Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary - Mahishmati and Sinhala have been on opposite sides of a bitter conflict for decades. To end hostilities between both the kingdoms, King Simhavarma of Sinhala offers a peace treaty through a marriage alliance between the next King of Mahishmati and Princess of Sinhala. While both kingdoms celebrate peace, Vasumati is stuck in a palace full of suspicious nobles, gossiping maids, a Queen Mother who only sees her as a useful asset and a husband who she thinks is only fulfilling his duty.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Bāhubali . All characters mentioned in this fic belong to the makers of the movie except oc. Any resemblance to real life facts is mere coincidence.]
{A/N :- I hope you guys like it. If anyone wishes to not be tagged in non-dhurandhar fics, please let me know through comments or dm.}
words - 5.6k
masterlist
The atmosphere in Mahishmati’s throne room was tense.
Ministers and generals stood around a large map that was laid out on the council table. They were discussing troop movements and war strategies. For decades, the kingdom of Sinhala had been one of Mahishmati’s greatest rivals. Border disputes, failed negotiations and countless war treaties, yet peace between them remained a distant dream. The conflict had remained dormant for a few years but recently tensions near the borders have risen again.
At the head of the court sat Sivagami, her expression unreadable as she listened to the latest reports. Beside her sat Bijjaladeva, looking slightly disinterested in the political matters and nursing a glass of wine. Bhallaladeva stood beside him with an expression mirroring his father's.
A few feet away from them, near the steps leading to the throne, Amarendra Baahubali listened carefully, arms folded across his chest. His eyes followed every movement in the hall, noticing every detail discussed by the ministers.
“Their soldiers on the eastern border retreated last night,” said one general.
“Looks like they did not handle the ambush well then…” Bhallaladeva said, his voice laced with usual arrogance. “Perhaps,” the elder prince continued, “Sinhala has finally realised marching against Mahishmati is an excellent way to lose soldiers.”
Several nobles chuckled at that.
Before anyone could respond, the massive doors to the throne room swung open. The sound echoing through the chamber.
Every conversation in the room died instantly.
A palace guard hurried inside, following right behind him was a messenger wearing unfamiliar royal colours.
The messenger came to halt a few feet before the steps leading to Sivagami’s throne. He dropped to one knee.
Murmurs spread through the court as they noticed the symbol embroidered on his cloak, a golden lion upon a crimson field – Sinhala.
“Your Majesty.” He lowered his head in a bow.
Sivagami signalled him to get up.
“I bear a message from His Majesty, King Simhavarma of Sinhala.”
Silence settled over the court, even the ministers stopped whispering.
Sivagami’s gaze sharpened, “Speak.” She ordered.
The messenger came forward and presented the scroll to a servant, who passed it to the Queen Mother.
The royal seal remained unbroken.
Sivagami devi broke the seal and opened the letter -
‘To Her Majesty Sivagami Devi and the Royal Court of Mahishmati.
Namaskar.
For many years, Mahishmati and Sinhala stood divided by a conflict. Countless lives have been lost to the hostility bringing burden upon both the kingdoms
Though the past cannot be altered, the future remains ours to shape.
Therefore, I am proposing a lasting peace between our kingdoms, not through swords and battles but through an alliance and mutual trust.
I offer the hand of my daughter, Princess Vasumati of Sinhala in marriage to Prince Amarendra Baahubali.
Princess Vasumati has been raised with values of duty, compassion and devotion to her people. With this union I hope, the bonds forged will finally bring peace upon our kingdoms.
Enclosed with this letter is the portrait of the Princess, entrusted to my messenger, that the royal family can acquaint themselves with.
May wisdom guide our decisions and peace be blessed upon both of us.
King Simhavarma,
Ruler of Sinhala.’
Sivagami read the letter silently while every single person in the court held their breaths, anticipating the contents of it.
Sivagami took in a sharp breath as she finished reading it.
“What is it Sivagami? What's in it” Bijjaladeva asked, trying to peek into the letter.
Sivagami closed the scroll and took another deep breath, her gaze sharp as always, “King Simhavarma wishes for an alliance with our kingdom,”
The nobles started murmuring, “He offers his daughter’s hand in marriage with… our future King, Baahubali.”
All the eyes in the court turned towards him. There were also a few gasps.
Amarendra’s eyes snapped towards his mother, eyebrows settling in a deep frown.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then voices rose, some shocked, some outraged and some intrigued.
Even Bhallaladeva seemed intrigued.
Amid the chaos, Amarendra's eyes remained on the scroll in his mother's hands.
Sivagami Devi beckoned the messenger to hand over the portrait of the Princess.
“You may leave,” she told the messenger, “We will send our response as soon as possible.” she said.
The messenger nodded hesitantly before leaving the court.
“Queen Mother–” one of the ministers started.
Sivagami's gaze silenced him before he could continue any further, “We shall reconvene tomorrow.”
Her tone left no room for argument.
Everyone filed out, reluctantly. Only Amarendra, Bhallaladeva and Bijjaladeva remained.
“Alliance?” Bijjaladeva scoffs. “After years of damage, they expect an alliance. Sivagami if you–” He was cut off when Bhallaladeva placed his hand on his shoulder, stopping him.
“It’s not a bad offer…” Sivagami says.
“Not bad? Sinhala has challenged Mahishmati for years.”
“And what has that brought to either kingdom?” Sivagami replied. “Fallen soldiers, empty victories…”
Silence followed.
Her gaze settled on Amarendra.
“Baahu?” She asked him.
“If… it will end the conflict which has burdened two generations, then I am ready to fulfill my duty.” Baahubali spoke.
Sivagami carefully untied the silk ribbon and unfurled the portrait.
The young woman in the painting was…ordinary.
Not plain but not something very exceptional either, there were no extravagant jewels adorning her, no elaborate, heavy silks. She wore her royal attire with quiet elegance, draped in the royal sunset hues, her posture straight, hands folded neatly in her lap.
Her features were delicate and pleasant. She did not possess the kind of breathtaking beauty poets would write about.
Sivagami had seen princesses whose beauty announced itself the moment one looked upon them.
Princess Vasumati was not one of them yet her gaze lingered on the portrait longer than she usually would. There was no trace of arrogance in her eyes, often found in royalty. No carefully painted sweetness or restless ambition. Very often painters would alter features but this one looked like the painter has captured her calm elegance with unsettling honesty.
“So…” Bhallaladeva broke the silence, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “The daughter of our greatest rival is to become the Queen of Mahishmati.”
Night has descended upon Mahishmati.
The grandeur of the palace stood draped in silver moonlight. Rows of oil lamps flickered along the sandstone corridors. The bustle that filled the palace during daytime long since faded, replaced by silence. Only guards remained vigilant.
A cool breeze wandered through the open archways, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the royal gardens.
It was an hour meant for rest yet not everyone in the palace was asleep.
Amarendra Baahubali stood alone beneath one of the palace archways, overlooking the moonlit corridor. His thoughts drifted from the walls of Mahishmati – to the Princess of the rival kingdom.
“So,” came a familiar voice “sleep has eluded you as well.”
He turned around to find Kattappa approaching him.
A faint smile crossed Amarendra's face.
“Does this have something to do with a certain treaty?” Kattappa asks.
“Is there anything you don't know, Mama?” replied Baahubali
“What do you think?”
“I think it would be good for the kingdom…” Amarendra started.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, What do you think?” Kattappa said.
“I – I don't know…”
“You're thinking as Mahishmati’s future King.” Kattappa said quietly.
“Is that not what is expected of me?”
“Perhaps, for tonight think like a man who is about to be married.”
Amarendra was silent.
“You have lived your entire life within these walls and you will continue to live here. But, think about her,” Kattappa continued “She will have to leave everything she's ever known. Her home, her people, her life…”
Amarendra lowered his eyes, he had not thought of it that way.
The moon hung high above Sinhala, bathing the palace in a soft silver glow.
Princess Vasumati stood alone on the balcony of her room, overlooking the sea. The waves rose and fell in a steady rhythm, carrying the cool night breeze. This place has always brought her comfort but tonight she did not find the comfort she sought.
Her fingers rested lightly on the stone carved railing, as she gazed at the endless stretch of dark water.
Somewhere beyond the horizon lay – Mahishmati, a kingdom whose name she only heard through tales of war and diplomacy.
A kingdom she never imagined as her potential home.
Her father's words echoed in her mind – ‘This marriage is important… think about it, think about how many families would be spared from losing their son in case of a war.’
She understood.
She always understood.
A Princess was raised for the people, to place duty over desire.
She wondered what kind of a man Amarendra Baahubali truly is. She has heard about him, when Mahishmati won against Kalakeya. She heard that he was to be the future King for the way he handled his people in the battlefield, the way he fought valiantly.
He is a beloved warrior.
But will he be a good husband?
She sighed.
“I hope…” she whispered into the night.
Three days later, the Palace gates of Sinhala opened to welcome a royal procession from Mahishmati.
Word spread quickly through the Palace, all the royals, nobles and ministers assembled as the messenger, accompanied by a small escort of soldiers carrying ornate teakwood chests entered the hall.
The messenger bowed before KIng Simhavarma.
“Your Majesty.”
He produced a scroll bearing the royal insignia of Mahishmati.
As his eyes moved across the scroll, a smile, small but unmistakable appeared on his face.
“The Queen Mother of Mahishmati accepts the proposal.” he announces as soon as he is done reading the letter.
Relief swept through the court.
The messenger steps aside, “Her majesty also sends these gifts for Princess Vasumati, as a token of goodwill between our kingdoms.”
At his signal, the attendants opened the chests.
The hall shimmered with gold.
Necklaces of finely worked gold set with rubies, emeralds and diamonds lay in velvet cases. Delicate bangles, waist belts, earrings and anklets caught the morning light. Beside them in other trunks lay neatly folded lengths of exquisite silk in deep crimson, royal blue, molten gold and emerald green, each woven with intricate designs.
The gifts were magnificent.
They were a declaration that Mahishmati had accepted Princess Vasumati as their future queen.
From the upper balcony overlooking the hall, Vasumati watched as one chest after another was opened before the court. Each gift was chosen carefully to befit a queen.
Her ladies-in-waiting whispered excitedly behind her.
“They’re exquisite” “Look at the necklaces…” “My,my, aren't they generous?”
Vasumati heard them, their voices distant as the weight of the proposal became real. Until now the marriage was just an idea on a letter but now it had a real weight.
An odd tightness filled her chest. Soon, those jewels would belong to her, the silks would replace the comfort of the silks she grew up wearing, soon, the sea would no longer wake her up.
She lowered her eyes, drawing a slow careful breath.
‘Don’t cry, not now. Not here.’ she told herself.
Not where the entire kingdom celebrated what her heart was still trying to accept.
Sinhala was decorated in marigolds, jasmines and various kinds of flowers on the occasion of their Princess’ wedding.
The royal family of Mahishmati received a grand welcome upon their arrival last evening and were currently residing in the guest wing of the Palace. Every courtesy befitting a royal guest had been extended to them, from lavish feasts to ceremonial escorts.
Servants and maids hurried through the palace carrying trays of flowers, sacred offerings and ceremonial ornaments. Priests made their final preparations at the wedding mandap, erected in the palace courtyard, where soon the sacred fire would witness the union of two kingdoms.
Throughout the city, people poured into the streets, some had come to catch a glimpse of the legendary prince and some had come to see their princess one last time.
Children ran around the palace corridors clutching handfuls of flowers while the elders spoke quietly among themselves.
By the time the auspicious hour arrived, the courtyard was filled with nobles, ministers and dignitaries from both kingdoms. The wedding mandap stood at the centre, its carved pillars draped in garlands of marigolds, sacred lamps flickered around the altar.
Amarendra sat in front of the sacred fire, participating in the pre-wedding rituals with priests chanting mantras and guiding him. The royal family of Mahishmati occupied one side of the mandap and opposite to them sat the royal family of Sinhala.
The air was filled with the sound of trumpets and shehnais, their melodies rising above the murmurs of the gathered guests.
The chief priest stepped forward.
“Bring the bride.”
A hush fell over the courtyard.
Moments later, all the eyes turned towards the entrance as Vasumati arrived, accompanied by her mother and the ladies of her family.
Clad in a deep red saree woven with gold threads and adorned in heirloom jewellery, she walked forward with measured grace, her head slightly bowed.
King Simhavarma watched with quiet pride though the sadness in his eyes could not be concealed.
A silk curtain was held between the bride and groom, concealing them from one another as the priests recited the mantras leading to the muhurtham. The chanting grew louder and at the exact auspicious time, the priest instructed them to place jeelakara bellam on each other’s head.
The curtain lowered.
Amarendra and Vasumati looked at each other for the first time, not as names in a royal letter or figures in a portrait but as a husband and wife in making.
Soon after, Amarendra accepted the sacred mangalsutra from the priest, with steady hands he tied it around Vasumati’s neck as the courtyard erupted with the sounds of drums and joyous blessings.
Flower petals rained down upon the couple.
An attendant stepped forward carrying a tray with two fragrant garlands woven with lotuses and jasmine.
Amarendra accepted the first garland placing it gently around Vasumati’s neck. She lowered her head ever so slightly in acceptance. Vasumati took the other garland and lifted it, Baahubali bowed his head slightly and she placed it around his shoulders.
The rituals continued, together they took the seven sacred steps around the holy fire.
As the final mantra echoed across the mandap, the priest raised his hands in blessing, “The marriage is complete.”
A roar of celebration swept through the palace.
The joyous sounds of celebration gave way to something solemn, it was time.
The royal chariot of Mahishmati stood ready before the palace gates.
Vasumati turned to her family, and King Simhavarma stepped forward. His gaze rested upon his daughter, the little girl he once held in his arms stood before ready to be the queen of another kingdom.
“May your path be blessed, my child” he raised a hand and gently rested it on her head “And remember… Sinhala will always be your home.”
For the first time that day, Vasumati’s resolve broke. She embraced her father with silent tears streaming down her face.
“Stand beside your husband through triumph and hardship,” he told her.
“I will make you proud, father.” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Nearby, her mother drew her into a quiet embrace, brushing away a tear that escaped despite Vasumati’s effort to hold it back.
“Take care of yourself,” her mother whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead. “If anything ever goes wrong… you’re always welcome to come back here.”
Vasumati nodded.
One by one she bid farewell to all her relatives and turned towards the entrance where the chariot waited.
Amarendra waited several steps away, he did not interrupt giving her all the time she needed.
When Vasumati approached him, he offered a small respectful nod “Whenever you are ready.”
She nodded.
He offered his hand, she hesitated a little before placing her hand in his. Together they walked to the waiting chariot.
As it moved, the people of Sinhala showered their princess with flower petals and blessings.
Vasumati looked back one last time, watching her home disappear.
By the time the royal procession reached Mahishmati, the kingdom gathered to welcome their new princess.
An attendant stepped forward carrying a silver thali adorned with a little oil lamp.
Sivagami performed the welcoming aarti before Vasumati, blessing the new bride before applying a small streak of kumkum on her forehead.
“Welcome to Mahishmati.” She said with quiet dignity. “May your arrival bring prosperity to the kingdom.”
Vasumati bowed respectfully, crossing the palace threshold. Amarendra's hand hovering behind her, quietly guiding her.
It was well past midnight by the time the palace corridors had finally fallen silent. The musicians retired and the last of the servants withdrew from the royal chambers.
Vasumati was whisked away from Amarendra earlier by her new lady-in-waiting to get ready for their first night.
Baahubali gently pushed open the door to their chamber, the room was illuminated by the soft glow of the lamps.
His gaze instinctively searched for Vasumati. She sat on the low couch beside the open balcony. He noticed she has changed out of her bridal attire and into a lighter yellow saree with minimal jewellery.
He moved closer, “...Princess?”
No response.
Only then did he notice her head resting lightly against the carved pillar.
She had fallen asleep.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
The day had demanded more of her than anyone else.
She had left her home, and arrived at a place full of strangers.
He tried to gently nudge her awake to tell her to sleep on the bed, but she mumbled something incoherent and went back to sleep. She would wake up with neck pain if he just let her sleep that way.
Quietly, so as to not wake her, he slipped one arm under her and the other under her knees, carrying her in his arms and walked towards the bed.
He gently placed her on the bed and pulled a woollen blanket over her, tucking her in.
For a moment he simply stood there, she looked peaceful.
He extinguished all the lamps in the room except one and settled onto the far end of the bed. He thought to formally introduce himself to her but tonight he would let his queen sleep.
Vasumati stirred in her sleep as faint warmth brushed against her face, her mind still clouded from sleep.
For a few moments nothing made sense.
The carved ceiling was unfamiliar.
The faint sandalwood smell lingering in the air was unfamiliar.
Even the silence felt different.
Then she remembered,
Mahishmati.
Her wedding.
Groaning internally as she realized she fell asleep on their first night.
She opened her eyes, becoming aware of the light spilling through the balcony. Dawn had only just broken, painting the room in a golden hue.
A quiet rustle drew her attention.
Across the room, Amarendra stood in front of a polished bronze mirror.
He was glowing in the early morning sunlight.
It took her a couple of seconds to properly focus on him. He was dressed in just a simple white dhoti.
Her throat went dry as she realized his upper body was bare, his hair dripping wet – like he was fresh out of a bath.
He hadn't noticed she was awake.
Without the grandeur of ceremonies, without the crown and ornaments from the previous day, for the first time she truly looked at him. He looked simpler this way.
She found herself staring, perhaps longer than necessary.
As though sensing her gaze, Amarendra glanced towards the bed.
Their eyes met.
Neither moved, then the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.
