There was a beat of silence.

Mehak blinked.

Slowly.

She looked up.

And up.

And up.

A tall man stood there, staring down at the stain now spreading across his shirt.

He didn't react immediately.

Which somehow made it worse

"Dekhna nahi hai to aankhein daan kyun nahi kar dete-" she said

He glanced at the chutney. Then at her.

His expression remained calm. Almost unreadable.

She frowned slightly, instinctively assuming—

Probably some staff member. Or someone from the extended side. Why else would he just be standing here quietly?

"Why were you standing in the middle of the path like that?" she blurted out defensively before she could stop herself.

His eyebrow lifted a fraction.

"I was walking," he replied evenly.

His voice was deep. Controlled. Not offended. Just... steady.

Mehak huffed and quickly pulled out tissues from her clutch.

"Here, hold still."

Without waiting for permission, she began dabbing at the stain on his shirt.

He stiffened slightly.

Not because of the stain.

Because of her proximity.

She was completely unbothered, focused, murmuring under her breath, "White shirt pehen ke garden mein ghoomoge toh yahi hoga."

(If you roam around the garden wearing white, this is bound to happen.)

There was the faintest flicker in his eyes.

Amusement.

"You seem very certain," he said.

"Well obviously," she replied, still wiping. "You should've been more careful."

"Should I?."

Something about the way he repeated that made her finally pause.

She stepped back.

Really looked at him.

Not staff.

Definitely not ordinary.

His posture wasn't casual — it was composed. His watch wasn't cheap. His shoes were polished, not dusty like someone working outside. And there was a presence about him that didn't feel random.

The garden lights caught his face properly now.

Sharp features. Calm eyes. The kind that observe before reacting.

sharply as she steadied .

Again.

He looked down at her, irritation already written across his face.

"Tum yahan kya kar rahi ho ? Kaun ho?" he asked, voice clipped, authoritative.

"Mai toh invited hun par aapko andar kisne aane de diya?"

His gaze swept over her slowly - assessing, unimpressed.

"Is jagah pe khade hone ka haq kamaya jata hai. Random entry se nahi milta."

She let out a short laugh. "Oh please. Gate pe entry pass check ho chuka hai. Royal ego ka alag counter hai kya?"

"Bahut zubaan nahi chalti tum?" he said, stepping closer. Not threatening. Just dominating the space naturally.

"Kam se kam aapke dimaag ki tarah ruka toh nahi hua na."

His jaw flexed.

"Tumhe yahan aane kisne diya? Ho kaun tum?" His tone wasn't curiosity. It was interrogation.

She tilted her chin up. "Aap CID ho kya? Ya bas aadat hai logon ko neecha dekhne ki?"

"I don't look down on people," he replied coldly. "They place themselves there."

She smirked. "Confidence aur arrogance mein difference hota hai. Kabhi suna hai?"

"I don't need lessons," he said evenly. "Especially not from someone like you."

She tightened her grip on the plate. "At least main aap Jesi arrogant toh nahi na. Aap jaise logon ko toh aadat hoti hogi cheezein inherited milne ki."

A pause.

His expression changed - not shocked, not amused. Just sharper.

"Mujhe pata tha Rajvansh bade log hain, donation wagara karte rehte hain, par bhikariyon ko ghar pe aise rakhna zyada nahi hogaya? Wapis jaane ke paise nahi hai? Mai karu paytm bus ke paise ya goggle pay."

The fountain seemed louder now. The breeze stilled.

He took one slow step forward.

Close.

Too close.

His voice dropped.

"Mind your words."

She didn't move.

"Truth hurt karta hai?"

"You think you understand this place?" he said quietly. "You walked in five minutes ago."

"And aap paida hote hi crown leke aaye the?"

His eyes held hers - steady, unblinking.

"I don't need a crown," he said calmly. "This place answers to me."

The arrogance wasn't loud.

It was absolute.

"Tantrik ho? Yahan ki aatmayein baat kar rahi hai aapse

"How dare you."

"How dare you."

"I dare kya kar loge?" Mehak said.

He chuckled.

Not amused.

Not warm.

It was the kind of chuckle that came from someone who wasn't used to being challenged - and was deciding whether to be entertained or offended.

"Tumhe idea bhi nahi hai na main kon hun?"

The arrogance in his tone wasn't exaggerated. It was effortless. His shoulders were relaxed, but his gaze was sharp - studying her like she was either extremely brave or extremely stupid.

"Yahan ke crown prince ho? Kahi ke president ho kisi empire ke? Meri saas ke bete ho? Bade aaye."

Her sarcasm was smooth, but her fingers tightened slightly around the plate. The fountain behind them continued its rhythmic sound, water cascading under moonlight, the droplets catching silver reflections.

His face went still.

Not angry.

Still.

And that was more dangerous.

He took a slow step closer. Close enough that she could feel the shift in air between them. His perfume was subtle - expensive - controlled. Just like him.

"Tumhari himmat kaafi zyada hai," he said quietly. "Ya phir tumhe consequences samajh nahi aate."

She lifted her chin. Refused to look away.

"Himmat free hoti hai. Sab afford kar sakte hain."

His jaw tightened slightly. A muscle ticked near his temple. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't even raising his voice. But the authority in him felt inherited - centuries of entitlement pressed into posture and tone.

"Yeh jagah koi park nahi hai jahan tum aa kar jo mann aaye bol do," he said calmly.

"Accha? Toh kya hai? Ego exhibition?"

His eyes darkened.

"You're standing on land that my family has protected for generations."

"And?" she cut in instantly. "Iska matlab yeh nahi ki logon ko neecha dikhane ka license mil jata hai."

For the first time, something flickered in his expression - not doubt, not guilt.

Interest.

Annoyed interest.

"You talk too much," he said, gaze lingering on her face longer than necessary.

"Sunne ki aadat daal lo, jab tak mai yahan hun" she shot back.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, then ran a hand over his face as if restraining himself. His expression shifted - not soft, but calculating.

"Tumhe lagta hai tum mujhe judge kar sakti ho?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged.

"First impression free hota hai. Aapne khud diya."

The moonlight hit his face again as he slightly turned his head. His profile looked carved - sharp cheekbones, controlled composure, restrained temper.

But his eyes.

His eyes were stormy.

"You have no idea what you're saying," he said.

"Enlighten me then."

Silence stretched.

The lanterns hanging from the neem trees swayed slightly in the breeze. The scent of raat rani lingered thick in the air. Somewhere far away, faint music from the palace drifted in.

He looked at her - long. Measuring.

"You don't belong here."

The words were quiet.

Deliberate.

Not loud enough to cause a scene.

But sharp enough to wound.

Her expression didn't crumble. But for a fraction of a second, something flashed across her face - irritation... and something else.

Then she smirked.

"Belonging ka certificate aap issue karte ho kya?"

His lips curved slightly - not a smile.

Something colder.

"If I did, you wouldn't qualify."

The arrogance wasn't theatrical.

It was natural.

And that's what made it infuriating.

Mehak stepped closer this time. Breaking his dominance in distance.

"Qualification ka interview ho raha hai kya?"

For a brief second, his composure cracked - not fully, but enough for irritation to surface in his eyes.

"Be careful," he warned.

She tilted her head.

"Dara rahe ho?"

"Warning de raha hoon."

"Difference?"

He leaned in slightly - not touching her - but enough that the tension between them thickened.

"I don't give empty threats," he said softly. "And when I give consequences...trust me you won't like it."

The confidence.

The certainty.

The absolute lack of doubt.

For the first time, she felt it - not fear - but awareness.

This wasn't just an arrogant guy from the mall.

This was someone who was used to control.

Used to being obeyed.

Used to power bending around him.

