The air hung thick and sweet with the smell of damp earth and ripening grain. Rahul led the way, his grin wide with anticipation.

"See? I told you this shortcut inside the fields was worth it," he whispered, though there was no one around to hear.

"It's beautiful, bava, but terrifying," Nidhi countered, her voice tight.

They were deep inside a sprawling millet field, the stalks taller than their heads, forming green, rustling walls on either side. Their path was perilous—a thin, elevated ridge barely wider than a foot, separating two vast irrigation ditches filled with rich, black mud. One wrong step, and they'd be swallowed by the sludge.

Rahul, nimble and confident, turned slightly back to offer encouragement. "Nidhi, just be careful, watch your —"

He didn't finish the sentence. Nidhi, distracted by the sound of a rustling lizard, shifted her weight. Her left foot slipped off the narrow path and sank instantly into the slick, viscous mud. She lost her balance completely, tumbling sideways into the ditch.  "ahh nono"

Splash. Splat.

She landed awkwardly on her hip, completely engulfed in the thick, cold ooze. Mud plastered her hair, coated her clothes, and filled the gaps between her fingers. She looked like a creature emerging from the swamp.

For a full five seconds, Rahul stood frozen, his promise of caution hanging uselessly in the air. Then, unable to contain the sight of his usually pristine friend reduced to a muddy heap, he threw his head back and laughed.

It was a loud, unrestrained sound that echoed across the silent fields—a deep, roaring laugh that shook his chest.

Nidhi, humiliated and struggling to sit up, glared at him, a clump of mud dripping from her eyebrow. "Bava! Help me! Why are you laughing?"

Rahul gasped for air, wiping a tear from his eye. "Okay, okay, sorry, I'm sorry! I just... you look so funny...oh god hahahahah."

He finally knelt down, extending a strong, steady hand. Nidhi grabbed it, and with a surprisingly difficult pull, Rahul dragged her out of the ditch and back onto the narrow path. She stood before him, dripping, muddy water pooling at her feet.

"bava there is a water pipe i will wash it there.."

"be careful you will slip." Rahul said, retrieving her fallen dupatta. He guided her to the edge of the farm, where a powerful electric pump was installed, used to draw water for the irrigation system. He found a hose pipe connected to the outlet.

"Here. Wash up before the mud dries. I'll stand guard."

Nidhi took the pipe gratefully. The cool, clean water felt heavenly against her mud-caked skin. She focused on blasting the thickest layers off her clothes and hair, not caring that she was getting completely drenched in the process. She turned her back to the pump, focused wholly on cleaning the last bits of grime from her jeans.

That's when she heard the low, unwelcome sound of male voices and the distinctive, rapid clicks of cell phone cameras.

She froze, suddenly aware of her state—wet, clinging clothes, exposed, and vulnerable near the pump. She whipped her head around and saw five young men lurking just beyond the boundary fence, their phones held high, greedily capturing her distress.

A wave of panic and shame washed over her.

Before Nidhi could even whisper Rahul's name, he saw them too.

The laughter and lightheartedness vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, hard fury that settled over his face like a mask. Rahul didn't speak. He didn't warn. 

He scaled the low fence in a single, fluid motion and charged the group.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he roared, his voice low and dangerous.

The boys stammered, trying to hide their phones, but Rahul was too fast. He grabbed the nearest boy, spun him around, and slammed him against the fence, snatching his phone. He looked at the screen just long enough to confirm the vile contents.

That was it.

Rahul banged them. He moved with a focused, brutal efficiency Nidhi had never witnessed. He shoved, he punched, he slammed the phones against the metal fence until the screens shattered. Nidhi rushed forward, horrified by the sudden violence, trying desperately to pull him back.

"bava! Stop! don't fight, please!"

He ignored her completely, driven by a deep, primal need to defend her space and dignity. He delivered a final, stinging blow to the ringleader's jaw, knocking him to the ground, before turning his blazing eyes on the remaining boys.

"If I ever see your faces near her again, I will break more than your phones. Get out!"

The boys, nursing bruised egos and bodies, scattered instantly, running back toward the road.

Nidhi stood by the fence, her clothes soaked from the cleaning, her heart hammering against her ribs. The smell of clean water mixed with the metallic tang of fear and anger. Her hand was still outstretched where she had tried to grab his shirt.

She looked at Rahul. He stood over the shattered remains of the phones, his chest heaving, his knuckles scraped and bleeding. He wasn't looking at her, but staring down the road where the attackers had fled.

In that moment—watching him breathe heavily, seeing the absolute, uncompromising loyalty in his fierce posture—something shifted deep inside Nidhi's chest.

It wasn't the Rahul who joked and teased and laughed at her misfortune. This was the Rahul who put her dignity above his own safety, who reacted instinctively and violently to protect her when she was most exposed.

A sudden, unfamiliar warmth spread through her, quickly followed by a dizzying flutter, like tiny wings brushing against her insides. Butterflies.

The fear dissipated, replaced by a profound, overwhelming feeling of safety. She watched him walk back to her, his rage slowly receding into tense exhaustion.

He didn't need to ask if she was okay; his actions had already answered that question for her.

