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The tires groaned as Krishna eased the car out of the tight parking lot. His eyes, still flaring with unspoken emotion, flicked between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. Rukmini sat silently beside him, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her dupatta. The air in the car was thick—not just with tension, but something more.

A call lit up on the screen. It was Ram.

Krishna tapped to answer and switched it to speaker.
"Where are you?" Ram's voice sounded as tense as Krishna's jaw.
"We lost them for now. Parked in an empty lot behind some closed stores," Krishna replied flatly.
"You can't stay there," Ram said quickly. "They're already on the streets. The moment they spot you—or Arjun—they won't hold back. You need to find shelter for the night. Somewhere close. Keep a low profile."

Rukmini looked over at Krishna, trying to piece together what Ram meant. The words they won't hold back made her heart jump. She had never seen Krishna so worked up... or so silent.

Krishna ran a hand through his hair. "What kind of place are we talking about?"

"Not deluxe. The high-end ones ask for ID, card details, some even scan biometrics now. Can't risk that. Go somewhere off-grid—those lodges that don't ask questions."

"Ram..." Krishna gritted his teeth. "You know what kind of places those are."

"I know," Ram said with a sigh. "But right now, your pride can't protect Rukmini. Get inside somewhere. Lie low. That's all that matters."

The line went dead.

Krishna tossed the phone onto the dashboard and hit the wheel lightly, once. Rukmini flinched at the sudden sound.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"No," he said, bluntly. "But I will be once I get you somewhere safe."

They drove in silence for a few more streets. The city outside was still buzzing—neon signs flickering, nightlife in full swing. But to Rukmini, everything outside that windshield felt distant and unreal. All that existed was the space inside this car—Krishna's tense profile in the driver's seat, and her pounding heart.

Eventually, they pulled into a narrow side road where a faded signboard blinked 'Moonlight Stay' in half-lit neon.

Krishna parked the car and stared at the building for a few seconds too long.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.

Rukmini followed his gaze. The building looked like it hadn't seen paint in a decade. A couple of men stood outside smoking, their eyes trailing every moving figure. The air itself felt humid, dense with the sort of stories that never make it into polite conversation.

"I... we're staying here?" she whispered, her voice a mix of disbelief and discomfort.

"We don't have a choice," Krishna said, already unbuckling his seatbelt. "Stay close to me. Don't say a word unless you need to."

They stepped out, and Krishna immediately took her hand—firmly, protectively. Rukmini blinked, the warmth of his touch once again sending a strange current through her. It wasn't the environment. It wasn't even fear. It was him.

The receptionist inside raised his eyebrows when he saw them.

"Room for the night?" the man asked, eyes glinting with something unspoken.

Krishna nodded stiffly. "Cash. No ID."

The man's smirk widened, but he said nothing more. He handed them a key and jerked his thumb toward the dim hallway.

"Last door down the right. Don't break the bed."

Rukmini's cheeks flushed crimson, and Krishna's jaw tightened. He didn't respond. Just pulled her gently down the corridor.

The hallway smelled of stale smoke and cheap perfume. Rukmini's sandals echoed against the scuffed tiles. She tried not to look at the other doors... or listen too closely.

They reached their room. Krishna unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stood aside.

"In," he said softly, voice lower now—tired, maybe even apologetic.

Rukmini stepped inside. The room was small. A single bed. A dusty fan. And a cracked mirror that leaned at an odd angle. Definitely not what she was used to... but for the first time that night, she felt like she could breathe.

As Krishna entered and closed the door behind them, the silence returned—loud and pressing.

He sat on the edge of the bed and finally looked at her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"For what?" she asked.

"For dragging you into all this... for this place... for tonight."

Rukmini shook her head, her voice softer than it had been all night. "You didn't drag me, Krishna. I chose to walk with you."

Krishna looked at her—really looked at her—and for a moment, the anger in his eyes softened. He didn't speak. Didn't move. But something shifted.

And neither of them said it, but they both felt it.

Tonight, the danger wasn't just outside.

It was the things unspoken between them.

The silence in the room was thick, pressed between the two of them like invisible glass.

Krishna had turned away again.

He hadn't said a word since they entered the dingy motel room. His profile was sharp under the flickering yellow light, jaw tight, shoulders coiled like a spring about to snap. Rukmini sat on the edge of the low bed, her emerald gown pooling around her like liquid shadows. She wasn't cold, and yet... she felt a chill. A strange one that stemmed not from the room, but from the thousand unspoken things that filled the air between them.

She wanted to ask him. Desperately. What was wrong with him? Why was he so angry? Why had he dragged her here, then kept his distance like her very presence was a threat?

