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Second book will be ranveer's and I already uploaded the ranveer book dedication and trope and add the book in your reading list cause ranveer is going to become your book boyfriend and husband you will love ranveer more than shivansh..

Author's POV
The night had grown softer after dinner.
Most of the guests slowly drifted back to their houses or lounges, laughter fading into quiet conversations, music lowering into something gentle and slow. The wedding venue, which had been blazing with energy just an hour ago, now glowed like a calm sea of lights under the dark sky.
Isha and Shivansh were still sitting together on the decorated couch, photographers now gone, cameras finally resting.
For the first time that evening… it was just them.
Isha adjusted the edge of her dupatta, her bangles softly chiming.
"So…" she murmured, not looking at him, "this is the part where we sit awkwardly as half-married people?"
Shivansh let out a low laugh.
"If this is awkward, I don't want to know what normal feels like."
She glanced at him.
"You don't look awkward at all."
"That's because I'm trying very hard not to stare at you like an idiot."
She smiled despite herself.
"Then stop trying."
He turned to her, fully now.
"How am I supposed to stop," he said quietly, "when you look like this?"
Isha's breath hitched slightly.
The glow of the fairy lights reflected off her jewelry, off her eyes, off the soft gold of her lehenga. She looked unreal, like she had stepped out of a story written centuries ago.
"You're exaggerating," she whispered.
"I'm not," he replied. "I'm under-describing."
She lowered her gaze, suddenly shy.
"You were supposed to say something normal… like everyone else."
"Everyone else is blind," he said simply.
She laughed, soft and nervous.
"I don't even feel real anymore," she admitted. "This morning I was just… me. And now everyone is calling me Rani Sa."
"You've always been a queen," he said. "The title is just catching up."
She looked at him, eyes glistening.
"Does it scare you?"
"What?"
"Being married again," she said quietly. "Doing it in front of the whole world this time."
He thought for a moment.
"No," he said. "Losing you scares me. This doesn't."
She reached out, brushing her fingers against his hand.
"I was scared," she admitted. "Not of you… just of being happy again. It felt dangerous."
"And now?"
"And now I feel like if I don't let myself be happy… it would be disrespecting everything we survived."
He squeezed her hand gently.
"We survived because you didn't give up."
"You survived too," she said. "You never let go."
They sat there for a moment, just breathing in the silence between them.
From a distance, Aviyansh's voice suddenly echoed.
"Oi! Newly-almost-married people!"
Isha groaned.
"Here comes chaos."
Aviyansh walked over with Ishika, Prisha, Ranveer, Arjun and Arav trailing behind.
"Why are you two sitting like you're attending a funeral?" Arjun asked dramatically. "Smile! You're getting married again!"
"We already smiled for a hundred photos," Shivansh said. "I think my face is stuck."
Ishika smirked.
"You look too calm. I don't trust it."
Isha laughed.
"What do you want?"
"To kidnap you," Prisha said sweetly. "But your security would probably kill us."
Ranveer leaned in.
"We just came to check if you two are okay."
Shivansh raised an eyebrow.
"Why wouldn't we be?"
"Because," Aviyansh said, lowering his voice, "tomorrow morning you're about to walk around fire and promise each other seven lifetimes."
Isha swallowed.
"That… sounds big when you say it like that."
Shivansh looked at her.
"You don't have to be scared."
"I'm not scared of you," she said softly. "I'm scared of how much I love you."
His gaze softened.
"That's the safest thing you could ever be scared of."
Everyone went quiet for a second.
Then Aviyansh clapped his hands loudly.
"Okay, that was disgusting. We're leaving before you two make us emotional."
Ishika laughed.
"Try to get some sleep, okay? You both look like you're running on adrenaline."
Prisha leaned in and hugged Isha carefully.
"Tomorrow you're going to break everyone's hearts."
Isha hugged her back.
"I already did and wait where are meher bhabhi, Alessandro bhaiya, Luka and my baby riyan."
Dhruv replied, "They left for Italy because something happen their and couldn't tell tell because you are doing dinner that time they tell me and left, and they will visit you again don't be angry with them. "
Once they left, the silence returned.
The venue lights dimmed a little more, lanterns glowing softly against the night sky.
Shivansh stood up and held out his hand.
"Come," he said. "Let's walk for a bit."
"Where?"
"Nowhere. Everywhere. I just want to be beside you before the world claims us again tomorrow."
She took his hand.
They walked slowly through the decorated pathways, flowers brushing against their clothes, fairy lights twinkling above them.
"You know," Isha said softly, "tomorrow when we take those four pheras…"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to think about everything we lost… and everything we got back."
He nodded.
"I'll think about how every step I took without you felt wrong."
She stopped walking and looked at him.
"Promise me something."
"Seven things tomorrow," he smiled. "But you can start now."
"Promise me that no matter what happens… we don't stop choosing each other."
His voice was steady when he replied.
"I've already chosen you for a lifetime. The pheras are just the paperwork."
She laughed, tears slipping from her eyes.
"Idiot."
"Your idiot," he said.
They stood there under the lights, hands entwined, hearts finally calm.
Tomorrow, the sun would rise.
And with it, their forever.
The night thinned slowly, like silk being pulled apart by the coming dawn.
By the time the stars began to fade, the entire venue was already stirring again — priests chanting softly in the mandap area, temple bells ringing somewhere in the distance, fresh marigold garlands being strung, the scent of ghee and agarbatti mixing with the cool morning air.
This was it.
The real wedding.
Inside her bridal suite, Isha sat in front of the mirror, wrapped in soft white and gold silk, her hair loosely braided, her face bare of heavy makeup for now. She looked different from last evening — quieter, softer, almost sacred.
Her mother stood behind her, gently oiling her hair.
"Today," her mother whispered, "you won't walk toward a stage. You'll walk toward a life."
Isha's throat tightened.
"I already walked that path once… and it hurt."
Her mother kissed the top of her head.
"And yet you chose to walk it again. That's not weakness. That's courage."
Her father entered quietly, holding a small box of sindoor and her mangalsutra, his eyes already red.
"I keep thinking you're still that little girl who cried if her dupatta wasn't straight," he said softly. "And today… you're about to become someone's wife again."
Isha stood and hugged him tightly.
"I'll always be your daughter," she murmured.
"Of course you will," he said, voice breaking. "But now… you'll also be his home."
