Episode 1: The Anatomy of DesireThe city skyline shimmered outside their penthouse apartment, Boston bathed in the faint blush of dawn. Rain tapped the window glass like a memory, as if reminding Sarvi Mukherjee and Aarav Rathore that some storms never truly passed — they simply softened.But inside, beneath cream-colored sheets tangled in the remnants of a long night, a different heat pulsed.Sarvi stirred first. Her dark hair fanned over the pillow, her bare shoulder kissed by the golden light filtering through gauzy curtains. Beside her, Aarav lay on his side, watching her like she was still part of a dream he hadn't yet woken from."You're staring," she whispered without opening her eyes."I am," he replied, his voice low and rough from sleep. "You're my favorite chapter."She opened her eyes then, slow and deliberate. "Careful. I might make you reread me."He smirked. "I plan to."He leaned in, kissing the space just below her collarbone. Her breath hitched as his hand trailed along her waist, possessive, reverent."This body has anatomy," he murmured, tracing her spine with his fingertips. "But I've made a study of your desire.""You're ridiculous," she said, laughing softly, but her fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer.Their lips met with hunger — not rushed, but deep. Familiar. Married life had not dulled their passion; if anything, it had intensified. Years of restraint now poured freely between them. His hands knew the topography of her body. Her sighs were a map he could never stop exploring.---By the time they emerged from bed, the sun was higher and the day less forgiving. Aarav pulled on a crisp white shirt and adjusted his surgical ID badge. Sarvi sipped coffee, still in her silk robe, reviewing a pharmacology module on her tablet."You know we're the hotshot couple on campus, right?" Aarav teased.Sarvi raised a brow. "Because we're married or because we're smarter than everyone?""Both. And maybe a little because you wore that black saree to grand rounds last month. I'm still hearing whispers."She laughed. "That was strategy."Aarav stepped closer, placing a kiss behind her ear. "I'm not complaining."---Later that afternoon, Sarvi stood in a packed auditorium, delivering a presentation on rare neuroendocrine tumors. Her voice didn't tremble. Her arguments were sharp. When she concluded, the applause was thunderous.In the back, Aarav clapped the loudest.She found him afterward in the empty lecture hall."You proud of me?""I'm obsessed with you," he said, pulling her into a kiss that made her forget where they were."Someone could walk in.""Let them."She laughed, but when his lips found the curve of her throat, laughter turned to silence. To want. To heat.---That night, their apartment was dimly lit with only a single lamp. Music hummed low in the background. Sarvi wore a lace slip, dark as ink, soft as a whisper. Aarav watched her from the bed, shirt undone, eyes shadowed with desire.She straddled him slowly, deliberately."Tell me," she whispered."That you're my religion," he said, voice hoarse.She leaned in, lips brushing his. "Worship me, then."And he did. That night, they weren't just two bodies — they were thunder and silk, fire and surrender.She arched into him, fingers clawing at his back."You like it when I lose control," he growled."I like that I'm the only one who can make you."He flipped her over, pinning her arms gently above her head."I want to ruin you," he said, "in ways only love can."Her breath stuttered. "Then do it."---Later, tangled in sweat and silk, Sarvi whispered into the dark, "If this is what life looks like under the white coat... I never want to take it off."Aarav smiled against her shoulder. "It's not the coat, love. It's what we survive underneath it."Dramatic Closing Line:Even beneath success and silk sheets, their passion was stitched with scars—and stitched stronger because of them
Episode 2: Sutures and Sins
The rain returned that night, soft at first, then drumming against their windows like a warning. Sarvi stood by the mirror in their bedroom, running a hand over her bare shoulder, wrapped in a dark satin robe that clung to her like water.
She watched herself. Not just her reflection — but the woman she'd become. Married. A doctor in the making. Desired. Tamed by no one but one man alone.
Behind her, Aarav entered in a black towel slung low on his hips, hair wet from a post-shift shower. His eyes found her in the mirror, and the air thickened.
"You're staring again," she said, voice low.
"Still my favorite view," he replied.
She turned. "What if I undo you tonight?"
He smirked, stepping closer. "Then I'll gladly fall apart in your hands."
She reached for the tie of her robe slowly, deliberately. The silk whispered as it loosened. His eyes darkened.
"I've seen blood," he said, touching the inside of her wrist. "Stitched open wounds. But nothing's as raw as this."
He pulled her close and lifted her onto the bed. The way his hands roamed her skin wasn't gentle — it was reverent. Possessive. Worshipful in the darkest ways.
"Say it," she whispered, breath trembling.
"That you ruin me," he growled. "Every night. Every time I look at you like this."
His mouth traced down her collarbone to her ribs, biting just enough to leave bruises only he would see. Her back arched, a moan escaping her lips.
She pulled his hair, forcing his eyes up to meet hers.
"You like when I take control?" she asked.
"I like that you don't ask for it," he rasped. "You just take it."
---
The storm outside matched the heat in their room. Thunder shook the walls as they tangled in the sheets — a mess of limbs, lust, and whispered confessions.
"You're mine," he breathed.
"And yours," she gasped, legs wrapped around his waist. "Always yours."
Hours passed. They didn't notice.
---
The next morning, Sarvi winced slightly as she buttoned her blouse.
"Too much?" Aarav teased, sipping coffee shirtless.
"Just enough," she replied with a smirk. "You marked your territory."
"Damn right I did."
She tossed a grape at him. "Behave. We've got the college exhibition today."
Aarav groaned. "Right. We have to pretend to be professional."
Sarvi fixed her lab coat, eyes gleaming. "We are professional. We're just also madly in love."
"Correction," Aarav said, pulling her into a last kiss. "We're dangerously in love."
As they stepped out into the fresh morning air, their hands found each other naturally. Behind them, the apartment held the echoes of their night. Before them, the college awaited.
Dramatic Closing Line: They had mastered desire behind closed doors—now came the challenge of pretending restraint beneath the white coat.
Episode 3: Unmasked Under Lights
The medical exhibition at the Boston College of Clinical Sciences was no ordinary academic event—it was a battlefield of ambition, politics, and preening egos. Departments competed for prestige. Professors scouted prodigies. Reputations could be made—or ruined—in a single presentation.
