, his gaze intense, daring her to finish. Her eyes darted away from his, lowering to where their hands rested together on his chest. But before she could pull away, he moved swiftly, slipping his arm under her waist and, in one fluid motion, he brought her beneath him.

The suddenness took her breath away. Her chest rose and fell with each sharp inhale, her heart pounding as his face hovered inches above hers. Advait’s eyes roamed over her face, intense and unwavering, his hand resting beside her, effectively trapping her beneath him.

For a moment, he simply looked at her, the silence between them charged, and Drishti felt the weight of his gaze in every beat of her racing heart.

“Ky… kya kar rahe hai?” she stammered, her words faltering under the weight of their sudden closeness.

He leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Kyun, tumhi ne kaha na abhi ki mere marzi chalti hai,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Toh bas, mere marzi hai abhi pyaar jatane ka.” His fingers brushed her cheek softly, tracing a line down her face, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “Jata loon?” he asked, his gaze intense, daring her to respond.

Drishti’s breath caught, and she looked up at him, her eyes wide, a hint of shock flickering in her gaze. She could barely process the words, her heart racing as his touch lingered, leaving her speechless and captivated.

His gaze shifted between her eyes and her lips, lingering, revealing a depth of desire that was unmistakable. Drishti felt her heart race, sensing his unspoken longing, yet a playful resolve rose within her. She wouldn’t let him close the distance so easily—not after he had shouted at her, dismissed her, and brushed her feelings aside so many times.

Why should she make it easy for him? A small, defiant smile played at the corners of her lips as she held his gaze, refusing to look away, challenging him. She raised an eyebrow, her expression daring him to make the next move.

Advait’s expression faltered slightly, catching her silent message. But instead of pulling away, his smirk deepened, as though he understood the challenge she was presenting.

“Soch lo,” he murmured, a teasing smirk playing on his lips as he leaned in closer.

“Soch liya,” she replied boldly, meeting his gaze head-on. And just as he drew nearer, closing the last inches between them, she placed both palms firmly on his face, blocking him.

Advait chuckled, but instead of retreating, he kissed her hands, his lips lingering, soft yet determined. Her heart fluttered at the gesture, the warmth of his kiss seeping through her skin. She felt her resolve waver slightly as he gently lowered her hands, his gaze meeting hers with a spark that left her breathless.

In that quiet moment, all the words left unspoken seemed to fill the air, and she found herself lost in the sincerity that lay behind his teasing smile.

....

"Pal me shola pal me Masha"whom suits this phrase...