When Love Finally Grew Up ~ A Rumya Three-Shot [Completed]

A "What-If" Rumya Continuation Story — imagining what could’ve happened if Soumya never left Ishqbaaz and her relationship with Rudra was allowed to grow naturally

Chapter 1 (When the Past Walks Back In)

The Oberoi Mansion was finally at peace. The stormy chapters of betrayal and heartbreak had calmed, leaving room for laughter, late-night coffee, and the quiet buzz of a happy home. Shivaay and Anika were bickering in the kitchen as usual, Omkara and Gauri were painting a mural on the terrace wall… and Rudra?

Rudra had changed.

No longer the goofy protein-obsessed boy, he now wore tailored jackets instead of muscle tees and gave interviews about social initiatives instead of gym routines. But he hadn’t changed everything.

He was in a steady relationship—with Bhavya. The cop. The tough woman who had matched him punch for punch, sarcasm for sarcasm. She challenged him, kept him grounded, and somewhere in the chaos, Rudra convinced himself she was what real love looked like.

Until Soumya returned.

When Priyanka announced a guest lecturer for her women’s wellness seminar, no one thought twice—until a familiar voice echoed through the Oberoi Mansion’s marble-floored hallway.

“Good evening,” came the soft, confident voice. “I’m honored to be back.”

And there she was.

Not the awkward, chubby girl who once stammered under her breath. Not the girl he’d once married in a drunken college haze and then run away from. This was Dr. Soumya Kapoor—poised, elegant in a soft cotton saree, a glint of strength behind her calm brown eyes.

Rudra’s jaw went slack.
His voice caught in his throat. “Soumya…?”

She looked at him—level, distant, polite. “Hello, Rudra.”

Just ‘hello’? No “protein shake boy”? No “brainless bodybuilder”? Nothing?

He stood there, feeling like the floor beneath his expensive loafers had cracked open.

Later that evening, in the corridor between the kitchen and Priyanka’s room, he finally caught up with her.

“Soumya, wait—”

She turned, slow and controlled. “Yes?”

“I didn’t know you were coming. You look…” He hesitated, searching for something safe. “…good. Really good.”

“Thank you.” She gave him a smile. Polite. Professional. Unfamiliar.

He blinked. “That’s it? No sarcasm? No ‘Mr. Protein Shake’?”

Her smile didn’t waver. “I’ve grown up, Rudra. Haven’t you?”

The words stung more than they should have. He watched her walk away, her calm confidence making his chest tighten with something dangerously close to regret.

Guilt Has a Way of Showing Up in Silence

Bhavya found him that night on the balcony, staring at the stars with two untouched cups of coffee.

“You okay?” she asked, wrapping her shawl tighter around her.

“Yeah,” he said too quickly. “Just… spaced out.”

She looked at him for a long beat. “It’s Soumya, isn’t it?”

He looked at her, startled. “What? No, I mean—why would it—”

“Rudra,” Bhavya cut in gently, “I know what she meant to you. I know how messy it all got. But I thought we moved past it.”

“We did,” he said quickly. “I did.”

But even as he said it, something in his heart twisted. Because maybe he hadn’t.

Bhavya touched his arm, firm yet kind. “Then don’t let the past steal the present. Okay?”

He nodded, grateful for her strength — but the guilt in his silence said what his words couldn’t.

Old Wounds. New Realizations.

The next morning, Rudra found Soumya in the garden, watering Priyanka’s beloved orchids.

“You didn’t have to leave the way you did,” he said softly, standing beside her.

She didn’t look at him. “You didn’t have to pretend I never existed.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, Rudra.” She turned now, eyes glinting. “What’s not fair is being told I wasn’t ‘your type’ after marrying me. What’s not fair is having your feelings invalidated because you didn’t have abs or didn’t fit the Instagram version of a dream girl.”

He exhaled. “I was stupid.”

“You were young,” she corrected. “But we’re not young anymore.”

He stepped closer. “So you’re saying… we have no chance now?”