Sarvi stood in a crisp white coat, her long hair braided neatly down her back, a lavender clip holding stray strands in place. Her booth was immaculate—an innovative neuroanatomy display complete with interactive modules.
Aarav, dressed in black scrubs and a smug smile, stood beside her, stealing glances when he thought no one was looking.
"You're staring," Sarvi whispered.
"I always do before a storm," he murmured.
She smirked. "What kind of storm?"
"The kind where I forget we're in public."
Before she could respond, applause erupted at the far end of the hall. Heads turned. Phones came out.
Walking through the entry arch like a runway was Arjun Mehta—flashing his signature crooked smile, a navy blazer over a black turtleneck, hair styled like he had a personal glam team.
Beside him, a girl no older than twenty-one, dressed in a fire-red bodycon dress under her lab coat, walked like she owned the floor.
Nyla Mehta.
"Sarvi," Meera whispered from behind, "you won't believe who just walked in."
"I already know," Sarvi said coldly.
Aarav's eyes narrowed. "What's he doing here?"
"Apparently, Arjun's launching a biotech fund. Wants to 'invest in student brilliance.'"
Sarvi's lips tightened. "Of course he does."
They turned back to their display—until Arjun's voice cut through the chatter.
"Well, well. If it isn't the power couple of Boston Med," he said, walking toward them with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Dr. Rathore. Dr. Mukherjee. Or should I say... Mr. and Mrs. Complication?"
Aarav's jaw clenched. "Nice to see you haven't lost your flair for drama."
"Oh, drama follows the deserving," Arjun replied. "And I must say, Sarvi, you wear ambition like a second skin now."
"I'd rather wear ambition than entitlement," she snapped.
Nyla stepped forward, smiling sweetly at Aarav. "You must be the brilliant neurosurgery resident I've heard too much about. I'm Nyla. Intern. Mehta blood, unfortunately."
Aarav extended a hand politely. "Nice to meet you, Nyla."
She leaned in slightly. "I hope I get to shadow you sometime. I hear your... technique is very hands-on."
Sarvi's eyes sharpened.
"I'm sure he'll be busy," she said.
Arjun chuckled. "Relax, Sarvika. You don't have to snarl every time someone breathes near your husband."
"Old habits die hard," she said. "Especially when they're formed around snakes."
---
The tension hung thick as Nyla and Arjun moved on.
"That girl's dangerous," Sarvi muttered.
"And he?" Aarav asked.
"Worse. He knows exactly what he's doing."
---
Hours later, as the exhibition wound down, Aarav and Sarvi found themselves in a corner of the hall, reviewing notes.
Until a voice interrupted.
"I've missed this version of you, Sarvika," Arjun said. "Sharp tongue. Smarter eyes. I'd be lying if I said I didn't wonder what would've happened if I hadn't chosen Riya back then."
Sarvi looked up, eyes unreadable. "But you did. And you both lost."
"I don't lose," he whispered. "I just wait."
She leaned in. "Then wait somewhere far from my life."
He smiled. "Just don't forget—I know what you look like before you learned how to hide."
Sarvi's breath caught, but she didn't flinch.
---
Outside the hall, Nyla lit a cigarette under the streetlamp. Aarav passed her, and she smiled.
"I wasn't joking about that shadowing request."
Aarav didn't stop walking. "I wasn't joking about being busy."
Dramatic Closing Line: Some ghosts return wearing perfume and credentials—and some storms begin beneath exhibition lights.
Episode 4: Marked by Midnight
The rain had stopped, but Sarvi's thoughts hadn't. The college exhibition had stirred more than academic envy. It had awakened something primal — not because of the whispers or the applause, but because of the way Arjun Mehta had looked at her, and the way Nyla had looked at Aarav.
And yet, nothing compared to the way Aarav held her hand through it all — proud, possessive, and unapologetically hers.
They returned to their apartment late, soaked in streetlight and tension.
Sarvi kicked off her heels and exhaled. "They really showed up out of nowhere."
Aarav loosened his tie, eyes trailing the curve of her neck. "Arjun hasn't changed. Still thinks he owns every room he walks into."
She walked toward him, voice low. "But tonight, only one man owned mine."
He smirked. "Is that so?"
Her hands slid up his chest. "Prove it."
---
In one movement, Aarav had her pressed against the wall, his breath hot against her ear. "You want proof, Mrs. Rathore?"
She gasped at the name. "Say it again."
"Mrs. Rathore." He whispered it like a sin. "Mine."
Her fingers dug into his shirt. "Then take me like I'm yours."
His hands slipped beneath her dress, lifting her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. Lips crashed. Breaths tangled. He pulled her hair back, exposing her throat.
"You walked through that exhibit like a goddess," he growled. "Do you know what it did to me?"
"Tell me," she dared.
"You made me want to mark every inch of your skin — just to remind you who it belongs to."
She wrapped her legs around his waist. "Then mark me, doctor."
---
He carried her to the bedroom, dropping her onto the mattress with practiced ease. The moonlight framed her body like artwork. Her saree half-undone, her skin begging for worship.
"You know what I want?" she asked.
"Name it."
"A fantasy."
He tilted his head, his voice dipping lower. "What kind?"
"The kind where you don't ask questions — you just ruin me."
His smile was dangerous. "Then lie back. And let me prescribe something stronger than painkillers."
She did.
What followed wasn't rushed or chaotic — it was methodical. Studied. As if he were dissecting her with love and lust as his scalpels.
His voice was velvet and venom. "Every part of you is a textbook I've read in secret."
She moaned under his touch. "Then teach me everything."
"I already am."
---
Later, when their bodies were tangled in the aftermath, her nails carving half-moons into his back, she whispered against his neck, "You know what this is?"
He kissed her shoulder. "What?"
"The anatomy of obsession."
Aarav leaned in, brushing his lips against hers. "Then let me be your final diagnosis."
They laughed, breathless, bruised, and burning.
---
Closing Line:
Their fantasies weren't just desires — they were vows. Whispers beneath silk sheets, stitched into the anatomy of trust.