But Mehak didn't step back.

Instead she popped a piece of chaat into her mouth deliberately, maintaining eye contact.

"Phir action le lo," she said casually while chewing. "Main bhi dekh lungi."

His gaze dropped to the plate in her hand - then back to her face.

And slowly...

Very slowly...

He smiled.

Not warm.

Not friendly.

But dangerous.

"You will," he said.

And for the first time, the garden didn't feel romantic anymore.

It felt like the beginning of something volatile.

The servant rushed in, breath uneven.

"Kunwar sa! Raani saa aapko bula rahi hai."

Mehak turned.

Looked at the servant.

Then at the man in front of her.

Then back at the servant.

"...Kisko bula rahi hai?"

The servant blinked. "Kunwar sa ko."

She glanced around dramatically. "Haan toh bula lo na. Yahan kaun hai Kunwar sa?"

The servant straightened. " Ye hain , Yuvansh Singh Rajvansh. Mewar ke Yuvraj."

A beat.

Mehak stared at him.

Then laughed.

"Very funny. Costume party chal rahi hai kya?"

No reaction from him.

The servant lowered his head respectfully. "Pure Mewar ke Yuvraj hain."

Silence fell heavy.

Mehak's smile slowly dropped.

"Wait." She pointed at him. "You're saying... this overconfident, egoistic, 'move aside' type insaan... is the prince of entire Mewar?"

He finally spoke, voice calm. "Correct."

She looked back at the servant. "Entire Mewar matlab... palace, land, log, sab?"

"Ji."

Her brain visibly tried to process it.

She looked at him again.

"You're serious?"

"I don't joke about bloodlines."

Her eyes narrowed. "Toh aapko pehle batane mein allergy thi kya?"

"You didn't ask properly."

She scoffed. "Haan kyunki har dusra banda yahan khudko prince nahi introduce karta!"

The servant shifted awkwardly. "Kunwar sa, Raani saa-"

He didn't look away from Mehak. "Aa raha hoon."

The servant left.

The doors closed.

Silence.

Mehak crossed her arms.

"So you just stood there... letting me talk to you like that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

His gaze moved over her lazily. "I was curious how far you'd go."

She let out a dry laugh. "Wow. Royal entertainment mil gaya?"

"You were loud."

"And you were rude."

"I don't need to be polite."

"Of course," she shot back instantly. "Crown pehna hai, basic manners optional ho gaye."

His jaw tightened slightly - but his tone stayed smooth. "Careful."

She stepped closer instead of backing away.

"Careful kya? Dar jaungi main? Title se impress ho jaun?"

"You already recalculated your tone."

"I did not."

"You did."

She tilted her chin up. "Main kisi ka surname dekh ke attitude adjust nahi karti."

His eyes darkened faintly.

"Good," he said slowly. "Because I don't care."

"Clearly," she muttered. "Ego toh aapka Mewar se bhi bada hai."

A faint smirk touched his lips. "Confidence."

"Delusion."

"Power."

"Privilege."

Their words collided mid-air.

He stepped closer.

Not touching.

Just enough to invade space.

"Do you know who you're talking to?"

She didn't blink. "Haan. Ek aadmi jo khudko zyada important samajhta hai."

His voice dropped colder. "I am the future king of Mewar."

She shrugged. "Congratulations. Main bhi future mein kuch banungi. Difference yeh hai ki maine earn karna hai."

That hit.

His eyes sharpened.

"You assume I didn't?"

She gave him a slow once-over. "Silver spoon se struggle count nahi hota."

The air shifted.

"You're bold," he said quietly.

"You're arrogant," she replied instantly.

"Most people bow."

"I don't."

"You should."

She leaned in slightly, voice low but steady. "Make me."

Silence.

For a second, something dangerous flickered in his expression.

"You think this is a game," he said.

"No," she replied. "Game hota toh rules hote. Aap toh bas aadat se upar se baat karte ho."

His jaw flexed.

"You insulted me."

"You started it."

"You blocked my way."

"You snapped your fingers."

He exhaled through his nose. "Because people move."

"I'm not people."

That made him pause.

A faint, slow smile appeared.

"I can have you escorted out," he said calmly.

"Try," she replied. "Headline banegi - 'Prince insecure after losing argument to random girl.'"

His eyes held hers.

"You don't even know my full title."

She rolled her eyes. "Resume bhejna hai kya?"

"His Highness Yuvansh Singh Rajvansh," he said evenly, "Crown Prince of Mewar."

She gave a slow clap.

"Wah. Impressive. Ab personality ka bhi koi title hai ya woh pending hai?"

That landed.

Hard.

He stepped closer again, voice quieter but edged. "What's your name?"

"Why?"

"So I know who thinks she can talk to me like this."

She smirked faintly. "Scared I'll haunt your royal dreams?"

"Answer."

She held his gaze deliberately.

"It's Mehak."

He repeated it slowly, like testing it. "Mehak."

"Don't say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you own it."

A faint dangerous amusement crossed his face.

"I don't own anything I don't want."

"Good," she replied sharply. "Because I'm not territory."

Silence again.

Heavy.

Charged.

Then she stepped back first.

Not out of fear.

Out of control.

"Go," she said casually. "Raani saa wait kar rahi hongi. Future king ko late hona shobha nahi deta."

His eyes didn't leave her.

"You're not done," he said quietly.

She opened the door.

"Oh, I'm very done," she replied. "Royal package ho ya regular, attitude toh same nikla."

And she walked out.

Back straight.

Head high.

Leaving the Crown Prince of entire Mewar standing there-

More irritated than he had been in years.

And far more interested than he intended to be.

As soon as she stepped out of the garden-

She froze.

Then clutched her head.

And let out a strangled whisper-scream.

"Mehak! Gawar! Gadhi kahin ki!" she hissed at herself. "Kya zarurat hoti hai har jagah jaake kisi se bhi bidh jaane ki?!"

She started pacing in the corridor.

"Entire Mewar ka crown prince tha woh! Aur main usko bhikhari bol ke aa gayi? BHIKHARI?! Wah beta. Kya royal impression diya hai."

She covered her face.

"Shakal dekhi thi uski? Obviously prince hi lag raha tha. Par nahi. Madam ko toh savage banna tha."

Her shoulders slumped.

The bold armor she had been wearing moments ago slipped completely.

"Thoda kam bol deti toh mar nahi jaati na..." she muttered guiltily.

Then instantly straightened.

"Par usne bhi attitude dikhaya tha."

Pause.

"...Par woh prince tha."

Groan.

"Meri bahenyein kahan mar rali hain aab." She said g

Vartika ignored her. "Tumne mera clutch bhi ghooma diya hai."

"Oh please," Nisha scoffed. "Main tumhari personal assistant nahi hoon."

"Tum ho bhi nahi sakti. Assist karna aata hi nahi."

"At least main overreact nahi karti!"

"You are literally yelling!"

"You started it!"

"You always start it!"

"Because tum provoke karti ho!"

Mehak blinked slowly.

"Tum dono ko pata hai na ki log dekh rahe hain?" she muttered.

"Let them," Vartika snapped.

"Haan," Nisha added. "Entertainment free hai."

"Great," Mehak sighed. "Royal palace mein live sitcom chal raha hai."

Vartika turned to her. "Aur tu kyun aise lag rahi hai jaise kisi ne tera Wi-Fi band kar diya ho?"

"Because," Mehak muttered, "main ek royal disaster create karke aa rahi hoon."

Nisha narrowed her eyes. "Tu phir kisi se lad ke aayi hai."

"Main ladti nahi," Mehak defended weakly.

Both sisters stared at her.

"Okay fine," she admitted. "Thoda sa."

"Kitna thoda?" Vartika asked suspiciously.

