The Forgotten Vows

Chapter 8: After the Storm

Outside Buaji’s Home — The Storm Unleashed

The sun blazed overhead, but the true heat came from the dozens of reporters swarming Buaji’s small Lucknow home.

Cameras flashed like lightning.

Mics jabbed forward like spears.

Words—sharp, cruel, intrusive—cut through the tense air.

Khushi stood on the porch, flanked by Payal and Buaji.

> “Khushi ji, is it true your father was framed by the Raizadas?”

“Were you paid off to stay silent?”

“Is this a cover-up for your secret wedding?”

“Did you ever love Arnav Singh Raizada?”

“Back off!” Payal barked, shielding Khushi with her arm.

“This is our home, not a press conference!” Khushi snapped, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re invading our space!”

Another reporter lunged forward, mic nearly striking her face.

Khushi stumbled back—off balance.

But then—

A car.

A sleek, black SUV screeched to a halt at the curb, tires screaming in protest.

All heads turned.

A door slammed open with authority.

And he stepped out.

Arnav Singh Raizada.

No hesitation. No softness.

Black tailored suit. Aviator sunglasses. Rage simmering beneath every breath.

Not businessman. Not husband. Not the man who had once silently tied a thread to her wrist.

This was the ASR the world feared. Cold. Controlled. Deadly.

He didn’t speak at first.

He just walked.

Slow, precise, dangerous.

Khushi froze, breath catching.

She had never seen him like this—shoulders squared, jaw carved in steel, presence like a storm wrapped in human skin.

He removed his sunglasses with glacial calm.

And his eyes—

Fire.

> “Move.”

No one moved.

So he kept walking.

A bold reporter jabbed his mic. “Mr. Raizada, are you confirming the childhood marriage—?”

Arnav didn’t answer.

He looked.

One sharp, frigid glare—and half the crowd faltered. The rest stopped breathing.

Another reporter found his courage. “We have a right to ask—”

SLAP!

Not to the man—but the mic.

Arnav swatted it away with practiced precision, sending it clattering to the pavement.

His voice dropped—low, slow, lethal.

> “You will all move. Now. Before I make you.”

Another dared, “It's are right as rep—”

Arnav took one slow step closer.

> “You have the right to breathe. Don’t make me take that away too.”

Khushi’s breath hitched.

She had always known he was powerful.

She had never seen him wield it like a sword.

He turned slightly toward her.

> “Khushi.”

His voice was still steel.

“Come here.”

Her legs moved on instinct.

He reached out—gently pulled her behind him.

Payal followed, stunned silent.

> “Why are you hiding her?” a reporter shouted. “Is this a cover-up?”

Arnav’s eyes snapped to him.

> “I’m protecting her from parasites.”

And then—

“Tattey!”

Buaji exploded from the door, broom in hand.

> “I’ll teach you what real TRP is! You want headlines? Come take them from my rolling pin!”

The reporters stepped back a few paces.

But Arnav wasn’t done.

He turned toward them fully.

> “Any more false headlines—any more harassment—and AR Legal will personally sue every outlet in this city.”

He paused, locking eyes with the boldest ones.

> “This woman—Khushi Kumari Gupta—is not your prey.”

The silence was deafening now.

> “If even one of you touches her again, I swear on every contract your channels have ever begged from AR Designs—you’ll be jobless by morning.”

One bold journalist stuttered, “Mr. Raizada, is this a confession—?”

He turned slowly, smile cold.

> “You want a statement?”

He gently pulled Khushi beside him again, shielding her with his body.

> “Here it is: Anyone who tries to humiliate her again—answers to me.”

His voice dropped, darker.

“And I don’t fight fair.”

Payal whispered, “Buaji, come. Let’s go inside—”

But Buaji was still swinging her broom. “One more step, I swear I’ll break someone’s kneecap—!”

Arnav opened the SUV door himself and helped Khushi in, shielding her from the cameras with his own body. Then Payal. Then a huffing, swearing Buaji.

Before getting in, he turned back to the press—one final time.

> “You’ll all get a press release. That’s it.

If I see even one twisted headline—one fabricated quote—I will end your career before your camera battery runs out.”

