Ruhani pressed her forehead against the cool windowpane of her bedroom, watching the city lights flicker in the distance. Everything around her looked ordinary—the hum of traffic, the faint laughter of neighbors drifting up, the steady rhythm of her family's voices in the living room.

Ordinary.

So why didn't she feel safe?

It wasn't danger, not exactly. More like a shiver that slid over her skin without warning, the way intuition sometimes whispered before reason caught up. She had lived her life trusting those whispers, listening when others dismissed them. And now, they told her something was... off.

The first time she noticed it was at the café. She had been sipping her tea, scrolling through her phone, when her chest had suddenly tightened. The sensation of being observed. Her eyes had scanned the room, but no one looked out of place. A few students with laptops, an elderly couple sharing cake, two men in suits deep in conversation.

Nothing.

And yet, she had felt it.

Then, a week later, in the metro. She had caught herself glancing over her shoulder more than once, convinced someone was lingering too close, though when she turned, there was only the usual crowd of commuters—tired, busy, absorbed in their phones.

Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe it was just her mind—overworked, stretched thin from balancing office hours, tarot sessions, and the invisible weight she carried on her heart.

Still... she couldn't shake it.

And alongside that unease was another feeling, one she refused to name.
The thought of him.

Vardhan Ranavat.

It had been days since she had refused another session with him, yet his presence lingered. She hadn't forgotten the way he had asked about marriage, his voice steady, as though her answer carried more weight than a prediction ever should. She hadn't forgotten the pause before he ended the call, as though reluctant to leave.

And she hadn't forgotten the look in his eyes.

Her hands drifted unconsciously to her tarot deck on the desk. She had pulled cards for herself not long ago. Just once. Just to know.

The message had been unsettling.
Yes, marriage was on the horizon. They will meet online first. Start chatting. Maybe he knew her. She is unaware in the start. But the cards whispered of struggles in the beginning, of differences too sharp to ignore. They had shown two people standing on opposite ends of the spectrum, pulled together yet clashing in rhythm, their worlds colored in starkly different shades.

Her heart had sunk that night with a single question—Was it him?

The thought made her uneasy. If it was him... if Vardhan was the man the cards hinted at... then fate was tying her to everything she feared. A man of wealth and power, yes, but also ambition that consumed, control that suffocated. She didn't know all his habits, but she could guess. Cigarettes, perhaps drinking, parties and a world too loud, too restless.

She didn't want any of it.

What she wanted was simple. A peaceful life. A husband who loved her without conditions. A home where laughter was easy, where mornings began with shared tea, where evenings ended in stories and warmth. Children—a girl and a boy—whose tiny hands would tug at her saree, whose innocent smiles would light up the house. She wanted to raise them with love, teach them kindness, hold them when they cried, laugh with them over the silliest things.

Her heart fluttered at the thought, and a small smile crept onto her face. For a fleeting moment, it felt real, close enough to touch.

But then his name slipped into her mind.
Vardhan.

The smile vanished, as if it had never been there.

No. She shook her head firmly. She couldn't let her dreams be tainted by a man like him. Her peace, her stability, her quiet happiness—they were worth more than any wealth or success.

And yet, the confusion lingered. Because fate had a way of weaving threads whether she wanted them or not.

Vardhan:

The notification blinked on Ruhani's screen.
A new message.

She didn't need to open it to know who it was from. Her chest tightened anyway as she clicked.

"I need another session. Urgent. Please confirm the time."

Short. Direct. With that familiar edge of insistence.

For a long moment, her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The old pull was there—the kindness that whispered don't refuse, maybe he needs you. But tonight, another voice inside her spoke louder.

Enough.

She had given more than she should. She had let him linger too close to her thoughts, her space, her peace. This wasn't why she had started reading cards. She couldn't let anyone—no matter who he was—use her voice, her time, her compassion like a lifeline.

Her reply was simple, firm, and final.
"I am not available. Please do not request further sessions. Take care."

Her hand trembled for a second before she hit send. Then she closed the laptop, pushed the deck aside, and sat back with a long, shaky breath. Relief came slowly, like a gentle wave after a storm. She had drawn her line. She wouldn't let him cross it again.

But for Vardhan, the line was unbearable.

Her rejection hit him like a wall he had never faced before. In his world, when he asked, people complied. When he demanded, the world shifted. But Ruhani—soft-voiced, delicate Ruhani—had told him no.

He read her message again and again, each word carving into him.
Not available.
Do not request further sessions.

For three days, he messaged. First politely, then firmly, then with a tinge of sharpness that betrayed his frustration.

No reply.

The silence infuriated him. She was testing him, pushing him to the edge, seeing how far he would go. She thought she could vanish behind her walls and he would simply walk away.

But she didn't understand.

He had already given her more patience than he had given anyone in his life. He had waited. He had watched. He had let her keep her secrets, let her hide behind shadows and camera angles.

No more.

On the fourth day, his decision crystallized with the same certainty that had built his empire. He wouldn't beg for her time on a screen anymore. He wouldn't chase unanswered messages.

He would go to her.

Not for another reading.
Not for another excuse to hear her voice.

This time, he would look her in the eye and ask for what he truly wanted.

Marriage.

***