Outside, Shivansh was standing near the mandap, dressed in pristine ivory and gold, his shoulders squared but his heart racing.
Aviyansh leaned beside him.
"Breathe, Rana sa. You look like you're about to face a war."
"I am," Shivansh replied quietly. "The kind where you lose yourself and gain everything."
Ranveer chuckled.
"Dramatic as always."
But Shivansh wasn't joking. His eyes were fixed on the empty mandap.
In a few moments, she would walk toward him.
The sun rose slowly behind the horizon, golden and warm.
The priest's voice echoed.
"Bring the bride."
Isha stepped out.
Not in glittering heavy bridal attire like last night — but in a traditional red and gold sari, her face glowing, her hair adorned with jasmine, her eyes lined softly. She looked like a promise.
Her brothers stood around her — Arjun, Dhruv, Arav, and Ritwik — forming a quiet circle of protection.
Arjun whispered, "Ready?"
She smiled through tears.
"As I'll ever be."
Most of the guests had already gone.
No press.
No crowd.
No noise.
Only family remained.
A quiet photographer stood at a distance, capturing moments, but even his camera felt respectful — as if it knew this time was not meant to be disturbed.
They walked her forward.
Shivansh felt it before he saw her.
Something shifted in the air.
His chest tightened, breath hitching.
And then… he saw her.
Walking toward him with the sunrise behind her.
For a second, the world vanished.
No guests. No mandap. No music.
Just her.
"Isha…" he breathed.
She met his gaze.
"I'm here."
The priest motioned them forward.
The priest raised his hand gently.
"Vadhū aur var… apna sthān grahan kijiye.
Bride and groom, take your place."
Shivansh stepped forward first, turning toward Isha, his eyes searching her face as if asking one last time — Are you here with me?
Isha nodded, her fingers trembling as she placed her hand in his.
Together, they sat before the sacred fire.
The havan kund glowed between them, flames dancing softly, as if even fire was listening.
The priest began chanting ancient mantras, his voice low, rhythmic, powerful.
"ॐ अग्नये नमः…"
"Agni ko sakshi maankar, vivaah ki kriya aarambh hoti hai."
The fire was no longer just fire.
It became a witness.
The fire crackled.
The priest handed a cloth — the gathbandhan — and tied one end to Shivansh's stole and the other to Isha's dupatta.
"You are now bound," he said. "Not by rope. But by fate."
The priest called softly,
"Kanyadaam ke liye kanya ke pita aage aayen."
Isha's father stood beside her. Her mother came and placed her hand over Isha's.
The priest began the Kanyadaan.
"Today," he said, "a father does not give away his daughter. He gives his trust."
Isha's father's voice trembled as he spoke.
"I raised her with love… with protection… with pride. Today, I place her hand in yours, Shivansh. Not because she belongs to you… but because she chose you."
Tears rolled down Isha's cheeks.
Her mother whispered,
"Go. Be brave. Be loved."
Her father placed Isha's trembling hand into Shivansh's.
"Kanya… aaj se tumhari nahi, tum khud ki ho.
And he is the one you walk with."
Shivansh bowed his head.
"I swear… I will keep her safe with my life."
Isha's parents placed grains of rice, flowers, and ghee into their joined hands.
Shivansh's grandparents did the same.
Two families.
One prayer.
The priest looked at them.
"From this moment, you are no longer two individuals. You are a saath — a togetherness.
Now you will take your four vows — the Saat Vachans.
Seven from the groom, seven from the bride."
He turned to Shivansh first.
Shivansh held Isha's hands tightly.
His voice trembled, but it was strong.
"Vachan ek:
I promise to protect you — from the world, from sorrow, from fear… even from myself."
Isha swallowed hard.
"Vachan do:
I promise to respect your tears as much as your smiles."
"Vachan teen:
I promise to never let you feel alone again."
"Vachan chaar:
I promise to choose you — even on days when love feels difficult."
"Vachan paanch:
I promise to stand beside you in success and in failure."
"Vachan chhah:
I promise to honour your past, without letting it hurt our future."
"Vachan saat:
I promise to love you… not perfectly, but honestly, deeply, and forever."
Isha's eyes were filled with tears by the time he finished.
Now the priest turned to her.
"Vadhū, now your vows."
Isha took a shaky breath.
"Vachan ek:
I promise to walk beside you, even when the path is dark."
"Vachan do:
I promise to believe in you… even when you doubt yourself."
"Vachan teen:
I promise to protect your heart the way you protect mine."
"Vachan chaar:
I promise to speak the truth, even when it is hard."
"Vachan paanch:
I promise to forgive, even when it hurts."
"Vachan chhah:
I promise to build a home with you, not just a house."
"Vachan saat:
And I promise to love you… not because I have to, but because I choose to — every single day."
Shivansh closed his eyes.
That was when the priest nodded.
"Now, Sindoor Daan."
Shivansh took a pinch of vermillion from the silver plate.
His hands were shaking.
"Isha…" he whispered, "this is not a ritual for me. This is my soul."
He gently parted her hair and placed the sindoor along her maang.
A little of it slipped — brushing her forehead, even touching the bridge of her nose.
A soft murmur went through the elders.
The priest smiled.
"When sindoor falls like this, it means the husband will love his wife beyond measure."
Isha's lips trembled.
Then came the Mangalsutra.
The priest handed it to Shivansh.
"Bind her with this not as a chain… but as a promise."
Shivansh moved behind her and tied it slowly, carefully, as if afraid to break the moment.
As the black-and-gold beads rested against her skin, Isha closed her eyes.
Something settled inside her.
The priest raised his voice.
"From this moment… by fire, by vows, by sindoor, and by sacred promise —
You are husband and wife."
Shivansh leaned forward kissed her forehead and whispered,
"Hello, my wife."
And for the first time… not in pain, not in memory, but in truth—
Isha smiled.
"Hello, my forever."
The final mantras faded into silence.
The sacred fire still glowed softly, its warmth wrapping around the mandap like a blessing that refused to leave.
The priest folded his hands.
"Ab aap dono apne badon ka aashirvaad lijiye.
Now go and take blessings from your elders."
Shivansh stood up first and immediately turned toward Isha.
"Careful," he whispered, holding her hand firmly as she rose.
Her saree was heavy but little problematic — but the heaviest thing was the realization in her heart: I am someone's wife now.
