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REYANSH'S POV:

“Reyansh…!”

I come out of my trance when Prachi calls me.
I look at her—she’s staring at me with pure concern written all over her face.

“H–Haan… yes?” I ask, my voice a little delayed, as I notice Aarav and Devansh also looking at us.

“What happened?” she asks. “I’ve been calling your name for so long and you were lost!”

“I was just thinking—” I begin.

“And here he goes again,” Devansh cuts in immediately, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk plastered on his face. “Russia se sirf degree nahi, silent mode bhi lekar aaya hai.”

Aarav snorts. “At least Russia didn’t return him with emotional expression enabled.”

I shoot him a warning look.

He raises both hands innocently. “Cardiologist hoon, bhai. Dil ka doctor. Diagnose toh karunga hi.”

Prachi rolls her eyes at both of them before turning back to me, completely ignoring their nonsense.

“You seriously worry me sometimes, Reyu,” she says, poking my arm. “One moment you’re here, next moment you look like you’re planning a war.”

Devansh grins. “That’s because he probably is.”

I don’t respond. Instead, I take a sip of water, letting them talk—like always.

It’s been eight months since we all completed our education.

Eight months since Devansh came back from Bangalore, taking charge of Patil Group Institutions like he was born for it.

Eight months since Aarav and Prachi returned from Delhi, one saving hearts and the other fixing minds.

Eight months since I came back from Russia, bringing back a degree, experience… and a little too much silence.

And this—this restaurant table—feels like the only place where time didn’t move.

“So,” Prachi suddenly claps her hands, eyes lighting up. “Trip.”

Three pairs of eyes look at her.

One enthusiastic.
Three uninterested.

“No,” Aarav says instantly.

“Nope,” Devansh follows.

I don’t even bother answering.

Prachi gasps dramatically. “You people are impossible! We finally meet after months, and you all act like 60-year-old uncles!”

“Correction,” Devansh says lazily. “Successful 60-year-old uncles.”

“Exactly,” Aarav nods. “With back pain and zero energy.”

Prachi turns to me. “Reyu?”

I look at her. Blank expression.

She clasps her hands together. “Just listen, okay? We’ll go somewhere calm. Hills. Snow maybe. End of the year trip. No work. No calls. No responsibilities.”

Aarav lets out a soft tch.

Not loud.
Not dramatic.

Just enough.

Prachi freezes mid-sentence and turns to him slowly. “What was that sound?”

“Reality,” he says flatly, eyes still on the menu card. “It hurts sometimes.”

Devansh snorts into his drink but says nothing.

Prachi places both her palms on the table.

“Excuse me, Dr. Heart Surgeon. You haven’t even heard the plan.”

“I heard ‘no work’,” Aarav replies. “That’s already fictional.”

She points at him. “You’re literally the one who said you’re tired of hospital shifts!”

“Yes,” he agrees calmly. “At the hospital. Not on a mountain with zero network.”

I watch silently as Prachi starts pacing words faster than her thoughts.

“We’ll plan properly. Limited patients. Advance notice. Everything can be managed if you want to go.”

Aarav finally looks up at her. “Prachi, I like silence.”

She smiles brightly. “Hills are silent!”

“I like predictable silence.”

Devansh leans back, watching the exchange like a tennis match, amused but uninterfering.

“You two have been together since first year,” he says casually. “This argument is older than your stethoscope.”

Prachi turns to him. “Don’t you dare stay neutral.”

“I’m not neutral,” Devansh replies easily.
“I’m entertained.”

She groans. “Men.”

Aarav gives a single nod. “Agreed.”

Her eyes snap back to me. “Reyansh, say something.”

Three faces turn towards me.

I pause for a moment, then speak evenly.

“She’s been planning this trip since we were in second year.”

Prachi’s eyes light up. “See! He remembers!”

Aarav raises an eyebrow. “That’s not support.”

I continue, “And every year, something stops it.”

Prachi’s smile fades just a little.

Devansh finally speaks, softer now. “But this is the first year we’re all back.”

Prachi exhales slowly and sits down. “Exactly. We’re never going to be this free again.”

Aarav looks away first.

He doesn’t argue.

Doesn’t mock.

Just taps his fingers lightly on the table.

Devansh watches him, then looks at me.

I take a slow breath. “She’s right.”

Prachi blinks. “You—wait—what?”

“I didn’t say yes,” I add calmly. “I said she’s right.”

Aarav sighs, defeated but not unhappy. “This is emotional manipulation.”

Prachi grins like she’s already won. “It’s called friendship.”

Devansh lifts his glass. “To our only female friend. The loudest voice at the table.”

Prachi lifts hers too. “And the only reason you idiots still meet.”

I don’t lift my glass.

I just watch them.

Because even with the differences—
Same college, same memories, different paths—She’s still the center.

And we’re still listening.

Prachi doesn’t stop after that.

She leans forward on the table, eyes shining, hands moving animatedly as she starts yapping—“France, guys. We’ll see so many places there. Museums, cafés, streets—”

She suddenly clasps her hands together, excitement spilling out.

“And Paris!”

She practically sighs.

“My dream place. I want to see the Eiffel Tower. Chalte hai naa, please?”

She pouts.

A proper, well-practiced pout.

Aarav looks at her for a long second, unimpressed. Then he rolls his eyes like he’s been defeated by destiny itself.

“Okay,” he says flatly. “I’m in.”

Her face lights up instantly.

She grins and leans sideways, hugging him from the side without thinking twice.

That’s when I notice it.

Devansh’s gaze drops to his plate.

His jaw tightens.
One hand grips the edge of the table—knuckles whitening for a brief second before he relaxes them.

Aarav, on the other hand, goes completely still in her hug.

Doesn’t move.
Doesn’t respond.
Just freezes.

I sigh softly and mutter under my breath,
“Oh God… not a love triangle, please.”

Dev lifts his head.

I know he heard me.

Our eyes meet.

No expressions.
No words.

Just two people silently acknowledging something neither of us wants to name.

From the corner of my eye, I see Prachi already pulling out her phone, showing Aarav pictures of Paris and the Eiffel Tower like he hasn’t seen it before.

It’s not that he hasn’t.

It’s that she hasn’t.

We all have traveled abroad more times than we can count.

This excitement is hers alone.

I look back at Dev.

I blink once.

He gives me a half-smile—tight, controlled—then looks back down at his plate like nothing happened.

That’s enough.

I reach out, grab Prachi by her arm, and pull her toward me.

She gasps at the sudden movement.

“Reyu—!”

I pull her closer and say, mildly offended,
“Show me. I’m also present here.”

Aarav looks at me.

I don’t look back.

My eyes stay on Prachi.

She breaks into a smile, shifts her phone toward me, and starts showing pictures—

Her saved images.
Paris streets.

The Eiffel Tower glowing at night.

The kind of pictures you save when you’re dreaming.

I lean back in my chair, watching her talk, watching Dev pretend to eat, watching Aarav sit unusually quiet.

Friends.

Childhood friends.

And somehow, the table suddenly feels smaller than it did a few minutes ago.

She keeps talking while scrolling, excitement slowly settling into comfort.

Then, without thinking, Prachi rests her head on my shoulder.

Light.
Familiar.
Natural.

I stiffen for half a second—then let it be.

“You will come, right?” she asks softly, blinking up at me.

I look at her.

Really look.

“Yeah,” I say. “I will.”

Her face breaks into a grin. She pats my cheek playfully, like a victory badge.

“Okay then. It’s Paris.”

Before I can respond—

“I’m in.”

Devansh’s voice cuts through the moment.

Prachi straightens immediately, excitement doubling. “Really?!”

“It’s Paris,” he says simply, standing up. “How can I say no?”

All of us look up at him.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he adds casually, already moving toward the washroom wing.

As he walks away, the space he leaves behind feels heavier than before.

Aarav watches him go.

Then Aarav looks at me.

A silent question.

A quiet concern.

I meet his gaze and give him a small nod—steady, assuring.

Relax.

He exhales almost imperceptibly, then looks down at his phone and starts scrolling, pretending he’s not thinking too much.

Prachi, oblivious or pretending to be, keeps smiling at the Eiffel Tower on her screen.

And I sit there, shoulder still warm, eyes following Devansh’s disappearing figure—
Knowing this trip is going to change more than just the calendar.

The tap keeps running.

Water splashes against the sink, loud enough to fill the silence between us—but not loud enough to drown it.

Devansh steps in beside me and washes his hands.

No greeting.

No glance.

Just two men staring at their reflections like the mirror might answer questions we’re too afraid to ask.

The silence stretches.

I dry my hands and finally speak.

“Relax, Dev,” I say evenly. “You’re thinking too much.”

“Maybe,” he replies, eyes still fixed on his reflection.

Of course he is.

I look at him properly now.

Tensed jaw.
Rigid shoulders.

That familiar storm behind his eyes.

I know his story better than anyone.

Devansh Patil—who fell for Prachi back in school and loved her quietly all through college.
Loved her enough to stay silent.

Loved her enough to choose her career over his confession.

And then there’s Aarav.

My other best friend.

The most decent idiot I know.

He has feelings for Prachi—yes.

But it’s not love.

I know that.

Because years ago, he promised me something he never broke.

I’ll never come in Dev’s way.
I’ll never try to snatch his love.

And he hasn’t.

Not once.

Despite being in the same college.
Despite studying together for years.
Despite being that close.

Dev thinks Prachi likes Aarav.

Aarav thinks stepping back is the right thing to do.

And Prachi?

She’s just… Prachi.

Living in her own world.
Dreaming about Paris and Eiffel Towers.
Completely unaware that two grown men are making her the center of a silent battlefield.

And somehow—

I’m stuck between these dumb idiots.

Despite all of us being together for years, not once did Dev gather the courage to ask Aarav directly.

Because back in tenth standard, Dev told us he loved Prachi.

And back then, I noticed it too—Aarav felt something.

