Udaipur | Rathod Summer Palace
Reewa’s POV | Age 7
The palace was too big, too quiet, and far too gold.
Reewa Singhal’s tiny sneakers made soft thuds on the marble as she skipped past the giant lion-shaped fountains lining the entrance. The heat shimmered over the sandstone pathways, and the scent of mango trees floated in with the dry wind. She squinted up at the palace gates—ornate arches with carvings of royal elephants and sun emblems. Royal enough to make her stomach twist.
“Stop running, Reewa!” Meera Singhal called from behind her, holding onto her wide sunhat and fanning herself dramatically. “This isn’t a playground—it’s the Maharaj’s home!”
“It’s too quiet to be fun,” Reewa muttered to Ira Rathod beside her.
Ira grinned, bouncing alongside her in a frilly yellow dress, two mango-shaped clips pinning her hair back. “That’s because all the fun is in the orchard.”
Reewa’s eyes lit up.
“Is that where we’re going?”
Ira winked. “After we get past the boring greeting stuff.”
They were ushered into the cool main hall by a line of staff in pristine white kurtas. The Singhal family walked in as if they belonged there—her father Rajeev giving his usual firm handshake to Maharaj Dev Singh Rathod, her mother gliding in with soft grace, Ishaan trailing behind looking thoroughly unimpressed.
Reewa didn’t care for the formalities. Her eyes scanned the golden hall, the tall chandeliers, the carved pillars—
And then they stopped.
On him.
Rudraksh Singh Rathod stood near the staircase, dressed in a crisp white kurta-pajama, hands tucked behind his back. He wasn’t even looking at her—his sharp profile was angled toward her brother Ishaan. But his presence, at just sixteen, was heavier than anyone else’s in the room.
Royal. Cold. Distant.
“He thinks he’s a king already,” Reewa muttered under her breath.
Ira nudged her. “That’s because he is. Technically.”
Reewa rolled her eyes. “Technically boring.”
Still, her gaze didn’t drift.
He looked older now. Taller. His features were sharper than she remembered—his jaw strong, nose regal, and his eyes like dark pools of secrets. His hair was neatly brushed back, but a loose strand curled by his temple.
He wasn’t the same boy who used to steal her crayons and hide her slippers three summers ago.
He was worse.
-----------
Reewa’s attempt at being unimpressed by Rudraksh Singh Rathod failed miserably the moment his gaze cut to hers.
It was sharp.
Unblinking.
Assessing.
His head tilted the slightest bit, as if amused by something only he could see.
“Still following Ira around like a shadow, Reewa?” His voice was deeper than she remembered, but still held that maddening calm. “Don’t get lost again in the orchard this time. I’m not wasting another hour finding you.”
Reewa’s nostrils flared. “You didn’t find me. You stole my mango basket and told Dadi I ate them all.”
A smirk tugged at his lips. It was dangerous even at sixteen.
“And you still cried.”
“I did not cry,” she shot back, her hands clenched at her sides. “You cheated.”
“You ran into a thorn bush trying to win. That’s not cheating on my part, that’s your bad strategy.”
Beside her, Ira groaned. “Not again.”
But Reewa had already taken a step forward, raising her chin.
“Let’s have a rematch then. This summer.”
Rudraksh’s brows lifted. “You’re what, seven? Your legs are barely long enough to climb the low branches.”
“Ira and I can still beat you,” Reewa declared. “Loser gives up their whole mango stash.”
He laughed—low and cold. “Brave. Stupid, but brave.”
And then he leaned down, bringing his face just a little too close to hers.
“You really think I’ll let you win this time, moti si bandar?”
Reewa gasped. “I’m not fat!”
“Not now, maybe. But you still have sticky fingers.”
Her face flushed crimson. “You’re the devil!”
He gave a mock bow. “Your devil.”
She opened her mouth, but Ira shoved between them.
“Enough! Both of you. God, you’ve been enemies since diapers.”
Rudraksh didn’t look away. “I’m not her enemy. She’s just annoying.”
“And you’re just obsessed with annoying me,” Reewa snapped.
For a second, something unreadable passed through Rudraksh’s eyes—dark, sharp, and oddly possessive.
“You have no idea.”
