Ruhi stirred as soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the glow of dawn. The clock read 6:00 AM.

"He'll be gone again," she whispered to herself.

Without wasting a moment, she slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom. After few minutes, she emerged out in her yet another Indian maroon dress, after offering a small prayer to her Shivji, she went out of room and scanned the hallway.

Just then, the front door creaked open.

Shivaang walked in, drenched in sweat, his breathing still steady from the morning run. His T-shirt clung to him like second skin, outlining every taut muscle. He paused mid-step when he saw her. 

His eyes took her in slowly, instinctively dressed in a maroon Indian ethnic wear. The outfit hugged her form with elegant ease. Her right hand clutched the end of her dupatta while the rest of it gracefully draped across her left shoulder. A tiny black bindi adorned the space between her eyebrows, and her lips tinted maroon, were pressed lightly under her upper teeth. Her kohl-lined eyes, sharp yet hesitant looking at him.

Ruhi stood still, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before dropping to the floor, flustered. Shivaang blinked, as if shaking himself out of it, his jaw clenching slightly in self-reproach.

He cleared his throat. "You're up early."

She nodded, still not meeting his eyes, her fingers toying nervously with the corner of her dupatta.

"Haan... I was hungry," she said, instantly regretting the excuse and biting her tongue.

"Hmm," he replied simply. "Breakfast should be ready by now. You can have it."

And as he turned towards his room.

"Aap...?" she called out softly. "You won't have breakfast?"

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder, then gestured at his sweat-soaked clothes.

"Like this?"

Only then did she realize how soaked he really was.

"I'll have it a little later. You go ahead." And with that, he disappeared into his room.

Ruhi sat alone at the table. The breakfast spread croissants, fruit, and chai lay untouched. She rested her chin on her hand, waiting. A storm of questions churned in her stomach, aching to be asked.

Eventually, Shivaang reappeared, cleaned up and composed. He slid into the seat across from her and immediately noticed the untouched plate.

"You haven't started yet?"

She blinked. "Uh... Bhookh nahi thi." [Wasn't hungry.] Completely forgetting her own excuse.

His brow arched. "Hmm... ab lag gayi?" [Hmm... and now you are?]

"Yes," she mumbled, quickly tearing off a piece of croissant.

Shivaang began filling his plate with salad, not looking up. She kept glancing at him, biting her lip, starting to speak, and stopping again.

Then, casually, without looking at her "Poochhiye." [Ask.]

Startled, Ruhi choked on her bite. He immediately leaned forward, grabbed a glass, and offered her water.

"You alright?"

"Yes, yes..." she said quickly, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He sat back, but his eyes remained on her.

She hesitated, then blurted

"Aapka naam kya hai? I mean... it's been two days and I don't even know your name." [What's your name?]

He didn't blink. "You don't need to. They won't ask in your exams."

Ruhi gawked at him, offended and confused. "Achha... kaam kya karte hain aap?" she tried again. [Okay... what do you do for work?]

Silence.

After a few seconds, she checked the room and leaned in slightly and whispered, "Achha kaam nahi hai kya?... Salary kam hai?" [Is it not respectable work? Or is the salary too low?]

Shivaang looked at her for a moment, opened his mouth to speak then closed it again, mildly exasperated.

She sighed, crossing her arms.

"Achha koi baat nahi...hum Istituto Marangoni institute mein fashion designing kar rahein hain... I mean starting next week. Institute ne scholarship bhi diya hai. Aur ek internship bhi mili hai 250 euros per month."

[Okay, never mind... I'm studying fashion designing, starting next week. The institute also gave me a scholarship. And I've got an internship too 250 euros per month.]

(Then quickly adds, more confidently)

"Toh hum aapko 20 euros dedenge apni pehli salary se."[I'll give you 20 euros from my first salary.]

Shivaang stared at her, amused now.

"Aise kyun dekh rahe hain... achha 30, bas usse zyada nahi." [Why are you looking at me like that? Fine, 30. But not more than that.]

She said, half-defensive, half-playful.

"Baaki paise toh chahiye na hume apne designs ke liye bhi... Indian outfits ko represent karna yahaan easy nahi hai." [I need the rest of the money for my designs... representing Indian outfits here isn't easy or cheap.]

A slow smirk formed on Shivaang's lips. He rose from the table, pushing his chair back.

