Raghav's POV

Eight years.
After eight years, I finally met her again.

And to be honest the Seher I met 8 years ago, and the Seher Kaur Gill I met today, felt like completely different people.

Only one thing remained the same.
The way my heart fluttered when I saw her.

That was exactly the same. 8 years ago and today both.

Oh Seher..
Oh, my baby girl..

That engagement was a mere excuse. I had traveled all the way from Hyderabad to Amritsar only for her. For one glimpse of her.
And I got more than that, didn't I?

Eight years ago, when I met her for the very first time, I left London the very next day. I had my own reasons for that. Reasons I haven't forgotten. But if I'm being honest, my heart never forgot her either.

Just like today I left the venue, but she stayed. She had booked her place in my mind without knowing what the rent might cost her one day.

I traveled back from Amritsar to Hyderabad on my personal chopper. I have one assigned as Chief Minister too, but let's not go there. I don't even like thinking about that title. So I bought one for myself. Simple.

A CM who hates being one. Yet craves staying in the chair.
Not even that, my real aim is the PM's seat. And I'll get it. Before I die, I'll get it.

But why do I hate my current position?
Let's keep a little suspense for now.

Hours of travel that felt like nothing obviously, because my head was full of her the entire way and I was back at my mansion.
No words to anyone.

I walked straight to my room. My favourite room in the entire house, actually.

The lights were off. Everything here was slightly dusty because no staff is allowed inside. With or without my permission, it doesn't matter. This room is mine alone.

It's always been special.
It holds a lot of memories. Some I hate. Most I love more than anything in this world. And not so surprisingly, most of those belong to her.

My muse. My baby girl. My Seher.

I pulled the curtain back from the wall.
Behind it, a photograph. Enormous. Taking up the entire wall.

Her.
8 years ago. That night in London..

She was partying like her life depended on it. Too high on alcohol, intoxicated and yet dancing, enjoying herself. Completely in her own world. Not performing for anyone, not seeking anyone's attention.

That's what had caught mine.

I had been in the final year of my MBA. It was my last day in London. I saw her from across the room just like that, without warning and I couldn't look away.
I was still standing there, lost, when a hand landed on my shoulder.

"So.. Mister Raghav you're here. Let's go, celebrate before you leave.."

I turned. Rishabh. My only friend. Since childhood, and forward into whatever came next. We had come to London together to study, to build ourselves. And now I was leaving him behind.
He was hurt by that. He didn't really show it. He chose to party instead.

He booked a private floor just for us. Shot after shot, he kept pouring. I didn't touch a single glass.

I don't drink.
I never have.
I won't.
I have my own story with alcohol. A different one. We'll leave that for another time.

After Rishabh had finished celebrating mostly alone, I half-carried him to one of the rooms. He'd booked the entire floor, he always did when he knew he'd get too high to find his way home.
He kept talking the whole way there. Wouldn't stop.

"Sale, kamine, chutiye.. mujhe akele chhod kar ja raha hai.. Teri Ma ki.."
(Oh my dear friend Raghav..Why are you leaving me?)

"Ma ki kya?" I asked raising one of my brow.
(Enjoy yourself alone..)

"Abe Raghav.. meri lugayi.. mat ja na lavd.."
(Oh my dear friend I'll die without you..)

I looked at him. The man was absolutely gone.
"Loved one.. haina." I said. "Chal, so ja."

I patted his cheek once and left the room, pulling the door shut behind me.
I took another room for the night. Lay down on the bed.

And somewhere across that floor, through all that noise and silence she was still in my head. The girl I hadn't spoken to. Whose name I didn't even know yet.

Yet she denied to leave my mind..
And then,
Once again.
I wasn't supposed to be here.

The bar was too loud, too bright, too full of people performing happiness they didn't feel. I'd had the room upstairs for silence. Yet I was standing here, my eyes searching only her face.

That's when I saw her fall.

Not stumble. Fall the kind that happens when your legs have stopped consulting your brain, when the world has tilted past the point of negotiation. Her heel caught on nothing, and she went down in slow motion, arms reaching for something that wasn't there.

I moved before I thought.

My arms found her waist the same second the floor was about to find her face. She crashed into me instead warm, soft, smelling of some floral perfume fighting a losing battle against whiskey. I pulled her upright, steadying her against my chest, and that's when she looked up.

God.

Her eyes were unfocused, swimming half-closed and struggling to stay that way. She was gone, clearly, obviously, dangerously gone. That much registered immediately and clinically.

What registered less clinically was everything else.

The dress. The way her body trembled against mine, slight and warm. The curve of her waist under my hands. I felt my jaw tighten and deliberately looked past her, at the bar, at the bottles, at anything else.

She's drunk, Raghav. Don't be an idiot.

"Are you in your senses, miss?"
My voice came out steadier than I felt, which was good. Professional. Detached.