“I’m saying,” Soumya said quietly, “I don’t know who you are anymore. And maybe… you don’t either.”

She walked away, leaving Rudra staring at the path where she had disappeared, a strange hollowness tightening in his chest.

“She’s still mad,” he murmured.
Then, more quietly,
“Or maybe… she just moved on.”

In the background, Bhavya appeared and gently slipped her hand into his. Rudra gave her a small smile — but his eyes lingered far too long where Soumya had been.

Something inside him — something he thought he had buried — had just woken up.

The Quiet Storm

To everyone else, Soumya blended in effortlessly — hosting sessions, guiding Priyanka’s team, laughing with Dadi over chai. But to Rudra, her presence was a quiet storm, unsettling things he thought he’d safely buried.

He found himself catching glimpses of her — in the library, by the tulsi plant, flipping through her notes in the study — each time a strange ache blooming in his chest.

One evening, Bhavya sat beside him on the swing in the garden. She held his hand gently, her other hand scribbling on her phone’s notepad.

Bhavya’s note: “You seem distracted lately. Everything okay?”

Rudra looked at her — kind, patient Bhavya — and forced a smile.
“Just… work stuff. You know, Oberoi logistics. Endless drama.”

She nodded, unconvinced but unwilling to press.
He hated lying to her.

An Unexpected Session

Soumya’s seminar was titled “Emotional Baggage: When We Carry What Was Never Ours to Hold.”

Of course, Rudra ended up sitting in the back row. Accidentally. Totally not planned.

Soumya stood in front of the room, composed and radiant.

“We often think closure comes from conversations,” she said. “But sometimes, the real closure is realizing the conversation never happened… and still learning to let go.”

Rudra shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“We don’t stop loving people because they hurt us,” she continued. “We stop loving the version of ourselves we became to keep them.”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward the back. Just once. Just enough for Rudra to know: she knew he was there.

The Almost Conversation

That night, Rudra found her in the corridor outside the study. She was picking up fallen papers from the floor, calm as ever.

He bent down to help.
“You still organize everything in color-coded files,” he said quietly.

Soumya didn’t look at him. “Old habits die hard.”

“You’ve changed,” he said, his voice cautious.

She finally looked up. “You haven’t.”

That stung.

“Soumya, I—”

She stood, brushing off her hands. “Don’t. Please don’t open doors you don’t intend to walk through.”

And she walked away again.

Rudra stood there, holding one of her papers in his hand… long after she had gone.

Cracks in the Illusion

One evening, while flipping through an old album in the living room, Rudra found a photo of him and Soumya from their college days — arms linked, grinning after a mock wedding game they’d lost together.

He smiled.

Bhavya saw it. She walked over and looked at the photo.

She pointed to it. “You miss her,” she mouthed silently.

Rudra’s smile faded. “No. I… I don’t know.”

Bhavya touched his arm gently, then typed something on her phone and showed it to him.

Bhavya’s message: “It’s okay. You don’t have to lie to me.”

And that, somehow, made him feel even worse.

-----

To be continued.

Chapter 2 (Goodbyes, Half-Said)

The Rooftop Again

It rained that night.

Rudra found Soumya on the rooftop — the same place he used to hide when life got overwhelming.

“Funny,” he said, stepping into the rain. “You always told me to stop running. And now… I can’t seem to outrun you.”

Soumya didn’t reply immediately. The rain danced between them.

“I was never the one chasing,” she finally said. “You just never looked back long enough to see me standing still.”

Rudra exhaled. “I thought I loved Bhavya.”

“Maybe you did,” she said gently. “Or maybe you just loved the version of yourself you became with her — quiet, composed, gentle. But that’s not you, Rudra.”

He met her eyes. “What if I want to be that version now?”

Soumya tilted her head. “Then why does it hurt every time you look at me?”

The silence between them was raw.

“I miss you,” he admitted. “But I’m with Bhavya. I can’t just—”

“I’m not asking you to choose, Rudra,” Soumya cut in, her voice steady. “I’m asking you to be honest. With her. With me. With yourself.”

