Chapter 3 Whispers by the Sea

It was a Friday evening, and instead of going directly home after classes Roshni had decided to go to her favourite place in Mumbai the Juhu Beach.

She had always loved the beach.

She caught an auto to Juhu Beach, when she arrived, the beach was dotted with families and couples, but she found her spot by the water’s edge, where the sand was soft and the waves rolled in peacefully.

She kicked off her sandals and let the cool water wash over her feet.

Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the world lift off her shoulders, even if just for a moment.

But then, like a shadow falling across the peace she had sought, a familiar feeling crept over her.

The hair on the back of her neck prickled.

That same unsettling sensation—the feeling that someone was watching her.

Her eyes snapped open.

There, standing by a large rock a few meters away, was same man, she hadn’t seen him in weeks but he is still there on her mind.

She froze.

He wasn’t in his usual power suit today.
Instead, he wore a simple navy t-shirt, dark jeans, and that ever-present cold gaze that could freeze anyone in place.

He looked out at the ocean, his posture relaxed — but his eyes never left her.

The moment their eyes met, his gaze softened — a softness reserved only for her.

How had he known she was here?

Her heartbeat quickened.

Slowly, with calculated steps, he began moving toward her.
When he was about two meters away, he stopped.

She just sat there, still dazed, looking at him, unable to move.

It had been five weeks since she had last seen him.

Did she... miss him?

She wasn’t sure.

But seeing him here now stirred something inside her — those same butterflies she had felt the last time he touched her — a simple, gentle touch on her wrist.

Her eyes instinctively drifted to her wrist.

He noticed... and tried not to smirk.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking toward the sea.

A silent moment or two passed between them.

Then, out of nowhere, he casually lifted the hem of his jeans slightly and sat down on the sand — knees folded in front of him, arms loosely wrapped around them.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Because in that silence, in the space between them,
everything they couldn’t say out loud hung heavy —wild, unspoken, beautiful.

He sat there, silently watching the waves, yet completely aware of her — every breath she took, every flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

Finally, after what felt like forever, he spoke — his voice low, deep, almost hesitant.

"Am I making you scared... or uncomfortable?"

The words hit her harder than she expected —

because underneath that rough voice, there was a thread of vulnerability.

A part of him asking not just with words, but with everything he was —

Will you let me stay? Will you trust me?

She swallowed hard, heart pounding.

Without trusting her voice, she simply shook her head — a soft, clear 'no.'

For a second, something flickered in Rudra’s eyes.

Relief.

Something warm.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked onto hers with a look that stripped her bare,
and in a voice that was all low heat and hidden promises, he said,

"Good."

He leaned back a little, palms pressed casually into the sand behind him, like he had all the time in the world.
Like he was so sure of her.

"Because some things," he said slowly, almost lazily, as if he was discussing the weather — but every word was thick with meaning —
"aren’t meant to be left behind once found."

His gaze flickered down to her hands, resting nervously in her lap, then back to her face.

"You stumbled into something today, Roshni,"
he murmured, voice dropping even lower, sending a thrill down her spine,
"and you don't even realize it yet."

The ocean roared behind them, the world shrinking down to just the space between them — charged, heavy, inevitable.

His words sank into her skin like ink in paper, impossible to erase.

Roshni sat there, unmoving, as his voice echoed again and again inside her mind.
Something...?

What something?

What had she stepped into?

A strange, heavy feeling coiled in her chest —
half fear, half something far more dangerous... a pull she couldn’t name.

She dared a glance at him —
but Rudra was looking away, casually toward the sea, as if he hadn’t just turned her world upside down with a single sentence.

The silence stretched.

And somewhere between the settling sun, the salt of the air and the thundering of her heartbeat, Roshni realized —

if she stayed any longer, she might lose herself completely.

Slowly, hesitantly, she stood up.

Brushed the sand from her kurti with trembling hands.

For a fleeting second, she thought maybe he would stop her.

Maybe he would call her back.

But Rudra remained seated — still, watchful, powerful — like a shadow she could never outrun.

She turned away to leave toward the bus stand, the cool night air whipping her hair around her face.

Her footsteps were rushed, unsure.

But she didn’t need to look behind to know —
he was following.

Not right behind her.

Not close enough to touch.

But there — a steady, invisible force matching her every step.

When she reached the stand, the bus was already there, engine rumbling low.

Clutching her bag tighter, she hurried up the steps, not before glancing at the powerful figure standing just few meters away from her.

She found an empty seat by the window, and sat down quickly, almost slumping into it.

As the bus pulled away with a slight jerk, Roshni couldn’t help but glance outside again.

There — sleek and dark under the yellow streetlights — was his car.
Trailing behind at a careful distance.

Never too close.

Never too far.

Watching.
Protecting.
Claiming — without saying a single word.

Roshni leaned her forehead against the cool glass, her heart racing, her mind spinning.

Why was he doing this?

It was strange.
She should have felt scared, maybe even unsettled.

But instead...
there was this aching sense of belonging, a warmth blooming somewhere deep inside her chest.

The streets blurred past.

Lights.
Shadows.
Faces.

All of it just background noise to the raging storm building inside her.

And then —
like a whisper slicing through all the noise —

“Roshni.!”

Her name.

Her heart tripped over itself.

Her breath caught midair.

Her fingers clutched the side of her seat so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

He said my name.

But she had never told him.
Not once.
Not even hinted.

The realization slammed into her so hard that she blinked, dizzy.

Her stomach twisted into knots.

How?

When?

How long has he—

She pressed her forehead harder against the cold glass, trying to breathe, trying to steady herself —
but her thoughts were a chaotic mess.

And then — instinctively —
As if pulled by an invisible thread, she lifted her eyes.

Through the fogged glass, she found him —
his car gliding alongside the bus, headlights cutting through the night.

And then —
he smiled.

A slow, dark, knowing smile.
The kind that made her skin prickle and her breath hitch.

He had seen it.
He had felt the exact moment she realized.

Their eyes locked —
no words, no distance between them could hide it.

And in that one look, she knew —
she wasn’t imagining any of this.

She swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away, her hands trembling.

“Who is he?”

As the bus reached the next intersection, his car parted ways with the bus, slowly pulling into a side street. But just before it disappeared from her view, his headlights briefly flickered, casting one final, lingering glance at her through the bus’s rear window.

She didn’t notice.

But Rudra did.
His eyes stayed locked on her retreating form for a few moments longer, the corner of his mouth pulling into a dark, satisfied smile.

Parking the car at the corner, he stepped out.

His silhouette cut through the dim streetlights as he stood by his car, he took his time, slow and deliberate, pulling a cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

With a single flick, the lighter sparked, and the flame kissed the tip of the cigarette.

He took a long, slow puff, his eyes watching the bus fade into the distance.

His phone buzzed, and he answered without looking down, his voice cold, controlled.

“Send me her picture,” he said, tone like steel.

There was a brief silence, before he added, “When she steps onto the balcony.”

He hung up, the smoke swirling around him, as he leaned back against the car, eyes still fixed on the direction the bus disappear, thinking or maybe planning something.

A smile tugged at his lips again — but this one was darker, possessive, like a man marking what he intended to claim.

He took another drag from the cigarette, his thoughts drifting to her, and then he muttered to himself —
“Jo mere hai, wo kabhi door nahi jaata… kabhi bhi.”

“Bus kuch din aur…. ”

(“What’s mine, never stays far away... not ever.”)