Kiara stared at the glowing screen, her heart skipping when the unknown number flashed a message.

“Did you really think you could escape the past, Kiara?”

Her stomach twisted until the next line came in a rush.

“Idiot. It’s me, Sharanya, your bestie… YOU LOST MY NUMBER.”

A startled laugh escaped her lips, relief loosening the tightness in her chest. A smile spread across her face as her thumbs moved quickly over the keys.

“Sharanya…” she whispered, the name carrying the warmth of countless memories and their shenanigans. Her childhood best friend, the one who knew every scar, every secret, every fragile corner of her heart.

Another message came almost instantly.

“Sooo, I am back in the city. And you are coming tomorrow, right?”

Kiara blinked at the screen, brows knitting.

“Tomorrow where?” she typed.

“Idiot, tomorrow is the 9th night and you skipped all the days!” Sharanya’s reply popped up, full of the same teasing energy Kiara remembered.

Kiara sighed, leaning back against the headboard, her lips twitching despite herself. Trust Sharanya to pull her out of her storm, even from a distance.

“I’ll see, but no promises,” she replied, before placing the phone aside.

The door opened then, and Aryansh stepped in. She looked up sharply. His mouth parted as if to say something familiar, something instinctive.

“Dov–” he stopped himself, the word breaking off mid-air. His throat worked as he cleared it, forcing formality into his voice. “Kiara… my mom called. She wants us there with the family for Navratri tomorrow.”

Kiara’s gaze hardened, her earlier softness vanishing. “And what if I refuse?”

His shoulders stiffened. He had expected it, braced for it. Still, her words cut.

“You’re not coming for me,” he said, frustration leaking into his tone. “Come for the sake of my family’s reputation. And for yours,so they can at least believe you’re… happy.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She hated the way he said it, hated that he wasn’t asking for her but demanding for appearances. Still, she gave the smallest of nods.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do.” She picked her phone back up, dismissing him with the gesture.

Aryansh stood there for a long moment, watching her eyes glued to the screen, her body angled away from him as if he were nothing but an intrusion. Something twisted in his chest, but he didn’t let it show.

“I’m going somewhere,” he said at last, his voice quiet. “You can sleep.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and left, the soft click of the door the only sound left behind.

Kiara didn’t stop him. She didn’t even look up. 

Leaving Kiara behind in the silence of the house, Aryansh slipped into his car. The clock on the dashboard glowed 11:02 p.m. He sat for a moment, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, his jaw tightening as though debating with himself he took his phone and then kept it back. Finally, he grabbed his phone and dialed Ayush.

The call rang too long before his younger brother’s voice came through, groggy but with its usual spark.
“Hello, Bhaiyaaa,” Ayush drawled, though there was a thread of irritation under his chirpiness.

“Meet me at the penthouse in ten minutes. It’s important,” Aryansh said flatly, leaving no room for argument. Before Ayush could reply, the line clicked dead.

Ayush stared at his phone in disbelief. Important? At this hour? Dread pooled in his stomach as he threw on a hoodie over his night pajamas and rushed out, worrying gnawing at him with every step.

When he finally reached the penthouse, he flung the door open.
“What happened?!” he shouted, breathless, already bracing for the worst.

But Aryansh wasn’t pacing in crisis or drowning in files. He was sitting calmly on the sofa, scrolling through his phone with the most serious look imaginable. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

“Teach me dandiya,” Aryansh said.

Ayush blinked. “...What?”

“Teach.me.dandiya,” Aryansh repeated

“I forgot how to play it.” Aryansh’s tone was grim, as though confessing to some grave mistake. “And now I can’t even do a single step.”

For a beat, there was silence. Then Ayush let out a strangled sound, caught between laughter and outrage.
“Bhaiyaaaa! I was going to have my beauty sleep. You literally stopped playing dandiya years ago, and now, now you want to learn again? At midnight?”

Aryansh arched his brow, unfazed. “Sikhayega ya fir salary kam kar dun aur sunday ko extra work dedunga tujhe?”
{“So, you gonna teach him, or should I dock your salary and make you work Sundays too?”}

Ayush threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable! Blackmailing me for dandiya practice.”