Episode 5: Jealousy in White Coats
The university atrium glowed with soft white lights and the scent of fresh lilies. Tonight was the Research Showcase Gala — a semi-formal affair where top students and surgical mentors were being recognized. Sarvi stood near the welcome arch, dressed in a deep sapphire saree, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like starlight. Aarav, in a tailored charcoal suit, stood beside her — composed, proud, unknowingly walking into chaos.
Everything was perfect. Until she arrived.
Sania Kapoor.
Wearing a slit gown that looked like it belonged on a red carpet instead of a med-school gala, she walked toward Aarav and Sarvi with slow, deliberate steps. Her glossy hair fell in waves, and her lips curved in a smile too dangerous to be innocent.
"Sarvi, you look radiant," she said, barely sparing her a glance.
"Thank you, Sania," Sarvi replied coolly.
Aarav nodded politely. "Nice to see you. Is your father attending tonight's panel?"
"He was delayed. But don't worry," she said, her eyes glinting. "I'm here to represent the Kapoor legacy just fine."
---
Ten minutes later, Sarvi stepped away to speak with a professor. When she returned, what she saw sliced through her.
Sania had cornered Aarav near the side corridor. Her hand rested on his chest as she whispered something into his ear. Aarav's posture was tense, but he wasn't pushing her away. His jaw was clenched. Frozen.
Sarvi's heart dropped.
Before she could react — footsteps.
Four figures entered the atrium without warning.
Vikram Singh Rathore and Kavita Rathore.
Raghav and Anjali Mukherjee.
Her parents. His parents. All at once.
And all of them saw it.
Mrs. Kavita's eyes widened. Mr. Raghav muttered under his breath. Anjali's eyes snapped to Sarvi, reading the pain on her face.
Sarvi couldn't speak. Her eyes filled with tears — not because she didn't trust Aarav, but because he didn't stop it. He didn't speak. He didn't move.
---
Aarav finally pushed Sania's hand away. "Enough. You're crossing a line."
Sania smirked. "I didn't know there were lines between desire and duty, Doctor Rathore."
That's when Sarvi turned and walked away. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just... gone.
"Beta—" Anjali tried to call after her.
But Sarvi didn't turn around.
---
Backstage, in a quiet corridor, Aarav ran after her. "Sarvi, wait!"
She turned, tears streaking her makeup. "Wait for what, Aarav? For Sania to drop her gown next?"
"It's not what it looked like. I couldn't do anything—she's Dr. Kapoor's daughter!"
"And I'm your wife!" she snapped. "But in that moment, I didn't matter. You let her touch you like she owned you."
He reached out. "Sarvi—"
She stepped back. "Don't. Just don't."
---
Back in the hall, the parents formed a storm of their own.
Mr. Raghav: "That girl thinks money equals power. Maybe her father forgot how we built Mukherjee Industries from mud."
Mrs. Kavita: "We should speak to Dr. Kapoor. This is unacceptable."
Mr. Vikram Rathore nodded, voice cold. "Aarav is my son. But this ends now. I won't let his name be dragged through scandal."
Dr. Anjali simply said, "Sarvi's tears aren't for debate. They're a verdict."
---
In the days that followed, Sania's behavior didn't stop. She acted like nothing had happened. She still attended rounds under Aarav, who now kept a strict professional wall.
But Sarvi? She slept in the guest room.
Every time Aarav reached for her, she pulled away.
Every time he tried to explain, she shut the door.
"You didn't protect us," she whispered one night. "So now I have to."
---
Closing Line:
Jealousy didn't shatter their love — silence did.
Episode 6: Cyclone Hearts, Shattered Homes
Two months.
That's how long it had been since Dr. Aarav Rathore and Dr. Sarvi Mukherjee had last fallen asleep beside each other.
Two months since their hands had stopped reaching in the dark.
Two months of cold hospital corridors, silent dinner plates, unspoken glances, and wounds that refused to scar.
Two months of waking up to silence, sleeping with regrets, and living like two strangers in a city built on their dreams.
And in those two months, the storm had only grown.
---
Sarvi sat alone in the on-call room, flipping through a neuroanatomy case file she'd already memorized. Her eyes were dry, but her chest wasn't. Not really. Grief had stopped shouting—it whispered now. It whispered in the lines of her face, in the way she avoided his voice in the hall, and in the echo of the room that once carried laughter.
Aarav passed her in the hallway every other day, both dressed in white, both silent. Colleagues saw mutual professionalism. But everyone close saw heartbreak masquerading as composure. To outsiders, they were the picture of discipline. But to those who knew them, they were ruins wearing scrubs.
But Nyla Mehta and Karan Joshi saw more.
"She still checks his schedule," Nyla whispered one morning, glancing over Sarvi's shoulder.
"He keeps her coffee order in his locker," Karan replied, holding a chart.
"They're hurting," Nyla said, scribbling a false note on a patient log.
"They're idiots," Karan corrected, smirking.
"And idiots need help," she said.
So, they made a plan.
---
It started with a lie.
"Emergency cardio consult. You're the only attending surgeon available," Nyla told Aarav.
"Pediatric neurology request. They're asking for Sarvi only," Karan told Sarvi.
What neither of them knew was that both rooms led to the same place—an old campus medical library, long abandoned for modern tech. Lit only by fairy lights and decorated with roses and soft music, it felt like a memory. A table set for two, old journal articles with red ribbon bookmarks—each one highlighting their co-authored papers.
And standing there, holding hands awkwardly like scheming siblings, were Nyla and Karan.
"Fix it," Karan said to Aarav, voice firm.
"Forgive him," Nyla said to Sarvi, eyes soft.
Then they left, locking the door behind them.
Silence.
Sarvi stared at Aarav. "Did you know?"
He shook his head. "Swear to God."
She looked at the table. "They even put our research notes here."
"Remember our first paper?" he asked. "You threw your pen at me for correcting your diagnosis."
"You were right," she whispered.
"I didn't want to be. I just wanted to know you."
Her walls cracked. Just a little.
