The Morning After Holi

The morning sun poured gently through the sheer curtains, casting golden stripes over the pale ivory sheets. The room was quiet except for the soft humming of the air conditioner and the occasional chirping of birds outside the window. Anaya stirred under the warmth of the thick blanket, her brows slightly furrowed. Her body felt unusually heavy, her limbs tangled in the sheets like she had tossed around in her sleep all night. She blinked slowly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she tried to process the heavy pounding in her head.

"Ugh... what did I eat last night?" she murmured groggily, rubbing the back of her head and letting out a soft whimper of discomfort. Her voice was barely audible—tender and tired.

A deep, cold voice cut through the silence, snapping her attention immediately."You didn't eat anything, Anaya. You drank that."

Her eyes widened instantly. That voice. That tone. That devilishly familiar voice. Her gaze shot towards the corner of the room—towards the small couch near the window. And there he was. Rudra Singhaniya. Sitting calmly in his jet-black silk kurta-pajama, one leg crossed over the other, sipping from a steaming cup of black coffee, his eyes coldly fixated on her. His other hand casually scrolled through his phone, but his gaze never left her.

She looked down at herself—her cheeks turned scarlet. She was wearing a soft night pajama set, one she didn't remember changing into. Her heart skipped. Her throat went dry.

"Drink...?" she whispered, blinking rapidly as her voice cracked. "No way! I don't drink like you!""Drink...?!""Main... I don't drink like you..." she muttered defensively, avoiding eye contact.

Rudra's smirk was slight but smug. "Yes, you did, Anaya. And I have proof."

That tone. Teasing, with just a hint of darkness laced in amusement. Her stomach twisted. As he stood up and took a step toward her, Anaya immediately panicked and tugged the blanket up to cover herself like a shield. Her fingers clutched the fabric tightly, and her mind raced.

Think, Anaya! You need to do something before this devil starts asking questions!

Her heart thudded in her chest as Rudra closed the distance, his tall figure looming near the bed. He reached out, as if ready to pull the blanket away from her face. But before he could, she threw the blanket off dramatically and jumped to her feet on the bed.

"Mujhe na office ke liye late ho raha hai!"(I'm getting late for the office!)

She rushed to climb down from the bed like a squirrel escaping a trap. But Rudra was faster. One hand was all he needed. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her swiftly towards him. Her foot caught in the bedsheet, and she lost her balance with a soft gasp, tumbling forward—straight into his arms.

Bridal style.

He caught her like she weighed nothing at all. Her hands were pressed against his chest, her heartbeat roaring in her ears. She didn't dare meet his eyes. Not when her skin burned with embarrassment and his warmth wrapped around her like wildfire.

"Going somewhere without wishing your husband good morning?""That's not how a good wife behaves, velvet."

Velvet. That word. That nickname. The way he said it made her stomach flip. Before she could even speak, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, as natural as breathing.

"Office tum late bhi jaa sakti ho," he said, a slight chuckle escaping his lips. "But right now... it's just 6 a.m."(You can go late to the office... but right now, it's 6 a.m.)

She turned even redder. Her fingers fidgeted in his kurta, and only now did she truly register that her clothes were changed. Her eyes flickered up to his as she asked hesitantly, barely above a whisper, "Who changed my clothes...?"

Rudra sipped his coffee again, letting her stew for a moment. Then, with a devilish grin, he tilted his head."Does this look like the living room?"

"Huh?" she blinked. "No... this is... a room...?"

"Exactly. Your room. And of course, your husband did it."

His voice dropped lower. Dangerous. Playful. He adjusted his hold on her, pulling her tighter into his chest. His palm caressed her lower back just enough to make her body freeze again.

Anaya's cheeks were on fire. Her brain was short-circuiting between embarrassment and fury. Trying to gain control of herself, she suddenly grabbed him by the collar and frowned—pretending to be mad, but her eyes betrayed the flustered mess she was.

"Mr. Wallet! You may be my husband, but... how dare you change a girl's clothes?! You could've asked one of Ria's guards or maids!"

He laughed softly, deep and rich."Itna advantage toh mat lo, Velvet..."(Don't act so innocent now, Velvet...)