But my doubt cleared during one stupid game of truth and dare, when Prachi casually admitted she’d once had a crush on Aarav during school.

Nothing more.
Nothing less.

That one confession planted a seed of insecurity in Dev’s mind—and it never left.

And instead of talking like adults, these two geniuses decided silence was safer.

Now they expect me to fix it.

I turn to Dev and say quietly, “You know this could all end with one honest conversation, right?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just stares at his reflection.

And I realize—

Sometimes, the strongest men are cowards when it comes to love.

And sometimes, the most dangerous thing between friends is the truth left unsaid.

I turn off the tap.

The sudden quiet feels heavier than before.

Dev still doesn’t move.

“Dev,” I say again, softer this time. “How long are you planning to punish yourself for something that hasn’t even happened?”

His jaw tightens.

“You didn’t see her,” he says finally. “The way she hugged Aarav.”

I let out a slow breath. There it is.

“She hugs everyone,” I reply calmly. “You, me, the waiter if he smiles too much.”

“That’s not funny, Rey.”

“I’m not joking,” I say, turning fully toward him now. “You’re reading meanings where there are none.”

He finally looks at me. Properly.

“What if I waited too long?” he asks, voice low. “What if while I was busy being responsible, someone else became… important?”

Ah.
There it is.

The fear he never says out loud.

I lean against the counter, arms folded. “Let me make one thing very clear,” I say steadily.
“Aarav will never cross that line. Not because he’s scared of you—but because he respects you.”

Dev looks away again.

“And Prachi?” he asks quietly.

I pause. Choose my words carefully.

“Prachi doesn’t belong to anyone yet,” I say. “Not you. Not Aarav. And definitely not to assumptions.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

“You know,” I add, “for someone who runs institutions and handles thousands of people, you’re surprisingly bad at one-on-one conversations.”

A faint smile ghosts his lips.

“Pot calling kettle,” he mutters.

I smirk. “Difference is—I interfere.”

Silence settles again, but this time it’s not sharp. It’s tired.

“You should talk to her,” I say. “Not today. Not dramatically. Just… honestly. One day.”

“And Aarav?”

“I’ll handle him,” I say without hesitation. “He’s already halfway out of this triangle that only exists in your head.”

Dev chuckles quietly. “You always end up in the middle, don’t you?”

“Story of my life,” I reply dryly.

He straightens, splashes water on his face, then looks at himself once more in the mirror.

“Paris,” he says suddenly.

“What about it?”

“If we’re going… I’ll go properly,” he says. “No running away.”

I study him for a second, then nod. “Good.”

We walk back toward the dining area together.
From a distance, I can already hear Prachi laughing about something stupid on her phone, probably showing Aarav yet another picture of the Eiffel Tower like it’s a newly discovered monument.

Idiots.

All of them.

But they’re my idiots.

And this time— I won’t let silence ruin what friendship protected for years.

The Paris air hit us the moment we stepped out of the aircraft—cool, crisp, and strangely alive.
I turned my head instinctively.

Prachi was clinging to Aarav like her life depended on it.

Her head lolled slightly against his shoulder, eyes half-closed, face pale, while Aarav stood there stiff as a statue, hands awkwardly hovering like he wasn’t sure whether to hold her or file a complaint against fate.

Flight sickness.

The irony almost made me laugh.

This was the same woman who had dragged us across continents with the enthusiasm of a travel influencer.

Dev, walking a little behind us, took one look at her state and chuckled softly. Not mocking—fond. Concern hidden behind humor.

I shook my head.

This woman, honestly.

I walked up to them and gently shook her shoulder. “Prachi.”

Her eyes fluttered open. The moment she saw me, they glassed over, tears instantly brimming like she’d been personally betrayed by aviation.

I quickly steadied her, holding her upright.

“If you get this tired after traveling,” I asked calmly, “then why do you travel in the first place?”

She sighed dramatically and dropped her cheek against my bicep, clinging to my arm like a koala.

“I love trips,” she mumbled, voice exhausted, “just not the part where you sit inside a flying tube for hours. Why can’t we come here by car?”

Dev blinked. Once.

“And how,” he asked patiently, “will you cross the oceans?”

She didn’t even open her eyes.

“By swimming.”

Aarav looked down at her. “Do you even know how to swim?”

She nodded weakly. “I can try.”

Both of them rolled their eyes at the exact same time.

I sighed. “Enough. Are we going to stand in the airport and conduct a TED Talk, or are we moving to the hotel?”

She immediately lifted her head and looked at me, eyes watery, lashes fluttering dangerously.

“Rey bhai,” she said softly, “can we rest first? Please?”

That word—bhai.

Always like a quiet line drawn around me.
She was my sister in every way that mattered. And Dev knew that. Trusted that. Otherwise, he would’ve already destroyed himself with overthinking.

I softened instantly.

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “We’ll rest. We won’t step out until you feel like it. If you want, we’ll stay in all day.”

Her face brightened despite the exhaustion.

She gave me a weak thumbs up… and immediately closed her eyes again.

I shook my shoulder gently. “Get up. We still have to reach the hotel.”

She nodded sleepily and straightened, still clinging to my side as we began walking toward the exit.

And as we stepped out into Paris together—one clinging, one overthinking, one pretending not to care, and me stuck right in the middle—I knew one thing for sure.

This trip was going to be anything but simple.

After a lot of rest—forced, negotiated, and mildly dramatic—we finally stepped out.
Paris was alive.

The streets buzzed with movement and sound—soft chatter in French, laughter spilling out of cafés, the distant melody of a street musician playing an accordion. Narrow stone streets opened into wider boulevards lined with elegant buildings, their balconies draped with iron railings and tiny flower pots. The smell of coffee, baked bread, and something sweet hung constantly in the air.

Tourists everywhere. Locals walking like they owned time.

And right in the middle of all this chaos—

Shopping.

Of course.

Because Prachi Sharma wanted it.

She had dragged us here with the kind of determination only she possessed, even though all of us—me, Dev, Aarav—had been to France more times than we could count. This trip wasn’t about Paris.

It was about us.

Years apart. Different cities. Different lives. And now, finally, together.

Dev and I walked a little behind.

In front of us, Prachi was in her element.

Hands flying animatedly as she talked, pointing at shop windows, cafés, random streets, probably explaining something that made perfect sense only in her head.

Aarav walked beside her, listening quietly, nodding now and then, a small smile tugging at his lips.

They looked… comfortable.

Best friends.

They always had been.

Back in school, it used to be just Prachi and me—studying together, sitting side by side. Then Aarav joined, freshly shifted from Jaisalmer after moving from Jaipur. Quiet, reserved, observant.

Within days, he and Prachi had clicked. They became bestfriends.

Three years later, Devansh joined us.

And the group was complete.

Before Dev ever came into the picture, Prachi and Aarav shared something easy, unforced. Even now—both doctors, both successful—that bond remained unchanged. Natural. Safe.
I glanced sideways.

Devansh had slowed a little, phone pressed to his ear.

“Yes, Ishi… I know,” he said softly, his tone instantly gentler than usual.

A pause.

“No, I ate properly. Stop worrying.”

I smiled to myself.

His little sister had that effect on him.

Watching him talk, I was suddenly reminded of Avantika.

My princess.

In London.

She’d be in class right now—business lectures, probably sitting between Abhimaan and Aryan, rolling her eyes at something stupid one of them said. She wouldn’t pick up if I called.

I already knew that.

I slipped my phone back into my pocket.

Raat ko call kar lunga, I thought.

When London slept and she finally had time for me.

Ahead, Prachi suddenly stopped in front of a boutique, eyes sparkling like she’d discovered treasure.

“THIS,” she announced dramatically, grabbing Aarav’s sleeve, “is what I was talking about!”

Aarav blinked at the display. “It’s… a shop.”
She gasped. “Aarav, don’t insult Paris like that.”

Devansh hung up his call and caught up to me.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”

I exhaled slowly.

“So do I.”

The streets of Paris stretched endlessly ahead of us—beautiful, chaotic, romantic.

And somewhere between shopping bags, old bonds, unspoken feelings.

This trip was already doing what it was meant to do.

Stir things that had been quiet for far too long.

“I’ve decided something,” Devansh says suddenly as we walk.

I glance at him and nod once, signaling him to continue.

“I… I will confess my feelings to her,” he says, then adds quickly, almost breathless, “and that too in front of the Eiffel Tower. It’s her favourite place.”

I nod again.

Once.

Silently.

He stops walking.

Turns to stare at me like I’ve personally betrayed him.

“Bas?” he asks. “That was your reaction?”

I arch an eyebrow. “Do you want me to make an announcement across Paris that Devansh Patil is going to confess his undying love?”

He scoffs. “Can’t you show some emotions, buddy? After all, I’m your best friend!”

“Toh?” I reply casually, not even slowing my pace. “What should I do, bro? Fireworks arrange karu? Eiffel Tower book karu? Jaa yahan se, sar mat kha mera.”

Before I can take another step—

Thud.

His fist lands straight into my stomach.

I grunt slightly, stopping mid-walk, one hand instinctively pressing my abdomen.

“Saale!” I mutter. “Public place hai.”

He looks oddly satisfied. “That was for being emotionally unavailable.”

I straighten up slowly, rolling my shoulders. “Tu confess kar raha hai, main nahi. Meri emotional energy already full hai.”

He shakes his head. “Unbelievable. I’m finally doing the bravest thing of my life and you’re acting like I told you I’m ordering coffee.”
I glance ahead.

Prachi and Aarav are still walking, arguing about something—she’s pointing at a scarf, Aarav clearly trying to escape the shop.

“They look fine,” I say quietly.

Devansh exhales. “That’s the problem.”

I stop walking this time.

Turn to him fully.

“Listen to me,” I say, my tone dropping—firm, steady. “You should’ve done this years ago. But you didn’t. So don’t expect the universe to clap for you now.”

He stiffens.

“But,” I continue, softer now, “if you’re going to do it… do it properly. No overthinking. No assumptions. No running away.”

