𝟐. 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

"I'm getting married," he announced, his voice low but steady, cutting through the chatter like a blade.

A collective gasp rippled across the table. The youngsters froze mid-bite, one nearly choking on a piece of paneer. Vanraj Rathore, the eldest in the house , his weathered hand paused above his glass, while his wife Mamta's eyes widened, a spark of delight flickering in them. Daksh Rathore, his fork clinked against his plate,and Vineetha's lips parted after hearing their son's words. The room, alive with sound moments ago, now hung in a stunned silence, the weight of Deva's words settling over them like a velvet curtain.

"Married?" Mamta finally ventured, her voice trembling with a mix of surprise and joy. "Our Deva, finally ready to settle down?"

Deva's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing on his face as he met his grandmother's gaze. "Yes, Dadi. And I want you all to meet her family tomorrow. They'll call today-any moment now."

Vineetha leaned forward, her maternal instincts warring with her curiosity.

"Will you be joining us, beta?" she asked, her tone tentative, as if testing the waters with her enigmatic son.

Deva nodded, his focus returning to the plate before him. "I'll be there. But you'll all leave for Varanasi at eight tonight. I'll follow later."

Daksh, ever the pragmatist, set his napkin down and fixed his son with a steady look. "And who is this girl, Deva? You've kept her a mystery."

Deva's eyes glinted with something unreadable-amusement, perhaps, or defiance.

"Kal jaake dekh lijiye ga," he said smoothly, his Hindi laced with a casual confidence that left no room for argument.

( "You'll see her tomorrow.")

Before anyone could press further, he pushed his chair back, the legs scraping softly against the polished floor.

"No more questions," he declared, his tone firm but not unkind. "Everything's arranged for you in Varanasi. You'll have nothing to worry about."

With that, he rose, his tall frame casting a fleeting shadow across the table. Shivay, his constant shadow, shot a conspiratorial grin at the family before hurrying after him, leaving a trail of unanswered questions in their wake.

The room erupted into a flurry of excitement the moment the brothers disappeared. Mamta clasped her hands together, her eyes misty with dreams of a new daughter-in-law.

"Oh, Vanraj, our Deva has chosen someone! I knew this day would come!" she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion.

Vanraj chuckled, his stern demeanor softening. "Let's hope she can keep up with him. That boy's a storm wrapped in silence."

The youngsters exchanged eager whispers, speculating wildly about the mysterious bride-to-be. "She must be someone extraordinary," one of them murmured, "to have caught Deva's eye."

Vineetha, still processing the news, turned to Daksh, her brow furrowed. "He's always been so guarded. Whoever she is, she must be special."

Daksh nodded, though his expression remained thoughtful. "He's planned everything, as always. Let's trust him."

As the family buzzed with anticipation, the air crackled with the promise of tomorrow-a day that would unveil the woman who had captured the heart of Deva Rathore, the man who bowed to no one but destiny itself.

**********************************

𝑽𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒊, 𝑼𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒓 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒉 -

Ragini Sharma sat at the edge of the sofa, twisting the edge of her dupatta nervously.

"Rajesh... kal hi milna hai? It's so sudden."

("Rajesh, we have to meet tomorrow? It's so sudden.")

Rajesh leaned against the window, arms crossed, voice calm but firm. "Ragini ji, abhi der karenge toh lagega ki hum hesitant hain. Aur hum aisa impression nahi dena chahte. Samjhiye?"

("Ragini ji, if we delay then they will think we are hesitant. And we don't want them to have this impression. Please understand?”)

Ragini bit her lip, worried. "Par agar Roop unko pasand nahi aaye?... ya kuch galat ho jaye? Aap jaante ho na, ye cheeze kabhi bhi spiral kar sakti hain."

("But what if they don't like Roop?... Or what if something goes wrong? You know right, these things get's spiraled anytime.")

Rajesh walked over, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Kuch bhi galat nahi hoga. Ramlal ji ko call karne dijiye. Woh sab handle kar lenge. Dinner ka arrangement, seating, lighting, sab perfect hoga. Hum bas wait karenge."

("Nothing will go wrong. Let Ramlal call them. He'll handle everything. Dinner arrangements, seating, lightning, everything will be perfect. Let's just wait.")

Ragini nodded slowly, a small smile breaking through her worry. "Theek hai... bas aap calm rahiye. Unko humari tension na dikhe."

("Okay , you just be calm. They must not sense that are tensed.")