The door slammed shut.

The SUV peeled away, roaring down the narrow street.

---

Inside the SUV — Her First Glimpse of ASR

The SUV roared away from the chaos, but inside, silence reigned.

Khushi sat stiffly in the back seat, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, knuckles white. Her breath came in uneven pulls, chest still heaving from the rush, the crowd, him.

She hadn't said a word since he’d shielded her from the flashbulbs like a warrior standing before fire.

Arnav sat beside her, his jaw clenched, eyes forward. His hands—usually graceful, precise—were now fists on either side of his thighs, twitching with residual fury.

Payal, silent on Khushi’s other side, occasionally glanced between them, as if afraid to break the spell.

Buaji muttered under her breath, arms crossed tightly. “Laad Governor... came in like a film hero, na, Titaliya?”

("The arrogant lord made quite the dramatic entrance, didn't he, my little butterfly?")

Payal gave a faint, stunned laugh. “Like Singh-is-King, Buaji…”

But Khushi said nothing.

She couldn’t.

She just… watched him.

The rigid line of his shoulders. The vein pulsing at his temple. The storm that still lingered in his every breath.

And her heart… wouldn’t calm down.

Finally, she whispered, voice almost lost in the hum of the engine—

> “That was… intense.”

Arnav didn’t look at her. Not at first.

But he heard.

His tone, when he answered, was softer—but the fire hadn’t left his voice.

> “They crossed a line.”

She nodded faintly. “You scared them.”

> “Good.”

She hesitated, voice lower now, almost breaking.

> “You scared me.”

That got his attention.

He turned to her fully.

The storm was still there—burning behind his eyes—but so was something else now.

Raw concern. Fierce protectiveness.

> “Khushi. I’ve spent half my life staying quiet. Shielding the Raizada name. Fixing things behind closed doors. Not anymore.”

He exhaled, slow and rough.

> “You were standing there alone. Never again.”

She stared at him, stunned. “I didn’t know… you could be like that.”

He blinked, surprised. “You mean angry?”

> “No,” she whispered. Her gaze didn’t waver. “That powerful. That dangerous. That… mine.”

For a heartbeat, everything stilled.

Even the tension in his hands eased.

He blinked once. Then again.

And slowly—almost imperceptibly—he smiled.

Just the faintest curve of his lips.

> “Only ever yours.”

Something loosened in her chest. Her heartbeat slowed.

He reached over, and gently unclasped her white-knuckled fingers from themselves.

> “You okay?”

She nodded, breath still shaky.

> “I could’ve answered them,” she murmured.

He looked ahead again, voice firm but warm.

> “You didn’t have to. I’ll fight the noise. You just be you.”

Khushi, grateful, breathless, and quietly shaken, leaned back into the seat.

As the SUV glided through the streets of Lucknow, away from cameras and chaos, she closed her eyes for a moment.

Not to rest.

But to hold on to the memory of this.

The storm within him.

The promise between them.

---

Shantivan –

The iron gates of Shantivan opened smoothly, closing behind the black SUV with a hush, like the drawing of a curtain over a chaotic play.

The car hadn’t even come to a full stop when Nani stepped out onto the grand porch, flanked by Anjali, both watching with anxious eyes.

The door swung open.

Arnav stepped out first, his suit rumpled, tie askew, face thundercloud dark—but it was Khushi their eyes searched for.

She emerged behind him, quiet, pale, but upright.

Nani’s eyes filled instantly. “Khushi bitiya…”

(Daughter)

Khushi offered a tiny, tired smile. “Nani ji.”

Buaji stepped out next, looking more furious than fatigued. “The nerve of those tattey journalists! Surrounding girls like that in broad daylight! No shame!”

Anjali rushed forward. “Khushi ji! Are you alright? Payal ji? Buaji?”

Payal approached Anjali, who immediately pulled her into a hug. “You both must be exhausted.”

Buaji sniffed. “Exhausted? Hmph. We just lived through an action film c****x, hai re Nandkishore!”

Arnav gently guided Khushi forward, his hand at her back a silent promise: You’re safe now.

Nani cupped Khushi’s face. “Come inside, child. Leave the noise outside.”