Together, they took their first step as husband and wife.
Their first destination was his grandparents.
The elders sat on their carved chairs, eyes already soft with pride.
Both Shivansh and Isha moved forward and bent to touch their feet.
But before Isha could even lower herself fully, his grandmother immediately reached out.
"No," she said sharply, stopping her.
Isha froze.
Shivansh paused, confused.
"Dadi?"
His grandfather spoke gently but firmly.
"Shivansh, you may bow. She will not."
Isha tried again, her instinct too strong.
"Dadi sa, please—"
His grandmother cupped her face.
"You are our daughter now. And a daughter never touches her parents' feet."
Tears filled Isha's eyes.
"But I want to—"
"You will not," his grandfather smiled. "You will be blessed by us. Not humbled."
Shivansh bent and touched their feet properly.
They placed their hands on his head.
Then both elders pulled Isha into their arms.
"Our Lakshmi," his grandmother whispered. "Welcome home."
They moved next to Shivansh's parents.
Isha once again tried to bow — and once again she was stopped.
His mother hugged her tightly.
"You don't bow here, beta. You belong here."
His father placed a hand on Shivansh's shoulder and the other on Isha's head.
"You two are one now. May you always stand together."
Then came his aunt and uncle.
The same ritual repeated.
The same refusal.
The same warmth.
By the time they reached Isha's parents, her eyes were already wet.
She stepped forward… and her mother immediately wrapped her in her arms.
"My baby…"
Her father hugged both Shivansh and Isha together.
"Take care of her," he whispered to Shivansh.
"I will," Shivansh replied without hesitation.
Then they turned toward the younger generation.
Ranveer stood there, smiling.
Isha looked at him for a second, then nodded to Shivansh.
"Let's take his blessings," she whispered.
Both of them moved forward.
Isha bent first.
But before she could even lower herself properly, Ranveer quickly stepped back.
"Hey, no—!"
She froze.
"But you are elder—"
He smiled softly.
"I am older in age," he said. "But the position you hold is far greater."
Isha frowned.
"What position?"
Ranveer gently bent down instead of letting her touch his feet his touch isha feet.
"Because you are our Lakshmi now."
Isha gasped.
"What are you doing?!"
"It is my duty," he said calmly. "To bow to the goddess of this family."
Her eyes filled instantly.
Aviyansh did the same.
Others simply hugged them.
Some laughed.
Some cried.
Arjun quietly came forward and touched Shivansh's feet — then hugged isha tightly.
Nothing was loud.
Nothing was dramatic.
It was just love.
Pure.
Sacred.
Family.
And for the first time… Isha didn't feel like a guest in anyone's world.
She felt like she belonged.
The cars moved slowly through the quiet morning.
The wedding venue was far behind now — lights, mantras, fire, promises — all left behind like a dream that had already become memory.
Ahead of them waited Isha's house.
Not just a house.
Her life.
Inside the car, Isha sat beside Shivansh, her hands resting in her lap, her bangles still echoing softly with every small movement. Her bridal dupatta covered her head, but her eyes were already wet.
Shivansh noticed.
He didn't say anything.
He simply reached out and held her hand.
In the front seat, Aviyansh looked back once, his jaw clenched, his eyes shining far more than he wanted to admit.
Ranveer drove silently, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.
Behind them, another car followed — Isha's family, her people, the ones who were about to let her go.
Arjun sat with his arms folded, but his shoulders shook slightly.
Ishika had her face buried in Prisha's dupatta.
Prisha was crying openly, without shame in arav arms.
Ritvik was driving the car with them.
Dhruv drove silently, gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly., not blinking, pretending he was strong.
Isha's mother kept whispering, "My child… my child…"
Her father sat quietly, the weight of the moment pressing into his chest.
Arjun was just looking outside the window, pretending strong but everyone knows he is not.
The car slowed.
"Isha," Shivansh said softly, "we're here."
Her heart shattered at those two words.
Outside, her house stood glowing — decorated, bright, alive.
And yet it felt like goodbye.
The doors opened.
As soon as she stepped out, Ishika ran to her.
"Isha!"
She held her so tightly it almost hurt.
"Please don't go… just stay here… please…"
Isha laughed through tears.
"I'm not dying, you idiot."
"It feels like you are!" Ishika cried.
Prisha joined them.
"We just got you back," she sobbed. "Five years… five years you were lost… and now—"
Isha touched her face gently.
"I'm still yours."
Dhruv came forward next.
He didn't speak at first. He just looked at her — from her head to her feet — like he was memorizing her.
"My little sister," he said hoarsely. "Look at you… you look… unreal."
Arjun finally broke.
He hugged her tightly.
"You better come visit every day," he said. "I swear, if you forget us—"
"I won't," Isha cried. "Never."
Rithvik stood behind, quietly wiping his eyes.
Arav tried to joke.
"Why is everyone crying? She's just moving houses."
No one laughed.
Even Shivansh's eyes were wet.
Aviyansh stood beside him, his voice barely steady.
"She's not just leaving a home," he murmured. "She's leaving a lifetime."
Inside the house, the final ritual waited.
The vidaai.
Isha was made to stand near the door.
Her mother placed rice in her hands.
"Throw it behind you," she whispered. "Return what this house gave you… love… safety… childhood…"
Isha's hands shook.
"mummy…"
Her mother broke.
"My baby…"
Her father stood behind her, tears falling silently.
"Go, beta," he said. "Go live your life."
Isha turned one, then two, then three, again and then one last time and threw the rice.
Each grain felt like a piece of her heart.
Then Shivansh gently took her hand.
"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here."
And as she stepped forward, every single person she loved cried — not because she was gone, but because she had grown.
Because she had become a bride.
Because she was brave.
And because love… sometimes means letting go.
The car doors closed.
That soft, final sound felt louder than all the wedding drums combined.
Isha sat in the back seat, beside Shivansh, her body facing forward — but her soul still standing outside her house.
Through the glass window, she could see them.
Her mother, still wiping her tears with the edge of her saree.
Her father, standing tall but broken.
Dhruv with his arms crossed, staring at the ground.
Arjun trying so hard not to cry that it was hurting him.
Ishika clinging to Prisha.
Ritvik blinking rapidly, Arav refusing to let tears fall.
And behind them — her home.
The lights glowing.
