ISHQ KI BAAZIYAAN 🪷 She never expected an arranged marriage to turn her ordinary life upside down. Hemakshi Ahuja is a college girl who loves her little world. She's shy around strangers, a little clumsy, sensitive, and an overthinker who feels more than she says. Reyansh Rathod is a man who knows what he wants. Powerful, intimidating, and used to being in control, he never expected one girl in a yellow outfit dancing at a Garba night to occupy his thoughts. She didn't even notice him. But he noticed everything. From that one unexpected encounter to a forgotten jhumka, from a family-arranged proposal to a wedding date fixed just eighteen days away, their story is slowly unfolding. She is still trying to understand the man she's about to marry. He, meanwhile, has already made his choice. But can two people who barely know each other turn an arranged marriage into something real? Sometimes, one person becomes part of your story long before you become part of theirs. ♡ Arranged Marriage ♡ love at first sight ♡ bold ml x shy fl ♡ gympy x sunshine ♡ Slow-Burning Relationship ♡ Family Drama ♡ mature scenes ♡ dark romance Reader fl 😉

In the midst of cry, fire and chaos was She cradling her own husband's head in her lap screaming for help. She can feel faint breath, slowing heart beat with each passing second. Her own heart trembled anticipating the impending loss. Her hair scattered all over the face, duppata lost and her body filled with exhaustion and tiny bruises. So immersed was she in her own crumbling world that she failed to notice a pair of intense, prying eyes scanning her entire being from head to toe. In her desperation to stop the bleeding, and continuously failing at it, she suddenly looked up. Her brown orbs clashed with a pair of cold grey ones-calculating her every move. Amidst burning vehicles and the cries of now-orphaned children, he sat on the roof of a car like a god who had orchestrated a bloody play for his own amusement🔥 One hand held a rod wrapped in barbed wire, the other a half-lit cigar. If she had been in her senses, she would have noticed the predatory gleam in his eyes, the ruthlessness surpassing everything, and his unnervingly relaxed demeanor despite being surrounded by scarred and weapon-laced goons. She rose from her place, desperation driving her feet forward, and approached him. She wanted to beg for kindness, for mercy, but the tremors in her body refused to let any words escape. Finally, mustering her courage, she whispered: "𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒉𝒂𝒓 𝒌𝒊 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒅 𝒌𝒊𝒋𝒊𝒚𝒆... 𝒖𝒏𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒉𝒖𝒕 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒊." (Please, help my husband. He is severely injured.) He smirked, as if he had seen something invisible to everyone else. His eyes scanned her disheveled hair, the misplaced dupatta, the missing sandal. His veiny hands moved slowly as he removed his shawl and placed it around her trembling body. Then, in a low, guttural voice, he finally spoke: " 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐫... 𝐩𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐢𝐧 𝐚ap