MEN'S PLANS

💌 Author's Note – Mine Yes! Rudra and Brother 💌

Dear Reader,

When I first started writing Mine Yes!, I knew it wouldn't just be another love story. This book is more than romance—it's a story of power, secrets, family bonds, and the weight of choices that shape destinies.

At the heart of it all stands Rudra Singhaniya—a man of cold exteriors, unshaken control, and hidden storms raging beneath. He is ruthless in business, feared in the corporate world, yet behind the mask of indifference lies a heart burdened with responsibilities. A man who believes love is a weakness—but fate has other plans.

Then there's his brother. The contrast, the challenge, the only one who truly knows the layers of Rudra's soul. Their relationship is not just about blood—it's about loyalty, trust, rivalry, and the scars of the past that refuse to fade. A bond so deep that even love, betrayal, and ambition cannot sever it completely.

This story is about fire and ice. About the struggle between duty and desire, between the heart and the mind. Anaya Malhotra steps into their world—a girl who never imagined being entangled in the power play of the Singhaniya family. But love is never simple, and neither is this story.

So, if you're here for a tale of passion, pain, slow-burning intensity, and family drama wrapped in power games—then welcome. This is not just a book; it's an emotional storm waiting to unfold.

Prepare to fall, to ache, to love… and to question whether the heart truly gets a choice.

With love,

 (Penola.S)💕

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The restaurant remained silent. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to choke. The wealthy diners, adorned in shimmering dresses and tailored suits, whispered among themselves, their eyes flitting between the sharply dressed Rudra and the trembling children by his side.

The waiters, caught between the authority of their employer and the sheer commanding presence of Rudra Singhaniya, stood frozen, their hands gripping menus and trays mid-motion.

The children remained still, their small bodies tense, uncertain of what would happen next. The youngest boy, no older than four, pressed himself against his sister's side, his wide brown eyes glossy with unshed tears. His tiny fingers clutched at the fabric of her dress, seeking comfort in her presence.

Rudra's sharp gaze didn't waver. His voice was cold, steady, carrying an undeniable authority. "I won't repeat myself. Set the table." 

The manager, still recovering from the weight of Rudra's earlier words, opened his mouth to protest, but the sight of Ravi's black card silenced him.

Aarav, watching the man's hesitation, tilted his head, a slow smirk playing on his lips. "Kya karna hai, soch rahe ho?" (Still thinking about what to do?) His tone was light, but the warning beneath it was unmistakable.

The manager swallowed his pride. "J-ji, sir," he stammered before snapping at the waiters. "Jaldi se ek table tayar karo!" (Quickly, prepare a table!)

The staff scrambled into motion. Chairs were arranged, menus set down, and within minutes, a large table near the window—one usually reserved for elite guests—was prepared.

Rudra finally turned to the children. He had seen their hesitation, their fear of being thrown out, the way their tiny shoulders had tensed as if bracing for rejection.

His voice, though firm, softened just a fraction. "Bachho, chalo." (Come on, kids.)

The children hesitated. The nine-year-old girl—their silent leader—looked up at Rudra again, her deep brown eyes still wary.

"Yeh sach hai?" she whispered. (Is this real?)

For a moment, Rudra didn't say anything. Instead, he slowly extended his hand toward her, palm up. His black eyes, cold to the world, held a warmth only for them.

"Haan," he said simply. (Yes.)

After a long pause, she took his hand.

The youngest boy followed immediately, slipping his tiny fingers into Rudra's other hand. One by one, the rest of the children moved, still nervous but now trusting the man who had stood up for them.

Aarav ruffled the little boy's messy hair as they walked toward the table. "Ab bas peth bhar ke khana hai, samjhe?" (Now, all you have to do is eat till you're full, understood?)

The boy blinked up at him. "Koi daantega toh nahi?" (No one will scold us?)

Ravi, who had taken the seat beside the youngest, chuckled as he picked up the menu. "Jo bhi daantega, usey hum dekh lenge." (Whoever scolds you, we'll handle them.)

As Rudra sat down with the children, the reality of the situation finally settled in for the restaurant staff.

These kids were not being kicked out.

They were being served.

The stunned silence of the restaurant was broken by the sound of Rudra's deep voice as he looked at the children and asked, "Toh batao, kya khaoge?" (So tell me, what will you eat?)

The children's expressions flickered with something unfamiliar—hope.

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The children exchanged hesitant glances, their small hands clutching the edge of the table as if afraid it would disappear beneath them. Their eyes flickered over the glossy menus placed before them, but none of them dared to touch them. 

The nine-year-old girl, who had taken on the role of their protector, looked at Rudra cautiously. "H-hum jo kahenge… woh sach mein milega?" (Whatever we ask for… will we really get it?) 

