Aakash was seated on a lavish leather couch, his scotch untouched in his hand, breath uneven, jaw tightly clenched.

The laptop glowed dimly on his lap—his eyes fixed on the live footage of his wife.

His wife.

So adorably clumsy, so heartbreakingly beautiful, now walking barefoot in the kitchen of her apartment.

Gone was the elegant woman draped in silks—tonight she wore his white shirt, slightly oversized, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of the black lacy bra beneath.

She wasn’t trying to look seductive.

And perhaps that’s what made it worse—because she looked devastatingly real. Raw.

And he’d never seen anything more tempting in his life.

She had her headphones on, humming the rap verse of Pardarshi with surprising charm as she flipped chapatis directly with her hands—no spatula, no gloves. Just the burn of routine.

Before entering the kitchen, she had tied her hair into a lazy bun, but several strands had already slipped free, brushing her cheek as she swept the floor and wiped the counters.

The open windows let in a breeze, and for a second, it looked like she was trying to calm the storm outside when, in truth, it was the one within her.

---

Aakash’s POV

I shouldn't be watching.

But here I am.

Fourth cold shower of the day, and still... she's driving me insane.

Wearing my shirt. Only my shirt. Her black shorts barely visible beneath it. She knows what that does to me. Or maybe she doesn’t.

She looks calm, but I know her.

I know she’s not.

She overthinks, overfeels. She distracts herself with chores, with music, with silly cartoons like Shinchan—but I know what’s churning inside her.

And I caused it.

How could you talk to her like that, Aakash?

You don’t deserve her forgiveness.

You don’t deserve her smile.

But God, I’d give anything to see it again.

I know she’s not the kind of woman who lets go easily.

She’s my woman—meri zidd, mera junoon, mera sab kuch.

Our relationship began with misunderstandings.

But this... this distance is worse than all the chaos.

I can't even say sorry—because even that word feels too small for the sin I committed.

She sat one the dining table which had only for chairs

She cooked dinner alone.

Ate alone.

Laughed at Shinchan alone.

My rosebud... why are you always so strong?

She washed the dishes after.

Took a cup of warm haldi milk in that tiny cute cup.

And then went into her room to study.

She was surrounded by medical books, but one column of her novels she was writing something on her laptop

Writing...? What is she writing?

I should've looked closer. But I didn’t.

I couldn’t.

Because tonight… all I could see was the space between us.

---

Author 's pov -

The house was too quiet.

The kind of silence that feels like a weight on your chest—the kind that holds all the unsaid things hostage.

Shashi had fallen asleep sideways on the bed, still in that same white shirt—his shirt.

One arm curled under her head, her hair scattered like silk threads across the pillow, her body bathed in the soft golden hue of the bedside lamp.

The door opened silently.

Aakash stepped in with the gentleness of a breath.

He shouldn’t have come.

But tonight, he didn’t have the strength to stay away.

Not after watching her crumble in solitude.

Not after seeing her hold on to his shirt like it was the last thread tying her to peace.

He stood there at the threshold for a long time—like a ghost caught between past and present, guilt and longing.

Then he moved.

Her legs were curled slightly, bare feet peeking out from the mattress. And there, around her ankle—still gleaming faintly—was the silver payal he had gifted her long ago.

He knelt beside the bed, breathing in the faint scent of vanilla from her skin, from the fabric of his shirt she wore.

His fingers trembled as they grazed her ankle.

A kiss.

One soft, lingering kiss on her bare ankle.

Another on her calf.

And another.

He wasn’t just kissing her body—he was kissing every memory, every fight, every word he wished he could take back.

"Forgive me, Rosebud..." he whispered against her skin.

Then, just as silently as he came, he left.

And behind him—on that slightly crumpled bed—Shashi stirred faintly in her sleep.

Her fingers curled near the spot he had kissed, as if reaching for the warmth that had just touched her and left.

---

Author ~

That's it for today's chapter

So how did you liked the stalker side of aakash

I enjoyed writing it i hope you enjoyed reading this

Please like and comment

Please share something which i need to improve in my writing

📚 Precap ~ sarthak (aakash's brother) visiting shahsi and their talk with tears