The temple corner where she had prayed since childhood.
The doorframe where her height was marked year after year.
The balcony where she had cried, laughed, dreamed.
Isha pressed her palm against the window.
"I can come back," she whispered to herself.
"I can visit anytime…"
But her heart answered softly:
It won't be the same.
Because now she wouldn't live here.
Now she belonged to another house.
Another family.
Another world.
Shivansh felt her tremble.
He didn't speak.
He just wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her gently into him.
"I know," he murmured. "It hurts."
Her voice cracked.
"It feels like I'm being cut in two."
In the front seat, Ranveer was gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.
Aviyansh jaw was clenched.
His eyes were wet.
Not because he was weak —
but because he loved her.
Aviyansh glanced behind at shivansh.
"Breathe, Bhai sa."
"I'm fine," shivansh muttered. "Just… drive."
The engine started.
Slowly, painfully, the car moved.
Isha watched as her house began to slip away —
first the gate,
then the lights,
then the shadows.
Her mother raised her hand.
Isha raised hers too.
They kept waving even when they could barely see each other anymore.
Finally, the house disappeared.
That's when Isha broke.
She hid her face in Shivansh's chest, crying silently — not loudly, not dramatically — but the way brides cry when they are strong for too long.
"I'm not losing them," she whispered.
"I know that… I know…"
"But it still feels like I am."
Shivansh kissed her forehead.
"You're not losing them," he said. "You're just expanding your world."
She smiled weakly.
"Your family will become mine."
"They already are," he said. "And I am yours."
The road stretched ahead.
Delhi Palace waited — glowing, ready, alive with excitement.
Somewhere ahead, his family was preparing to welcome their daughter-in-law.
But inside that moving car, there was only one truth:
A girl had just left her childhood behind…
And a woman was being born.
The iron gates of Delhi Palace opened slowly.
Golden light spilled onto the road like something divine had been waiting just for her.
The car rolled in, tires crunching softly on rose petals scattered across the driveway. Isha looked out of the window, her breath hitching. This wasn't just a palace anymore… this was her new home.
As the car stopped right before the massive carved gates, Shivansh stepped out first. He walked around and opened her door himself.
"Come," he whispered, offering his hand. "Welcome home."
Isha placed her trembling fingers into his.
Before anyone could see her, Shivansh leaned closer. His thumb gently wiped the corner of her eyes.
"Not a single tear left," he murmured softly. "They'll blame me if they see even one."
She let out a tiny, broken laugh. "You really think they'll scold you on our wedding night?"
"They will," he said seriously. "Especially for making their bahu cry."
The moment her feet touched the ground—
BOOM.
Crackers exploded in the sky.
Light burst into colors above the palace.
Golden, red, silver sparks rained down.
Dhols started beating.
Traditional dancers twirled at the entrance.
It felt like Diwali had decided to happen just for her.
"God…" Isha whispered, overwhelmed.
"This is nothing," Ranveer said behind them. "Wait till you see what they've done inside."
Aviyansh grinned. "They went mad. Totally mad."
As they walked forward, petals rained over her head. Rangoli designs stretched across the marble floor — peacocks, lotuses, symbols of prosperity and love.
At the grand doors of the palace stood the entire family.
Shivansh's grandparents.
His parents.
Chote Papa and Chote Maa.
Fufa Sa and Bua Sa.
And behind them, rows of staff and guards standing respectfully.
His mother held a large aarti ki thali, decorated with flowers, a diya, rice, kumkum, and sweets.
The moment she saw Isha, her eyes filled.
"My bahu," she whispered. "My daughter has come."
Shivansh stood beside Isha, tall and proud.
Ranveer and Aviyansh stood just behind them, watching quietly.
"Bring her forward," his grandmother said gently.
Shivansh guided Isha ahead.
His mother circled the aarti around Isha and Shivansh together.
"Nazar utar rahi hoon," she said softly. "So that no evil eye ever touches you."
She put a black dot behind Isha's ear.
"There," she said. "Now no one can harm you."
Then she touched Isha's forehead with kumkum.
"From today," she said, voice breaking, "you are not a guest. you are not baby. You are my daughter. You are my child."
Isha's lips trembled.
"Maa sa. "
Shivansh's mother pulled her into a hug.
"You left one mother today," she whispered. "You gained another."
Shivansh watched, his throat tight.
His grandmother stepped forward and placed her hands on Isha's head.
"May your home always be full of laughter," she said.
"May your womb, heart, and life be blessed."
"May this palace never know darkness as long as you live in it."
Isha bent slightly in respect.
"No, no," his grandmother said quickly. "Daughters don't bow."
She hugged her.
Chote Maa smiled warmly.
"Welcome, princess."
Fufa Sa laughed.
"So this is the girl who stole Shivansh's heart."
Bua Sa wiped her tears.
"We've been waiting for you."
Then came the final ritual.
A small pot of rice was brought.
"Kick it," Shivansh whispered.
Isha gently pushed it with her foot, spilling rice across the marble.
"May wealth and happiness always overflow in this house," his mother said.
Shivansh held her hand.
"You did perfect," he whispered.
Isha looked around at the palace, the lights, the people, the love.
A few hours ago, she had been a daughter leaving her home.
Now she was a bride being welcomed into one.
And somewhere deep inside her, a quiet, fragile hope bloomed—
Maybe this place…
would truly become hers.
The moment Isha crossed the threshold of Delhi Palace, the heavy wooden doors slowly closed behind her with a soft, final sound.
It wasn't loud.
But it felt loud inside her heart.
Shivansh noticed it immediately.
He leaned closer. "Don't think of it as a door closing," he whispered. "Think of it as another one opening."
She gave him a weak smile. "You always know what I'm thinking."
"I married you," he said quietly. "That comes with the privilege."
Inside, the palace glowed like something out of a dream.
Hundreds of diyas flickered along the marble corridors. White and red flowers hung from the ceilings, filling the air with a soft, sweet fragrance. The chandeliers reflected off the polished floor, making everything look unreal, like she had stepped into a different world.
But before she could take it all in, Shivansh's grandmother lifted her hand.
"Now comes the most important part," she said gently. "The griha pravesh."
Two silver plate were placed at the entrance — one filled with kumkum water, the other with water.
"Dip your feet, beta," his mother instructed softly.
