Chapter 1 : Shaant Sa Dard
Ishika Mehra didn’t believe in love at first sight.
She believed in case studies. Lab reports. Clinical reasoning.
So naturally, she was a bit irritated when her pulse had the audacity to race the moment her mother said:
> “Beta, ladka aa gaya hai. Thoda tayyar ho jao.”
Another rishta. Another boy.
But this time… the name had stayed in her mind longer than it should have.
Rudra Singh Rathore.
Architect. Thirty-one. Based in Mumbai.
Apparently "quiet, respectful, very well-mannered".
And he had personally asked to meet her — after seeing her profile through a mutual family friend.
The living room smelled like elaichi, nervous energy, and polished wooden furniture. Her father was laughing louder than usual. Her mother had arranged the sweets in perfect symmetry. Everyone was performing.
And then she saw him.
He was standing near the window, speaking softly to her father. Black kurta. Simple watch. Posture straight. No arrogance in his stance — just ease. And when his eyes found hers—
Everything slowed.
They didn’t flicker, didn’t scan her body.
They simply held her.
Not hungry.
Not possessive.
Just… knowing.
Like he saw something she hadn’t revealed yet.
> “Namaste,” she greeted, offering the tray with a tight smile.
Ishika adjusted her dupatta, tied her hair in a neater bun, and reminded herself—
> “Tu ek doctor hai. Ye koi Bollywood film nahi hai.”
But her heart didn’t seem to listen.
Namaste, Dr. Ishika,” he said, accepting the cup.
Then, softly —
“Final year MBBS, right?”
> “Haan. You… did your research,” she replied, blinking.
He smiled politely. “I like to be informed.”
A few minutes later, her mother nudged her to take him to the balcony.
> “Thoda akela time toh banta hai,” she whispered, grinning.
Ishika rolled her eyes. Typical.
Out on the balcony, there was a pause.
He stood with his cup, looking out over the street. She stood beside him, stealing glances.
> “You always this quiet?” she finally asked.
He looked at her.
> “No. Only when I’m trying to understand someone.”
And? Diagnosis?” she teased lightly.
> “You smile like you're confident. But your fingers tremble slightly when you're holding the cup. That tells me you’re anxious. Probably overthinking everything.”
She stared.
> “You just… observed that?”
"I listen more than I speak, Dr. Ishika. Especially to people who matter.”
Shit.
That did something to her chest.
They talked more. About her hospital rotations. His recent project. Her love for biryani. His hatred for traffic. It felt… easy.
Respectful. Smooth.
But something in his gaze stayed just intense enough.
Not flirtatious. Not inappropriate.
But deep.
Like he noticed more than he said.
> “And why architecture?” she asked.
“Because I like structure. Control. Clean lines. Designing spaces that fit people.”
He paused, then added:
> “And I guess… I like knowing where everything belongs.”
His voice dropped just enough. Not suggestive. But the air felt heavier.
As they walked back inside, he stopped near the doorway.
> “Can I say something honestly?”
> “Sure,” she said, blinking.
> “You’re smart. Clear-headed. Grounded. That’s rare.”
> He looked at her — really looked.
“But I hope your clarity doesn’t stop you from exploring uncertainty.”
Her throat tightened.
> “Meaning?”
“Some people live by logic. Some by instinct. The best ones,” he leaned just slightly closer, “let both speak.”
Before she could reply, he stepped away.
And just like that, her world felt slightly tilted.