He looks at me, searching my face.

“And if she says no?” he asks quietly.

I meet his eyes. “Then you respect her answer. And you don’t let it destroy friendships that took a lifetime to build.”

Silence stretches between us.

Then he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You’re really bad at comfort, you know that?”

I smirk faintly. “I know.”

He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine. “But you’re right.”

We start walking again.

Ahead, the Eiffel Tower looms in the distance—iron, massive, timeless.

Devansh looks at it once.

Then at me.

“Promise me one thing.”

I glance at him. “What?”

“Don’t let me back out.”

I nod, once—serious this time.
“I won’t.”

And somewhere between the crowd, the lights, and the unspoken tension— Paris suddenly felt like a turning point.

“Do you think,” Devansh says slowly, thoughtfully, “I should inform Aarav too?”

I stop walking.

Completely.

Turn toward him.

Stare.

For a long, painful second.

Then I say, very calmly, “Bro… do one thing.”

He blinks. “What?”

“Just book me as your official advisor,” I reply dryly. “Full-time. Salary included. Because clearly, tu bina pooche ek saans bhi nahi lega.”

He scowls. “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” I say. “That’s what’s scaring me.”

He sighs. “I just don’t want things to get messy.”

“Dev,” I deadpan, “things are already a mess. You’re just now choosing to look at the dust.”

He rubs his face. “But Aarav—”

“—is not your boyfriend,” I cut in. “Stop acting like you’re about to propose to him.”

He glares. “Reyansh.”

“Listen,” I say, pointing at him. “You don’t need Aarav’s permission to confess. This is not a government tender.”

“But he has feelings—”

“—and you have feelings,” I interrupt again. “Difference is, you’re finally planning to say something instead of suffering silently like a tragic poet.”

He mutters, “You’re impossible.”

“Yet here you are,” I smirk, “asking me everything.”

He groans. “Okay tell me this—what if she says yes?”

I shrug. “Then congratulations. You’ll be unbearable.”

“And if she says no?”

“Then also congratulations,” I say lightly. “You’ll finally stop overthinking and start living.”

He looks at me. “You make it sound very simple.”

“It is simple,” I reply. “You people just enjoy complicating emotions like it’s a hobby.”

He walks a few steps ahead, then turns back. “Should I rehearse what I’ll say?”

I stare at him in disbelief. “What is this? A school annual function?”

“Reyansh—”

“If you rehearse too much,” I warn, “you’ll end up sounding like a TED Talk.”

He huffs. “So what do I say?”

I think for a moment. Then—

“Say the truth,” I answer. “In your words. No drama. No expectations.”

He nods slowly.

Then, “Should I buy her something?”

I stop again.

Close my eyes.

Count to three.

“Devansh,” I say patiently, “this is a confession, not a wedding shopping list.”

He shrugs. “Flowers?”

“Acceptable.”

“Ring?”

I smack his arm. “Sit down, Romeo.”

He laughs despite himself.

We fall into step again, the Eiffel Tower now closer, glowing softly in the distance.

He looks at me sideways. “You know… you’re actually good at this.”

I snort. “No. I’m just tired of being the third wheel in your emotional circus.”

He chuckles. “Thanks, man.”

I glance at him. “For what?”

“For not letting me be stupid alone.”

I smirk faintly. “Anytime. That’s what best friends are for.”

Devansh disappears into a jewellery store across the street, the golden lights swallowing him whole, while Prachi is already inside another boutique, surrounded by dresses and mirrors and her own happiness.

And suddenly—

It’s just me and Aarav.

Standing side by side.

Too quiet.

I shove my hands into my coat pockets and glance at the jewellery store once before opening my mouth.

“He’s going to confess to her tonight.”

Aarav turns his head toward me. “Really?”

“Hm.”

There’s no shock. No pause. No tightening of his jaw.

Just—

“That’s nice,” he says simply.

I turn fully toward him now.

Study his face.

Too calm. Too composed.

“Aren’t you feeling something?” I ask quietly.

He looks at me, genuinely confused. “Why would I?”

That answer hits harder than denial.

I exhale slowly. “Aarav…”

He looks ahead again, eyes fixed on the street, the passing crowd, the Eiffel Tower peeking between buildings like a silent witness.

“What?” he asks.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He gives a small smile. Not sad. Not bitter.

Just… tired.

“I’m not pretending, Reyansh.”

I scoff softly. “You expect me to believe that?”

He finally turns, leaning slightly against the railing beside us. “Yes.”

I narrow my eyes. “You once promised me you’d never come in Dev’s way. That doesn’t mean you stopped feeling.”

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“Then?”

“Then I did what adults do,” he replies calmly. “I accepted it.”

I laugh under my breath, humorless. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It wasn’t,” he admits. “But it was necessary.”

I stay silent.

He continues, voice steady. “Dev loved her before I even understood what love was. That matters to me.”

“And what about you?” I ask. “Where do you stand in all this?”

He shrugs lightly. “Where I’ve always stood. Beside her. Not between.”

That sentence lands like a quiet truth.

I watch him closely. “You don’t regret it?”

He thinks for a moment. Then—

“No,” he says. “Because regret comes from wanting something you weren’t meant to take.”

I look away, jaw tightening.

“You’re a better man than most,” I mutter.

He smirks faintly. “Don’t spread rumors. I have a reputation as an emotionally constipated doctor.”

I chuckle despite myself.

Then my tone softens. “What if she had chosen you?”

He meets my gaze this time. Direct. Honest.

“Then Dev wouldn’t be standing in that shop right now.”

The weight of that statement sits heavy between us.

“And if she doesn’t choose him?” I ask.
Aarav exhales slowly. “Then I’ll help him survive it.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “You both are idiots.”

He smiles. “But loyal ones.”

From across the street, the jewellery shop door opens.

Devansh steps out, a small velvet box hidden in his palm, nerves written all over his face.

Aarav notices him too.

His expression doesn’t change.

No flinch. No crack.

Just acceptance.

He straightens and says quietly, “Tonight will change things.”

“Yes,” I reply. “One way or another.”

Aarav glances at me. “Make sure he doesn’t mess it up.”

I arch a brow. “Why me?”

“Because,” he says calmly, “you’re the only one who can punch sense into him and still make him laugh.”

I smirk. “Fair.”

As Prachi steps out of the boutique, glowing, unaware—

I realize something.

This isn’t a love triangle.

It’s a test of friendship.

And tonight— Only honesty survives.

I watch Devansh walking toward us, head down, gaze fixed on his shoes. There’s that nervous energy about him—the kind that only comes when someone is about to do something that scares them… or excites them too much.

Aarav leans against the railing beside me, arms crossed, watching Devansh.

I watch Devansh walking toward us, his head down, eyes fixed on the cobblestones at our feet. He looks like a kid about to do something terrifying—but exciting.

Aarav leans casually against the railing beside me, arms crossed. He’s watching Devansh too, but unlike me, there’s no tension in him. Just calm, deliberate observation.

“Such an idiot he is!” Aarav mutters quietly. “Did he really think I would come between them? When I know there’s no way for me.”

“He is,” I say, nodding slowly, still watching Devansh.

Aarav glances at me, and I finally turn fully to him, raising my brow. He chuckles softly, almost ruefully.

“You know what, Reyansh…” he begins, his voice low, calm, measured. “Love is not something we should ever claim just because it feels convenient, or because someone’s always been there. It’s not about comfort, or routine, or growing up side by side. Love… it’s deliberate. Honest. Real. And the truth is… I never loved her. Not once. Not really. The word ‘love’ has never crossed my mind for her. Ever.”

I blink, letting that sink in.

“I liked her, yes,” he continues, gaze distant. “I liked being around her. Safe. Comfortable. Maybe that’s why I sometimes imagined… maybe we could go further. But it wasn’t love. Not in the way Dev feels for her. Not in the way it should be felt. And I never wanted to risk that. Because Dev… he loves her. And that… that is real. Pure. True.”

I nod slowly, understanding the depth of what he’s saying.

“All those years eating together, studying together, laughing, sharing stupid little moments… it created a bond. Companionship. Familiarity. Attraction, maybe—but love? No. Not love. And I never let it become more than that because I owe Dev that much. And Prachi? She deserves that much too.”

I feel the weight of his words, the quiet, unshakable maturity behind them. This isn’t jealousy. It isn’t selfishness. It’s respect.

“So, you’re okay with all this?” I ask, impressed.

Aarav shrugs lightly, a faint smirk on his lips.

“It’s not about being okay. It’s about being loyal. I know Dev loves her. And I know he’s ready to tell her. That’s all that matters. I won’t interfere. I won’t ruin it. I’ll support him… silently, if I have to.”

I glance at Devansh again, still walking nervously ahead. Then back at Aarav.

“And you…? What about your own feelings?” I ask softly.

He looks at me, expression steady. “My feelings? I like her, yes. I’ve liked her for years. But liking her and loving her are two different things. I never crossed the line because Dev’s happiness mattered more than my comfort, my fantasies, my ego. That’s loyalty, Reyansh. That’s friendship. That’s how you protect someone you care about without suffocating them.”

I exhale slowly. Aarav… this man is calm, measured, loyal, and selfless. And even in his quiet way, he carries more strength than most people I know.

“And that’s why,” he adds finally, almost casually, “I will watch Dev confess under the Eiffel Tower tonight. And I’ll smile. Because it’s the right thing. Because she deserves it. And because he deserves to be happy. Nothing else matters.”

“Vaise bhi… she too loves him!” Aarav said, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world.

My eyes widened.

He nodded, calm, steady, like he’d rehearsed this explanation a thousand times.

“She also knows that he has feelings for her. But she’s waiting… until he confesses. She doesn’t want to take a step forward. She wanted him to take that step first, because he was the one who fell for her first.”

I just stared at him, silent. This… this was new. It was a lot to take in. My mind was spinning, trying to picture Prachi—our Prachi—patiently waiting, quietly hoping, hiding her feelings behind smiles and her usual chatter.