"Breakfast kijiye... designer sahiba." [have your breakfast... Miss Designer.]

And with that, he walked away, leaving her blinking at the empty space where he sat. Ruhi now, using her super-duper mind, began analyzing and guessing his career.

"Jiss tarah unn gundo ko maara tha... aur itna chup rehte hain... pakka kisi gang ke member hain. Iiska matlab yeh gunde hain!! (gasps). Shayad supari milti ho... Bechare ko kitna hi milta hoga yeh sab karke... Kitni dangerous life hai inki!" 
[The way he beat up those goons... and how quiet he always is... he must be part of some gang. Maybe he gets paid for killings... Poor guy, wonder how much he even earns doing all that... What a dangerous life he must have!]

She shook her head slightly and picked up her croissant again.

"But still... thoda sa naam toh batana hi chahiye tha, Gunde Sahab." 
[But still... could've at least told me his name, Mister Goon.]

____________________________________________________

The guest room is filled with soft sunlight pouring in through gauzy curtains. A warm breeze flows in from the open balcony, making the sheer dupatta flutter slightly at the edge of the bed.

Shivaang walks in, knocking once on the half-open door. He glances around neatly made bed, open notebook on the side table, a steaming cup of chai untouched. But no sign of Ruhi. He takes a few steps in, puzzled.

he calls gently "Ruhi?"

No answer. He turns to leave, intending to check the kitchen or maybe the hall. But just then, he hears her laugh bright and unguarded from the balcony.

He pauses.

Ruhi is seated on a cane stool, legs crossed, elbows on the railing, peering over to the adjacent balcony where a five-year-old boy with fluffy curls and a gap-toothed grin is holding a toy truck upside down.

Ruhi : "Arey wah! Yeh truck toh bilkul original lagta hai... lekin upar se chalate ho ya ulta?" [Wow! This truck looks so real... but do you drive it normally or upside down?]

The boy laughs and says something completely unrelated in broken Italian. Ruhi grins, unbothered by the lack of comprehension. She continues anyway.

"Tumhe pata hai, hum jab chhote the toh mitti mein baith ke uss se ghar banate the. Kitni mehnat lagti thi!" [You know, when I was little, I used to make house out of mud. It used to take so much effort!]

The boy giggles and shows her a stick like it's a sword ready to fight. 

"Arey! aap toh bura maan gye...aapka game hi achha hai...khelo khelo!"She winks terribly with both eyes. 

The boy blushes, then nods eagerly. He doesn't understand a word, but her energy and voice are enough to keep him hooked.

Shivaang watches silently from inside, standing near the curtain. He can't help but notice how easily she lights up even in a foreign city, speaking a language no one understands. And now she already has a fan.

His eyes soften a little. Then, the door to the neighboring balcony creaks open, and a woman elegantly dressed, probably the boy's mother, steps out.

Shivaang's eyes sharpen, without a word, he strides across the balcony, grabs Ruhi gently but firmly by her forearm, and pulls her inside the room, closing the balcony door behind them.

Startled, Ruhi stumbles slightly, holding his forearm in reflex and gasps.

"Kya - ?" she began, but the words caught in her throat. As her eyes met his, deep brown and impossibly captivating, glowing even more under the sunlight.
She was in his arms, one hand gently holding her forearm, the other resting on her back.

After few seconds, Shivaang speaks, releasing her and maintaining some distance, voice calm but unmistakably stern. "We need to set some rules."

"What rules?"

He gestures toward the couch. "Come. Sit."

They both sit Ruhi still frowning, hair slightly ruffled from the sudden pull. Shivaang sits beside facing her, expression composed but firm.

Shivaang: "I know you don't want to stay here. I know you're uncomfortable, maybe even bored. But this... is for your own safety. You'll have to live here for now, and while you do there are certain rules you'll follow. Non-negotiable."

Ruhi straightens, listening closely. Her face is serious now.

Shivaang: "Rule one - you will not talk to anyone in this area except me."

Ruhi: "Who and when did I even talk to? And why not? It's not like my kidnappers own all of Milan..."

Shivaang just looked at her silently.
Ruhi's voice faltered as doubt crept in. "Do they...?"

"Rule two you will not come in front of anyone except me."

Ruhi (squeezing her eyes at him): "As if I go out of this house. And what about cook aunty?"

"Rule three you will not smile at people, adults or kids.

Ruhi's lips twitch, amused, "Now this is too much" she said with a cute little pout.

