Painter × Politician
Reverse Age Gap
She Doesn't Need a Man... Until Him
First Love (for him) x Last Love (for her)
Soft Masculinity
Emotionally Guarded
He Falls First (Quietly), She Falls Later (Hard)
Sun x Moon Energy
She fought the whole world alone... until she met a man who never tried to fight her—only stood beside her.
Supporting an author gives you wings!!😉
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Athrav is a man of words, sweet, cute, protective for his Mahi. His one and only love from first, she is his first in everything. Mahi aka Mahiswari is his 28 years old wedded wife. She is the most innocent and lovely wife you ever meet. She loves her home, and she is a homemaker. Her world revolves around her husband Athrav, and her 5 years old son Advait. She has nothing to do with the cunning world. She only stays home and spend her whole day there. Advait is works in a technology company, He is a manager. He earns well to provide his little family a decent lifestyle. For him his wife is his everything. But he is hiding a huge truth that might make his wife away from him forever. What is his truth...? What is Athrav is hiding...?? Read to find out...
He lost his memories. She spent two years searching for him with their daughter in her arms. And destiny brought them back together… as strangers tied by a marriage only one of them remembers. Akhand Chaturvedi was once the pride of the powerful Chaturvedi family of Banaras — calm, intelligent, respected, and deeply loved. But after a tragic accident stole two years of his memories, he returned home as a different man. A man haunted by emptiness he cannot explain. A man who feels like something important was ripped away from his life… yet he doesn’t know what. Then one day, a quiet woman arrives at the doors of the Chaturvedi mansion carrying a little girl in her arms. Mugdha. Simple. Soft-spoken. Raised in a small village where women survive more than they dream. A woman whose sindoor still belongs to Akhand Chaturvedi. A woman who spent two painful years believing her husband was dead, while raising their daughter alone through humiliation, loneliness, and endless waiting. And the little girl? Nandini. The tiny child who recognizes Akhand as her father before his own memories do. Now under one roof, Akhand and Mugdha must navigate a marriage balanced between truth and unfamiliarity. Because Akhand remembers nothing about loving her. Nothing about marrying her. Nothing about the night that changed both their lives forever. Yet every moment near her feels strangely familiar. The way Mugdha lowers her eyes shyly whenever he looks at her. The way Nandini sleeps peacefully only in his arms. The way silence around them no longer feels empty. Slowly, unknowingly, Akhand begins falling for his own wife again. But this story is not just about romance. It is about healing. About a woman who loved without conditions even when life gave her nothing in return. About a broken man learning that love is not always remembered by the mind — sometimes the heart remembers first. Inside the grand Chaturvedi haveli, relationships begin changing one by one. Ganga Devi, the stern matriarch who once valued pride above emotions, slowly melts seeing Mugdha’s sincerity and Nandini’s innocence. Pratap Chaturvedi, a retired politician and Akhand’s father, carries guilt for not being there during Mugdha’s suffering and now silently vows to protect her like his own daughter. And Akhand… Akhand finds himself smiling again after years. For the first time since the accident, his headaches lessen while sitting beside Mugdha. His restless nights become calmer with Nandini sleeping against his chest. The emptiness inside him slowly starts filling with warmth he cannot explain. But not everyone welcomes Mugdha’s place in the family. Old secrets. Hidden resentment. Social status. Family politics. Past wounds. And the cruel judgment society places on women like her continue to threaten the fragile peace she has finally found. Back in Mithili Base, Mugdha’s mother Kusum still cries for her daughter while surviving in a house filled with bitterness and control. Dark truths surrounding Sahil, Jyoti, and the people tied to Mugdha’s past slowly begin surfacing, proving that some scars never stay buried forever. Meanwhile, Akhand and Mugdha’s relationship grows through the smallest moments instead of grand confessions. A shared glance during a Satyanarayan puja. A rose bought at a traffic signal. Shopping together while carrying their daughter. Late-night conversations filled with awkwardness, honesty, and accidental closeness. A husband who carefully looks away when his wife adjusts her saree because despite being married to her… he still feels shy around her. And a wife who blushes hearing one innocent word from him because after years of pain, she still loves him with the purity of first love. Their love story blooms slowly, softly, beautifully. Not through dramatic promises. But through care. Through patience. Through becoming home for each other again. And at the center of it all is little Nandini — the tiny bridge connecting two wounded hearts. Her laughter fills the silence between them. Her tiny hands pull Akhand closer to Mugdha without either realizing it. Every “Papa…” from her lips slowly heals something broken inside him. This is a story of: ✨ Lost memories and second chances ✨ Marriage before love ✨ Soft domestic romance ✨ Family emotions and healing ✨ Protective husband energy ✨ Motherhood in its purest form ✨ Slow-burn rediscovery of love ✨ Village girl × powerful family dynamics ✨ A child bringing two hearts together ✨ Emotional intimacy over physical closeness ✨ And a love that survives even when memories don’t Because sometimes… even if the mind forgets — the soul still remembers who it belongs to.