“And… she had developed feelings for him from the day she realized he loves her. And she got to know that because of you,” Aarav added, his voice calm but firm.

I frowned. “Me??” My tone was incredulous.

He nodded again. “Yes, you.”

“How?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“She heard you consoling Dev on the phone,” Aarav said softly. “You were talking to him about his feelings for her, guiding him, reassuring him, making sense of everything. She heard it. That night. And from that moment… she started seeing him differently. She understood her own heart through your words. She told me about it during our final year.”

I just nod slowly.

Waah…

So I’m the emotional catalyst, unpaid therapist, and accidental Cupid.

Great.

Somewhere in my head, I add—And I’m stuck between two grown men who refuse to communicate like adults.

Just then, Dev walks up to us, completely unaware that his emotional life has already been dissected, analyzed, and archived.

“Hey,” he asks casually, looking between us, “what are you both talking about?”

“Nothing special,” Aarav replies instantly.

Dev grins. “Everything that includes you is special, bro.”

Aarav just stares at him.

And Dev’s smile… drops.

“What happened?” Dev asks, confused.

Before I can mentally prepare myself—

SLAP.

Clean. Sharp. Personal.

I don’t even flinch.

Yep. Knew it.

Dev clutches his cheek, eyes wide. “What the fuck, yaar! Why did you slap me?!”

Aarav grabs his collar and yanks him forward.

“You bastard,” he snaps, voice tight. “For years you’ve been living in insecurities because of me—and still you never tried to talk to me!”

Dev looks at him, then at me.

I shrug.

Don’t drag me into this. I’ve already done enough damage.

Dev turns back to Aarav. “You also never tried to talk to me! You knew, right? That I’m an overthinker. You should’ve approached me!”

Aarav slaps his head this time. Hard.

“Ulta chor kotwal ko daante?” he snaps.

Dev rubs his head, wincing. “You… you don’t love her, right?”

I mentally grab popcorn.

Aarav tilts his head slightly. “What if I say yes?”

Wrong answer.

Dev grabs Aarav by the collar instantly. “I will kill you.”

I step in between them without even thinking.

“Please,” I say flatly, “kill each other after the trip. Let me live in peace till then.”

Both of them freeze.

I look at Dev first. “You,” I point, “have been overthinking imaginary scenarios for a decade instead of asking one direct question.”

Then I look at Aarav. “And you—Mr. Emotional Maturity—decided silence was better than clarity. Nobel Prize-worthy strategy.”

They both glare at me.

“What?” I shrug. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the villain here. I’m the unpaid mediator.”

Dev exhales shakily. “So… you never—?”

Aarav cuts him off, firm. “No. Never. Not love. Never crossed the line. Never wanted to. And I never will.”

Dev’s grip loosens.

I add helpfully, “See? Nobody died. Yet.”

Dev looks down, then up at Aarav. His voice is quieter now. “Then why didn’t you ever say this?”

Aarav sighs. “Because I thought you trusted me.”

Silence falls.

I glance at the Eiffel Tower glowing behind us and mutter, “Wow. Paris. City of love. Also apparently the city where men finally talk.”

Dev lets out a breath that sounds like years of tension leaving his body. He pulls Aarav into a sudden hug.

Aarav stiffens. “Get off.”

Dev tightens it. “Shut up.”

I step back, hands in pockets, shaking my head.
Two idiots. One confession pending. And me—still stuck as the emotional traffic police.
Somewhere nearby, Paris sparkles.

And tonight?

Finally, things are about to move forward.

The Eiffel Tower glimmers behind us, fireworks painting the sky in bursts of color. Rose petals float down lazily, a soft wind scattering them across the plaza. Dev and Prachi are holding hands, lost in their own world, oblivious to anything else.

I glance at Aarav. He smirks faintly, a mixture of amusement and admiration on his face. I nod toward the couple.

“Let’s… give them their moment,” I mutter.

He nods. “Agreed.”

We step back, giving Dev and Prachi the privacy of their own little universe. The crowd, the lights, the petals—it’s cinematic. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from commenting. Some things are better observed than interrupted.

Minutes later, the chaos and awe fade into the background, and we duck into a nearby cafe. I collapse into a chair, pressing my temple. Headache roaring like an engine.

Aarav watches me quietly, hands wrapped around his coffee mug. “Severe headache?” he asks.

“Severe,” I groan, rubbing my temples. “Watching a circus sometimes gives me migraines.”

He chuckles softly. “Fair.”

He sips his coffee. Silence falls for a moment, comfortable but heavy. Then he shifts, leaning back, contemplative.

“You know,” he starts, “after all that… I’ve been thinking about my own life.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Dangerous territory, Doctor. Your thoughts tend to bore me… or terrify me.”

He smirks. “Maybe both.”

“I’m listening,” I shrug. “Go on.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “My mom… she’s been constantly reminding me about marriage. That I should think about settling down. She’s already talking about finding someone for me. Arranged marriage. No love. No nonsense.”

I blink at him. “Wait… you’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” he says, calm, measured. “I’ve told them—they can find someone for me. Love marriage? Not happening. Not because I’m stubborn. Not because I don’t like women… it’s just… love isn’t my thing. I’ll never fall in love the way people do. Not now, not ever. Maybe if I lived a hundred lifetimes, sure… but I’m realistic. I know myself too well. And I don’t want anyone to waste their heart on me if I can’t reciprocate fully.”

I lean back, intrigued. “Hmm. You? Not fall in love? I never thought I’d hear that.”

He chuckles faintly. “I know. People are always surprised. But it’s the truth. I function better knowing boundaries. I’ve always respected Dev’s love… I’ve always known where I stand. I can like someone, I can care… but love? That’s a different territory, and I’m honest enough to know I won’t get there on my own terms.”

I nod slowly. “Self-aware. Impressive.”

He glances at me, curious. “And you?
Marriage? Love? Is that something you even think about?”

I laugh—a low, arrogant, unapologetic sound.

“Marriage? Love? Hah.” I shake my head, smirking. “No one… no one is going to win my heart. No one is going to bend me, or make me kneel, or set rules for me. I don’t follow. I don’t submit. And I certainly don’t compromise for someone who thinks they can contain me.”

I lean forward, elbows on the table, eyes glinting with challenge. “There is no one made for me. No one who can tame me. No one… no one at all.”

Aarav chuckles, shaking his head. “Typical Reyansh Singh Raizada. Always the indestructible, arrogant king of his own universe.”

I shrug, sipping my coffee, smirk still in place. “I am who I am. And I like it. Anyone who steps in… either accepts it or they’re gone. Simple math.”

He leans back, amused, but there’s a softness in his eyes, a trace of understanding. “And yet… I suspect you’d enjoy it if someone tried. If only to prove them wrong.”

I snort. “Maybe. But they’d fail. Always. Guaranteed. Reyansh style. Rules? Heart? Love? Ha! Concepts made for mortals, not me.”

He shakes his head, grinning faintly. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” I reply lightly, “I live like a god among mortals. So… who’s really the loser here?”

We laugh quietly, the Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance behind the cafe windows. Outside, the night hums with life, and for once, neither of us is overthinking, neither is planning, neither is chasing anything—except maybe, just maybe, understanding ourselves a little more.

Aarav leans back in his chair, smirking, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Then what about the throne, Reyansh? You know, without a queen… you can’t really take the throne. It demands a queen beside you. Even Ranveer uncle… he was only named king after he married Mihika aunty.”

I tilt my head, raising a brow, smirk curling on my lips. “A throne? A queen? Sounds like a fairy tale someone wrote to control men.”

Aarav leans back in his chair, smirking faintly, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Then what about the throne, Reyansh? You know, without a queen… you can’t really take the throne. It demands a queen beside you. Even Ranveer uncle… he was only named king after he married Mihika aunty.”

I tilt my head, raising a brow, a slow smirk curling on my lips.

“A throne? A queen?” I scoff lightly. “Sounds like a fairy tale someone wrote to control men.”

His expression doesn’t change. The smile fades—this isn’t banter anymore.

“You know the rule, right?” Aarav says quietly. “You have to take the throne before you turn thirty. And it’s just two years left. I know aunty and uncle are already behind you to get married.”

I nod, staring into my coffee.

“They are. And now even my chachi maa has started saying me—marriage this, marriage that. Every second day.”

He nods slowly.

“Then what have you thought?”

“Nothing,” I shrug, taking a sip.

He doesn’t respond immediately. He just looks at me—really looks at me.

“This marriage thing is not for me,” I say finally, my voice firm. “I mean… no. Never. I don’t want someone having a right over me. Over my life. Over my decisions.”

Aarav takes a sip of his coffee, unbothered, then asks calmly,
“And your parents? And the rules of the throne?”

“If they pressure me continuously,” I reply coolly, “then I’ll think about it.”

He hums, then looks at me over the rim of his cup.

“And what about your business friend… Miss Shanaya Mehra?”

I roll my eyes instantly.

“What about her?”

“Oh come on, Reyansh,” he says, unimpressed. “Don’t pretend. You know it too. She’s obsessed with you. Always finding ways to cling to you. And let’s not forget—your family likes her. She’s your father’s business friend’s daughter. Perfect on paper.”

I let out a dry laugh.

“On paper,” I repeat. “That’s where she belongs.”

Aarav arches a brow.

“So she’s an option?”

I look up sharply.
“No.”

“Not even for convenience?” he presses.

I lean forward slightly, my voice dropping, dangerous calm settling in.

“I don’t do convenience marriages. And I definitely don’t reward obsession with a crown. Shanaya doesn’t love me—she loves the idea of being my wife. The power. The title. The throne. And I won’t let anyone touch it unless they deserve it.”

Aarav studies me for a moment, then exhales.
“You know, sometimes I wonder whether you’re running from marriage… or from the possibility that someone might actually challenge you.”

I smirk, slow and arrogant.

“Let them try. No one controls me. Not rules. Not traditions. And definitely not Shanaya Mehra.”

