𝐀 𝐔 𝐓 𝐇 𝐎 𝐑' 𝐒 𝐏 𝐎 𝐕

Inside the studio of Bharat Samachar, the lights were still on. Vikrant Pratap, the editor of the opposition news network, tossed Aahana's files onto the table. Beside the papers lay a fresh contract and a pen.

"Rakesh Pandey was a coward for letting you go, Aahana," Vikrant said, taking a sip of his tea. "He is scared of Shaurya. We are not. Our channel is funded by people who want him out of power. You want a team to help you bring down the paper-leak group and corruption? I will give it to you."

Aahana stood near the window, looking out at the dark road. Her hazel eyes were cold and tired, but the determination in them remained firm.

"I am not joining your channel to play politics," she said as she turned around. "I do not care about your political party. My only target is the corruption and the students whose lives were destroyed."

Vikrant smiled.

"We do not care about your reason, Miss Rajvansh. You bring the proof, and we give you the broadcast. No censorship."

Aahana looked at the contract lying on the table. She knew that working for the opposition channel meant entering a dangerous political war with Shaurya, but this was her only chance to make her voice heard across the state.

She picked up the pen and signed the contract.

_____

At two in the morning, Shaurya's private mansion was silent.

In his study, a single desk lamp illuminated the room. A glass of dark whiskey sat on the oak table, and smoke rose from a lit cigarette resting in an ashtray.

Shaurya sat back in a low chair, his white shirt unbuttoned. Resting in front of him was a large canvas sketch of her eyes.

A tattoo artist stood beside the chair with his equipment. He looked nervous as he glanced at the powerful Chief Minister.

"Sir... should I use a pain-relief cream? The skin near the collarbone can be very sensitive."

"No," Shaurya said, his voice deep and calm.

He did not look at the artist. His eyes remained fixed on the easel, locked onto the drawing of her eyes. He took a slow sip of his whiskey and set the glass down.

"Start."

The buzzing sound of the needle filled the quiet room.

When the needle touched his skin, right below his collarbone and over the exact place where her nude-pink lipstick mark, Shaurya felt the sharp pain, but he did not flinch or move.

He reached for his cigarette, took a slow drag.

The artist began tracing the design onto his skin with dark ink. The fade outline of her lipstick mark formed the base of the tattoo, while her name was written across it in elegant lettering.

𝑨𝒂𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒂.

Every sting of the needle reminded him of the moment her body had slammed against his chest beneath the collapsing tent, her warm breath against his neck, and the hatred in her eyes when she had looked at him.

Mukund walked quietly into the room, holding a tablet.

"Sarkar."

Shaurya did not look away from the easel. "Speak."

"Sarkar, woh ladki-"

Shaurya's gaze immediately snapped toward him.

"𝐀𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐧𝐚𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐚𝐢 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐚." he said coldly. "𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐝𝐚 𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐛 𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐚𝐭 𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐨, 𝐚𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐬𝐞 '𝐲𝐞𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐤𝐢' 𝐲𝐚 '𝐰𝐨𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐤𝐢' 𝐭𝐮𝐦𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐳𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐡𝐢 𝐚𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐡𝐢𝐲𝐞."

(Her name is Aahana. Show some respect when you speak about her, and from now on, the words 'this girl' or 'that girl' should never come from your mouth.)

Mukund immediately nodded.

"Ji, Sarkar. She has signed a contract with Bharat Samachar. They have given her full authority over her investigation."

A slow smile appeared on Shaurya's face. He took another drag from his cigarette before letting the smoke drift into the air.

"Good," Shaurya said softly. "The opposition thinks they have found a weapon against me. They do not know that the fire they are welcoming into their house will burn their own roof down first."

Shaurya's expression hardened as he looked at Mukund.

"Call the Education Minister. Tell him I want every detail about the paper-leak network. If he fails to control it, tell him to submit his resignation."

"Ji, Sarkar," Mukund replied.

The artist carefully wiped the stray ink and blood from Shaurya's chest before stepping back.

"It is done, Sir."

He stood up and looked at mark in the mirror.

𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐞; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤

After a few minutes he put on a clean white shirt and left the top two buttons open.

He glanced one last time at the easel displaying her eyes before turning off the desk lamp.

"Mukund," Shaurya said, his tone turning cold and serious. "It is almost morning. Lets visit Principal Secretary Rajvansh."

By eight-thirty in the morning, Shaurya arrived at the government secretariat building.

Inside the office of the Infrastructure Department, Raman Rajvansh sat at his wooden chair. Stacks of files and a simple cup of tea rested in front of him.

The heavy door opened, and Shaurya walked inside. His tall frame dominated the room as he approached the desk, his shoes sounding against the floor.

Raman looked up, slowly set his red pen down, removed his reading glasses, and looked directly at the Chief Minister. He did not stand, and he did not greet him.

"Mr. Chauhan," Raman said, his voice flat and steady. "Official meeting hours start at ten."

Shaurya placed one hand flat on the edge of the desk and leaned toward him.