"Rule four starting today, you will eat actual food. Not just half a croissant or two spoons of pasta."

Her mouth opens to object, but he silences her with a look.

"And last, rule five you will not ask any personal questions about me. To anyone."

Ruhi(grinning): "Not even cook aunty?"

Shivaang: "Especially not your cook aunty."

She leans back, crossing her arms, a playful smirk spreading across her lips.

"Ohh... and what if I don't follow these rules?" She looks at him like a mischievous child testing a strict teacher.

"Then, Miss Ru... I'll call Aarush and tell him to take you back." Ruhi gasps all her drama getting aside.

"And you can say goodbye to your dream institute, because I don't think your sister would ever compromise on your safety."

Ruhi glares. "Kitne bure hain aap!" [How mean you are!]

Shivaang stands, brushing invisible dust from his hands.

Shivaang: "Bohot." [Very.] He turns toward the door.

"Now stay away from that balcony. And you can use this if you want, I had it lying around as a spare anyway," he said, pointing to a newly carved, charming little stand with Naag ji intricately designed on top. It was meant to hold her Shivling.

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving her utterly confused and surprised now, the moment her eyes fell on the stand she forgot everything and got excited and overwhelmed by his unexpected behavior. A small smile tugged at her lips as she got up, went to the bathroom to wash her hands, and then gently placed the Shivling on the stand, adorning it with the flowers she had picked earlier from the terrace.

A little while later, she lay on the bed, aimlessly scrolling through her phone when a sudden thought struck her.

"Ab toh pakka gunde hi hain yeh!, issliye toh milne se mana kar rhe hai kisi se bhi. But neighbours se kya probl- ek minute kahi inko neighbors ki supari toh nahi milli?...hawwww!"

And just like that, her overthinking took off, spiraling into one wild theory after another, until eventually, sleep claimed her where she lay on the bed.

He returned to his room, locking the door behind him with a soft click. Without pause, he strode to the inbuilt closet. His fingers moved with precision two turns of the knob to the left, three to the right. A faint metallic click followed, and what looked like an ordinary section of the wall beside the dressing table swung open, revealing a concealed passage.

He stepped inside, flipping a switch. Dim lights buzzed to life, illuminating a narrow, covert operations room. On the far wall was a sprawling web of photographs faces, locations, documents all connected with taut red threads. At the top, one space remained empty. Below it, an intricate network mapped out the silent war he was fighting.

Hours passed. He studied, cross-referenced, jotted notes on the adjacent whiteboard. Details layered upon details. Threads shifted. The story grew clearer. Finally, with practiced certainty, he picked up a printed photo and pinned it onto the board right where it fit best.

Beneath it, he wrote in black marker: "Asset Tango-13."

He stepped back, arms crossed over his chest, eyes scanning the now-complete thread. Every connection, every move, laid out like a chessboard. Tango-13 had been an elusive piece of the puzzle, but now she had a place an identity, a trajectory.

Shivaang picked up a voice recorder from the table and clicked it on.

"Day 457. Asset Tango-13 confirmed. Embedded deeper than expected. Level of influence—extensive. Current status: monitored. Possible ties to Trussardi network. Further surveillance required."

He paused, eyes narrowing at the photo. Her face betrayed nothing. That was the problem.

"If she folds under pressure, she leads us to the next node. If she doesn't..." he murmured to himself, switching the recorder off without finishing the thought.

Walking over to the surveillance console, he tapped a few keys and brought up camera feeds, some grainy, others high-resolution split across multiple screens. One of them flickered to life showing a long-range static shot of a fashion institute gate. He zoomed in slowly, scanning figures, patterns, symbols on banners.

His phone buzzed. A single message.

"Package en route. ETA: 48 hours. Handle with care. – WOLF."

A quiet breath left his lips. He didn't need more words. He picked up a marker, circled an empty space on the board, and muttered

"Let's see who survives it."

____________________________________________________________

The next morning, Ruhi found herself alone at breakfast once again. No sign of him. The silence in the house felt heavier today again. She sank into the sofa in the hall, tapping absentmindedly on a game on her phone, though her mind wasn't really in it.

She heard the main door click. Glancing up, she caught just a glimpse he'd entered and disappeared straight into his room, not sparing a glance.

Ten minutes passed. He was still inside, now curiosity got the better of her. She walked up to his room and knocked. 