"Manageable thoda."

"Tumhara manageable matlab national issue," Nisha deadpanned.

Mehak groaned again.

"Please. Ek second ke liye apna Cold War pause karo. Mujhe support chahiye."

Both turned.

"Where were you?" Nisha demanded.

"Main emotional trauma se recover kar rahi thi," Mehak replied dryly.

Vartika scoffed. "Support? Jab tu kisi ko verbal karate chop deti hai tab yaad nahi aata."

"Exactly," Nisha nodded. "Confidence queen hoti hai tab."

"Ab kyun panic ho raha hai?"

Mehak opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Then just buried her face in her hands.

"Bas... mujhe thoda regret ho raha hai."

Both sisters went silent for a second.

Then Vartika snorted.

"Finally. Character development."

Nisha nodded solemnly. "We love growth."

Mehak glared at them.

"Aap dono supportive ho ya stand-up comedians?"

"Depends," Vartika said calmly. "Victim kaun hai?"

"Probably main," Mehak muttered.

"Impossible," Nisha replied instantly. "Tu usually aggressor hoti hai."

Vartika folded her arms again. "Anyway, mera clutch wapas do."

"Main nahi de rahi."

"De do!"

"Earn it."

"Excuse me?"

Mehak blinked between them.

"Seriously? Main yahan internal collapse feel kar rahi hoon aur tum dono accessories ke liye World War 3 kar rahi ho?"

"Principles ka matter hai," Vartika said firmly.

"Haan," Nisha agreed. "Respect ka."

"It's a clutch!" Mehak shouted in disbelief.

"Symbolism samjho," Vartika snapped.

"Of what?" Mehak asked.

"Power balance."

Mehak stared at them.

"...Main galat family mein paida ho gayi hoon."

And just like that-

The corridor once again echoed with three sisters arguing like royalty had absolutely nothing better to do.

Vartika folded her arms. "Mummy ne bola hai humein east wing ke blue room mein jaana hai. Kuch 'important log' milne wale hain."

Mehak rolled her eyes dramatically. "Again? Kitne unknown logon se milna hai aaj? Biodata distribute karein kya?"

Nisha scoffed. "Mothers ko suspense thriller banana hai. 'Samay pe sab pata chal jayega.'"

Vartika mimicked dramatically, "'Abhi mat poochho.' Arre gossip handle nahi hoti unse aur secrecy ka obsession dekho."

Mehak snorted. "Exactly! Ek choti si shaadi ki rumour pe panic ho jaata hai aur yahan full CIA mode on hai."

The three of them were walking down the absurdly long, unnecessarily dramatic corridor of the palace like they were being marched toward execution.

The corridor itself looked like it had a personality disorder.

Gold-leafed ceilings arched high above them, painted with ancient battle scenes where muscular ancestors fought tigers with expressions that screamed, "We invented drama." Crystal chandeliers dripped from the ceiling like they were showing off generational wealth. The marble floors were so polished Vartika could see her own annoyed reflection glaring back at her.

Rows of tall windows filtered in golden evening light, and velvet drapes the size of small countries framed them dramatically.

And the portraits.

Oh, the portraits.

Every ten steps, another oil painting of some dead royal glaring down at them as if judging their life choices.

Nisha folded her arms. "I swear to God, if our mothers make us meet one more 'very respectable family friend,' I'm eloping with a mechanic."

Mehak snorted. "Respectable family friend means unemployed son with generational ego."

Vartika sipped her Sprite with the calm of someone seconds away from violence. "At this point, I think they get paid commission for emotional damage."

They kept walking.

Their heels echoed in the corridor like background music in a soap opera.

"My mom literally said," Nisha mimicked dramatically, "'Beta bas mil lo, they are very cultured people.'"

Mehak rolled her eyes. "Cultured? Last time cultured uncle asked me what my cooking skills are."

Vartika deadpanned, "Next time say Michelin star level. Charge consultation fees."

Nisha laughed. "Why are they so obsessed with secrecy? 'Go to that particular room.' 'Meet a few people.' 'Don't ask questions.' Like we're in some crime syndicate."

"Exactly!" Mehak exclaimed. "They can't handle one society gossip without calling three aunties for damage control but suddenly they're James Bond."

Vartika pointed at a portrait. "Look at that king. He probably had less secrecy than our mothers."

They turned another corner.

The corridor narrowed slightly, darker here, lit by wall sconces casting warm amber light. A massive carved wooden door stood at the end. Heavy. Intricate. Intimidating.

Like it held life-altering consequences.

Nisha slowed. "Why do I feel like we're about to be sacrificed?"

Mehak smirked. "Relax. Worst case scenario, it's another 'eligible bachelor.'"

Vartika raised a brow. "Eligible? Or emotionally unstable with a trust fund?"

They stopped right before the door.

There was a pause.

A silence heavy enough to carry drama.

Mehak suddenly cleared her throat.

"I need to tell you something."

Vartika narrowed her eyes. "Why does that sound illegal?"

Nisha squinted. "What did you do?"

Mehak tried to look casual. Failed.

"Remember," she said slowly, "last week... at that charity gala?"

Vartika's eyes widened. "You mean the one where you almost got into a fight with the media coordinator?"

"Details," Mehak waved her off. "That's not the point."

Nisha leaned closer. "Then what is the point?"

Mehak inhaled dramatically.

"I might have... maybe... possibly..."

Vartika groaned. "Mehak."

"...called someone a bhikhari."

Silence.

Nisha blinked. "Excuse me?"

Mehak continued quickly, "Okay listen! He was dressed very simple. Very... minimalist. No entourage. No flashy watch. I thought he was some random guy who wandered in for free food."

Vartika stared. "So naturally, you-"

"Yes," Mehak said defensively. "I told him if he needed money, I could PayTM him."

Nisha clutched her chest. "YOU DID NOT."

"I did," Mehak admitted. "But he was staring at me like he wanted to murder my entire bloodline."

Vartika choked on her Sprite slightly but recovered. "And you didn't think to check who he was?"

Mehak crossed her arms. "Why would I? He didn't look royal."

Nisha whispered dramatically, "Mehak... who was he?"

The massive door in front of them began to open.

Slowly.

Creaking.

Like a villain entrance in an opera.

The chandelier light from inside the room spilled into the corridor in a golden wash.

Mehak swallowed.

"...That," she said in a whisper, eyes widening as the door opened completely, "was the Crown Prince."

Beat.

Absolute silence.

Time froze.

Vartika's brain short-circuited.

"WHAT?" Nisha screamed in high pitch echoing through the corridor.

And in that exact cinematic, slow-motion, universe-betraying second-

Vartika spat her Sprite out.

In slow motion.

The liquid

On someone.

The chandelier light hit the droplets still sliding down his jaw.

And Vartika Rathore looked like she was about to cry.

Not dramatic crying. Not loud.

The silent, "I have ruined my entire existence in one carbonated second" type of crying.

Her porcelain skin had gone pale, those tiny moles near her lips trembling as her mouth opened and closed without sound. Her 5-foot frame felt even smaller against the towering marble pillars. She looked up at him slowly — very slowly — like someone awaiting a death sentence.

The corridor still carried the echo of that scream.

A man stood there.

Drenched.

Eyes closed.

Hands slightly raised — not in fear, but in stunned surrender — as if accepting fate.

Vartika's mouth had opened first.

Then the man had looked at her.

And then both of them had screamed.

Mehak and Nisha had rushed forward, heels clacking on marble.

"Kya hua? Kya hua?!" Nisha had demanded.

They looked at the man.

He looked at them.

They screamed too.

For a solid five seconds, it was just chaos. Three girls shrieking. One soaked stranger blinking in confusion.