---
The sun hung high in the clear blue sky, its heat weaving lazy patterns across the orchard. Reewa, just seven and full of the boundless energy that only a child could have, darted between the trees with nimble feet. Her bright eyes scanned the branches, searching for the ripest mangoes, her little hands clutching her dupatta as she climbed the low limbs.
Behind her, Rudraksh’s deep, steady footsteps echoed—not chasing, but watching. Fifteen years old and every bit the royal, his tall silhouette cut an imposing figure against the green backdrop. His dark eyes followed her every move, a faint, unreadable smile tugging at his lips.
“You’re wasting your time, little one,” he called out, his voice low but sharp with amusement.
Reewa glanced back, eyes narrowing. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Rudraksh raised an eyebrow. “You should be.”
But instead of turning away, Reewa challenged him with a grin, “Catch me if you can.”
The chase was on.
Branches bent and leaves rustled as the boy and girl raced through the orchard, the age gap forgotten in the thrill of the game. Reewa’s laughter rang out like sunshine, fearless and wild. Rudraksh, amused but determined, matched her pace, his every move measured yet swift.
When she reached the tallest mango tree, she climbed up with surprising agility for her age, reaching for the fruit that hung just out of reach.
“Need a hand?” Rudraksh’s voice floated up from below.
Reewa shot him a look of pure defiance. “I don’t need your help.”
Minutes later, both had baskets heavy with mangoes. Reewa’s chest heaved with pride. She had bested him — at least for now.
Rudraksh smirked, watching her victory dance. “You think you’ve won today, but the game’s only just begun.”
Reewa’s smile faltered, but only for a second. “Bring it on.”
------
The afternoon light filtered through the neem tree’s leaves, casting shifting patterns on the dusty ground. Reewa’s arms were full of mangoes—her small fingers clutching the smooth, golden fruits like precious treasures. Her chest swelled with pride; she had won the game fair and square.
Behind her, the excited chatter of cousins and friends filled the orchard. Ira, Rudraksh’s younger sister and Reewa’s close friend, bounded over, her smile as bright as the sunshine. Ishaan, Reewa’s elder brother and Rudraksh’s best friend, arrived moments later, shaking his head with an amused grin.
“You really did beat Rudraksh today,” Ishaan said, genuine surprise in his voice.
Reewa beamed. “Beat him and bruised his pride.”
But the celebration was cut short when a tall figure approached, casting a long shadow over the gathering. Rudraksh. The air seemed to shift as he stepped forward, his usual commanding presence softened only by a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes.
In his hand, he held a basket, unusually heavy. When he tipped it, twelve mangoes spilled out, two more than the agreed-upon limit.
Veer, one of Rudraksh’s cousins, frowned. “The rule was ten mangoes, then to run to the neem tree.”
Rudraksh’s lips curled into a smirk that suggested he was playing a deeper game. “I have twelve.”
Reewa’s smile faltered. “But I got here first.”
His gaze locked onto hers, steady and unsettling. “I let you win.”
The words landed between them, unexpected and sharp.
“You… what?” Reewa’s voice was a whisper, confusion knitting her brow.
“I thought you needed to feel like you were ahead for once,” he said softly, stepping closer so the heat radiating from him brushed against her face.
Reewa tightened her hold on the mangoes, trying to steady the fluttering in her chest. “You think this is kindness?” she challenged, fighting to sound brave.
Rudraksh’s smirk deepened, a mixture of amusement and something darker in his eyes. “It’s cruelty, if you hate my attention.”
“I hate you,” she snapped, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her true feelings.
For a moment, the mask he wore cracked. His gaze softened, just for a heartbeat, as if revealing a glimpse of the boy beneath the façade. “You hate losing more,” he said quietly, voice low and almost tender.
Then, without another word, Rudraksh turned and strode away, his footsteps deliberate and confident, leaving a stunned silence behind him.
Reewa was left standing beneath the neem tree, clutching her mangoes tightly—not tasting victory anymore, but something far more complicated.
Ira bounced up beside her, breaking the heavy quiet. “Don’t mind him. He’s… Rudraksh.”
Reewa let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “He’s impossible.”
Ishaan nudged her playfully. “You’re impossible too, but he can’t resist you.”