No response, she noticed the door was slightly ajar. Her eyes lingered on it, should she? 

She stepped in cautiously.

His room was... unexpected. Spacious, minimal, clean. Elegant in a very understated way earth tones, dark wood, neat shelves. Everything had a place. Disciplined, too disciplined like him.

Just when she turned to leave, feeling like an intruder.

Click.

The bathroom door opened. And he stepped out, shirtless, a towel slung around his neck, damp hair tousled from the shower.

Ruhi froze.

Her eyes widened in alarm. "AAAAAHHH" She screamed and spun around too fast - whack - her knee hit the corner of the bed.

"Ahhh!" she hissed, clutching her knee, eyes squeezed shut.

He reacted instantly. "Aee... araam se!" he exclaimed, rushing over. "Come, sit here."

She let him guide her to the bed as she continued holding her knee, lips pressed together in pain.

"Is it hurting too much?" he asked, gently touching the spot. She shook her head no, though her face said otherwise.

He sighed and knelt in front of her, rubbing the spot lightly with his thumb. "Dhyan kahaan rehta hai aapka? Bacchi hai kya aap? Aur... saanp dekh liya tha kya jo aise react kiya?" [where's your mind? are you a child? and...did you see any snake to react like that?]

Her eyes snapped open

Oh. He was still shirtless, kneeling in front of her and massaging her knee.

"Aap aise nangu-pangu kyun ghoom rahe hain?" she blurted, turning her head away, eyes shut tight again.

His hand froze, he looked at her shocked "...What did you just say? Nangu-pangu? You mean naked?"

She nodded slightly, still not looking.

He chuckled under his breath. "Designer sahiba, isse shirtless kehte hain. Nang-uhmm-Naked nahi. And... aap yahaan aayi kyun thi?" [Miss Designer we call it shirtless...not naked]

She stammered, "Vo... voh, aap subah se dikhe hi nahi. Mujhe kuch puchhna tha, toh... aa gayi."

"Puchhiye."

"I wanted to cook lunch today. So... needed permission to use the kitchen."

He exhaled lightly, shaking his head. "Kitchen use karne ke liye permission leni ki zaroorat nahi hai. Use it however you want. Just inform Miss Miranda, she'll help you with the ingredients."

He stood up. "And... Rule number 6: You will not enter this room without permission."

With that, he disappeared into his closet. Ruhi opened her eyes slowly. His warmth was gone. So was he. She stood up quietly, then bolted out of the room limping slightly,

"Jaise hum mare jaa rahe hain yahan aane ke liye..." muttering under her breath like a clown nursing both a bruised knee... and a bruised ego.

As the closet door clicked shut behind him, Shivaang leaned back against the wooden panel and closed his eyes.

"Nangu-pangu..." A soft smirk tugged at his lips.

She was impossible. A tornado wrapped in silks and stammers. One minute barging into his room uninvited, the next recoiling like she'd walked in on a crime scene. And yet, there was something... disarming about her. Even when she crashed headfirst into his personal space.

His fingers still remembered the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric, the way she tensed at his touch but didn't pull away. The way her eyes stayed shut even as she insisted she was fine.

He sighed.

She walked into his room just like she was slowly walking into his routine, uninvited.

That unsettled him. He opened his eyes and stared at the row of shirts in front of him. Crisp and clean. Just the way he liked his world. Controlled. Safe. Unmessy.

Then came Ruhi Verma. With her cute Hindi, endless questions, unexpected silences, and now, limping out of his room like a cartoon.

He shook his head once and for a moment longer, his fingers stayed still against the shirt collar. Her voice echoed in his mind again...awkward, surprised and a little embarrassed.

And despite himself... he smiled. Just for a second, then it was gone. He buttoned up his shirt, tightened the cuffs, and switched back into RAW agent mode.

Feelings could wait. The mission couldn't.

*****************************************************************************************

A little joy I wanted to share with you all...
Before this very update, we crossed one hundred reads, and my heart is quietly dancing with happiness. 🌸

I don't know how many more will read, or stay, or fall in love with these characters the way I have... but I truly, deeply hope that this little world finds its way to more hearts.

Thank you to everyone who's read so far...every single view, every silent reader, every kind comment means more than I can put into words. Here's to hoping the journey only gets bigger, warmer, and more beautiful from here. 💫

With love, and only love,
Reva ♡