She walked past him, pausing only to say one last thing:

“Love isn’t about who brings you peace. It’s about who makes you face your chaos and stay.”

The Forgotten Recipe

The next evening, the Oberoi kitchen was strangely quiet. Most of the family had retired early, and the staff was away. Soumya walked in, tying her hair into a loose braid, searching the shelves.

Rudra leaned against the doorway, watching her. “What are you looking for?”

“Jaggery,” she said without turning. “Priyanka asked me to make gur ka halwa for Dadi. It helps with her cough.”

He smirked faintly. “Doctor and chef? Is there anything you don’t do?”

Soumya shot him a look over her shoulder. “Plenty. Like waste time at the gym flexing in front of mirrors.”

The corner of Rudra’s mouth twitched. For the first time in years, the banter almost felt like home.

He stepped inside, pulling open a drawer. “This?” he asked, holding up a packet of jaggery.

Soumya took it, their fingers brushing briefly. Too briefly. She looked away. “Thanks.”

Rudra lingered. “Need help?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You? In a kitchen?”

“Hey, I’ve improved,” he said, rolling up his sleeves. “I can make… toast. And protein shakes. Sometimes together.”

She chuckled before she could stop herself. “Disgusting.”

But when he started chopping nuts awkwardly — slow, clumsy, but determined — she didn’t stop him. Instead, she moved beside him, guiding his hand once when he almost sliced too thick.

The silence between them was no longer sharp. It was softer now, filled with the quiet rhythm of chopping and stirring, the fragrance of roasting ghee and cardamom wrapping around them like memory itself.

Finally, the halwa was ready. Soumya scooped some into a bowl, setting it aside for Dadi. Rudra, being Rudra, stole a spoonful straight from the pan.

“Hot!” he yelped, fanning his mouth.

Soumya burst into laughter, the sound spilling out before she could stop it. Rudra froze, staring at her — because it had been years since he’d heard that laugh up close.

She caught herself, sobering. “You never change.”

But Rudra shook his head, still looking at her. “No, Soumya. You’re wrong. I change around you.”

For a heartbeat, neither moved. The air between them thickened, the smell of jaggery and ghee pulling them closer to something unspoken.

Soumya looked down, busying herself with wiping the counter. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Rudra.”

But in her voice, for the first time, there wasn’t just pain. There was something softer. Something dangerously close to hope.

Tastes Like Yesterday

Soumya carried the bowl of halwa toward Dadi’s room, but Rudra followed, spoon in hand, trailing her like an uninvited shadow.

“You’re not getting more,” she warned without turning.

He pouted. “Soumyaaa… come on. You can’t just make halwa and not feed me properly. That’s cruelty.”

She gave him a sideways glance. “You already burned your tongue.”

“Worth it,” he said, grinning.

She tried to stay annoyed, but the way his boyish grin slipped past her guard reminded her of another night, years ago…

Flashback

A dimly lit college canteen. Soumya sat with a bowl of noodles, frowning at Rudra who had just plopped into the chair opposite her.

“That’s mine,” she snapped, pulling the bowl closer.

“Sharing is caring, Soumya,” Rudra said, already twirling noodles onto his fork.

“You have no manners!” she protested.

He smirked. “I have abs. That’s better.”

And when she glared, he leaned forward, stole another bite, and added, “Admit it, you like it when I annoy you.”

She rolled her eyes, but the truth was, she hadn’t minded as much as she pretended.

Present

Soumya blinked, the memory dissolving into the here and now. She was back in the Oberoi mansion, Rudra still trailing her with that same shameless persistence.

She set the bowl on Dadi’s bedside table and turned to him. “Fine. One spoon. That’s it.”

Rudra lit up like a kid, stepping closer as she held out a spoonful of halwa.

He leaned in, tasting it slowly, letting the sweetness melt on his tongue. Then he looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.

“Tastes like yesterday,” he murmured.