"There were four of us at home — Dadaji, Dad, Mom... and me. You've met my parents, but not Dadaji yet. I was very pampered since childhood. I was the only child." He sighed dramatically. "My mom always wanted a daughter. But God gave her me." Gauri looked at him. "But don't worry," he added with a playful pout. "She did everything she would've done with a daughter. She made two tiny ponytails on my head. Dressed me in pink frocks. Put cute hair clips in my hair." Gauri couldn't stop a small smile. He narrowed his eyes. "You imagined it, didn't you? I must've looked terrible." "No," she shook her head softly. "You must've looked very cute." "Sure? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?" "I'm telling the truth. I like children. Every baby is beautiful and cute. You must've been cute too... and handsome." The moment the words left her mouth, she froze. Hriday laughed at her embarrassed expression. She quickly stood up, trying to escape inside. But he gently caught her wrist. She stopped. And slowly turned back. "Will you marry me, Gauri?"
Kabir Rajput was never the kind of man who played with people’s lives. Until one day—he had no choice. What begins as a normal day quickly spirals into chaos when Kabir and Sahera Chandravanshi meet with a devastating accident… only to wake up in a nightmare far worse than death. Kidnapped. Trapped. And forced into a cruel game orchestrated by an unseen enemy who knows everything—their lives, their families, their weakest points. The demand? A marriage. Not out of love. Not out of choice. But as a weapon. To save Sahera’s life, Kabir signs the papers… sealing both their fates in a bond built on lies, manipulation, and silent sacrifice. But survival comes at a cost—and Kabir is forced to become the villain in Sahera’s story. He lies. He manipulates. He breaks her trust with his own hands. And the worst part? She believes him. --- Sahera, who once saw Kabir as someone safe, someone real, is suddenly thrown into a reality she never chose. Waking up injured, confused, and emotionally shattered, she is told a truth that feels like a betrayal—that the man she trusted has been controlling her all along. When she confronts him— He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he embraces it. Cold. Ruthless. Unrecognizable. “I wanted you. So I made sure you stayed.” Those words don’t just hurt—they destroy. --- But the storm doesn’t stop there. Kabir takes it further. In front of the world. In front of their families. He publicly claims Sahera as his wife, painting a story so convincing that no one questions it. Fake photos surface, showing an intimacy that never truly existed—except for a few moments that meant everything to Sahera… and now mean nothing. Or at least—that’s what Kabir makes it look like. --- Families collide. Trust shatters. And love— Turns into something unrecognizable. --- Sahera’s world collapses piece by piece. Her own family, unable to separate truth from deception, begins to doubt her. The people she thought would stand by her… start stepping away. Her grandmother turns cold. Her brother questions her choices. And her father— The only one still holding on— Promises to take her back only after he finds the truth. Until then— She is left behind. With the man who broke her. --- Kabir watches it all happen. Silent. Still. Breaking inside while destroying everything outside. Because the truth he cannot speak is darker than any lie he tells. --- And just when it seems like things couldn’t get worse— The past resurfaces. A buried history between two families. Old wounds. Unfinished revenge. A connection that ties Kabir’s mother and Sahera’s father in ways no one expected. And suddenly— This isn’t just about a forced marriage anymore. --- It’s a war. --- A war where: Love looks like obsession. Protection looks like cruelty. And truth hides behind the mask of lies. --- Kabir is playing a dangerous game— One where he must push Sahera to hate him… To keep her alive. --- But how long can someone pretend to be a villain— Before they actually become one? --- And when the truth finally comes out— Will Sahera ever be able to forgive him? Or will the damage be too deep… Too real… Too irreversible? --- In a story where love is forced, trust is broken, and every truth is disguised as a lie— Who is the real enemy? And who is just a pawn in a game they never chose to play?