Shivansh lifted her saree slightly, her bangles trembling as she placed her feet into the red liquid. Then she stepped forward onto the white cloth laid across the floor, leaving behind delicate crimson footprints.
Everyone went quiet.
Those small prints slowly moved deeper into the palace.
"Wherever her feet go," Shivansh's grandmother said, her voice full of emotion, "prosperity will follow."
Isha swallowed hard.
Then came the kalash — a decorated pot filled with rice.
"Kick it again, slowly," Shivansh whispered.
She nudged it gently, spilling rice across the floor.
"May this home always overflow," his mother murmured.
Shivansh's father stepped forward, placing his hand on Shivansh's shoulder.
"From today," he said firmly, "you are not just my son. You are a husband. Protect her. Stand by her. Choose her every day."
Shivansh nodded. "Always."
Isha looked up at him, her eyes shining.
Ranveer smirked lightly. "Well, that sounded serious."
Aviyansh chuckled. "Because it is. He's officially trapped now."
Shivansh shot him a look. "Don't pretend you're not waiting for your turn."
"Let me survive this wedding first," Aviyansh said quickly.
Soft laughter broke the emotion.
Then his mother took Isha's hands.
The palace was still glowing when Shivansh's mother finally lifted her hand and said gently,
"That's enough for today. My daughter needs rest now. The remaining rituals will be done tomorrow."
Isha blinked, suddenly realizing how heavy her body felt — the long day, the emotions, the crying, the traveling, the ceremonies. Her legs were aching, her head was spinning, and yet she was still standing there, smiling like nothing was wrong.
Shivansh noticed.
He leaned slightly toward her. "You're about to fall."
"I am not," she whispered back stubbornly. "I'm just… a little tired."
"A little?" he murmured. "You've been a bride, a daughter,and a wife, all in one day."
His grand mother smiled softly at them.
"Go, both of you. Eat, rest. Tomorrow will come fast."
Before Isha could even react, voices erupted behind them.
"Ohhh," shivansh chote maa sang teasingly, "she already knows where she has to go in this palace."
Shivansh bua sa giggled. "Shall we drop her to Shivansh's room, bhabhi sa? Or do you remember the way?"
Shivansh fufa sa laughed. "She's been there so many times already, why pretend?"
Isha's face went bright red.
"Stop it!" she protested, hiding her face with her saree
Shivansh didn't even look back.
He simply bent down, slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, and lifted her straight up into his arms.
"Shivansh!" she gasped. "Put me down!"
"No," he said calmly, already walking. "You're my wife. Carrying you is allowed now."
The entire hall erupted.
"Ufffff!"
"Someone save her!"
"This is unfair!"
Isha buried her face into his shoulder, mortified.
"You're embarrassing me!"
"Good," he replied softly. "Only I'm allowed to."
They reached the royal wing, the corridor that led to Shivansh's private chambers.
And there, right in front of his door, stood Ranveer and Aviyansh — arms crossed, blocking the way like guards.
Shivansh stopped.
"What are you two doing here?" he asked flatly.
Ranveer grinned. "waiting for nek."
Aviyansh nodded eagerly. "Ishika told us. Groom cannot enter without paying."
Isha peeked over Shivansh's shoulder.
"Oh… Ishika," she muttered.
Shivansh groaned. "Ranveer, aviyansh is younger I can understand about him being childish about you also with him?"
"No, why only he get neg, I also want some," Ranveer replied sweetly. "You want to go inside? You pay."
Shivansh turned his face away stubbornly. "I'm not giving you anything."
Isha looked at him, then at them.
Then she spoke softly but firmly.
"Whatever they ask for," she said, "you will give them."
Shivansh froze.
He slowly looked at her. "Isha—"
She raised her brows. "That was not a suggestion."
Ranveer burst out laughing. "Ohhh, so this is how it's going to be now."
Aviyansh stepped aside dramatically. "Please, bhai sa. We're done. We just wanted to see you lose."
"Traitors," Shivansh muttered.
They walked away, still laughing.
As Shivansh pushed open his chamber doors and stepped inside with Isha still in his arms, both of them went completely still.
The entire room was glowing.
Soft golden lamps.
Rose petals covering the floor.
White and red flowers hanging from the ceiling.
And in the center — the massive bed, decorated so beautifully that it almost looked unreal.
Isha whispered, stunned,
"Shivansh…"
He looked at her.
And for the first time since the wedding began, neither of them said anything.
Because some moments didn't need words.
The room was still glowing softly when Isha finally stirred in his arms.
"Shivansh…" she murmured, half-awake, her lashes fluttering. "I should… I should freshen up first. I look… terrible."
He smiled faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.
"You don't look terrible. You look exhausted."
"But still," she insisted weakly, trying to straighten herself. "Let me go wash my face. Then I'll come back and… help you."
"With what?" he teased.
"Everything," she replied sleepily. "Wife duties."
He chuckled. "Go on, then. I'll be right here."
She nodded, but then said "do one thing you go first till I take little rest," He didn't said anything just shook his head and went to washroom.
The moment she sat on the bed, the weight of the day caught up to her. The mattress was soft. The pillows smelled of flowers. Her eyes closed without her realizing it.
By the time Shivansh came out of the bathroom, hair damp, sherwani replaced with a simple kurta, he was already calling softly,
"Isha?"
No answer.
He stopped in the doorway.
She was curled on the bed, still in her heavy bridal saree, bangles glinting faintly in the lamp light, her face relaxed in deep sleep.
"Oh," he whispered. "You fell asleep."
He walked closer, his heart tightening.
"You didn't even eat," he murmured to her sleeping face. "Stubborn girl."
He brushed his thumb over her cheek, careful not to wake her.
"I'll let you sleep. When you wake up, I'll make you eat everything."
His eyes moved to her jewellery, the tight pins in her hair, the layers of fabric.
"You'll be uncomfortable like this."
He went to her wardrobe, opening it quietly. Rows of her clothes stared back at him.
"Where do you keep the comfortable ones…" he muttered.
He found a soft night set — a light shirt and shorts — and held it up.
"This will do."
On the dressing table he spotted the makeup wipes and moisturizer.
"Thank God," he whispered, relieved.
He sat beside her and gently shook her shoulder.
"Isha… sit up a little, jaana."
She made a tiny sound and leaned into him without opening her eyes.
"That's it… slowly," he coaxed, helping her sit.
