Ang Laga De - oneshot
Masterlist
a/n: After watching Dhurandhar, I’ve slowly started rewatching all the other movies of Ranveer Singh—that’s how obsessed I am with him.
And I turned Leela into an evil character, haha.
The night Ram came for her, the entire haveli seemed to hold its breath.
Outside, the sky over Ranjhaar burned in deep shades of indigo and silver, moonlight spilling over carved jharokhas and sandstone walls. Inside, the Sanera mansion stood silent beneath the weight of old grudges and older blood.
She stood by the window, heart thundering against her ribs.
Somewhere in the distance, a horse neighed.
Then came the sound she had been waiting for.
A soft whistle.
Low. Familiar.
Dangerous.
Her breath caught.
“Ram…”
She rushed to the lattice window and looked down.
There he was.
Dressed in black with a crimson stole draped over one shoulder, eyes shining with mischief and madness, Ram leaned against the courtyard pillar like he owned the night itself.
Like he owned her heart.
He looked up and smiled—that reckless, sinful smile that had ruined her peace from the first moment.
“Bas itna hi waqt laga mujhe yaad karne mein?” he whispered.
Her lips trembled into a smile.
“You’re insane. If anyone sees you—”
“Toh dekhne do.”
His gaze darkened.
“Tonight, I’m taking you away.”
The words stole the air from her lungs.
Away.
From the house.
From the feud.
From the suffocating walls.
From Leela’s constant, simmering jealousy.
Leela had seen the way Ram looked at her.
She had noticed the lingering glances, the stolen smiles during family gatherings, the way his voice softened only for her.
And it had filled her with a rage that tasted almost like heartbreak.
Earlier that evening, Leela had cornered her in the corridor, eyes flashing.
“So it’s true,” she had hissed. “Ram chose you.”
She said nothing.
Leela’s jaw tightened.
“He belongs in this story with me.”
But love did not care for stories already written.
Love rewrote everything.
Now Ram stretched out his hand from below.
“Come with me.”
Her pulse raced.
One moment of hesitation.
Then she gathered the edge of her dupatta, climbed over the low balcony railing, and descended the vine-covered side wall toward him.
The moment her feet touched the ground, Ram caught her.
His hands slid around her waist, pulling her close.
For a second, the world disappeared.
No rival families.
No fear.
Only the heat of his touch.
Only his breath brushes her cheek.
“You came,” he murmured, voice rough with wonder.
“Of course I came.”
She looked up at him.
“Wherever you go.”
Something raw and fierce flickered in his eyes.
Without warning, he kissed her.
It was not gentle.
It was hunger and relief and weeks of stolen glances finally breaking apart.
His mouth claimed hers with desperate warmth, one hand cupping her face, the other holding her against him as though the night itself might try to steal her away.
She kissed him back just as fiercely.
His forehead rested against hers when they finally parted.
“Come,” he whispered.
Before dawn, they were gone.
The temple stood far from Ranjhaar, hidden beyond dusty roads and sleeping fields, where the first rays of morning painted the horizon gold.
It was small.
Ancient.
Silent.
Perfect.
A lone priest looked up in surprise as Ram entered with her hand firmly clasped in his.
“We want to be married,” Ram said simply.
No grand procession.
No family.
No approval.
Just two hearts that had already chosen each other.
The priest’s gaze softened.
Perhaps he had seen love like this before.
Or perhaps he understood madness.
Under the flickering light of oil lamps, Ram tied the mangalsutra around her neck.
His fingers trembled.
For the first time, the fearless Ram looked nervous.
She smiled through tears.
When he filled the parting of her hair with sindoor, his touch turned reverent.
Almost worshipful.
The sacred fire crackled softly as they took the pheras.
Seven vows.
Seven promises.
Seven lifetimes.
And when it was done, Ram looked at her as though he had just been handed the entire sky.
“My wife,” he whispered.
The words made her heart melt.
He touched his forehead to hers.