He shakes his head, half-amused, half-resigned.
“You’re impossible.”

I take another sip of coffee, gaze drifting back to the Eiffel Tower glowing in the distance.

“No,” I say quietly. “I’m just not made to kneel.”

“No one. No one is made for me. No one will ever have the right to dictate my life, my rules, or my freedom. Anyone thinking otherwise… well, good luck. They’ll fail miserably.”

“And that’s why I’m the only one who can play this game my way. And anyone who doesn’t like it… well, they can watch from the sidelines.”

The café hums softly around us, Paris buzzing outside the window, but in that moment, it feels like the world could crash and I wouldn’t flinch. The throne, the marriage, the expectations—it all means nothing if I can’t live life on my terms.

    
                  -------------------------------

RITVIK'S POV:

I’m hunched over my laptop, the office quiet except for the soft tapping of keys and the faint hum of the AC. Financial reports, projections, emails—I’m in my zone, perfectly content in my little bubble of work.

And then… thump-thump-thump.

I glance up. Of course. It’s Rudransh. Leaning casually against the doorframe, hands shoved in his pockets, smirk already in place.

“Ritu!” he calls, voice annoyingly loud for the sanctity of my office.

I don’t look up. “Rudra,” I mutter without enthusiasm.

He saunters in anyway, plopping onto the couch across from me, spreading his arms like he owns the place.

“You’ve been hiding in here all day. Come on, man! Basketball! The court won’t wait for the CEO introvert.”

I finally glance at him, deadpan. “Basketball? I have work, Rudy.”

“Work?” He tilts his head, eyes mocking. “Ritu, your work isn’t going anywhere. But my epic dunks? They need a witness. You. Me. The glory. The crowd… probably just Varun screaming in the background, but still.”

I return to my laptop, typing slowly. “And the glory of missing every shot?”

He frowns, mock-offended. “I do not miss shots. You’re the one afraid of losing to me.”

“Losing to you is the least of my concerns,” I reply calmly, eyes on the screen.

Rudransh leans forward, hands bracing on my desk. “Ritu… seriously. You’ve been cooped up in here all week. No fresh air, no adrenaline, no chaos. Just spreadsheets. Look at you—you’re practically becoming a houseplant.”

I pause. “I’m a CEO, not a teenager who needs a ball in his hands to feel alive.”

He grins, undeterred. “Exactly why I’m here. To drag you out. Come on! You can even wear your suit. I’ll call it ‘executive basketball.’”

“I don’t do basketball,” I say evenly. “And I definitely don’t do it in a suit.”

“Oh come on, Ritu! You’ve been cooped up like a monk. One game. One hour. I promise I’ll let you win… maybe.”

I finally look up at him, deadpan. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t? I practically live to see you sweat, bro!”

I shake my head, a small smirk tugging at my lips despite myself. “Rudra… you’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he says, standing up and gesturing dramatically, “you still have to come. Because deep down, you know I’m right.”

I sigh, closing my laptop. “Fine. One hour. But if I break my hand, you’re paying the medical bills.”

He claps once, delighted. “That’s the spirit! Now, let me grab my shoes before the office turns into a spreadsheet prison!”

I roll my eyes and mutter, “This is why I hate having an extroverted little brother.”

He smirks over his shoulder. “Little brother? Ritu… you love me. Admit it.”

I shake my head, smiling faintly. “No. But I’ll tolerate you for one hour.”

“Perfect,” he says, grabbing his bag. “Basketball court, here we come. Prepare to lose gracefully, Ritu.”

I stand reluctantly, already anticipating the chaos that will follow.

The basketball echoed through the indoor court as I dribbled, dodging Rudransh’s fast breaks.

He was relentless today, always pressing, always teasing. I tried to keep my calm, but he had this ridiculous energy that made the game a mix of irritation and competitiveness.

Varun was lounging on the sidelines, arms crossed, smirking like he was watching a reality show. Every time Rudra glanced at him, Rudra’s eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t help but notice the way his jaw tightened.

Finally, we paused for a water break. I leaned against the wall, towel around my neck, watching him pace and mutter to himself.

“What’s with you, Rudy? You’ve been sulking since Varun showed up,” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He stopped mid-step, glaring at me. “Sulking? Me? Please. Don’t put words in my mouth, Ritu.”

I smirked. “Then what’s with the scowl and the constant side-eye?”

Rudra groaned and flopped onto the bench, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s him,” he muttered, jerking his thumb toward Varun, who was still grinning like a maniac.

I blinked. “Varun? What did he do now?”

“He keeps… teasing me.” Rudra’s voice dropped, almost dangerous. “About… about Nyra.”

I leaned forward, intrigued. “Nyra? What about her?”

Rudra’s hands clenched around the towel in his lap.

“Don’t… just don’t ask. He won’t let it go. Keeps smirking and saying things—things that make me want to… ugh!” He gestured wildly, exasperated, but clearly stuck in a tangle of his own annoyance.

I chuckled, though I tried to keep it mild.

“Rudra… you really hate her, don’t you?”

He snapped his head toward me, eyes wide, voice low and deadly serious. “Hate her? Hate is too mild a word, Ritu. She… she irritates me to the core. Can’t stand her. Every word, every smirk, every glance. I… I can’t.”

I leaned back against the wall, letting a small laugh escape. “Sounds like someone has a problem.”

He glared at me. “Problem? No! I don’t have a problem. She’s… she’s unbearable, okay? And that idiot Varun knows it and is enjoying every second of it!”

I smirked again, shaking my head. “Rudra… you’re yapping, but I get it. She pushes your buttons. Hard. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He huffed, looking away, muttering under his breath. “I don’t—never. I… can’t. Forget it.”

Varun, of course, chose that exact moment to whistle, earning a sharp glare from Rudra, who muttered something unrepeatable.

I just leaned back, watching him wrestle with his own fury and humiliation, thinking—yep, he really can’t stand her. And it’s hilarious.

Badi Mom and Mumma are seated a little away, deep into one of their quiet, serious discussions—the kind that always makes me suspicious but I’ve learned not to interrupt.

I’m leaning over Rudransh’s laptop, inspecting the 3D renderings of his new hotel interiors. He’s enthusiastic, but I can’t help raising an eyebrow.

“But this looks odd,” I say, tilting my head to the side.

He blinks at me, a little smug. “But I loved it!”

I sigh, running a hand over my face. “Oo… okay. Then why are you showing me this in the first place? You did the studies, not me. I’m fine with my firms.”

He leans back, hands behind his head, blinking innocently. “But I like your advice. And now shut up and advise me—which colour will look good?”

I roll my eyes, turning back to the screen. Just as I’m about to reply, a voice echoes across the hall.

“Good evening… Mihu Aunty!”

I hear a deep, unmistakable groan from Rudransh.

He groans. Loud. Painfully. Like someone just announced his death sentence.

We all turn.

Shanaya Mehra stands near the entrance, flawless smile in place, confidence dripping off her like perfume. She looks exactly like she knows she belongs here.

I glance at Rudra. His face scrunches instantly, irritation written so clearly it’s almost impressive.

“Focus on the interiors,” I whisper, but I can see the steam practically coming out of his ears.

Shanaya walks up to Badi Mom, all grace and sweetness.

“I missed you, Mihu Aunty!” she says, hugging her.

Badi Mom smiles warmly, hugging her back. “I missed you too, beta!”

Behind her, Rudransh is practically burning holes into her back with his glare.

She moves on to Mumma, who hugs her as well, exchanging pleasantries.

I glance sideways—and catch Rudra muttering under his breath, copying her tone, exaggerating her expressions like a child mocking someone. I chuckle and swat his arm lightly.

He glares at me.

“Why does Mom allow her into the palace in the first place?” he mutters.

I exhale slowly.

Shanaya Mehra.

Daughter of Prakash Mehra—one of Bade Papa’s closest friends. A major industrialist from Rajasthan. She’s known Reyansh since college days; they even studied together in Russia. On paper, she’s flawless.

And for months now, my family has been casually—not so casually—discussing her marriage into our family.

Reyansh, however, is very clearly not interested.

Shanaya, on the other hand?

Hell interested.

She’s always wanted to be a Raizada. The palace. The name. The legacy.

I look back at Rudra. He’s still mimicking her silently, rolling his eyes, lips curling in irritation. He doesn’t even try to hide it from me.

He doesn’t like her.

Correction—he hates her.

And the feeling is mutual.

They tolerate each other only because of Badi Mom and Bade Papa. In front of the family, Shanaya plays the perfect guest. Rudransh plays the obedient son.

But if those walls weren’t there?

I’m pretty sure one of them would’ve committed murder by now.

I shake my head slightly, amused and exhausted all at once.

Some people bring peace into a room.

Shanaya Mehra brings chaos.

And Rudransh?

He’s already sharpening his patience—one glare at a time.

"How are you, Ritvik?" Shanaya asked, fluttering her eyelashes as if the world revolved around her.

"Uh… I’m good," I replied, forcing a polite smile.

Rudransh immediately pulled at my arm, yanking my attention back to the laptop.

"Chal bol, which colour is good?" he muttered, deliberately avoiding looking at her.

I glanced at her, rolling her eyes at his deflection, then back at the screen he was showing me.

"You know, I thought we could spend some time!" Shanaya said, voice sugary sweet.

We both looked up simultaneously, catching the dreaminess in her tone.

"I mean, Mihu Aunty said I could stay here until she makes coffee for me. So I thought… why not spend some time with you all?"

Rudransh’s jaw tightened. He turned his piercing gaze on her. "But why do you want to spend time with us?"

She clasped her hands together, almost theatrically. "As I am going to be the daughter-in-law of this family, and you both will be my brothers-in-law, so we can strengthen our bond!"

Rudransh scoffed, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He leaned slightly closer, eyes blazing.

"Din mein sapne dekhna buri baat hoti hai." he said, calm but cutting. "Aur woh sapne… sach nahi hote."