"SAB TERI WAJAH SE HUA GANJI CHUDAIL!" A man's voice came

("EVERYTHING IS BECAUSE OF YOU, BALD WITCH!")

"TUJHE MAZZA NAHI AA RAHA THA JESE 'AUR HIGTHLIGTH KAR AUR' KON BOL RAHA THA! " 

("WEREN'T YOU HAVING FUN TOO 'ADD MORE HIGHLIGTHER MORE' WHO WAS SAYING THAT!)

A woman's voice rang louder.

"USSE MIRGI KE DOORE PADE TOH HUMARI AATMA KO DHOONDTE TAK AAYEGA VO!"

"KU-KUCH NAHI HOGA KAM SE KAM MARA TOH NAHI HOGA."

"MAAF KARDO MUJHE DAYAN SAMAJ KAM SE KAM VO SATH GHAR CHOD KAR HAMLA KARTIN HAI TUJHE KYA AAPNE SAAGE BHAI KO MAARNE TAK TADPANA HAI?"

​Their footsteps came to a sudden, jarring halt. Eyes went wide, shock evident on every face as they took in the chaos. Four people were screaming hysterically, and one of them—unfortunate as it was—happened to be their brother, currently covered in a layer of very weird makeup.

​"Oh no," the girl whispered, taking a step back.

​"You're on your own in this one," the guy beside her said, already shifting his weight to slide away from the scene.

​"Koshish bhi matt karna kutte, tu bhi mila hua tha!" (Don't even try it, dog, you were in on this too!) She said.

 Before his escape plan could succeed, someone grabbed him by the collar, dragging him back. Then, in a much higher, commanding tone "STOP!"

​And everything did. Every pair of eyes snapped toward him.

​"Ho kya raha hai ye?" (What is even happening here?) His face was a mask of pure irritation and confusion.

​Vartika felt like she might actually faint from the sheer embarrassment. She looked at the three people standing there, then back at the guy she had just drenched in Sprite. He stared back at her, dripping. She looked at the three people again; they were staring at her. She turned back to the guy. He was still staring. She made a "crying-like" face, making it silently, painfully clear that she would rather die than exist in this situation for another second.

​"It's okay, it's fine. Dekho, Vardan bhai ko aadat hai aapni bezzati karwane ki,"

 (Look, Vardan brother is used to it,) 

the girl said, trying to pacify Vartika as if she were an abandoned child.

​"Ye tumhara kiya dhara hai na Avi, Akanksha?" (This is your doing, isn't it Avi, Akanksha?) the more intimidating guy demanded.

​Vartika's eyes snapped toward them, looking even more devastated. "Vardan?" she asked, looking back at the drenched, makeup-faced man. Then she turned back to the trio, her eyes wide and dying inside. "Akanksha? Avi? Aviyukt?"

​She managed to speak with a tiny grain of hope that she was wrong. But her footi buri kismat (bad luck) held firm. The third man spoke up.

​"Rudra."

​Vartika froze. She looked at them. Then at Vardan. Then at them. Then at Vardan. Then back to Nisha and Mehak. Mehak patted her shoulder with mock sympathy. "Itna kand toh mai bhi na karti." (Even I wouldn't have caused this much of a scandal.)

​Nisha added, "Itni grandmasti toh iss gawar ki bhi nahi." (Even this illiterate girl doesn't do this much 'grand-masti'.)

​Mehak whispered, trying to control her laughter, "Maine toh bus bhikhari bola—" (I just called him a beggar—)

​She was cut off when Vartika suddenly started laughing like a maniac. It was a high, hysterical sound. She pointed a finger at Vardan. "Prince?"

​He nodded, looking genuinely terrified of her reaction.

​She turned, still laughing that wild laugh. "The other royal siblings?"

​Aviyukt, looking both terrified and petrified, slithered behind Akanksha. But three of them nodded solemnly. Vartika laughed even harder.

​"Kahin tune sahi me koi bhoot toh nahi bula liya Akanksha mujhe laga hi tha tu tona totka karti hai bachpan se?" (Did you actually summon a ghost, Akanksha?) Aviyukt asked, peering out from his hiding spot.

​"Raste me se koi upari hawa toh nahi laag gayi isse?" (Did some 'evil spirit' catch her on the way?) Nisha asked, gulping.

​"A-Avi, kisi tantrik-vantiik ko janta hai tu?" (Avi, do you know any exorcists?) Akanksha stammered.

​"N-Nahi, meri khud ki behen chudail hai na," (No, my own sister is a witch, isn't she,) he replied, sounding way too scared. "Jinda bachi toh dekh lungi," (If I survive, I'll see about it,) she added, sliding behind Rudra, who just stood there looking worried.

​Suddenly, Vartika's expression flipped from hysterical laughing to sobbing.

​"Oh no," Nisha cursed. She looked at Vartika and shook her head. "Na-nahi nahi, kuch nahi hota. Iss gawar ko dekh, isne bhi kiya na kand , phir bhi dekho kaise proudly khadi hai." (No, no, nothing's wrong. Look at this 'gawar', look at the mess she made, yet look how proudly she stands.) Nisha said, smacking Mehak's head for emphasis.

​"Mera samay samapt hota hai," (My time is up,) Vartika sobbed. "Mehak ki category me aane se behtar mai yeh deh tyaag dun." (Better I leave this body than fall into Mehak's category.)

​She made a move as if to faint or collapse.

​"NOOO!!" everyone screamed. Nisha and Akanksha lunged forward and caught her.

​"Shit, shit, shit! What happened to her?" Aviyukt cried out.

​"Kuch nahi, nautanki shuru ho gayi madam ki. Reputation pe daag jo laag gaya na," (Nothing, her drama has started. Her reputation has been stained,) Nisha said, sounding both worried and fed up.

​"Sab tum dono ke karan hua hai," (This is all because of you two,) Rudra said strictly, looking toward Aviyukt and Akanksha.

​"Bh-bhai mai nahi! Ye—ye dayan ka idea tha ye!" (Brother, not me! It was—it was this witch's idea!) Aviyukt defended himself.

​Akanksha said "Agar mere haathon me ek admari laash na hoti, kisi khoobsurat mahila ki, toh batati mai." (If I didn't have a half-dead body of a beautiful woman in my hands, I'd show you.)

​Vardan, smacking his forehead and dragging his palm down his face, muttered, ​He looked at the others with a glare that could melt steel. "Insaano ki bhesh-bhusha me chupe raavan ke bheje danavon, jo behosh hain, pehle vo dekh len?" (You demons hidden in human clothes, can we look at the person who is unconscious first?)

​Rudra stepped forward to help, preparing to carry Vartika toward the room.

Just as the elders entered the scene—

Smiling. Laughing. Probably at some old, long-forgotten inside joke.

The  room was still a battlefield.

Cushions lay scattered on the Persian carpet. A half-empty glass of Sprite had toppled over the center table, fizz still crawling toward the edge. Glitter from someone's makeup palette sparkled faintly under the chandelier light. The air smelled like perfume, panic, and spilled soda.

In a dramatic sweep, their heads turned towards the youngsters.

One son drenched in sprite and makeup.

Two daughters holding one unconscious one.

One son bent to carry her.

And the rest two—

one looking terrified,

other excited yet worried yet so done.

"Heyy bhagwan kya hua isse?" Lavanya said as they hurried towards Vartika.

(Oh God, what happened to her?)

"Gadhon ki toli tumhara haath tha na?" Nandini said to the trio who shook their head innocently.

(You bunch of donkeys, this was your doing, wasn't it?)

"Badi maa iss gadhi ka makeup tha ki vardan bhai ke idea par muh kaar dete hain mazza aayega par hum makeup utaarne ke liye wipes lene gaya tab tak sprite aa gayi or Vartika ji ko thuk diya muh par," Avyukt said in one breath.