As they walked in, HP and Om Prakash rushed to bring water, tea, and extra cushions, sensing the weight in the air.

“Sit, bitiya,” Nani said, guiding Khushi to the couch.

Khushi obeyed, still a little shell-shocked. Payal sat beside her, her hand slipping quietly into her sister’s.

Arnav gave a slight nod to HP. “Keep the press away from this house. I don’t want a single photo leaked.”

> “Ji, Arnav Bhaiyya.”

Arnav remained standing, his presence towering even in silence.

Anjali perched on the armrest, voice gentle. “What happened, Chote?”

“I’ll handle it,” he said tersely, jaw still tight. “Aman’s already working on legal notices.”

Nani frowned. “But why were the media hounding her? What leaked?”

Buaji huffed, settling with an angry clunk into an armchair. “Because some rotten channel spread nonsense about Shashi ji and that old Sheesh Mahal ka case. Now they’re throwing old ashes in everyone’s face again.”

“And dragging Khushi into it,” Payal added quietly.

Anjali’s face turned grim. “They think she came here for revenge.”

“Revenge?” Nani echoed, appalled.

“They’re twisting everything,” Arnav said, voice sharp. “Including her childhood… including me.”

Nani looked at Khushi again—who sat still, hands folded in her lap.

Anjali knelt beside her. “But you're here now. With us. No matter what they say.”

Buaji sniffed. “The only truth is, this family took her in with respect. Not just her—us. And today, that same boy…” She glanced at Arnav. “...stood before the world like a lion.”

Arnav cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I didn’t do anything heroic.”

Khushi looked over her shoulder at Arnav.

His hand remained at the small of her back—solid, grounding.

> “They went after her,” he said simply. “And I went after them.”

There was silence for a breath.

Nani looked at him, eyes sharp but warm. “You didn’t just bring her here, Chhotey. You stood by her.”

Arnav said nothing. His silence was its own kind of oath.

HP appeared at the doorway. “Arnav Bhaiyya, the press vans have pulled back. We’ve closed the outer gate. No photos leaked.”

> “Good,” Arnav nodded. “Let it stay that way.”

“Come, sit,” Anjali urged, guiding Khushi to the plush white sofa. “Your cheeks are white as milk.”

“More like white as shock,” Buaji muttered, placing her bag down with finality.

Payal laughed softly and rubbed

“You scared half of Delhi, bitwa,” Nani said dryly. “Even I flinched when I saw that footage.”

“You saw the footage?” Khushi asked, wide-eyed.

Nani gave her a meaningful look. “Beta, when my grandson turns into ASR outside my house, of course it goes viral. Half the city’s sharing it.”

Khushi groaned. “Great.”

Anjali tried to cheer her up. “You didn’t see the memes yet.”

“Memes?!”

Payal raised an eyebrow. “What memes?”

Nani chuckled softly. “One has him standing in front of the reporters, and the caption says: ‘When you mess with jalebi queen, ASR turns into thandai rage.’”

Khushi buried her face in her hands.

“Kill me,” she mumbled.

Arnav—quiet till now—sat beside her and leaned close enough for only her to hear.

> “I’ll sue anyone who calls you jalebi queen in a non-affectionate tone.”

Khushi peeked at him from between her fingers. “That’s not helping.”

He smirked. “Then I’ll keep doing it.”

The room finally let out a collective breath, the tension easing into affectionate silence.

Nani spoke, her voice warm again. “This house will protect you, Khushi bitiya. No matter what storms rise.”

Anjali took her hand. “We’re family now. The rest is noise.”

Buaji harrumphed. “Just one more cameraman in my lane, I swear, I’ll aim my chappal like a missile.”

( "Just one more cameraman in my lane, I swear, I'll aim my slipper like a missile.")

Payal muttered, “You already did, Buaji.”

Khushi finally laughed. A soft, tired, but real laugh.

In the middle of the room, a tray was set with cardamom chai and warm snacks. Buaji clapped her hands. “Home-made chai for my girls. And yes, for the lion who roared.”

Khushi took her cup with a small smile, hands trembling just a little.

Not because she was unafraid.

But because someone had turned fear into fury on her behalf.