She blinked at me. Then, with the complete shamelessness that only the truly intoxicated can manage, her arms wound around my neck and she pulled herself closer until I could see every detail of her face the smudged kohl, the flush high on her cheekbones, the way her lips were parted.

I kept my expression neutral. It cost me something.
Her fingers traced my jawline. I felt every centimeter of the contact more than I should have.

"Heyyy... hwwatttie..." The words dissolved into each other, heavy and slurred. She leaned in, lips brushing the air near my mouth. "Wanna... wanna have a kiss? I'm even ready... so ready..."

Absolutely not.
I don't even know her..
She doesn't know me..

My hand moved on instinct gripping her chin between my thumb and forefinger, firm enough to stop her from closing that last inch. Her lips formed a pout she hadn't intended, and I held her there, at arm's length, looking at her properly.

She was beautiful. That was just a fact, as neutral and inconvenient as a weather report.

"You're drunk," I said. "Past your limit."

I didn't wait for her to argue. I didn't trust her to have the good sense to agree. I shifted my grip, got an arm behind her knees, and had her over my shoulder before she could form a coherent protest.

Her fists landed against my back weak, rhythmic, genuinely trying.

"Put me... down..."

"No."

I walked. The bar parted around us , I registered her friends' open mouths, the bartender's smirk, the low whistle from someone at the counter. None of it mattered. She was a liability to herself in that room, and I had a room key in my pocket and a conscience I couldn't switch off.

The hallway was cooler. Quieter. She'd stopped fighting by the time I got the door open, her body going slack over my shoulder with the boneless trust of the completely drunk. I set her down on the mattress as carefully as the logistics allowed, stepped back, and kept my eyes on the wall.

Leave, something sensible said. Lock her in and leave. You can stay in other room as well..

Instead I turned to the window, started rolling up my sleeves, and talked.

"I had booked this room. But you can stay here until you get back to your senses. You shouldn't be in that bar, this drunk. It's not safe."

I heard her shift on the bed.
Then I heard her stand.

She crossed the room grabbed my shirt with both hands, and kissed me.
She just kissed me..
But we don't even know each other..

It wasn't tentative. It wasn't exploratory. It was desperate, hungry in a way that bypassed every reasonable thought I'd lined up like a defense. Her mouth moved against mine with a raw, reckless need, her tongue seeking entrance, her body pressing into me like she was trying to close the distance between two separate universes.

I went completely still.

Don't.
Stop!

Every reasonable argument I had, she's drunk, she doesn't know what she's doing, she'll regret this, you'll let her regret this.. lined up in a row.

And then she made a sound against my mouth.
Something small. Desperate. Wanting.

I broke.

My arms went around her before the decision had fully formed, pulling her flush against me until there was nothing left between us, no space, no air, no pretense. She was soft everywhere, pliant against my chest, and I kissed her back with an intensity I hadn't known I was holding back. My hands found her hair, her waist, the curve of her spine.

This is a mistake, some distant part of me noted, with the resigned calm of a man watching a controlled fire become uncontrolled.
I noted it. And I kissed her anyway.

Her hand slipped through my collar, palm flat against my chest. I felt her fingers spread, felt her explore with a curiosity that was worse than the kiss itself, more deliberate, more conscious. I gripped her chin again, pulled back just enough to breathe.

Just enough to look at her.
Her lips were swollen, her eyes half-open, cheeks flushed. She looked-

Don't finish that fucking sentence. Raghav..

"You started this, baby girl," I heard myself say, my voice doing something low and rough that I didn't fully authorize. "Now you can't stop me."

A smile curved her lips, reckless, dangerous, completely unafraid.
Her fist tightened in my shirt.

Then the sound of buttons scattering across the floor, loud as gunshots in the quiet room.
She pulled me down toward her ear, lips brushing the shell of it. "What if I say..." A breath. A pause that lasted a century. "I don't want you to stop?"

All I knew in that moment was her mouth finding mine again, the sound of her zipper giving way, the soft exhale she made when the cool air touched her skin. My weight settled over hers, her hands gripping my open shirt, and the reasonable, sensible, early-flight version of me dissolved entirely.

5 minutes later,
Her lips were still moving against mine when it hit me.
Not slowly. Not gradually. Like cold water thrown without warning. And then-

She's drunk.

I went still.
Then I pulled back.

Not roughly. Not with the sharp recoil of disgust because this wasn't about disgust.
She hadn't done anything wrong. She was drunk and beautiful and lonely in the specific way people get lonely on Friday nights in hotel bars, and she'd reached for the nearest warm thing.

That warm thing happened to be me.
That didn't make this right.

"Hey," she breathed against my mouth, chasing the contact, her fingers tightening in my ruined shirt.

My hands found her shoulders, not pushing, just... holding. Creating an inch of space that felt like a kilometer.
She blinked. Her eyes tried to focus on my face and mostly failed.

And God, that was the thing that settled it completely, those half-closed eyes, the way she was working so hard just to keep them open, the way the world was clearly tilting behind them.