Soumya’s breath caught. She quickly set the spoon down, stepping back. “Stop saying things you’ll regret later.”

But Rudra’s voice was low, steady. “I don’t regret remembering us.”

For a moment, the air thickened again — full of things unsaid, of laughter that had once been theirs, of wounds that had not fully healed.

Soumya gathered herself and said briskly, “Goodnight, Rudra.”

She walked out before her heart could betray her.

Rudra stood in Dadi’s room, staring at the half-empty bowl of halwa, knowing that for the first time in years, it wasn’t just the food he craved.

Bhavya’s Unspoken Truth

Bhavya wasn’t a fool. She saw the shift.

Rudra had stopped calling her “hero cop.” He forgot to send her those late-night motivational memes. He smiled less.

And most of all — he avoided Soumya, but only with the kind of fear that comes from knowing someone still matters.

One night, Bhavya found Soumya in the prayer room, placing a diya before leaving.

She tapped her shoulder.

Soumya turned. “Bhavya?”

The two women hadn’t spoken beyond formalities. Now, there was nothing but stillness between them.

“I know what you and Rudra were,” Bhavya said softly.

Soumya’s breath caught.

“I don’t blame you for walking away back then,” Bhavya continued, her voice kind but unwavering. “He wasn’t ready. But maybe… now he is.”

Soumya didn’t reply. She just stared at the flickering flame.

Bhavya added, “And if that’s true, I don’t want to be the one holding him back.”

Bhavya’s Quiet Realization

That evening, Bhavya sat across from Rudra in the garden, both sipping coffee. He wasn’t really there. His body sat on the swing, but his gaze kept wandering — toward the corridor Soumya had just passed through.

Bhavya set her cup down. “Rudra,” she said gently.

He blinked back to her. “Hmm?”

Her lips curved into a soft, sad smile. “You don’t have to explain. I see it.”

His brows furrowed. “See what?”

“The way you look at her.”

He froze. “Bhavya, I—”

She cut in, steady and composed. “You’ve tried, Rudra. And I thought maybe we were… it. But your heart—” she touched his chest lightly “—it’s not with me.”

He opened his mouth, guilt flooding him, but Bhavya shook her head.

“I’m strong enough to let go. I don’t want to be a habit in your life. I want to be a choice. And I know I’m not your first choice.”

Her voice broke just slightly at the last word, but her eyes held steady. Then, with quiet dignity, she walked away.

Rudra sat frozen, the truth hitting him like a punch.

The Breaking Point

The next day, during another seminar, Soumya’s voice rang out clear:

“Sometimes we lie to ourselves,” she said, pacing slowly across the room, “because the truth is inconvenient. But lies don’t heal. They only delay the ache.”

Rudra’s chest tightened. Every word felt directed at him.

He left halfway through, unable to breathe.

Closure, Interrupted

Soumya was packing her suitcase two nights later when Rudra stormed into her guest room.

“You’re leaving?!” he asked, breathless.

Soumya didn’t look up. “The seminar’s over.”

“You were going to go without saying goodbye?”

She folded her kurta into her bag. “We already said our goodbye, Rudra. Years ago.”

“No,” he said, stepping forward, “we said nothing. We ran. I ran.”

Soumya finally looked up. “You’re with Bhavya.”

He paused. “I thought she was what I wanted. Calm. Safe. Simple. But now… I don’t even recognize myself with her.”

Soumya’s jaw tightened. “Don’t do this.”

“I didn’t know what love was back then,” Rudra said, voice breaking. “You did. You saw me when I didn’t know who I was. And I… I buried it. I called it a joke. I made you feel invisible.”

She swallowed hard. “You broke my heart.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But you still live in mine.”

Soumya stepped back, tears threatening her composure. “I can’t go back to being someone’s mistake, Rudra.”

“You’re not a mistake,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re the only thing I got right. And if there’s even a sliver of a chance… let me try.”

Soumya stared at him, unsure whether to cry or laugh.

“Say something,” he begged.