“My everything.”
Leela found out by afternoon.
The news spread through Ranjhaar like wildfire.
Ram had taken her.
Married her.
Vanished.
Leela stood in the courtyard, fury blazing in her eyes.
The glass bangle in her hand shattered under the force of her grip.
“She left with him?”
Her voice shook.
No one answered.
Because no one dared.
Jealousy burned sharp and bitter inside her chest.
Not because she loved Ram.
But because he had chosen someone else over the destiny everyone assumed belonged to her.
“Find them,” she said coldly.
But by then, Ram had already taken her far away.
Far beyond the reach of vengeance.
Their new home was a small haveli on the outskirts of a distant village.
Quiet.
Warm.
Wrapped in marigold light.
That night, the room glowed with candles.
Soft curtains stirred in the breeze.
Rose petals lay scattered across the bed.
She stood near the window, suddenly shy.
The weight of sindoor in her hair.
The mangalsutra against her skin.
Everything felt real now.
Ram stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
The click echoed in the silence.
Her breath hitched.
For a moment, he simply looked at her.
And the way he looked—
God.
It made her knees weak.
Not lust alone.
Something deeper.
Wonder.
Possession.
Love.
He crossed the room slowly.
“Why are you standing so far from me, wife?”
The word sent heat rushing to her cheeks.
She lowered her eyes.
His fingers tilted her chin up.
“No.”
His voice softened.
“Look at me.”
She did.
And found herself drowning.
He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering against her cheek.
“So beautiful.”
His thumb traced her lower lip.
“I still can’t believe you’re really here.”
“I am.”
Her voice was barely a whisper.
Ram smiled.
Then he kissed her.
This time it was slower.
Deeper.
Tender in a way that unravelled her completely.
His hands slid around her waist, drawing her closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between them.
She could feel the steady hammering of his heart.
Could feel how much he wanted her.
How much he loved her.
His lips moved from her mouth to the corner of her jaw, then lower, lingering near her neck.
A soft gasp escaped her.
“Ram…”
“Hm?”
His voice vibrated against her skin.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
A low laugh.
“Of course I am.”
He kissed her again.
Slow, lingering kisses along her throat, each one making her fingers clutch at his shoulders.
The world narrowed to warmth and breath and the intoxicating scent of sandalwood clinging to him.
He lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
She laughed softly, startled.
“Put me down.”
“Never.”
He carried her to the bed as if she were something precious.
Something sacred.
When he laid her down, his hand brushed her cheek with surprising gentleness.
“I’ve dreamed of this.”
His eyes held hers.
“But only if you want this too.”
Her heart swelled.
She touched his face, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw.
“I do.”
That was all he needed.
The kiss that followed was slow fire.
His hands roamed with care and reverence, never rushing, every touch a question, every caress answered by the way she leaned into him.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as he kissed her again and again, mouths meeting in soft, breathless intervals.
The candles flickered.
Outside, the night deepened.
Inside, time dissolved.
Their laughter mixed with whispered names.
His forehead rested against hers between kisses.
His hands held her like a promise.
The first night was not wild.
It was intimate.
Tender.
A storm wrapped in silk.
Moments of breathless closeness, lingering touches, soft murmurs spoken into the dark.
The kind of night where love was felt in every heartbeat.
Much later, she lay against his chest, his arm around her, fingers lazily tracing circles on her back.
“Any regrets?” he asked quietly.
She looked up.
Moonlight touched his face.
“Only one.”
His expression tightened.
“What?”
She smiled softly.
“That I didn’t run away with you sooner.”
Ram laughed—a warm, disbelieving sound—and kissed her forehead.
“Good.”
He pulled her closer.
“Because I’m never letting you go.”
Outside, somewhere far away, the fires of old jealousy and old rivalries still burned.
But here, in this room, in his arms, she felt something stronger than war.
Love.
The kind that steals daughters from guarded houses.
The kind that rewrites fate.
The kind that survives even the fire.
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