"You let Sania touch you," she said, voice brittle.
"I froze," he said. "Not because I wanted her. Because I didn't know how to defend myself without losing everything we worked for. She's Kapoor's daughter. One wrong move and everything falls."
"You should've risked it," she said. "Because you lost me instead."
He stepped closer. "Sarvi… I haven't slept. I haven't breathed right. I haven't been alive without you."
Her breath caught. "Then prove it. Not with words. With truth."
He dropped to his knees.
"I will burn this entire hospital down if it means getting you back."
Tears welled in her eyes. "Then start with the lies."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded letter. "I already wrote my resignation. If I ever cross the line again, it's done."
Her breath hitched. The gesture struck deeper than she expected.
---
Meanwhile…
In the shadows of the same university, Dev Malhotra watched from his car, the window tinted, the air thick with perfume and wine.
He'd returned quietly, as he always did. Silent. Calculating. Watching.
"She still looks breakable," he muttered, zooming in on Sarvi's image through a lens.
Next to him, Sania Kapoor laughed.
"She's too naive. Always was. I gave her one taste of jealousy and she cracked."
Dev's jaw clenched. "She's not yours to crack."
"And Aarav?" she asked.
Dev looked ahead. "He was always the golden boy. I want to ruin what makes him pure."
Sania sipped her wine. "Then let's shatter them."
But what she didn't know was who Dev really was.
And Arjun Mehta was about to find out.
---
Arjun walked into a bar near campus, called there by his cousin for drinks. The lights were low, jazz hummed in the background, and the weight of something unspoken clung to the air.
When he entered and saw Dev, his blood ran cold.
"You," Arjun said, rage blooming in his chest. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Dev smiled. "Nice to see you too, cousin."
"You're Dev Malhotra," Arjun said, fury rising. "You're the one who—"
"Obsessed? Maybe. Dangerous? Absolutely. But in love?" Dev whispered, "Unforgivably."
Sania walked in, unaware of the family drama.
"Arjun," she said, surprised. "Didn't know you'd be here."
He stared at her. "You don't know who you're aligning yourself with."
She smirked. "I don't need to. As long as we break them, I don't care who I stand with."
Arjun looked between them. "Then you both deserve what's coming."
He turned and left, dialing his phone.
To Aarav.
"We've got a problem," Arjun said. "And it's wearing your lab coat and Sarvi's perfume."
---
That night, Sarvi and Aarav stayed in the same room.
Not as lovers.
Not yet.
But as two broken souls learning how to stitch again. He slept on the couch. She on the bed. But neither closed the door.
And outside, two storms watched the windows, whispering their next move.
Closing Line:
Love was learning to breathe again. But the storm hadn't even started.
Episode 7: When Silence Screams
The day began with a promise—the kind that often dances on the edge of disaster. London's autumn sun filtered through the grand glass-paneled halls of the medical university, casting long streaks of gold over polished marble. Students bustled through corridors, laughing, reviewing case notes, oblivious to the quiet shift in the air. The storm hadn't broken yet, but it was already humming beneath their feet.
Dr. Sarvi Mukherjee stood at the south wing, her lab coat draped perfectly over a fitted beige dress. She was poring over a complicated pediatric neuro case, one hand absently flipping pages, the other scribbling rapid notes in her signature cursive. Her mind was alert—sharp and composed. Unaware.
Across the hall, Nyla Mehta waved dramatically from the cardiology wing, grinning with her usual flirtatious spark. Karan Joshi, holding two cups of coffee, mouthed, "Lunch?"
Sarvi smiled, her shoulders loosening. Just another perfect day.
Until it wasn't.
---
It started with a system-wide code red. Lights flickered. A warning tone hummed through the walls like an impending breath. Then the alarms screamed.
Red lights. Black monitors. Emergency strobes flashing.
This wasn't a drill.
In the emergency operations hub, Dr. Aarav Rathore had just completed a laparoscopic surgery when his pager buzzed twice—an urgent flash of crimson letters:
Massive tech failure in ICU. Oxygen destabilized. Evacuate immediately.
He dropped his gloves. Ran.
Downstairs, chaos reigned.
Interns tripped over one another. Monitors blacked out. Oxygen tanks hissed violently. A crash cart lay overturned like a casualty of panic. The ICU was becoming a warzone.
---
Sarvi was still on the pediatric floor when she heard it. A soft hissing sound, almost like a whisper from behind the walls. She turned. The oxygen system's gauges were blinking erratically. She reached toward the panel.
And then—
A loud snap.
Followed by sparks.
Smoke.
Panic.
She rushed to the nearest window to pull the emergency chain when—
BOOM.
A shockwave blasted through the adjacent ward. The windows shattered. The force threw her back, slamming her against a metal cabinet. Her breath knocked out, her skull hitting steel.
She collapsed.
Blood pooled slowly beneath her temple.
---
Aarav reached the pediatric wing just as two nurses dragged Sarvi's unconscious body out from the smoke.
"SARVI!"
The sound tore from his throat like a gunshot. He broke protocol. Pushed past security. His hands were on her before anyone could speak.
Her body was limp. Blood stained her temple. Her breath was shallow.
"I'm here, baby. I've got you," he whispered, lifting her into his arms.
Her eyes fluttered open—barely. "Aarav…"
"Don't close your eyes. Not now. Not ever."
He pressed his lips to her forehead, as if his love could restart her pulse.
---
She was stabilized hours later. Hooked to IVs. Her head wrapped in bandages. Sleeping.
Aarav sat in the chair beside her bed. Not moving. Not blinking. Not speaking. He had become a statue of guilt and terror.
Nyla and Karan arrived. Pale. Breathless.
"What happened?" Aarav barked.
Karan hesitated. Nyla swallowed.
"This wasn't random," she said. "It was sabotage."
Karan stepped forward. "The oxygen panel wasn't faulty. It was hacked. Security footage confirms Sania accessed the floor ten minutes prior. Alone."
"Sania?" Aarav asked, stunned.
"She was angry," Nyla whispered. "She told me this college needs a reminder of who's in charge."
Aarav stood, the chair screeching back. His fists clenched. Jaw locked.
