The Faculty Office

It was late afternoon, the corridor outside Rajveer's office hushed except for the faint whir of ceiling fans. Most faculty had left for the day; the few that remained were locked in their own work.

Ishki stood at his desk, her notebook open, presenting her latest draft of the research proposal. Rajveer was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin.

"You've improved," he said after a long silence. "But you're still holding back."

Her brows knit. "Holding back?"

"You write like you're afraid to take a stand." His gaze fixed on her, intense enough to pin her in place. "In research, just like in life... hesitation costs you everything."

She swallowed. "I'm trying-"

In an instant, he was on his feet, closing the distance. His hands braced against the desk on either side of her, caging her in. His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.
"I don't want you to try. I want you to own it. Every word. Every argument. Every inch of me... every part of us. Do you understand, Mrs. Singhania?"

Her pulse hammered. The door was locked - he had done it the moment she entered - but still, the knowledge of where they were made her dizzy.

"You'll remember this when you present in your colloquium," he murmured, one hand sliding up her spine. "The way you stand... the way you claim the space."

When he finally stepped back, her legs felt unsteady. But her notes were marked with his firm, decisive strokes, and in the margins, a single word written in his unmistakable hand: Mine.

Fieldwork Trip - Varanasi's Old Quarters

As part of their PhD fieldwork, Ishki and Misha had to conduct ethnographic studies on traditional occupational communities in Varanasi. Rajveer, of course, was the supervising faculty for their cohort.

The narrow lanes smelled of incense, spices, and the smoke of wood-fired stoves. They spent the mornings interviewing artisans, afternoons in makeshift libraries taking notes.

But one evening, after the rest of the group dispersed to their guest rooms, Rajveer asked her to meet him on the rooftop of their lodging. The city lights twinkled below, the Ganges glimmered under the moonlight.

"You work hard," he said, handing her a steaming cup of chai. "Too hard. You forget to breathe."

She smiled faintly. "You make it hard to forget the work."

"And you make it hard," his voice dropped, "to remember my own rules."

His hand brushed hers under the shawl draped over her shoulders, hidden from the night air and any stray gaze. They stood like that for a long moment, the city's chaos a distant hum, before he leaned in - not quite kissing, but close enough that the warmth of his breath sent a tremor through her.

Possessiveness in Public

Back at BHU, Ishki began presenting her early findings at departmental seminars. Her calm, precise delivery drew attention from visiting faculty and peers alike.

Rajveer noticed.

After one presentation, a young visiting researcher lingered to compliment her work, perhaps a shade too warmly. Rajveer's hand landed on the small of her back in a casual-looking gesture - but the pressure of his fingers spoke otherwise.

Later that night, in the privacy of the mansion, his voice was low, edged.
"I don't like the way he looked at you."

"He was just being polite-"

"No. Men don't look at my wife like that unless they forget she belongs to someone." His eyes darkened. "Maybe I need to remind you, too."

What followed was not gentle. It was the kind of possessive, consuming love that left no room for doubt - or breath. They're back to their home.....

The Singhania mansion was quiet that night, but it was not peaceful.

Stacks of typed pages lay scattered across the long mahogany desk in Rajveer's study, each one marked in his sharp, ruthless handwriting. Ishki sat in the chair opposite him, her notebook open but untouched, pen poised in trembling fingers. The air between them was too heavy for words.

"You're distracted," Rajveer said finally, his voice low - the kind of low that meant danger. His eyes didn't leave her face, even as he crossed the room to shut the door with deliberate finality.

"I'm just tired... we've been working since-"

"Since morning," he finished for her, leaning down over the desk so his face was level with hers. "And yet you still expect me to let you submit work that isn't perfect?"

Her pulse jumped. In the glow of the desk lamp, the sharp lines of his face seemed even more carved, his gaze even more unyielding. It wasn't the voice of a husband here - it was her PhD advisor, the Professor Singhania the rest of BHU feared. But under that, she could feel it... the current of something far less professional, far more dangerous.

Misha had long since gone to bed. The house was theirs alone.