"The Purvanchal Expressway project file has been on your desk for three weeks, Raman Ji. The government approved the budget last month. My office is waiting for your signature."

Raman leaned back in his chair and folded his hands.

"The file stays on my desk. The quality report shows that the concrete mixture submitted by your contractors is below the required safety standards."

Shaurya's jaw tightened.

"Raman Ji, just sign and take your cheque."

Raman's expression did not change.

"I can file a complaint against you for bribing an officer," he replied calmly, looking straight into Shaurya's eyes. "If I sign off on poor materials today, those roads could fail in two years. I do not put my name on dangerous work."

The room became silent and tense.

Shaurya looked down at the senior officer. He was used to people trembling before him, but this man showed no fear at all.

"Rules are fine, officer," Shaurya said, his voice dropping into a quiet threat. "but I need your signature by six this evening. Otherwise, you will be transferred to a far district, and your career will become very difficult."

Raman let out a soft, dry laugh. He picked up his glasses and wiped them with a cloth.

"Give threats to people who care about their position, Mr. Chauhan," Raman said, looking him directly in the eye. "I have served for years with honesty. I am not afraid of your transfers or your power. I will only sign what is correct by law."

Shaurya's eyes narrowed.

The silence between them grew heavier.

He straightened his collar, feeling the dull sting of the fresh inked name beneath his collarbone.

"You have until six PM," Shaurya said softly as he took a step back. "Think carefully."

"My decision is already made," Raman replied as he reached for his pen.

Shaurya turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with a loud thud.

He walked down the long hallway toward his waiting car, his chest heavy with anger. His fingers briefly touched the tattoo beneath his collar.

He had no idea that the officer who had just refused to bow to his authority was the father of the woman whose name was permanently inked into his skin.

_______

𝐀 𝐀 𝐇 𝐀 𝐍 𝐀' 𝐒 𝐏 𝐎 𝐕

After leaving the regional office, I couldn't go home just yet. My brain was buzzing with too many numbers, incomplete tasks, and new office rules.

I needed a moment of silence.

I walked down the stone steps of Assi Ghat. The ghat was almost empty at this time, save for the flickering lights of a few late-night tea stalls.

"Ek kulhad wali chai, kaka, with extra elaichi and ginger," I said, leaning against the wooden railing overlooking the dark river.

"Ji, bitiya," the vendor replied, pouring the steaming tea into a small clay cup.

I took the warm kulhad in both hands, taking a deep breath of the ginger and cardamom steam. I turned toward the river, sipping the tea, and started pacing back and forth, my voice slipping into a low, fast murmur as I began talking out loud to myself, a terrible habit whenever I'm stressed.

"𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟? 𝐊𝐡𝐮𝐝 𝐤𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐡 𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐡𝐭𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐣𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐢 𝐤𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐡 𝐡𝐨."

(Calling himself the government as if he is the king of somewhere.)

I took another sip of the chai, staring into the dark, rippling waters of the Ganga, completely lost in my own furious rant.

"𝐇𝐞𝐲 𝐆𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐚 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐲𝐚, 𝐚𝐛 𝐚𝐚𝐩 𝐡𝐢 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐲𝐞 𝐤𝐲𝐚 𝐚𝐩𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐦 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢 𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚 𝐤𝐨𝐢 𝐠𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐢? 𝐇𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚, 𝐚𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐚𝐛 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐡𝐢 𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐛 𝐤𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐡𝐢 𝐛𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚, 𝐭𝐨𝐡 𝐦𝐮𝐣𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐮𝐤𝐫𝐢 𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐲𝐚. 𝐁𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐤𝐚𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐤𝐚!"

(Oh Mother Ganga, you tell me, is doing my job honestly a crime? He vanished my question from the media, and when that wasn't enough for his royal ego, he had me fired from my job. Stupid politician!)

I huffed loudly, my cheeks burning, from the irritation. I took another sip of the chai while looking at the Ganga.

"If you keep pacing like that, Aahana Ji, you will walk straight into the Ganga."

My foot froze mid-step.

I slowly lowered my cup and turned around.

Shaurya stood near the little tea stall, one shoulder resting against the old stone pillar as if he had been there long enough to hear every word of my complaint.

He was dressed in a dark navy linen shirt, the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms.

"𝐄𝐤 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐚-𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢 𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐲𝐞, 𝐰𝐨𝐡 𝐤𝐲𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐢 𝐧𝐚 𝐚𝐚𝐣 𝐤𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐨 𝐦𝐢𝐥 𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧," he said without taking his eyes off me even for a second.

(Pour a piping hot cup of tea for me... you see, I seem to be hearing quite a bit of gossip about myself around here these days.)

"Do you always stalk journalists, Mr. Chauhan?" I asked, keeping my voice cool, steady, and entirely unfazed. "Or am I receiving special state protection?"

A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. The vendor handed him the chai and he handed him a five hundred rupees note.

"Rakh lijiye, Kaka," Shaurya murmured to the old man

He took a slow sip and stepped away from the pillar, his long, heavy strides closing the distance until he was standing just a foot away.