"She almost killed my wife."
"And Dev—" Karan added. "He's back. Campus security caught him on CCTV last week outside the lab. No one acted."
Aarav's chest heaved. "He's stalking her."
"Yes," Nyla said. "And he's working with Sania."
---
That night, Sarvi woke.
Her vision swam. The room blurred. But the soft voice beside her was unmistakable.
"Aarav…?"
He turned. Eyes bloodshot. Relief breaking through the shell.
"You're awake," he whispered.
"I heard you… in the dark."
"I never left."
His hand brushed her cheek. "You scare me, Sarvi. You love like fire. But you forget fire burns."
She blinked slowly. "You taught me how."
Nyla stepped in then, gently. Karan followed. They explained everything. The sabotage. The footage. The names.
Sarvi's breath caught. "Sania… she tried to kill me?"
"She almost succeeded," Karan said.
Sarvi turned to Aarav. "You didn't stop her."
"I didn't know," he said, voice hollow. "But I will now. I'll end this."
She closed her eyes. One tear slipped out. "Then do it. For us."
"I already started," Aarav whispered. "And I'll burn down everything if it means keeping you alive."
---
Three days later, Sarvi was discharged.
The hospital whispered of war.
Sania was suspended pending investigation. Dev vanished again.
But Sarvi—she wasn't broken.
She returned to their apartment. Nyla and Karan moved in, forming a wall of warmth. Midnight coffee. Shared study notes. Laughter over heartbreak.
Aarav stayed quiet, gentle. Patient.
Each morning, he kissed her forehead. Each night, he watched over her sleep.
They didn't say love. But they didn't have to.
It pulsed through silence.
---
Far from their peace, across campus, a different storm brewed.
In a glass boardroom, Vikram Rathore and Raghav Mukherjee sat across from Dr. Kapoor.
Tension crackled in the air.
"You raised a storm," Vikram said.
Raghav slammed a file onto the desk. "Your daughter almost killed mine."
Dr. Kapoor, pale, sweaty, stammered, "She's unstable. She's been removed—temporarily."
"She should be expelled," Vikram said coldly.
"She should be in jail," Raghav added.
Dr. Kapoor said nothing. Only nodded.
But it wasn't over.
Not even close.
Sania's silence wasn't surrender.
It was the calm before her next strike.
And somewhere, in the city's shadow—Dev Malhotra watched. Waiting. Smiling.
Closing Line:
They thought the storm had passed. But it was only learning how to whisper.
Episode 8: A Wedding, A Warning, and a Wound Yet to Open
Success tasted like starlight.
It had been three weeks since Sarvi left the hospital after the sabotage—and in that time, something strange and beautiful returned: joy. Uninterrupted laughter, real smiles, warmth in the sheets and on the lips.
Aarav, Sarvi, Nyla, and Karan were back to their rhythm—not just surviving, but thriving.
Sarvi topped her latest academic evaluation. Aarav was featured on the cover of a London surgical journal. Nyla performed her first supervised procedure. Karan presented a cardio study that drew international interest.
They were glowing.
And for the first time in months, they danced.
That Friday night, under fairy lights on their apartment terrace, Aarav pulled Sarvi into a slow spin while Nyla and Karan twirled clumsily beside them, spilling wine and laughter.
"Who knew doctors could be romantic?" Nyla giggled.
"Speak for yourself," Karan said, dipping her low.
Sarvi beamed at Aarav. "This… this is the life I imagined."
Aarav kissed her knuckles. "And this is just the beginning."
---
But across the city, in a dim penthouse suite laced with red velvet curtains and resentment, Sania Kapoor burned.
Her name was now whispered with shame. Her face—the talk of the boardroom. Her actions—publicly condemned by her father, Dr. Kapoor himself.
"You brought dishonor," he had yelled.
"She humiliated herself," Vikram Rathore had said.
"She's unstable," Raghav Mukherjee declared.
The board had silenced her.
Sania hadn't left her suite in days.
She was furious.
But she wasn't alone.
Dev Malhotra sat across from her, sipping whisky with a slow, venomous calm.
"They've forgotten who we are," Sania spat.
"They haven't forgotten," Dev said smoothly. "They've underestimated."
"I want to destroy her," she hissed. "I want Aarav begging. On his knees."
Dev leaned forward, placing a finger on her lips.
"Not yet," he whispered. "You want victory. Not scraps. Let me move the pieces."
Sania's chest heaved. Her eyes burned.
And she nodded.
---
Back at the apartment, a knock came.
It was a courier.
A soft lavender envelope addressed to: Dr. Sarvi Mukherjee & Dr. Aarav Rathore.
Sarvi opened it with curious fingers—and her breath hitched.
Meera was getting married.
"Oh my God," Sarvi whispered. "It's Meera. She's… she's getting married."
"Meera?" Nyla asked, perking up.
"My best friend from before all of this. We haven't spoken in years. Not since the wedding... not since Riya."
Aarav stilled.
"She invited all of us," Sarvi said, scanning the invite. "Our parents too. And you both—Nyla, Karan—she wrote your names too!"
"First time I'll be visiting Kolkata," Nyla grinned.
"Same for me," Karan added. "I've only ever seen it in movies."
Sarvi's eyes glistened. "It's been years. I want to go home."
But when she turned to Aarav, he wore a strange smile.
"I'm excited too," he said.
But his fingers clenched the glass. His smile didn't reach his eyes.
Sarvi noticed.
Later that night, she sat on the bed, brushing her hair. "Aarav?"
"Hmm?"
"You sure you're okay with going?"
He nodded too quickly. "Yeah, of course. It'll be good for you."
But something sat between them.
---
The next morning, Aarav received a call. Unknown number. He answered.
"Dr. Rathore. This is Dr. Kapoor."
Aarav's jaw tightened.
"I hope you're enjoying your position now that my daughter's been stripped of hers."
"You wanted something?" Aarav asked coldly.
"My daughter was humiliated. Publicly. By your father and your father-in-law. Do you think I'll let that go?"
"You should've raised her better," Aarav snapped.
"I raised her to win. Something your wife clearly can't handle."