She finally whispered, “Then start by telling Bhavya the truth. Not me.”

The Honest Confrontation

That night, Bhavya found him sitting in the library with his head in his hands.

“Rudra,” she said softly.

He looked up, eyes red. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” She crouched down in front of him. “You didn’t mean to hurt me. But staying would hurt us both more.”

He swallowed. “You deserve better.”

She smiled faintly. “And so do you. Go find it.”

Then she squeezed his hand, stood, and walked out — closing the chapter without bitterness.

A Real Goodbye

The next morning, Bhavya left quietly — no tears, no drama.

Just a handwritten note on Rudra’s desk:

She’s always been the one. I was just the pause between your sentences.
Go. Fix your story.
— Bhavya

When Rudra read the note, his throat tightened. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel lost — he felt… certain.

Later that evening, he found Soumya in the garden, adjusting the wick of a lamp near the tulsi plant. She sensed him before he spoke, and for the briefest moment, her lips curved into something almost like a smile.

It wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t surrender.

But it was hope.

And Rudra knew: this story wasn’t ending. It was only beginning again.

-----

To be continued.

Chapter 3 (Love, Grown Up)

The Test of Love

The garden still smelled faintly of rain when Soumya finally turned to face him.
“You think one confession fixes everything?”

Rudra blinked, caught off guard. “No… but I thought it was a start.”

She crossed her arms. “A start was what we had years ago. You ended it before it even grew.”

Rudra stepped closer, voice low but urgent. “I was a kid, Soumya. I didn’t know what I wanted.”

“That’s the problem,” she shot back. “You never know what you want. You jump, then regret. You promise, then forget. You—” Her voice faltered, softer now. “—you broke me once. I’m not letting you do it again.”

Rudra’s throat tightened. “Then tell me how to prove it. Tell me what to do.”

Soumya studied him, searching for the boy she once knew and the man he claimed to be now.
“You want me back?” she asked finally.

“With everything I am,” he said without hesitation.

“Then you’ll have to earn me back. Slowly. Patiently. Day after day.”

Rudra frowned. “Soumya, this isn’t a business deal—”

Her eyes flashed. “Exactly. It’s my heart. Which means no shortcuts, Rudra. No charm, no protein shake promises, no impulsive declarations. You’ll have to show me, not just say it.”

Rudra swallowed, nodding. “Fine. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it. Whatever you ask.”

Soumya gave him a long look, then finally said:
“Then let’s start with the truth. Not to me. To your family. Tell them everything. That we were married once. That you pushed me away. That Bhavya left because she saw what you refused to admit. No more hiding.”

Rudra stiffened. “Soumya…”

Her voice softened, but her words cut deep.
“You want to be my partner? Then stop being afraid of your own mistakes. Until then, Rudra, we’re nothing more than unfinished business.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving him under the garden lamp, drenched in guilt and determination.

The Family Truth

That evening, the Oberoi living room was unusually quiet. Shivaay sat with his laptop, Anika beside him, already suspicious of Rudra’s pacing. Omkara leaned against a pillar, brush-stained hands folded, while Gauri whispered something in his ear. Dadi watched her youngest grandson with a knitted brow.

“Rudra,” Shivaay said finally, “will you stop walking holes into the floor and tell us what’s wrong?”

Rudra stopped, heart hammering. His eyes flickered toward Soumya, who stood at the back, arms crossed, clearly not going to save him. He took a deep breath.

“There’s something I need to tell you all. Something I should’ve said years ago.”

Everyone straightened. Omkara’s calm voice cut through the tension.
“Is this about Soumya?”

Rudra winced. “Yes. And about me. About the biggest mistake of my life.”

Rudra turned to Dadi first. “Dadi… remember when you blessed me and Soumya, thinking it was all a joke? It wasn’t.”

Gasps rippled through the room. Shivaay shot up. “What do you mean it wasn’t?”

