Toxic Hukum (7) End

 

Mature content ahead 🟥 

Hansika’s POV 

"Jor se pair daba chhori, kuch seekha nahi hai kya?"

Another day. Another taunt. Her voice—sharp and cold—cut through the silence of the early morning like a blade. I bit my lower lip and pressed my mother-in-law’s feet harder, trying not to flinch as the joints in my fingers ached. 

The warm oil made her skin slick, but I kept massaging with both hands, slow and firm, just the way she demanded.

She was seated on her old wooden chair, her eyes staring out into the courtyard like a queen surveying her empire. And me? I was the servant-wife, the bahu of the haveli, kneeling at her feet.

In the past three days, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wiped the same floor, cooked endless meals, washed piles of clothes until my hands turned raw, and still, nothing seems enough. 

Not a word of appreciation. 

Not a hint of kindness.

I smile weakly whenever she says something, though my heart feels heavier with each passing day.

I don’t even have a phone anymore—he took it. 

I can't even ask her for phone. But how can I? She never lets me speak to him. Even when I ask gently, she says, "Kya bachpan hai? Teen din hi hue hain, itni tadap?"

And then laughs.

But she doesn’t know… how much I miss him.

His voice. His presence. His silence, even.

In this huge haveli filled with so many rooms, I feel utterly alone.

Every corner echoes with my chores, every wall listens to my quiet sobs at night. 

When I lie down to sleep, I stare at the ceiling and wonder if he’s thinking of me too.

Today, she said he’ll be coming back. My heart skipped a beat when I heard that. I quickly looked away, pretending it didn’t matter much. But inside, everything stirred like a storm.

Will he be angry again? Cold? Or maybe… just maybe… will he look at me the way he did on the wedding day, when our eyes met only for a moment but it felt like something had settled into place?

I don’t know.

All I know is… I want him to come back.

Even if he doesn't say a word.

Even if he just walks past me.

I just want to see him.

Because in this strange new life…

He’s the only familiar thing I have.

“Jaake chai bana de mere liye,”

Her voice rang out again—sharp, commanding. 

That would be the eighth cup of tea this evening. 

I was still sitting on the angan floor, my legs tucked under me for the last hour, when she gave her next order like I was some button she could press whenever she wished.

My knees cracked as I stood up slowly, wincing at the dull ache. 

The coldness of the floor had seeped into my bones, but I didn’t complain. I never do. Adjusting the edge of my pallu over my head, I quietly walked to the kitchen, the hem of my cotton saree dragging lightly behind me.

The kitchen was warm, slightly smoky from the evening prep. 

I poured the milk into the vessel and turned on the flame, letting my hands move in habit. 

Just as I reached for the tea leaves, I heard her voice—this time filled with joy, a rare emotion in this house.

"Mera beta aa gaya! Kitna kamzor lag raha hai," she exclaimed.

My hands froze. My heart skipped once.

Then twice.

He’s here.

Everything inside me stirred all at once—nervousness, hope, relief, and something I couldn’t even name.

 I couldn’t see him yet, but I could hear the pride in her voice. Her tone softened, protective, like only a mother’s can be.

Before I could even react, she shouted again, louder now, like the whole haveli should hear:

“Bahu! Ek bada glass haldi doodh aa mere bete ke liye!”

The tea leaves slipped from my fingers and fell onto the counter as I turned, reached for the haldi instead, and added a pinch to the boiling milk. 

My hands were trembling slightly—not from fear, but anticipation.

I strained the milk slowly, trying to keep my breath steady. That’s when she entered the kitchen, her eyes scanning everything like a hawk.

"Itni der laga deti hai yeh chhori. Kuch nahi aata isse!"

The words cut, again. As always.

But this time, I didn’t react. I lowered my gaze, adjusted my pallu, and softly said,

“Je maaji, bas ho gaya.”

My voice came out quieter than usual, almost like a whisper carried away by steam.

Inside me, everything was swirling. He was here… after three long days that felt like months. 

So many times I had stood by the door, hoping to see his shadow. Now he was just a few feet away, and yet still out of reach.

As I poured the haldi milk into the glass, my fingers lingered around the rim—like somehow, this glass could carry all that I wasn’t allowed to say.

Would he even look at me? Would he ask about me?