Aarav's voice was low. Lethal. "I don't work for you anymore. Keep my family's name out of your mouth—or I'll bury yours."
He hung up.
Sarvi watched from the hallway.
Later, while packing, she dropped her sarees into the suitcase and muttered, "Oh God. I swear no one wants to let us be happy."
Aarav looked up.
She grinned wryly. "Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck in one of those Indian mega-serials where the heroine never gets a break. First Riya. Now Sania. Who's next?"
Aarav chuckled. "Well, you are kind of dramatic."
She narrowed her eyes. "Don't make me throw my heels at you."
He smirked. "Heera jaise biwi mili hai sabko chahiye, isliye sab churaane aaye hai."
Sarvi laughed through a half-tear. "Let them try. What's mine stays mine."
He kissed her forehead. "Then let's go pack. We've got a wedding to attend."
Two weeks before the wedding.
And the storm was just boarding the flight.
Closing Line:
They were heading back to where it all began—but some stories don't rewind. They explode.
Episode 9: Kisses, Airports, and Enemies in the Dark
In a room thick with silk sheets, wine-stained lips, and dim golden light, Sania Kapoor paced back and forth.
"He left Kapoor's! He doesn't work for my dad anymore!" she snapped, tossing her phone on the bed.
Across the room, Dev Malhotra leaned lazily against the headboard, shirt unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in hand, watching her burn.
"You heard me, Dev. Aarav resigned. He's not under Dad anymore. We've lost our biggest hold over him!"
Dev took a slow sip, his smile curling with a dangerous glint.
"So?" he said casually. "Let him walk away."
Sania turned, her voice sharp. "So!? He's in Kolkata now! For a wedding. With HER. With that idiot Sarvi. He's slipping away."
Dev chuckled.
He stood, walked over, and kissed her shoulder. "Babygirl," he whispered, tracing her collarbone, "calm down."
His voice dropped lower. "Let them enjoy their little vacation… while we have our own kind of fun."
Sania's lips parted.
Dev kissed her hard, and she—ruled by fire, lust, and rage—melted into him.
Their clothes hit the floor. Resentment blurred into breathlessness. And in the tangled mess of sheets and sins, they made promises neither would keep.
---
Meanwhile, in London...
Nyla stood in the living room with two nail files, a robe, and half a cucumber mask. "Okay! Nails? Done. Hair? Almost. Facial? Heavenly. Dresses?"
Sarvi's eyes widened. "Oh crap. We didn't buy our outfits yet!"
"WHAT!?" Nyla shrieked.
Karan dropped his phone. "Seriously?"
Aarav groaned, rubbing his temple. "One more shopping trip? In Kolkata?"
Sarvi grinned, grabbing her purse. "Of course. Dresses from the city of my heart."
Nyla laughed. "Karan, let's go. You're our emotional support and stylist now."
Karan mock-bowed. "Your wish, my chaos."
Aarav smirked, pulled Sarvi into a quick kiss. "You're lucky I love you. This is madness."
She kissed his cheek. "Madness suits us."
---
Packing was loud. Messy. Wild.
They couldn't fit all the skincare. Sarvi kept shoving books into Nyla's bag. Karan forgot his charger. Aarav over-packed cologne.
At 12:30 AM, bleary-eyed but glowing, they headed to Heathrow for their 1 AM flight.
"I hate night journeys," Sarvi muttered, curling up in her hoodie.
"But you love chaos," Aarav replied, taking her hand.
"You are chaos," she smiled.
"Exactly."
---
Eight hours later, they landed.
"AHHHH WE'RE IN KOLKATA!" Nyla screamed in the Dum Dum Airport arrivals.
Karan stretched. "The humidity. The food smells. I LOVE THIS PLACE."
Sarvi looked around, heart pounding. Her eyes locked on a familiar face—
"NANDINI!"
Her sister screamed. Sarvi ran forward.
They crashed into a hug so tight it hurt.
"Sissy! I missed you!"
"Look at you! All grown up and dramatic as ever," Nandini grinned.
Aarav approached, dragging their suitcases. "My wife is still kind of childish," he said with pride.
Nandini laughed. "She always was."
They drove through the city. Rain in the air. Horns blaring. Street food stalls glowing.
Finally, they reached the Mukherjee Mansion.
After nine long years.
"I'm so happy," Sarvi whispered. "Where are Maa and Baba?"
Nandini hesitated. "They're in Delhi. At the Rathore bungalow."
"What? Why?" Sarvi blinked.
"Business. Something serious."
A shadow passed through Aarav's eyes.
But Sarvi shook it off. "No worries. We'll see them soon."
Nyla squealed. "Let's explore! I want sarees, jalebi, temples—EVERYTHING."
And so they began their Kolkata adventure—unaware that every step they took… was being watched.
Closing Line:
Some vacations heal. Others are traps wrapped in wedding glitter.
Episode 10: Rhythm of Romance, Echoes of Danger
The curtains were half drawn, and the air smelled of roses, cigarettes, and sin.
Dev Malhotra lay sprawled on silk sheets, shirtless, a half-empty glass of whisky in one hand, his lips still moist from the fevered kisses he and Sania Kapoor had shared just minutes ago. The night clung to them like a secret neither was ready to confess.
Sania stood at the window, hair wild, skin flushed, her silk robe hanging open with indifference. Her eyes were locked on the skyline, but her thoughts were across the ocean.
"What's next?" Dev murmured, voice thick with post-pleasure haze.
She turned, eyes sharp. "What next? Are you serious, Dev? You think this is it?"
Dev sat up slowly, smirking. "I think if we go like this—no strings, no plans—it works better. Am I right, babygirl?"
Sania narrowed her eyes, walked over, and shoved him back on the bed.
"Don't pretend this isn't more than sex. We both know what we want."
Dev grabbed her waist, pulling her down into another hungry kiss. "Let them enjoy their wedding week in Kolkata. We'll be right behind… planning the finale."
The kiss deepened. Her robe slipped to the floor.
He whispered against her lips, "But first... one more night of fun."
And they disappeared into the dark again.