He began removing her earrings first.
"One… two… careful," he murmured.
Her bangles followed, then her necklace. He placed everything neatly on the dressing table, one by one.
"I don't want anything of yours to get llost or you will beat me later." he told her quietly, even though she couldn't hear.
Taking a soft wipe, he brushed it over her cheeks, her forehead, her lips.
"Look at you," he smiled faintly. "Still beautiful without all this."
He applied a little moisturizer, rubbing it gently into her skin.
"There. No dryness. You always take care of your skin, so now it's my job."
Then came the harder part.
He swallowed, eyes flicking away as he carefully loosened her saree.
"I'm not… I'm not looking," he mumbled to himself, cheeks warm. "Just changing you."
Slowly, respectfully, he helped her out of the heavy fabric, his movements careful so she wouldn't wake.
"I'm sorry," he whispered when she shifted slightly. "Just… almost done."
He dressed her in the soft nightwear, tugging it gently into place.
"There," he said softly. "Much better."
He tucked the blanket around her, then went back to place her saree and blouse properly on the chair.
When he finally lay beside her, he pulled her into his arms.
"Sleep," he murmured against her hair. "I'm right here."
Isha shifted, curling into his chest.
"Shivansh…" she breathed, still asleep.
"Yes, jaana?"
She smiled faintly.
And just like that, they both drifted into the quiet of the night.
The room was silent again… too silent.
Shivansh was half asleep when he felt a small restless movement against his chest.
Something shifted. Then again.
He slowly opened his eyes and looked down.
Isha was twisting slightly, her brows faintly furrowed even in sleep.
"Hmm?" he whispered, sleepy himself. "What happened, jaan?"
She didn't open her eyes, but her lips moved. Her voice was soft, heavy with sleep.
"My… legs are hurting… like hell…"
He smiled softly.
"Ah," he murmured. "That's what it is."
Carefully, he moved away from her and got off the bed. He walked to the side table and picked up a small bottle of oil.
"Don't worry," he whispered to her sleeping form. "Your husband is here."
He came back and sat on the edge of the bed. He placed a pillow on his lap and gently lifted one of her legs, resting it on the pillow.
"Isha… relax," he whispered.
She made a tiny sleepy sound.
He warmed the oil between his palms and slowly started massaging her calf.
"Slow… gentle… like this," he murmured to himself.
His hands moved carefully, pressing softly, working the soreness away.
Her body slowly relaxed.
"Better?" he asked quietly.
She didn't answer — she was already drifting deeper into sleep, a faint smile forming on her lips.
He smiled back.
"Good."
He moved to her other leg and repeated the same, his hands patient, steady.
"You stood so much today… wore those heavy clothes… and still you didn't complain," he whispered. "Now I'll take care of you."
For almost an hour, he kept massaging her legs, not stopping until he was sure she was completely relaxed.
Finally, he gently placed her legs back on the bed.
"There," he murmured. "No more pain."
He went to the sink, washed his hands, put the oil bottle back, and returned.
He slipped back beside her and pulled her into his arms, holding her close.
"Sleep now," he whispered, kissing her hair.
And they did.
Until…
Movement again.
This time stronger.
Shivansh opened his eyes slowly.
Isha was sitting up on the bed, hair messy, eyes half open, looking utterly pitiful.
He glanced at the clock.
3:00 a.m.
"Jaan?" he said softly. "Why are you awake?"
She looked at him like a small, sulking child.
"I'm hungry."
He smiled despite himself. "Hungry?"
"Yes," she nodded, pouting. "Very."
"You want water?"
"No. Food."
"You just woke up to tell me this?" he teased.
She crossed her arms. "Well I didn't woke you up technically."
He sat up properly. "Why didn't you eat in the evening?"
"Because I slept," she said simply.
He sighed fondly. "Very good at least you remember that you didn't eat And now?"
"And now I'm starving."
"What do you want?"
She thought for a second… then suddenly brightened.
"White sauce pasta."
At three in the morning.
He blinked.
"White sauce pasta?"
She nodded seriously. "Yes."
"You're impossible."
She smiled. "But you love me."
"fortunately," he smiled, standing up. "Do you want to come to the kitchen or stay here?"
"I want to come."
She tried to stand, wobbling slightly.
"Careful," he said quickly. "Wait."
He went to the wardrobe, took one of his shawls, and wrapped it around her.
"Now you won't feel cold."
Then before she could react, he lifted her in his arms.
"Shivansh!" she laughed. "Put me down!"
"No."
"I can walk!"
"No."
She clung to his neck, laughing. "I look like a baby!"
"You are my baby."
He carried her to the small kitchen in their chamber and placed her gently on the counter.
"Sit here."
She swung her legs happily. "Yes, chef."
He started taking out ingredients.
"White sauce pasta at three a.m… my life is ruined."
She giggled. "You love it."
He poured milk into a pan. "You're lucky I know how to cook."
She leaned her chin on her hand. "You're lucky you married me."
He smirked. "Debatable."
As he cooked, she kept talking.
"I was dreaming about food, you know."
"Of course you were."
"And then I woke up and thought, why am I hungry?"
"Because you didn't eat."
"And then I thought, my husband is here."
He glanced at her. "And?"
"And he will make me pasta."
He smiled.
The low kitchen lights made everything feel unreal — as if the world outside their chamber had disappeared and only these two existed.
Isha sat on the marble counter, wrapped in Shivansh's shawl, her legs swinging slowly, hair messy from sleep, eyes half-closed but still watching him.
The sound of butter melting in the pan filled the silence.
Shivansh glanced at her again.
"Why are you staring at me like that?" he asked.
She smiled lazily.
"I like watching you cook."
He smirked. "You only like it because you're hungry."
"No," she said softly. "I like it because you're doing it."
He paused for a second, then shook his head with a small smile and poured cream into the pan.
"You are dangerous, you know that?"
She tilted her head. "Why?"
"Because you make me do things I never imagined I would."
He stirred the sauce slowly. "A king cooking white sauce pasta at three in the morning."
Isha giggled. "You're not a king right now."
"Oh?" he looked at her. "Then what am I?"
"My husband," she said simply. "And my midnight chef."
He looked at her for a long moment — really looked at her — messy hair, sleepy eyes, wrapped in his shawl like she belonged there.
"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured.