Or would he just sip the milk, say nothing, and leave the room?

I didn’t know.

But as I turned to take the glass out to him, my heart was no longer steady.

It raced ahead… to him.

"Issi tarah chalta raha na toh tera pati haath se nikal jayega. Har kaam mein deri karti hai bas,"

Her words sliced right through me. Sharp. Cruel. Precise.

I stood there, holding the glass of haldi doodh, and felt something inside me crumble.

I love him.

With every breath, every thought, every hope I’ve tucked inside myself these last few days. But her words… they made that love feel like something slipping through my fingers—something I wasn’t worthy of, something I might lose.

I lowered my eyes again, hiding the tears that threatened to spill.

"Ab dekh kya rahi hai glass ko, kamre mein leke ja. Aur sun..."

She grabbed my wrist, her grip unexpectedly tight, her voice now low but full of command.

"Bhara se aaya hai woh… thakaan utar dio uski."

I didn’t say a word. I just nodded.

Like always.

I held the glass carefully and began walking up the stairs, every step feeling heavy. 

The door creaked faintly as I pushed it open.

He was there.

Back turned to me.

He had taken off his kurta and was folding it, his bare back covered in a light sheen of sweat. His shoulders moved with each breath—strong, steady, distant. He placed some cash inside the almirah, then arranged a few papers beside it.

He didn’t turn.

He didn’t greet me.

He didn’t ask how I was.

And I… couldn’t find the courage to break that silence.

"Je… woh dudh," I murmured, barely audible, setting the glass on the small wooden table near the bed.

Nothing.

"Suniye—" I whispered, trying again. Trying to bridge this aching distance.

But he cut me off.

Cold. Sharp. Like a wall rising again between us.

"Sun toh tu meri baat, yeh jhoothi parwah karne ki zarurat nahi hai samjhi!"

His voice thundered in the closed room, louder than anything I’d heard in days. He threw his clothes on the bed with such force that they slid off the edge and crumpled to the floor.

I flinched.

Not out of fear… but heartbreak.

His eyes—once the only place I searched for softness—were now filled with nothing but anger.

And mine… they brimmed with tears. Hot, stubborn tears born not from weakness but from pure frustration.

Why was it always like this between us?

"Isliye byaah kiya aapne? Roj mujhse behas karte hain aap. Jab pasand hi nahi thi toh kyun kiya?"

My voice cracked midway.

The words came out between sobs I could no longer hold back.

I placed the glass of milk on the table with trembling hands and looked away, not wanting him to see how deeply it hurt.

But I wanted him to know. To feel it.

He took a step forward, his voice colder than before.

"Pasand toh main nahi raha tujhe ab. Ek phone tak na kiya gaya tujhse. Pati bahar hai teen din se—ek phone toh kar sakti thi!"

He was standing right in front of me now, close enough for me to feel his anger breathing between us.

But I didn’t back down this time.

"Toh aapne kaunsa phone kiya mujhe? Bas maaji ko hi karte the," I replied, my voice low but heavy with emotion.

His eyes flared.

"Hamesha main hi phone karunga? Main hi sambad banane koshish karunga? Main hi shaadi ke liye koshish karunga? Tu kuch nahi karegi mere liye?"

I couldn’t answer.

Because he wasn’t entirely wrong.

"Jawab nahi hai kuch ab toh tere paas, huh!"

He scoffed, took a step back, turning away slightly in disappointment—when suddenly, something in me snapped.

I didn’t think.

I just said it.

From the deepest part of me, words rose like fire bursting through ashes—

"Pyar nahi karte toh shaadi hi nahi karte,"

My words echoed in the room.

"Kya boli tu? Hmmm? Phir se bol?"

He stepped closer, his voice low and dangerous. I instinctively stepped back.

Again.

And again.

Until my back hit the cold wall behind me.

In a swift move, he pinned me there, caging me between his arms. 

His eyes were burning, not just with anger—but something deeper. Something… wild.

"Pyar nahi karta?"

He growled, voice barely above a whisper, yet powerful enough to shake my breath.

"Agar pyar nahi karta toh istemal karke phek diya hota tujhe!"

His face inched closer. I could feel his breath, hot and uneven. His gaze didn’t move from mine.

"Agar pyar nahi karta toh apne ghar waalon ke khilaaf jaake byah na karta tujhse!"