But before she could even gather the courage to break that wall, the sound of tires screeching outside shattered the moment. Barking dogs, distant yells—then came the unmistakable glare of headlights slicing through the slits in the curtain.

Krishna moved in a flash. He stood by the window, lips parting slightly as he peeked through the blinds.

Rukmini's heart thudded. "What is it?"

"There are cars outside," he muttered. "The same ones. They're circling. They found the car."

Her blood turned to ice. She stood up immediately, panic tightening her chest. "How? You parked two blocks down—"

"I don't know," Krishna snapped. "But they're here."

His voice held that same edge she'd been trying to decode all evening, but there was no time for questions now. He turned, stepped toward her—and before she could say anything more, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist with purpose.

"Don't question me. Just follow."

There was something in his voice, in that low, commanding register, that silenced her completely. She barely had time to nod before he moved—fast, decisive, as though some plan had just formed in his mind.

Within a second, Rukmini found herself pressed down against the creaky motel bed, the sheets crinkling under her. And above her, Krishna.

Hovering, barely inches away.

"What—Krishna—?" she whispered, her voice cracking with confusion, heat blooming in her chest, cheeks aflame.

"Stay still," he breathed, eyes not on her but toward the door, listening.

Her heart was in her throat. His hands were on either side of her, holding himself up but not touching her—yet every part of her felt as though she was burning. His breath tickled her ear, warm, uneven. She could see his eyes now—calculated, intense, but also...strangely distracted. And the act, oh gods, the act he was pulling.

He tilted his head, eyes narrowed, and dipped just close enough to make it look like a kiss.

Her breath hitched.

Her heart was doing cartwheels. Her brain had completely shut off. The fabric of her gown rustled softly under him, and she thought she might actually die right there from sheer adrenaline and something she refused to call by its name.

And then the door creaked open.

Two figures froze at the entrance. A gasp. And then—

"Oh my god—sorry!" the man blurted out, dragging the woman behind him. "Sorry! Sorry! Didn't realize the room was occupied!"

The door slammed shut.

Krishna didn't move for a second. Then he lowered his head just slightly, his nose brushing lightly against her hairline as he muttered, "It worked."

And to her absolute horror, he chuckled. A low, smug chuckle, like he was proud of it.

"You—!" Rukmini hissed, half-dazed, half-infuriated.

But he wasn't looking at her. No, he was busy nuzzling her hair like he hadn't just flipped her world upside down. Like it was just another day at work.

Rukmini lay there, a tangled mess of breath and silk and wild thoughts, eyes wide, her pulse rioting inside her.

What. Just. Happened?

And why did it feel like nothing was ever going to be the same again?

Rukmini shot upright the moment Krishna moved off her.

Her breath came in short bursts, and her entire body felt like it had been dunked in fire. Not just her hand this time—no. It was her whole being, from her racing pulse to the tips of her ears, everything was ablaze.

She fanned herself with her hand like that would help. It didn't.

Her gown clung to her skin in places, a reminder of how close they had been. The air felt too thick. She had to do something—anything—to steady herself, but her mind was a mess. Her thoughts were everywhere. Krishna had never been this close to her. Ever. And the first time it happened, it was like this?

Too close. Too fast. Too much.

Krishna stood at the window again, peeking through the slats in the blinds, his jaw still clenched.

"They're gone," he finally said, voice tight.

"Oh," Rukmini muttered, still trying to get her brain back online. "Great. And that," she snapped suddenly, looking at him wide-eyed, "was the best plan you could come up with?"

Krishna turned to look at her with a raised brow, but she wasn't done.

"All those brain cells, all that divine wisdom or whatever, and you thought the smartest idea was to throw yourself on top of me like—like—some badly written soap opera scene?"

His lips twitched.

Rukmini glared, her embarrassment quickly morphing into frustration. "You've been acting weird ever since the party. Why are you being so—so unlike you?"

Krishna didn't respond. He simply stared at her, unreadable.

That only irritated her more.

"Did you hear something?" she pressed. "Some ridiculous rumour? Is that why you're in this weird 'I-don't-want-to-talk-but-I'm-totally-angry' phase?"

Still no answer.

"Oh, of course. Why would you answer?" she scoffed, sarcasm bubbling to the surface. "Mr. Always-in-control, always-so-charming—"

That got his attention.

Krishna's head snapped toward her, his expression sharp. "Charming, is it?" he asked, tone icy. "Then maybe you should go back and talk to the one you were laughing with at the party. You seemed to be enjoying that conversation plenty."

Rukmini blinked, stunned for a second.

Did he just—?

Was that—

She stood up, heat rising to her cheeks again, but this time for a different reason entirely.