He reached the fence and his gaze finally met hers—softening immediately when he saw her face.

"Are you... are you really alright, Nidhi?" he asked, his voice low and strained.

Nidhi just nodded, unable to speak, her throat tight with emotion. She wasn't just safe; she was astonished. She saw the blood on his knuckles, and instead of fear, she felt a powerful surge of admiration.

The relationship they shared had always been comfortable and easy. But now, standing amidst the fields as the afternoon sun dipped low, Nidhi realized she wasn't just seeing him as cousin anymore. She was slowly, inevitably, starting to admire the man who would fight her battles for her. The butterflies solidified into a promise of something entirely new.

.

.

.

The kitchen was quiet save for the soft, rhythmic bubbling of milk. It was well past midnight. The rest of the household was deep asleep, and Anu, wrapped in the cool night air, stood patiently at the stove, making sure Rajalakshmi's mandatory midnight glass of warm milk was perfectly heated. The pale light above the counter cast long shadows, making the room feel immense and empty.

She was just reaching for the stirring ladle when a sudden, sharp pressure seized her from behind. A hand, strong and quick, pinched her waist.

Anu gasped, a small, terrified sound trapped in her throat. She dropped the ladle and spun around, fear instantly spiking through her veins. Before the shout could form on her lips—a loud, panicked scream that would wake the entire household—a warm, firm hand clamped down over her mouth, muffling the sound completely.

She was instantly trapped.

A solid male body pressed her back against the cool granite slab of the counter. The shock of the chill stone was immediately countered by the searing heat of the chest crushing against hers. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird, fighting the pressure. She blinked rapidly, her breath coming in ragged puffs against the hand covering her mouth.

Then, she focused on the face hovering inches from hers.

The terror evaporated, replaced by a dizzying rush of familiarity, relief, and an immediate, scorching heat that had nothing to do with the stove.

It was Vedansh.

His eyes, dark with mischief and undeniable heat, held hers captive. They were framed by a slight, predatory smile that made her knees weak.

He slowly withdrew his hand from her mouth, his palm lingering on her cheek for a fraction of a second, before pulling back just enough to whisper, the sound husky and dangerous.

"Don't shout."

Anu couldn't speak immediately. The adrenaline was receding, leaving her breathless and shaky. She leaned into the support of the counter, trying to reconcile the terror she'd just felt with the overwhelming relief of knowing it was him.

"I—one second," she finally managed, her voice barely a thread. She placed a hand over her own chest, feeling the wild, uneven rhythm. "My heart stopped."

Vedansh's smile faded, replaced by an intensity that tightened the grip of his hands on her upper arms. He leaned closer, his proximity eclipsing the rest of the world.

"Who has the courage to touch you, Anu?" he murmured, his gaze tracing the outline of her jaw, possessive and fierce. "If anyone else ever had the courage, I swear I would see them here and there." The implicit threat, though whispered, spoke volumes about the depth of his claim on her.

Anu felt a wave of warmth spread through her stomach. "What are you doing here, bava? I thought you were working late."

"I finished early. what are you doing here?" he countered, his eyes flickering down to her lips.

"I'm boiling milk for Nanamma," she said.

"Okay," he agreed, the word barely audible as he shifted his stance, moving his face to the side.

He didn't answer further. Instead, he nuzzled his nose into the soft skin just below her ear, inhaling deeply, drawing out a soft, involuntary moan from her.

The heat of the stove now seemed mild compared to the fire radiating between them.

She gripped the fabric of his shirt. "bava, wait," she whispered, her voice tightening with urgency. "Paalu pongi podi," she warned, the milk was threatening to boil over.

He didn't heed the warning. Instead, he tightened his arms around her, tilting her head back slightly, ensuring she was completely exposed to him.

"Let it boil," he replied, his voice a low hum against her skin, and then his mouth found hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was immediate, demanding, and open. He crushed his lips against hers, parting them swiftly, seeking and consuming. Anu's breath hitched, and she succumbed instantly, her fingers tangling desperately in the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him closer, deeper.

The kiss was messy and hungry, filled with the pent-up tension of late nights and stolen moments. He continued his open kisses, leaving her breathless, tasting of passion and a fierce, familiar love. She could feel the low, rumbling groan in his chest vibrating against hers.

She was fighting to control the sounds escaping her—the soft, needy moans that threatened to summon the entire household.

He knew it. He pulled back just enough to look at her, a wicked triumph in his eyes, before his fingers found her waist again, giving a sharp, punishing pinch.

"Don't control your moans, baby," he commanded, the words hot and breathy. "I want to hear them."

The command broke the last thread of her resistance. A deep, guttural moan escaped her throat as he captured her mouth once more.

He lowered his assault, trailing a devastating line of open kisses across her jaw, mapping the curve of her bone with bruising passion. Then, he moved to the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking lightly, marking her, asserting his right to this stolen moment in the silent kitchen, heedless of the boiling milk forgotten on the stove.

But both are unaware of a pair of eyes watching them..planning to destroy....

GUYS COMMENT ABOUT THE CHAPTER HOW DO YOU FEEL IT....AND VOTE MUKHYAM BIGILU.....