“Good morning.” he said.
Vasumati blinked, suddenly realising she was caught staring.
She gulped, her cheeks warming up.
“I– forgive me, I didn't mean to stare…” she mumbled, looking away.
He chuckled lightly, “There is nothing to forgive.” he replied, amusement flickering in his eyes.
“I seem to have fallen asleep” she hesitated “before we had the chance to speak.”
A gentle smile appeared on his face.
“I would've been surprised if you managed to stay awake,”
Her shoulders relaxed.
“I hope I did not cause you any inconvenience.” Vasumati said.
“Oh no– not at all.”
A brief silence settled between them.
“If you need anything, your attendants will help you.” He said. “And if they cannot… you may ask me.”
He offered her a reassuring smile.
The days that followed settled into a quiet rhythm.
Mahishmati was vast, its customs unfamiliar, the palace corridors were impossible to navigate without an attendant.
Vasumati tried, she really tried to adjust to that environment. But it was impossible to adapt when the people around her were not easy to mingle with.
She hadn't even had the chance to properly speak with her new family as they were busy with ‘matters that did not concern her’. The other noblewomen in the palace looked at her with judgement in their eyes whenever she did something different.
At least the elderly women tried to disguise it with fake hospitality but that wasn't the case with the young women, who seemed to have no work to do other than gossip all the time. They looked at her as though she had taken something that rightfully belonged to them.
Amarendra tried too.
Some mornings they shared breakfast before he was summoned to the council.
Other evenings they would begin a conversation only for a messenger to arrive with reports from the borders or petitions that required his judgement.
Their conversations barely lasted a few minutes, yet those few minutes became something Vasumati would look forward to.
He learned that she preferred spending her evening in the western balcony where she would watch the sun set, the breeze reminded her of home.
A few days later, the royal family gathered at the ancient Shiva temple for their monthly pooja.
The temple stood atop a hill overlooking the kingdom. Bells echoed through the air as priests chanted mantras before the towering Shivalingam, adorned with mango leaves, flowers and sacred ash.
Sivagami stood at the head of the royal family, followed by Bhallaladeva, Baahubali and Vasumati.
Though many of the rituals resembled those performed in Sinhala, there were subtle differences.
Vasumati watched carefully, determined to not make any mistake.
The chief priest turned to the family after completing the abhishekam. He was still chanting the mantras, beckoning one of the ladies to come forward to hold a silver platter with offerings for Mahadev.
Vasumati stepped forward, accepting the platter. Before she could take another step forward, an elderly woman moved gracefully into her path.
“Oh, princess.” She said with a pleasant smile.
“I'll handle it, you're not from around here, you wouldn't know.” Her tone remained perfectly courteous. She lifted the platter from Vasumati's hands.
For a heartbeat, she simply stood there.
She had meant no disrespect, she only wished to learn. Slowly, she folded her hands before stepping away.
The prayers continued. No one commented, everything continued as though nothing unusual happened.
Vasumati felt a little hurt to be dismissed like that but was also a little relieved that no one had really seen the embarrassing moment.
Little did she know Amarendra had seen the entire exchange, his eyes not leaving her. He was a little offended.
He did not like the way his wife was excluded like that.
His eyes did not leave her, her expression composed as always. Only the slight tightening of her fingers betrayed what she refused to show.
When the prayers ended, the nobles drifted into conversation.
Amarendra took a step toward her.
“Vasumati–”
“My Prince!” a minister intercepted with a scroll already in hand. “You need to see this!”
Amarendra glanced apologetically toward his wife.
By the time he was free, she had quietly disappeared.
A few days after the temple incident, Queen Mother Sivagami hosted a grand banquet in honour of the newly wedded couple.
The Great Hall glittered in the warm glow of oil lamps. Long tables overflowed with delicacies, while musicians filled the air with melodies of veenas and flutes. Courtiers, ministers and nobles from every corner of Mahishmati gathered in the royal house.
Sivagami presided over the gathering, Bijjaladeva beside her, Bhallaladeva and Baahubali to her right.
Vasumati stood right beside her husband.
Every eye seemed to find her.
Some offered courteous smiles, others merely observed.
She returned every greeting with the grace expected of a princess, though she could not shake the feeling of being measured.
The banquet was arranged for them, for her.
Yet she had never felt more like a stranger.
A middle aged woman had approached Sivagami, who introduced her to Vasumati; it turns out she is the wife of an administrator of one of Mahishmati's biggest provinces.
“This is Princess Vasumati of Sinhala.” Sivagami had introduced her to that woman.
“Namaste.” Vasumati greeted her with joined hands, offering a polite smile.
The woman nodded and then turned to Sivagami.
“It's a fine alliance, Your Majesty.” The woman continued “though I must admit, I imagined my daughter standing in the princess' place… but politics come first I guess.”
Vasumati's smile faltered, she was taken aback by how openly the woman had said that right in her face.
“Anyways, you have my congratulations princess.”
She had been reminded that if circumstances were different even in the slightest, someone else would've occupied her place.
As the banquet progressed, servants moved gracefully, refilling goblets and presenting elaborate dishes.
A servant struck a ceremonial gong.
Bhallaladeva rose from his seat, a golden goblet in hand.
“My Lords, ladies…”he began, his voice carrying across the hall.
“It has been many years since Mahishmati has witnessed a celebration of such significance.”
He turned towards Amarendra and Vasumati.
“My beloved brother has taken a bride.”
A round of applause echoed through the hall.
“But this union is more than a marriage, it is the end of decades of bloodshed.” He raised his goblet. “To Princess Vasumati… whose hand accomplished what countless warriors and diplomats could not. Through this alliance she has brought peace between the two realms.”
“To peace.”
“To peace!” the court echoes, raising their goblets.
It was, by every measure, a gracious toast.
As Vasumati acknowledged the gathering with a smile, a familiar ache settled in her chest.
Not one person this evening had seen her as a woman.
Only a bridge between two kingdoms.
A treaty wrapped in silk and gold.
The applause gradually gave way to conversations once more. Unable to bear another polite smile or curious glance, Vasumati excused herself from the gathering. She was exhausted from carrying the emotional weight of the evening.
The palace corridors beyond the great hall were blissfully quiet, the melodies of the musicians just a faint echo.
She paused beneath an open archway, drawing a slow breath. The cool night breeze did little to ease the tightness in her chest.
Just then she heard hushed whispers drifting from the corner.
She didn't mean to eavesdrop but curiosity got the best of her and she moved a little closer, making sure the shadows concealed her.
“...I'm telling you, the prince has always been like that.”
A second maid laughed softly.
“One pretty face after another, I've lost count.”
“What do you expect? He's handsome, powerful… women practically throw themselves at him.”
Vasumati froze.
“Well, this one seems to be a little more stable, it's been… what? – almost four months now?”
One of them scoffed, “Stable? It won't be long before another one comes by.”
“The Queen Mother can arrange whatever she wishes,” another voice chimed in “but that has never stopped him before.”
“With a new presence around, he ought to be careful with his ‘affairs’ now.”
They burst into quiet laughter.
The voices drifted away, their laughter fading into the corridor.
Vasumati remained rooted to the spot.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of her pallu.
She moved away from the shadows towards a raised structure near the railing, taking a seat on it.
Of course.
A marriage forged for politics can never harbour affection. He had accepted it because duty demanded it.
If there is someone his heart has already chosen…
She lowered her gaze.
Perhaps, this is the way of Kings.
Men in power rarely belonged to a single woman. She had no right to resent him for fulfilling his duty. Or so she thought.
The thought sat heavy in her head. She – without even realising – had hoped theirs would be something more than an alliance.
Vasumati didn't know how long she had been sitting under the stars, contemplating every life decision. She was too busy thinking if she should've been more selfish and chose herself over her people, that she didn't hear footsteps nearing her.
“Vasumati?”
She snapped out of her daze when she heard his familiar voice calling out her name.
She turned to see Amarendra approaching her.
Baahubali was relieved to see her, he had been searching for almost an hour now. He noticed her slipping out of the hall and wanted to go after her but decided against it thinking she just needed some air and would be back in a few minutes. But he got worried as time passed and she did not come back.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, concern lacing his voice. “I was so worried when you didn't come back…”
“I just… I just needed some space.” She managed to voice out.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine.”
“Hey… you can tell me,” Baahubali said, moving closer to stand in front of her.
Her eyes started welling up, involuntarily.
“I miss home…” she said, her voice cracking a little. “I miss my parents…”, A lone tear escaped her eye, she wiped it away quickly. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. Come on, let’s go inside. The Queen Mother must be looking for you.” She sniffled, getting up from where she was sitting.
As soon as took a couple of steps forward, Amarendra’s hand clasped around her wrist.
She stopped in her tracks, his hold wasn’t tight, just firm enough to stop her.
For a few moments, neither of them spoke.
“You are not fine.”
She looked at his hand holding hers and then at him.
“I am.”
“Anyone who usually says ‘I'm fine’ is not really fine.”
“Well, I am not anyone and I am fine.”
“Please, you don’t have to hide, not when I'm here.”
Amarendra drew a quiet breath.
“Tell me.” he said, sitting down and tugging her closer to sit beside him.
“I… it just feels like – I don't belong here.” she confessed, her composure wavering. “Like I'm an intruder.”
“I keep trying, trying to learn your ways – to adapt to your lifestyle, but it does not seem to be working. Before coming here I was so determined to be the ideal princess but it's so hard when everyone keeps looking at me like I'm just a ‘peace treaty’, the women here treat me like I'm not fit to do anything. They don’t even give me a chance to learn.” she said, quietly breaking down. Amarendra looked at her, a wave of guilt washing over him.
“They keep questioning my loyalty behind my back. Some of them straight up interrogate me like I've committed a crime. I know this marriage only happened for politics, but I just thought we could be something more than that, you know? And then these maids were talking about…you know what – nevermind, I don't want to burden you with my petty problems.”
He frowned.
“Wait – tell me, what did you hear?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter, you have more important things to concern yourself with.”
“I do.” he answered without hesitation. “My wife is one of them.”
“I brought you here,” he said softly, “You left your home. The least I can do is to ensure you are treated with the respect you deserve.”
She scoffed slightly, “Respect?”
She looked away, “...what about the others?”
His frown deepened.
“Others?”
“The other women – I heard them speaking. The ones you…loved before.” she said quietly.
He blinked, his eyes full of confusion.
“The one you continue to meet?”
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
“Who told you that?” he asked slowly.
“The maids – they were talking about the prince seeing someone.” she said, her head lowered.
He exhaled, almost in disbelief.
“You do realize… I have a brother, who is also a prince?”
Her eyes snapped to him.
“What?” she whispered, then closed her eyes as she realized.
Vasumati covered her face for a brief moment.
“I… I have made a complete fool of myself, haven’t I?”
“You have not…”
She looked at him.
After a moment, Amarendra spoke again.
“There is something I would like for you to know.”
She lifted her eyes.
“I agreed to this marriage because it was my duty.” Her heart sank a little, he continued before she could look away. “But that doesn’t mean duty alone is going to decide what will happen after the wedding.”
“We were strangers when we stood in front of the sacred fire, we need not remain strangers.” His voice was calm, soothing almost.
He offered her a small smile. “I cannot promise you it will become easy overnight, there will be people who will question you, those who refuse to see beyond the kingdom you were born into, but you will not face them alone. You are my wife, someone I wish to know.” The words were simple, yet they carried more warmth than any grand celebration could have.
For the first time since leaving Sinhala, Vasumati smiled without forcing herself to.
As Amarendra sat beside her under the moonlit sky, she no longer felt so lonely.
Summary - An orphaned palace healer never imagined that treating Amarendra Baahubali's wounds would change her life forever. As their bond blossoms into love, palace conspiracies threaten to tear them apart.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Bāhubali . All characters mentioned in this fic belong to the makers of the movie except oc.]
Part 1 Part 2
masterlist
It had been a couple of weeks since Manorama was arrested and Baahubali walked away from the throne.
Life had become quieter.
The small palace nestled a little away from the mainland had slowly begun to feel like home.
Every morning Baahubali woke before sunrise to train with Kattappa and look after the arrangements being made for the King's coronation. By the time he returned, Manorama would be in the courtyard, tending to flowering herbs she had planted beside the pond or preparing medicines for the nearby villages. Though she no longer served the royal palace, word of the prince's healer had spread and villagers would often come seeking help.
Neither of them spoke much about the throne anymore.
The little palace had been unusually lovely since dawn.
Servants hurried through the corridors carrying baskets overflowing with jasmines, roses and marigolds. Maids sat in the courtyard stringing garlands.
Inside one of the chambers, several silk sarees spread neatly across the bed.
Ivory.
Crimson.
Royal blue.
Deep emerald.
Manorama stood before them looking utterly overwhelmed.
“I still think this one suits you best.” One of the older maids lifted the crimson saree with a gold border.
“But this one is beautiful too…” another maid protested, holding up a blue saree.
Manorama laughed helplessly.
Just then a guard appeared at the doorway stopping just short of entering.
“Devi.”
Everyone looked at him.
“The Rajamata has arrived.”
The smile disappeared.
“Rajamata?”
The guard nodded.
“She has requested to meet Rajkumar Baahubali.”
Her fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of the saree she was holding.
Why did the Rajamata come here?
Did something happen?
Did she change her mind?
The questions came all at once.
“I'll…I'll inform Baahu.”
She had barely taken a step when another voice interrupted.
“There is no need.”
Everyone turned their heads towards the entrance.
Sivagami stood there.
She wore no ceremonial jewels, only a simple white and gold saree befitting the Rajamata. Behind her stood only two guards.
Every servant in the room bowed immediately.
“Rajamata…” Manorama lowered her head immediately.
Her eyes travelled around the room, taking in the sarees laid on the bed.
“So the preparations have begun.”
Finally, Sivagami looked at Manorama.
“Will you not welcome your guest?”
“O-of course, please come in.”
“You have good taste.” Sivagami said, running her fingers over the fabric of the sarees.
The servants glanced between the two women nervously and understood they were no longer needed there.
“We shall return later devi.” and they emptied out of the chamber.
Manorama stood with her hands folded, unsure whether to speak.
Sivagami looked at her for a long moment and then in a softer voice she asked.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Manorama hesitated.
“...a little.”
Sivagami closed her eyes briefly.
“I thought so.”
Sivagami slowly turned towards Manorama, for the first time since entering the chamber her eyes held no authority.
Only regret.
“I came here today to ask for your forgiveness.”
Manorama looked surprised.
“I have uncovered the truth, the necklace…it was planted. Bhallaladeva orchestrated the entire affair. He wished to force Amarendra into revealing his feelings before the court.”
Sivagami lowered her gaze for the first time.
“And I…allowed myself to be a part of this deception…”
The words hung heavily between them.
“I wronged an innocent woman, I had you arrested…i stood silent while your honour was being questioned."
Sivagami stepped closer.
“You were innocent yet you suffered because of my judgement.”
“For that…” she bowed her head ever so slightly, “I ask your forgiveness.”
Manorama's eyes widened.
“Rajamata–”
“No.”
Sivagami interrupted gently.
“Today, I do not stand before you as Rajamata. I stand before you as a woman who made a grave mistake.”
Tears welled up in Manorama's eyes.
Sivagami continued.
“I always imagined Baahubali beside a princess…a queen trained since childhood. When I forced him to choose, I believed he was abandoning duty for love.”
She slowly shook her head.
“Now I understand, he was protecting justice. A king who abandons an innocent woman to preserve his crown would never deserve that crown.”
A familiar voice came from the entrance.
“Mother.”
Sivagami turned to face Baahubali, her expression calmer than the last time they had faced each other.
“I have spent these past few days reflecting upon my decision. I was wrong, I judged both of you unfairly… Come back to the palace, the kingdom needs Amarendra Baahubali.”
Amarendra remained silent for a moment before speaking.
Summary - An orphaned palace healer never imagined that treating Amarendra Baahubali's wounds would change her life forever. As their bond blossoms into love, palace conspiracies threaten to tear them apart.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Bāhubali . All characters mentioned in this fic belong to the makers of the movie except oc.]
Words - 5.1k
Part 1
masterlist
The river drifted gently beneath the moonlight.
A blanket of stars stretched endlessly above the river, their reflections shimmering in the calm water like scattered diamonds. The little wooden boat floated lazily with the current, surrounded by blooming lotuses that swayed with every ripple.
Manorama rested against Amarendra, her head tucked beneath his chin, her palm flat against his chest, while his arm remained securely around her shoulders. His thumb absentmindedly tracing circles on the exposed skin of her back, as though reassuring himself she was truly there.
Neither wished for the night to end.
For these few hours, they belonged to each other.
Here there was only the moon, only each other.
Amarendra let out a quiet breath, his gaze fixed on the stars above.
“I've been thinking…” he murmured.
Manorama tilted her head just enough to look at him.
“About us?” She asked.
He nodded.
“What happens when the kingdom discovers us?” She asked.
The question lingered between them.
Manorama lowered her eyes and interwined her fingers with his.
“I don't know what tomorrow will bring…but I don't regret today.”
He rested his forehead lightly against hers.
Neeve neeve gaganam
Nenu neelo neelam la samelanam
Neeve leni tarunam
Paripurnam kadanta naa payanam
Oka neeve manasantha
Oka neeve jagamantha
Jagamele naa hrudyani yele janakivi nuvve le
(You are the sky,
And I am the blue that becomes one with you.
A moment without you
Leaves my journey forever incomplete.
You alone fill my heart,
You alone are my entire world.
Who else could reign over my heart, If not you?)
“No matter what lies ahead, I will be with you.” he promised.