"Oh. Oh," she said slowly, walking toward him with arms crossed. "Was that jealousy I just heard in your voice?"

He scoffed and shook his head. "Don't be ridiculous."

She grinned.

"No, no, no," she said, taking a step closer, her tone lilting and mischievous. "I think that was jealousy. That sounded very much like 'I saw you talking to someone else and now I want to bite his head off' kind of jealousy."

"I'm not jealous," Krishna muttered, already turning his face away.

"You're a terrible liar," she chuckled. "God, you're actually cute when you're mad."

Krishna said nothing. He just walked back to the bed and sat down heavily, arms braced on his knees, eyes avoiding hers completely.

Rukmini tilted her head, her smirk softening into something gentler. She watched him in silence for a beat, her heart still fluttering, but not from panic this time.

No.

Now it was something else entirely.

She walked over and stood beside him, quietly watching the storm brewing inside him from a distance he could no longer hide.

He could pretend all he wanted.

But she had seen it.

And now... she wasn't going to unseen it.

Rukmini sat down quietly beside him, the old, springy motel bed creaking under her weight. The silence between them was thick—too thick for her liking. Slowly, she placed a gentle hand on Krishna's shoulder. He didn't move, but she felt the tightness in his muscles beneath her palm.

"Hey," she said softly. "Relax. It's okay. I was just taunting you earlier because... I missed you."

That made him glance at her, even if just a little.

"I missed you—the Krishna who always taunted me, cracked horrible jokes, and made motivational speeches out of nowhere to inspire waiters to pour water better," she smiled, half-teasing, half-earnest. "That Krishna. I want to see him again."

Krishna didn't respond immediately. His gaze dropped to the worn-out carpet.

"Then think," he said quietly, voice thick. "Think about what you were doing to that Krishna these past few days."

Rukmini stilled.

The weight of his words hit her in the chest. She knew exactly what he meant. Even though they'd laughed, walked beside each other, eaten meals like things were fine—they weren't. There had been tension, distance. Pretending everything was okay when it wasn't.

"I know," she said after a beat. "I know I've been... off. Distant. I was trying to pretend like things didn't affect me. Like nothing had changed. But I was wrong. I pushed you away."

Krishna finally looked at her, his face softening just a little.

"I wasn't any better," he admitted. "I kept assuming things. Got angry. Closed myself off."

"Then maybe we should stop assuming," she said, her voice gentle. "Maybe we should just... talk. Really talk."

Krishna leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Then where do we even start?"

Rukmini smiled. "With the parts of each other we don't know."

He nodded once, hesitant but willing.

"Then I want to know about you first" Rukmini said looking tenderly 

"Me? Well, it's nothing too special but as you want to know, I shall tell you, my real parents they gave me to my adoptive parents. I was just a kid. My adoptive parents took me in... my biological mother's elder brother was the main reason why all of my family ended up in this situation. 

Though I must admit my adoptive parents they never made me feel like I didn't belong, but when I grew up older more mature my biological parents came to take me in again," he said. "But I understood that any decision I make is going to hurt someone or the other, so, I started my own company—something clean, something I built from scratch. But my maternal uncle—my mama—he had his own plans. He wanted control. Power."

Rukmini listened, eyes never leaving his face.

"He got into illegal dealings—smuggling, land scams, you name it. When I found out, I exposed him. Publicly. I didn't realize how deep he was involved... or that he was connected to Jarasand."

Her lips parted in shock. "Kans?"

Krishna nodded. "He was Jarasand's close ally. Which means I didn't just ruin a corrupt man—I embarrassed their network. That's why they're after me now. Jarasand doesn't forget humiliation."

There was a long silence before Rukmini spoke.

"Now, what about you?" Krishna asked now looking at Rukmini

"Hmm, so where should I start?" she said and gave off a soft laugh then continued after her smile faded as she remembered "My brother arranged a marriage for me," she said quietly. "It wasn't a suggestion—it was an order. The man he chose? He is Shishupal. He's powerful, charming in public, but... behind the scenes, he's cruel. I didn't want that life. I tried everything, but no one would go against my brother's decision."

Krishna's jaw tightened. "So he is your fiancé."

"Was," she confirmed. "I ran away before it could be formalized. But the guy I was talking to at the party?"

He narrowed his eyes, trying to piece it together.

"Shishupal's younger brother. Pratik. He's not like him. He's quiet, observant. He—he actually warned me. Told me that Jarasand has started sending his men into educational institutions under false identities. They're trying to gain political power through student councils, campus riots, controlling what ideologies spread."

Krishna leaned forward, eyes darkening. "He told you that?"

"Yes. And it's already begun. Pratik said the next campus to fall is one close to ours. Once they do, they'll use students to manipulate media narratives. They're not just after people—they're after minds."

