Author's POV
The soft light of morning slipped through the curtains in thin golden streaks, settling quietly over the wooden floor, the scattered clothes on the chair, and the peaceful stillness of a small but warm home.
The city had already begun to wake.
Temple bells echoed faintly in the distance, blending with the chirping of birds and the occasional honk from the narrow streets below. The air carried the comforting scent of chai and freshly fried kachoris—familiar, grounding… home.
And inside that home lived a girl who had learned, at a very young age, how to carry both strength and softness in the same heart.
Ishita Sharma.
A Twenty-three years old dreamer with responsibilities heavier than most….
A fighter who smiled like life had never broken her….
She stirred slowly, blinking awake as sunlight brushed against her face. For a moment, she simply lay there—quiet, still—before a small smile curved on her lips.
Tomorrow…..Tomorrow was her interview at Bedi Industries.
Her dream….
And for the first time in weeks, fear wasn’t what filled her chest.
Excitement was…..
She sat up, stretching lightly, her thoughts drifting—not to doubts, not to “what ifs”—but to possibility.
Because deep down, after everything she had been through… she knew she deserved this chance.
Getting ready didn’t take long… Ishita was never one for extravagance. She chose a simple white kurti with tiny blue flowers—elegant in its simplicity. Her hair was left open, falling naturally over her shoulders, and a pair of small silver jhumkas completed her look.
When she glanced at herself in the mirror, she tilted her head slightly.
“Not bad,” she murmured.
There was confidence in her eyes.
Earned…. Not borrowed.
She stepped out of her room and made her way downstairs, where warmth greeted her instantly.
The Sharma house wasn’t big.
But it held life in every corner.
Old furniture, carefully preserved memories, too many cushions bought on impulse, and a constant fragrance of sandalwood and cardamom that made everything feel safe.
“Good morning!” Ishita called out as she entered the kitchen.
Revati Sharma looked up immediately.
Her Dadi ( grandmother ).
Her anchor….Her strength.
Her silver hair was neatly tied into a bun, her saree perfectly draped as she moved around the kitchen with practiced ease.
“Good morning, beta,” she smiled. “You woke up late today.”
“Late? It’s only eight-thirty,” Ishita replied, walking up to hug her from behind.
“Exactly. Late.”
A soft laugh escaped Ishita.
“You know, tomorrow when I get selected in Bedi Industries, I’ll make a rule—no one in this house wakes up before eight.”
“Achha?” Revati raised an eyebrow. “phir mai khud thare boss se sikayat krungi" (Then I will personally complain to your boss.)
“Traitor.”
Their laughter blended effortlessly.
Before the moment could settle—
“Diii!! Where’s my blue notebook?!”
The voice echoed from upstairs.
And just like that, the calm turned into chaos.
Diya Sharma.
Ishita’s younger sister.
A third-semester college student with endless energy and zero patience.
“It’s where you left it!” Ishita shouted back.
“Accha thanksss!”
Revati smiled knowingly as Ishita rolled her eyes.
Their little world was imperfect.
But it was alive.
And full of love.
As Ishita moved around the kitchen, her gaze drifted unintentionally to the small temple in the corner of the living room.
And beside it…
Two framed photographs.
Her parents.
Her steps slowed.
Without a word, she walked over, lit an agarbatti, and placed it carefully before the idols… then before their pictures.
She stood there quietly.
Looking…
Remembering…
Missing….
Her father’s warm smile.
Her mother’s eyes—so much like her own.
Tomorrow was important.
They should have been here.
Her lips parted slightly.
“Tomorrow is my interview,” she whispered a fragile smile appeared “I’m going to do it.”But just as quickly, it faded “I miss you.”
The words were barely audible.
Her eyes filled before she could stop them.
And just then—
A gentle hand rested on her head.
Revati.
“Ishu…” she said softly.
“I’m okay,” Ishita replied quickly, wiping her tears.
“Mare ko pta h" Revati said. “But missing them doesn’t make you weak.” (I know )
Silence lingered between them.
“Your parents are proud of you,” she added gently. “And tomorrow… they’ll be with you.”
Ishita nodded, taking a steady breath.
And like always—She smiled again.
“Okay, enough,” she said lightly. “No crying today.”
“Very good,” Revati laughed.
Moments later, the kitchen was filled with quiet chatter and small arguments—over how thin onions should be sliced, over unnecessary instructions, over things that didn’t really matter.
