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Pehli nazar mein kuch to hua hai,

Dil ke kone mein aag si chhupa hai.

Teri aankhon ne mujhko khinch liya,

Jaise duniya se main ab alag hi ho gaya.

Har saans mein bas tera hi naam hai,

Tere bina ab jeena bekaar sa lagta hai.

Chhup ke bhi tu mere khayalon mein hai,

Teri doori bhi ab mere liye pyaar mein hai.

Pehli mulaqat, par ehsaas gehra,

Tere jaane ke baad bhi tu bas mera.

_______

Rudhransh sat like a storm contained—his throne-like chair casting long shadows across the room. The air pulsed with the growls and crunches of his beasts feasting, each one a reflection of his own wildness. His gaze swept over them with pride, but it softened when Amber limped toward him, Hunter close behind.

They didn’t bark or growl. They simply looked at him.

He knelt, letting his fingers trace Amber’s wound, slow and deliberate. “You’re healing, buddy,” he murmured, voice low, like a lullaby meant only for warriors.

Amber’s breath hitched. Hunter pressed his head into Rudhransh’s chest.

Neil and Rihaan entered, boots echoing like distant thunder. Rihaan’s eyes landed on Amber, and something in him broke.

“He’s healing now… that’s good,” Rihaan said quietly. “He almost died saving Vansh.”

Rudhransh’s jaw clenched. His hand didn’t stop stroking Amber’s fur.

Rihaan stepped closer. “They’re not human, Vansh. They’re animals. But they know how to love. How to protect. Even when it costs them everything.”

Rudhransh’s voice came like a vow. “Woh nafrat nahi jaante. Sirf wafadari.” [They don’t know hate. Only loyalty.]

He looked down at Amber and Hunter, eyes glinting with something ancient. “You’re not just animals. You’re my protectors. My family. .” my child's

The room fell into a hush. No one moved. No one spoke. Only the soft sound of Rudhransh’s fingers moving through fur, and the quiet hum of beasts who knew they were loved.

“Bhai, we’re leaving,” Rihaan said, his voice like steel wrapped in fire. “That weapons supplier needs to be taught a lesson.”

Rudhransh’s gaze snapped up—sharp, blazing. His fingers stilled mid-stroke on Amber’s fur. The room seemed to hold its breath.

As Neil and Rihaan turned to leave, Rudhransh’s voice echoed like thunder across marble. 

“I’m coming too.”

He rose, slow and deliberate, like a lion unfolding from sleep. His coat fell around him like armor. Amber followed, silent and alert, his limp forgotten.

Neil leaned toward Rihaan, whispering, “Why is bhai taking this into his own hands? We’ve got this.”

Rihaan’s eyes didn’t leave Rudhransh. “Tabahi jab khud chal kar aaye… toh samajh jao, aag lagne wali hai.” [When destruction walks in on its own… know the fire’s about to spread.]

Outside, the mansion gates groaned open. A convoy of black beasts rolled out—sleek cars with engines that purred like predators. Bodyguards flanked them, eyes scanning, hands twitching near triggers. The air crackled with Rudhransh’s presence—his silence louder than war drums.

He stepped into the lead car. The door shut like a verdict.

The supplier had no idea. No warning. No omen.

But fate had already shifted.

Because today, Rudhransh Agniwanhsi wouldn’t just meet his enemy.

He would meet her.

Ek nazar… bas ek nazar. 

And the lion would forget the jungle. 

The king would lose his crown. 

And the man who feared nothing… would fear losing her.

Us pal ke baad, kuch bhi waisa nahi rahega. 

[After that moment, nothing will ever be the same.]

_____

Prisha pov

I settled into the car beside Yuvaan bhai and Janvi, adjusting the pallu of my light pink saree. It felt softer today, like it was holding something more than fabric—maybe a feeling I couldn’t name.

Two black SUVs followed us from home. The guards, always there. Watching. Protecting. I’d stopped questioning it. Shreyansh bhai had his reasons. He always did.

But today felt different.