“Good,” Aryansh said smoothly, as if that settled the matter.

Muttering under his breath, Ayush dragged a chair aside and folded his arms. “Fine. But at least tell me why. What’s the sudden interest?”

For the first time, Aryansh hesitated. He set his phone down, rubbed the back of his neck, his composure slipping. “Uhm… you see… your bhabi…my wife..loves dandiya.” His voice softened just slightly, betraying something Ayush didn’t often hear in him. “And if I can’t play it, then… who will play with her?”

Ayush’s jaw dropped. The irritation fizzled instantly, replaced by stunned silence. He studied his older brother,the same man who had kept his wife at arm’s length, avoided her, buried himself in work..now sitting here, midnight dragging on, looking almost… nervous.

A laugh bubbled out of Ayush despite himself. “Oh my god. You’re serious.”

Aryansh shot him a sharp look. “Of course I’m serious.”

Ayush grinned wide, shaking his head. “Bhaiya… you’re actually trying. For her.”

“Don’t read too much into it,” Aryansh muttered, standing. “Just teach me the steps.”

But Ayush caught the flicker in his brother’s eyes, the rare vulnerability hiding there. And for once, he didn’t tease.

“Alright then,” Ayush said, standing too. “Let’s start from the basics. But tomorrow,when she sees you know how to play? Don’t mess it up, or else all this beauty sleep I sacrificed will be for nothing.”

For the first time in a long while, Aryansh’s lips curved in the faintest of smiles.

Ayush clapped his hands together dramatically. “Alright, Bhaiya, first rule of dandiya: you don’t hold the sticks like you’re about to stab someone.”

Aryansh frowned, glancing down at the pair of neon practice sticks Ayush had pulled from some forgotten drawer. He gripped them stiffly, like weapons instead of dance props.
“This is how you hold them. Firm.”

“That’s how you strangle a criminal, not how you dance!” Ayush smacked his forehead. “Loosen up! You’re not interrogating the sticks.”

Aryansh rolled his eyes but adjusted his grip.

“Okay, now step one. Right foot forward, tap the stick. Left foot, tap. Simple!” Ayush demonstrated, his pajama pants swishing as he bounced with exaggerated flair.

Aryansh copied stiffly, moving as if the floor itself had filed a police complaint against his feet. The sticks clashed together once, twice then one slipped from his hand and clattered across the floor.

Ayush froze, wide-eyed. “Bhaiya! You just disarmed yourself! What if it was the actual dandiya round? You’d be stickless!”

Aryansh glared, retrieving it. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s tradition,” Ayush corrected, trying not to laugh. “Besides… you’re doing it for Bhabi, aren’t you?”

Aryansh didn’t answer, just resumed the steps, though his ears burned faintly red.

Half an hour later, the penthouse looked like a battlefield. A vase lay dangerously tilted, a cushion had been knocked to the floor, and Ayush was breathless from laughing.

“Bhaiya, you nearly broke my toe! This isn’t Mortal Kombat! it’s dandiya!”

Aryansh, surprisingly patient, just scowled at the sticks in his hands. “She’ll laugh at me if I mess up.”

Ayush paused. His laughter softened into something gentler. He’d never heard that kind of admission from Aryansh before,the man who always acted unshakable, untouchable.

“She won’t laugh,” Ayush said quietly. “She’ll notice you tried. And that’ll matter more.”

Aryansh didn’t look at him, but his grip on the sticks eased, the tension in his shoulders loosening. “Again,” he muttered.

So they tried again. And again. And again. Aryansh tripped over the rug, smacked the air inches from Ayush’s head, and even got tangled in his own movements once. But each time, he stood straighter, more determined, his eyes carrying that rare flicker of vulnerability only Ayush was allowed to see.

By 3 a.m., Ayush collapsed onto the sofa, groaning. “If I don’t survive Navratri, it’ll be because you turned my training into a death match.”

Aryansh sat beside him, sweat on his forehead, chest rising and falling steadily. He didn’t smile, but there was a calmness in his face that Ayush hadn’t seen in years.

“Thanks,” Aryansh said simply.