"Bohot advantage already utha chuki ho."(You've already taken a lot of advantage of me.)

She gasped. "What!?"

"Ria... uski bhi condition tum jaisi hi thi."(Ria too was in the same condition as you.)

Her jaw dropped. She wanted to hit him with a pillow or something heavy. But a traitorous smile tugged at the corners of her lips. And Rudra saw that. He saw through all her fake anger, her blush, her nervousness—and loved every second of it.

He leaned close again, whispering at her lips, not touching them."Ab bolo, good morning husband."(Now say... good morning, husband.)

Her heart thumped, her lips parted.

This devil... her devil... wasn't going to let her go so easily.

.______..______..______.💖.______..______..______.

Rudra carried her effortlessly in his arms, ignoring her protests that grew quieter with each step. His shirt was soaked and stained with color, her dupatta barely hanging on, her cheeks glowing red—not from gulaal but the rising warmth between them. He pushed open the bathroom door, stepping into the dimly lit space filled with the scent of rosewater and marigold from the morning rituals.

"Rudra, please... mujhe neeche utaro. Abhi," she whispered, her hands pushing lightly against his chest.

(Rudra, please... put me down. Now.)

He looked at her, eyes dark and unreadable, his jaw set like he was restraining more than just strength. Slowly, he lowered her onto the cold marble washing counter, her back brushing against the mirror as he leaned in, his palm warm on her waist.

"I'll put you down," he murmured, his voice a silken thread of control, "but I want something from you first."

Anaya blinked, her heartbeat thudding wildly as her brows knitted together. "Kya?" she whispered, breath catching in her throat.

(What?)

"Your diary," he said softly, almost with reverence. "I want to read it. Par sirf ek shart pe…"

(On one condition…)

His fingers moved gently through her hair, caressing the wet strands away from her face as he tilted her chin upward. Their eyes met in the mirror in front of them—his filled with hunger laced in tenderness, hers flickering between confusion and anticipation.

"…I want to be the reason you write," he said, resting his forehead against hers.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter, the cold stone grounding her against the fire his presence ignited within.

"Can I… make you my to-do list?" he whispered, his lips grazing her ear, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare waist where her pajama shirt had risen ever so slightly.

She gasped, her voice barely there. "Rudra…"

"Hmm?" he breathed, lips now brushing along her jawline, heat radiating off his skin as his thumb slid gently over her lower lip.

"Tum… you want my diary?" she asked again, her voice no longer protesting but wondering, hopeful, vulnerable.

(You… you want my diary?)

"Velvet…" he breathed out, the name falling like prayer from his mouth. "Say my name again. Say it… jab tak mein poori tarah tumhara ho jaaun."

(…until I become entirely yours.)

His lips finally met hers, slow and searching. The kiss wasn't rushed—it was heavy with a thousand words unsaid. His hands didn't fumble; they explored gently, holding her steady as if she were something precious, rare. Her hands curled around the collar of his kurta, pulling him closer, anchoring herself to him. His mouth moved with need, but never out of bounds—like a man who knew the value of patience even when desire clawed beneath his skin.

She melted into the kiss, her earlier protests dissolving into sighs. It wasn't wild—it was deep, like an acknowledgment. Married, yes. Lovers, not yet. But this moment was the bridge between restraint and acceptance. His forehead pressed against hers again as they pulled apart, breath mingling in the quiet hush of the bathroom.

"Let me be the first person you write about when your pen touches that diary again," he whispered, his voice laced with reverence.

She nodded, her lips trembling slightly. "Okay… but you have to promise not to judge."

He smiled, and this time, it wasn't the smirk of Singhaniya—the CEO, the cold-hearted man. It was Rudra. Just Rudra. Her Rudra. Her Mr. Walet.

"I'll only fall harder," he whispered, planting a gentle kiss on her forehead before finally pulling her into a protective embrace, shielding her from the chaos outside and from the storms within.

.______..______.💮.______..______.💖.______..______.

The golden light of the morning softly spilled into the room, casting a gentle warmth over the couple wrapped in the aftermath of a stolen moment. Her breath hitched as she broke away from the lingering kiss, her hands resting against his chest, slightly pushing him back—though her heart thudded wildly, clearly not in agreement with her actions. She blinked, still dazed, then narrowed her eyes at the man in front of her.