His jaw clenched.

There was pain there. So much pain. Like love, in his world, came with a price.

"Agar pyar nahi karta toh tere baap ko gulam bana kar rakhta… aur karza maaf na karta!"

Each word struck me like a wave.

He had done all this…

Silently. Without ever claiming credit

"Main aisa hi hoon, Hansika," he whispered harshly, his face inches from mine,

"Tujhe apnana hoga mujhe. Kyunki tu sirf meri hai… sirf meri!"

The passion in his voice wasn’t just of possession. It was of desperation… of someone who never learned how to love gently.

It scared me—because it reminded me of that night.

The night he kissed me for the first time.

With the same fire.

The same madness.

I swallowed hard, tears slipping from my eyes again.

"Ghar kyu nahi jaane diya aapne mujhe?"

My voice trembled with the question I had buried deep for days.

He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

Then, looking at me with raw honesty, he sai

"Dar tha mujhe… ki tu mere pagalpan ko dekh ke bhaag na jaaye."

He slowly leaned his forehead against mine.

Our breaths tangled. My heart was thudding loud in my chest.

"Mujh jaise beimaan insaan se prem karti hai tu, Hansika…"

His voice cracked. And something inside me softened.

I didn’t reply.

Instead, I let my hand rest on his chest—where I could feel the wild heartbeat that matched mine.

Then he said something so quiet, so tender, it shattered the last bit of resistance I held:

"Jahaan jaana hai… mere saath chal. Zindagi bhar… bas meri reh."

And before I could think, he kissed my forehead.

So softly.

My heart exploded in that moment.

Without hesitation, I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tightly—burying my face in his neck.

No one said a word.

There was no need.

In that silence, hearts spoke.

His feelings were messy.

 So were mine.

But I knew one thing for sure—

He loved me.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

Time slipped by. 

And when we finally broke the hug, he cupped my face and gently wiped my tears.

I gave him a tiny smile, shy and warm.

He returned it—just a small one—but real. 

"Thakan hai… door kar degi?"

His voice dropped, rich and seductive, as he brushed his lips against my cheek.

I giggled, nodding yes.

My cheeks flushed instantly.

In one swift motion, he picked me up and threw me onto the bed, playful yet intense.

His hands reached for my saree, pulling it away slowly. 

"Bohot sundar lagti hai saree mein tu, biwi,"

he whispered against my skin.

I shyed away and he turned me sideways on bed and he positions his throbbing, erect member at the entrance of my wet, inviting pussy and pushes his hips forward, sliding his length inside my warm, tight channel and he said, "par nangi zyda achi lgti hai" I gasped 

"Ahhh bhenchod" He groans loudly, relishing the feeling of being inside me again after three long days apart.

"Bhot yaad teri chut ki mujhe hansika ahhhh bhenchod" With a deep thrust, Mahendra pushes his entire length inside my welcoming pussy, making me gasp and moan loudly. 

"Ahhh Mahendra jeee ummm ahhhhh" He grips my hips firmly, holding me in place as he starts to move, sliding in and out of me with increasing urgency and passion.

"Teri kasi chut jaisa kuch nahi Hansika ahhh ahhh puri duniya me sabse achi jagah hai mere lund ke liye ahhh," Mahendra continues to pound into me, his hips moving in a steady rhythm as he enjoys the sensation of my tight pussy gripping his length. 

He notices me shy away slightly, my face flushed and eyes downcast, after feeling him inside me after three days. 

"Meri aankho mei dekh," he commands softly, slowing his thrusts slightly.

"Mera pyar hai yeh hansika tere liye aur teri chut ke liye bhi" Mahendra jee said, his voice low and husky as he continues to slide in and out of me. I nodded seeing passion in his eyes. 

"Teri ek jhalak se hi mera lund sakht ho jata hai... bhenchod. Dil karta hai iss chut ka bhosda bana du mai bas" Mahendra jee immediately changes his tone and starts dirty talking directly to me now, his thrusts becoming more forceful as he fucks me. 

"Ahhhh bhot jor se ahhh kar rhe hai aap ahhh jee..." I moaned feeling his urgent thrusts. 