Ayush blinked, stunned. His stoic brother, thanking him?

Before he could reply, Aryansh leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Ayush smirked. “Don’t worry, Bhaiya. Your secret midnight dandiya bootcamp is safe with me.”

The brothers sat in silence, one exhausted, the other quietly resolved. Outside, the night was thinning toward dawn. And somewhere in that silence, Ayush realized,his brother wasn’t just preparing for dandiya. He was preparing to step into something he’d been avoiding for too long.

Ayush stretched his arms after another round of clashing sticks. His hair was messy, his pajama string hanging loose, but his grin was unstoppable. “You know… this reminds me of years back,” he said, spinning the dandiya sticks casually in his hands. “When you begged me to teach you this the first time.”

Aryansh, who had been concentrating on correcting his stance, froze.

“You never told me why though.” Ayush tilted his head, studying his brother. “Back then, you practiced like crazy for two nights, then suddenly poof you stopped playing it. Never touched dandiya again.”

There was a faint pause in the air. Aryansh’s jaw tightened, the stick in his hand tapping against his palm rhythmically, like he was biting back a thought. His eyes flickered, not to Ayush, but somewhere distant as if those memories had surfaced uninvited.

Finally, his voice came, low and clipped. “That was the past. I was interested then. Now… I want to learn for my own sake.”

Ayush raised a brow, sensing the deflection but choosing not to push. “For your sake, huh?” he teased lightly, though his eyes softened with unspoken curiosity. “Not for someone else’s?”

Aryansh looked at him sharply, almost warning him not to go further. Then, as if realizing how much he’d given away already, he exhaled and muttered, “Just teach me the next step.”

Ayush smirked, but let the subject drop. He knew his brother well enough,Aryansh never spoke about the past unless it was clawing at him from the inside.

Still, as the sticks clashed again, Ayush couldn’t shake the thought: whatever reason Aryansh had back then for stopping… Maybe it had everything to do with the woman?

-*-*-*-

The morning had passed in a blur of silken fabrics and heavy jewelry. Kiara had slipped reluctantly into the lehenga Aryansh’s mother sent, telling herself it was just another formality, nothing more. Yet as she stood before the mirror adjusting the dupatta, she couldn’t ignore how beautifully it fit her, how the deep maroon shimmered against her skin. She almost hated the way it made her feel,like she belonged to that house, to his family, to him.

Downstairs, Aryansh was waiting, clad in a black sherwani with intricate silver embroidery. His posture was regal, his phone forgotten in his hand the instant he looked up. The smirk tugging at his lips was impossible to hide.

Kiara paused, catching him frozen mid-stare. “Stop staring,” she snapped, though the blush betraying her cheeks made her turn her head away.

He coughed, trying to look composed. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Of course not,” she muttered, brushing past him.

-*-*-

The Singhania estate glowed that evening. Strings of fairy lights crisscrossed the courtyard, diyas flickered at every corner, and the fragrance of sandalwood incense mixed with the sweetness of jalebi frying in the kitchen. Guests dressed in vibrant chaniya cholis and embroidered kurtas filled the halls, laughter echoing in the air.

“Kiara, beta!” Sunita Singhania rushed forward as soon as they arrived. She cupped Kiara’s face warmly, pulling her into a hug. “Look at you, my Lakshmi for the evening.”

Kiara’s eyes softened as she hugged her back. “Ma, you look beautiful too.”

Aryansh, standing beside them, watched quietly. It always struck him how easily Kiara connected with his family. With his mother, she was a daughter; with his father, she shared long talks about art; and with Ayush… well, Ayush adored her like an elder sister and teased her endlessly. It was the one place where she seemed at ease, the weight on her shoulders lifted something she never allowed herself in front of him.

“Bhabiii!” Ayush’s dramatic voice cut through, making Kiara laugh as he grabbed her hands. “Finally! You’re here to save me from this boring brother of mine.”

“Ayush,” Aryansh warned through gritted teeth.

Kiara giggled. “Don’t be mean. Your brother’s not boring”

“Yes, he is,” Ayush interrupted, earning himself a glare and Kiara another laugh.