My heart was racing, and I didn’t know why. There was no danger, no drama. Just a college function. Just a normal day.

Still… something in the air felt heavier. Or maybe lighter. I couldn’t tell.

Yuvaan bhai was on a call, voice low and serious. Janvi was beside me, lost in her phone. I looked down at my bracelet, then touched the pendant resting against my chest. A birthday gift. No name. Just a note.

“For the girl who sees the world differently.”

I smiled faintly. Maybe today, the world would see me differently too.

Our car stopped outside college. Students turned to look. Janvi and I stepped out.

“I won’t be able to pick you up after the function,” Yuvaan bhai said. “Go with the guards. I’ve got office work.”

I nodded. “We’ll manage.”

He gave a small smile, then told the guards, “Unka dhyan rakhna.” [ take care of them ]

As he drove off, I felt it again.

That strange flutter in my chest.

Like something was about to happen.

Like someone was about to happen.

Two bodyguards walked with us into the college, blending into the crowd like shadows in daylight. Gone were their suits and stern expressions—today they wore backpacks and casual clothes, their eyes scanning everything, their steps always half a second behind ours.

It was strange, having protectors who pretended to be students. But I’d grown used to it. Shreyansh bhai had made it non-negotiable. I didn’t know the full reason, only that he’d become more cautious lately. More silent. More guarded.

Janvi and I drew glances as we walked through the corridor—some curious, some lingering. A few boys looked at me, but their gaze didn’t last. Bodyguards were  right behind us, and one look from him was enough to send their eyes elsewhere.

I leaned toward Janvi, excitement bubbling in my chest. “Darshan Raval is arriving in ten minutes. Let’s hurry, I don’t want to miss him.”

She grinned, matching my pace. The concert was all anyone could talk about today. But for me, it was more than just music. His voice… it did something to me. Stirred something quiet and deep. And yes, his charm didn’t hurt either.

My heart was racing, and I didn’t know if it was the anticipation or something else. The air felt different today. Like something was about to shift.

“Prisha, walk slowly or we’ll both fall,” Janvi laughed, tugging at my hand.

“Mam, walk slowly,” my bodyguard echoed, his tone firm but polite.

I ignored them both, tightening my grip on Janvi’s hand and picking up speed. My saree fluttered behind me like a soft warning, but I didn’t care.

Something was pulling me forward.

And I didn’t want to miss it.

“I wore pink today to feel soft. To feel like the world might be gentle with me for once. The saree clings to me like a whisper, light and delicate, like I’m wrapped in a sigh. I chose it hoping the day would match its softness—that the air would be kind, the moments would be light, and maybe… just maybe… I’d feel like myself again.

But the air around me feels anything but soft.

It’s thick with something I can’t name. Like a storm waiting to break. Like eyes watching from places I can’t see. The guards walk behind me, silent and alert, and even Janvi’s laughter feels like it’s trying to distract me from something I haven’t yet noticed.

My heart’s racing, and I don’t know why.

It’s not fear. It’s not excitement. It’s something in between. Something that makes me walk faster, breathe slower, and hold my pendant like it might anchor me.

I wore pink to feel soft.

But softness doesn’t survive in air like this.

“Mujhe lagta hai aaj kuch hone wala hai… par kya, pata nahi.” 

[I feel like something’s going to happen today… but what, I don’t know.]

___________

Author pov

Prisha and Janvi ran through the college corridor, laughter spilling between them like sunlight. Her light pink saree fluttered behind her, catching the breeze, catching eyes. Prisha’s smile—wide, unfiltered—made her glow like a pearl in motion. Heads turned. Conversations paused. Even the air seemed to lean in.

A group of boys stood near the staircase, watching.

“Damn… she’s beautiful,” one murmured, unable to look away. “Especially when she laughs. If it weren’t for her brothers breathing down her neck, I’d have told her how I feel ages ago.”

His friend nudged him sharply. “Don’t even think about it. She’s always got guards around her. And four brothers who’d tear you apart if they even sensed something off.”