Shanaya froze mid-smile. "What did you say?" she asked, voice sharp, offended.

Rudransh raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch before replying, "What did you hear?"

She just glared at him, huffing in offense. He smiled tight-lipped, enjoying the effect.
Ignoring his smirk, she plopped beside me, crossing her legs like she owned the space.

"So… what are you doing nowadays, Ritvik? Only business or something new?"

I answered calmly, politely. "Business. That’s all I focus on."

She nodded, then immediately turned her attention toward Rudransh, who was scrolling on his phone, clearly avoiding her.

Then Badi Mom appeared with a cup of coffee.

"Take this, beta!" she said, handing it to her.

"Arey aunty, why did you bother! I would have made it myself for all of us!" Shanaya said dramatically.

"It’s okay, beta. It’s not a big deal," Badi Mom replied kindly, moving away.

Rudransh snorted quietly, and her eyes immediately snapped to him.

"What’s so funny? Share it, I can also laugh!" she demanded, glaring.

He didn’t look up. "Nothing special. Just… amazed at how convincingly you can play the perfect bahu," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Shanaya blinked, offended, lips pursed.

“You… you are insufferable, Rudransh. Honestly, how does someone live with such arrogance?”

“Arrogance? Sweetheart, I call it common sense. Something you clearly lack.”

“Oh please,” she snapped, stepping closer, voice icy. “And you? Sitting there, sulking like the world owes you something, thinking you’re untouchable? Pathetic.”

He laughed softly, low and dangerous.

“Sulking? You mean staring at me like I’m a villain in your little fantasy? Trust me, it’s flattering… but boring.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Flattering? I think I feel pity instead. You’re irritating, Rudransh, and impossible to take seriously!”

“And you, Shanaya, are exhausting. Every word out of your mouth is louder than your sense. Do you even realize how irritatingly self-absorbed you are?”

Her nostrils flared. “I could say the same about you! Always contrarian, always mocking, never serious, just… a walking ego!”

She scoffed, eyes blazing.

“Badtameez!”

Rudransh didn’t even blink.

“Tumhari toh kutte ki tameez hai.”

For a second, the room froze.

Her gasp was loud, offended, dramatic. “Did you just call me a kutta?!”

He tilted his head slightly, mock thoughtful. “Self‑awareness is good.”

“Rudransh!” I warned, sharply this time.

He glanced at me—one look—then calmly turned back to his laptop as if he hadn’t just lit a bomb. Fingers tapping, expression bored.

I exhaled slowly and turned to her. “Have your coffee, Shanaya,” I said politely, forcing calm into my voice.

She huffed, stormed to the couch, sat down hard, and took a sharp sip—never breaking eye contact with him.

“Awara kahin ka…” she muttered.

“I heard that,” Rudransh said instantly, not even looking up.

She smirked, lifting her chin. “It’s good you have self‑awareness.”

Oh God. Please save me.

“Guys, relax—don’t fight!” I said firmly, positioning myself between them now.

She turned to me, furious. “Ask your brother to shut up, Ritvik. Otherwise, I have my own ways to shut him up!”

Rudransh laughed—sharp, humorless. “Ask her to get lost, Ritu. I have my own ways to make her lost.”

I closed my eyes for a second.

I watched helplessly as the tension in the room spiked. Rudransh’s eyes were like daggers, and Shanaya’s lips curled into a feral smirk.

“You’re such a vagrant! Awara kahi ka!”

Shanaya spat, voice sharp and cutting, her fingers pointing at him like daggers.

Rudransh didn’t flinch. He took a slow step toward her, hands on his hips. “And you… you’re a half-witted, mindless woman! Mandbuddi!”

She froze for a fraction of a second before letting out a laugh so sharp it could slice glass.

“Excuse me? Did you just call me half-witted?”

“Self-awareness is good!” Rudransh shot back, tone dripping with disdain.

I sighed, stepping between them. “Rudra… Shanaya… please. Don’t make a scene!”

But they ignored me completely.

Shanaya crossed her arms, glaring at him.

“Oh, so now you mock me too? You think throwing words makes you intimidating?”

He smirked, tight-lipped, leaning slightly forward.

“And you think your theatrics make you queen material? Newsflash, they don’t.”

She gasped, voice loud enough to make the servants peek in.

“How dare you! I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Add more poison to your coffee?” Rudransh interrupted, raising an eyebrow, voice cold. “Grow up. Stop pretending your dreams matter in the real world.”

“And you… Rudransh… you’re nothing but a glorified brat hiding behind your family name!” she snapped, stepping closer.

I ran a hand down my face. Oh god, they’re going to throw something at each other next.

“Stop it! Both of you! Calm down before this gets ugly!”

They both froze for a split second… just enough to glare at me like I had betrayed them.

I exhaled sharply.

“Rudransh… go to your room. Shanaya… have your coffee. You came here to meet Badi Mom, right? Then go to her.”

Rudransh glared at me for a moment, tight-lipped, then spun on his heel and stormed upstairs without a word.

Shanaya huffed dramatically, setting her cup down and muttering, “Awara kahi ka…” before striding toward the kitchen to join Badi Mom.

I ran my hands over my face and shook my head, letting out a long sigh. Then I followed Rudransh upstairs quietly, knowing full well I had to see what my brother was doing before he exploded on something else.

I walk into the room and see Rudransh slouched on the bed, phone in hand, deep in a video call with Avni. He’s sulking, muttering under his breath, and I can’t help but smirk.

“And she said that I’m a Awara!” he complains, voice sharp and dramatic.

“Oooh, she is such an arrogant woman!” Avni says from the other side of the screen, her eyes landing on me with a playful glint. She smiles.

“Hey, Ritu bro!” she greets.

“Hey, Princess.” I reply, smiling politely.

Rudra huffs, his shoulders stiffening, and he glares at me.

“Don’t talk to him, Avu! He didn’t take my side yet!” he says, pointing at me like I’m the enemy.

I settle beside him on the bed, glancing at the screen. Avni is staring at me, expectant.

“What? You want me to take his side?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “He was about to declare war against her!”

Avni sighs, her voice calm but pointed. “Just ignore her, Rudy. She’s not worth your attention!”

Rudransh frowns, shaking his head. “I know… but I feel angry every time she comes to the palace. Doesn’t she have any work? Mihu Aunty, this… Mihu Aunty, that!” he complains, mocking her.

Avni nods knowingly. “I know, Rudy. And I don’t like her either… I just tolerate her because of Bhaiyyu.”

“You don’t have to tolerate her, Princess. She’s good.” I say quickly, trying to calm things.

Both of them glare at me as if I just insulted them.

“Uh… I… I mean… she just loves Reyansh, that’s why she does this sometimes. But… she is good!” I stammer, feeling my throat tighten under their glares.

Avni’s eyes narrow, and suddenly she holds up her hands on the screen, miming a knife.

“Ritu bro, can you see this?”

I nod, and she twirls her imaginary knife toward me. I gasp dramatically, clutching my chest.

“Ouch!”

“It will twist your intestines if you say she’s good again!” she threatens, voice sharp and dangerous.

Rudransh joins in, arms crossed, glaring at me.

“Yeah, please… kill him, Avu! I don’t know what obsession he has for her!”

“I don’t have any obsession, okay?!” I protest, raising my hands. “I’m only saying this because our family talks about her marriage to Reyansh. She might become his wife—and our bhabhi. And… she is older than you both! You should respect her. She’s practically Reyansh’s age!”

Rudransh throws his hands in front of him like a shield. “Sir… please… keep your words to yourself!”

Avni mirrors him, her hands joined as if praying for mercy. “Respect… and she doesn’t even exist on the same line, Ritu bro!”

I sit back, rubbing my face, helpless. Two of my siblings, ganging up on me for simply stating a fact. And all I can do is sigh… silently praying that Shanaya never shows up here again.

Rudransh throws the phone a little back on the bed, leaning in, voice low but sharp.

“I swear, Avu… every time she steps into this palace, my brain starts bleeding! She struts around like she owns the place. Like… the queen of Jaisalmer herself!”

Avni laughs, tilting her head. “I know, Rudy! I’ve seen her—perfectly rehearsed smiles, fake sweet voice, and those eyes! All daggers behind the mask!”

Rudransh huffs, pacing a bit on the bed.

“Daggers don’t even cover it! She’s like… like a walking, talking, badtameez billboard for arrogance! And the way she talks about Reyansh bhai as if he’s her personal property… I can’t!”

“I know, I know!” Avni giggles, leaning closer to the screen. “You need a plan, Rudra. Something to… show her that not everything belongs to her just because she dreams it!”

“Plan?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “Avu… you mean like a battle plan? Because I’m 100% ready to declare war!”

Avni smirks wickedly. “Exactly. Operation Shanaya: Step one—expose her fake-queen act. Step two—make her regret thinking she can manipulate you. Step three… optional but satisfying.”

I sit beside him, rubbing my temples. “Guys… maybe just ignore her?”

Rudransh glares at me, unamused. “Ignore her? Ritu… that girl is like a firecracker in a library! You don’t ignore her—you either contain her or you get blown up!”

Avni grins, clearly loving the idea. “Step one: every time she enters, we act like she doesn’t exist. Cold shoulder, Rudy. Step two: subtly roast her in front of the family. Step three: optional chaos.”

Rudransh nods, leaning back, a tight-lipped smirk forming. “Yes. Perfect. And I swear, Avu… the moment she thinks she can play the perfect bahu, we’ll remind her: not in my house. Not in my family. Not while I exist!”

I sigh again, muttering under my breath. “God save me… these two are going to burn the palace down before she even gets a coffee.”

Avni laughs, clearly delighted. “And Rudra… I’m with you! She has to learn—dreams are for daydreams. Reality is for people like us!”

Rudransh glances at the phone, eyes blazing.

“Avu… we’ll make sure she regrets every fake smile she throws at me. Every. Single. One.”

I just shake my head, looking between them. The siblings’ conspiracy against Shanaya has begun. And somehow, I’m caught in the middle of a war I didn’t even sign up for.