Soon after, the courtyard burst alive with dandiya beats. Colorful sticks clashed rhythmically, women twirled, and children laughed as they tried to keep up with the adults.

Kiara joined naturally, her lehenga swirling as she spun, her anklets chiming in rhythm. She laughed with Ayush and Sharanya, corrected a child’s grip on the sticks, and blended seamlessly into the crowd.

Aryansh stood on the sidelines, his jaw tight. She looked too happy, too radiant. And he was too used to being the outsider watching her shine. Not tonight, he decided.

He stepped forward, grabbing a pair of sticks. When Kiara saw him enter the circle, her eyes widened. “You?”

“What? I can play,” he said smoothly, though his first clash of the sticks nearly missed the beat.

Kiara raised an eyebrow, hiding a smirk. “Clearly.”

Aryansh shot her a look but adjusted quickly, falling into rhythm beside her. She slowed just slightly, matching his pace, and soon enough they were spinning, striking, circling in harmony.

The music stopped, and the announcer’s voice rang out: “Time for our Couple Dandiya Contest! Calling on married pairs to the center!”

Cheers erupted, and before either of them could react, Sunita and Aryansh’s father nudged them forward.

“Ma,no, really-” Kiara began, but Aryansh leaned close, his voice low. “It’s just for their sake. Don’t worry.”

Something in his tone steady, almost protective made her nod reluctantly.

The spotlight fell. The music blasted faster, sharper this time. Kiara’s grip tightened around her sticks, her body tense at first. But Aryansh’s steps surprised her. He was steady. Confident. Matching her move for move.

“Not bad,” she muttered between breaths.

“Of course not. I had the best teacher,” he smirked, eyes locked on hers.

She faltered for half a second at his words but the rhythm pulled her back. Soon, they were twirling and striking in perfect synchrony, the crowd clapping and cheering for them. Kiara’s laughter rang out, free and unguarded, her cheeks flushed from the dance.

And for that brief moment, she forgot the past,the bitterness, the hurt. She forgot everything except the rhythm of the sticks, the music, and the man in front of her whose eyes refused to leave hers.

Aryansh’s chest tightened as he spun her. He had seen her angry, cold, guarded…but this? This Kiara, smiling, vibrant, alive, this was the woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago. And he would give anything to hold onto this moment, even if it slipped away tomorrow.

The song ended in a whirl of cheers. Out of breath, Kiara lowered her sticks, realizing too late that her heart was racing far more from his gaze than the dance itself.

The temple courtyard within the Singhania mansion was decorated in dazzling red and gold. Marigold garlands draped across the idol of Goddess Durga, her face glowing under the soft light of dozens of diyas. The fragrance of sandalwood and jasmine clung to the air, mingling with the crisp chill of evening.

The family gathered together, women with their chunaris draped gracefully over their heads, men in simple kurtas. The pandits began the chants, his voice rising and falling in rhythm with the temple bells.

Kiara stood between Aryansh and Sunita, her hands folded, head bowed low. The firelight of the aarti reflected in her dark eyes, making them glisten. There was serenity on her face,a calm that felt unreachable to Aryansh.

He stood silently beside her, his palms pressed together. But inside, there was no calm. His chest felt heavy with everything he had never said, everything he had buried under work, silence, and distance.

For the first time in years, he closed his eyes,not as the CEO, not as the elder son of the Singhanias but as a man who had wronged the woman beside him.

Ma Durga, his heart whispered, I don’t deserve her. Not her smile, not her trust, not even her presence in this home. I pushed her away when all she did was quietly stay. I ran from the attachments I feared, but in doing so, I hurt her more than anyone should ever be hurt.

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten.

If you’re listening… if you’re truly here with us tonight… give her happiness. Even if it’s not with me. But if fate insists on binding us together, then make me worthy of her. Let me be the man she deserves.

His fists clenched slightly, trembling with the force of what he dared not say aloud. I promise… I will always be hers. No matter what happens, no matter where life drags us, my heart will remain with Kiara and only Kiara. Even if she isn’t mine,I should always be hers. Only hers. 