She blinked. "What did I do now?"
"Everything."
She smiled shyly.
He added garlic, the aroma filling the kitchen.
"Smells good," she whispered.
"Wait till you taste it."
"Ansh…" she called softly.
"Yes, Janna?"
"Why do you take so much care of me?"
He didn't answer immediately. He just kept stirring.
Then, quietly, "Because no one ever took care of me."
She went silent.
He added cheese, watching it melt into the sauce.
"You know," he said, "when I was younger, no one would ask if I was hungry or tired. They only asked if I was strong because becoming the next king was not easy."
She slowly slid off the counter and walked behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
"But I ask," she said.
"Yes," he whispered. "You do."
She rested her cheek on his back.
"I don't want you to feel alone again."
He closed his eyes for a second.
"And I don't want you to ever feel unloved."
He turned off the stove and faced her.
"Come here."
She lifted her face. "Why?"
"So I can see you properly."
He gently touched her cheek.
"You asked me earlier why I care so much."
His voice dropped.
"Because you are the only place where I don't have to be Shivansh the king. I can just be… me."
Her eyes softened.
"And I love that you."
He swallowed.
"Sometimes," he said slowly, "I feel like I love you more than myself wait not sometimes I actually live to more than my self. "
She frowned. "That's not fair."
He raised a brow. "Why?"
"Because then you'll forget yourself."
He smiled sadly.
"Maybe I already did."
She cupped his face.
"Don't."
He leaned into her touch.
"Isha…"
"Yes?"
"What about me then?"
She blinked.
"What do you mean?"
He looked at her, raw and honest.
"You take care of everyone. You love everyone. You always give."
His voice cracked just a little.
"But when you do all that… what about me?"
Her heart skipped.
"You are included in everyone."
"No," he said softly. "I want to be separate."
She stepped closer.
"You are not separate," she whispered. "You are my first."
His eyes darkened.
"Say that again."
"You are my first," she repeated. "Before anyone else."
He exhaled slowly, like he had been holding his breath his entire life.
She smiled softly.
"Now give me my pasta, Chef."
He chuckled and served the white sauce pasta into a bowl, sprinkling herbs on top.
"Careful. It's hot."
She took a spoonful and tasted it.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh my God…"
"What?"
"This is so delicious…"
She looked at him.
"And even tastier than back then."
He frowned. "Back then?"
She smiled teasingly.
"You don't remember?"
He stepped closer.
"When did I make pasta for you before?"
She pointed at his chest.
"Here. Try to Remember."
His throat went dry.
"You are impossible," he said.
"And you love it."
He fed her another spoonful himself.
"Eat properly."
She smiled, chewing slowly, eyes fixed on him like he was her entire world.
And for the first time in his life, Shivansh felt like he was not asking for love anymore.
He was finally receiving it.
They came back to the bedroom quietly, the palace still wrapped in that deep, velvet-blue silence of early morning. The lights were dim, soft, almost shy — just like her.
Isha walked ahead, still hugging his shawl around herself, her steps slow because sleep and comfort were pulling her down. She climbed onto the bed and turned, about to lie down, when Shivansh suddenly spoke.
"So… Janna."
She paused.
"Yes?"
He leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, eyes dangerous in that lazy, teasing way.
"You said the pasta I made today was better than before."
She smiled sleepily. "Because it was."
"Oh?" He stepped closer. "And you also told me to remember when I make it for you before and I remember now, with that I also remember we did something before I make pasta for you."
Her smile slowly faded.
"What… something?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
He stopped right in front of her.
"That night," he said softly. "When I made it for you for the first time. When we were… different."
Her cheeks went warm instantly.
"Shivansh…" she muttered.
He tilted his head. "You remember, don't you?"
She looked away, biting her lip. "You're being annoying."
"No," he whispered, coming closer, "I'm being honest."
He reached out and gently lifted her chin so she had to look at him.
"You said the pasta tasted better today," he murmured.
"So tell me… what about me?"
Her heart started beating too fast.
"What about you?" she repeated softly.
"Am I better now… or back then?"
His voice dropped just a little.
"Or should we do that something again… so you can compare?"
Her face turned completely red.
"Are you insane?" she gasped, pushing his chest lightly. "I was just talking about food!"
He laughed quietly. "That's not what your eyes are saying."
She tried to step back, but the bed stopped her.
"Shivansh, don't—"
He leaned closer, not touching her, but close enough that she could feel his warmth.
"You get so cute when you're embarrassed," he whispered. "I could tease you forever."
She hid her face in her hands. "You're impossible."
"But you love me," he said calmly.
"…Unfortunately," she mumbled.
He smiled and brushed a soft kiss against her hairline.
"Sleep now," he said gently. "I don't want to steal all your blushes tonight."
She peeked at him. "You already did."
He tucked her under the blanket, pulling her into his arms like she belonged there — because she did.
"Goodnight, Janna."
"Goodnight… troublemaker."
And with her heart still fluttering and her face still warm,
Isha drifted into sleep,
wrapped in his arms,
ending her first day as his wife
with love, teasing, and a smile she didn't even realize she was wearing.
Isha didn't remember when exactly sleep took them.
Maybe it was somewhere between the warmth of Shivansh's arms and the soft hum of the palace at night. Maybe it was when exhaustion finally defeated emotion. But when morning came, it didn't come quietly—it came wrapped in light, silk curtains, and the soft sound of temple bells echoing somewhere far inside the palace.
The first rays of the sun slipped through the tall windows and fell on Isha's face.
She stirred.
And then she felt it—an arm around her waist, firm and protective, pulling her closer as if even in sleep Shivansh was afraid to let her go.
"Ansh…" she murmured sleepily.
He didn't answer, but his hold tightened just a little.
She smiled.
"Good morning, Rana sa," she whispered teasingly.
That made him open his eyes.
He blinked once, then looked down at her messy hair, bare face, and sleepy smile. "Good morning, Rani Sa."
Her cheeks warmed at the title.
Before they could say anything else, a soft knock echoed at the door.
"isha beta ?" Shivansh's mother's voice came gently. "The rituals are waiting."
Isha's eyes widened. "Already?"
Shivansh chuckled. "Welcome to royal life."
Within minutes, Isha was dressed in a simple yet elegant saree, her hair loosely braided, her face glowing with that new-bride softness. Shivansh walked beside her as they went downstairs, their hands brushing again and again as if neither of them wanted to break the invisible thread connecting them.