The night breeze carried his words across the silent river, while the boat drifted onward beneath the watchful moon.
Manorama smiled, though there was sadness behind it.
“You make promises so easily.” She said, tracing circles near his heart.
“No,” he said, “only the important one.”
“When I was little…” she confessed softly, “I thought gods had forgotten me. Every person I loved…left, one after another. I stopped asking for anything after that.”
His embrace tightened.
“They did not forget you.”
She looked up.
“They were taking their time before leading you to me.”
She reached up, brushing a loose strand away from his forehead.
“You're making impossible things simple.” She said.
“They are simple.” Amarendra replied. “Love is simple, it is people who make it difficult.”
Then he pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead.
The boat continued drifting through the lotus-covered river, carried by the gentle current.
Manorama stirred in her sleep just as dawn began to break.
Her eyes slowly opened, she blinked for a few seconds before realising they were still on the boat, she had hugged Amarendra in her sleep, her head resting on his bicep. He had his arm around her waist, the other under his head as he slept.
He looked peaceful when asleep.
“Baahu…” she whispered, nudging him slowly.
His eyes fluttered open, immediately finding hers.
“We need to go.” She said.
Together they slipped back into the palace without anyone noticing, the sky was still a little dark and as usual he walked with her till the entrance of the staff quarters.
Before they parted ways he placed a quick kiss on her forehead.
They never noticed the servant who lingered just long enough to witness the prince's parting kiss.
“Rajamata…Sivagami!” Bijjaladeva exclaimed in disgust as the kingdom people cheered for Baahubali below.
Bijjaladeva was nursing a wine goblet and stood near the railing watching the people beneath him in disgust, Bhallaladeva was seated a few feet away, in deep thought, a few ministers were present along with them.
Bijjaladeva slowly turned towards his son.
“Bhalla…have you ever thought of killing your mother?” He asked, stumbling forward.
A glass clattered to the floor.
Bhallaladeva looked at his father, his eyes widened at that question. Everyone looked shocked.
“But I have thought so,” he said, pointing to himself. “When she gave birth to you, she breastfed that filthy boy along with you. That's when I felt like killing her for the first time.” He said, his grip on the goblet tightened.
“She gave him the position, assets and the rights,” he continued, “They belonged solely to you, in every such situation I had thought of murdering her!” he said, walking towards Bhallaladeva. Every minister present in the room looked alarmed.
“And today, she has given the kingship to that bloody low life and not you! I feel like strangling her with my own hands!” He said. “Bhalla…shall we kill her?”
Bhallaladeva looked at him, his expression unreadable.
For a moment it felt like Bhallaladeva was indeed considering committing a heinous crime like that before he took the goblet from his father's hand, putting it aside.
“You've consumed too much alcohol, father.” He said calmly.
The ministers let out a sigh of relief.
“Youe mother's guard dog is here.” Bijjaladeva murmured.
Just then Kattappa walked inside, bowing to the prince.
“Hey dog!” Bijjaladeva called him.
“Sire?” Kattapa replied.
“What do you have to bark about now?” Bijjaladeva said, a couple of ministers chuckling at the insult thrown at him.
“Rajamata Sivagami Devi has decided Baahubali's coronation will take place on the auspicious day of Vijayadashami. You are the first one to be invited.” Kattappa said.
Bijjaladeva looked like he had been slapped, he threw away the goblet in his hand. He stood up, fuming in anger.
“The past is repeating again! The throne that belonged to me was given to my brother! And now, my son's right to the throne is being snatched away by my brother's son! Then what about my son, my grandson, my great-grandson? Are we slaves?” He came forward and gripped Kattappa’s iron choker, “Speak up dog! Why didn't they make me the king?”
He moved back, removing the angavstram that covered his torso.
“Is it because I'm handicapped? What if my left hand is weak? Isn't my other hand enough to rule the kingdom?” He said, lifting his right hand before swinging it around and hitting the pillar with his fist, part of the pillar fell apart at the impact.
He rested against the pillar, catching his breath.
“It wasn't because of the hand you weren't given the throne, it was because of your crooked mind.” Kattappa said with absolute calmness.
Everyone looked at Kattappa, some seething with anger.
“You filthy dog!” Bijjaladeva said, turning around, “your tongue needs to be slashed for the words you just spoke, do you know that?”
“Pardon me, isn't it crooked to think of killing your wife?”
“Did you overhear our conversation?”
“No, sire.” Kattappa shook his head, “Since I am a dog, I sniffed the truth out.”
Kattappa bowed and made his way out.
A few hours after the incident, a servant arrived, the same servant who had seen Baahubali with Manorama that morning.
Bhallaladeva and others were in the exact same position when Kattappa had left.
“Your highness.” The servant bowed in front of Bhallaladeva.
“I have kept an eye on Baahubali for the past few weeks as you told me to.” He said.
Bhallaladeva gestured for him to continue.
“Everything is normal except for one thing.”
“What is it?” Bhallaladeva asked.
The servant hesitated for a moment.
“Baahubali has been visiting the medical wing a lot lately. There is a healer, I've seen him sneak out of the palace with her. I think the prince has fallen in love with her.”
Bijjaladeva scoffed.
Bhallaladeva leaned forward in his chair, his eyes curious to know more.
“Who is she?” He asked.
“Her name is Manorama, she's been studying under the chief healer for about three years.”
“Huh? A healer? Could he go any lower?” Bijjaladeva said.
Bhalladeva looked like he was thinking, “why do you think he's in love?” He asked the servant.
“They were out all night and came back to the palace right before dawn.”
Bhallaladeva dismissed the servant, the corner of his lips curved in a smirk.
“Everyone has a weakness father, looks like my dear brother has gotten one too.” He said.
“Bhalla…what is going on in your head?” His father asked.
Bhallaladeva remained silent for a brief moment, his twisted mind already coming up with a plan.
“We'll get him to confess in front of the Queen mother.”
The next morning, Manorama was walking towards the medical wing but then a hand shot out and suddenly pulled her into a secluded corner. A large hand covered her mouth before she could let out a scream.
“Shhh…it's me.” Amarendra whispered, moving his hand away from her mouth.
“What are you doing?”she whispered back.
His hand one arm around her waist and pulled her closer.
“Baahu what are you doing? Someone will see us!”
He just brought up his other hand which was holding a pink rose.
“Oh…you came to give this?” She asked.
He then carefully tucked it into her braid, brushing away the stray hair.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, she looked around to see if anyone was coming before she stood on her tip-toes and kissed his cheek, too close to his lips.
Before she could move away, he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. It lasted for a few seconds and they pulled away.
Amarendra buried his face in her neck, inhaling the fresh sandalwood scent.
He placed a kiss on the side of her neck, Manorama closed her eyes in pleasure.
“Baahu…”she murmured, “someone will see us…”
“No one will see us.”
She pushed him away, “As much as I would like to continue this, I have to go.” she said, slowly pulling away and made her way to the medical wing, leaving him alone.
A little while later when she was arranging the herbal jars into their places.
Chaitra, a fellow healer came and joined beside her with fresh cotton, putting it away.
“So…” she started.
Manorama looked at her.
“Either a very determined mosquito found you… or someone has been very fond of you.”
Manorama blinked.
“What?”
The healer pointed towards the side of her neck.
Realisation hit instantly.
Her eyes widened, without another word she walked to the polished bronze mirror.
The faint purplish mark was unmistakeable.
She stared at it in horror.
She pulled the pallu of her saree, higher around her neck, in attempts of covering it.
“It–its nothing.” She said quickly. “I must have–”
“Walked into the prince's lips?”
Manorama buried her face into her hands.
Chaitra laughed.
“...please don't tell anyone.”
Chaitra’s face softened.
“I won't.”
“I'm never letting him do that again.”
Chaitra simply laughed, patting her shoulder.
Manorama was still adjusting the pallu around her neck when hurried footsteps echoed outside the medical wing.
At first no one paid much attention but then the footsteps grew louder.
Heavy.
Measured.
Armoured.
Every conversation inside the medical wing cam to an abrupt halt.
A squad of palace guards marched through the entrance, their spears glistening in the morning light. The man leading the squad scanned the room before his eyes settled on Manorama.
“Manorama.”
She looked at him in confusion.
“Yes?”
“You are to come with us.”
She frowned.
“Is anyone injured?”
“No”
He stepped forward.
“You are under arrest.”
The words struck the room like thunder.
“What?”
Several healers looked at one another in disbelief.
“There…there must be some mistake.” She said, shaking her head.
His expression remained unmoved.
“You have been accused of stealing property belonging to the royal palace.”
Silence.
Even the mortar Chaitra had been grinding slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a thud.
“Stealing?” Chaitra whispered.
“I have stolen nothing.” Manorama said.
Two guards stepped forward.
The chief healer emerged from the adjoining chamber, immediately sensing something was wrong.
“What is the meaning of this?” She asked firmly.
“We have orders to take Manorama into custody.”
“On whose authority?”
“Rajamata Sivagami.”
“There is no proof.”
“Our duty is not to question orders.”
She stepped between them and Manorama.
“This girl has served the palace faithfully for three years. She has treated soldiers, servants and members of the royal family alike. She would never steal.”
“I'm afraid that changes nothing.”
He nodded towards his men.
Before Manorama could react, cold iron shackles closed around her wrists.
She gasped.
“No…please…”
Every pair of eyes in the medical wing followed her.
Some stood frozen.
Others whispered among themselves.
As the guards led her through the corridors, palace servants stopped in their tracks.
The whispers began almost immediately.
“That's her…”
“What did she steal?”
“I never thought…”
Each word felt heavier than the chains binding her hands.
Tears blurred her vision.
“I haven't done anything…” she whispered though no one seemed interested to listen to her.
She thought they would take her to the royal court but instead they continued walking.
A cold knot formed in her stomach.
They descended a long stone staircase, they air became colder.
The scent of herbs was replaced by mold, rust and decay.
The light above faded with every step.
“No…”
The iron gates of the underground dungeons groaned open.
A scream echoed somewhere in the darkness, another voice laughed –wild and broken.
She instinctively stepped back.
“I…I don't belong here.”
The guards pushed her forward.
Inside, filthy stone cells stretched in the darkness.
The only source of light being the fire torch one of the guards was carrying.
There were no guards inside. Only prisoners. Criminals who turned maniac.
Some prisoners clawed at the iron bars.
Some simply stared with dark, hollow eyes.
One prisoner suddenly lunged against the bars, laughing uncontrollably.
She flinched.
Her breathing becoming uneven.
“Please…”
No one listened.
A guard unlocked an empty cell and shoved her inside.
She stumbled and fell on the damp stone floor.
The iron bars closed shut, the sound echoed through the dungeon. The guards walked away without another word.
Their footsteps faded and with them the light also, leaving the dungeon completely dark.
Manorama pulled her knees to her chest as tears finally spilled down her cheeks.
She was completely alone.
Back in the medical wing everything had stopped, none of them were able to process what just happened.
As soon as the guards took Manorama away, Chaitra had come back to her senses and sprinted out of there, her feet padded against the floor as she ran towards the royal chambers, she needed to find him.
She needed to find Baahubali, he wouldn't have known what happened, he wouldn't let it happen.
She turned around the corridor and dashed right into a guard, she steadied herself before she could fall.
“Are you okay?” the guard asked, “Watch where you're going.” He said before turning away.
“Wait!” She called out to him. “Do you know where Yuvraj Baahubali is?” She asked.
“Uh…he is not in the palace, he went to the farmers to inspect their destroyed crops.”
With this new piece of information, she ran out of the palace.
It took her almost an hour to reach the village and find the prince.
Amarendra was speaking to the farmers, when she tried to go near him, a couple of soldiers stopped her.
“Where do you think you're going?” One of them said.
“Please, I need to speak to the prince, it's urgent!” She said.
The soldiers did not let her.
As the commotion increased, Kattappa noticed her and nudged Baahubali.
“What is happening there?” Kattappa called out.
“This woman—”
“Yuvraj! It's important —it's about Manorama.”
Amarendra looked at her when she mentioned Manorama.
“They arrested her.” She told him.
The court was in full session when the heavy doors opened.
All the heads turned towards the entrance.
In strode Amarendra Baahubali, his footsteps echoing across the vast stone hall. Dust from the countryside still clung to the hem of his garments, evidence that he had returned without even changing after inspecting the flood- ravaged fields.
Behind him followed Kattappa.
At the far end of the hall, Rajamata Sivagami sat upon her throne. Bijjaladeva lounged nearby, a smug smile playing on his lips. Bhallaladeva stood behind his father.
Amarendra walked towards the centre of the court and bowed respectfully.
“Mother.”
A faint smile crossed Sivagami's face.
“You returned sooner than expected, Baahu.”
“The flood damage to the southern fields was not as severe as we expected.” he replied, “the affected were cprovided grain from the royal stores and arrangements have been made. The matter is under control.”
Sivagami gave a nod of approval.
“You have done well.”
Amarendra remained silent for a brief moment, his gaze swept across the court before setlling back on Sivagami.
“Rajamata…”
There was slight hesitation in his voice.
“I have just been informed one of the palace healers has been arrested, is it true?”
“Yes, it is true.”
Amarendra inclined his head slightly.
“May I know the charge against her?”
Sivagami spoke, her voice measured.
“She has been accused of stealing a gold necklace belonging to the treasuries.”
A servant stepped forward at her signal, carrying a folded cloth. He carefully opened it before the court. Resting within it was an ornate gold necklace.
“It was recovered from her quarters this morning.”
Baahubali's eyes lingered on it for a moment before lifting to meet Rajamata’s eyes again.
“Has she confessed?”
“No.”
“Did anyone witness her taking it?”
A minister stepped forward.
“No, but the necklace was discovered during the search.”
Amarendra remained thoughtful.
“Then this is circumstantial evidence.”
A murmur spread through the court.
“Until the investigation is complete, she shall remain in custody.” Sivagami said.
Amarendra frowned.
“Mother… even if the accusation proves true, it is just a necklace.” His voice remained calm, but firmer than before. “The underground dungeons are reserved for murderers, traitors and those wha endanger the kingdom.”
He took a measured step forward.
“How does the theft of an ornament warranty such punishment?”
Everyone present in the court looked at each other in confusion, they've never seen their prince question his mother before.
“The investigation is still underway.”
“Even so…I believe keeping a woman in the dungeons before her guilt has been proven is unjust.”
Bijjaladeva scoffed.
“Unjust?” He repeated with a laugh. “You speak as though she is some innocent maiden.”
Amarendra's jaw tightened, but he remained silent.
Sivagami's gaze narrowed.
“Baahu.”
He looked up.
“You seem unusually concerned about this matter. She is just an apprentice healer. There are ministers waiting to discuss the affairs of the kingdom…yet you choose to stand before me arguing about a palace healer.”
She descended one step from the dias.
“Tell me…why?”
Baahubali hesitated.
“I merely believe–”
Rajamata interrupted him.
“You merely believe nothing.” her eyes remained fixed on him. “This concern…it seems personal.”
"I am concerned because she has been imprisoned without sufficient proof, Rajamata. A woman has been placed in shackles before her guilt has even been established.”
Before Sivagami could reply, Bijjaladeva scoffed.
“She is a palace servant who is accused of theft.” he shrugged mockingly, “she simply became greedy.”
A few ministers shifted uncomfortably.
Bijjaladeva continued.
“Who knows how many things have gone missing because of people like her?”
Amarendra's jaw tightened.
“A thief deserves no sympathy.” He looked directly at Amarendra, “and if she truly possesses any honour, she would accept her punishment instead of pretending to be innocent.”
Amarendra took a slow, deep breath.
“There is no proof she stole anything.”
“There is enough.”
“It could be planted evidence.”
“Oh?” Bijjaladeva smiled mockingly. “So now the Yuvraj has become a judge as well?”
“Tell me, since when does the future king concern himself with the fate of a common woman?”
The court remained silent.
“Unless…there is another reason.”
His next words came slowly.
“Either the price has forgotten his place…or that woman has forgotten hers.”
Amarendra's resolve finally broke.
“Enough.”
Amarendra's hands slowly clenched into fists.
“You may accuse her of theft if you have proof but you will not insult her honour.”
Bijjaladeva laughed.
“Who are you to decide that?”
The court watched in complete silence.
Amarendra lowered his gaze for a brief moment.
“...I love her.”
The words were barely louder than a whisper yet they echoed through the throne room.
Not a single soul moved.
A minister's scroll slipped from his hand onto the floor.
Sivagami stared at Baahubali, her expression frozen in disbelief.
Bijjaladeva’s mocking smile widened.
Then Sivagami's voice broke the silence.
“What…did you say?”
Amarendra slowly raised his head.
There was no fear in his eyes.
No regret.
No hesitation.
“I love Manorama.”
His voice carried through the court, clear enough for every minister, every guard and every servant to hear.
“I know her heart, I know her kindness, I know her honesty and I know beyond all doubt, she is innocent.”
He took one measured step forward.
“If loving a woman of virtue is a crime…then I am guilty.”
The court was speechless, no one had expected the future King of Mahishmati to confess his love for a common healer before the entire court.
Only Bhallaladeva was unsurprised. His trap had worked exactly like he intended.
“Mother, I gave my word to live here forever. What you did was wrong mother.”
Sivagami staggered back.
“Did you say that Sivagami is wrong?” Bijjaladeva got up from his seat.
“Was it wrong on her part to have accepted you as her son? She treated you equal to her son, was that her mistake? She declared you the king instead of her biological son!”
He moved to Sivagami, “Did you hear that Sivagami? He says you've made a mistake.”