Rudra forced the words out. “Soumya and I… we got married. Accidentally, yes, but it was real. And instead of owning up to it, I treated it like a prank. I dismissed her. I hurt her. I made her feel invisible. And I’ve regretted it every day since.”

Anika put a hand over her mouth. Omkara and Gauri exchanged shocked glances. Dadi’s eyes filled with tears.
“Rudy… why hide this from us?”

“Because I was a coward,” Rudra said simply. “I was scared of responsibility, of commitment, of admitting that I loved her. So I ran. And in running, I lost her.”

He finally looked at Soumya. His voice broke.
“And now… she’s here, and I don’t deserve a second chance. But I can’t stay silent anymore. I need you all to know that I love her. That I’ve always loved her. And if she never forgives me, at least you’ll all know the truth.”

Shivaay exhaled slowly, his voice soft. “Finally, Rudra Singh Oberoi sounds like a man.”

Omkara nodded, a small proud smile on his face. “About time, little brother.”

Dadi wiped her tears. “Soumya put up with a lot because of your foolishness, Rudra. If she still has space in her heart for you… don’t let go again.”

All eyes turned to Soumya. She looked at Rudra — really looked — and for the first time in years, she didn’t see the immature boy who ran from love. She saw someone who had finally stopped running.

“This… this is what I needed to hear,” she said quietly. “Not promises. Not flattery. Just the truth.”

Rudra stepped closer, heart in his throat. “Does that mean…?”

Soumya held his gaze. “It means the story isn’t over. But whether it has a happy ending… depends on you.”

Proving It

The next morning, Soumya came downstairs to find Rudra already in the kitchen — hair a mess, apron tied awkwardly, flour smudged on his cheek.

She raised a brow. “What… are you doing?”

He looked up guiltily, holding a very questionable paratha. “Breakfast. For you.”

Soumya crossed her arms. “You never even made your own protein shakes properly.”

“I know.” He grinned sheepishly. “But I figured… if I’m going to start over, I should start with something real. Something you like. Not just chicken and eggs.”

Soumya hesitated. It wasn’t about parathas. It was about effort. About seeing him try in ways he never had before.

“Fine,” she said, taking a cautious bite. It was half-burnt, but edible. “Not terrible.”

Rudra lit up like a child who’d just won a gold medal. “That’s the best compliment you’ve ever given me.”

Rudra’s Growth

Slowly, Rudra began to change. No more shallow gym selfies. No more meaningless flirting. No more hiding behind protein shake jokes.

He started showing up at Soumya’s lectures — sometimes pretending he was “just bored,” but secretly hanging on to every word. He even began reading psychology books, of all things, just to understand her world better.

One afternoon, Omkara noticed him scribbling notes and raised a brow. “You’re either possessed… or in love.”

Rudra didn’t even look up from the book. “Is there a difference?” he muttered.

For the first time in his life, Rudra wasn’t chasing an image. He was chasing substance. And that substance was Soumya.

Later, he handed her a file. “I found your old research papers in the study. You left them here years ago. I thought you’d want them back.”

Soumya froze. “You… kept them?”

He nodded. “I didn’t throw them away. I couldn’t. Because even when I was too stupid to admit what you meant to me, some part of me knew these mattered. That you mattered.”

The sincerity in his voice disarmed her. She only whispered, “Thank you.”

That night, Omkara leaned against Rudra’s doorway. “You’re really trying this time.”

“I have to,” Rudra admitted. “Words aren’t enough anymore.”

Omkara smiled knowingly. “They never were.”

The Walls She Built

Soumya still struggled with the walls she had built. One night on the balcony, she finally let some of it slip. She told him how small he had made her feel back then, how invisible, how unloved. Tears broke her voice, but she didn’t let him comfort her. Not yet.

Rudra’s reply was quiet but raw: “I was a coward. I thought love had to look easy, perfect. But you… you terrified me. Because with you, I felt everything. And I wasn’t ready to feel that much. But I am now.”

Her walls cracked, just slightly. “We’ll see,” she whispered.

It wasn’t forgiveness. But it was the first crack in the fortress she’d built around her heart.