(Grandma, this donkey's makeup—on Vardan bhai's idea—we thought we'd smear her face for fun, but I went to get wipes to remove it and meanwhile Sprite came and splashed o

Vartika on his face face.)

"Kya?" Everybody asked in unison, equally weirded out and confused. Even Vartika got up from her act and made a confused face.

(What?)

The silence that followed was heavy.

"Baki baatein bhad mein jaaye tune mujhe gadhi kese bola?" Akanksha said, eyes narrowing dangerously.

(Forget the rest—how dare you call me a donkey?)

"Muh se." Vardan replied without missing a beat.

(With my mouth.)

"Abhi ek ek baal nooch nikalenge tere kutte," Akanksha said already cracking her fingers.

(I'll pluck out every single hair of yours, you dog.)

"Aajaa bhid le—"

(Come on then, fight—)

"BUSSS KAROO!" Everyone shouted.

(Stop it!)

They got silent glaring at each other.

The chandelier above hummed faintly. Somewhere in the kitchen, a spoon clinked against steel. No one moved.

"Beta jao muh dho aao," Lavanya told Vardan, pitying him.

(Son, go wash your face.)

He opened his mouth to argue but one look from Nandini shut him up. Muttering under his breath, he walked toward the washroom, leaving faint sticky footprints of soda behind him.

The elders helped Vartika sit properly on the sofa. She adjusted her dupatta with exaggerated dignity.

"Tum kab se inn paglon ke drama karne laag gayi?" Manav asked Vartika.

(Since when did you start doing drama with these mad people?)

"Hehe sangaat ka asar mausa ji, sangaat ka asar," Vartika replied sweetly.

(Company has its influence, uncle. Company has its influence.)

"Sahi kaha beta apne, galat sangat ka prabhav bahut bura Hota hai" Manav said like he was giving a moral lecture.

(You're right, child. The consequences of bad influence is really bad.)

"Sahi bole mausa sahab bilkul akal nahi bachi," Vartika replied equally serious.

(Right uncle they have no sense left either.)

A few suppressed cough-laughs escaped from the younger lot.

"Tameez or paramparayen toh bhool hi gayein hain, poori parvarish, pani me gayi." Vardan joined in shaking his head in sheer disappointment as he returned.

( people forget manners and traditions, it shows in their upbringing that went in the vein.)

"Sanskaar hi nahi hai." Raghav chimed in.

(They weren't raised with values at all.)

"Kya hoga is generation ka," Viraj added dramatically.

(What will happen to this generation?)

"Sahi kaha – sahi kaha." Akanksha tried joining.

(Yes, say it—say it.)

All of them looked at her.

In sync.

She slowly lowered her hand.

"Tumhari hi baat ho rahi hai," everyone said in sync.

(We're talking about you.)

"Arrey yaar waise ye galat baat hai app aate hi inki team me ho gayin," Akanksha whined.

(This is unfair, the moment you arrived you joined their team.)

"Chodo inn dadi amma ko hum hai na, tumhare karnamon ko dekh ke mujhe intuition aa raha hai, we will be great friends," Mehak said wrapping her hands over Akanksha's shoulder.

(Forget these grandmothers, I'm here. Watching your antics is giving me involuntary reactions—we'll be great friends.)

"Friends nahi beta, tum dono ke kaarnamyen  dekh ke lag raha hai galti se humne judwa ko alag toh nahi kar diya," Lavanya said.

(Not friends, child. Seeing your deeds, it feels like maybe we accidentally separated twins at birth.)

Laughter burst out again.

"Mujhe laga hi tha itni shaant or sharif insaan ka aisa kaleshi sibling kese ho sakta hai, pakka ye mera bhai hai shant or sushil ekdum," Nisha said walking over to Avyukt who got a bit flustered but grinned.

(I knew it—how could such a dignified and decent person have such a disgraceful sibling? He must be my brother, calm and well-mannered.)

"Tum, or shant, ek baar ko mai ye maan lun Vartika dadi ji nahi hai but ye nahi," Manav said.

(You, calm? I might believe Vartika isn't actually a grandma, but not that.)

Gasp. Fake offended face.

"Dadi ji?" Vartika straightened.

(Grandma?)

"Haan dadi ji," Mehak nodded solemnly. "Aap hi toh bol rahi thi deh tyaag dungi."

(Yes, grandma. You were the one saying you'd renounce your body.)

The room erupted again.

The tension that had filled the house minutes ago dissolved into chaotic warmth. The elders shook their heads but their smiles betrayed them. The younger ones resumed their usual clusters—arguing, teasing, defending, attacking.

Outside, evening light filtered through the curtains, turning the room golden.

Inside, it was louder, brighter, alive.

And somewhere between the sarcasm and scoldings, between fake fainting spells and real concern, the house felt exactly like what it was—

Home.

The laughter hadn't fully settled when Shailaja, still smiling, tilted her head towards Nisha and said—

"Tum Vardan ki bahen jyada lagogi."

(You seem more like Vardan's sister.)

"Essa nahi bolte mumma." Akanksha said seriously making the room fill with awkwardness.

(You shouldn't say that, Mom.)

"Vo insaan hai, kutte ke sath na milao." she completed, making everyone slap their forehead.

(She's a human being, don't compare him with a dog.)

A beat.

Then collective groans.

"Ruk abhi ganji pur ki bhikharan ajj dikhata hun tujhe," Vardan said, while stylishly flipping his slippers off his foot to his hand.

(Wait, I'll show you these slippers on your bald head, you beggar.)

But before he could process further—

Rudra grabbed him by his collar, pulling him back by one hand and the other massaging his temple, clearly frustrated.

"Ho gaye ho dono ka? guests ke sath insaano jese reh lein?"

(Are you done? Can you behave like humans at least in front of guests?)

He said giving a tight-lipped smile.

"Ye guest nahi hai beta." Raghav said with a tone bit too mysterious.

(They are not guests, son.)

Everyone looked confused.

"Ye sab families hai. Tumhe andaza nahi hai hum kitne close friends the, bus agar tum sab ko pehle milne ka mauka mila hota toh tum sab bhi itne close hote. Par hum ab bhi yahi chahtein hai ki aap sab ki bonding bhi achi aur gehri bane." he said smiling.

(These are all families. You have no idea how close friends we were. If you had gotten the chance to meet earlier, you all would've been this close too. Even now we want your bonding to become strong and deep.)

A quiet warmth spread across the room.

"And iska matlab ye bhi hai tum teeno ko bhi inn gadhon ke sath milkar kaam me haath batana padega." Shailaja added with mock strictness.

(And that also means the three of you will have to help these donkeys with the work.)

To which—

Mehak smiled happily.

Nisha relaxed her boundaries a little, slowly getting used to the positive aura of these people.

Vartika tried hard but ended up feeling the warmth and letting herself believe she was just pretending to be happy and involved.

But something in her chest felt real.

"Rudra tumne mandir ke kaam  kar kar liya?" Viraj asked.

(Rudra, did you finished the temple work?)

Rudra's eyes widened "Inki wajah se late ho gaya."

(I got late due to these people.)

He said pointing towards Vardan, Avyukt and Akanksha, 

Vardan quickly shoved Vartika where Rudra' hand was pointing 

"Vartika ki wajah se?" Raghav asked shocked. He turned towards her. "Abhi tak inki koi galti nahi hai samje. "

(Because of Vartika? Till now none of this is their fault, get it.)

Rudra looked back.

Saw Vartika in place of his siblings who just smiled tiredly and slyly now accepting her fate.

He quickly took his hand back muttering something under his breath glaring at Vardan.