Reewa’s cheeks warmed, and she looked away. “That’s what scares me.”
Because deep down, she knew Rudraksh’s attention wasn’t just about rivalry or teasing. It was something far more intense—something that had shadowed her since childhood, binding them together in a twisted dance neither fully understood yet.
-----------
The afternoon sun had dipped lower, turning the sky into a soft canvas of pink and orange. The family’s summer mansion buzzed with the laughter of children and the murmurs of adults settling into the evening. But Reewa’s attention was elsewhere—fixed on the glistening pool just beyond the garden.
The pool was Rudraksh’s domain. He ruled it like a king, his powerful strokes cutting through the water with ease and confidence. Today, the older boy lounged at the pool’s edge, his gaze sharp as he watched the younger kids play.
Reewa, clutching a towel around her small shoulders, stepped forward hesitantly. “Do you think I could try?” she asked, her voice small but determined.
Rudraksh’s dark eyes lifted to meet hers, measuring and unreadable. “You’re barely seven ,” he said flatly, lips twitching with a hint of amusement. “You’re not ready.”
“Maybe I’m braver than you think,” Reewa shot back, her chin lifting in defiance.
A slow, dangerous smile spread across Rudraksh’s face. “Alright then. I dare you to jump in and swim to the other side.”
The challenge hung in the air like a spark. Reewa’s heart thudded—half thrill, half terror.
“Deal,” she said, tightening her grip on the towel.
Without hesitation, she slipped off the edge and dove into the cool water. The world blurred around her as she kicked and paddled, determined to prove herself.
When she reached the other side, gasping and trembling, Rudraksh was already standing there, his eyes alight with triumph.
“Not bad for a beginner,” he teased, his voice low.
Reewa looked up, and for a moment, their eyes locked—hers wide with adrenaline, his dark with something unreadable. Then he stepped forward, closer than she expected.
Without warning, his hand brushed hers as he helped her out of the pool.
The touch sent a jolt through Reewa’s small frame, an electric current that neither fully understood but both felt.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” Rudraksh muttered, voice rougher now.
Reewa swallowed hard, cheeks flushing. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Rudraksh’s smirk deepened. “You should be.”
But beneath the threat, there was a softness—a protectiveness that only she could see.
As they stood side by side, the sun setting behind them, the game between them shifted. It was no longer just rivalry. It was the beginning of something far more tangled—and far more dangerous.
--------
Twelve Years Later – Delhi, Monsoon Season
The summer that followed was a whirlwind of changes. For Reewa, it was more than just a season—it was the beginning of her transformation. The once carefree girl, with scraped knees and laughter echoing through the orchards, was stepping into a new world: Delhi, the heart of power and privilege, where her family’s legacy loomed large.
Packing her bags felt like leaving behind a piece of herself. Her grandfather, Adarsh Singhal, gave her a rare smile, pride and expectation mingling in his eyes.
“You carry the Singhal name now,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Make it shine.”
Reewa nodded, the weight of his words settling in her chest. She wasn’t just a child anymore. She was a Singhal, heir to one of India’s most respected empires—and the face of Dewdrops, the restaurant chain her family had nurtured to the top.
3 years Later. Reewa age: 21 years, Rudraksh age 29 years
Delhi was a different world—vast, dizzying, and alive with opportunity. Reewa’s days filled with lessons in business, etiquette, and strategy. Her father, Rajeev Singhal, insisted she learn everything she could, preparing her for the day she would lead Dewdrops.
Yet, beneath the surface of glamour and privilege, there was an undercurrent Reewa couldn’t ignore—the shadow of Rudraksh. His presence was a constant, even from afar.
Letters arrived sporadically, penned in his unmistakable handwriting, a mixture of challenges and veiled admiration. “Don’t forget who’s watching,” one read. Another dared her to rise higher—but warned her not to outshine him.
Ishaan, her protective elder brother and Rudraksh’s closest friend, warned her to be cautious. “Rudraksh isn’t just a boy playing games anymore. He’s dangerous.”
Reewa’s heart clenched. Dangerous was exactly what he was—and exactly what fascinated her.
The return to Delhi was not just a physical journey but the start of a complex game of power, rivalry, and unspoken desire. Reewa was determined to claim her place, not just as a Singhal, but as a woman who could stand toe-to-toe with Rudraksh Singh Rathod.
