Rudra Thakur rarely indulged in leisure, but tonight was an exception. He had come to the club to escape the suffocating weight of politics, the endless betrayals, and the never-ending chase for power. He wanted silence—not the absence of sound, but the kind that settled deep within the soul.
But fate had other plans.
As he sipped his whiskey, his sharp eyes swept across the club lazily—until they landed on her.
His entire body tensed.
Ritika.
The woman who had haunted his nights, slipping in and out of the shadows, touching him like a ghost only to vanish before he could catch her. He had spent years trying to find her, to put a face to the phantom that protected him. And now, she was right there, in front of him, completely unaware of his presence.
She wasn't hidden anymore. She had come to him.
And she was wearing that.
His jaw clenched.
A black, shimmering dress hugged her body, stopping dangerously high on her thighs. It clung to her like sin, leaving very little to the imagination. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back, and those deep, hypnotic eyes held mischief as she laughed, swirling the glass of liquor in her hand.
But what infuriated him was not her dress. It was the way every damn man in the club was looking at her—like she was theirs to take.
One man leaned in, whispering something in her ear. She threw her head back and laughed, tilting her body towards him in a way that made Rudra's blood boil.
"Bhaad mein jaye yeh sab." He muttered under his breath.
(To hell with this.)
His fingers gripped the glass so tightly that it threatened to crack. His patience was razor-thin, his control slipping.
And then she started dancing.
Her hips swayed to the music, her hands running through her hair as she got lost in the rhythm. She was untamed fire—dangerous, wild, and completely out of reach.
Men watched her.
And Rudra saw red.
Without thinking, he moved.
Ritika felt him before she saw him.
A presence. A storm in human form.
And then, warm hands grabbed her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest.
She gasped, turning her head slightly—only to meet his eyes.
Rudra.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. A shiver ran down her spine as his breath fanned against her ear.
"Tum ek bohot khatarnak khel khel rahi ho, chhoti jaan." His voice was low, dark, laced with something dangerous.
(You're playing a very dangerous game, jaan.)
She smirked, pressing her body against him deliberately. "Aur agar main yeh khel jeet gayi toh?"
(And what if I win this game?)
His grip on her waist tightened. "Tabhi toh main rok raha hoon."
(That's exactly why I'm stopping you.)
But she wasn't one to be tamed.
With a wicked glint in her eyes, she turned in his arms, pressing her palms against his chest.
"Mujhe laga tha tum mujhe dhoondh rahe ho," she teased.
(I thought you were searching for me.)
His expression darkened. "Ab mujhe dhoondhne ki zaroorat nahi. Tum khud chal kar mere paas aayi ho."
(Now I don't need to search for you. You've come to me willingly.)
His words sent a thrill down her spine. She had spent years keeping herself hidden, only to be found like this.
She reached up, running her fingers along his jaw. "Toh mujhe lene aaye ho, Rudra?"(So, have you come to claim me, Rudra?)
His body tensed under her touch, but he didn't move away.
That was all the confirmation she needed.
A wicked smile spread across her lips before she closed the distance and kissed him.
The moment their lips met, a fire ignited between them.
Ritika poured everything into the kiss—her desire, her obsession, the years she had spent watching him from the shadows. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.
For a second—just a second—he let himself fall.
His arms wrapped around her, his lips moving against hers with equal hunger. The world around them disappeared, lost in the haze of desire.
But then, Rudra's eyes snapped open.
And reality crashed down like a storm.
He pulled away abruptly, breathing hard.
Ritika frowned. "Kya hua?"
(What happened?)
He stepped back, his expression unreadable."aap ek student hain, aap mujhase bahut chhote hain."
(You are a student, you are younger than me.)
She tilted her head. "Main 22 saal Ia hoon aur tumase sirf 8 saal chhota hoon. agar tum nahin chaahatee to koe baat nahin.I will flirt with the bartender."
(I am 22 years old and only 8 years younger than you. It's ok if you don't want it.)
His jaw clenched.
Without warning, he pulled out a gun, pressing it to her forehead.
"Tum samajhti ho ki yeh sirf ek khel hai?" His voice was cold.
(You think this is just a game?)
She didn't flinch. Instead, she smirked.
"Glock 19. Customized grip. Suppressor ke liye compatible hai. Safety abhi bhi on hai."(Glock 19. Customized grip. Compatible with a suppressor. The safety is still on.)
Rudra stiffened.
She took a step closer, letting the gun press into her skin. "Aur waise bhi, tum goli nahi chalaoge."
(And besides, you won't pull the trigger.)
He narrowed his eyes. "Kyun nahi?"
(Why not?)
She leaned in, whispering against his lips. "Because you kissed me back too."
Silence.
Rudra cursed under his breath. His fingers twitched around the gun, but he didn't pull away.
Ritika grinned.
"Tum bhi interested ho, Rudra."
(You're interested too, Rudra.)
He was caught.
And she knew it.
Ritika was over the moon. The man she had spent years obsessing over, the one she had sworn to protect from the shadows, had finally seen her.
Making a story relatable across different backgrounds means crafting deep, multi-dimensional characters, universal emotions, and themes that resonate with many. Writing so that everyone can enjoy my imagination.
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