Sivagami stood up.
“Amarendra Baahubali, you have two options in front of you, do you want the the throne of the glorious Mahishmati or do you want to leave it for one woman.”
“If I choose that throne, it will be an insult to your parenting. I will not break my promise.”
“Is that so?” Sivagami said, “Bhallaladeva will be crowned as the next King on the same day. He'll be crowned under the supervision of commander-in-chief, Baahubali.”
Baahubali bowed respectfully.
Then a minister– “Rajamata please think—”
“This is my word, my word is the law.”
The underground dungeons had fallen silent.
The mad laughter that echoed through the stone walls now reduced to mutters from the neighbouring cells.
Manorama no longer knew how much time had passed.
The iron shackles around her wrists had begun to bite into her skin, every small moment sent a dull ache through her arms. Tears had long since dried upon her cheeks leaving behind only exhaustion.
She sat curled against the cold stone walls, knees drawn to her chest.
Footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Slow.
Steady.
She assumed another prisoner was being brought in.
The orange glow of the torch gradually chased away the darkness.
It stopped outside her cell.
She still didn't lift her head.
A sword was drawn out and the lock shattered in a single strike.
Only then did she look up.
“Baahu?” she whispered.
He stood before her, a torch in one hand, sword still lowered in another.
His eyes immediately found the shackles that bound her.
Without saying a word, he stepped in.
The moment she realised he was truly there, whatever strength she had been holding onto disappeared.
She stumbled towards him.
He caught her effortlessly as she buried her face into his chest.
“I didn't…I didn't do anything,” she sobbed “I swear…I didn't do anything.”
“I know…”
His voice was certain.
“I know.”
She clung to him as though he would disappear if she let go.
“I'm sorry…”
“You have nothing to apologise for.”
She shook her head repeatedly, unable to stop crying.
He wrapped one arm firmly around her waist, lifting his sword once more.
With two strikes, the iron shackles broke apart.
The heavy metal fell onto the floor with a loud clang.
Amarendra gently rubbed the angry red marks around her wrists.
“I'm here.” He said.
She sobbed harder.
He simply held her, letting her cry.
Several minutes passed before her breath slowly steadied.
Amarendra removed his angavastram and carefully draped it around her shoulders.
“Come.”
He held her hand and wrapped another around her shoulders leading her out of the dungeons.
Amarendra led her through a quieter path that wound away from the palace. Neither of them spoke. The only sounds were soft rustles of the leaves and distant calls of birds as the sun settled in the west.
Nearly twenty minutes later, a small palace came into view.
Unlike the grandeur of the royal palace, this one was modest, stone walls were draped in flowering creepers, a lotus pond shimmered beneath the fading sunlight.
The guards stationed outside immediately bowed.
Amarendra acknowledged them with a nod.
A handful of servants hurried forward before stopping in surprise at the sight of the woman beside their prince.
“Prepare a room and have warm water brought.” He told them.
He looked at Manorama
“You should bath.”
She looked down at herself.
Only then realising how filthy she had become. Dirt clung to her clothes, her hair had come loose from its braid and dried streaks of tears marked her cheeks.
She gave a small nod.
“I'll have fresh clothes arranged.”
She looked at him.
“Thank you.”
He offered her a gentle smile.
“You don't have to thank me.”
By the time she returned, the last rays of sun had disappeared beyond the horizon.
Her damp hair rested over one shoulder, dressed in a simple cotton saree the servants has brought for her.
The bruises around her wrists were however impossible to hide.
Amarendra's gaze lingered on them before quietly looking away.
A servant placed a two plates of food on the table before bowing and leaving.
Neither of them spoke as they began eating.
After only a few bites, Manorama lowered her hand.
“I can't…”
“You should try, you haven't eaten anything since morning.”
She forced herself to eat another mouthful before setting the plate aside.
“I'm sorry.”
He frowned.
“For what?”
“For causing all of this.”
His expression changed immediately.
“You caused nothing.”
“If I hadn’t–”
“No.”
He moved closer to her.
“Look at me.”
She slowly raised her eyes.
“You have done nothing wrong.”
The tears she has been holding back began to spill.
“I was so scared Baahu… I thought, Ivwould never be able to leave that place.”
He wiped a tear that rolled of her cheek.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around her without hesitation.
Eventually she lifted her head.
“What happened after I was arrested?”
“It is over now.”
“Did Rajamata…”
“The matter has ended.”
She searched his face.
“You are not telling something.”
He smiled faintly.
“I'm telling you what matters. You are safe.”
She studied him for another moment before quietly nodding.
Night settled over.
Manorama and Baahubali lay upon the bed, she shifted closer to him arms slipping around his waist. He drew her closer into his embrace.
She buried her face into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Within minutes, exhaustion finally overtook her.
She fell asleep in his arms
Amarendra remained awake.
He had given up the throne that day.
Yest as he looked at the woman sleeping peacefully against his chest.
He felt no regret.
Morning arrived quietly.
Sunlight spilled across the carved stone floors, filtering through the lattice windows.
Manorama stirred, she blinked slowly, momentarily forgetting where she was.
Then the events of the previous day rushed back in.
The dungeon.
The shackles.
Baahu.
She got up abruptly.
The place beside her on the bed was empty.
For a brief moment panic gripped her chest before she noticed his angavastram resting beside the pillow.
A soft knock came at the door.
A maid entered.
“Devi, Rajkumar requests your presence.”
She nodded and followed her.
The morning breeze greeted her as she stepped outside.
Amarendra turned the moment he heard footsteps.
“Did you sleep well?” He asked gently.
She nodded.
“The vaidya has prepared medicine for your hands.”
Kattappa stepped forward and held out a small wooden box.
“Thank you Kattappa.” Manorama said, accepting the box.
Amarendra looked at her, “I need to speak with the steward regarding a few arrangements. It won't be long.” He told her.
“I'll be here.”
He nodded before walking to the servants waiting near the entrance.
She watched him disappear before lowering her eyes into the little wooden box in her hands.
“Kattappa…can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She hesitated.
“What happened yesterday, after I was taken away?”
Kattappa remained silent.
“Baahu won't tell me anything.”
Kattappa let out a slow breath.
“Rajamata gave him a choice.”
She frowned.
“A choice?”
“The throne…or you.”
The colour drained from her face.
“...What?” she whispered.
“He stood before the entire court and confessed that he loves you.”
“He what?”
Her hands trembled, the wooden box slipped from her grip and clattered onto the floor.”
“No…no he shouldn't..” she shook her head.
“He choose you before the entire kingdom.”
Manorama remained frozen where she stood. Her mind refusing to accept what Kattappa had just told her.
“He was supposed to become king.” She whispered.
She covered her mouth trying to hold her sob.
“Baahu made his choice of his own will.”
“He deserves that throne.”
“He deserves happiness as well.”
Before she could answer, Baahubali returned.
The moment he saw her tears and the wooden box on the floor, his eyes shifted to Kattappa.
“I believe she deserves to know.”
She couldn't even look at him.
“Is it true?”
He smiled gently.
“Yes.”
“You shouldn't have.”
“I should have.”
“No!”
She gripped the front of his angavastram.
“I’m not worth a kingdom.”
He cupped her face between his hands.
“Don't. Don't say that. I made you a promise.”
She threw her arms around him. He rested his chin lightly against her head.
“I would make the same choice again.”
The courtyard fell into silence once more.
Amarendra gently brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“Mano…”
She looked up.
He took both her hands into his.
“For the first time in my life, I don't know what tomorrow looks like, I'm not longer the heir to Mahishmati, I do not know where life will lead us,” he said “But there is one thing I know with certainty. I wish to wake up beside you every morning. I wish to hear your voice at the end of the day. I wish to walk through every joy... and every hardship... with you.”
Her eyes filled once again.
“Manorama…”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Will you marry me?”
She stepped closer until only a breath seperated them.
“I have nothing to offer you, Baahu. No kingdom, no wealth…no noble lineage. I am only…”
He gently placed his fingers against her lips.
“You are what I need.” He said.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
A smile spread across Amarendra's face.
“Yes?”
“Yes, I'll marry you.”
He rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Summary - Nargis Chaudhary, the daughter of SP Aslam Chaudhary was never even supposed to cross paths with Hamza. Something that starts quietly in secrecy pulls her into a world she was not meant to be a part of. What happens when her father finds out she is in love with a Baloch? And will she ever find the truth about Hamza?
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie - Dhurandhar. The characters in this fanfic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not the real criminals. All the characters (except Nargis and any other oc) belong to the makers of the movie.]
{A/N:- Previously known as 'Chup Chup Ke'}
masterlist
The sun hung low over Lyari, casting a dull golden light over the rusted roofs. The narrow lanes of town had already begun to buzz with life.
The arms factory stood at the edge of the town, its towering chimneys belching dark smoke into the pale sky. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the vast warehouse as workers moved around.
Hamza stepped through the factory gates with an unhurried stride.
A few workers greeted him with respectful nods as he walked past them, making his way deeper into the factory. The smell of oil and metal clung to the air.
He barely acknowledged anyone.
His mind was still occupied by the events of the previous night.
He pushed open the door leading to Rehman’s office.
Uzair was already in there, he stood beside the large glass window overlooking the workers while Rehman lounged on his throne. His expression was unreadable as he nursed a glass of whiskey.
Hamza shut the door behind him.
Rehman looked at him.
“Shipment mehfooz taur par pohunch gaya.” He said, his voice calm. “Par kal ne humein phir se ehsaas kara diya... SP Aslam laut aaya hai.”
The room fell silent.
Rehman swirled the whiskey in his glass, took a slow sip and set it down on the table beside him.
“Pichle saat saalon se…” he began, “Lyari par hamara qabza hai. Jamali ne siyasatdaanon ko apna jeb mei rakha hua hai aur Pappu ke ilaake bhi ab hamare ho gaye hai. Sab kuch bilkul waisa hi chal raha hai jaisa hum chathe hai.”
“Ek admi se kya farak padega, kal bhi hum nikal gaye the.” Hamza said.
Rehman gave a faint smile.
“Yahi galti sab karte hain.”
He leaned back on his chair.
“1997.”
Rehman looked out of the window as though the memory had carried him back.
“Tab bhi woh Lyari ka SP tha.”
Hamza folded his hands.
“Phir?”
Rehman let out a dry chuckle.
“Phir…usne mujhe giraftar kar liya.”
Uzair raised an eyebrow despite knowing the full story.
“Mere khilaaf itna saboot jama kar liya ki iss baar bachna mushkil lag raha tha.”
“Phir kya hua?”
“Court pohunchne se pehle hi woh mujhe encounter karna chahtha tha lekin Jamali ne apna asar dikha diya.” Rehman said.
Hamza's gaze remained fixed on him.
“Mujhe bahar nikal liya aur usse suspend karwa diya.”
“Uss din mujhe laga tha…” Rehman continued, “ki uska kahani khatam ho gaya.”
He let out a slow breath.
“Lekin kuch log aasani se nahi maante. Woh bohut hi zidi hai, haar nahi manega.”
Uzair crossed his arms.
“Ab kya?”
“Ab? Ab humein har kadam soch samaj kar rakhna hoga.” Rehman replied.
“Woh intezaar karta hai, dekhta hai aur phir vaar karta hai.”
Hamza finally spoke.
“Ghar?”
“Kya?” Uzair said.
“Koi family hai uska?”
Rehman shrugged.
“Ek beti. Biwi ko toh talaq de diya tah saalon pehle.”
“Kyu?”
Rehman picked his glass again.
“Mujhe uska ghar se koi matlab nahi hai. Mujhe sirf usse matlab hai.”
The room fell silent once more.
Outside, the machines hummed throughout the warehouse.
Hamza lowered his eyes for a brief moment.
A daughter.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the image of the girl at Aalam's shop crossed his mind.
Just for a second.
Then it was gone.
Hamza stepped back onto the factory floor.
The defeaning clang of metal drowned out other sounds. Sparks flew as molten metal met the cutting machines. Workers shouted over the noise.
The morning passed in its usual rhythm.
Hamza moved from one section to another inspecting work, occasionally stopping to help shift the heavier loads when needed.
“Yeh delivery waale papers…” Siyahi handed him the papers.
“Theek hai.”
Siyahi nodded and was about to leave.
“Suno.”
He stopped.
“Mujhe thoda information chahiye.” Hamza said.
“Kiske baare mei?”
“Woh…SP Aslam ki beti ke baare mei. Uska naam, kya karti hai aur kaha rehti hai, yeh sab.”
Siyahi thought for a moment before slowly nodding.
“Theek hai, pata laga dunga.”
Siyahi disappeared back into the noise of the factory.
Hamza watched him go for a moment before returning back to work.
Three weeks later.
On the other side of Lyari.
Nargis stood in front of the mirror in a pale blue cotton suit while carefully applying kohl to her eyes.
“Nargis!” Aslam’s voice came from the living room.
“Aa rahi hoon!” She yelled back.
She picked up her bag, pulled the dupatta over her head and went downstairs.
Aslam was reading some files instead of his usual newspapers.
“Late ho jaogi itna der karogi tho.” He said.
“Aap bhi tho gaye nahi abhi tak,” she muttered under her breath. “Bye Abbu!” She said out loud.
Zaid was already waiting for her. As soon as she stepped out he got into the driver's seat while she slid onto the passenger side.
The first class greeted her with the morning enthusiasm. The children had gotten pretty used to her. They no longer disturbed her or created nuisance in her class.
They quickly learned not to mess with her when she made one student do a wall sit for almost thirty minutes because he had ‘forgotten’ his homework for the sixth day in a row. Their previous teacher had let him go because his father is a big shot politician. But Nargis was not like that, and they learned that she would not tolerate any kind of nonsense in class.
She no longer sat alone during lunch, the other teachers had warmed up to her.
Most of the time they discussed lesson plans and gossip.
Sometimes they would share food.
“Bohut acha khana banati ho tum.” An older teacher appreciated her.
“Woh kal tum nihari banayi thi na, waah! Bohut lazeez tha. Batao Nargis kaha seekhi tumne ye sab?” the P.T sir had asked her.
Nargis just smiled.
“Mere abbu se…unhone hi mujhe sab kuch sikhaya tha. Lekin maine khud bhi bohut practice kiya hai.”
It was close to evening when Siyahi finally found Hamza coming out of Rehman’s cabin.
He walked towards him.
Hamza looked up.
“Pata kiya.”
“Bolo.”
“Naam hai Nargis Chaudhary, Aslam ke saath hi rehti hai, teacher hai. Roz subah driver chodta hai aur shaam ko waapas le jaata hai.”
Hamza remained silent, nodding absentmindedly.
Siyahi waited.
“Aur kuch?”
“Nahi.”
“Theek hai. Shukriya.”
Siyahi nodded and walked away.
Hamza lit a cigarette for himself.
“Nargis…” he muttered to himself.
“Seedha Ghar chale baji?” Zaid asked.
Nargis seemed to think for a moment.
“Hmm… aaj juice shop le jao.”
He sighed.
“Theek hai.”
He stopped at Aalam juice centre.
After the visit she started to stop by occasionally. She had become a regular and now Aalam knew her exact order.
“Aalam bhai!” She greeted him.
“Aao beta Nargis, school kaise tha?”
“Theek tha.”
“Aaj bhi mosambi chahiye?”
“Haan…aaj do glass, dono parcel chahiye.”
Aalam packed the juice in the takeaway plastic cups and handed it over to her while she paid for them.
She went to her car and gave Zaid his cup.
“Yeh lo, tumhare liye.”
“Thank you baji.”
The black sedan rolled out of the narrow lane merging into the main road.
Neither of the two sitting in the car noticed the motorcycle turning into the street from the opposite side.
The engine slowed as Hamza pulled up outside Aalam's shop, switching off the ignition.
He watched the car disappear.
The familiar scent of fresh fruit and sugar greeted him as he entered the shop.
Aalam was already looking at him as Hamza's eyes still lingered on the road.
Summary - Nargis Chaudhary, the daughter of SP Aslam Chaudhary was never even supposed to cross paths with Hamza. Something that starts quietly in secrecy pulls her into a world she was not meant to be a part of. What happens when her father finds out she is in love with a Baloch? And will she ever find the truth about Hamza?
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie - Dhurandhar. The characters in this fanfic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not the real criminals. All the characters (except Nargis and any other oc) belong to the makers of the movie.]
{A/N:- Previously known as 'Chup Chup Ke'}
masterlist
The sun hung low over Lyari, casting a dull golden light over the rusted roofs. The narrow lanes of town had already begun to buzz with life.
The arms factory stood at the edge of the town, its towering chimneys belching dark smoke into the pale sky. The rhythmic clang of metal echoed through the vast warehouse as workers moved around.
Hamza stepped through the factory gates with an unhurried stride.
A few workers greeted him with respectful nods as he walked past them, making his way deeper into the factory. The smell of oil and metal clung to the air.
He barely acknowledged anyone.
His mind was still occupied by the events of the previous night.
He pushed open the door leading to Rehman’s office.
Uzair was already in there, he stood beside the large glass window overlooking the workers while Rehman lounged on his throne. His expression was unreadable as he nursed a glass of whiskey.
Hamza shut the door behind him.
Rehman looked at him.
“Shipment mehfooz taur par pohunch gaya.” He said, his voice calm. “Par kal ne humein phir se ehsaas kara diya... SP Aslam laut aaya hai.”
The room fell silent.
Rehman swirled the whiskey in his glass, took a slow sip and set it down on the table beside him.