"Maza toh jor se karne mei hi aata hai Hansika ahhhhh teri chekhe sunne me ata hai ahhhhh" Mahendra jee rolls you onto my side, positioning himself behind me as he continues to fuck me sideways. 

"Mere paas rahe aur chudwati rahd mujhse. Dur nahi Jane dunga tujhe mai" he said possessively and wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me back against him as he thrusts his cock deep inside you from this angle.

"Tere yeh chuche bhi bade ho rahe chudne se. Dudh bhar jayega inme toh dudh piyunga mai tera..." I nodded and His free hand reaches around to squeeze and play with my breasts as he pounds into me.

"Ahhhh Mahendra jee mera aaane wala hai ahhhhh...." I cries out from pleasure and hearing it his thrusts become erratic and powerful, his hips slamming against my ass. 

"Nikal paani apni chut se hansika ahhhh geela kar dei mera lund saali ahhhh ahhh jakad mera lund ohhh ahhh" He feels my pussy clench tightly around his cock. 

"Ahhhhh Mahendra jeeee......." I bite his palm and cums on his cock. 

As soon as I calmed down, Mahendra jee pulls out and quickly laid straight down on the bed, his hard cock standing upright. He grabs my hips and lifts me up, positioning me over his lap. 

"Mere lund par baith," he commands roughly. "Andar daal isse apne ched mei" I nodded and slowly his cock travelled inside me deep. 

"Ahhhhh madarchod pura andar jaa rha hai mera lund ummmm" As I sit down on his lap and start moving on his cock, Mahendra grabs a handful of my hair and pulls my head back sharply. 

"Bhot ache biwi....gaand hila apni ab mere lund par ahhhhh," he growls into my ear, his other hand slapping my ass hard.

We both moaned at the feeling and after a few minutes of riding him, I start to slow down and Mahendra jee can feel my energy waning. Without warning, he wraps his arms around my waist. 

"Mai chodta tujhe biwi, tu toh thak gayi hai abhi se," he says firmly.

"Padak le mujhe, aur jor se chudne ke liye tayar rahe hai" true to his warning, he fucks me hard and fast without any mercy. 

"Ahhhh teri chut dheeli ho jayegi ahhhh mere roj chodne se hansika ahhhh ahhh meri biwi ki kasi hui chut ahhh bhenchod!!" Mahendra jee begins to fuck me fast and hard, his hips moving like a machine as he pounds his thick, long dick in and out of my wet, tired pussy. 

"Ahhhhhhh Mahendra jeee ahhhhh mera ahhhhhh ahhh dheeme ahhhh" i cries out and he increased his pace, screwing me completely. 

"Nikal de apna paani saali ahhhh geela kar apne pati ka lund saali ahhhhhh" Mahendra jee's fast and rough fucking quickly brings me to the edge again.

"Meri biwi ki chut paani chord rahi hai ahhhh ache se geela kar mujhe ahhhh biwi" He leans down and bites my neck hard, marking me as he fucks me through my orgasm, making me scream his name.

Mahendra jee pulls out and lays me down on the bed, spreading my legs wide open. 

"Teri aankho mei dekh kar chodunga tujhe. Fir tere peit me apna bacha dunga Hansika" He climbs between them and positions himself in the missionary position, his big, hard dick pressing against my gaping, wet pussy.

"Ahhh meri biwi, teri randi jaise chut ahhhhh mera sara ras nikal degi ahhh ahhh" Mahendra jee doesn't slow down, his hips continuing to move rapidly as he fucks me harder and deeper. 

"Tera sb kuch mera hai!!! Tere yeh mote chuche bhi!" My breasts bounce wildly with each thrust, his hands gripping my thighs tightly as he pounds into me relentlessly.

"Teri yeh kasi hui chut bhi! Sab mera hai!" He watches his thick cock disappear inside my stretched pussy over and over again.

As Mahendra jee starts to slowly slide his cock back inside me in the missionary position, he leans down and kisses me deeply, his tongue invading your mouth as he starts to fuck me gently but deeply.

"Tu bhi meri hai ...sirf meri..." His hands roam my body, squeezing my breasts and playing with my nipples as he makes love to me.

"Teri chut chud gayi teen baad ahhhh roj sapne dekhta tha tujhe chodne ke ahhhh aaj ruka hi nahi gaya mujhse ummmm ahhhh" While kissing me passionately, he pushes deeper with each smooth thrust, hitting that perfect spot that makes my body tense up and gasp against his lips. 