---
Kolkata buzzed with color and chaos.
The Mukherjee Mansion was alive — vibrant marigold drapes fluttering in the wind, soft music playing in the courtyard, the scent of turmeric, rose water, and sandalwood filling the air.
Sarvi twirled in front of the mirror, her emerald-green sharara shimmering with each step. Gold anklets jingled softly as she moved.
"Mehendi morning," she whispered to herself, a nervous smile curling her lips.
Nyla burst into the room in a stunning green salwar suit, her earrings catching the sunlight. "You ready?!"
Sarvi grinned. "You look beautiful!"
Karan and Aarav stood in the hallway in matching green kurtas, both looking exasperated.
"We really have to match colors again?" Aarav mumbled.
"Yes, duffers!" Nyla and Sarvi shouted in unison.
---
The Mehendi ceremony began with drumbeats and soft laughter.
The courtyard had been transformed into a festival of green and gold. Women sat in semi-circles, their hands extended for henna artists. Rose petals rained from the balcony above. Elder aunties gossiped, children ran with sweets, and classical music filled the background.
Sarvi sat like royalty on a velvet cushion, her hands delicately lifted as the mehendi artist painted intricate patterns over her palms.
Aarav stood a few feet away, watching her.
No — worshipping her.
The green sharara clung to her perfectly. Her eyes sparkled, and the half-smile on her lips made his heart stutter.
"Dr. Rathore, you're drooling," Nyla teased.
He didn't answer. He walked forward.
"Kya likh rahi ho?" he asked, kneeling beside Sarvi.
She looked up at him through her lashes. "Your name."
"Make sure it's hidden well," he murmured. "So I'll have to touch every inch to find it."
Sarvi flushed. "Shhh! People are watching."
"Let them. I watch you all the time."
She looked at him — really looked. "Even now?"
"Especially now."
The music shifted. Someone called for dance. But Aarav only saw her.
He leaned in, gently pressed his lips to her temple, and whispered, "I love you, Sarvi Mukherjee."
She blinked back sudden tears. "And I love you more than any mehendi could ever hold."
They danced later — slow, swaying. Not the performance kind. The private, soft kind. Like they were alone in a sea of people. Eyes closed. Foreheads touching.
Aarav whispered, "I wish this night could freeze."
Sarvi replied, "Then freeze it in your heartbeat."
---
The Mehendi faded into golden twilight, and the household buzzed again — this time with blue.
It was time for the Sangeet.
The women transformed — Sarvi in a blue chiffon silk saree, draped flawlessly around her curves, her blouse backless, shimmering under the lights. Nyla wore a deep navy sharara with silver mirror work, backless and bold.
The men matched them: Karan in a royal blue kurta with silver detailing, and Aarav in a fitted navy sherwani that made every auntie whisper behind their fans.
The courtyard turned into a dance arena. Lights strung between the columns, fairy lights wrapped the trees, and the DJ mixed classical with modern hits.
Sarvi opened the night with a graceful performance to "Aaja Nachle," her bangles tinkling, every step regal. Her eyes sought Aarav's — and found his, awe-struck and still.
Nyla followed, twirling to a playful remix of "High Heels Te Nachche," pulling Karan in. They danced with wild abandon, their laughter ringing over the music.
The crowd clapped and whistled as Aarav — reluctantly — took the stage with Karan. Together they recreated the couple's love story in a surprise act, much to Sarvi's blushing horror and roaring delight.
Cheers, teasing, confetti, rose petals — the Sangeet was chaos and charm, drenched in emotion and unfiltered joy.
In a quiet moment under the fairy lights, Sarvi rested her head on Aarav's shoulder.
"This is the happiest I've been in years."
Aarav kissed her hair. "Then let me make every day feel like this."
---
But someone else was watching.
Not from a screen.
Not from London.
From Kolkata.
A figure in a grey hoodie and camera glasses stood among the helpers in the background, filming every move — every touch, every kiss, every moment of joy.
And when they turned away, he pulled out his phone.
A message popped up: Footage collected. Phase 1 complete.
The reply: Good. Now blend in. They should never see it coming.
---
Closing Line:
In the heart of joy, the eyes of shadows never blink.
Episode 11: Vows in Vermilion, Whispers in Smoke
The Mukherjee Mansion was awake before dawn. Incense curled through the corridors, chants echoed in the air, and marigolds spilled from brass baskets. Today was the day — the wedding.
In Bengali tradition, the rituals began early, steeped in ancestral rhythm and divine blessings.
Sarvi stood before the mirror, wrapped in a lal par saada saree, her crimson border pleated flawlessly, her body adorned in traditional gold jewelry that sparkled like heritage. For the first time since their quiet wedding, she applied a thick streak of dry sindoor down her parting — bold, brilliant, sacred.
She looked like a living portrait of Maa Durga.
When Aarav saw her, his breath caught. His sherwani shifted in his hands, forgotten.
"You look like a goddess," he whispered.
Sarvi smiled softly. "Then be the warrior who walks beside me."
He reached out, not to touch her, but simply to stand close — as if her aura alone could protect him.
As an 'ayo stree', Sarvi participated in every ritual, guiding, blessing, and leading the bride, Meera, through the sacred rites. Her eyes glistened with joy.
---
By noon, chaos had shifted gears.
"It's Haldi, everyone!" Sarvi shouted from the courtyard, now transformed into a marigold-drenched haven. "Dress code — yellow. I hope you duffers remember!"
Aarav appeared behind her in a pale mustard kurta, rubbing his eyes. "Ha baba, ha baba. I remember, baccha."
Nyla and Karan laughed, entering in matching outfits — Nyla in a lemon-yellow lehenga, Karan in a sunshine sherwani. Sarvi wore a yellow saree, lightweight but divine, the haldi glow on her skin even richer than her gold.
They danced. They laughed. Buckets of turmeric water were flung. Elders blessed them. Youngsters chased one another with flower petals.
---
Meanwhile in London…
Dev and Sania lay in bed, drenched in sweat and entanglement.
The air was humid with heat and haze. Sania rested against Dev's bare chest, her fingers playing with the chain he wore.
