After few days..........

The crisp London air was beginning to lose its sharp, biting chill, yielding to the gentle, golden warmth of early spring. Inside the clinical elegance of the Harley Street medical wing, the atmosphere was thick with a tense, breathless anticipation. For months, this building had been a sanctuary of sterile walls, low-spoken prognoses, and the heavy scent of antiseptics-a place where a brutal battle for survival had been fought day in and day out.

Inside the private consultant's cabin, the silence was broken only by the soft rustle of medical charts. Dr. Harrison looked up from the latest laboratory reports, a profound, genuinely warm smile breaking across his seasoned features. He adjusted his spectacles, his eyes moving from the digital scans on his screen to the couple sitting across from him.

"Wow, Mr. Rathore... you finally did it," Dr. Harrison announced, his voice echoing with absolute triumph. He tapped the clear, unblemished scans on the illuminated board. "The infection is completely gone. Every single marker is clear. Your body has entirely healed from the trauma."

For a second, time seemed to stand still.

Aadhya's heart skipped a beat, the words echoing in her mind like a beautiful, long-awaited melody. She turned her head slowly toward Reyansh, her eyes instantly welling up with a thick layer of hot tears. Reyansh sat beside her, his posture straight, his handsome face freezing for a fraction of a second as the sheer weight of the news settled into his bones. The phantom pains, the agonizing nights of burning fevers, the brutal, agonizing healing process that had broken him down to his very core-it was over.

"Ansh..." Aadhya whispered, her voice cracking under the immense pressure of her emotions.

Without waiting for another word from the doctor, she threw her arms around Reyansh's neck, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. The dam broke completely. She sobbed, her entire body shaking as months of suppressed terror, sleepless nights, and silent prayers poured out of her in a torrent of unconditional relief. She had stood by him like an unyielding shield, watching him bleed, watching him fight, and now, they had finally crossed the finish line.

"We did it, Ansh... We finally did it," she wept into his jacket, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt so tightly her knuckles turned white.

(Humne kar dikhaya, Ansh... Humne aakhirkar kar dikhaya.)

Reyansh closed his eyes, a single, stray tear escaping his dark lashes, burning a path down his sharp cheekbone. He wrapped his powerful arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off her chair to pull her flush against his chest. He buried his face into her soft, fragrant hair, holding her with a fierce, almost desperate intensity.

"Shh, butterfly... We did it just because of you," he murmured, his voice thick, laced with a raw, bleeding devotion that made the room feel incredibly small.

"Agar tum mera haath nahi pakadti, toh main us andhere se kabhi bahar nahi aa pata. Yeh tumhari jeet hai, jaan."

(If you hadn't held my hand, I would have never come out of that darkness. This is your victory, my life.)

Dr. Harrison watched the couple, his eyes softening with immense respect. He leaned back in his leather chair, crossing his hands over his desk. "You got a lucky wife, Mr. Rathore. In all my years of practice, I have rarely seen a partner display such fierce, unwavering dedication. She was your anchor when your body was giving up."

Reyansh slowly pulled back from the hug, though his arms remained securely locked around Aadhya's waist. He looked at the doctor, his eyes dark, intense, and filled with an undeniable, boundless pride.

"Indeed, I got," Reyansh replied, his voice deep and steady.

He turned his gaze back down to Aadhya. Her face was flushed, her nose pink from crying, and her long eyelashes were wet with silver tears. Looking at her, his heart swelled with a love so profound it felt like a physical ache. Unable to resist the sheer adoration pooling in his chest, Reyansh leaned down and pressed a long, lingering, firm kiss against her burning cheek.

Aadhya's eyes fluttered shut, her cheeks instantly blazing with a beautiful, radiant heat. She smiled through her tears, her hands resting over his chest, feeling the steady, healthy, rhythmic thumping of his heart.

"Can we go back to India, Doctor?" Aadhya asked eagerly, her voice filled with a desperate longing for home, for the familiar walls of their family estate, and the comfort of their loved ones.

Dr. Harrison chuckled warmly, closing the medical file with a decisive snap. "Yes, Mrs. Rathore. You can absolutely go back. As of today, everything is perfectly fine. You are free to take your husband home."

The moment they stepped out of the sterile, quiet environment of the doctor's cabin into the private, secluded hallway of the clinic, the reality of their freedom hit them full force. The heavy, dark cloud that had hovered over their heads for months had completely evaporated, leaving behind nothing but clear, brilliant sunshine.

Aadhya stopped in her tracks. She turned to face Reyansh, her eyes scanning his face as if checking to ensure this wasn't a cruel, fleeting dream. When she saw the relaxed lines of his forehead and the soft, genuine warmth in his eyes, another sob caught in her throat.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist again, hiding her face against his chest.

"Mujhe abhi bhi lag raha hai main koi sapna dekh rahi hoon, Ansh," she whispered against his shirt, her voice trembling.

(I still feel like I am dreaming, Ansh.)