"Nikal mere saath apna paani ahhhhhh hansikaaa..." 

My body tenses up suddenly, my legs shaking around his waist tightly as I throw my head back and moan loudly. 

"Mahendra jeeeee." I bit my lip as my pussy convulses around his thick length, my inner muscles milking his dick as I cum hard on him in the missionary position.

"Ahhhhh Hansikaaaaa..." Mahendra jee's hot, thick cum fills me completely, overflowing my pussy and dripping down onto the bed beneath me.

"Har ek boond le mera ras ki apne andar aaaahhhhh biwi...." He continues to grind his hips against mine, pushing every last drop of his seed deep inside my womb as he kisses me slowly and deeply, marking me as his.

The blanket was soft and heavy, tangled around our bare legs. The day had turned cool, and the only light in the room was from the dim bulb flickering near the corner wall. Its golden glow painted shadows across Mahendra jee’s sharp features—his strong jawline, the faint stubble, the way his lashes rested over his cheek when he blinked slowly.

We lay wrapped in each other’s warmth, my head resting on his chest, his fingers tracing idle circles on my back. He had been unusually tender after everything. Kissing my face with a kind of affection that was hesitant but real—cheeks, forehead, nose, lips—like he was learning what softness meant.

Then he paused, pulling slightly back, and asked with quiet curiosity,

"Woh jhumke kyun nahi pehne tune?"

I looked at him, slightly startled.

"Jee… woh maaji ko de diye," I replied truthfully, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

His brows instantly furrowed. His hand stilled.

"Woh tere liye the. Maa ko kyun diye?"

His voice wasn’t angry, just confused… but firm.

I explained everything. About how she had commented, about how uncomfortable she had made me feel for even receiving a gift. He listened silently, his eyes darkening a little, not at me—but for me.

He hummed low in his throat.

"Apna tohfa kisi ko dene ki zarurat nahi hai. Main maa se baat karta hoon."

I nodded slightly, unsure how that would go, but quietly touched his arm in support.

He sat up, stretching his arms over his head before standing. I watched as he picked up the glass of milk from the side table, his back to me. He looked effortlessly handsome in the low light—broad shoulders, dusky skin, the muscles shifting as he moved.

"Thanda ho gaya hoga, Mahendra jee… main garam karke laati hoon," I offered, already starting to rise.

"Tu aaram kar, main le aata hoon,"

he replied gently, cutting me off as he started dressing. He didn’t even look back—just pulled on his kurta and walked out of the room.

I lay there like a fool, smiling to myself. My heart felt light. Like for the first time… I mattered. Not just as his wife—but as someone he wanted to protect.

But then I heard raised voices downstairs. A sharp noise, followed by his mother’s voice… crying?

I stood up immediately, tiptoeing near the room's window that looked over the living space below. My mother-in-law was crying, holding her dupatta to her chest, and Mahendra jee stood calmly in front of her.

"Ab uss chhori ke liye maa se sawal karega tu?" she cried, her voice filled with disbelief and pain.

I instinctively pulled back behind the curtain, heart pounding.

"Maa, isme rone wali baat nahi hai. Bas uske jhumke hain, wahi maang raha hoon," he replied steadily, his tone composed but unyielding.

"Uske jhumke?! Woh gareeb ladki ka kuch nahi hai iss ghar mein!"

She yelled, and my chest tightened at her words. I bit my lip, holding back the emotion rising in my throat.

"Chillao mat maa," he said, and I could hear the shift in his voice—firm now.

"Aur woh ladki meri biwi hai. Bhoolo mat, byah hua hai hamara. Uske bura bolke aap mujhe par ungli utha rahi ho."

The room fell tense.

"Haan haan, main hi buri hoon na!" she sobbed,

"Pata nahi kya jaadu kiya hai usne! Yeh le jhumke uske… pehna de usse. Ab mat bolna mujhe apni maa!"

And with that, she stormed off into her room, crying loudly.

"Maa… maa suniye—"

he called after her, but she didn’t listen.

I quickly rushed back to the bed, pretending I hadn't heard anything. My heart was thudding, not from fear now… but something deeper. Something warmer.