"Oye, Miss Arrogant," he said, standing in front of her now, "can you stop showing your attitude for one minute and act like a normal person?" Devanshi slowly turned her head. Her gaze met his-steady, sharp. "Before giving others advice," she said calmly, "shouldn't you try applying it to your own life, Mr. Slow?" Rudraksh blinked. Mr... Slow? "What did you just call me?" he asked, disbelief clear. Rudraksh Bhatt lives in the quiet shadow of the ancient Shiva temple on the city's edge. Unemployed by choice and untethered from the grind of modern life, he wakes each day not to alarm clocks but to temple bells. His world is incense smoke, sacred chants, and the silent presence of Mahadev, his only master. To the outside world, he is a drifter. To himself, he is a seeker-of truth, of peace, and perhaps unknowingly, of purpose. Devanshi Rathore is the opposite-a force of nature in high heels. As the CEO of Rathore Enterprises, one of India's fastest-rising tech conglomerates, she has fought tooth and nail in boardrooms built by men and tradition. Feared, respected, envied-she walks a tightrope between power and loneliness, between empire and emptiness. When fate entwines a wandering devotee with a woman of steel, sparks fly-not just of conflict, but of transformation. He sees through her armor. She challenges his detachment. One believes in surrender, the other in control. But both, in their own way, are lost. What happens when Shiva's devotee meets the empress of ambition?
"Why do you always come here, Sahab?" Sree asked softly. "My choice." A straight, blunt answer. The kind he always gives. "Sahab, may I ask you something? It's... a little personal." "What?" "You have a very beautiful wife at home. I heard—Kashish ji, I mean Mrs. Chandravanshi is really beautiful." "I don't know." "You don't know? Why, Sahab? She's your wife." "She can never be my wife. And I can never be her husband. We both... we're just different." "Why, Sahab—" "Sshh. You talk too much. Now shut up and let me sleep." . . . . . . . "Tanishk, why do you keep going there? You know Baba doesn't like this behaviour." Kashish said while folding clothes. He didn't respond. He kept puffing on his cigarette, eyes distant. "Don't smoke. It makes me nauseous." She said, annoyed. He lit another cigarette. And another. Silent. Detached. Kashish looked at him, irritated. "Tanishk, you know what? You're impossible!" She snapped and walked out of the room. . . . . . . "We want grandchildren soon! You've been married for three years. Doesn't our heart also long to see our grandchildren, hmm?" Malini said, her eyes fixed on her son. "Maa sa... it's not possible." Tanishk said, rising from his seat. Malini's gaze shifted sharply toward Kashish, who looked down in silence. . . . . . . . "What the hell is this, Tanishk?!" Malini shouted, stunned to see her son standing beside a young woman dressed like a newlywed. Tanishk himself wore wedding clothes. "Maa sa, she is my wife—Shree. And the mother of my child." Tanishk declared, without a trace of hesitation. The room froze. Silent. Until a loud slap broke the air. Malini had struck her son—the son she had never raised her voice at. Her only son. The one she loved more than anything. . . . . . . . "Sahab... what will you do after I leave you?" Shree asked, her voice a fragile whisper. "Sleep, Shree." He didn't answer properly. Because the truth was—he had never thought about it. He couldn't. Shree had become his life. . . . . . . . "Beta, bolo Maa sa..." "Please say Maa sa, beta..." She looked to her husband for help, but he only chuckled. "Look at your son! He's just like you—so full of attitude!" "No, he's just like his Maa sa... who's teaching him that attitude." Tanishk said with a smirk. She turned away, hiding her smile.
Vaibhav — in full sprint — collided. Smack. He slammed right into someone turning the corner from the other side. Mihiksha. She had been holding a brass thali, full of sindoor, sweets, and a small diya. The tray wobbled, spun — and tipped forward. In that single, fateful second— Vaibhav’s hand instinctively reached out to stop the tray. But instead — his palm struck the center of her forehead. Right above the eyebrows. Right where the sindoor should be. Red powder exploded between them, dusting the air, staining both of their faces — but none more strikingly than Mihiksha Roy, who now stood, stunned, as a perfect streak of sindoor glowed across her maang. It looked like he had married her. Silence fell. All the shouting, music, and laughter seemed to vanish into a vacuum.
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