The palace elders waited.
The aarti, the blessings, the soft chants—everything felt surreal. Just yesterday she was a girl walking toward a mandap. Today she was standing here as Jaipur's Rani.
After the rituals, the kitchen became her next destination.
Her first rasoi.
Isha stood in front of the stove, nervous.
"What if I mess it up?" she whispered.
Shivansh leaned closer. "Then we'll eat a mess together."
She laughed. "That doesn't sound comforting."
He picked up a spoon and handed it to her. "I'm with you. You can't fail."
Together they cooked—her stirring, him guiding, teasing, tasting. She fed him the first bite with shy fingers.
"So?" she asked, holding her breath.
He made a dramatic face. "Hmm…"
Her heart sank.
Then he smiled. "Perfect."
Relief flooded her face. She took a bite from his hand this time, eyes soft, sharing the moment.
Applause erupted from behind.
The family had been watching.
By evening, Isha's family arrived.
Hugs, tears, laughter filled the her home halls as she prepared to leave for Pagphera. She held her mother tightly, her father's eyes proud and wet.
"I'll come to meet you," she promised.
This was not just her husband's home anymore.
This was her destiny.
Yet still, when she left, her eyes searched for Shivansh.
And he understood.
That night, they returned to Delhi airport together.
And before the next sunrise, they flew to Jaipur.
Jaipur welcomed them like a dream.
Drums, flowers, chants of "Rana Sa! Rani Sa!" filled the air.
Shivansh was crowned.
And beside him, Isha sat.
On the throne where kings and queens ruled, they sat together—equal, powerful, bound by love.
The rally began.
Jeep after jeep. Guards everywhere. Aviansh and Ranveer alert, fierce, protective.
But Isha looked at Shivansh and said softly, "Let's walk."
He turned to her. "Isha—"
"I don't want them to see me from behind glass. I want to see them. Touch them. Hear them."
So they stepped down.
Hand in hand.
Walking through Jaipur.
Meeting their people.
Smiling.
Listening.
Blessing.
From temples to streets, from markets to palaces, they went—not as distant royalty, but as king and queen who belonged to their people.
Days passed in a blur of ceremonies, coronations, meetings.
In the Darbar, Shivansh and Isha sat on the judgment seats where people brought their problems.
Sometimes together.
Sometimes alone.
She listened.
She solved.
She comforted.
And Shivansh watched her quietly, not knowing yet that his queen was far more powerful than he imagined.
They had never planned to love.
It had come unexpectedly.
Through anger.
Through distance.
Through betrayal.
Through pain.
But still, it survived.
Even when they waited in silence.
Even when they screamed.
Even when they broke apart.
Love never left.
And so this is the story of Shivansh and Isha—
a love born in chaos,
forged in fire,
and destined to rule.
A saga of love and betrayal.
Of kings and queens.
Of two hearts that found each other when they least expected it.
Of Shivansh and Isha.
His Unexpected Love ~ A saga of love and betrayal ends here..
----------------------------------------------------------------
How was the Chapter??
I never thought I would be here.
Not because I didn't dream — but because I never believed I would actually do it.
On 25th September 2024, I posted my very first author's note.
Zero reads.
Zero votes.
Zero followers.
Zero confidence — but one quiet hope.
That day, I wasn't a writer. I was just someone who loved stories too much.
I had always been a reader. I noticed things in books — scenes that felt incomplete, emotions that could have been deeper, moments I wished were written differently. But I never imagined I would be the one writing them. The idea came suddenly, softly, almost like a whisper:
Why don't you write your own?
During Ganpati days, when peace and faith filled my home, something else filled my heart — a story.
Characters appeared.
A theme formed.
A world started building itself inside my mind.
And I took a leap.
I posted.
No one was there to clap.
No one was there to cheer.
But I stayed.
Today, as I write the last part Chapter 99 of His Unexpected Love, I feel something I don't even know how to name. Goosebumps. A strange heaviness. A soft ache. A quiet pride.
It feels like I am losing something — not because it's gone, but because it has grown into something real.
For one whole year, Shivansh and Isha were not just characters.
They were my nights.
My tears.
My comfort.
My obsession.
My escape.
They were the place I went when the world felt too loud.
I didn't just write this book — I lived inside it.
There were moments when I wanted to quit.
When haters tried to tell me I wasn't enough.
When negativity made me question everything.
Once, it took me a whole week to decide whether I should continue.
Now? I block, I report, and I keep writing.
Because I learned something powerful:
People who try to break you are never stronger than the story you're telling.
From zero readers to 600+ followers.
From nothing to almost 800,000 views.
From a quiet dream to something thousands of people saw, read, and felt.
I did something I once only imagined.
And now, as I write this last chapter, it feels like saying goodbye to a version of myself — the girl who started with nothing but hope.
This isn't the end.
There will be bonus chapters.
There will be new stories.
There will be new worlds.
But this one — this first one — will always be special.
Because this is the story that proved I could do it.
And I did.
I always thought authors were emotionals.
When they said they cried while writing the last chapter…
When they said their hands trembled…
When they said it felt like losing something…
I used to think, "They are just too emotional."
But today, I understand.
I am sitting here, writing the final part of my book, and my chest feels heavy. My throat hurts. My hands are shaking. My eyes are burning. I am trying not to cry too loudly because if I do, my mother will ask, "Why are you crying?" — and how do you even explain this kind of pain?
How do you explain that you are not sad…
You are not broken…
You are just letting go of something that lived inside you for a whole year?
This is not sensitivity.
This is attachment.
This is what happens when you create something from nothing and then give it a heart.
Shivansh and Isha were not just names on a page. They were voices in my head, emotions in my chest, scenes in my dreams. Their happiness made me smile. Their pain made my eyes burn. Their journey became mine.
And now, as I write their last moments in this story, it feels like saying goodbye to people who lived with me every single day.
I am not losing them forever.
But this version of them… this journey… this chapter of my life… it is ending.
And that is why it hurts.
I'm shivering.
I'm emotional.
I'm proud.
I'm grateful.
I'm overwhelmed.
And I know one thing for sure:
No matter how many books I write in the future,
no matter how many worlds I create,
this one will always be special.
Because this was the story that made me a writer.
Love you all, bye
Ish💗