Rajesh gave her a faint smile. "Isi liye Ramlal ji hain. Hum unpe chhod dete hain."

("That's why Ramlal ji is here, we'll leave it in him.")

Ragini followed him toward the desk where Ramlal was already waiting with the phone in hand. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her saree.

"Chalo phir, Ramlal ji, ab call kar dijiye," she said softly.

("Fine then, Ramlal ji, call them.")

Ramlal picked up the receiver, his tone warm but confident.

"Hello, namaste Mrs. Rathore," he began politely. "Ramlal Sharma bol raha hoon. Hum aapko aur aapke parivaar ko kal shaam dinner ke liye invite karna chahte hain. Hum bahut khush honge aapko apne ghar me welcome karke."

("Hello, greetings Mrs. Rathore,"

Ramlal speaking this side. We invite you and your whole family for dinner tomorrow. We'll be grateful to have you all with us.")

Vineetha Rathore's voice came through, polite and friendly. "Namaste. Haan, thank you. Hum zaroor aayenge."

(Greetings. Yes, thankyou. We'll be there without any fail.")

Ramlal's tone remained calm, slightly authoritative but warm. "Shukriya. Kal shaam hum intezaar karenge. Agar koi special requirement ho toh bata dijiyega."

(Thankyou. We'll wait tomorrow. And if any special requirements needed then please inform us.")

The call ended. Rajesh let out a long breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Ho gaya," he said.

("Done")

Ragini sank back onto the sofa, relief and excitement mixing in her chest. "Ab... bas kal ka wait karna hai."

("Now, let's wait for tomorrow")

**********************************

Meanwhile, in the Rathore mansion, chaos reigned, but it was the kind of chaos that carried purpose. Everyone was in a rush, packing, planning, making sure nothing was overlooked. There was an energy in the air-excitement, anticipation, and that subtle tension that always preceded something significant.

Vineetha Rathore, still glowing from the conversation with the Sharma family, moved around the rooms with a radiant enthusiasm.

"Bas ab sab kuch perfect hona chahiye," she whispered to herself, smoothing out wrinkles on a neatly folded kurta. Every step, every movement seemed charged with the anticipation of meeting Deva's chosen girl.

("Now everything must be perfect")

Luggage was being packed in meticulous haste, clothes folded and stacked, shoes aligned like soldiers on parade.

The younger cousins dashed around, carrying bags and whispering questions to one another, while Mamta kept reminding them to "be careful, be precise."

Deva, however, remained apart from the commotion, standing quietly at the edge of the room. His dark eyes swept over the flurry of activity, taking in every detail with a measured calm. A smirk played on his lips-a smirk edged with something darker, something dangerous. The excitement in the household amused him, thrilled him.

"Sab tere hisaab se hi chal raha hai, haina!" Shivay's casual voice broke the silence as he leaned against the doorway, watching Deva with his usual easy confidence.

("Everything is going just as you wanted, right!")

Deva's smirk widened at Shivay's words, curling into something almost predatory.

By eight o'clock, the Rathores were ready. The cars were lined up in the driveway, luggage stacked neatly on the roofs, the engines humming in quiet readiness.

"We'll reach at midnight, right?" Vineetha asked her husband, glancing toward the driveway as she adjusted her scarf.

"Hanjii," Daksh replied simply, his tone calm, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

("Yes")

"And tum kab tak pohochoge, beta?" Vineetha's voice was softer now as it fell on Deva, who stood at the top of the entrance stairs, arms folded, almost disinterested.

("And when will you reach there dear?")

"Kal subah tak," Deva replied nonchalantly, his voice smooth, calm, detached-yet carrying the weight of certainty.

("Tomorrow morning.")

Everyone noddedand with that, the engines roared, and the cars began their journey, leaving the mansion quiet in their wake.

Deva remained on the stairs for a moment longer, watching the driveway empty, before he turned towards the mansion and went to his study.

Inside, he moved to the bookcase, carefully removing a set of books from one shelf. A press of his thumb against a hidden corner revealed the secret latch. With a soft click, the bookcase slid aside, revealing the hidden room beyond-his sanctuary.

Stepping inside, he allowed himself a long, slow breath. The room was his world, and in it, every wall, every surface, every shadow was 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒔. Photographs captured her laughter, her smiles, her ordinary moments that she would never know were watched. Candids of her at weddings, at streetside food stalls, in parks-all meticulously cataloged, every detail noted, every nuance remembered.