“Pichle saat saalon se…” he began, “Lyari par hamara qabza hai. Jamali ne siyasatdaanon ko apna jeb mei rakha hua hai aur Pappu ke ilaake bhi ab hamare ho gaye hai. Sab kuch bilkul waisa hi chal raha hai jaisa hum chathe hai.”
“Ek admi se kya farak padega, kal bhi hum nikal gaye the.” Hamza said.
Rehman gave a faint smile.
“Yahi galti sab karte hain.”
He leaned back on his chair.
“1997.”
Rehman looked out of the window as though the memory had carried him back.
“Tab bhi woh Lyari ka SP tha.”
Hamza folded his hands.
“Phir?”
Rehman let out a dry chuckle.
“Phir…usne mujhe giraftar kar liya.”
Uzair raised an eyebrow despite knowing the full story.
“Mere khilaaf itna saboot jama kar liya ki iss baar bachna mushkil lag raha tha.”
“Phir kya hua?”
“Court pohunchne se pehle hi woh mujhe encounter karna chahtha tha lekin Jamali ne apna asar dikha diya.” Rehman said.
Hamza's gaze remained fixed on him.
“Mujhe bahar nikal liya aur usse suspend karwa diya.”
“Uss din mujhe laga tha…” Rehman continued, “ki uska kahani khatam ho gaya.”
He let out a slow breath.
“Lekin kuch log aasani se nahi maante. Woh bohut hi zidi hai, haar nahi manega.”
Uzair crossed his arms.
“Ab kya?”
“Ab? Ab humein har kadam soch samaj kar rakhna hoga.” Rehman replied.
“Woh intezaar karta hai, dekhta hai aur phir vaar karta hai.”
Hamza finally spoke.
“Ghar?”
“Kya?” Uzair said.
“Koi family hai uska?”
Rehman shrugged.
“Ek beti. Biwi ko toh talaq de diya tah saalon pehle.”
“Kyu?”
Rehman picked his glass again.
“Mujhe uska ghar se koi matlab nahi hai. Mujhe sirf usse matlab hai.”
The room fell silent once more.
Outside, the machines hummed throughout the warehouse.
Hamza lowered his eyes for a brief moment.
A daughter.
For reasons he couldn't explain, the image of the girl at Aalam's shop crossed his mind.
Just for a second.
Then it was gone.
Hamza stepped back onto the factory floor.
The defeaning clang of metal drowned out other sounds. Sparks flew as molten metal met the cutting machines. Workers shouted over the noise.
The morning passed in its usual rhythm.
Hamza moved from one section to another inspecting work, occasionally stopping to help shift the heavier loads when needed.
“Yeh delivery waale papers…” Siyahi handed him the papers.
“Theek hai.”
Siyahi nodded and was about to leave.
“Suno.”
He stopped.
“Mujhe thoda information chahiye.” Hamza said.
“Kiske baare mei?”
“Woh…SP Aslam ki beti ke baare mei. Uska naam, kya karti hai aur kaha rehti hai, yeh sab.”
Siyahi thought for a moment before slowly nodding.
“Theek hai, pata laga dunga.”
Siyahi disappeared back into the noise of the factory.
Hamza watched him go for a moment before returning back to work.
Three weeks later.
On the other side of Lyari.
Nargis stood in front of the mirror in a pale blue cotton suit while carefully applying kohl to her eyes.
“Nargis!” Aslam’s voice came from the living room.
“Aa rahi hoon!” She yelled back.
She picked up her bag, pulled the dupatta over her head and went downstairs.
Aslam was reading some files instead of his usual newspapers.
“Late ho jaogi itna der karogi tho.” He said.
“Aap bhi tho gaye nahi abhi tak,” she muttered under her breath. “Bye Abbu!” She said out loud.
Zaid was already waiting for her. As soon as she stepped out he got into the driver's seat while she slid onto the passenger side.
The first class greeted her with the morning enthusiasm. The children had gotten pretty used to her. They no longer disturbed her or created nuisance in her class.
They quickly learned not to mess with her when she made one student do a wall sit for almost thirty minutes because he had ‘forgotten’ his homework for the sixth day in a row. Their previous teacher had let him go because his father is a big shot politician. But Nargis was not like that, and they learned that she would not tolerate any kind of nonsense in class.
She no longer sat alone during lunch, the other teachers had warmed up to her.
Most of the time they discussed lesson plans and gossip.
Sometimes they would share food.
“Bohut acha khana banati ho tum.” An older teacher appreciated her.
“Woh kal tum nihari banayi thi na, waah! Bohut lazeez tha. Batao Nargis kaha seekhi tumne ye sab?” the P.T sir had asked her.
Nargis just smiled.
“Mere abbu se…unhone hi mujhe sab kuch sikhaya tha. Lekin maine khud bhi bohut practice kiya hai.”
It was close to evening when Siyahi finally found Hamza coming out of Rehman’s cabin.
He walked towards him.
Hamza looked up.
“Pata kiya.”
“Bolo.”
“Naam hai Nargis Chaudhary, Aslam ke saath hi rehti hai, teacher hai. Roz subah driver chodta hai aur shaam ko waapas le jaata hai.”
Hamza remained silent, nodding absentmindedly.
Siyahi waited.
“Aur kuch?”
“Nahi.”
“Theek hai. Shukriya.”
Siyahi nodded and walked away.
Hamza lit a cigarette for himself.
“Nargis…” he muttered to himself.
“Seedha Ghar chale baji?” Zaid asked.
Nargis seemed to think for a moment.
“Hmm… aaj juice shop le jao.”
He sighed.
“Theek hai.”
He stopped at Aalam juice centre.
After the visit she started to stop by occasionally. She had become a regular and now Aalam knew her exact order.
“Aalam bhai!” She greeted him.
“Aao beta Nargis, school kaise tha?”
“Theek tha.”
“Aaj bhi mosambi chahiye?”
“Haan…aaj do glass, dono parcel chahiye.”
Aalam packed the juice in the takeaway plastic cups and handed it over to her while she paid for them.
She went to her car and gave Zaid his cup.
“Yeh lo, tumhare liye.”
“Thank you baji.”
The black sedan rolled out of the narrow lane merging into the main road.
Neither of the two sitting in the car noticed the motorcycle turning into the street from the opposite side.
The engine slowed as Hamza pulled up outside Aalam's shop, switching off the ignition.
He watched the car disappear.
The familiar scent of fresh fruit and sugar greeted him as he entered the shop.
Aalam was already looking at him as Hamza's eyes still lingered on the road.
Summary - An orphaned palace healer never imagined that treating Amarendra Baahubali's wounds would change her life forever. As their bond blossoms into love, palace conspiracies threaten to tear them apart.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Bāhubali . All characters mentioned in this fic belong to the makers of the movie except oc.]
Words - 4.7k
masterlist
The war had just ended.
The battlefield had fallen silent.
Kalakeya was dead.
Gone were the deafening war cries, clashes of metal. In their place lingered an eerie stillness, broken only by the crackling of dying fire, the distant caw of circling crows and the soft groans of the wounded who had survived the carnage.
The earth bore scars of the war. Broken chariots lay overturned, shattered weapons scattered across the blood soaked ground. Smoke drifted lazily into the sky, carrying with it, the scent of ash, iron and sacrifice.
Mahishmati had won.
“My son!” Bijjaladeva exclaimed, “My son is the one who destroyed Kalakeya! He won the war!” he said, cackling.
“Bhallaladeva is the king!” He announced.
“Jai Bhallaladev! Jai Bhallaladeva!” some of the soldiers exclaimed. Bhalladeva’s chest swelled with satisfaction. Ego and pride clearly visible in his eyes.
“Bhallaladeva’s heroic win is a new chapter in our country’s history,” Sivagami said “Let his glory spread throughout the kingdom, erect stone tablets and monuments of glory. I am appointing Bhallaladeva as the Commander-in-chief of Mahishmati.”
Bhalladeva’s smirk faltered. Everyone’s head snapped towards the Queen mother.
“I declare Baahubali as the King of Mahishmati.”
A wave of happiness and relief spread through the army and people present there.
“Hey Sivagami! What is this decision?” Bijjaladeva said.
“Kalakeya was killed by my son.” he continued, “Our son, you witnessed it with your own eyes. He should be the king right? He should be!”
“A king should not only kill his enemies but also protect his people. In the battle Bhalla kept his entire focus on exterminating the enemy… Baahubali was fighting his battle whilst protecting the people. That is the difference between a soldier and a king.” she continued, “If you kill a hundred people, you are called a hero. If you even save one life, you are called a god.” she said looking at Amarendra Baahubali.
Bijjaladeva let out a disgruntled sound, “Just because he saved a few worthless —”
“Baahubali will be crowned the King of Mahishmati on an auspicious day. This is my word, my word is the law.” the Queen mother announced.
Everyone had once again gone quiet.
“Baahubali… Baahubali!” one of the soldiers started and everyone started cheering.
“Baahubali! Baahubali! Baahubali!” the crowd cheered on.
“Amarendra Baahubali!”
The medical camps were situated inside the kingdom, but not too far away from the battlefield.
The war had long concluded and the battlefield was silent. But the situation was completely opposite near the camps. It was bustling with injured soldiers getting their wounds treated and healers who have been restless since morning.
Not one was allowed a moment of rest.
They could hear the distant uproar of soldiers, which only meant – the king was chosen.
Manorama was almost done stitching a very ugly gash on one of the soldier’s arms.
“Ok… it’s done. You’re good to go, don’t put any pressure on it and if you want to change the bandage, just use turmeric-neem paste on the wound before wrapping a new bandage.” she said.
The soldier nodded and whispered a quiet thank you.
Manorama was washing her hands when she heard a commotion outside the tents.
She went outside.
Everyone outside were talking among themselves. She asked one of the other healers what was happening.
“Apparently Rajkumar Bhallaladeva killed Kalakeya,” she said, “But the queen mother chose Rajkumar Baahubali as the king.”
“What? I thought the one who killed Kalakeya would be chosen.” Manorama said.
“Yes, but Bhallaladeva didn’t care about our people who were taken hostage by Kalakeya’s army and Baahubali was careful enough to not be like his brother.”
“Well, I hope she made the right decision…” Manorama said.
“Manorama!” the chief healer called her.
Manorama turned towards her, “Acharya?”
“We have to go to the palace now and I need you there. The princes are returning back.”
“Of course.” she said, gathering her stuff before following her teacher to the chariot which would take them to the palace.
They reached the palace within a few minutes and rushed to the medical wing. Servants hurried through the corridors, already preparing for the wounded.
“Tell the servants to heat water and gather the herbs, bandages and medicinal oils. We may have little time once they arrive” she ordered.
Manorama quickly told the servants to prepare everything and gathered all the items required for a medical emergency. The chief healer started preparing the herbal paste.
The palace doors finally opened when the Rajkumars returned.
The servants and guards bowed in unison.
Amarendra turned towards the medical wing but paused when he noticed his brother walking in the opposite direction.
“Bhalla?” he called, “the healers are this way.”
Bhallaladeva didn't stop.
“I have no need for them.” He replied curtly, continuing down the corridor.
Baahubali noticed the dried blood staining his armor.
“You're injured.”
“They're nothing.”
Ever since Rajamata announced her decision on the battlefield, Bhallaladeva had hardly spoken to him. Amarendra knew his brother believed the throne had been taken from him. He wished things had been different.
“Very well,” Amarendra said softly “Get some rest.”
Bhallaladeva offered no reply.
Watching him disappear, Amarendra let out a quiet sigh before making his way towards the medical wing alone.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor, a moment later, Amarendra Baahubali stepped into the medical wing.
The servants immediately bowed.
The chief healer approached him at once and offered a respectful bow before her eye instinctively scanned him for any injuries.
“Rajkumar, are you gravely injured?”
“No.” he shook his head.
“Were you struck on the head?”
“No.”
“Any dizziness?”
“No.”
She nodded and gestured him towards a wooden cot.
“Please, sit.”
He obeyed without any protest.
And only then did Manorama get a proper look at him.
His armour was stained with dirt and blood. Dust clung to his garments and though he was exhausted, there was something unusually calm about his expression.
The chief healer carefully undid the leather straps of his armour, lifting the heavy armour away.
Manorama couldn't help but draw in a quiet breath.
Several shallow gashes stretched across his forearms and shoulder while a deeper wound marked the right side of his chest, likely by an arrow that had pierced his armour, blood had already begun drying around it.
“You were fortunate,” the chief healer said “A little further and it would've pierced deeper.”
Before she could begin tending to the wound, hurried footsteps thundered into the room.
“Vaidhya!”
Everyone turned.
A young palace servant stood there, slightly out of breath.
“There is a soldier who needs you, he's heavily injured on the head – he's unconscious.”
The chief frowned.
“Did the bleeding stop?”
“Barely.”
Without hesitation, Amarendra spoke first.
“Please attend to him first.”
She looked uncertain.
“But Rajkumar–”
“Please, he needs you more than me.”
For a brief moment she studied him, before giving a nod.
“As you wish.”
She turned towards Manorama.
“You've assisted me enough times.”
Manorama straightened.
“Yes Acharya.”
The chief healer hurried away with the servant.
Silence settled over the chamber.
For the first time, Amarendra's attention shifted to the young woman now standing in front of him. She couldn't have been much older than himself.
Her hands were already reaching the bowl of warm water.
She bowed respectfully.
“Rajkumar, If you don't mind, can I?” She asked, gesturing to his wounds.
He extended his injured arm without a word.
She dipped a clean cloth into the bowl and began washing away the dried blood.
Her movements were careful, gentle.
Not once did her hands tremble.
After a few moments Amarendra broke the silence.
“i don't believe we've met.”
“No, Rajkumar.”
“What is your name?”.
“Manorama.”
He repeated it quietly, almost thoughtfully. “Manorama…”
She glanced up for a second before returning to her work.
“How long have you been studying under the chief healer?”
“Almost three years.”
“Before that?”
She paused.
“I… learned from the village healers whenever they allowed me to watch.” She said while applying the anti bacterial paste to his wounds.
“You must be very skilled.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“I still have much more to learn.”
He chuckled.
“So… you are to become the king.”
“So Rajamata tells me.” there wasn't an ounce of pride in his voice, only quiet acceptance.
Manorama tied the final knot of the bandage before stepping back.
“They should heal well if you rest for a few days.”
“I'll try.”
Manorama smiled, knowing a warrior like him probably wouldn't.
“If you find any discomfort–”
“I'll tell you… or the vaidya.”
“... congratulations, Yuvraj.”
He looked at her curiously.
“On becoming the king of Mahishmati.”
For a moment he said nothing, then a warm, humble smile spread across his face.
“Thank you. I only hope I prove worthy of the faith everyone has placed in me.”
Those simple words lingered in Manorama’s mind long after he had left the chambers.
Nearly a fortnight had passed since the victory over the Kalakeyas.
Life within Mahishmati slowly began returning to its usual rhythm.
The medical wing, once overflowing with wounded soldiers, had grown quieter. Most of the injured had received or been discharged, and only a handful required daily treatment.
Manorama was grinding fresh herbs with a stone pestle.
The chief healer was visiting her family in the city and had left the medical wing under her care for the day.
She was done preparing the paste and was putting away the jars of herbs when she heard hurried footsteps echo through the corridor.
A palace guard entered, he first looked around for the chief healer but upon not finding her in sight, he looked at Manorama, “Yuvraj has been injured during training.”
Manorama sighed.
A few moments later, Amarendra entered with Kattappa supporting him.
“Yuvraj.” she bowed.
“Manorama…”
She looked up, surprised. “You remember my name?”
“You stitched an arrow wound into my chest, I hope I would remember the healer responsible.”
She smiled softly and gestured for him to sit on the cot.
“What happened?” she asked
“It is nothing serious,” Amarendra said with an apologetic smile. “Just a slight misstep.”
Kattappa disagreed, “He trained for far longer than advised.”
“Mama…”
“He refused to stop despite the swelling.”
She knelt before him and examined his ankle, the swelling had already begun to spread.
“It’s not broken…”
She slightly pressed on the joints around, “Does it hurt?”
“...no” he said, trying not to wince.
She sighed, “This might sting a little…”
She applied the cool herbal paste on the swelling and wrapped a fresh bandage around his ankle.
“You’ll have to stay off it for at least three days.” she said.
“Three?”
“Do you want me to make it seven?”
Amarendra sighed dramatically.
“I accept three.”
She nodded, satisfied.
As she reached for the bowl of water, Amarendra spoke again.
“How have you been?”
The question caught her off guard.
“...I’m fine, Yuvraj.”
“No troublesome patients?”
She smiled.
“A few.”
Kattappa’s eyes flickered between the two but remained silent.
Finally Manorama stepped back, "You're done. I’ll send you a concoction to drink before you sleep.”
Amarendra rose carefully.
“Thank you, Manorama.”
“It’s my duty, Yuvraj.”
“Even so…” he inclined his head politely, “Thank you.”
“It was an honour, Yuvraj.”
As Amarendra and Kattappa walked back through the corridors, Kattappa remained unusually quiet.
Amarendra glanced sideways.
“You have something to say,” he said.
“I do, actually.”
“Then say it.”
Kattappa’s expression remained composed.
“Is the healer the one that has occupied the prince’s mind lately?”
Amarendra nearly stumbled.
“What?”
“I have noticed his Highness has become…rather absent-minded these past few days.”
“I’m not absent-minded.” Baahubali protested.
“No?” Kattappa raised an eyebrow, “Then it must be merely a coincidence that the prince remembers an apprentice’s name only after meeting her once.”
Amarendra remained silent, the faint smile that refused to leave his face was answer enough.
The day’s events had left the entire palace unsettled.