"Koi baat nahi abhi bhi waqt hai sab theek kar sakte ho." Nandini said.

(It's okay, there's still time. You can fix everything.)

"Vo dono bhi wahi bhatak rahein honge."

(Those two must be wandering somewhere around there only .)

Nandini said shaking her head at the last sentence.

Pulling Nisha towards her Akanksha said, "Mumma, kya ye sab bhi humare saath aa saktin hain kaam ka kaam ho jayega aur bade papa jo bonding chahtein hai vo bhi."

(Mom, can she join us whenever we come to help? And we will also start making the bonding bade papa wants us to have.)

To which Nisha excitedly said, "Aacha idea hai mai bhi bore hue jaa rahi thi thoda fresh ho jayega."

(That's actually a good idea, I was getting bored too—this will freshen things up.)

"Shubh kaam me deri kaisi!" Mehak and Vardan said at once, then their eyes got wide as the sync grinning—they high-fived.

"Vibe toh match hoti hai!" Mehak said.

(The vibe matches at least!)

Outside, the evening had deepened into a dusky blue. The house lights glowed warmly against the polished wooden floors. 

From the veranda, the faint smell of incense drifted in—

someone had already started preparing for the temple decorations.

(The vibes are matching.)

"Haan par aap sab thak gaye ho, Vartika bhi thaki laag rahi hai."

Lalanya added concerned.

(Yes but are you all okay? Vartika must be tired too.)

Vartika frowned. "Seriously guys mujhe zyada dadi dadi bol bolke sahi me consider kar liya hai kya."

(Seriously guys, have you considered me just by calling me grandmother so much on my behalf?)

"Toh aap haan bol rahe ho?" Mehak added hopefully.

(So are you saying yes?)

"Agar insaano ki bhasha ke madhyam se arth nikalna yeh toh wahi gyaat hota hai." Rudra said.

(If one derives meaning through the medium of human language, then that is what becomes known.)

Vartika's eyes glimmered and the other siblings sheepishly groaned and suddenly the trio and tho duo they both supper from the same thing and now the problem seems to do a collab now.

"Areey waah aapko bhi sudh hindi me vartalap karna priye  hai?" Vartika asked.

(Oh wow, you also like conversing in pure Hindi?)

"Aap bhi?" Rudra's eyes shone.

(You too?)

She nodded, he grinned very slightly , the rest groaned slapping their foreheads.

"Aapka ho gaya ho toh chalein?" Vardan added impatiently.

(If you're done, shall we leave?)

"Haa-Haa." They said.

"Okay at least let them get changed."

Lavanya clapped her hands lightly, rolling her eyes at the chaos around her as she ushered the girls away before the boys could throw in another teasing remark.

When they returned, the air shifted.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

But enough.

Vartika

She stepped in first.

Green.

Not just any green — the kind that reminded one of monsoon leaves drenched in rain. Deep. Alive. Regal. The saree clung to her form with effortless grace, the silk catching light with every subtle movement. The pleats were sharp, disciplined — like her arguments in court — but the pallu flowed softer, almost contradicting the armor she usually wore.

A delicate waistchain rested against her midriff, silver against emerald, glinting every time she moved. It wasn't flashy — it was intentional. Controlled elegance.

Stacks of glass bangles adorned her wrists. Green and gold. They didn't jingle loudly — they whispered. A soft rhythmic chime every time her fingers adjusted her pallu. Every time she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her jhumkas were traditional, heavy enough to sway with authority. Each slight tilt of her head made them brush against her neck.

And then there were the anklets.

Subtle. Silver. Almost hidden beneath the fall of her saree — until she took a step. The faint sound was enough to draw attention without her trying.

Her hair was left open, cascading down her back in dark waves. A few strands framed her face naturally, as if even they refused to be disciplined.

Her skin held that quiet glow — not makeup-heavy, not dramatic — just luminous.

She didn't try to be captivating.

That was the problem.

She simply was.

There was power in her stillness. Confidence in the way she carried the saree — not like someone dressed up for attention, but like someone who belonged in it.

Not soft.

Not fragile.

Royal.

Mehak

Mehak followed, her energy completely different.

She wore an orange kurta — bright, warm, almost mirroring her personality. The fabric was light, embroidered subtly along the neckline. Her dupatta hung carelessly over one shoulder as if she hadn't bothered overthinking it.

Her hair was tied into a loose braid, a few playful strands escaping near her temples.

She looked approachable. Cheerful. The kind of person who could walk into any room and make it lighter within seconds.

Nisha

Nisha entered next in a black sharara.

Sharp. Sleek. Striking.

The black wasn't dull — it was commanding. The flared sharara pants moved fluidly as she walked, and the fitted kurti accentuated her posture. Minimal jewelry, just statement earrings and confidence.

She looked like she could destroy someone with a single sentence — and smile while doing it.

Akanksha

Last came Akanksha in a light blue anarkali.

Soft. Flowing. Almost ethereal.

The fabric swirled gently around her ankles as she walked. The pale blue contrasted beautifully against her complexion, giving her an understated elegance.

She looked calm. Composed. The observer of the group.

But when they stood together, something was undeniable.

They weren't trying to compete.

And yet, the room — especially a certain pair of eyes hidden behind a different name — stilled on green.

Because Vartika didn't just wear a saree.

She carried it like a challenge.

"Chalo aab apna bio data do." Ankansha said jotting our notes on her phone, looking towards Vartika.

(Alright, now give your biodata.)

"Tujhe apne rishtedaar se shaadi karwani hai?" Rudra added.

(Do you want to get her married?)

Viraj choked.

The youngsters looked him.

Manav slapped his back slightly. "J-jao j-jao tum sab ye t-toh b-bas esse hi."

(G-go, g-go, you all... it's j-just like that.)

They shook their heads walking away.

As they walked toward the exit, Mehak asked, "Waise guys, tum sab kitne bhai-bahen ho?" (By the way guys, how many siblings are you all?)

​"Humare sabse bade bhaiyan hai, Yuvansh bhaiya—unhe Yuv bolte hain sab yahan—phir..." (Our eldest brother is Yuvansh—everyone calls him Yuv here—then...) As Aviyukt was explaining the family tree, Mehak gulped nervously, remembering the earlier chaos she had helped ignite, while Vartika and Nisha muffled their laughter behind their hands.

​Unaware of Mehak's internal panic, he continued, "Phir, Rudra bhaiya, Avni di, Vardan bhai, or hum dono." (Then, Rudra, Avni, Vardan, and the two of us.)

​"Hum twins hain," Akanksha added brightly. (We are twins.)

​Nisha's jaw practically hit the floor as she looked between the two. "North pole... South pole?"

​Rudra nodded with a resigned smile. "We, as a family, had the same reaction, I assure you."

​"Kahan shaant-shushil gaaye jesa mai, aur kahan ye bheins aur saand ki hybrid," Aviyukt said as a matter of fact, his voice dripping with mock-seriousness. (Where there is a calm, well-behaved cow like me, there is this hybrid of a buffalo and a bull.)

​"Maut bahut pyaari hai nahi?" Akanksha snapped, her eyes narrowing playfully. (Death is very dear to you, isn't it?)

​"Shaant gaddhari bheem shaant," Vartika said, doubling over with laughter at their bickering. (Quiet, traitorous Bheem, quiet.)

​"Bheem? Hidamba ka rudra roop hai ye," Rudra added, fueling the fire. (Bheem? This is the fierce form of Hidimba.)

"So where are your yuv bhaiya and Avni di?" Vartika asked.

They got stiff at the mention of Avni's name.

"Um-m vo bhaiya bahut busy hotein hai na iss liye pata Nahi sada sa strict muh bana ke logon ko aapni darawani aakhon se dara te Phir rahe honge." Vardan said.