Her robe was discarded. He was shirtless, hand possessively placed across her torso.
"You make me forget everything," she murmured.
Dev kissed her forehead. "Then let's keep forgetting."
Their goals had blurred.
Their lust louder than their revenge.
But the story wasn't done with them.
Not yet.
---
Back in Kolkata, the evening turned magical again.
The wedding night.
Sarvi changed into a breathtaking red saree, the silk glinting under the fairy lights, her hair coiled with jasmine, and her sindoor bold, unapologetic. She looked ethereal.
The guests cheered as Aarav extended his hand to her on the dance floor.
They danced to "Chhod Do Aanchal", twirling, laughing, teasing one another — and then to "Tumse Milke Dil Ka", every lyric melting into their bodies.
Aarav leaned close, his voice low.
"Phirse shaadi karne ka maan kar raha hai... ki bolish tui, korbi?"
Sarvi giggled, holding onto his collar. "Only if the groom is you."
---
After the songs and rituals, the moment came.
Sindoor daan.
Sarvi held the lojja bostro — the sacred veil — and Aarav, with hands slightly trembling, applied sindoor into her hairline once again. The red deepened. Her eyes closed.
Married — again.
In love — forever.
They walked together to the bashor ghor, hearts full and hands entwined.
But just as the night curled into comfort—
BOOM.
A sudden blast from the backyard shook the silence. Not strong enough to injure, but loud enough to scatter guests.
Screams. Footsteps. Panic.
Aarav, Karan, and Sarvi rushed out.
There, in the grass—
A scorched box.
A small smoke bomb.
And a folded note.
Sarvi picked it up before anyone could stop her.
A single sentence:
"You danced tonight, but soon you'll bleed."
Her heart skipped.
Aarav clenched his fists. "Someone thinks this is funny."
"Just a prank," Karan tried to reason. "Kids. Mischief."
Sarvi looked back at the celebration. The lights. The music. The love.
"No," she said softly. "This wasn't a prank."
But she didn't tell them what the note said.
Not yet.
They returned to the bashor ghor, trying to laugh, trying to live.
The night carried on — songs, whispers, dreams.
But the shadow had stepped closer.
Closing Line:
Where love rises, danger often dances just behind the curtain.
Episode 12: The Return of Shadows
It had been two weeks since the wedding.
Kolkata felt like a dream now — filled with turmeric, firelight, dancing, and the echo of that strange explosion.
Sarvi lay sprawled on the floor of her childhood room, surrounded by half-packed bags. "I can't believe we've been here for two whole weeks," she murmured.
Nyla stretched on the bed. "Yup. Two more days, and we're flying back to London."
"How time flies," Karan said, zipping up his suitcase.
"It's reception day, guys! Don't be so sentimental!" Aarav's voice called from the bathroom, laughter echoing through the closed door.
After the final reception party that night — all sarees, suits, flashbulbs, and cake — they began their goodbyes.
Meera cried. Their parents hugged them tightly. Nandini slipped a silver chain into Sarvi's hand. "For protection," she whispered.
And then — they left.
---
During the flight back to London, Aarav looked over his magazine and asked, "Sarvi… that note from the backyard. Are you finally going to tell me what it said?"
Sarvi hesitated. Her fingers clutched the edge of her seat.
Then, slowly, she leaned closer. "It said: 'You danced tonight, but soon you'll bleed.'"
Aarav's face froze.
"You didn't tell me that before."
"I didn't want to ruin what we had," she whispered. "Not again."
He reached for her hand. "We face it together now. Always."
---
But when they landed in Heathrow, the moment peace returned — the phone rang.
Sarvi picked it up. A voice like cold venom slithered through the speaker.
"How was my gift, Sarvi?" the woman hissed. "Enjoyed the blast?"
Before Sarvi could reply, the line went dead.
She dropped the phone.
Aarav caught her arms. "What? What happened?"
Tears sprang to her eyes. "It was her. Aarav... it was Riya."
Aarav turned pale. "No... it can't be."
Sarvi's voice cracked. "No! Not again! I can't take this anymore!"
Aarav hugged her tightly, grounding her. "We'll be fine. We'll figure this out."
They returned to their apartment in silence. Exhausted. Confused. Haunted.
They unpacked slowly. Ate dinner quietly. And fell asleep without a word.
---
The next day at the university was surprisingly normal.
No sign of Dev or Sania.
Sarvi, Aarav, Nyla, and Karan returned to their rounds, lectures, and labs. Days passed. Then a week. Then two.
Nothing.
No calls. No warnings. No accidents.
Nyla laughed during lunch. "Guys, maybe we overthought it. Maybe it wasn't Riya. I mean, wouldn't she have ruined everything by now?"
Karan agreed. "We were just paranoid. The wedding stress, the note, the explosion — all too much."
Even Aarav nodded. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it's finally over."
Sarvi tried to believe them.
Tried.
Two more months passed.
Everything returned to perfect.
The hospital honored Aarav for a breakthrough surgery.
Sarvi got selected for a research exchange.
Nyla and Karan started dating officially.
But then—
One evening, Karan burst into the common room, breathless.
His face pale. His eyes wide.
"She's pregnant," he said.
"Who?" Nyla asked, standing.
"Sania," Karan said. "She's pregnant with Dev's child."
Silence fell.
Sarvi's heartbeat slowed. "They're back?"
Karan nodded. "I don't know where, but someone from the clinic said Sania was seen at a private OB-GYN appointment. She's here."
Sarvi's hands shook. "This... this can't be happening again."
---
Later that week, Sarvi worked late in the university lab.
Everyone else had left.
The lights flickered.
Then — BOOM.
A small explosion shook the storage cabinet beside her. No fire. No injury. Just smoke.
On the table, between her beakers —
A note.
Trembling, she picked it up.
"I'm back. It's not going to be easy for you anymore. I was always the best. Always."
Sarvi dropped to her knees.
The past hadn't stayed buried.
The ghost hadn't moved on.
And this time — it wasn't just shadows.
It was war.
---
Closing Line:
In love, they found light. But in revenge, someone was still holding the match.