He opened his eyes slowly, the chants still filling the air. The family passed the aarti thali around. When it came to Aryansh, he lifted it with reverence, his shoulder brushing Kiara’s as she stepped closer. The flame flickered between them, its warmth kissing both their faces.

For a moment, he dared to glance at her. She hadn’t noticed his gaze; her eyes were closed, lips moving in her own prayer. But there was peace in her features, a peace he wanted to protect, even if it meant never being forgiven.

When the thali moved on, Aryansh released a shaky breath. Around them, the family clapped and sang, voices rising with devotion. Kiara joined softly, her bangles chiming faintly as she clapped in rhythm.

Aryansh did not sing. He only stood there in silence, watching her. And for the first time, beneath the firelit eyes of the Goddess, he allowed his heart to bow before her too.

The aarti ended with the ringing of bells, the family bowing their heads one last time. Aryansh helped his mother sit as the crowd began dispersing into the open courtyard, where laughter and chatter filled the air.

“Bas, ab tum dono aaj idhar hi rahe jao aaj.” Sunita smiled warmly, her gaze moving between Aryansh and Kiara. “Stay here, in the family house. This is your home, not just for festivals, but always.”
{Enough, you both stay here for today}

Kiara opened her mouth, hesitation flickering in her eyes, but before she could respond, Mr. Singhania added with finality, “It’s decided. The family should live together. No excuses.”

Ayush grinned from the side, “Mumma’s right. The house feels incomplete otherwise.”

Aryansh looked at Kiara briefly. She wasn’t protesting, but she wasn’t agreeing either. He read the silence for what it was,her polite acceptance. Clearing his throat, he said quietly, “Fine… we’ll stay.”

Kiara simply nodded, not daring to meet his eyes.

The family dispersed, some towards the dinner tables, others still lingering near the temple. Kiara stepped away for a moment to adjust her dupatta, her bangles clinking faintly as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She was walking back towards the courtyard when it happened her heel twisted on the uneven stone path.

“Aah!” she gasped, her ankle giving way as she staggered.

Aryansh was by her side in an instant, catching her before she fell. His arm wrapped around her waist, holding her steady. “Kiara!” his voice came sharp, laced with panic he rarely allowed anyone to hear. “Careful… tum theek ho?” {Careful, are you okay?}

She winced, gripping his shoulder for balance. “I- I think I twisted it. Just a little.”

“Just a little?” he snapped softly, already crouching to look at her foot. “Why do you never pay attention where you’re walking?”

His tone was stern, but his hands were gentle as they supported her ankle. His thumb brushed lightly over the swelling skin, and she shivered not from pain, but from the intensity of his concern.

“Aryansh… people are watching,” she murmured, embarrassed.

“Let them,” he muttered, sliding one arm beneath her knees and lifting her without warning.

“Aryansh!” she hissed, startled, her hands clutching his kurta.

But his jaw was set, eyes fixed ahead as he carried her back into the house, ignoring the curious looks from the family. Ayush smirked knowingly, but said nothing. Sunita, however, smiled with quiet satisfaction, watching her eldest son show the care he always hid behind his pride.

Inside, he gently placed Kiara on the couch, kneeling to remove her sandal. “Don’t move,” he ordered softly, his voice no longer sharp but firm in the way that revealed his worry. He placed a cushion under her leg, inspecting her ankle with the focus of a man afraid of hurting her again.

Kiara watched him silently, her lips parting as if to speak, but she said nothing. For the first time in a long while, she let him fuss over her. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t hide how much he still cared.

Aryansh settled on the floor in front of her, his knees brushing the carpet, while she sat stiffly on the couch, her dupatta slipping off one shoulder. He didn’t bother looking up at her, too focused on her ankle.

“Stay still,” he murmured, his tone gentler now, as if speaking any louder would hurt her. He pressed his fingers lightly around the swelling, his touch careful, almost reverent.

Kiara flinched. “It hurts.”

“I know,” his jaw tightened, “I’m sorry.” The apology slipped out before he could stop himself.

He reached for the first-aid box kept in the side drawer, pulling out a crepe bandage. His fingers fumbled clumsily with the roll, as though he had done this a thousand times for others but never for her. She noticed the slight tremor in his hands, the way he exhaled sharply to steady himself before wrapping the bandage around her ankle.