A few minutes passed. Then he returned, carrying two glasses of milk—one in each hand. His face looked tired but calm, and when our eyes met, he gave me a small smile.

"Yeh le. Taqat aayegi thodi tujh mein," he said softly, placing the glass in my hand and helping me sit properly. He tucked a pillow behind my back, adjusting it carefully.

I couldn’t help but smile at his gesture. So unexpected. So tender.

He sat beside me and took the second glass.

Then, in a low voice, almost like a confession, he began—

"Mujhe prem karna nahi aata..."

I looked at him, my glass frozen midway to my lips. He wasn’t looking at me—his eyes were on the small jhumka he now held in his hand, playing with its clasp.

"Par main tere liye koshish karunga," he continued, his voice honest, bare.

"Thoda—nahi—thoda zyada hi gusse waala hoon main..."

I chuckled lightly. He smirked too, just for a second.

"Par tere liye narm banne ki koshish karunga," he said, and slowly brought the earring to my ear, gently inserting it and securing the clasp.

Our faces were close—close enough for our breaths to mingle.

In his eyes, I saw something I had never seen so clearly before—sincerity. Stripped of ego, stripped of pride. Just… real.

I whispered, voice trembling with truth,

"Aap jaise bhi hain… mere hain, Mahendra jee."

He looked at me, something unspoken passing between us.

He smiled—just a little, but the kind of smile that holds more than words ever could.

Yes, he was obsessive. Yes, he was flawed.

But beneath all of that… was a man who was learning to love.

And I was the only one he wanted to learn it for.

And for me…

That was enough.

Skip to Next day. 

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping outside the room. The golden rays of early morning filtered through the thin cotton curtains, painting warm patterns on the floor. For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was.

Then I felt it.

His arm—wrapped tightly around my waist.

His breath—soft against the back of my neck.

His body—warm and heavy, curled protectively around me.

I froze. Not in fear… but in awe.

He’s still here.

Not just physically… but emotionally.

Last night had changed something. No, not everything had magically become perfect. But the air between us had shifted—softer, warmer.

He hadn’t just held me… he had seen me.

I gently turned in his arms to face him. His face was relaxed in sleep, his usual hardness melted into something peaceful. I traced his brow with my eyes, the scar on his jaw, the slight stubble on his cheeks.

He looked… beautiful.

Mine.

I tried to move slowly out of bed, not wanting to wake him. But his grip tightened, and his voice came out, raspy and low—

“Kahaan ja rahi hai meri biwi?”

I smiled and whispered,

“Bas, paani lene… subah ho gayi hai.”

He opened one eye, sleep-heavy, and pulled me back to the bed gently.

“Thodi der aur… bas thodi der. Aaj tu sirf meri hai. Koi kaam nahi.”

My heart fluttered. That was new.

We lay there a while longer, and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. I didn’t know how long this softness would last… but I would take whatever I could get.

Eventually, I did get up. He sat on the bed, still shirtless, hair tousled, watching me as I adjusted my blouse and draped my saree. His eyes followed me quietly—not with lust, but something gentler.

“Hansika,” he said as I was tying my hair,

“Aaj tu chaahe toh maayka jaa sakte hai… mil aana apne pitaji se.”

I turned to him, shocked.

His tone was casual, but the meaning behind it wasn’t.

It was trust. Permission. A thread of freedom.

“Jee?” I whispered, unsure if I heard right.

He looked at me, serious.

“Main le jaunga tujhe."

Tears stung my eyes again—but this time, not from sadness.

I nodded slowly.

He nodded too. It was small… but it meant everything.

Later that morning, we went downstairs together. For the first time, he held my hand in front of the family. The servants glanced. The air felt strange.

His mother looked up, eyes red from last night’s outburst. But Mahendra didn’t let go of my hand.

He simply said,

“Main aur Hansika thodi der baahar ja rahe hain.”

She didn’t respond.

But her silence wasn’t as sharp as before.

And when we left the haveli, riding on his bike, I sat closer to him than ever. Not because he told me to.

But because I wanted to.

This was a beginning.

A small, delicate one.

But beginnings don’t have to be loud.

They just have to be real.

                       __________________

On high demand on readers, I have changed the behaviour of Mahendra and made me more soft to Hansika. Hopefully you all will like it. 

The End ~