Her Doctor Sahab

He saves lives for a living. She’s running out of time. At twenty-eight, he has learned how to hold a dying child’s hand without letting his own shake, how to walk out of hospital rooms and still function like nothing inside him just broke. People call him brilliant, detached, untouchable. They don’t see the exhaustion that sleep never fixes, or the quiet guilt he carries like a second heartbeat. At twenty-three, she is all stubborn hope and unfinished dreams. A girl who collects moments like they are something she can keep, a girl who smiles like she has forever, even when her heart says otherwise. When their worlds collide, it isn’t gentle. It is sharp, inconvenient, and far too personal. He is supposed to treat her, keep a professional distance, remain just her doctor. She refuses to be just another case file, another patient he forgets how to feel for. Somewhere between hospital corridors and late-night conversations, something begins to shift. Lines blur. Silences grow heavier. And the kind of love they never planned for starts to take shape in the spaces they were trying so hard to protect. But love, in a world measured by heartbeats and deadlines, comes with a cost. Because sometimes, saving someone means losing yourself.
 And sometimes, the hardest truth to face is that not every story is meant to last forever.

irl character lores

Afsaane EPILOGUES

Epilogue 1 — Closure This one belongs to Danish. The family. The betrayal. The silence that lasted years. This epilogue is about Danish finally standing in the room that once rejected him — and leaving it on his terms. Conversations that were avoided. Apologies that came too late. And the kind of closure that doesn't magically erase pain... but finally allows everyone to breathe again. No romance. No distractions.Just truth, accountability, and the ending Danish deserved with his family. Epilogue 2 — Two Proposals & One Almost Murder Because one proposal was never going to be enough for them. First proposal: The boardroom. Rivals. Contracts. Power plays. Kiara's mother watching. Danish choosing that exact moment to propose — not despite her being there, but because she was. The boldest proposal. The most satisfying win. Second proposal: The one that was planned. A cruise. Fireworks. Cake. Romance. Everything perfect. Except Kiara casually mentioning she once said she'd never want Akaay anywhere near her proposal. Cue Danish realising he has made a terrible, terrible mistake. Solution? He kicks Akaay off the cruise. Yes. Into the ocean. Yes. There is a helicopter involved. Yes. Akaay survives and never shuts up about it. This epilogue is romance, chaos, jealousy, comedy — and proof that Danish Malhotra proposes like he lives: dramatically. Epilogue 3 — Forever Marriage. Quiet love. And the future no one thought Danish would ever get. They elope — because after everything, they're done with big performances.And then... a baby. His little sweetheart. This epilogue is about Danish becoming the father he once needed. About Kiara finally having a family that chooses her first. About love that survives the past and still builds a future. Soft. Emotional. Intimate. This one will hurt in the best way.

Meri Khwaish

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞. 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭. 𝐇𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 - 𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬.

Rajvansh's forced bride

"𝐇𝐚𝐚𝐧 𝐤𝐞𝐡 𝐝𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐲𝐞... 𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐚 𝐚𝐚𝐤𝐡𝐫𝐢 𝐝𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐠𝐚 𝐚𝐚𝐣." "𝐖𝐨𝐡 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐳𝐚𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐚, 𝐣𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐧 𝐠𝐚𝐲𝐚." She was a widow, he was a mad king. She lived in white, her days as hollow as the bangles she shattered at her husband's pyre. He lived in red, a force of chaos wrapped in flesh, his path painted in the blood of the fallen, his throne a pyre of the conquered. His enemies feared his madness. His allies feared his boredom. He did not rage to conquer-he raged to feel, to break the silence that clung to his soul like the ashes of his fallen foes. She wasn't just a bride, she was the prize, the possession he won in a war. He extended his hand, rough and scarred, the hand that had broken empires and crushed crowns. His voice was a low rumble, a whisper wrapped in steel. "Yeh haath ek shauk nahi... ek zimmedari hai. Thukra dengi toh bhi, zindagi bhar yeh haath kisi aur ke liye nahi badhega." She looked at the outstretched hand, the hand that had shattered kingdoms, and her lips curled in a bitter, ghostly smile. "Vidhva hai hum... Bhagwan bhi maaf nahi karenge." He stepped closer, the air between them thick with unspoken promises and dangerous desires, his jaw tightening, eyes darkening with a madness only she seemed capable of awakening. "Jab mard pe daag lagta hai, uski kamai se dhul jaata hai. Magar aurat par jo daag lagta hai, woh uske marne ke baad bhi zinda rehta hai." His fingers twitched, aching to trace the curve of her neck, to feel the pulse beneath her fragile skin, to break the distance between madness and defiance. "Aap mere liye sirf kamzori nahi, junoon hai," he murmured, his voice rough, the words a dark promise. "Aur junoon ke raaste mein aane wale log sirf ek hi anjaam paate hain-maut." And in that stolen breath, where white met red, where restraint clash.