And maybe that was the point.
Normalcy.
Something Ishita protected fiercely.
Then—
Her phone rang..It was…Alisha.
Revati didn’t even need to ask.
“Go,” she said with a knowing smile.
Within minutes, Ishita was ready again—this time in a soft lavender anarkali, white leggings, silver bangles, and a hint of kajal that made her eyes stand out just a little more.
As she stepped downstairs, the smell of fried chips hit me before anything else.
There she was Diya Strutting out of the kitchen like she was on a reality show runway, carrying a full plate of chips. Her oversized T-shirt nearly covered the tiny shorts she wore, and her hair was a perfectly messy bird’s nest.
“College?” she asked, raising a brow as she walked down.
“Cancelled. I mean, technically not cancelled... I just cancelled it for myself,” she grinned, flashing her teeth like she just solved global warming.
“Hmmm... that’s very responsible of you, Diyu.” she said, half amused, half resigned.
“Kya yaar di! It’s Friday!” diya whined, flopping onto the couch like an exhausted actress. “I just want to chill, listen to my fav singer, and vibe.”
She shook her head, hiding a smile. That’s when Revati came out from her room
“You look Beautiful Ishu,” Revati said.
“Obviously,” Ishita replied, flipping her hair dramatically.
Then both of them laughed
That’s when-
“ISHITAAA!”
And there she was.
Alisha.
Loud. Unapologetic. Chaotic.
And fiercely loyal.
The kind of friend who storms into your life and refuses to leave.
“Okay, take care. I’ll be back soon,” she said, grabbing her phone and purse.
She stepped outside, shutting the door gently behind her.
And there she was—Alisha. Leaning against her scooty like a total Bollywood heroine. She was wearing a plain white salwar, hair tied in a ponytail, her jhumkas swaying slightly with the breeze. Simple. Elegant. Effortlessly pretty.
“Finally!” alisha threw her hands up as Ishita approached. “I thought you were knitting your outfit from scratch!”
she laughed, shaking my head. “Drama queen.”
She grinned. “Get on fast.”
“You are impossible,” Ishita said as she stepped out.
“And you love me. Now come on,” Alisha grinned.
Minutes later, they were on the road.
The streets of Udaipur glowed under the soft morning sun. The wind rushed past them, carrying laughter, conversation, and a sense of lightness that made everything feel… right.
Until—
It didn’t.
In the blink of an eye, peace turned into chaos.
SWOOSH. SPLASH.
Ishita gasped sharply as a sheet of cold, muddy water drenched the entire left side of her Anaarkali, clinging to her skin like an insult. Alisha shrieked in front of her, holding up her completely ruined white dupatta like a flag of surrender.
Her hand jerked the brakes, tires screeching against the dusted road.
“WHAT. THE. HELL?!” Ishita shouted, her heart hammering in her chest.
The culprit? A sleek, black BMW that zoomed past them like it was speeding down a racetrack instead of a small lane. Her eyes burned holes into its shiny rear until—It stopped.
It actually stopped.
The door opened, and a man—probably the driver—stepped out, rushing toward them with the kind of nervousness that only comes after screwing up royally.
“I-I’m really sorry, Miss,” he stammered. “We’re in a hurry, and I—I didn’t see you.”
“Oh, really?” Ishita snapped, eyes wide with disbelief. “So you’re blind, reckless, and arrogant all at once? What a talent.”
The man looked like he wanted to vanish into the earth.
“Please, let us go. We’re already running late,” he said.
Alisha grumbled under her breath, but Ishita couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“You people,” she hissed. “You walk around in suits and sunglasses, riding cars that cost more than our entire houses…and you think that gives you a right to disrespect anyone who isn’t like you?” her voice shook, but she didn’t stop. “Middle-class lives aren’t invisible. We bleed too just not on imported leather seats.”
And then it happened.
The back door of the BMW opened.
Time didn’t stop—but it slowed. Sluggish. Heavy. Breathless.
Two men stepped out.
One was tall, lean, probably the assistant—his gaze darting between Ishita and the driver. But the other...
The other…
He was everything silence feared.
Clad in black. Tailored suit. Crisp. Expensive. Effortless.
He didn’t walk—he claimed the ground with every step.
His hair was brushed back with clinical precision, his face unreadable—crafted from marble and mystery.
But it was his eyes…
Those eyes....Dark. Deep. Deadly.