Because someone had stood between her and the world.

Because somewhere in the middle of chaos and cameras…

She had seen Arnav Singh Raizada not just as a man who fought for his name…

But as the man who would fight for hers.

Arnav sat beside her, his presence like a wall against the storm.

Nani took a sip, then said thoughtfully, “Shantivan hasn’t felt like home in a long time. Today feels… different.”

Arnav looked ahead, voice measured.

> “There’s no peace until we face the past—and protect the future.”

Khushi slowly removed the red thread from her wrist—the one he had once tied.

She placed it gently on the table.

> “This bond never broke,” she said softly. “Let it bind us again—as a family. No secrets. No silence.”

Payal reached over and laid her hand atop her sister’s.

> “Together?”

Anjali echoed, “Together.”

Buaji raised her cup. “Together, and louder than the media, I say!”

Nani rose, cane in hand, and walked to the hearth. She planted the end firmly on the marble floor.

> “Then let Shantivan echo with our laughter again. Enough of tears.”

Sunset spilled through the high windows, casting warm halos on their faces. Outside, the world still questioned, still twisted stories—but in this house, there was unity.

In this house, they had chosen each other.

Bruised, but unbowed found their way back to each other, stronger for the trials they had endured.

And as Arnav watched her smile again—safe, surrounded, finally breathing—he felt something in his chest loosen.

This was what he fought for.

---

The golden glow of sunset had long vanished, leaving Shantivan wrapped in a hush so deep it felt sacred. After the chaos, the mansion breathed—walls no longer echoed with media frenzy or whispered judgment.

Just silence.

But silence wasn’t peace. Not for her.

In the softly lit guest bedroom, Khushi sat curled up on the window divan, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, forehead resting against the glass. Outside, the night hummed with distant city life. Inside, her breath fogged the windowpane with quiet trembles.

The moonlight spilled through sheer curtains, casting silver shadows across her face—but it couldn’t hide the shimmer in her eyes, or the tension in her shoulders.

A knock—soft, deliberate.

She didn’t respond.

The door creaked open anyway.

He never waited when it mattered.

Arnav stepped inside, quiet but certain. His jacket was gone. Shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. Hair still a bit tousled from the chaos of earlier. Yet nothing looked more disheveled than the storm behind his eyes when they landed on her.

> “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked gently.

She shook her head slowly, not looking at him.

> “Too much noise,” she whispered, tapping her temple. “Up here.”

He moved closer, careful, like approaching something fragile. But he didn’t hesitate.

> “Want me to silence it?”

A half-laugh escaped her. Not joyful—just surprised.

> “You already did once today,” she said. “I’ve never seen you like that.”

> “I didn’t know I could be like that,” he admitted quietly.

She turned slightly, her voice soft but direct.

> “Why did you do it?”

He blinked.

> “Was it duty? Family pride? Reputation?”

He stepped closer, into the moonlight, where nothing could hide.

> “No.”

He didn’t offer a speech. Just a truth.

> “It wasn’t duty. It wasn’t name. It was you.”

Her breath hitched.

> “You were standing there—surrounded, cornered—just like… just like no one ever stood for you before.” “And I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that be your story again.”

Her eyes blinked fast, but the tears slipped free anyway.

> “You scared me,” she whispered.

> “Because I shouted?” he asked, a faint crease between his brows.

She shook her head.

> “No. Because you didn’t.”

He stilled.

> “You didn’t shout, Arnav. You commanded. You owned the silence. And everyone… listened.”

He sat beside her, careful not to touch her yet. Respecting her space. But never leaving it.

> “You were shaking,” he said after a moment.

> “I didn’t want you to see that.”

> “Khushi…” His voice dropped low. “I need to see that. I need to see all of you.”

She looked at him. Broken pieces and iron will all at once.

> “Even the broken parts?”

> “Especially those.”

Her fingers found his—hesitant, then certain.

> “I’ve carried so much, Arnav. Baba’s shame. Jiji’s strength. Buaji’s expectations. I wore every emotion… except my own.”

> “Then let me help carry it,” he said softly.

> “You already are,” she whispered. “When you stood between me and the crowd… I felt safe for the first time in years.”