Rajveer straightened and stepped around the desk, coming to stand beside her chair. "Read this paragraph aloud," he ordered, pointing to one section of her draft. His tone left no room for refusal.

She read, but her voice wavered. His presence behind her was a shadow and a heat, and she could feel him watching the slope of her neck, the faint tremor in her hands.

"Again," he said, quieter this time.

By the third repetition, her words were breathy. The meaning of the paragraph was lost to the tension twisting in her stomach. He leaned closer, his hand braced on the armrest, until she could feel his breath at her ear.

"You think you can hide from me when you're like this?" he murmured. "I know every shift in your voice. Every flicker in your eyes. Every time your thoughts... stray."

Her pen slipped from her fingers. He caught it, set it neatly on the desk - and then his hand remained there, resting over hers, a claim disguised as a simple gesture.

The academic pressure was suffocating in those weeks - deadlines closing in, data analyses to finalize, revisions to implement. But Rajveer made her feel it twice over: once as her advisor, who demanded brilliance, and again as her husband, who demanded every ounce of her.

When the viva date was announced, the tension only sharpened. Misha helped Ishki rehearse presentations during the day, but at night, Rajveer's standards were merciless. He'd keep her in the study until past midnight, challenging every argument, forcing her to defend every theoretical choice. And always, there was that undertone - the glint in his eyes that said you're mine, and no one else will see you falter.

The night before her viva, he was even worse. She had just finished a mock run-through when he rose from his chair and walked to her slowly, his gaze fixed and unreadable.

"You'll be brilliant tomorrow," he said at last, voice soft but edged. "Because you are mine. And I don't let what's mine fail."

When his hand closed around the back of her chair, tilting her face up to him, there was no more room to pretend this was about academics. His world and hers had narrowed to this - breath, heartbeat, and the space between them that was closing with dangerous inevitability.

The next morning, she walked into the Sociology Department seminar hall not as a wife, not even as just a student, but as a candidate defending years of work. Rajveer was there already - seated at the back, expression cool, every inch the respected professor. To anyone else, there was nothing unusual about his presence. But Ishki could feel it: his watchfulness was for her and her alone.

She spoke with a clarity that surprised even herself. Every question from the panel, she answered without hesitation. Her confidence wasn't just her own - it was built on the nights of relentless preparation, the steel Rajveer had forged into her.

When it was over, and the panel congratulated her, she caught the briefest flicker in his eyes - pride, fierce and unguarded.

The reveal happened almost by accident. The head of the department, smiling warmly, turned to Rajveer and said, "Professor Singhania, I believe this is a double celebration - your top student and your... relative?"

Misha's barely-suppressed grin was the giveaway. Ishki froze, but Rajveer didn't. He simply rose, crossed the room with deliberate steps, and placed his hand at the small of her back - the kind of touch no colleague could mistake.

"Not relative," he said smoothly, voice carrying just enough. "Wife."

The room fell silent. Gasps, a few stunned looks, and Misha's laugh ringing bright in the middle of it all. Rajveer didn't care. He looked only at Ishki, his hand a firm anchor against her.

And in that moment - public, unapologetic, and completely in control - she knew that every step of this journey, from admission to PhD, had been exactly what he intended.

She was his. In every way that mattered. And now, the world knew it too....

Misha came and hugged them tight, " finally...... We did it bhaiya bhabhi...😉.... Now we all 3 are Drs.....😅 "

Rajveer congratulated them with a smile...., well done by babies..... "The way you both worked so hard day and night is commendable"..... rajveer said proudly "And I'm so sorry bchcha for being too tough to you sometime..... But you know na it was necessary as it provided the push you needed I wanted my bchcha to do best in her research and I can proudly say that you did it my love😍😘".... Rajveer said with calm gentle voice to ishki while hugging her.....

Now both ishki and misha is also appointed as professor at sociology department, BHU......

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😍😘 aaj keliye bs itna hi..... To be continued tomorrow..... Hope you like it...... Pardon my mistake..... Till then keep loving and supporting me and my stories......😘😍

🤗😇Thanx for reading😇🤗