Rudra's gaze softened, but his voice remained steady. "Haan. Jo tum chaho." (Yes. Whatever you want.) 

The youngest boy, still clutching the girl's sleeve, whispered, "Mujhe doodh chahiye." (I want milk.) 

Aarav grinned. "Sirf doodh? Arre, bhai, yahan toh jo marzi maang sakte ho!" (Just milk? Hey, kid, you can ask for anything here!) 

The boy's tiny face scrunched in confusion. He had never been given a choice before. He had only eaten whatever little he found, whatever scraps were handed to him. 

One of the older boys, maybe eleven or twelve, shifted uncomfortably. "Hum… kuch bhi le sakte hain?" (We… can take anything?) 

Ravi leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table. "Bilkul. Tumhe kya pasand hai?" (Of course. What do you like?) 

The boy hesitated. "Maine kabhi menu nahi dekha…" (I've never seen a menu before…) 

A silence stretched between them, and it wasn't because of hesitation—it was the weight of reality sinking in. These children didn't know what it meant to choose. To order food from a menu. To expect a meal made just for them. 

Rudra, watching their discomfort, pushed his menu aside and leaned forward, his voice firm but gentle. "Tumhe kuch bhi sochne ki zaroorat nahi. Hum sab milkar decide karenge." (You don't have to think about it alone. We'll decide together.) 

He turned to Aarav and Ravi. "Kuch aisa mangaao jo inki pasand ban sake." (Order something that they might grow to like.) 

Aarav smirked. "Ekdum thik! Pehle pizza, phir thoda butter naan aur paneer. Aur kuch alag bhi rakhte hain… ice cream bhi?" (Absolutely right! First, pizza, then some butter naan and paneer. Let's add something different too… ice cream?) 

The children's eyes widened at the word. Ice cream. A luxury. A treat that most of them had only seen other children eat through shop windows. 

The nine-year-old girl spoke hesitantly. "Sacchi…?" (Really…?) 

Ravi laughed. "Haan, aur jo flavors pasand aaye, woh bhi le sakte ho." (Yes, and you can take whatever flavors you like.) 

The smallest girl in the group, no older than five, whispered, "Mujhe chocolate wala chahiye…" (I want the chocolate one…) 

Rudra gave a small nod, signaling to the waiter who had been watching in stunned silence. The man nearly fumbled with his notepad before quickly scribbling down the order. 

The manager, still standing at a distance, watching in disbelief, finally gathered the courage to step closer. "S-sir, aap—" 

Rudra's cold black eyes lifted, pinning him in place. The man instantly shut his mouth. 

Aarav, noticing the exchange, leaned back lazily in his chair, smirking. "Agar kuch kehna hai toh soch samajh kar kehna." (If you have something to say, think before you speak.) 

The manager, visibly sweating now, shook his head quickly. "N-nahi, sir. Main toh bas…" (N-no, sir. I was just…) 

Ravi chuckled, shaking his head. "Bas kuch mat socho. Jao, aur khaana lekar aao." (Don't think about anything. Just bring the food.) 

The man stumbled back, nodding rapidly before turning to the kitchen staff. 

The moment he was gone, the atmosphere at the table lightened. 

For the first time, the children allowed themselves to relax—just a little. 

Rudra watched as the youngest boy finally let go of his sister's sleeve and sat comfortably in his chair. The nine-year-old girl still looked around warily, but when her little brother tugged at her hand, she gave him a small smile. 

Aarav playfully nudged one of the older boys. "Bhai, ek baar kha loge na, toh dobara jaana hi nahi chahoge." (Brother, once you eat here, you won't want to leave.) 

The boy gave a small, uncertain smile in return. 

And just like that, the ice was slowly beginning to melt. 

Now, they just had to wait for the food.

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The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling spices filled the air as waiters began bringing dishes to the table. The children watched in silent awe as large platters of food were set before them—steaming hot pizzas with gooey cheese, butter naan glistening with ghee, rich paneer curry in clay bowls, and crispy golden fries stacked high.

The youngest boy, his tiny hands gripping the edge of the table, leaned forward, his eyes locked onto the food as if afraid it would disappear if he blinked.

Aarav chuckled, nudging him gently. "Arey bhai, bas dekhoge ya khaoge bhi?" (Hey, buddy, are you just going to stare, or are you going to eat too?)

The boy hesitated before looking up at the nine-year-old girl, his silent question clear. She glanced at Rudra, searching for confirmation.

Rudra gave a slight nod. "Yeh sab tumhare liye hai." (This is all for you.)

That was all the reassurance they needed.

The youngest boy grabbed a piece of naan, tearing into it with small, eager bites. The others followed hesitantly at first, then with growing hunger as the first taste hit their tongues.