He finally closed his hand around hers, grounding her.

> “When I saw them surround you, I lost it.”

> “But you didn’t look lost. You looked like… power.”

> “Only for you,” he said simply. “Only because it was you.”

A silence stretched between them—not heavy, but deep.

> “Why did you protect me, Arnav?” she asked again, softer now. “Really.”

He met her gaze without flinching.

> “Because no one did. Not when it mattered most.”

> “But why me?”

> “Because I failed you once. I won’t again.”

His voice dropped lower, fiercer.

> “Because you matter.”

> “Do I?”

> “More than this house. More than the Raizada name. More than myself.”

She inhaled shakily, her voice barely audible.

> “You’re not who I expected you to become.”

> “Disappointed?”

She shook her head.

> “Terrified.”

He frowned, heart skipping.

> “Terrified of what?”

She turned fully now, facing him. Her eyes—stormy, tear-stained, honest.

> “Terrified that I’ll wake up one day… and this version of you will disappear.”

> “That this comfort, this protection… is temporary.”

> “That I’ll fall for something I’ll lose again.”

He leaned in, lifting a hand to her cheek.

> “I know what it feels like to lose everything. To trust no one. To guard every breath.”

He wiped away a tear with his thumb.

> “But I also know… what it feels like to find something worth keeping.”

> “And I won’t let go. Not this time.”

She leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut.

> “Don’t let go, Arnav.”

> “I won’t,” he promised. “Not ever.”

She rested her forehead against his, both of them breathing the same quiet air, steadying one another.

> “When I was little,” she said suddenly, voice barely above the breeze, “I used to believe that someone would come one day… not to save me. But just to stand beside me. To see me.”

He pulled her gently into his arms.

> “I see you, Khushi. All of you.”

> “Even the parts I hide?”

> “Especially those.”

And she let herself break—silently, softly—against his shoulder. No sobs. Just the sound of someone finally letting themselves be held.

Two souls, battered by memory and time, finally resting in the calm after the storm.

Not lovers.

Not enemies.

Not yet anything defined.

Just… each other’s quiet.

Each other’s loud, unspoken truth.

Each other’s answer.

---

Down the hallway from the quiet shadows of Arnav and Khushi’s room, another kind of silence lingered—one filled not with unsaid pain, but with the hush of familiarity, comfort, and the kind of affection that doesn’t need declarations.

Payal stood before the vanity in the guest suite Nani had assigned them. She was tying her hair into a loose braid, her cotton night dupatta slung over one shoulder. Her face still carried traces of tension, but her eyes had softened.

Behind her, Akash appeared

He was walking toward her with two cups of coffee in his hands, wearing a plain kurta and a hesitant smile.

> “Hey,” he said, pausing when their eyes met.

Payal blinked in surprise. “You’re still awake?”

> “I figured… you might be too,” he said, holding out a cup. “Coffee? Half sugar, no milk. I remember.”

She took it, surprised. “You remembered my coffee?”

> “I forgot a lot of things today,” he said lightly. “Just… not that.”

Payal smiled, lowering her gaze. “You weren’t at Buaji’s house.”

> “No. Arnav Bhai handled it. But I saw the footage later. I—I wish I’d been there.”

Her voice softened. “It was chaos.”

> “I know,” he said gently. “But you were calm. Like a soldier in heels.”

She laughed, light but tired. “I was scared. I just… didn’t want Khushi to see it.”

> “That’s what makes you strong,” he said, his tone softer now.

A pause stretched between them—warm and weightless.

> “You always show up after the storm, Akash,” she said suddenly. “Like a rainbow. Just late enough to avoid the lightning.”

He blinked, unsure. “Is that… a compliment?”

> “Maybe.” Her smile was teasing, but her eyes said more.

> “So next time,” he said, pretending to be offended, “I should come in like Bhai? Storm in, throw mics, silence the nation?”

> “You?” she laughed. “You’d apologize to the reporters while throwing their mics.”

> “Guilty,” he said with a small chuckle. “But for you—I’d learn how to storm.”

The words lingered between them, longer than either meant them to.

Payal cleared her throat. “You’ve changed.”

> “Have I?”