And somewhere deep inside, she wondered if he was ready to see her that way.
The rain came down in sheets, blurring the glass windows of Dewdrops, Reewa Singhal’s pride and empire. Inside, everything gleamed—the rose-gold cutlery, the scent of saffron-glazed lamb and cardamom mousse, the elegant strains of a live santoor playing in the background.
It was opening night for Dewdrops – Delhi Flagship.
And Reewa was pissed.
“Why are there peonies instead of mogra in the centrepieces?” she demanded, glaring at the trembling intern.
“I—uh—they said white peonies are trendier—”
“My brand isn’t ‘trendy.’ It’s timeless.” Her voice was soft but sharp enough to slit a throat.
The intern nodded, wide-eyed, scurried off, and Reewa exhaled. She brushed a tendril of hair out of her face and forced herself to calm down.
Her therapist had said she needed to breathe. Her publicist had said she needed to look effortless. Her mother had said she needed to stop scaring people before thirty.
Too late.
She walked into the private tasting room just in time to hear Ishaan’s voice ring out—low and amused.
“So, Rudra, still scaring politicians into obedience, or have you moved on to corporate sharks now?”
Her feet froze.
The air shifted.
Reewa turned the corner and there he was—seated on the velvet couch like he belonged to the room, to the rain, to the silence.
Rudraksh Singh Rathod.
Older. Colder. Bigger.
And impossibly more dangerous than she remembered.
His black silk kurta clung to his broad frame. His jaw was sharper, his eyes darker, and the smug smirk he gave her when their eyes met?
It didn’t help that her heart betrayed her first.
Skip.
Beat.
Fire.
“Reewa,” he murmured. “Sunshine, as always.”
She blinked once. Twice. “Did your tongue fall out? Or is it just trying to lick your ego clean?”
He chuckled lowly, slow and deep. Ishaan grinned.
Eighteen years. Eighteen damned years. And yet, every time they met, it was like they’d paused a chess game in childhood and returned to the same move.
“Didn’t expect you to crash my opening,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Didn’t expect you to still be bitter about falling off a horse,” he replied coolly.
Her eyes narrowed. “You dared me.”
“And you obeyed.”
“I nearly died.”
“You didn’t.”
Their gazes locked like swords in mid-air.
Ishaan coughed. “Okay, enough sexual tension. Can we eat now?”
Reewa flushed. Rudraksh didn’t.
Of course he didn’t. He never flinched. He never softened—except when it came to her.
And that terrified her more than anything.
---------
He watched her walk away with the same calm calculation that made men tremble across boardrooms and bloodied marble floors.
Reewa Singhal.
He’d dreamed of her for years.
Watched her interviews. Funded her culinary school scholarship anonymously. Tasted every dish from her restaurants like he was sampling pieces of her soul.
He never reached out.
Not after the accident. Not when she won awards. Not when she started Dewdrops.
Because he had to become something first.He watched her walk away with the same calm calculation that made men tremble across boardrooms and bloodied marble floors.
Reewa Singhal.
He’d dreamed of her for years.
Watched her interviews. Funded her culinary school scholarship anonymously. Tasted every dish from her restaurants like he was sampling pieces of her soul.
He never reached out.
Not after the accident. Not when she won awards. Not when she started Dewdrops.
Because he had to become something first.
Someone untouchable.
And now? He was.
Rathod Rajya Corporation—a legitimate umbrella of real estate, hotels, tech, and luxury goods. On paper.
Beneath it, a global web of informants, black-market dealings, cyber intelligence, and extraction networks. All run with royal elegance and merciless rules.
He didn’t trust anyone.
He couldn’t afford to.
But her?
He needed her.
And the worst part?
He didn’t know how to stop.
----------
Twelve years ago — Jaipur, Rathod Haveli
Reewa Singhal was ten, barefoot, sun-kissed, and furious.
"You cheated, Rudra!" she yelled from halfway up the mango tree, her braid stuck in a branch. "You distracted me on purpose."
Below, eighteen-year-old Rudraksh leaned lazily against the trunk, the smug grin of a crown prince plastered across his face.