Reyansh didn't answer with words. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, creating a private sanctuary in the middle of the corridor. He buried his face deep into her neck, inhaling her sweet, calming scent, letting the reality of his recovery sink into his own mind. He was alive. He was whole. And he was standing here with the woman who had dragged him back from the jaws of death.

Aadhya pulled back slightly, her hands framing his sharp jawline. She tilted her head up, her eyes locked onto his lips. With a gentle, deliberate tenderness, she leaned up and pressed her lips against his. The kiss was sweet, slow, and overflowing with a deep, unspoken gratitude-a silent promise that the nightmare was officially over, and their beautiful life was finally resuming.

In the master bedroom, the bright, cheerful morning sun filtered through the sheer ivory curtains, painting the room in soft, golden hues. Disha sat propped up against a mountain of plush velvet pillows on the massive king-sized bed.

She looked absolutely radiant, though beautifully changed. Disha was now seven months pregnant. Her small frame carried a prominent, perfectly round, and heavy baby bump that altered her every movement. Her face had filled out into an adorable, soft glow; her cheeks were naturally rosy, displaying the healthy weight she had gained during her second trimester. She wore a loose, comfortable lavender maternity dress that draped elegantly over her bump.

The door pushed open, and Aryan walked in, carrying a large silver breakfast tray. He looked impossibly handsome, dressed casually in a soft charcoal grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, exposing his toned, muscular forearms. The cold, distant corporate monster from two months ago was nowhere to be found. In his eyes lived a terrifyingly intense, consuming devotion that had only amplified with every day of her pregnancy.

He walked over to the bed, setting the heavy tray down on the over-bed table and sliding it gently over her lap.

"Here is your breakfast, Lavender... but first, you should complete your juice," Aryan said, his voice a deep, authoritative yet incredibly gentle rumble.

(Yeh rha tumhara breakfast, Lavender... lekin pehle, tumhein yeh juice khatam karna hoga.)

Disha glanced down at the tray. Sitting right next to a plate of steaming, aromatic Indian poha , large glass filled with a thick, dark, ruby-red liquid-the dreaded Apple-Beetroot-Carrot (ABC) juice that Aryan insisted she drink every single morning for her iron levels.

Disha's lips instantly ballooned out into a dramatic, stubborn pout. She scrunched up her nose, looking at the healthy concoction with utter disgust.

"But poha is enough... and see, you added more veggies, eww," she grumbled, using her spoon to poke at the green peas, carrots, and coriander generously scattered through the poha, her nose still scrunched in a cute grimace.

(Lekin poha kaafi hai... aur dekho, tumne isme aur zyada veggies daal di, eww.)

Aryan didn't even blink at her complaints. He sat on the edge of the mattress, leaning over her, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an unyielding, firm intensity.

"Lavender, first juice," he repeated, his tone leaving absolutely no room for negotiation.

(Lavender, pehle juice.)

"But I don't want ABC juice!" Disha pouted harder, her big, expressive eyes glaring at him defiantly. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back against the pillows, attempting to look intimidating despite her soft, chubby cheeks.

(Lekin mujhe ABC juice nahi peena!)

Aryan raised an eyebrow, his jaw setting slightly as he met her gaze head-on. He didn't say a word. He simply glared back at her-a playful yet firm battle of wills that they went through almost every single morning.

The glaring session continued for a full minute. Disha held her ground, her chest heaving slightly, trying to use her pregnancy privilege to win the war. But Aryan was a man of steel when it came to her health. He knew exactly how to handle his stubborn, beautiful little wife.

With a low, amused chuckle, Aryan suddenly reached out. Before Disha could protest, his large, powerful hands wrapped around her waist. With effortless ease, he lifted her entire six-month pregnant body and pulled her forward, settling her comfortably right across his lap.

"Aryan! Kya kar rahe ho!" she gasped, her hands instinctively clutching his shoulders for balance.

(Aryan! What are you doing!)

"Wahi jo mujhe har subah karna padta hai," Aryan murmured against her ear, his voice a seductive, deep purr.

(The same thing I have to do every single morning.)

He wrapped one strong arm securely around her lower back, supporting her and their heavy bump, while his other hand reached over and picked up the tall glass of juice. He brought the rim of the glass right to her stubborn lips.

"Sip by sip, Lavender. Drink it quietly, or I will find other ways to make you open your mouth," he warned playfully, his dark eyes gleaming with a dangerous, possessive affection.

(Ek-ek ghoot karke, Lavender. Isse chupchaap pee lo, nahi toh mere paas tumhara muh khulwane ke aur bhi tareeqe hain.)

Disha gasped at his shamelessness, and the moment her lips parted, Aryan expertly tilted the glass, forcing her to take a sip. She grimaced at the taste, swallowing it hard. She tried to turn her face away, but Aryan's hand was firm behind her head, holding her gently but securely in place.

"Good girl. Another one," he coaxed, his voice dropping into a velvety, soothing cadence that always melted her defenses.