The kind of eyes you drown in... and forget how to swim.
“Raghav?” he said, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. Just one word—but Ishita felt it. Deep. Like a chill under her skin.
The driver stammered, “Sir, I… I was driving too fast, and madam’s dress got splashed…”
The man didn’t flinch. He just nodded—once...
Then he pulled out his wallet.
Ishita didn’t even blink as he casually handed her a wad of cash—thick enough to crush her pride beneath it.
“Take these,” he said, tone colder than the water still dripping off her dress.
“Buy yourself a dozen new ones. Now leave.”
Silence.
For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.
It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t even about the ruined clothes.
It was the way he said it—as if her dignity had a price tag...her fingers trembled..but not from fear. From rage.
her eyes scanned the roadside, found what she needed.
she moved before logic could stop her.
Her heels clanked across the pavement.
She picked up a brick—heavy, jagged—and hurled it at his shiny car like it deserved to bleed too.
CRACK. SMASH.
The front glass shattered....The sound was music.
The man’s assistant gasped. The driver flinched. Alisha nearly screamed.
She turned slowly, walking back to him. Her chin lifted, her voice steady like fire under control.
“Keep your filthy money to yourself,” Ishita said, glaring into the eyes that hadn’t left her for even a second “You’ll need it… to fix your own damn car.”
His jaw flexed. His stare hardened.
But he didn’t speak.
And she didn’t flinch.
There was a war in his gaze. A warning. A question. Maybe even amusement.
But she wasn’t here to entertain him.
She turned toward Alisha, who was standing there frozen, her eyes practically bulging out of her head.
“Chalein?” she asked, brushing past her.
She nodded dumbly.
But before they left, Ishita looked back one last time.
He was still watching her.
VEER’S POV
I don’t usually look back.
Not at people. Not at moments. Not at anything that doesn’t serve a purpose.
But today—
My eyes didn’t move.
They stayed fixed on the road… on the exact spot where she had disappeared on that absurd scooty, wind in her hair, attitude sharper than anything I had seen in a long time.
The air still carried her presence.
Her voice.
Sharp. Fearless. Unapologetic.
I looked down slowly at the bundle of cash still in my hand—slightly crumpled now.
My grip tightened around it.
Something cold settled inside my chest.
Not anger.
No… I’ve felt anger before. This wasn’t just that.
This was… insult.
No one speaks to me like that..
I repeat No one.
And definitely no one picks up a brick and smashes my car like it’s nothing.
My jaw clenched as I exhaled slowly, controlling the surge of irritation rising within me.
But the strange part?
It wasn’t just the audacity that stayed with me.
It was her.
There was something about her face…
Something uncomfortably familiar.
I frowned slightly, my brows pulling together as I tried to recall.
Have I seen her before? Where? When?
Nothing.
Just a vague, frustrating sense of recognition that refused to take shape.
I hate unfinished thoughts.
And right now, she was one.
My gaze shifted toward Varun.
He was still standing there, frozen, clearly shaken probably expecting me to lash out.
I didn’t.
“Get every detail about her.” My voice came out calm….Too calm….
The kind that makes people nervous.
“Name. Address. Background. Everything.”
Varun straightened instantly. “Y-Yes, sir.”
I turned away before he could say anything else.
“And arrange another car,” I added, already walking ahead. “I’m getting late.”
“Yes, sir.”
Of course I was.
Time doesn’t wait.
And neither do I.
Within 10 minutes, a black Mercedes pulled up in front of me. The driver rushed to open the door, but I was already moving.
I stepped inside without a word.
Silence followed me in.
As the car pulled away, the city blurred past the tinted windows—people, noise, chaos… all distant. Irrelevant.
My world doesn’t run on emotions.
It runs on control.Precision.Power.
And in my world, everything has a place.
Everything has a consequence.
My fingers tapped once against my knee before stilling.
That girl…
Her eyes flashed in my mind again.
Defiant.
Unafraid.
As if she didn’t care who I was.
A faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at my lips.
Interesting.
No one walks into my life like that.
Creates a scene.
Breaks something that belongs to me.
And leaves without consequences…
I don’t let things go unanswered.
Especially not someone who feels like a question I can’t solve.
My jaw tightened slightly.
Where have I seen her?
The thought came again.
I leaned back into the seat, eyes closing for a brief second…but her face didn’t fade.
If anything, it became clearer.
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