On one wall, a series of screens flickered quietly, showing her live-moving, living, existing. Every step, every gesture, every glance was there for him, an obsession made real.

Deva leaned against the desk, his eyes dark and intense, drinking in her image with a mix of reverence and possession. "Sab kuch... bas aapke liye," he murmured, almost a prayer, a devotion, all at once.

("Everything... Just for you")

He lingered in the shadows of his sanctuary for a few moments longer, letting the quiet pulse of the room settle into him. Each photograph, each scribbled note, every captured smile of hers whispered a promise only he could hear. But the night would not wait forever, and neither would the next step of his plan.

He turned away from the walls that held her, the familiar thrill of possession curling in his chest.

Shivay was waiting by the study door, calm as always, leaning casually with that easy confidence that only he could carry.

"Ready?" Shivay asked, his voice casual, though there was always a slight edge of curiosity when it came to Deva.

Deva's dark eyes met his. A slow, deliberate nod. "Haan, chal."

("Yes, let's go")

The streets outside were quiet, the mansion now swallowed by the night. But there was no rush, no chaotic drive through city lights. Deva's world moved differently-controlled, precise, untouchable.

At the private airstrip a short drive from the city, the sleek black jet waited, polished to a mirror sheen.

Its engines whispered low, promising speed, silence, and distance. Shivay fell in step beside Deva as they boarded, the steps echoing softly against the metal.

Once inside, the cabin was quiet, almost intimate, with leather seats and dim lighting. Deva settled into the captain's suite of the private cabin, adjusting the cuff of his black shirt.

Shivay slid into the seat across from him, casually observing the night outside the small oval window.

"Excited?" Shivay asked with a smirk, though his eyes were alert.

Deva's dark lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

"Excited is for ordinary men. I'm... anticipating." His gaze drifted out the window to the darkness beyond, the city lights shrinking into a lattice of distant fireflies.

The engines hummed, and the jet lifted smoothly into the sky, leaving the world below behind. The streets, the cars, the Rathore mansion-all disappeared into the night.

Up here, Deva was untouchable, invisible, alone with his thoughts and his obsession.

Shivay shook his head lightly, smiling to himself. "You and your theatrics, boss. Every step, every plan... like a chessboard."

Deva's eyes never left the horizon. "Every piece moves exactly where I want it. And soon... everything will be in place."

The city lights faded completely, replaced by the infinite black of the night sky. Below, the world continued unaware, oblivious to the web being woven above it. And in the quiet hum of the private jet, Deva allowed himself a slow, controlled breath.

Varanasi awaited, and with it, the next act of a story only he had written so far. Every calculated step, every shadow, every glance would lead to her. And he would be ready.

**************************************

At the same time, Roop sat at her window, the soft moonlight brushing her face with a silver glow.

The room was quiet, the hush of the night settling around her, but her mind refused to rest.

His face lingered in her thoughts, hauntingly vivid. The memory of his eyes-the way they seemed to pierce right through her, unflinching, almost unreadable-kept replaying itself, over and over, like a shadow she could not escape.

She hugged her knees closer to her chest, staring at the dark streets below.

"Yeh kya hai...?" she whispered to herself, voice trembling slightly.

("What's this?")

"Bas tasveer hi dekhi hai... phir bhi... aisa kyun hai ki woh mere zehen se nahi utar rahe..."

("I just saw the picture, still, why is he the only thing in my mind...")

She tried to focus on other things-the soft rustle of the leaves outside, the distant hum of traffic-but it was futile.

His presence, though absent, felt almost tangible. His gaze, imagined or remembered, lingered on her like a weight pressing softly against her chest.

It was unsettling, yet impossible to ignore. She shook her head lightly, trying to push the thoughts away.

"Kal sab tikh hoga.",She said to herself.

("Everything will be fine tomorrow ")

But even as she told herself this, a small, uneasy thrill ran through her-an acknowledgment that something had shifted, that tonight, nothing would remain entirely ordinary.

Her pulse quickened, a quiet tension humming beneath her skin, and for the first time, she realized just how much a single face, a single pair of eyes, could occupy her mind.

She finally leaned back, resting against the window frame, letting the cool night air brush her cheeks. Closing her eyes, she tried to will herself into calmness, into sleep.

And as the moon traced its path across the sky, Roop remained there, caught between dreams and thoughts, between unease and curiosity, the memory of his

eyes lingering like a whisper she could not shake, but slowly and finally sleep consumed her.

The night deepened, silent and expectant, as if holding its breath for what was to come.

_________________________________________