"I said if you could climb faster than me, I’d let you keep the mangoes and the trophy."
She glared down at him. “You threw pebbles at my foot!”
“It was a motivational tactic.”
“You’re insufferable!”
“And yet, you’re still here. Stuck.”
Reewa growled, yanked her braid free, and dropped a mango that smacked him straight on the head.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he picked up the mango, bit into it, and looked up.
“You’ll marry me one day, sunshine,” he said nonchalantly, juice dripping from his lip.
She gaped. “What—?! Ew, no! I hate you.”
His gaze didn’t flicker.
“But I don’t hate you,” he said, voice suddenly low, serious. “Not even a little.”
She blinked, stunned.
Then scrambled down and kicked his shin.
Hard.
Present Day – Dewdrops Private Lounge
Reewa sipped her rosé slowly, trying to act unaffected as Ira squealed beside her.
“I missed you, Ree!” Ira said, throwing her arms around her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were launching Dewdrops here?”
Reewa smiled gently. “I needed to prove to myself I could do it without the family name. Quietly.”
Ira poked her side. “You’re the least quiet person I know.”
“Says the girl who nearly got us expelled from Welham for spiking the headmistress’s chai.”
“I was proving a point!”
Reewa laughed, but her laughter stilled the moment her eyes met his again.
Rudraksh stood across the room, casually sipping his whiskey. Watching her.
His gaze burned through the clatter and chatter. Not flirtatious.
Possessive.
Like a wolf eyeing the only moon he’s ever wanted.
Ishaan nudged him. “Still the same, bro?”
Rudraksh didn’t answer. He simply said, “She’s built her world without me.”
Ishaan raised an eyebrow. “And what are you going to do about it?”
Rudraksh’s voice was a blade in velvet.
“Remind her who I am.”
------------
The after-party wound down, but Reewa couldn’t relax. Not when Rudraksh had moved in like a shadow behind every interaction. Not when he whispered in her ear just once that evening—
“You look like sin dressed in saffron.”
—and then walked away before she could respond.
She entered her private elevator, heart still thudding.
But when the doors slid shut, he was inside already.
Leaning against the mirrored wall.
His cologne—a sinful blend of oud and danger—hit her first.
Her eyes narrowed. “Stalking me now?”
“Just escorting my favourite woman to safety.”
“Go back to your empire, Rudraksh. I’m not a piece of land to conquer.”
He stepped closer. His voice was low, dangerous. “Who said anything about land?”
She stiffened as he raised a hand—but only to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’ve waited a decade,” he murmured. “And I’m not asking anymore.”
She swallowed. “You’re not the same boy who used to chase me with mango peels.”
“No. I’m the man who’s ready to burn the world for you.”
Her heart betrayed her again.
But her spine stayed straight.
“You don’t get to bulldoze into my life now, Rudraksh.”
He smiled, but there was no amusement in it.
“I already have, sunshine.”
The elevator opened.
And she stormed out—leaving her heart behind.
----------
Two Days Later – Singhal Estate, Delhi
Reewa stabbed a fork into her quinoa salad like it had insulted her ancestors.
Her grandfather, Adarsh Singhal, looked up from his Economic Times and chuckled. “You eat like your dadi used to when your father disobeyed curfew.”
Reewa shot him a betrayed look. “I’m fine, Dadu.”
Ishaan smirked from across the table. “Yeah, if ‘fine’ means ignoring your calls and going full Ice Queen at your own event.”
“I’m allowed to have boundaries.”
Meera Singhal walked in just in time to place a hand on her daughter’s head and sigh dramatically. “What boundaries, beta? This is Rudraksh Rathod we’re talking about. You two were practically betrothed as toddlers.”
Reewa nearly choked on her mineral water. “Excuse me?!”
Rajeev cleared his throat awkwardly. “Not officially. But your Dadaji and Rajwardhan Rathod had… hopes.”
“You mean a dynastic merger.”
Meera smiled wistfully. “You used to call him ‘Rudru’ and chase him with a rolling pin.”
“That was before he became a royal version of John Wick.”
Adarsh sighed. “The boy’s ruthless, yes. But he’s never hurt you. Never even looked at another woman, even when surrounded by them.”
That stopped her cold.
“…What?”