Krishna ran a hand through his hair. "That explains the sudden chaos across student councils. The fake protests. Even the funding shifts."

Rukmini nodded. "He gave me a list—of names. Professors. Students. Even journalists on their payroll."

She reached into her clutch and pulled out a folded paper she had hidden in her phone case.

Krishna took it, scanned it, and his expression grew grave.

"We can use this," he said. "This... this could bring them down."

Rukmini met his eyes. "Then let's."

And for a moment, as the noise outside faded into the background, Krishna looked at her—not with frustration, not with that stormy silence—but with something quieter. Respect. Gratitude. Maybe even something warmer.

And Rukmini, sitting beside him in her crumpled emerald gown, knew this night had changed something between them.

Something real had finally begun.

For a while, the room was filled with nothing but the gentle hum of silence and the muffled chaos from outside—the world still chasing shadows. But inside, something had shifted.

"So," Krishna finally said, glancing at her sideways, "your ex-fiancé's brother has a crush on you and also turned into a spy for our benefit? That's oddly romantic."

Rukmini narrowed her eyes. "Don't push it. He just gave information, not roses."

"Yeah, yeah," Krishna smirked. "And you were just 'politely smiling' at him at the party while he poured his soul into your hands."

She rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. "You're unbearable."

"Oh really? then, you're dramatic," he grinned.

Just like that, the old rhythm returned. They teased, they bantered. The tension that had wrapped around them for hours began to unwind into laughter, into lightness.

But eventually, the clock ticked toward midnight, and exhaustion finally began to settle in. Krishna stood up and stretched, looking around. "I'll crash on the floor."

Rukmini's eyes flicked toward the stained carpet, suspiciously marked and not even pretending to be clean. "You'll what?"

"The gentleman in me says the bed is yours," Krishna said with a mock bow.

She raised a brow. "The gentleman in you is going to get mold spores in his lungs if he lies down on that biohazard."

"Still safer than the kind of dreams I'd have next to you."

"Oh, please." Rukmini rolled her eyes and patted the edge of the bed. "Shut up and lie down here. The bed's big enough. Just don't—"

"Don't touch you?" Krishna teased, wiggling his brows.

"—don't drool on the pillows," she said flatly.

They both chuckled, but just before they lay down, Krishna noticed Rukmini rubbing her arms. The thin straps of her emerald party gown did nothing against the motel's barely-functioning AC, which was humming louder than it was heating.

He didn't say anything—just shrugged off his jacket and tossed it at her.

She caught it midair, blinking. "What's this for?"

"You're cold," he said simply, avoiding her eyes. "And I'm not heartless. Despite popular belief."

She stared at him for a moment, then pulled the jacket around her shoulders. It was warm. Smelled like him. And somehow, that made her feel safer than she wanted to admit.

"Thanks," she murmured, and then, quieter, "You're not heartless."

They both lay down—backs turned, shoulders almost touching.

After a long moment, Rukmini whispered into the dark, "You still awake?"

"Mhm."

"I'm glad we talked."

Krishna didn't answer right away. Then, softly, "Me too."

A pause.

And then—because he couldn't help himself—"Also, I definitely saw you blush when I pinned you earlier."

"You definitely imagined it."

"I never imagine anything unless it involves snacks or a dramatic sword fight."

"Oh, then maybe next time I'll bring both," she said with a smirk, even as her heart thudded.

Krishna let out a soft laugh, a genuine one, and they both smiled into the silence, their backs still facing each other but something in the air unmistakably closer.

Neither of them noticed how the distance between them kept shrinking. One breath, one heartbeat at a time.

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Author's Note:

🚨 Warning: The following chapter was a work of fiction. 🚨

All characters, events, shady motel rooms, and tension-filled almost-kisses are entirely the product of my dramatic imagination. If you find yourself scandalised, offended, or tempted to message me with, "Krishna would never do that!" — please take a deep breath, sip some chai, and remember: this is not a religious text, it's romantic fiction.

If you feel personally attacked by anything Krishna or Rukmini says or does — good news! It means the fiction is working. But also... it's fiction, friends. 

And again, please don't send me essays on "what the ancient texts actually said." This isn't a thesis; it's drama with a side of heartache and hot tea ☕️!

Nothing here is meant to offend anyone's beliefs, icons, or family WhatsApp group debates. It's all written with love, chaos, and a keyboard that may or may not have caught fire during the motel scene 🔥

So read with curiosity, not controversy. And if you're clutching your pearls... maybe switch to popcorn instead 🍿

With love, chaos, and cliffhangers,

— The Author (currently hiding from mythological purists in an undisclosed location)