Kiara watched silently, her eyes tracing the crease of concentration on his forehead. There was something oddly vulnerable about him at that moment,a man who ruled boardrooms and held himself like iron, yet couldn’t stop his hands from shaking when it came to her.

“You don’t have to-” she began softly, her voice cracking.

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his eyes finally flicking up to meet hers. His gaze was raw, stripped of all pretense. “Don’t tell me I don’t have to care. I do. Whether you want me to or not.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. She blinked, her lips parting, but no answer came.

He finished tying the bandage, tucking the edge carefully. Then, without thinking, he rested his hand over her foot, his thumb brushing her skin in a fleeting stroke of tenderness. For a heartbeat, the room fell utterly silent except for the muffled sounds of the family still celebrating outside.

Aryansh lowered his voice, almost a whisper meant only for her:
“I almost lost you once… don’t ask me to act like it doesn’t matter now. I can’t.”

Kiara’s breath caught in her throat. The weight of his words pressed against the fragile walls she had built around her heart.

But before she could respond, Ayush’s teasing voice broke the moment from the doorway:
“Arrey wah, Bhaiya! From dandiya steps to doctor saab, kya baat hai. Should I get you a white coat too?”
{Oh wow, From Dandiya steps to a doctor, what a surprise}

Aryansh shot him a glare, and Ayush smirked, backing away with a wink at Kiara.

She tried to hide her smile, but her heart was no longer steady. For the first time in years, she had seen Aryansh not as the man who hurt her, but as the boy she once knew,the one who, despite everything, still belonged only to her.

After Ayush’s interruption faded with laughter trailing down the hallway, the house quieted. The celebration had moved outside into the courtyard, the faint echoes of music drifting in through the windows.

Aryansh remained kneeling by Kiara’s side. He adjusted the bandage one last time, ensuring it wasn’t too tight. “There,” he said softly, standing up. “You’re not moving around tonight. Understood?”

Kiara arched an eyebrow. “And who are you to order me?”

He looked at her for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line, before replying in that deep voice of his: “Your husband.” The word lingered between them, heavy, almost suffocating.

She looked away, her throat tightening. “That… doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Instead of arguing, Aryansh bent down suddenly, slipping one arm behind her knees and the other around her back. Kiara gasped, clutching his shirt instinctively as he lifted her off the couch.

“Aryansh! Put me down-”

“Not happening.” His tone was firm, leaving no space for her resistance. “You’ll only strain your ankle if you walk. So stop arguing.”

Her protest melted into silence as she found herself pressed against his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath her ear, steady and strong, and she hated that it made her own heart race.

He carried her upstairs, the corridor dimly lit by the diya lamps still flickering from the evening puja. For a fleeting second, Kiara was thrown back to years ago, carrying her home after she twisted her ankle during college practice. The memory hit her like a whisper of déjà vu, and she quickly closed her eyes, as though shutting it out would keep her safe.

Inside their room, Aryansh gently lowered her onto the bed. He pulled the blanket over her legs, his hands lingering just a moment too long before retreating. “Try to rest,” he said quietly.

Kiara’s eyes softened despite herself. “Aryansh…” she started, then stopped, unsure of what she even meant to say.

He turned to leave, but then hesitated at the door. His silhouette stood against the soft glow of the hallway light. Without looking back, he said, almost in a whisper,
“I know I don’t deserve it… but I’ll keep asking God every day until He forgives me through you.”

Her breath caught, but before she could respond, he walked out, closing the door gently behind him.

Alone, Kiara lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Her chest tightened with emotions she didn’t want to name. Outside, she faintly heard his footsteps moving toward the study.

And there, in the silence of his study, Aryansh sat alone, head in his hands, fighting a storm only he knew. His heart still replayed the feel of her in his arms, the softness of her breath against his chest, and the ache of knowing that what was once theirs now felt like a fragile dream he wasn’t sure he could reclaim.

Both of them lay awake in different rooms, worlds apart yet tied by the same memories, the same wounds, and the same longing they refused to voice.