That morning Rajamata Sivagami had walked barefoot in the streets of Mahishmati as a part of the rakshas dahan ritual. The procession had almost come to an abrupt halt when a furious elephant broke free from its shackles and charged towards her. Before anything horrible could happen, Amarendra had stepped between the beast and his mother, bringing it under control.
Though the kingdom celebrated the prince’s courage, the strain of the day’s events had finally caught up to Sivagami. The long barefoot procession had left her exhausted, by nightfall fever had settled in.
The royal chambers were quiet.
The chief healer stood beside Rajamata, checking her pulse once again.
Manorama carefully wrung out a cloth from the bowl of cool water, placing the cloth across Sivagami’s forehead, her movements were quiet and practised, careful not to wake the sleeping queen.
“Her fever has eased slightly,” the chief-healer said, “But not broken.”
Manorama nodded.
“I’ll prepare another fresh cloth.” she said.
The older woman nodded at her apprentice with quiet approval.
A few moments later, a guard announced the arrival of Amarendra Baahubali.
Amarendra entered the chambers quietly.
“How is she?” he asked the chief healer.
“The fever has eased, but it is yet to break,” the chief healer said, “She’s exhausted more than anything else. The long procession and the morning ordeal have taken a toll.”
A flicker of concern crossed his face as he sat beside her. He rested his palm against her forehead to check.
“Thank you… both of you.”
“It is our duty, Yuvraj.”
Amarendra looked towards Manorama.
She was already preparing another bowl of cool water, quietly replacing the cloth on the forehead before adjusting the blanket.
Amarendra left the chamber when one of the guards requested his presence in the court, promising to return again.
“The medicine is ready,” the chief healer said.
Manorama took the copper glass with the freshly brewed decoction, gently woke up the queen and helped the still drowsy Sivagami in taking the medicine. After it was done the queen laid back on the pillows.
“I’ll prepare another decoction in the medical wing, remain here. If the fever rises again, send for me immediately.” the chief told Manorama.
The palace had long gone quiet.
It was well past midnight.
Having finished attending to the affairs of the kingdom for the day, Amarendra found himself making his way to his mother’s chambers once again.
He quietly pushed the doors open, his eyes immediately falling on his mother.
The room was dimly lit.
He was informed, a few hours ago, that her fever had gone down.
He looked for the chief healer, but she was nowhere in sight. Instead a familiar figure rested against the side of the bed.
Manorama.
She sat on the floor beside the bed, one hand rested against the edge and the other in her lap, loosely clutching a cloth. Her head leaned gently against the bed as she slept, exhaustion had taken over her. A bowl of water sat beside her, the cloth in it, long forgotten.
Amarendra stood there for a moment.
She had stayed, long after her duty should have ended.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Careful not to wake his mother, he walked over and crouched beside Manorama.
“Manorama” he called softly.
She didn’t stir.
“Manorama…” he called again.
He hesitated before gently tapping her shoulder.
Her eyes fluttered open. She sat up straight.
“Yu–Yuvraj?” she lowered her gaze, “I…I apologize, I must've–”
“You fell asleep.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Rajamata…”
“She’s resting, peacefully.”
A visible wave of relief washed over her face.
“I didn’t realize I was this tired.”
His gaze fell on the bowl beside her, “You’ve been here since afternoon.”
She nodded, “Acharya wanted someone to stay here through the evening."
He straightened.
“I’ll remain with Rajamata for the rest of the night.”
She blinked.
“Yuvraj… you don’t have to–”
“I know,” he said, “You’ve cared for her for long enough.”
She hesitated.
“As you wish.”
As she turned to leave, Amarendra called after her.
“Manorama.”
She looked back.
“...Get some proper rest.” he told her.
“I will.”
She quietly left the royal chambers, leaving Amarendra with his mother.
He smiled to himself. For reasons he could not explain, he hoped their paths would cross again.
A few days passed since Sivagami’s fever.
In the medical wing Manorama was refilling the jars with fresh herbs.
The curtains rustled.
She looked up.
“Yuvraj?” her tone, surprised.
He smiled.
“What brings you here? Is everything alright?”
He looked down at his hand
“There may have been a… slight mishap during training.”
He held out his hand, there was a shallow cut on his forearm.
She stared at it for a moment.
“...this?”
He looked at it thoughtfully, “It bled.”
She couldn’t help but smile.
“It has already stopped.” She folded her arms and shook her head, going to fetch the bowl of antiseptic paste anyways.
“It’ll only take a moment.” she said while cleaning the cut.
“You always look so serious while treating.”
She looked up at him, “I wouldn’t be a good healer if I didn’t, would I?”
“I suppose not.”
She wrapped a strip of cotton cloth around his forearm.
“There.”
For a brief moment, they simply looked at each other before she stepped back.
“You’re free to go.” she said.
He nodded, “Thank you…”
A week later,
Manorama was sitting on the floor, a book about surgical methods lying in her lap. She heard footsteps she had begun to recognise.
She didn't look up immediately.
“What happened this time, Yuvraj?”
A chuckle answered her question.
She finally looked up.
He had his palm held out in front of her.
She frowned and examined his palm. Searching for injury, she didn't find anything so she looked closer. And there, a tiny cut crossed the side of his thumb.
She looked up at him with raised eyebrows.
“You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?” She asked.
“Uhm… I don't know what you're talking about.” He shrugged innocently.
She sighed, closing her book.
“This doesn't require a healer.”
“It looked worse, I swear.”
She shook her head, trying to hide her smile.
“You've become rather careless lately.”
“I’ve been told.”
She applied a very tiny amount of the herbal paste on the cut.
“by Kattappa?”
“He's convinced, I visit the medical wing more often than necessary.”
“...do you?”
His eyes soften, holding her gaze for a fraction longer.
“I did come for the cut…but it’s not the only reason.”
She looked back down at his arm before he could see the colour rising to her cheeks.
The neighbouring kingdom bustled with merchants and travellers from every direction.
Amarendra was sent there to look out for the trading deal between two kingdoms. The official matters had concluded by noon, leaving Amarendra and Kattappa with little time in their hands to explore the kingdom before leaving for their return journey.
They were passing through the marketplace of the city, they were dressed in simple clothes so as to not draw any attention.
As they walked, Amarendra slowed before a jeweller’s store.
Kattappa paused behind him.
Rows of silver anklets, necklaces and bracelets glimmered in the afternoon sun.
His eyes moved across the stall, then his gaze fell on a silver kada. It was decorated with a lotus motif in the centre with two peacocks on either side of the lotus.
He picked it up carefully.
“This one.” he told the shopkeeper to pack it.
The shopkeeper wrapped it in a cloth and handed it over.
Amarendra thanked him and carefully tucked it inside his sash.
The two continued walking through the market once again.
It was Kattappa who broke the silence.
“Baahu, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” Baahubali replied.
“Do you intend to continue seeing the healer?”
“...yes.”
Kattappa’s gaze remained ahead.
“And then?”
Amarendra’s smile faded, he knew what Kattappa had meant.
“She is kind.”
“I know.”
“She sees a prince and talks to me as though I am another man.”
“If this blossoms into something else, people will talk.” Kattapa said, “They will question her, not you. They will question her place.”
Kattappa lowered his eyes, “They will question the kingdom itself.”
Amarendra stopped, his hand instinctively rested over the small parcel in his sash.
“I have no intention of letting that happen.” Baahubali said.
Kattappa sighed.
“Then you know the path will not be an easy one.”
The morning after his return, he found himself walking towards the medical wing once again.
Manorma was sorting through a new batch of dried herbs when she heard someone clear their throat, she turned around.
“Yuvraj.” She greeted him with a smile.
Amarendra returned the smile.
She glanced over at him, “No injuries today?”
“No.”
“Well, I am relieved to hear that. What brings you here?”
He moved closer until he was standing right in front of her.
“I have something for you…” he said.
“For me?”
He reached into the folds of his angavastram before he withdrew a small cloth bundle.
She accepted the bundle carefully.
“I happened to see it while I was away,”
She unwrapped the cloth, resting inside was a delicate kada, a blooming lotus engraved in the centre, flanked by two graceful peacocks.
“It’s…beautiful.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“It reminded me of you,” he said.
“You thought of me?”
“I…” Amarendra smiled sheepishly, “I thought of someone who spends her days helping others.”
A faint warmth spread across her cheeks.
“I’ve…I’ve never received a gift before.” she admitted.
His expression softened.
“Then I’m glad it’s your first.”
“Would you–” she started but stopped herself.
Amarendra tilted his head, “Would I?”
She lowered her eyes, “Would you help me?”
A gentle smile crossed his face.
“Ofcourse.”
She extended her wrist, with careful fingers Amarendra took the kada and slipped it onto her wrist, and fastened it into place.”
Silence between them felt strangely comforting.
When he finished, his fingers lingered only long enough to make sure it sat properly before he withdrew.
Their eyes met, and neither of them seemed willing to look away.
Then a servant’s voice echoed from the corridor, “Yuvraj, Rajamata is requesting your presence.”
He cleared his throat, “I should go.”
Manorama nodded.
“Thank you…”
As his footsteps faded, Manorama looked down at the bracelet once more, a smile she couldn’t suppress spread across her face.
For the rest of the day whenever the bracelet caught sunlight, she couldn’t help but think about the prince who had crossed kingdoms and still thought about her.
Nearly a week passed after he had given her the bracelet.
“Yuvraj.” She greeted him with a smile.
He returned the smile.
She noticed he looked a little uncertain today and was wearing what looked like…normal clothes? With a turban on his head.
“Do you have something to tell me?” she asked.
He hesitated for a moment.
“I’ve seen Mahishmati a thousand times,” he said, she looked at him, confused. “But I don’t think I've ever seen it the way its people do.”
She still doesn’t understand.
“I was wondering…maybe—would you accompany me?”
She blinked, “To where?”
“To the city.”
“...the city?” she repeated.
He nodded.
“As ordinary people.”
She laughed, “Yuvraj…”
“I thought this through.”
“So…you want to sneak out, with me?”
He nodded once again.
“I…I don’t know, what if someone sees us?”
“Don’t worry, I already found a way out of the palace,” he said.
“...You’re impossible.”
He just chuckled.
“I suppose…one evening won’t hurt.”
His face lit up.
He waited while she went to fetch her shawl.
He navigated her through the corridors to the backside of the palace to one of the lesser used entrances, together they managed to slip out of the palace without the guards noticing.
“So… what do you think?” she asked him, as they sat on the stone floor inside the shivalayam, Manorama was tucking a hibiscus flower into her braid, while Amarendra sat opposite to her, trying to cut the flesh of a half broken coconut. They wandered around the marketplace for a while before they decided to visit the temple.
He looked up, “It’s nice, actually…it’s peaceful, like I can breathe. When I stay in the palace, I feel like there’s an unusual weight on my chest.” he said, handing her a piece of coconut, “Manorama, I am not ready to be the king.”
A faint smile touched her lips.
“Yuvraj… I don’t know how it feels to carry that kind of weight but… I think you’ll do great, people love you, they admire you. And it's completely fine for you to think you are not ready, but something tells me you were born to do this.” she reassures him.
“Thank you…” he said, his gaze locked onto hers.
The eye contact lasted for a moment before he sighed and looked away.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” he said
“Sure.”
“You don’t really leave the palace much, do you? I mean I've known you for weeks now and I know people leave for a few days now and then, to visit their families or —you don’t have to answer it.” he shook his head.
Manorama looked down, silence settled between them for a brief moment before she spoke.
“I don’t really have anyone,” she said, “My parents passed away in a flash flood when I was younger. I have–had a brother, but one day he just left. Without even telling me.”
“I’m sorry…” he whispered, regretting asking the question.
“It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.” she said with a smile.
One evening turned into many others.
Whenever Baahubali was free from his duties, he would wait for Manorama outside the medical wing till she was done with her patients, then they would slip out of the back entrance, dressed in simple clothes. Slipping out of the palace was easy, but going beyond the compound walls without guards noticing was the tricky part, yet they managed to do it every single time.
The streets of Mahishmati became their place. They wandered through the bustling markets scented with roasted gram, jasmines and insence, stopping at stalls with colourful silks, pottery and wooden toys. Amarendra insisted she taste every sweet they came across. Sometimes sharing roasted corn seasoned with salt and chilli. In return she introduced him to small family run stalls, in the narrow lanes, where the owners treated every customer like an old friend and served steaming hot mirchi baajis wrapped in banana leaf.
On festival evenings, they disappeared into the crowd gathered beneath the flickering lamps. They watched travelling dancers perform, stood shoulder to shoulder while watching puppet shows. Sometimes Amarendra would be so engrossed, he would forget he's in disguise and chested along with the crowd, Manorama saw him not as the future King but just a young man finding joy in ordinary moments.
Some evenings were filled with conversations, and some with comfortable silence. Amarendra opened about his fears and responsibilities, Manorama shared her childhood memories, when still had people to care for her.
As they were returning back from their midnight stroll, comfortable silence settled between them. They were walking side by side, their fingers occasionally brushing.
The palace corridors were empty except for a few guards patrolling around.
They stopped walking when they reached the entrance of the quarters for the palace staff. They stood under the archway.
Amarendra faced Manorama, studying her under the silver glow of the moonlight. The breeze outside picked up, a few strands of her hair fell over her face.
Amarendra reached, tucking them behind her ear.
She blushed, a light pink dusting her cheeks.
Amarendra stepped closer.
“Mano…” he whispered, “please tell me if I am misunderstanding your heart.”
“You're not…” she said.
Amarendra rested his palm against her cheek, she closed her eyes and leaned against the warmth, letting out a quiet sigh.
Then he leaned in and placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips.
It lasted only for a brief moment before he moved back. Manorama opened her eyes, her heart started racing, she could not believe that he had kissed her. She looked into his eyes, a small smile made way onto her lips.
“I–I think I should go…” she said.
“Yeah.”
She nodded, “Goodnight Baahu…”
“Goodnight.” He said, watching her as she turned around and walked away, leaving him smiling to himself.
Summary - Rehman hasn't been home properly for four days so when he doesn't come home even on the fifth night, you go to the factory.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Dhurandhar. Characters in this fic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not their real life counterparts. All the characters (except y/n) belong to the makers of this movie. ]
Warnings - smut
Based on this request
masterlist
The glass door to Rehman's office groaned when you kicked it open, the sound echoed through the empty factory.
Rehman looked up as you stood at the doorway with your hands on your hips.
Your brows were knitted and lips drawn in a thin line.
You looked very disappointed.
“Jaan?” He said, crossing the distance between you in quick strides.
He tried to cup your cheek but you just swatted his hand away.
“Kya hua?” He asked.
Your frown deepened.
“Kya hua? Chaar din se ghar ki yaad nahi aayi tumhe? Ab pooch rahe ho ki kya hua?” You said, punctuating each word with a light smack on his chest.
“Itna boora kya kiya maine? Ki tumne ghar aana hi band kiya? Haa? Bolo?” You yelled.
He caught a hold of your wrists, stopping you from hitting him.
He gently held them together. Tugging you closer and then pulled you into his chest.
You protested against it but he simply held you there, eventually his warmth subsided your anger.
“Meri jaan…” he whispered into your hair.
“Maaf kar dena…aaj kal kaam bohut ho gaya. Sorry jaan.”
“I missed you so much. Aap call bhi nahi utha rahe the. Mujhe laga maine kuch galat kar diya…mujhe laga aap mujhse naraaz hai.” You said.
He pulled away a little to look at your face and placed his hand on your cheek, brushing away the stray strand from your face.
“Kabhi nahi, main tum se kabhi naraaz nahi ho sakta.”
Then he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.
It was slow and soft, he let out a quiet sigh when you responded. Your lips moving with his.
He wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you even closer if that was possible. You placed your hands on his chest over the smooth expanse of his kurta. He removed the dupatta from your shoulders, it fell onto the floor.
Then the kiss turned deep with a quiet desperation. The quiet of the factory enveloped them.
Then, the shrill ring of the phone made you pull apart.
Your hands fell to your sides, he let out a groan before he took the phone out of his pocket and threw it across the room.
The phone stopped ringing and the silence took over again.
He turned towards you and bent down a little, his gaze locked onto yours, before wrapping a powerful arm behind the bend of your knees. His other hand slid behind your shoulders. With a fluid, effortless motion he lifted you.
Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders to support yourself. His face was just inches away from yours.
Without stumbling he walked towards his takht with you in his arms.
He sat down placing you in his lap. You placed your legs on either side, your chest pressed tight against his.
You slid your hands around his neck, his mouth found yours again. Hungrier now, his hands slid down to your hips gathering the fabric of your suit in his fists.
His hands found the hem of your suit and pulled it up, slowly, breaking the kiss just enough to pull it over your head and tossed it somewhere behind.
He pressed his hand flat against your stomach, sliding up, his fingers brushed your nipples through the fabric of your bra. His eyes moved from your breasts to the curve of your waist. He unclasped your bra, his palm squeezed the flesh of your mound. He pinched your nipples making you moan out his name.
You dragged your hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. You could feel him hard and demanding pressing against your clothed cunt.
You slid down onto your knees, between his legs.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled the pants down, his thick cock sprang out.
You wrapped your hand around the shaft and moved it along the length, you deliberately brushed your fingers on the tip of his cock making him hiss.
You wet your lips before he grabbed your jaw and pushed himself into your mouth. You almost choked at the sudden intrusion but took him in nonetheless. You move your head, your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked him deeper.
His grip tightened on the armrest and his breath came out uneven. When he looked at you he groaned at the sight with you on your knees. He closed his eyes as your teeth accidentally grazed a vein along his shaft.