"Aur Avni ki tabiat kharab hai thodi iss liye." Rudra said.

"Ohh kya hua unhe?" Vartika asked genuinely 

"Dinner ke time mill bhi lena or puch bhi." Akanksha added like avoiding the topic queity.

Mehak and Vartika slightly looked at each other but neither did anyone pressed further.

​"Achha, what about you guys?" Akanksha asked, turning the conversation toward the guests.

​"I'm a single child," Vartika replied.

​"And I'm her pransakhi (soul-friend) and that's my little baby sister," Nisha said, pulling Mehak into a suffocatingly sweet side-hug that made the younger girl cringe visibly.

​Rudra looked at the trio, a warm curiosity in his amber eyes. "Looking at you guys, lagta nahi hai aap siblings nahi hain." (It doesn't feel like you aren't siblings.)

​"We are siblings. By bonds, not blood," Mehak said proudly, her voice steady and full of genuine affection.

​"Aww, yawwr mujhe bhi lelo apne iss group me! Ye bonding dekh kar mai ro dungi," Akanksha cried out, overwhelmed by the sentiment, as she side-hugged Vartika, who happily reciprocated the warmth. (Aww, take me into your group too! I'll cry seeing this bonding.)

​"Waise mujhe laga tha you guys would be intimidating and scary," Mehak added carelessly, her filter disappearing in the friendly atmosphere. (Actually, I thought you guys would be intimidating and scary.)

​"Mehak!" Vartika said sternly, her protective instincts kicking in.

​"Koi na. Hume bhi laga tha you would dislike us, cause of the case... like distance rahega, drifts rahenge," Aviyukt said, grinning as he acknowledged the surprisingly quick connection. (No worries. We also thought you would dislike us because of the case... that there would be distance and drifts.)

​Vartika stiffened slightly, but forced a smile. "Should you not be angry on me?"

​"Angry kyun? You highlighted our mistakes," Rudra said casually, his lack of resentment making Vartika feel a wave of confusion. (Why angry?)

​"Dekho di, baat aisi thi, mumma and badi mumma told us who you are, how close they were with Kalyani aunty, so that played a role in us liking you," Akanksha explained, her voice soft. (See, the thing is, our mothers told us about the history with Kalyani aunty.)

​"And what we liked the most was you were so fierce and bold. Usually, people stay scared of big companies and all, but you were different," Vardan chimed in, his admiration evident.

​"We tried to dislike you, but you had this pull, di. I don't know, but you feel similar, and... like we know each other from way before," Aviyukt said, pouring his heart into a conversation that he intuitively felt shouldn't be this deep so soon.

​Vartika went still. A cold shiver of realization washed over her as she realized they felt the exact same inexplicable connection she did. Instead of comforting her, this shared "pull" made her hyper-alert. Her mind shifted back into officer mode, her suspicion flaring; she became more determined than ever to uncover every hidden piece of information regarding the history between their families.

​They sat in the car, the air heavy with unspoken questions and newfound bonds, and left for the mandir.

It was darker at night. The sky had swallowed the last traces of dusk, and the world outside the car windows had reduced itself to passing lights and blurred shadows.

Something about that ride had shifted things. Subtle. Unspoken. Dangerous.

The kind of bond that forms not through grand gestures, but through glances held a second too long. Through shared sarcasm. Through laughter that didn't feel forced.

It wasn't explainable. And that made it worse.

Vartika wasn't naive. She had built walls carefully, brick by brick, argument by argument, courtroom by courtroom. She had guards. Emotional ones. Literal ones. Years of discipline wrapped around her like armor.

Yet somehow, the Rajvansh siblings had slipped past it as if it were nothing more than mist.

That unsettled her.

She was supposed to despise them.

They were supposed to despise her.

That was the narrative. Clean. Logical. Predictable.

So why did none of this feel like rivalry?

Why did their teasing not sting?

Why did their concern not feel fake?

This wasn't how enemies behaved.

Her mind searched for cracks in their behavior. A misstep. A slip in tone. A hidden agenda.

What were their intentions behind this?

Were they truly this disarmingly sweet? Or was this charm merely a well-crafted mask waiting for the right moment to fall?

She had seen powerful families play long games before. She knew smiles could be strategies. Warmth could be calculated.

And yet...

She couldn't accuse them. Not fully.

There was something in their presence — an ease, an unmanufactured sincerity — that refused to align with manipulation. Their aura did not feel like deceit. It felt... safe.

That word alone irritated her.

"What if they actually mean what they're saying?" she wondered.

"Is that even possible?"

Her jaw tightened.

Who in their right mind would willingly accept a lawyer who had publicly dragged a branch of their empire through legal mud? She had cross-examined their executives. She had dismantled their claims. She had stood against them without flinching.

That wasn't forgettable.

So why weren't they holding it against her?

"Is this all for Maa?" she questioned internally. "For the sake of their friendship?"

That would make sense. Respect for elders. Temporary civility. Strategic tolerance.

Yes. That sounded logical.

"That could be a valid reason."

But logic did not explain the way Rudra's eyes had lit up at her formal Hindi.

It did not explain the subtle protectiveness in Viraj's silence.

It did not explain why their banter felt less like politics and more like... 

belonging.

And that possibility —

That she might not be fighting them,

That she might not need to —

Terrified her far more than rivalry ever could.

Soon, they reached the mandir.

It was beyond ethereal—something that felt as if it had stepped out of ancient scriptures and settled quietly into the present.

The moon shone so brightly in the clear sky that the streetlights seemed unnecessary, their glow fading into insignificance.

The mandir's area was vast. Bushes of different flowers bordered the pathway, their faint fragrance mixing with the cool night air.

A strange aura pulsed softly in everyone's veins as they entered the place, like an unseen welcome.

A pond filled with blooming lotuses rested nearby.

The moon's reflection lay upon its surface, trembling slightly whenever the wind brushed past, sending gentle ripples across the water.

Vartika stepped out.

Her breath hitched.

I have been here before.

Her heart knew it—without question, without doubt.

Yet it was supposed to be a question.

Her heartbeat grew louder than ever before.

All the chatter of the youngsters behind her faded into a distant blur, as if the world itself had stepped back.

Her steps moved on their own.

She reached the pond.

A strange ache stirred in her heart the moment she saw her reflection in the water.

Then the ache in her head returned—

raw,

hard,

unbearable.

She clutched her head with one hand, the other gripping a nearby bench for support.

"What hell is happening to me?"

"Didi kahan kho gaye aao na," Avyukt's voice called.

(Where are you lost di? Come join us.)

She nodded slowly and began walking toward the mandir.

The mandir itself seemed to breathe divinity.

Long stone stairs led to the entrance, worn softly by countless footsteps of devotion.

Still lost in her trance, she faintly heard Rudra say to Vardan,

"Haan dono pehle se yahan ka kaam sambhal rahe hain..."

(Yes both are handling things here...)

But who? 

she thought.

Vartika was walking towards the marble steps, her green saree flowing behind her, anklets whispering with every step. The wind had picked up again, playful this time, tugging at her pallu.

Somewhere near the speaker system set up for bhajans, Vardan was fiddling with his phone.

"Bhai, Bluetooth connect ho gaya kya?" Avyukt  asked from behind.

"Haan haan, ho gaya—" Vardan muttered, distracted, tapping randomly.

As Vartika began climbing the stairs, the physical toll of her inexplicable trance intensified, each step causing the dull ache in her head to sharpen into a throbbing pain. As she approached the final few steps, the world began to tilt; a wave of dizziness, fueled by the mounting pressure in her skull, threatened to overwhelm her. In the distance, 

she could vaguely hear Vardan recording a silly vlog, 

but his voice felt miles away as she focused every ounce of her remaining strength on reaching the top.