Ishaan shrugged. “You think he’s dated anyone in the past twelve years? Nada. Not even a whisper.”
“He’s obsessed with you,” Meera said softly. “Everyone knows it.”
Reewa stared at her fork.
She didn’t want obsession.
She wanted love. Light. Peace.
But part of her—some unhinged, molten part—wanted him back.
And that terrified her more than anything else.
---------
Later That Night – Rathod Rajya Headquarters, Jaipur
The penthouse boardroom shimmered in midnight tones—marble floors, gold-edged windows, and bulletproof glass overlooking the old city skyline.
Rudraksh stood at the head of the table, while Veer and Yashveer argued over a Dubai deal.
He tuned them out.
His mind was with her.
She had looked radiant at the launch.
And now?
She was slipping through his fingers.
Unless he moved faster.
He turned to Veer. “Buy the land behind Dewdrops’ Delhi outlet. All of it. Silent purchase. No links to RRC.”
Veer blinked. “That’s prime space. You planning a hotel?”
“No.”
“A mall?”
Rudraksh smiled, slow and predatory. “A garden. Mogra. Jasmine. Mango trees. Her favourite.”
Yashveer narrowed his eyes. “So you’re—”
“I’m building her a backyard,” Rudraksh said simply. “So she remembers what it’s like to belong to someone.”
The cousins exchanged looks but didn’t argue.
Rudraksh didn’t take rejection well.
He didn't take distance well.
And now that Reewa had reentered his orbit, he wouldn’t let her escape.
Not this time.
Not ever.
-----------
The next day – Dewdrops, Delhi
Reewa arrived early. Earlier than usual. It wasn’t like her to check the garden floor of her flagship outlet every morning—but the staff had whispered about someone buying the adjoining plot.
She stepped into the sun-drenched courtyard, only to halt.
The land behind Dewdrops was no longer barren.
Fresh jasmine vines had been strung along wooden arches. Mogra buds were blooming. And standing at the farthest end was a single, teenage mango tree—just starting to grow.
Her eyes welled up despite herself.
She hadn’t told anyone about that memory. That mango tree in Jaipur. That summer. That boy.
And yet… here it was. Rebuilt. Reimagined. Planted.
She turned—and froze.
Rudraksh leaned against the side gate, sleeves rolled to his forearms, black shirt open at the throat, sunglasses pushed to his hair. Watching her.
Always watching.
“You’re insane,” she said hoarsely.
He walked toward her, slow and deliberate. “Possibly.”
“You bribed city officials to landscape a private orchard behind my restaurant?”
“No bribing. Just influence.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stepped closer and gently tucked a mogra bloom behind her ear.
“You used to wear these in your braids,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t buy your way back into my life, Rudraksh.”
He bent closer, voice a dark whisper. “I’m not buying my way in, Reewa. I’m reminding you I never left.”
--------
Later – Reewa’s Apartment, Night
Reewa sat by her window with Ira, sipping wine and trying to breathe.
“He scares me,” she admitted. “Not because he’d hurt me—but because I think… I think I’d let him burn the world if he asked nicely.”
Ira looked concerned. “He’s not like other guys, Ree. Rudra doesn’t do casual. He does forever. And when he loves, it’s like worship—and possession. All at once.”
Reewa sighed. “He said I belonged to him.”
“Well… do you?”
“No,” Reewa said quickly.
Then softer: “…I don’t know.”
And somewhere in the depths of Jaipur, Rudraksh stood alone on his palace balcony, staring at the moon.
He remembered the exact date of her first smile, the first time she beat him in chess, the first time she kissed his cheek after winning a dare.
He had vowed at thirteen—under that mango tree—that he would make her his queen one day.
He wasn't a boy anymore.
And his obsession wasn’t innocent now.
It was twisted.
It was ruthless.
It was love.
Someone untouchable.
And now? He was.
Rathod Rajya Corporation—a legitimate umbrella of real estate, hotels, tech, and luxury goods. On paper.
Beneath it, a global web of informants, black-market dealings, cyber intelligence, and extraction networks. All run with royal elegance and merciless rules.
He didn’t trust anyone.
He couldn’t afford to.
But her?
He needed her.
And the worst part?
He didn’t know how to stop.
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