His hands moved to your hair and gripped it in a makeshift ponytail. He tugged on it to make you bob faster, your saliva dripped down his shaft.
Just as you felt him twitch in your mouth, you gasped as he pulled away suddenly and spilled his cum all over your chest.
His eyes darkened as the fluid painted your boobs.
He removed his kurta before he pulled you to stand along with him, moving towards the table and with one clean sweep of his hand he cleared the table before pushing you towards it.
You laid back on the table.
He untied the drawstrings of your salwar and pulled it down your legs.
Your skin was set on fire when his large hand was placed on your thigh, pushing your legs apart until you felt the cool breeze on your panties.
Rehman pulled back to watch as his knuckle grazed over your centre, teasing the ache. Your pussy clenched around nothing but air. He moved his fingers gently over the fabric, finding your entrance and circling it perfectly.
“Rehman…please…”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled it swiftly down your legs. Leaving you completely bare.
He swore under his breath before moving to kiss you again as his fingers moved through your folds, finding your clit. Your moans are swallowed by him as he circled your clit. Your hips jerk up when he moves his fingers along your folds whilst rubbing your clit with his thumb.
Suddenly—
He plunged two fingers into your cunt.
“Aaaah—” your moan is cut short when he bit your lower lip.
He pumped his fingers in and out of you. He pulled away from the kiss and moved to your chest.
He swirled his tongue around your nipple while curling his fingers at the same time. A cry ripped from your throat, the coil in your stomach grew tighter.
A soft moan tumbled out, pressure snapped like a thread and you came apart around his fingers. He pushed himself up while you struggle to catch your breath.
He settled between your legs and your hands find his arms as they brace himself on either side of your head.
He pulled you flush against himself with just enough space to rock his hips with slow movements.
His cock slid through your folds and coated himself in your dripping arousal. You bite down hard on your lip when it rolls over your clit.
And in a moment of tenderness, he intertwines his hands with yours and brings it over your head.
Then he pushed in.
You gasp.
You're stretched out right away and he's only halfway in.
He grits his teeth and focuses on your face as you adjust to him.
Then he slammed inside completely. You squirm under him, rolling your hips to double the pleasure.
You pussy pulsed around him as he started moving his hips, his hand tightened around yours.
“Oh…” you whimper when he thrusts harder.
He picked up the speed, cock dragging against your walls. The wet slick of your bodies meeting echoed through the cabin and your eyes roll back as you picture his cock drenched in you.
Your body jolted and moved with every thrust, his cock throbbed while he pounded into you. Your back arched as he hit your sweet spot.
His thrusts got impossibly hard as he held you down, determined to find the sweet spot again and again and again.
You whimper as your stomach tightened again and your muscles began to lock in as his hips pummelled into you.
Your orgasm crashed into you with more ferocity than the previous one. Your pussy fluttering around his cock.
His pace slowed down but there was barely enough time before he slipped out of you and turned you onto your stomach. You whined as he pulled your hips up and placed a smack on your ass.
He thrusted in again, pushing back into your pussy. His cock felt different in this position, it’s longer and heavier. It made your stomach bulge. He grinds into you, reaching deeper.
His hips jerked suddenly. You can’t think of anything as his cock stretches your entrance in a new angle.
Rehman came almost as soon as your pussy clenched around him again,he groaned and with a couple of quick thrusts he buried himself deeper as ropes of cum shot into you.
You sigh as you feel him relax behind you.
A slow kiss is pressed to your shoulder as he pulls out.
Summary - Rehman hasn't been home properly for four days so when he doesn't come home even on the fifth night, you go to the factory.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Dhurandhar. Characters in this fic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not their real life counterparts. All the characters (except y/n) belong to the makers of this movie. ]
Warnings - smut
Based on this request
masterlist
The glass door to Rehman's office groaned when you kicked it open, the sound echoed through the empty factory.
Rehman looked up as you stood at the doorway with your hands on your hips.
Your brows were knitted and lips drawn in a thin line.
You looked very disappointed.
“Jaan?” He said, crossing the distance between you in quick strides.
He tried to cup your cheek but you just swatted his hand away.
“Kya hua?” He asked.
Your frown deepened.
“Kya hua? Chaar din se ghar ki yaad nahi aayi tumhe? Ab pooch rahe ho ki kya hua?” You said, punctuating each word with a light smack on his chest.
“Itna boora kya kiya maine? Ki tumne ghar aana hi band kiya? Haa? Bolo?” You yelled.
He caught a hold of your wrists, stopping you from hitting him.
He gently held them together. Tugging you closer and then pulled you into his chest.
You protested against it but he simply held you there, eventually his warmth subsided your anger.
“Meri jaan…” he whispered into your hair.
“Maaf kar dena…aaj kal kaam bohut ho gaya. Sorry jaan.”
“I missed you so much. Aap call bhi nahi utha rahe the. Mujhe laga maine kuch galat kar diya…mujhe laga aap mujhse naraaz hai.” You said.
He pulled away a little to look at your face and placed his hand on your cheek, brushing away the stray strand from your face.
“Kabhi nahi, main tum se kabhi naraaz nahi ho sakta.”
Then he placed a gentle kiss on your lips.
It was slow and soft, he let out a quiet sigh when you responded. Your lips moving with his.
He wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you even closer if that was possible. You placed your hands on his chest over the smooth expanse of his kurta. He removed the dupatta from your shoulders, it fell onto the floor.
Then the kiss turned deep with a quiet desperation. The quiet of the factory enveloped them.
Then, the shrill ring of the phone made you pull apart.
Your hands fell to your sides, he let out a groan before he took the phone out of his pocket and threw it across the room.
The phone stopped ringing and the silence took over again.
He turned towards you and bent down a little, his gaze locked onto yours, before wrapping a powerful arm behind the bend of your knees. His other hand slid behind your shoulders. With a fluid, effortless motion he lifted you.
Your hands instinctively gripped his shoulders to support yourself. His face was just inches away from yours.
Without stumbling he walked towards his takht with you in his arms.
He sat down placing you in his lap. You placed your legs on either side, your chest pressed tight against his.
You slid your hands around his neck, his mouth found yours again. Hungrier now, his hands slid down to your hips gathering the fabric of your suit in his fists.
His hands found the hem of your suit and pulled it up, slowly, breaking the kiss just enough to pull it over your head and tossed it somewhere behind.
He pressed his hand flat against your stomach, sliding up, his fingers brushed your nipples through the fabric of your bra. His eyes moved from your breasts to the curve of your waist. He unclasped your bra, his palm squeezed the flesh of your mound. He pinched your nipples making you moan out his name.
You dragged your hands over the hard planes of his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart. You could feel him hard and demanding pressing against your clothed cunt.
You slid down onto your knees, between his legs.
He unbuckled his belt and pulled the pants down, his thick cock sprang out.
You wrapped your hand around the shaft and moved it along the length, you deliberately brushed your fingers on the tip of his cock making him hiss.
You wet your lips before he grabbed your jaw and pushed himself into your mouth. You almost choked at the sudden intrusion but took him in nonetheless. You move your head, your cheeks hollowed out as you sucked him deeper.
His grip tightened on the armrest and his breath came out uneven. When he looked at you he groaned at the sight with you on your knees. He closed his eyes as your teeth accidentally grazed a vein along his shaft.
His hands moved to your hair and gripped it in a makeshift ponytail. He tugged on it to make you bob faster, your saliva dripped down his shaft.
Just as you felt him twitch in your mouth, you gasped as he pulled away suddenly and spilled his cum all over your chest.
His eyes darkened as the fluid painted your boobs.
He removed his kurta before he pulled you to stand along with him, moving towards the table and with one clean sweep of his hand he cleared the table before pushing you towards it.
You laid back on the table.
He untied the drawstrings of your salwar and pulled it down your legs.
Your skin was set on fire when his large hand was placed on your thigh, pushing your legs apart until you felt the cool breeze on your panties.
Rehman pulled back to watch as his knuckle grazed over your centre, teasing the ache. Your pussy clenched around nothing but air. He moved his fingers gently over the fabric, finding your entrance and circling it perfectly.
“Rehman…please…”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and pulled it swiftly down your legs. Leaving you completely bare.
He swore under his breath before moving to kiss you again as his fingers moved through your folds, finding your clit. Your moans are swallowed by him as he circled your clit. Your hips jerk up when he moves his fingers along your folds whilst rubbing your clit with his thumb.
Suddenly—
He plunged two fingers into your cunt.
“Aaaah—” your moan is cut short when he bit your lower lip.
He pumped his fingers in and out of you. He pulled away from the kiss and moved to your chest.
He swirled his tongue around your nipple while curling his fingers at the same time. A cry ripped from your throat, the coil in your stomach grew tighter.
A soft moan tumbled out, pressure snapped like a thread and you came apart around his fingers. He pushed himself up while you struggle to catch your breath.
He settled between your legs and your hands find his arms as they brace himself on either side of your head.
He pulled you flush against himself with just enough space to rock his hips with slow movements.
His cock slid through your folds and coated himself in your dripping arousal. You bite down hard on your lip when it rolls over your clit.
And in a moment of tenderness, he intertwines his hands with yours and brings it over your head.
Then he pushed in.
You gasp.
You're stretched out right away and he's only halfway in.
He grits his teeth and focuses on your face as you adjust to him.
Then he slammed inside completely. You squirm under him, rolling your hips to double the pleasure.
You pussy pulsed around him as he started moving his hips, his hand tightened around yours.
“Oh…” you whimper when he thrusts harder.
He picked up the speed, cock dragging against your walls. The wet slick of your bodies meeting echoed through the cabin and your eyes roll back as you picture his cock drenched in you.
Your body jolted and moved with every thrust, his cock throbbed while he pounded into you. Your back arched as he hit your sweet spot.
His thrusts got impossibly hard as he held you down, determined to find the sweet spot again and again and again.
You whimper as your stomach tightened again and your muscles began to lock in as his hips pummelled into you.
Your orgasm crashed into you with more ferocity than the previous one. Your pussy fluttering around his cock.
His pace slowed down but there was barely enough time before he slipped out of you and turned you onto your stomach. You whined as he pulled your hips up and placed a smack on your ass.
He thrusted in again, pushing back into your pussy. His cock felt different in this position, it’s longer and heavier. It made your stomach bulge. He grinds into you, reaching deeper.
His hips jerked suddenly. You can’t think of anything as his cock stretches your entrance in a new angle.
Rehman came almost as soon as your pussy clenched around him again,he groaned and with a couple of quick thrusts he buried himself deeper as ropes of cum shot into you.
You sigh as you feel him relax behind you.
A slow kiss is pressed to your shoulder as he pulls out.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Dhurandhar. Characters mentioned in this fic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not their real life counterparts. All the characters except y/n belong to thel makers of the movie.]
Warnings - smut, consensual somnophilia.
{A/N - here's a very short oneshot, not proofread. I hope nobody gets offended by this. Please skip it if you're uncomfortable with somnophilia.}
masterlist
It was half past two in the morning when Iqbal walked in through the front door of your home and was met with the usual silence of early morning.
He was exhausted.
The debriefing had gone wrong, his plan to create an insurgency on the other side of the border had gone wrong and while testing the arms brought in the new consignment, one of the rifles had heavy recoil which left his shoulder aching. Overall he had a very bad and frustrating day, by the end of the day he was all pent-up.
He opens the bedroom door quietly, the sight he finds nearly brings him to his knees.
You're sleeping on your side of the bed, a half-open book laid on your stomach, which looked like you fell asleep while reading it. The thin strap of your night gown had slipped off one shoulder. The short gown had ridden up, exposing your lace panties and smooth legs.
Your chest rose and fell as you took rhythmic breaths, your hair sprawled on the pillow, framing your face.
His eyes softened and he moved towards the bed.
He gently took away the half-open book before placing it on the side table and brushed the hair strands away from your face.
He looked at you, tracing his eyes over your face. Taking in your features.
You looked cute.
His heart feels full at your sight, but he feels something else tighten too.
Reluctantly he pulls himself away and towards the shower.
He undresses and looks into the mirror, his eyes rested on the specks of blood on his face, it's not his blood ofcourse.
He loves you, you make it easy for him.
He gets under the shower and scrubs away the sweat and dirt until the water runs clear. He hums as he feels his muscles relax as the warm water runs down his body.
After he's done he slips on just sweatpants and sighs. Thoughts of sleep overtake his mind.
But all of that goes out the window when enters your room again and his gaze lands on you.
He slips in beside you, careful not to wake you up as the bed dips under his weight. He sits against the headboard with his arms crossed on his bare chest to keep them from inching towards you.
He's still too damn pent-up and he needs to relieve it. He stares at the ceiling as his pulse rises, the wet spot forming on his sweatpants is the least comfortable thing and his cock keeps growing every second.
He should not have a problem to touch you. He had done that before. Would it be selfish to disturb you?
He just needs to get it out of his system, he thinks and turns his head to you.
He fails to stop his hand from moving, placing it on your ass, he's studying your face for any reaction but it won't come. He slowly starts kneading the flesh, careful enough to not wake you up.
He hooks his fingers into your waistband and slowly drags them down until they're completely off.
He holds his breath for a moment before wrapping his large hands around your thighs and pushing them apart, now he kneels in between them getting a closer view at your cunt. It glistens in the dim light, already wet and leaking.
He bites the inside of his cheek and wonders if you would be mad but you did tell him that you liked being used by him.
He runs two of his fingers up and down your slit, making you shift ever so slightly. He finds your clit and starts rubbing it in circles, your hips shift and you let out small whimpers. He thrusts two fingers inside your cunt and you let out breathy moans.
After a minute or so he pushes his sweatpants down, his hardened cock springs free. He pulls his fingers away, rubbing your slick on his cock, he fists his cock a couple of times and then presses his tip to your entrance.
You start squirming under him.
He slides in slowly.
Your breathing speeds up for a moment before you open your eyes, slowly.
“I-Iqbal?” You said, gasping as he slid in completely, stretching your hole.
“Shhh…meri jaan,” he said.
He gave you a moment to adjust before moving his cock in and out of your pussy.
“Ah…ahhh,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He buries his face into your neck, trailing open mouth kisses along the curve.
You grip onto his shoulders as he increases the pace. You arch your back to adjust yourself and that just sends his thick cock reaming into your sweet spot.
Your legs are already shaking. Close, you were already close, you don't even remember when the build up happened.
“Jagana nahi chahatha tha lekin tum itni haseen lag rahi thi —ngh— mujhe nahi laga ki tumhe bura lagega.”
Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into his skin, deep enough to leave a few marks. Your moans get increasingly loud at each smack of his hips. Your eyes rolled back in your head, toes curling in.
“Oh, oh…Iqbal–”
He grunts in pleasure.
Your thighs seize as your orgasm throttles through your tired and spent body feeling your slick rush around his girth as you tremble below him.
A quick warm kiss on your cheek made you sigh, relaxing into it as he sped up and unloads himself inside you.
He pulls out and collapses beside you.
“Missed you.” You whisper.
“I missed you too.” He replies.
He kissed you, passionate and open mouthed.
You make out until sleep starts evading both of your senses again. You use your last bit of strength to drape an arm across his chest.
The last thing you remember is him pulling the blanket over you and pressing a kiss to your forehead while his thumb traced the diamond ring on your finger where your hand lay on his chest.
[ Disclaimer - This is a fanfiction based on the Indian movie franchise - Dhurandhar. Characters mentioned in this fic are based on the fictional versions depicted in the movie and not their real life counterparts. All the characters except y/n belong to thel makers of the movie.]
Warnings - smut, consensual somnophilia.
{A/N - here's a very short oneshot, not proofread. I hope nobody gets offended by this. Please skip it if you're uncomfortable with somnophilia.}
masterlist
It was half past two in the morning when Iqbal walked in through the front door of your home and was met with the usual silence of early morning.
He was exhausted.
The debriefing had gone wrong, his plan to create an insurgency on the other side of the border had gone wrong and while testing the arms brought in the new consignment, one of the rifles had heavy recoil which left his shoulder aching. Overall he had a very bad and frustrating day, by the end of the day he was all pent-up.
He opens the bedroom door quietly, the sight he finds nearly brings him to his knees.
You're sleeping on your side of the bed, a half-open book laid on your stomach, which looked like you fell asleep while reading it. The thin strap of your night gown had slipped off one shoulder. The short gown had ridden up, exposing your lace panties and smooth legs.
Your chest rose and fell as you took rhythmic breaths, your hair sprawled on the pillow, framing your face.
His eyes softened and he moved towards the bed.
He gently took away the half-open book before placing it on the side table and brushed the hair strands away from your face.
He looked at you, tracing his eyes over your face. Taking in your features.
You looked cute.
His heart feels full at your sight, but he feels something else tighten too.
Reluctantly he pulls himself away and towards the shower.
He undresses and looks into the mirror, his eyes rested on the specks of blood on his face, it's not his blood ofcourse.
He loves you, you make it easy for him.
He gets under the shower and scrubs away the sweat and dirt until the water runs clear. He hums as he feels his muscles relax as the warm water runs down his body.
After he's done he slips on just sweatpants and sighs. Thoughts of sleep overtake his mind.
But all of that goes out the window when enters your room again and his gaze lands on you.
He slips in beside you, careful not to wake you up as the bed dips under his weight. He sits against the headboard with his arms crossed on his bare chest to keep them from inching towards you.
He's still too damn pent-up and he needs to relieve it. He stares at the ceiling as his pulse rises, the wet spot forming on his sweatpants is the least comfortable thing and his cock keeps growing every second.