"I don't stalk, little flame," he said, his voice heavy with a terrifying authority. "I simply oversee my territory. And right now, you are standing on my ghats, pacing like a restless storm, yapping about me."

"I was analyzing," I corrected sharply, tilting my chin up to meet his intense gaze. "Not yapping. And these aren't your ghats, Chauhan. They belong to Banaras."

"Everything in this city belongs to me," he answered smoothly, taking a step close until the subtle intoxicating scent of rain, cedarwood, and raw authority completely wrapped around my senses.

I held my ground, taking another sip of my tea with absolute composure.

"You are a servant of the public, Mr. Chauhan. They made you Sarkar to serve them, not to rule over them."

A slow, dark smirk spread across his face. He set his kulhad down on the stone ledge beside us, and folded his arms over his broad chest. It would be a lie if I said I wasn't nervous.

"𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚𝐫 𝐤𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐲𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐢 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐢 𝐦𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐡𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐢," he paused, his gaze was fixed on me "𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐦 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟. 𝐊𝐚𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐬𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐲𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐡 𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐢 𝐛𝐡𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐫 𝐫𝐚𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞."

(Nobody has the power to make me their slave.)

He looked down at my clay cup,then at me "Vikrant Pratap will use you. The moment your investigation becomes inconvenient for the people funding his channel."

"You're just scared because he works for your rivals," I replied instantly, my eyes flashing with sharp defiance. "I am going to expose every single file of your corruption."

A low, rich chuckle escaped his chest. "Fierce," he murmured, leaning down until his lips were barely an inch from the shell of my ear, his warm breath sending a shiver straight down my spine. "Always fighting. I welcome the war, little flame... Do whatever you want, I won't stop a single word."

I turned my head sharply to face him, our noses almost touching. "Why? Are you that arrogant?"

"No," he whispered, his dark eyes flashing with a sudden intensity that made my blood run hot. "Because no matter how bright your fire burns, and no matter how many political enemies try to use you as a weapon against me... by the time this storm ends, you will realize that the only man in this entire state strong enough to handle you... is me."

My mouth opened in absolute shock. "You... you are completely out of your mind!"

I finished the last sip of my chai, walked over to the stall, and placed the empty kulhad in the clay bin, then turned to walk up the stairs of the ghat.

"Aahana Ji." His deep voice called out my name.

I stopped on the third step, looking back over my shoulder. "What?"

Above us, a sudden, heavy thrumming sound shattered the quiet night. The wind on the open ghat whipped violently, tossing my hair across my face as the dark silhouette of a heavy black helicopter descended low over the Ganga, hovering right above Assi Ghat.

I looked up in shock, my eyes widening slightly.

Shaurya didn't look at the sky, his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, his dark eyes locked entirely on me as the wind whipped his shirt against his broad chest.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

The side doors of the helicopter slid open.

Before I could even process what was happening, a massive, endless shower of fresh, vibrant red rose petals erupted from the chopper, raining down over me like a heavy crimson storm.

The petals blanketed the stone steps, swirling around my feet, catching in my dark hair, and floating gently on the surface of the Ganga. I stood frozen, completely surrounded by a sea of red velvet petals.

He slowly walked up the steps, stopping just one stair below me so his face was level with mine. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching a stray rose petal that had landed near my collarbone, brushing his thumb against my skin for a split second before letting it fall.

A slow, possessive, dangerous smile curved his face as he looked straight into my eyes.

"I didn't get the chance to welcome you properly at the rally yesterday, little flame," Shaurya said, his voice cutting through the roar of the helicopter blades above.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear.

"𝐒𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝, 𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚𝐫," he whispered.

The rose petals continued to shower over me.

I looked at his dark silhouette striding back up the stone steps, disappearing into the midnight shadow. He moved with a grace, completely unbothered, as if dropping rose petals from the sky was just another routine line on his executive calendar.

Welcome to my world, Sarkar.

My mind scrambling to make sense of the moment. Was he... flirting with me? Was this some twisted, possessive obsession?

I shook my head sharply, tossing my dark hair to remove a petal stuck near my ear. I took a deep, grounding breath, forcing my mind to take back control.

I was a top investigator, a gold medalist. A cold, calculating politician like Shaurya didn't throw rose petals out of romantic impulse.

He knew I had signed with Bharat Samachar. He knew Vikrant Pratap was giving me an uncensored platform, and he suspected I held proof that could dismantle his cabinet.

The helicopter show, the soft threats, it was all a calculated psychological play. It had to be.

He thought he could tame a storm by throwing flowers at it, but he had clearly forgotten that storms did not become weaker because someone decorated their path with roses.

A slow, sharp, smile touched my lips as the fleeting confusion completely vanished, replaced by clarity.

"Nice try, Mr. Chauhan," I whispered softly to th

e dark Ganga.

I turned on my heel, and walked up the steps of Assi Ghat, stepping over the crimson blanket of petals without looking back even once.

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