The first step felt ordinary.

The second did not.

By the third, the world had begun to change.

The mandir stood draped in twilight — the sky above streaked in molten gold melting into deep sapphire. The ancient stone steps carried the warmth of the day, but the air had turned cool, almost expectant. Diyas flickered along the edges, their flames trembling as though whispering secrets to the wind.

Vartika lifted her saree slightly as she ascended.

Green.

Not just fabric — it felt like something living. The silk caught the wind and flowed behind her, as if the air itself refused to let it rest. Her bangles chimed softly, glass kissing glass. The waistchain shimmered at her midriff like a thread of moonlight. Anklets answered each step with delicate silver music.

Then the bells rang.

Not one.

All of them.

The great temple bell above thundered first — deep, resonant, ancient. Then the smaller bells joined in, a cascading chorus of sound that vibrated through stone, through air, through bone.

It didn't feel like coincidence.

It felt summoned.

The wind grew stronger — circling rather than passing through. Her hair lifted around her shoulders. The marigold garlands at the entrance swayed wildly. The flames of the diyas stretched tall instead of dying, glowing brighter, as though fed by something unseen.

The priest's chant inside deepened, the Sanskrit syllables flowing like river water — steady, eternal.

Birds gathered along the temple dome, restless but not afraid. A flock lifted into the air all at once, circling above in widening spirals. Even the trees lining the courtyard rustled in rhythm, leaves brushing together like hushed applause.

And beneath all of it — the insects.

The crickets' hum shifted pitch, almost melodic. A vibration threaded through the earth itself, subtle but undeniable.

It felt like recognition.

As if the universe had paused, inhaled, and decided to witness.

Halfway up the steps, she stopped.

Her breath trembled.

There was a pull in her chest — ancient and aching. Not memory. Not logic. Something older than both. A thread tugging at her soul.

The bells rang again.

This time softer.

Reverent.

The air thickened — not heavy, but sacred. The space between heartbeats felt stretched. Time moved slower, like honey dripping instead of seconds passing.

She felt watched.

Not by people.

By destiny.

Her jhumkas brushed her neck as she turned slightly, instinct guiding her before thought could interfere. The wind, which had been wild and restless, calmed at once — settling into a gentle current that wrapped around her like an unseen embrace.

And then—

Footsteps behind her.

Measured.

Certain.

Not hurried. Not hesitant.

The earth seemed to accept each step. Even the gravel did not dare to crunch too loudly. The wind shifted direction, carrying with it the faint scent of sandalwood.

The bells did not clash now.

They resonated.

Low.

Harmonious.

Two frequencies finding alignment.

The birds stilled mid-flight, hovering for a heartbeat longer than nature allowed. The diyas burned steadier, their flames no longer trembling but standing tall and unwavering.

A milan.

 dramatic.

 declared.

But written.

She took the final step toward the temple entrance.

And for one suspended second, it felt as though every lifetime before this one had led to this staircase.

The divine did not descend.

It surrounded.

It blessed.

It bore witness.

And somewhere in that charged silence between breath and heartbeat—

The universe smiled.

​Just as she reached the final steps, a whisper seemed to echo through the air—a sound that felt less like a human voice and more like the wind itself.

​"Maiyaa."

​The child's voice was pure, carrying a divine resonance that felt too sacred for the world. 

The sound sent Vartika's world spinning. 

She turned instinctively to find the source of the voice, but in that moment, she lost her remaining balance. Her foot slipped. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself for the hard, unmistakable impact against the stone.

​But the pain never came.

​Before she could fall, a strong hand wrapped abruptly around her, pulling her closer with a protective force. She was pulled so close that her heart began to beat faster than it ever had in her life. Her soul seemed to scream something she couldn't quite grasp. In the frantic split second of the rescue, something cold and powdery fell onto her hairline.

She was half-falling, half-held — suspended between gravity and him.

Her waistchain shimmered where his hand steadied her. Her hair cascaded forward, brushing his sleeve. The scent of sandalwood and incense tangled in the space between them.

And right at that precise, absurdly cinematic moment—

The speakers crackled.

For half a second there was static.

Then music filled the garden.

🎶 "Tera deedar hua... pehla sa pyaar hua..." 🎶

Vardan froze near the speaker.

"...Oh."

The younger cousins burst into muffled gasps.

The timing could not have been worse.

Or better.

He didn't look away.

or

He couldn't look away.

Vartika's breath was uneven, her hand still clutching his sleeve. Their faces were inches apart now. Close enough for her jhumka to brush his collar.

The wind softened, almost reverent.

🎶 "Tera deedar hua... pehla sa pyaar hua..." 🎶

(When I saw you... it felt like love for the first time...)

The lyrics floated through the night air as if the universe itself had decided to score the moment.

Her eyes lifted to meet his.

The diyas flickered brighter, as though responding. Somewhere in the trees, birds shifted softly. Even the fountain seemed to hush.

His grip tightened slightly — protective, not possessive.

​Clutching tightly to the shoulders of the person holding her, Vartika managed to slowly open her eyes. What she saw in that moment made her lose her last grip on sanity. 

It was as if her soul had finally looked upon its almighty

like a devotee finally seeing the object of their devotion, 

or a lost person who had finally, after a lifetime of searching, found their home.

​There stood a pair of eyes—grey, commanding, yet softening in ways no one could explain. Her lips parted slightly, unable to move, as he stood equally still.

******************************************

​His POV

​I was handling the preparations here in the mandir for the people I have come to take revenge on. God, your play is truly the worst wound one could receive. 

I stood there, eyes staring nowhere in particular, lost in thoughts I couldn't escape.

​"Kisi ki yaadon me khoye hue?" (Lost in someone's memories?) Siddharth's voice came breaking the trance. 

That bastard. 

He wouldn't let me live in peace for even a second. I paid no heed to him, though usually, I would have reacted by now. Something in me had shifted.

​I felt my heart was about to burst—

not with pain, but with anticipation.

 A dull ache hammered in my chest, and a weird sense of déjà vu was coming again and again.

​"Kya baat hai raja babu, lost in someone's thoughts haa?" Siddharth teased. 

Ye kutta marega aaj (This dog will die today). 

I shook my head and began walking, but then I stopped suddenly. My feet began to walk on their own, and my soul screamed. Every ounce of my mental sanity was gone.

​I walked closer toward the steps as a child's voice rang out:

 "Maiyaa.".

 The call was so raw, so pure, and so divine. I held the sindoor box more tightly in my hand—the box the panditji insisted was  offered to Shree-ji and then given to me for my future wife. 

Silly. 

Bullshit.

​But could I deny it? No. He was too sweet and hopeful about it.

​I walked closer, and there she stood

—confused, hurt, and most probably about to fall. 

My instinct worked before my thoughts could catch up. My feet closed the distance faster than expected, and I wrapped my hands around her waist just as she began to fall.

​Her eyes were closed, shut tightly as she trembled slightly.

 Slowly,

 she opened them. 

There it was. My everything went blank. It was like my soul finally got a sip of water after wandering relentlessly in search of it; like my soul had reached salvation. My prayers met my god.

​Wait.

WTH.

What kind of shit was I even thinking?. Yet, as I stood there holding her on the mandir floor, I still wasn't able to leave her.

Suddenly.

"Click"

****************************

Heyy loveliesss my exams are finally over so now I can write more and better kyunki aab aaya mere bechen dil ko karar anyways don't mind my yapping. I am working on the English translation now thoda time lagega bus then also in character aesthetic I will be giving you an update as few new characters are gonna take entry but if I added everything in the same chapter of intro you will get confused so I will make new intro ch for the new characters.