He should not have a problem to touch you. He had done that before. Would it be selfish to disturb you?
He just needs to get it out of his system, he thinks and turns his head to you.
He fails to stop his hand from moving, placing it on your ass, he's studying your face for any reaction but it won't come. He slowly starts kneading the flesh, careful enough to not wake you up.
He hooks his fingers into your waistband and slowly drags them down until they're completely off.
He holds his breath for a moment before wrapping his large hands around your thighs and pushing them apart, now he kneels in between them getting a closer view at your cunt. It glistens in the dim light, already wet and leaking.
He bites the inside of his cheek and wonders if you would be mad but you did tell him that you liked being used by him.
He runs two of his fingers up and down your slit, making you shift ever so slightly. He finds your clit and starts rubbing it in circles, your hips shift and you let out small whimpers. He thrusts two fingers inside your cunt and you let out breathy moans.
After a minute or so he pushes his sweatpants down, his hardened cock springs free. He pulls his fingers away, rubbing your slick on his cock, he fists his cock a couple of times and then presses his tip to your entrance.
You start squirming under him.
He slides in slowly.
Your breathing speeds up for a moment before you open your eyes, slowly.
“I-Iqbal?” You said, gasping as he slid in completely, stretching your hole.
“Shhh…meri jaan,” he said.
He gave you a moment to adjust before moving his cock in and out of your pussy.
“Ah…ahhh,” you moan, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
He buries his face into your neck, trailing open mouth kisses along the curve.
You grip onto his shoulders as he increases the pace. You arch your back to adjust yourself and that just sends his thick cock reaming into your sweet spot.
Your legs are already shaking. Close, you were already close, you don't even remember when the build up happened.
“Jagana nahi chahatha tha lekin tum itni haseen lag rahi thi —ngh— mujhe nahi laga ki tumhe bura lagega.”
Your grip on his shoulders tightened, your nails digging into his skin, deep enough to leave a few marks. Your moans get increasingly loud at each smack of his hips. Your eyes rolled back in your head, toes curling in.
“Oh, oh…Iqbal–”
He grunts in pleasure.
Your thighs seize as your orgasm throttles through your tired and spent body feeling your slick rush around his girth as you tremble below him.
A quick warm kiss on your cheek made you sigh, relaxing into it as he sped up and unloads himself inside you.
He pulls out and collapses beside you.
“Missed you.” You whisper.
“I missed you too.” He replies.
He kissed you, passionate and open mouthed.
You make out until sleep starts evading both of your senses again. You use your last bit of strength to drape an arm across his chest.
The last thing you remember is him pulling the blanket over you and pressing a kiss to your forehead while his thumb traced the diamond ring on your finger where your hand lay on his chest.
Note: this is a work of fiction. It has no connection with real life. It does not promote any violence and is not written with the intention of misguiding someone. All characters rightly belong to respective owners except my oc. Plagiarism is strictly prohibited.
Pairing: Rocky Randhawa x Ahana Kapoor
Ahana Kapoor had spent her whole life proving her worth to her family. Being from an orthodox family, every success was credited to her brother while she stood in background watching him take credit for her work.
However, the deal with Dhanlaxmi sweets was about to change that. It was the sole responsibility of Ahana, her brother was no where a part of it.
However, her only problem was Rocky Randhawa.
Ahana is the type of person who has dedicated her entire adult life to being unshakeable. She colour-codes her calendar. She reads contracts twice. She has never, not once, walked into a meeting without knowing more than everyone else in the room.
She was not prepared for Rocky Randhawa.
During the first meeting, Rocky arrived 11 minutes late, he held his protein milkshake in one hand, the first three buttons of his shirt were open and his long hair were styled back.
He shot her a cheshire grin and leaned forward on the table "Helloo! Rocky Randhawa this side" he had a typical Delhi accent in his voice, his pronounciation a bit off.
"Uhh Hello?" it came out more like a question than she intended as Rocky took a seat on the table.
Through out the meeting, Ahana noticed the lack of interest he had in the business, it was mostly his sister Gayatri who took charge.
That made her wonder if the behaviours of Randhawas was the same as Kapoors, did they too undermine their daughter and credit their son?
Shaking these thoughts aside, she focused as Gayatri concluded the presentation.
"That is an amazing proposal Mr. Randhawa" Ahana addressed Tijori Randhawa who smiled warmly at her.
"Mujhe kuch time dijiye meri team she connect karne ke liye, I will get back to you" she nods, excusing herself from the conference table.
She stood in front of the glass wall, on a call with her assistant when Rocky approached her. His hands were stuffed in his pocket and he leaned against the wall staring at her. Realising his presence, Ahana cut the call and turned towards him.
"Madam ji dekhiye agar aap iss project ke liye mana karengi na to bohot loos hoga aapko" Rocky whispers as if revealing a grave secret.
Ahana's eye brow shot up and she crossed her arms looking at Rocky with a challenging expression "Kyu hoga mujhe loss? Ahana Kapoor ko kabhi loss nahi hota"
"Aree agar aap yeh project nahi krengi to aapko meri behen ke saath kaam karne ka chanct nahi milega na, hua ki nahi loss?" Rocky burst into laughter scaring Ahana.
She shook her head and just as she opened her mouth to say something Gayatri approached them.
"Rocky tujhe papa bula rahe hai," she says to her brother and then turns towards Ahana Ms. Kapoor hum cabin mein discuss kare?"
Ahana started to walk with Gayatri and turned around only once to see Rocky still standing there. He shot her a grin and waved making Ahana smile.
---
The dinning hall of the kapoor mansion was cold, a sharp contrast to the humid delhi enviornment.
Ahana's father, Tej sat at the head of the table, her mother beside him. Ahana's brother sat beside her, his headphones hanging from his neck as he stuffed his face with food.
"Randhawas ke saath meeting kessi thi?" tej asks breaking the silence
Ahana opened her mouth to answer but her mother stopped her "Beta Aryan ko zyada pata hoga na" the words were laced with honey and yet they left a bitter taste in Ahana's mouth.
"Mom mein nahi gaya tha meeting mein" Aryan says, his voice slightly muffled from the food.
"Kyu nahi gaye the?" Their father's strict tone made Ahana take a sharp breath in.
"Mood nahi tha"
Tej shook his head and turned to his wife, "Meine Randhawas ke saath deal fix kar di hai, but acha hoga agar koi personal relations bhi ho. Kal shaam ki success party mein hum Ahana ke rishte ki baat karte hai"
Ahana's head shot up and her eyes turned wide as she stared at her father "Kya matlab hai aapka? Konsa rishta?"
Tej turned to his daughter sharply and glared at her "Kabhi na kabhi to tumhe shaadi karke iss ghar se jana hi hoga, Randhawas ke saath agar rishta ho jaye to woh deal se piche nahi hatenge."
Ahana's eyes filled with tear and she hated how quickly she ended up crying "Aur mera kya?"
"Tumhara kya?" her father mocks her.
Ahana exhales sharply, realising she's fighting a lost battle and turns on her heels to leave the living room, the clinking of cuttlery left behind.
---
Ahana had dressed in a lavender saree, the stones shimmering under the chandelier light as she moved around the hall greeting everyone.
The Randhawas entered as the Randhawas do, in their loud extravagant manner.
Tej greeted them, his wife and son hot on his tail while Ahana quietly sipped her wine from the sidelines watching her father play the perfect host.
"Kya drama karte hai" she scoffed taking another sip.
"Sahi kaha, karte ho hai" Rocky's booming voice said from behind her maki
"Sahi kaha, karte ho hai" Rocky's booming voice said from behind her making her gasp.
"How's you Mrs. Randhawa?" Rocky asks leaning down to her level. Despite her heels, she was still a few inches shorter than him.
"Tumne haan kardi?" Ahana asks, shocked.
Rocky's grin doesn't waver one bit. If anything it gets wider, like he's genuinely delighted by the chaos of the whole situation. "Arre nahi yaar, main bhi abhi hi suna! Stage pe Papa ne announce kar diya, main toh khada tha bas—" he mimes his own stunned face, eyes wide, mouth open, "—aise!"
"Aapko bura nahi laga?"
"Bura kyu lagega?" He looks at her like this is a genuinely strange question. "Meri family ne decide kiya na, matlab unhone socha hoga achha hi hoga. Dadi ka hamesha sahi hota hai." He says this with the total, unbothered faith of a man who has never once had reason to doubt his grandmother's word.
Ahana stares at him. "Aap itne easy kaise ho iss baare mein?"
"Kyunki-" he leans in like he's telling her a secret, "-main pehle se hi deside kar chuka tha aap mujhe pasand ho." His pronunciation wobbles slightly on 'decide,' comes out closer to dee-side, and he doesn't even notice.
"Excuse me?"
"Business meeting mein!" he says, delighted with himself. "Aapne mera ek galat number pakda tha, remember? Woh movement, mujhe laga — yeh ladki mujhse zyada smart hai. Condifence bhi hai. Aur haan," he adds, like an afterthought, "aap accha dance bhi karti hongi, aisa lagta hai."
"Wa-Wai-What?" Ahana struggled to get words out of her mouth once Rocky was done with his monolgue.
"Dance ka kya connection hua isse?" she asks, still processing everything he said.
Rocky looked delighted at her question "Dance se hi to compa-comba-aree kya bolte hai usse-"
And just like that Ahana had spent the rest of her night learning how dance makes people compatible. She would hate to admit it, but Rocky was a good company.
---
The next few weeks were spent in wedding preparations and the project between Randhawas and Kapoors.
Working with Rocky made Ahana realise how different yet similar they were from each other.
He mispronounced half his vocabulary — "strategy" came out "stra-tergy," "portfolio" became "port-a-folio" — and yet he remembered every single detail she told him once, filed away behind that grin like he was actually listening the whole time, which, infuriatingly, he was.
"Tera birthday aane wala hai," he announced one afternoon, apropos of nothing, while they were meant to be reviewing vendor contracts spread across her desk.
"Tumhe kaise pata?"
"Tune hi bola tha. Uss din jab hum coffee pe gaye the, tune bola tha 'main March baby hoon.'" He said it proudly, like he'd solved a very difficult riddle.
"Woh toh do hafte pehle ki baat hai."
"Toh?" He looked genuinely confused as to why that was relevant. "Important cheezein bhoolta nahi main."
She went back to the contract, but her chest did something small and unfamiliar, something she didn't examine too closely.
The wedding preparations, meanwhile, moved forward with the terrifying efficiency of two families who had decided, separately and without consulting either bride or groom, that this was happening.
Dhanlakshmi took to Ahana instantly — "Iss ladki mein dum hai," she declared at the second family dinner, tapping the table for emphasis, this girl has spine — and spent the evening asking Ahana pointed questions about the sweets business until Ahana was correcting Dhanlakshmi's own margins on a napkin, at which point the old woman laughed so hard she had to be handed water.
"Dekha?" Rocky whispered to her later, delighted. "Dadi ko impress karna sabse mushkil kaam hai iss ghar mein. Tune toh pehli hi try mein kar diya."
Ahana's own family dinners remained unchanged. Tej discussed the merger. Her mother discussed the wedding logistics. Aryan discussed nothing, headphones half on, and when the conversation did turn briefly to Ahana — to the deal she'd built from nothing, to the fact that Dhanlakshmi herself had complimented her business sense — her mother deflected it neatly.
"Sab Aryan ki training ka result hai," her mother said, beaming. "Usne hi sab sikhaya tha bachpan mein."
Aryan, who had never once helped Ahana with anything in either of their childhoods, didn't even look up from his phone.
Ahana said nothing. She'd learned, a long time ago, that saying something changed nothing in this house. But later that night, when Rocky called just to tell her about a dog he'd seen on his evening walk that looked "bilkul mere jaisa energetic," she found herself telling him about the dinner instead — the whole thing, unprompted, voice tight.
He went quiet on the other end, which for Rocky was unusual enough that she almost asked if the call had dropped.
"Yeh galat hai," he said finally. Simple. No joke wrapped around it.
"Aisa hi hota hai humare ghar mein."
"Toh badalna chahiye." A pause, then, softer: "Tu jaanti hain na, yeh deal — yeh sab — sirf teri wajah se hua hai? Tere bhai ka koi role nahi tha isme. Meri behen bhi yehi kehti hai."
"Tumhe kyu farak padhta hai?" Ahana asks quietly
"Kyunki jo insaan itna kaam karta hai, usse credit milna chahiye. Simple si baat hai."
She sat with that for a long moment after they hung up, phone still warm in her palm, and thought that Rocky Randhawa — mangled English, dance theories, and all — had said more genuinely correct things to her in six weeks than her own family had in thirty-one years.
---
On Dusherra, both families had sat together and discussed the wedding date, a few weeks before Diwali.
Both the families were sprawled on the lawn of Kapoor House, discussing everything and nothing.
Ahana had excused herself from the discussion avd had escaped to the terrace. She took a deep breath trying to calm her easing nerves.
"ahana?" rocky stepped up beside her and took her hand in his, her bangles jingling softly.
"Tu theek hai?" Rocky asks, his voice warm
Ahana looked in his brown eyes, they were twinning, she noticed. She was wearing a pink lehenga choli and he wore a kurta of same shade.
"Mein theek hu, bas thoda dar lag raha hai" Ahana whispered, subconciously leaning to his touch
The first firecracker went up behind them just then, gold spilling across the dark sky, and Rocky's whole face lit with it — that same unguarded delight he wore on the dance floor, no performance in it at all.
"Toh phir," he said, grinning, holding his hand out to her the way he had that very first night, "ek dance?"
She laughed — actually laughed, loose and unguarded, the sound swallowed by the crackers going off above them — and took his hand.
He spun her quickly, same as always, she giggled in delight, and he pulled her back in close as the sky kept bursting gold and red overhead
"Tu sachmein acha dance karti hai" rocky whispered, his breath fanning her face.
Ahana sharply inhaled and rested her forehead against his.
And when he kissed her — right there, under the gold-and-red sky, Ahana forgot all her worries, every concern, all she could think was that maybe life can be beautiful with Rocky Randhawa.
Content: Jassi being a cutie, mentions of sex, fluff
Author's note: It's been so long since I wrote and honestly, I wrote this just to try and get rid of my writer's block. The current happenings of what's around us has dulled my mind greatly and I was struggling to manage uni and writing. So I thought, why not write something on theme? This is very short but I hope y'all like it ;) This is for all the people who are still here despite everything <3
Boyfriend!Jassi whose girl is an absolute troublemaker. But not the kind where she beats up random idiots, no no, she debates them. An educated baddie, one might say. He'll watch with a proud (and concerned) gaze when you stand up for what's right, not hesitating for a second.
Boyfriend!Jassi whom you met after a...peculiar incident. In the first week of college, you witnessed him getting ragged by seniors, and you boldly stepped up to help him. He watched in awe as you lashed out at the seniors, demanding they apologise to him for their misbehaviour. They immediately apologized and ran away when you threatened to take them to the Principal. The next few minutes, you stood there lecturing Jassi, telling him to have a spine and to stand up for himself. He didn't hear a thing because he was too busy admiring you.
Boyfriend!Jassi who spent the next few days tagging along to wherever you went, claiming that he was scared the seniors would come back, when in reality he just wanted to be near you. You clocked him immediately and thus formed your friendship. Though evidently, this "just friends" plan didn't last long, and in two months he asked you out and now here you were, his girlfriend of almost two years.
Boyfriend!Jassi who has found his courage over time, and now stands shoulder-to-shoulder with you in any issue. At first he joined you purely from his concern for your safety, but he later understood your spirit, enthusiastically joining you in whatever you stood for.
Boyfriend!Jassi who cheers the loudest for whatever you do. Whether it's debates, speeches, competitions, you bet your ass he will be there to show his support.
Boyfriend!Jassi whom you debate politics with as date ideas. He'll even go as far as to make powerpoint presentations. You sit back and listen to him talk all formally like you're not getting turned on. The debate ends in the bedroom with either you on top or him on top. Depends on who won.
Boyfriend!Jassi who goes with you to the bookstore every week. It's a ritual for both of you now. Every Saturday, you'll go to the nearby bookstore, and pick out books for each other to read for that week. You even challenge each other to see who finishes their book first.
Boyfriend!Jassi who's not afraid of your boldness. His masculinity is not threatened by you having a voice. In fact, he actively encourages it. He'll roll his eyes at anyone who says you're too much and maybe even threaten to throw a punch.
Boyfriend!Jassi who trains at the gym hard so he can be your "scary guard dog" – his words, not yours. He claims that he needs to look scary so people don't mess with you. You find it adorable.
Boyfriend!Jassi who tells Jasleen to look up to you. He brings you home a few months into your relationship and his parents are more than delighted to see that Jassi got himself a girl who's not afraid to speak up. His father, in particular, is proud and always takes his time to chat with you to see what the "new generation" is all about. Harleen thank you for "empowering" Jassi and for getting rid of his scaredy cat nature. Jassi is deeply offended and pouts at his sister the rest of the day. (She knows he's not a scaredy cat. She just says that to piss him off).
Boyfriend!Jassi who is so proud of the fact that he's your boyfriend. Whenever you win something, do something impressive, or even just exist, he'll boast about the fact that he's your boyfriend to people standing around. If it was upto him, he'd tattoo it on his forehead.
Here's what I think collegebf!Jassi might've looked like:
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
hyy can you write a one shot for rehman like how you written for iqbal? that office smut plsss
Thank you so much for the ask, but I'm kind of busy at the moment with college and there are already a handful of unfinished drafts. I cannot take up this request, very very sorry.
If anyone else is interested in writing this please do.