                    ------------------------------

RUDRANSH'S POV:

I was sitting peacefully.

Rare moment.

Fries. Silence. Happiness.

And then—
A hand.

In my plate.

I lift my head slowly and there she is.

Nyra.

Scrolling her phone like she owns the world, chewing my fries.

Her own plate? Completely empty. Of course.
I look at Varun.

He doesn’t even look up. Just rolls his eyes and mutters, “I’m not involved,” like a man who’s survived this war before.

Nyra goes for another fry.

I swat her hand away.

“Hey!” she snaps.

“You chor,” I say flatly. “Don’t steal my fries.”

She finally looks up from her phone. “Excuse me? Steal? I’m just redistributing resources.”
“These resources were paid for by me.”

She shrugs. “Skill issue.”

I glare. “Order your own.”

“I did. They ended.” She says it like it’s a tragedy I should feel responsible for.

“That’s not my problem.”

She reaches again.

I move the plate.

She narrows her eyes. “Rudransh.”

“Nyra.”

“Give.”

“No.”

“Why are you so dramatic over fries?”

“Why are you so shameless over my fries?”

Varun clears his throat. “Guys—”

“Stay out of this,” we say together.

Nyra smirks and leans back. “You know, Ravan, sharing is caring.”

I scoff. “And stealing is called being a dayan.”

She gasps, fake offended. “Wow. Such language.”

“Such behavior,” I shoot back.

She taps her empty plate. “You could’ve just given me two fries.”

“You already took five.”

“Four.”

“Five.”

She grins. “Okay maybe six. But who’s counting?”

“I am. I paid.”

She suddenly grabs a fry.

I grab it too.

We both freeze, holding the same fry.

“Let go,” she says.

“No.”

“Rudransh—”

“Nyra—”

The fry breaks in half.

She stares at her piece.

Then at me.

“…You’re unbelievable.”

I pop my half into my mouth. “And you’re still not getting more.”

She leans closer, smiling sweetly. Too sweet.

“Fine. I’ll remember this.”

“Please do,” I say. “And order your own next time.”

She stands up, grabs her bag, and pauses.

Then casually reaches over—
And takes one last fry.

“Compensation,” she says and walks away.

I stare at my plate. One fry left.

Varun finally looks at me. “You okay?”

I sigh.

“Next time,” I mutter, “I’m eating in my room.”

Varun smirks. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

Yeah.

Me too.

This girl…

She annoys me to the core.

If she actually wanted fries, she could’ve ordered them. Simple. Normal. Civilised.

But no—Nyra thrives on chaos. Specifically my chaos.

I huff, washing my hands a little harder than necessary, staring at my reflection in the mirror like it personally betrayed me.

Get a grip, Rudransh.

I dry my hands and step out of the washroom, heading toward the lecture hall. Two years. Just two damn years and I’ll be free. No compulsory attendance. No forced classes.

No—Nyra.

These classes suck. The lectures drag. The professors talk like they’re reading from a script written in the Stone Age.

And the only reason I’m even here?

Reyansh bhai.

That man doesn’t even need to say anything. One look. One look—and my soul starts drafting apology letters. So yeah, I attend classes. On time. Like a good, scared younger brother.

I enter the lecture hall and instantly spot Varun already seated, scrolling through his phone like life is peaceful and uncomplicated.

Lucky idiot.

I drop into the seat beside him.

“Took you long enough,” he mutters without looking up.

“Bathroom traffic,” I reply dryly.

He smirks. “Sure. Was the traffic named Nyra?”

I glare at him. “Say her name again and I’ll change friends.”

He chuckles. “Relax, Rudra.”

I lean back, crossing my arms, determined to mentally check out.

That’s when I see her.

From the corner of my eye.

Nyra is sitting two rows ahead, turned halfway toward her best friend Maya, talking animatedly. Her hands move as she speaks—too expressive, too confident—like the whole world is listening even when it’s not.

Maya laughs at something she says.

Nyra smiles.

I look away immediately.

Why am I even noticing?

It’s her thing. She talks. She laughs. She steals fries. She exists to irritate me. End of story.
I exhale slowly, staring straight ahead at the board.

Don’t think about her.

Varun leans in. “You good?”

“Perfect,” I lie.

“Your jaw’s clenched.”

“I’m focusing.”

“You’re staring at the board like it owes you money.”

I kick his foot lightly. “Shut up.”

At that exact moment, Nyra turns.

Our eyes meet.

Just for a second.

Her lips twitch.

Oh no.

She smirks.

That slow, annoying, victorious smirk—like she knows exactly what’s going on in my head and is enjoying it way too much.

She raises her brow at me.

I roll my eyes dramatically and turn away.

Childish? Yes.
Satisfying? Also yes.

Varun notices. Of course he does.

“She bothering you again?” he whispers.

“I don’t even know why she exists,” I mutter.

Almost on cue, a folded paper lands on my desk.

Varun freezes. “Bro…”

I stare at it like it’s a bomb.

Don’t open it.

Ignore it.

I open it.

‘Still mad about the fries, Ravan?’

I crumple the paper instantly.

Varun is grinning now. “She’s having fun.”

“I’m not,” I say through gritted teeth.

Another paper lands.

I don’t even look this time.

Varun reads it. “She says—”

“Don’t.”

“—‘Relax, Ravan. I’ll buy you fries tomorrow.’”

I snap my head toward Nyra.

She’s already looking at me.

This time she mouths, ‘Smile.’

I don’t.

She grins wider.

I turn back to the board, heart inexplicably annoyed… and aware.

Why do I even react?

Why does she get under my skin so easily?

I sigh, rubbing my face.

Two years, Rudransh. Just survive two years.

From the corner of my eye, I hear Nyra laugh again—soft, bright, careless.

And against my will, one stupid thought slips in.

Peace is overrated anyway.

I scowl at the board.

Focus.

The professor is dragging the lecture like he’s getting paid per minute.

Chalk screeches. Board fills. Erase. Repeat.

And here I am… copying.

Not studying.

Not understanding.

Just copying.

My pen moves on autopilot while my brain is on vacation. I glance down at my notebook and honestly—

I have no idea what I’m writing.

Is this a formula?
Is this English?
Is this even from today’s lecture?

I sigh and turn my head slightly.

Varun.

This idiot has his book closed. Fully. Like education personally offended him. His eyes? Fixed—laser focused—on Samaira sitting two rows ahead.

Bro is in another universe.

I stretch my leg and kick him lightly under the desk.

He hisses and glares at me, pure betrayal in his eyes.

“What?” he mouths.

I whisper, barely moving my lips, “Focus, Romeo… sir is looking at you.”

His eyes widen just a little.

Slowly—very slowly—he turns his head.

And boom.

The professor is staring directly at him. Full judgment mode. Glasses slightly lowered. Disappointed silence.

Varun panics.

He flashes a sheepish smile, nods repeatedly like a bobblehead, and mouths a dramatic sorry sir.

Then he opens his book so fast it’s like he summoned it out of thin air.

Now he’s nodding along to the lecture—seriously, aggressively nodding—like he’s the most dedicated student in the room.

“Hmm. Yes. Absolutely,” he whispers to himself.

I bite my lip to stop laughing.

Idiot.

I look back at my own notebook.

And immediately regret it.

What is this handwriting?

My God.

This looks like a doctor wrote while riding a roller coaster.

Lines everywhere. Words overlapping. Half sentences dying mid-way.

I squint.

Still can’t read it.

I close the book slowly, defeated.

Koi nahi.
Kal se comeback karunga.

I repeat it in my head like a motivational slogan.

Just say it.
Believe it.
Move on.

I lean back in my chair, staring ahead blankly while Varun continues his Oscar-worthy performance of Model Student of the Year.

My eyes drift—against my will—to the corner of the class.

Nyra.

Of course.

She’s sitting straight, pen moving neatly, eyes fixed on the professor like this lecture is the highlight of her day. Every now and then she nods, asks a doubt, actually engages.

Teacher’s pet.
Correction—every professor’s favourite.

I scoff quietly.

What’s more annoying is the fact that she doesn’t even care.

Everyone knows it.

Nyra the artist. The one who lives in colours, sketches on margins, probably breathes creativity. But no—her father wanted a degree. Not arts. Arts can be a “side hustle.” As if passion comes with office hours.

So here she is. Business. Masters. No interest.
And yet—

She still studies.
Still listens.
Still tops the college.

Without trying.

Like it’s some kind of sick joke.

She flips a page, twirls her pen once, and continues writing—perfect handwriting, perfect notes, perfect focus.

I lean back in my chair and sigh.

And me?

Let’s not even talk about me.

I can’t read my own notes, I’m surviving on motivational lies like kal se comeback, and I get distracted by fries thieves and Romeo friends.
She studies without interest and still wins.

I have interest and still lose.

Life is unfair.

I tear my gaze away from her and stare at the board again, jaw tightening slightly.

Whatever.

She can keep her medals.

I’ll keep my sanity.

…or whatever’s left of it.

Why the hell can’t I focus?

The book’s open. The words are there. I know this chapter. I’ve read it before. Twice.
Still—nothing’s going in.

Because my eyes keep drifting.

Because my mind keeps betraying me.

Her.

Why is she even here?

Why is my brain dragging her into places she has no right to be?

She is the last person I should be thinking about.

Last.

From childhood it’s been like this—
arguments, glares, sharp words, silent wars.

She never tried to understand me.

I never tried to soften for her.

We grew up clashing.

Like two stones that were never meant to fit, only strike.

I hate her.

I’ve always hated her.

And she hates me too—

I see it in the way her jaw tightens when I speak,the way her eyes roll just slightly, like my presence alone annoys her.

So then why—

why does my gaze look for her without permission?

Why does my mind replay her expressions, her voice, her stupid confidence?

This makes no sense.

I don’t miss her.
I don’t like her.
I don’t want her.

Then why does my chest feel tight when I imagine her laughing with someone else?