(Good girl. Ek aur.)

Slowly, sip by sip, under his intense, unyielding gaze, Disha eventually drank the entire glass. The moment the liquid vanished, she let out a dramatic puff of air, leaning her head back against his shoulder.

"Ab khana khilao," she mumbled, pointing at the poha, completely taking advantage of being in his lap.

(Now feed me.)

Aryan smiled-a brilliant, breathtaking smile that transformed his sharp features into pure warmth. He picked up the spoon and began feeding her the poha, carefully blowing on each spoonful to ensure it wasn't too hot. Disha ate quietly, her earlier annoyance completely forgotten as she savored the taste of the food and the comforting warmth of his body enveloping her. She felt entirely safe, entirely cherished, completely wrapped in the obsessive love she had once foolishly tried to escape.

When the plate was completely empty, Aryan set it back down on the tray. He looked down at her face, noticing a tiny speck of poha near the corner of her lips.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice thick with an intense, consuming adoration.

(Good girl.)

He leaned down and wrapped his lips around her soft, chubby cheek, biting it gently, playfully, making her gasp.

"Ah! Aryan, bohot badmaash ho gaye ho tum!" she yelped, her hands slapping his chest lightly.

(Ah! Aryan, you have become very mischievous!)

Aryan laughed softly, the sound rich and deep. He didn't stop. He began to pepper her entire face with soft, lingering, wet kisses. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her eyes, and returned to her chubby cheeks, sucking on the skin gently, leaving behind warm, damp trails that made her skin tingle and her heart race with a wild, uncontrollable rhythm.

"Tumne hi toh bigada hai mujhe, Lavender," he murmured against her skin, his lips brushing her jawline. "Ab bhugto."

(You are the one who spoiled me, Lavender. Now suffer the consequences.)

Right in the middle of their intimate morning session, the loud, intrusive ringing of Aryan's phone broke the quiet sanctuary of the room.

Aryan annoyed, didn't want to let go of her. He reached out with one long arm, grabbing the phone from the nightstand without moving Disha from his lap. He glanced at the screen, and his annoyance instantly vanished, replaced by a sharp spark of interest.

It was Reyansh.

Aryan swiped the screen and placed the phone on speaker, holding it between them. "Reyansh? Is everything alright?"

"Aryan..." Reyansh's voice came through the speaker, deep, steady, but vibrating with a profound, undeniable emotion. "Reports clear hain. Infection jad se khatam ho chuka hai."

(The reports are clear. The infection is completely gone from the roots.)

Aryan's body stiffened slightly, a huge wave of relief washing over his chest. He closed his eyes for a brief second, his grip tightening around Disha's waist. "Thank God..." he breathed out, his voice thick.

But Reyansh wasn't done. A soft, genuine laugh echoed from the other end of the line-a sound that carried the weight of a man who had finally reclaimed his life.

"Doctor ne clearance de di hai. We can go back to India now, Aryan. Hum ghar jaa rahe hain."

(The doctor has given clearance. We can go back to India now, Aryan. We are going home.)

The words echoed through the sunlit bedroom like a beautiful, triumphant declaration.

Disha's eyes widened to the size of saucers. A massive, radiant smile broke across her face, completely illuminating her features. The sheer joy was so overwhelming that fresh, happy tears welled up in her eyes.

"Thank God!" Disha cried out toward the phone, her voice filled with absolute elation as she clutched Aryan's shoulders. "Ansh! Yeh sabse achhi khabar hai! Mujhe yakeen nahi ho raha!"

(Thank God! Ansh! This is the best news ever! I can't believe it!)

Reyansh chuckled on the other end. "Haan, doll. Sabse achhi khabar hai. Aap sab jaldi se packing shuru karo, hum kal ki flight se nikal rahe hain."

(Yes, doll. It is the best news. You all start packing quickly, we are leaving by tomorrow's flight.)

"Hum bas abhi nikalne ki taiyaari karte hain, Reyansh. Tu apna khayal rakh," Aryan commanded, a rare, brilliant smile stretching across his face as he hung up the phone.

The room was instantly charged with an electric, infectious happiness. They were finally going home. The long, agonizing months of exile, pain, and separation in London were officially over. The family was going to be whole again, back in India, where their roots lay.

Disha turned her face toward Aryan, her eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated bliss. "Aryan! Hum ghar jaa rahe hain! Humare baby ka birth humare ghar pe hoga!"

(Aryan! We are going home! Our baby will be born in our own home!)

Aryan looked down at his beautiful, glowing, pregnant wife. Seeing the pure, uninhibited happiness dancing in her eyes, his heart overflowed with a love so intense it felt dangerous. He leaned down, framing her face with his large hands, his eyes locking onto hers with a soft, fierce promise.

"Haan, jaan. Hum ghar jaa rahe hain," he whispered, before leaning in to press a deep, passionate, lingering kiss onto her lips, sealing their journey of pain, survival, and ultimate love.

(Yes, my life. We are going home.)

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