> “Hmm.” She took a sip. “You’re braver now. A little less... careful.”

> “And you’re still exactly what I remember,” he said softly. “Strong. Centered. Beautiful.”

She looked away, caught off guard.

> “Don’t do that,” she whispered.

> “Do what?”

> “Say things that… make me forget we’re not—” she faltered, then covered with a sip of coffee. “—not married.”

He grew serious, but not heavy.

> “We’re not. Yet. But it doesn’t mean I don’t feel something when I see you walk into a room.”

> “You’re not supposed to say that.” Her voice was barely audible.

> “Why?” he asked, stepping a bit closer. “Because it’s too soon? Or because you feel it too?”

She didn’t answer. Just stared into her cup like it held secrets.

> “I saw you on that screen,” he said. “And all I wanted was to reach through it and stand beside you.”

> “You’re here now,” she said gently.

> “And I’ll keep showing up. Late or not.”

Payal smiled, small and genuine.

> “Then maybe… I’ll start waiting for you.”

He took her cup, now nearly empty, and their fingers brushed.

> “Does this mean I passed the rainbow test?”

> “You’re getting there.”

They stood quietly for a moment, the silence between them soft, like the hush of a heart that hasn’t yet spoken—but wants to.

And though neither said the words, something settled between them.

Not yet love.

But something just as dangerous.

Hope.

---

The study door clicked shut behind him.

The warmth he had shown Khushi was gone—tucked deep under the surface like a sheathed blade.

ASR had returned.

He rolled up his sleeves, picked up his phone, and hit the speed dial.

One ring. Aman answered immediately.

> “Sir?”

His voice was clipped, sharp.

> “I want names. Who leaked it. Who filmed it. Who paid for it. I don’t care if it was a peon or a bloody minister—find them.”

> “We traced the tip-off to a freelancer linked to Global Times. Footage came from a third-party drone unit hired off the books. The source? Someone in the public registrar’s office. Name’s Ravindra Sen.”

Arnav’s eyes narrowed. His voice dropped to ice.

> “Buy his silence or break his spine—I don’t care how. Make sure he never works in government again.”

> “Already on it. I’ve got proof of a transaction—₹40K under his wife’s name. We’re confirming links to the media house—”

> “Media house?” Arnav’s lip curled. “We’re not playing defense, Aman. Leak my footage. Me shutting them down. Me shielding her.”

> “Already arranged, Sir. Framed it as ‘business mogul protects woman from media assault.’”

Arnav moved to his desk, hit a button—blueprints of the Gupta house, a press intrusion map, and timestamps glowed on screen.

> “Trespassing. Harassment. Defamation. I want every law broken by those vultures lined up in a legal document. Have our lawyers file suit before they sip their morning chai.”

> “Sir, I’ve also spoken to the cyber unit. We’re pushing positive PR on every front: women’s safety forums, influencer tweets, NGO support—”

> “Make it viral. I want every damn woman in this country to see Khushi’s name trending with the word: ‘Protected.’”

> “Understood.”

Arnav’s tone dropped—deadly calm now.

> “I failed her once. I watched from the sidelines while her name burned. Never again.”

> “This time, Aman… I burn them.”

Silence.

Aman cleared his throat.

> “.

> “We traced the media leak, sir. Anonymous tip. Through a burner number, but... it’s linked to an old media string once handled by Ratan Malhotra’s PR team.”

Arnav’s jaw clenched.

> “That’s not possible. He’s dead.”

> “That’s what we all thought. But sir—this doesn’t feel like a random hit job. Someone wants to shake her. Shake you.”

Arnav’s voice dropped to that cold, sharp tone—the one only Aman feared.

> “Then shake them back.”

> “Sir?”

> “I want lawsuits on every outlet that aired that footage. I want a list of every person who clicked that link from their system within the first two hours. And I want the trail followed until even ghosts can’t hide.”

A pause.

> “Yes, ASR.”

ASR’s jaw tightened.

> “And Aman?”

> “Sir?”

Arnav’s voice was pure steel.

> “The next person who tries to touch her life without my permission—won’t have one left.”

He ended the call.

No goodbye.

No emotion.

Just the cold click of war declared.

---