Their voices dropped, but the tension didn’t.

Then came another voice. Loud. Unfiltered. Vicky.

“She’s hot,” he said, eyes trailing Prisha in a way that made the others shift uncomfortably. “Her body’s unreal. And soon enough, she’ll be mine. I’ll have her moaning my name, begging under me. Just wait.”

Silence.

Even his friends looked away.

One of them stepped forward, voice low and sharp. “Don’t even let those thoughts enter your mind, Vicky. You know whose daughter she is. You know her brothers. If they hear even a whisper of this…”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t need to.

“They’ll burn you alive.”

But Vicky just laughed, loud and careless. “Don’t forget who my dad is. Power runs in my blood. Let them try.”

The corridor felt colder.

__________

Prisha pov

Janvi’s phone buzzed sharply, cutting through the noise of the corridor. She glanced at the screen, eyes widening. “I’m five minutes late! Grab a seat for me, okay?” she said quickly, already turning on her heel and disappearing into the crowd.

I was left alone.

The hallway was packed—students rushing toward the concert venue, voices rising, footsteps echoing against the walls. I adjusted the pallu of my light pink saree, trying to move faster, careful not to trip in my heels.

But the floor was slick. My pace too quick.

And then it happened.

My foot twisted. My balance gave way. I felt myself falling forward, heart lurching.

But I didn’t hit the ground.

A pair of arms caught me mid-fall—firm, steady, like they’d been waiting.

My eyes shut instinctively. My breath caught.

There was silence. Just for a second.

His grip was strong but not rough. One arm around my waist, the other bracing my wrist. I felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric, the steadiness of someone who knew exactly how to hold without hurting.

And then… something strange.

Not the fall. Not the embarrassment.

The touch.

It felt familiar.

Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just… known.

Like I’d felt it before. Somewhere. Somehow.

I opened my eyes slowly.

He was masked. Dressed in black. His face hidden, but his presence sharp. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary.

And in that second, something shifted inside me.

“

[This touch feels familiar… but I can’t remember why.]

Ahil’s voice broke through. “Prisha, are you okay?”

I nodded, still dazed. The stranger had already vanished into the crowd, leaving behind only the echo of his touch.

Janvi’s voice pulled me back. “Prisha! Come on! Darshan Raval is here!”

I turned toward the stage, trying to shake the feeling. The crowd was buzzing, lights flashing, confetti swirling. Darshan’s voice rose, and the world leaned in to listen.

But even as the music wrapped around me, part of me stayed behind.

Still wondering…

Why did that touch feel like a memory?

What made this moment even more extraordinary was that I had met him—not just once, but several times. Thanks to my brother’s invitations, Darshan had visited our home, shared meals, laughed with us. Those quiet, personal encounters had etched something deeper in me. He wasn’t just a voice on a playlist anymore. He was someone I’d seen offstage—gentle, thoughtful, real.

And now, standing in the middle of a sea of fans, I felt like I was hearing him differently. His voice didn’t just echo through the speakers—it echoed through memories. Every note pulled me back to those evenings at home, when he’d hum casually while sipping chai, or smile mid-conversation when someone mentioned music.

As he sang, I wasn’t just listening—I was reliving.

Then the first chords of “Tu Milaya” filled the air.

My breath caught.

My favorite song.

I couldn’t help but hum along, the melody wrapping around me like a warm breeze. His voice was so soothing, so achingly familiar, it gave me goosebumps. The crowd around me swayed, phones lit up, cheers rose—but I barely noticed.

I was somewhere else.

Somewhere quieter.

Somewhere only I had been with him.

“Woh awaaz jo sab ke liye hai… aaj mere liye kuch zyada keh rahi hai.” 

[The voice that belongs to everyone… today it’s saying something more to me.]

I closed my eyes, letting the music carry me. The lights, the confetti, the noise—it all faded. What remained was the feeling. The connection. The gratitude.

To hear him like this.

To know him like that.

And to feel, in this moment, like the song was mine.

_____

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