She is completely drunk. Not in her senses..
And anything that happened in this room tonight would be mine to carry. She wouldn't remember it clearly. She wouldn't have chosen it clearly. And I..

I didn't want her like this.

The realization landed somewhere quiet and certain. I didn't want her dizzy and unsteady and reaching for me because her inhibitions had drowned somewhere at the bottom of four glasses of whatever she'd been drinking. I didn't want her tomorrow's embarrassment, her hands pressed to her face, her voice asking what did I do, what did I do.

I wanted-
I stopped that thought before it went anywhere useful.

"Okay," I said quietly. More to myself than to her.

I turned her gently, guided her backward until the backs of her knees found the mattress. She went down without resistance, her body already surrendering to what her mind hadn't admitted yet that she was exhausted, that she was far past her limit, that sleep was the only honest thing left for tonight.

She was out before her head fully settled into the pillow.
Just like that.

One moment she was reaching for me, lips parted, eyes heavy, and then she was simply gone. The tension left her face completely. She looked younger. Unguarded in a way she probably never allowed herself to be awake.

I stood there for a moment, looking at her.
Then I stepped out into the corridor and called the front desk.

"I need a female staff member. Room 412." A pause. "The guest needs to be changed into something comfortable. She's asleep." Another pause, and because I could hear the particular quality of the silence on the other end, I added, flatly: "I'll be outside the door the entire time."

The woman who came was efficient and wordless, which I respected. I stood in the corridor with my back against the wall and my arms crossed and my ruined shirt hanging open, staring at the carpet pattern, thinking about nothing in particular.

When she opened the door again, she said only, "She's settled," and left.

I went back in.

Someone had found an oversized hotel robe, wrapped her in it, pulled a blanket up to her shoulders. She hadn't stirred. Her hair was spread across the pillow, one hand tucked under her cheek, and she looked, peaceful. Completely, utterly peaceful.

I pulled the chair from the desk to the far side of the room and sat down.

Not close. Not hovering. Just present.

My elbows rested on my knees, my hands loose, my eyes on her face. Outside, the city kept moving.

And In here, just her breathing.

I don't know what I was watching for. That she'd wake up frightened and need an answer. That she'd be sick. That she'd simply be okay, and I'd need to see it with my own eyes before I believed it.

Maybe just that.

Maybe just that.

I checked my watch sometime past three. Then again near five. The city outside the window shifted color almost imperceptibly, black giving way to something dark blue, then a grey that carried the suggestion of morning.
She slept through all of it.

My flight was at eight forty-five.

At six-thirty, I stood, stretched the stiffness from my back, and stood at the window for a while watching the city wake up, the first lights in distant buildings, the earliest movement on the roads below, the sky going from grey to a pale, reluctant gold.

Hyderabad was waiting for me..

I looked at her one last time.

She hadn't moved in the last hour. Her face was still loose, still peaceful, one hand now pressed flat against the pillow beside her cheek. The morning light was just beginning to reach the edge of the bed.

I thought about waking her.
Decided against it, for reasons I didn't examine too carefully.

I found the hotel notepad on the desk. Picked up the pen. Put it down. Picked it up again.

What I wrote instead was ten digits.

No name. No explanation. No context that would make any sense to someone waking up alone in a hotel room they didn't book, wearing clothes they didn't change into themselves, with no clear memory of how they got there.

Just a number.

I folded the paper once and set it on the nightstand, weighted under the glass of water.

Then I picked up my jacket, my bag, my phone. Rolled my sleeves back down. Buttoned what buttons remained on my shirt and left.

At the door, I stopped.

Didn't turn around. Just stood there for a second with my hand on the frame, the corridor air cool against my face.

In my eyes, just her face..

And then,
I left.

The door clicked shut behind me, I walked toward the elevator with the particular focus of a man who has decided not to look back.
But still with a hope..
That,
She'll call me.
One day..

Eight years has been passed..

I stood in front of the huge picture of her set on my wall. And in my hand. Her only belonging, a bracelet..

That I have always kept in my pocket.
This one thing was my only hope for existing..
These eight years..

I hadn't forgotten anything about that night, I could still tell everything. The room number. The way the morning light fell across the bed at six-thirty. The exact weight of the pen when I wrote ten digits on that notepad paper and left without waking her.

She never once tried to reach me. Even after I left my number.
And I?
I didn't even forgot her.
Not i tried..

Instead I filled my room with her pictures. And kept her bracelet always with me..
My thumb traced the metal slowly.

I let you go that day. Babygirl..
But now..
Even my shadow won't leave you..
My Seher. My babygirl..My Muse..

So how was the chapter guys?
I know the update came very late,
Because I planned to keep it on hold for now..
But now I wish to hear it from you guys..
Are you enjoying it?
Are you interested in plot?
To know about Raghav's secrets..
If yes. Leave a comment to let me know..
If I should continue it or not?

Waiting for your response..
Bye bye..🫶