The nine-year-old girl took a careful bite of the soft naan dipped in paneer curry. Her lips parted slightly as the flavors exploded on her tongue. It was unlike anything she had ever tasted—warm, rich, and comforting.

One of the older boys, who had been the most hesitant, finally picked up a slice of pizza. He studied it curiously before taking a cautious bite. His eyes widened as the cheese stretched between his fingers, and he quickly swallowed, looking to the others with a stunned expression.

Aarav burst into laughter. "Kaisa laga?" (How is it?)

The boy swallowed again, nodding eagerly. "Bahut accha!" (Very good!)

Ravi smirked. "Aur log kehte hain ki pizza sabko pasand nahi aata." (And people say not everyone likes pizza.)

The atmosphere changed.

Where there had been silence and hesitation, now there was laughter. The children began talking, their voices overlapping as they shared bites, giggling at the unfamiliar yet delicious flavors.

The youngest girl, barely five, licked her fingers after tasting chocolate ice cream for the first time. She turned to Rudra with wide, amazed eyes. "Yeh… yeh toh thanda hai!" (This… this is cold!)

Rudra chuckled. "Haan, ice cream hoti hi aisi hai." (Yes, that's how ice cream is.)

She grinned, taking another small bite, shivering slightly before giggling.

Aarav leaned toward the nine-year-old girl, who was still eating cautiously. "Aur tumhe kya pasand aaya?" (And what do you like?)

She wiped her hands on her tattered dress, thinking for a moment before softly replying, "Sab kuch." (Everything.)

Her voice held a quiet wonder, as if she still couldn't believe this was real.

Ravi grinned. "Achha hai. Ab jab bhi mann kare, bata dena." (Good. Now whenever you feel like it, just tell us.)

The girl looked at him, then at Rudra, as if trying to understand why they were doing this. Why would rich, powerful men like them care about children like her?

Rudra, sensing her unspoken question, simply met her gaze and said, "Koi bhi insaan bhookha na rahe, yeh sabka haq hai." (No one should go hungry. Everyone has the right to food.)

Her throat tightened. She had never heard those words before.

No one had ever told her she deserved to eat.

No one had ever looked at her and her siblings as anything more than street children, beggars, or burdens.

But tonight, they were just kids. Kids sharing a meal, laughing, and tasting happiness for the first time in a long time.

And as Rudra watched them eat, a quiet satisfaction settled in his chest.

They weren't just filling their stomachs tonight.

They were filling something far deeper—their hearts.

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After the plates were cleared and the children's laughter began to quiet down, Rudra leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His sharp gaze softened as he looked at the kids, now visibly more comfortable. He took a deep breath before asking,

"Do you all have a home?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unspoken, as the children's faces shifted. The joy from the meal dimmed as sadness crept into their eyes. Some of them glanced at each other, unsure, while others lowered their heads. The nine-year-old girl bit her lip, and the youngest boy clutched his sister's sleeve.

Rudra's voice remained calm but firm. "You all go to school, right?"

Silence. The children fidgeted, avoiding eye contact.

Then, hesitantly, a small voice broke the quiet. "No, brother… we don't go to school."

Ravi frowned. "But?"

The voice hesitated, and then an eleven-year-old boy spoke up. "We… we live in the park."

Aarav blinked. "Park? That's not a home."

The boy's voice softened as he looked at his younger siblings. "It's the only home we know."

Rudra exhaled slowly, nodding. "Do you want to go to school?"

The children hesitated, looking at each other again. They had dreamed of it, but never thought it possible.

Rudra's voice turned serious yet warm. "You have to promise me… If I send you to school, you must go. No skipping, no running away. Education is important, and if you're ready to do this, I'll make sure you have a real home."

The children's eyes widened. A real home? School? It sounded too good to be true.

Seeing their uncertainty, Rudra turned to Ravi and gave a subtle nod. Understanding the silent command, Ravi pulled out his phone and made a call. "Prepare the kids' rooms. Get everything set up, clothes, books, beds… Make sure it's warm and comfortable."

The children exchanged nervous glances. Their tiny hands curled into fists, as if bracing for disappointment. They had been given false hope before. But this time, something was different.

Aarav leaned closer, his voice soft and reassuring. "You don't have to be scared. We're not taking you somewhere bad. You'll be safe."

Ravi smirked, ruffling one of the boys' hair. "You'll have beds, warm food, and school. That's better than the park, right?"

The eldest girl swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Really? You mean it?"

Rudra's eyes met hers, unwavering. "I don't make empty promises."

One by one, the children began to nod, slowly at first, then with more certainty. The idea of a home, a real home, started to feel possible.