Why does it irritate me when she ignores me—but unsettle me when she doesn’t?

This isn’t attraction.
This isn’t longing.

This is irritation.
This is unfinished business.
This is… something I refuse to name.

I clench my jaw.

I will not think about her.

I should not think about her.

She’s not important.

She never was.

And yet—
My eyes move again, almost instinctively.

As if my mind doesn’t believe the lie I keep telling myself.

Damn it.

Why her?

Of all people.

Why the one person I was never supposed to care about?

The lecture ends and suddenly the entire class develops one goal in life—escape.

Chairs scrape. Bags zip. People rush toward the door like it’s the last helicopter out of a zombie apocalypse.

I’m right there too.

And of course—

Nyra.

She reaches the door at the exact same time as me.

Our shoulders collide.

Hard.

She looks up slowly. That calm-before-the-storm expression. The one that says someone is about to die but politely.

“Move,” she says.

I glance at the door. Then at her.

“No.”

Her eyebrow twitches. “Excuse me?”

“I was here first.”

She laughs. Actually laughs. Short. Mocking. Dangerous.

“You were still packing your bag when I stood up.”

“Standing up doesn’t count,” I argue. “Intent matters.”

“Intent?” She plants her hand on the doorframe, blocking half of it. “What is this, a court case?”

I step forward, blocking the other half.

“Congratulations. We’re stuck.”

Her eyes flash. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Why would I?” I shrug. “I’m just existing. You seem deeply offended by that.”

She tries to push past me with her shoulder.
I don’t budge.

“Are you a wall now?” she snaps.

“Only when necessary.”

She pushes again. Harder this time.

Then switches tactics—
her hip slams into my side.

I grunt, stumble half a step, and immediately block her again.

She smirks. “I said move, Rudransh.”

“No,” I reply, equally flat.

She leans closer, voice dropping.

“Say that again.”

“No.”

People behind us start losing patience.

“Guys—move na—” “Seriously—”

We don’t hear them.

Nyra presses her palm harder against the doorframe, fully blocking me now.

I do the same.

We’re chest to shoulder, heat radiating, neither backing down.

“I said move,” she repeats, teeth clenched.

“And I said no, Nyra.”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

That’s when the crowd behind us pushes.

Hard.

We’re forced forward, dragged out by sheer human pressure, stumbling into the corridor as the class spills past us, all of them shooting murderous glares.

“Idiots,” someone mutters.

“Get a room,” another says.

The corridor clears.

Silence.

Just us.

She turns slowly.

I turn at the same time.

We glare at each other like sworn enemies at a battlefield.

Then—

WHACK.

She slaps my shoulder.

Before I can react—

THUD.

Her fist lands on my stomach.

“KUTTA!” she yells, punching me again.

“WHAT THE—” I choke, trying to block her hands.

She hits my arm. My ribs. My shoulder.

I grab her wrist. “ARE YOU INSANE?”

She jerks free and bolts down the corridor.

I recover just in time to see her ponytail disappear around the corner.

“Oh you’re DEAD,” I growl, sprinting after her.

“DAYAN! RUKH! HOW DARE YOU HIT ME!”

She looks back while running, eyes blazing, smile wicked.

“I WILL KILL YOU, RUDRANSH, IF YOU FOLLOW ME!”

“I’M ALREADY DEAD FROM YOUR PUNCHES!” I shout back.

She runs faster. “I WILL COMPLAIN TO AARAV BHAI!”

“He’s not even in India!” I yell.

“I WILL CALL HIM!” she screams over her shoulder. “AND REYANSH BHAI IS WITH HIM—HE’LL KNOW EVERYTHING!”

“GO TO HELL!” I shout, chasing her. “I DON’T CARE! I JUST WANT TO RETURN YOUR PUNCHES!”

She laughs—actually laughs—while running.

A sound that fuels me more.

Fire.

And I’m gasoline.

And God help anyone standing in our way.

I’m still chasing her.

Not because I care.

Not because I’m worried.

Because violence was initiated and must be answered.

Nyra cuts toward the staircase like she planned this escape route in advance.

Of course she did. Dayan is strategic.

“STOP RUNNING!” I shout.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she yells back, “STOP EXISTING!”

We hit the stairs.

Students are going up, down, everywhere—absolute disaster zone.

She takes them two at a time.

I’m right behind her.

“YOU HIT ME FIRST!” I bark.

“You DESERVED IT!”

“For WHAT?”

“For BREATHING TOO LOUD!”

I grab her backpack strap to slow her down.

Big mistake.

She twists, elbow flying straight into my ribs.

“OUCH—ARE YOU A WWE FIGHTER?”

“NO,” she snaps, yanking free. “I’M YOUR KARMA.”

She jumps down the last few steps—

And slips.

It happens fast.

Her foot misses the edge. Her balance tilts. Her bag pulls her back.

She stumbles.

For half a second, my brain shuts off.

Then my reflexes kick in before my pride can stop them.

I grab her wrist.

Too late.

She drags me with her.

We crash.

Hard.

Stairs bite into my back. My shoulder slams first. Her elbow digs into my chest.

“UGH—GET OFF ME!” she snaps.

“I DIDN’T INVITE YOU!”

She tries to get up.

I’m still holding her wrist.

She freezes.

Slowly looks down.

Then up at me.

Our faces are way too close.

Her eyes are furious. Mine probably look the same.

“LET. GO.” she hisses.

“You FELL ON ME!”

“YOU FOLLOWED ME!”

“YOU PUNCHED ME!”

She yanks her wrist free and immediately shoves my shoulder.

I hit the step behind me.

“ARE YOU INSANE?” I yell.

She scrambles to her feet, hair messy, eyes blazing like she might actually murder me.

“TOUCH ME AGAIN AND I’LL BREAK YOUR HAND.”

“YOU ALREADY BROKE MY STOMACH!”

She dusts off her jeans aggressively. “SERVES YOU RIGHT.”

Students are staring now.

Whispers everywhere.

“Are they fighting?” “Again?”

She glares at the crowd.

Everyone magically looks away.

She turns back to me. Points a finger inches from my face.

“This is your fault.”

“HOW is this MY fault?”

“You exist near me.”

“THAT IS NOT A CRIME.”

“IT SHOULD BE.”

She starts climbing the stairs again.

I push myself up, wincing. “RUNNING AWAY NOW?”

She doesn’t even turn.

“I don’t run. I disengage from stupidity.”

“Oh YOU’RE NOT DONE—”

She stops. Slowly looks over her shoulder.

One look.

Cold. Deadly.

“If you follow me one more step, Rudransh,” she says calmly,

“I swear I’ll scream and tell everyone you tried to push me.”

I freeze.

She smirks.

Victory.

Then she walks away like nothing happened.
I stand there, bruised, humiliated, surrounded by whispers.

I glare after her.

“I HATE YOU,” I mutter.

From the landing above, her voice floats down—

“GOOD.”

I dust my hands roughly, jaw clenched, eyes still locked on the empty staircase where she disappeared.

Coward.

Just then—

Tap.

I whirl around.

“WHAT?”

Varun immediately raises both hands. “Okay—wow. Relax, Hulk. Why are you releasing your anger on me?”

I don’t reply. I grab my bag and start walking.
Behind me, I hear his footsteps. Of course he follows. He always does when he senses blood.

“Bro,” he starts casually, “I didn’t know pushing girls down stairs was your new hobby.”

I stop so abruptly he almost crashes into me.

“I DID NOT PUSH HER.”

I walk ahead, jaw tight, shoulders tense, every nerve irritated.

Varun trails beside me quietly for once.
Too quietly.

I exhale sharply. “Do you know what her problem is?”

He glances at me. “Which one? She has range.”

I stop walking. Turn to him.

“That girl,” I say, pointing vaguely behind us, “exists only to test my patience.”

Varun leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Strong words.”

“She breathes loudly,” I continue. “She walks like she owns the place. That look she gives—like she’s judging my entire bloodline.”

He nods seriously. “Terrifying.”

“I cannot stand near her,” I snap. “Five minutes. That’s all it takes. Five minutes and I want to smash my head against a wall.”

“And yet,” Varun says mildly, “you always notice where she is.”

I glare at him. “Don’t start.”

“She talks,” I go on, ignoring him, “and suddenly I’m annoyed. She’s quiet? I’m still annoyed. She’s focused? Annoyed. She’s confident? Even more annoyed.”

Varun’s lips twitch. “Sounds exhausting.”

“She thinks she’s better than everyone,” I scoff. “That calm attitude. That ‘I don’t care’ face. Like nothing affects her.”

“Except you,” Varun mutters.

I whip my head toward him. “WHAT?”

He raises his hands. “Observation. Not accusation.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustrated.

“I’ve known her since childhood,” I say.
“And she’s been getting under my skin since childhood. Always challenging me. Always acting like she’s above it all.”

Varun hums. “You hate confident women.”

“No,” I snap. “I hate her.”

“Specific.”

“She makes me lose my temper,” I continue. “And I don’t lose my temper. Ever. But one look from her and—boom.”

I clench my fist unconsciously.

“I can’t even sit in the same room peacefully,” I add. “And these next two years? Torture. Absolute torture.”

Varun straightens, watching me carefully. “Then ignore her.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I try.”

“And?”

“She makes it impossible.”

Silence settles for a second.

Varun studies my face, then says lightly, “You know, usually when someone irritates you this much—”

I cut him off instantly. “Finish that sentence and I will end our friendship.”

He smiles. “Relax. I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Good.”

He pushes off the wall. “But admit it—she lives rent-free in your head.”

I scoff. “I’m evicting her.”

Varun chuckles. “Good luck with that, Rudransh.”

I start walking again.

Behind me, he adds softly, teasing—

“For someone you hate so much… you talk about her like she’s a full-time problem.”

I don’t turn back.

“Shut up, Varun.”

But the irritation?

Still there.

Burning.

And I hate that too.

__________________________________________________________________________________________

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