The Radio Revelation

One quiet evening, Soumya’s voice filled the Oberoi mansion again — not in person, but through the radio. RJ Love Angel was back.

Her words echoed in the living room: “Love isn’t about never hurting each other. It’s about finding the courage to heal together. Sometimes you have to let go of old wounds and give second chances.”

That night, Rudra called the station anonymously and asked, “What if the girl doesn’t believe in the guy anymore?”

Soumya’s reply floated through the static: “Then maybe the guy should stop convincing her with words… and start with actions.”

Rudra hung up, chest burning with resolve.

The Rooftop Confession

From then on, Rudra stopped trying to impress her with grand gestures. He focused on the small, steady things — ginger tea, late-night help with her work, quiet notes of encouragement tucked into her folders. And slowly, Soumya noticed.

One stormy evening, she stood alone on the rooftop, staring out at the rain. Rudra joined her, heart pounding.
“I’m not asking for forever, Soumya,” he said softly. “I’m asking for today. Just today. Let me be better today. For you. For us.”

Her eyes glistened, though the rain tried to hide it. “It was never your muscles, Rudra. I just wanted you to see me the way I saw you… with my heart.”

And for the first time, he did.

The First Real Kiss

With the rain drenching them both, Rudra finally stepped forward — not with the cocky charm of a boy, but with the steady resolve of a man in love. His usual swagger was gone; in its place stood someone stripped bare, heart in his eyes.

Soumya blinked up at him, raindrops sliding down her lashes. “Rudra…” she whispered, a warning, a plea, and a hope all in one.

He gave a crooked smile — the old Rudra peeking through, just for her. “You know, Sumo… all this time, I thought protein shakes were my fuel. Turns out…” He touched his chest lightly, right over his pounding heart. “…it was always you.”

A soft laugh broke through her tears. “Still such a drama king.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, stepping closer, voice dropping, “but you’ve always been my favorite punchline.”

The tension between them snapped — not with words, but with the magnetic pull that had been waiting for years. Rudra cupped her face, trembling but sure, and finally kissed her.

It wasn’t hurried, or stolen, or wrapped in immaturity. It was rain-soaked and tender, the taste of laughter and tears mingling on their lips. The kiss carried every unsaid apology, every buried confession, every second of longing that had lived between them.

When they finally pulled back, breathless, Soumya searched his face, half-afraid it would vanish like another one of his careless jokes. But he stayed, forehead pressed to hers, eyes steady.

“No more running,” he promised softly. “No more mistakes. Just us.”

And for the first time, Soumya believed him.

The rooftop, once a place of hiding, had witnessed their first real beginning.

Rumya Rewritten

A year later, Rudra throws the sangeet of the century — this time not as the Oberoi party king, but as the groom. He proudly marries Soumya in front of the whole family, with their original accidental marriage certificates now framed like a joke on the wall.

They laugh about it now — but they know what it took to get there.

Not love at first sight. Not dramatic passion. But something rare: love that grew up.

-----

The End.

Loved this dynamic between Rudra and Saumya.And it's nice to see him overcome his shallowness and change for the better.And I loved this confident version of Saumya.

Sad that rudra is dating bhavya.Glad that soumya returned.rudra is right.soumya didn't have to leave like the way she left.soumya is also right.rudra needn't have to pretend that she never existed.good that rudra agreed that he was stupid earlier.soumya saying that we don't hate anyone for hurting us..we just hate our own version which we became to keep them was striking.i liked bhavya telling rudra that he doesn't have to lie and she understands him.guess she is OK with rudra missing soumya.

Bhavya, the cop, seems like an interesting woman. She is feisty and takes no crap.

Both girls are there at the same house? Rudra is confused between the two. Soumya has got his attention right now, more than Bhavya.

Can Soumya dare to hope for something? She knows he is with Bhavya. But there might be a chance still.

Bhavya has realized what Rudra is still processing. She is ready to step back too. She is a classy lady indeed.