Just as they were about to leave, the restaurant staff and servers stood at the entrance, watching in awe. It wasn't every day they saw a man like Rudra Singhaniya take street kids under his wing.

As they stepped outside, a mini-bus pulled up. It was brightly colored, decorated with cartoon characters, making it look inviting rather than intimidating.

The children stared at it in shock. It looked like something out of a dream.

Aarav grinned. "What do you think? Cool, right?"

The youngest girl clapped her hands excitedly. "It has cartoons!"

Ravi laughed. "Of course, can't have a boring bus for kids."

Rudra turned to them one last time. "This is your chance at a better life. Get on, and we'll take you home."

With hesitant but hopeful steps, the children climbed aboard, their hearts racing with a mix of fear and excitement.

Tonight, their lives were about to change forever.

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It was 10:30 PM when Rudra, Aarav, and Ravi finally set the children up in their new home—an NGO that ensured proper shelter, food, and education for underprivileged kids. The building stood tall, painted in soft shades of blue and white, with a warmth that contrasted with the cold, harsh streets the children were used to. The interior was filled with tiny beds, shelves stacked with books, and a play area decorated with colorful drawings made by other kids who had found a home here before them.

The children, though hesitant at first, had begun to settle in. The youngest boy clung to his older sister's hand, his big brown eyes scanning the room with uncertainty. Rudra knelt before them, his deep, unwavering gaze meeting theirs. "Tum yahan safe ho. Yeh tumhara ghar hai ab. (You are safe here. This is your home now.)"

The nine-year-old girl, who had been their voice throughout, looked up at him. "Humein yeh sab mil raha hai sirf school jaane ke liye? (We are getting all this just to go to school?)"

Rudra nodded. "Sirf school nahi, ek nayi zindagi mil rahi hai. Par wada karna padega ki tum sab school jaoge. (Not just school, but a new life. But you have to promise that you will all go to school.)"

The children exchanged glances. Some were hesitant, some hopeful. The eleven-year-old boy who had spoken earlier stepped forward, determination lighting up his young face. "Hum jaayenge. Hum sikhenge. (We will go. We will learn.)"

Aarav smirked, ruffling the boy's hair. "Good boy."

Ravi, standing a few feet away, took out his phone and dialed a number. "Prepare the kids' rooms. Make sure they have everything they need—clothes, books, and supplies."

The children watched with wide eyes, still unable to fully grasp the reality of their new situation. Some were scared—fearful that this was too good to be true, that it would all be taken away. Sensing this, Rudra's tone softened as he reassured them. "Koi bhi tumhe yahan se nahi nikaalega. Yeh tumhara ghar hai jab tak tum chaaho. (No one will throw you out of here. This is your home as long as you want it to be.)"

A gentle nod from Ravi and a playful nudge from Aarav eased their tension. Slowly, smiles began to form on their tired faces. For the first time in a long while, they felt protected.

After ensuring the children were comfortable, the three men left the NGO, stepping into the cool night air. A few moments later, their black SUV pulled up at the grand entrance of Singhaniya Mansion.

As they stepped through the main gate, they noticed Dev Singhaniya, their father, climbing the stairs. He paused mid-step as he heard their voices. Turning slightly, his sharp, knowing eyes fell on his sons.

His voice carried the weight of both amusement and authority. "Sad boys, done working?"

The shift in atmosphere was immediate. Rudra, who had been warm and gentle with the kids just moments ago, straightened, his expression turning cold once more. Ravi, too, returned to his usual composed demeanor, his casual smirk vanishing. Only Aarav remained unchanged, unfazed as always, his carefree nature shining through.

"Yes, Dad," Aarav replied nonchalantly, his hands in his pockets. He had never cared about formalities, whether inside or outside their home.

Dev's gaze lingered on them for a moment before he spoke again. "Boys, anything that you should want to tell me?"

Rudra's tone was steady but distant. "No, Dad. It's nothing important."

Dev's eyes flickered with understanding, but he didn't push further. Instead, he nodded slightly. "Good. Then go back to your rooms before your mother comes and decides to take a class on your whereabouts."

Aarav chuckled, shaking his head. "You just don't want to deal with her lecture, do you?"

Dev smirked but said nothing. Instead, he turned and continued up the stairs, leaving his sons standing in the dimly lit hallway.

As he disappeared from view, Aarav let out a dramatic sigh. "Phew. Safe for now."

Ravi shot him an amused look before shaking his head and heading toward his room. Rudra, silent as ever, cast one last glance toward the stairs before walking off in the opposite direction.

Tonight had been different. Tonight, they had done something more than just carrying the weight of their family name. Tonight, they had changed lives.

And as they settled into the familiarity of their home, they all knew—this was just the beginning.