"Did you just say... you have proof? Mere kya? What exactly do you have proof of?" she asked, brows furrowed in mock annoyance but curiosity dancing in her voice.

Rudra's lips curled into that devilish smirk she was learning to both despise and secretly crave. His eyes, dark and intense, dropped down to her lips—hungry, wanting more. But instead of replying, he raised her hand and pinned it lightly against the mirrored wall beside them. Before she could protest again, his face inched closer, his breath fanning over her cheek. Another kiss was threatening to steal her sanity, but she managed to bring her palm to his mouth just in time.

"Morning wish ho gaya, ab jawab do. Konsa proof ki main ne drink kiya tha?"(The morning wish is done—now answer me. What proof do you have that I drank?)

She was stern, commanding now, and he groaned softly against her hand, his eyes rolling with exaggerated drama.

"Hmm mhhmm..." he mumbled under her palm, signaling toward her hand.(Hmm mhhmm... remove your hand first, then I'll tell you.)

Anaya huffed with playful irritation, eyes narrowed.

"Heh! Hmm kya laga rakha hai? Seedha boliye!"(What's with the 'hmm'? Speak clearly!)

Finally, she removed her hand and Rudra wasted no time. He reached for his phone on the counter nearby, unlocking it with a smug little click, and showed her a video. Anaya took it, eyebrows lifting with interest and horror mixing as she played the clip. It was from the night before—three girls laughing uncontrollably, speaking nonsense, and barely able to sit straight in a decorated Holi corner. The audio was chaotic. The giggles. The slurs. The drunken charm.

"Yeh main hoon?" she whispered, staring at the screen in disbelief.

"Yup. And with you were your two partners in crime: Janvi and Ria. Teen ladies aur unke respective deewane—Ravi, Aarav, and your very own patidev Rudra."(Three ladies and their respective madmen—Ravi, Aarav, and your very own husband Rudra.)

He chuckled, loving her stunned expression. She glanced up from the phone, face flushed.

"But... who knows I wasn't in my senses?" she asked, anxiety slowly creeping in. "If Mumma or Grandma see this, they'll kill me..."

Rudra, clearly uninterested in her stress, had already moved closer, one hand sneaking under the hem of her shirt to rest comfortably on her waist. His touch was warm, teasing. She looked at him, scandalized.

"Yeh kya ho raha hai?"(What is happening here?)

"Morning romance, darling," he whispered against her ear, already angling in for another kiss.

Anaya gasped and backed away. "Mujhe nahi karna koi romance!"(I don't want to do any romance!)

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning teasing.

"Then why... do you want a kiss somewhere else?" he asked, voice low and dripping with mischief.

Her eyes went wide as saucers, cheeks turning a deeper red. "Hehehe... mujhe office ke liye jana hai!"(Hehehe... I have to go to the office!)

She jumped off the counter hurriedly, grabbing the towel and heading toward the wardrobe. Rudra, of course, wasn't ready to let her go that easily. He followed her like a shadow, arms casually folded, eyes fixed on her back like a predator stalking its prey.

"You're avoiding your husband, Velvet..." he said in mock pain.

"Nahi, aisa toh nahi hai. I'm just getting late... and I'm busy with my project deadline."(No, it's not like that...)

He caught her wrist as she picked out her kurta, pulling her gently to face him.

"Are you sure you're not avoiding me? Because I already have your diary."

She froze. Her eyes darted to meet his, alarmed. "Did you read anything?!"

Rudra blinked innocently and lied with a grin, "No... not yet. But I have your permission. Tumne mujhe kuch minutes pehle hi toh diya tha."(You gave it to me just a few minutes ago...)

She yanked her hand free with an exasperated sigh. "Jao, jao... ready ho jao. Abhi tumhe late nahi ho raha?"(Go, go... go get ready. Aren't you getting late now?)

Rudra simply leaned against the doorframe, watching her as she opened the wardrobe, her back to him again. And though she pretended to be focused on selecting an outfit, her lips curled into a hidden smile. Because somewhere inside, she wasn't really trying to avoid him at all.

She just liked how much he chased her—even in the middle of Holi mornings and hangovers.