The morning sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the Singhania mansion, soft and forgiving, as if it too knew that last night had been a storm. The world outside still glistened faintly from the early drizzle, the air cool and edged with petrichor.

Kiara stirred awake to the muted sound of laughter downstairs, Ayush’s booming voice, her mother-in-law’s soft scolding, the faint clatter of breakfast being served. For the first time in weeks, her sleep hadn’t been fractured by memories or regret.

She sat up slowly, the silken sheet falling from her shoulder, her hair spilling down in dark waves. The saree she’d tried last night, black, ivory,shimmering softly with silver thread,lay neatly folded on the chair by the window to wear for today.

Her eyes lingered on it. It wasn’t just fabric, it was the memory of Aryansh’s gaze when she’d walked into the gala. The way his breath had hitched. The way his silence had said more than his words ever could.

And then she exhaled, pushing those thoughts away.

When she descended the stairs, the house was alive with its usual morning rhythm. Ayush sat at the table, already halfway through his breakfast, while their mother busied herself with the toaster, humming an old tune from her youth.

And there he was, Aryansh, in a plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, hair still damp from a shower, looking maddeningly effortless.

He glanced up as soon as she entered. “Morning.”

“Morning,” she returned, tone polite, careful.

Ayush grinned. “Ah, look who finally decided to join us. Late night, bhabhi?”

Kiara shot him a mock glare. “If you spent less time talking and more time eating, maybe you’d actually get to work on time.”

Her mother-in-law chuckled softly. “You two will never grow up.”

“Never plan to,” Ayush said, winking, before nudging Aryansh. “And you, bhai, you look suspiciously happy for someone who usually scowls through breakfast.”

Aryansh ignored him, stirring his tea slowly, eyes flicking once more toward Kiara before looking away. “Some mornings are worth waking up for,” he said quietly.

Kiara’s breath caught. The table went briefly silent.

Then Ayush, oblivious as ever, broke it with a laugh. “That’s poetic. What’s gotten into you?”

“Must be the caffeine,” Kiara murmured, reclaiming her seat.

Her mother-in-law smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that belonged to someone who had seen too many silent love stories unfold under one roof. “You two are coming to the charity event today, right?”

“Yes,” Aryansh replied before Kiara could. “We’ll be there.”

She glanced at him, one brow raised. We?

He met her eyes evenly. “It’s for the hospital project. It’d look better if we attended together.”

“Of course,” she said, tone neutral. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the picture.”

But her fingers, resting around her cup, tightened imperceptibly

A few hours later, the Singhanias’ car pulled up to the event venue, the city’s community center, decked in banners and fresh marigolds. Cameras flashed at the entrance; journalists murmured softly among themselves.

Kiara stepped out first, draped in a pale ivory saree today  simple, elegant, glowing under the mid-morning light. Her earrings caught the sun; her calm confidence made heads turn.

Aryansh followed beside her, crisp in a navy suit, sunglasses hiding the glint in his eyes as he caught the subtle sway of her walk. Together, they looked every inch the picture-perfect couple.

But beneath the polished exterior, silence stretched taut between them not uncomfortable, but dense with everything unspoken.

Inside, the hall buzzed with the hum of donors, officials, and volunteers. Kiara took to her role with practiced grace reviewing reports, checking donation lists, speaking to attendees with warm professionalism.

Aryansh watched from a few paces away, admiring how easily she belonged in every space she entered. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her this at ease focused, quietly radiant, unreachable.

And that’s when he heard it.

“Still the perfectionist, I see.”

A familiar male voice,smooth, teasing, warm.

He turned,and saw Kartik Malhotra.
He remembered his face, he was his junior back in college and same as Kiara’s batch.

The charity event was one of those polished, public affairs that seemed to glide effortlessly on surface charm. Inside, the air hummed with polite laughter and camera flashes. Rows of white chairs were arranged before a small stage draped in pale gold, and servers moved through the crowd carrying trays of lemonade and samosas.

Kiara moved easily among the donors and volunteers, a practiced smile softening her sharp confidence. Her saree, ivory with faint gold embroidery, caught the light whenever she turned. She spoke with an ease that came from years of learning how to stay composed in rooms filled with judgment.

It was impossible not to notice her.

“Still the perfectionist, I see,” a voice said behind her.

She turned, and froze for a beat.

“Kartik?”

There he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, that same easy grin he’d had back in college. He looked sharper now in an open-collar blue shirt, sleeves rolled, an ID lanyard looped casually around his neck. His presence carried warmth, the kind that made everyone around him relax without realizing it.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, spreading his arms in mock disbelief. “Kiara Singhania. You’re actually here, doing field work yourself. The rumors were true.”

She laughed, a soft, genuine sound that drew a few curious glances. “Still can’t resist dramatics, can you?”

“Only when I’m right,” he said, eyes crinkling. “And apparently, I am. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Five years?,” she corrected with a smile. “You remember that?”

“Of course. Five years since graduation, and you still make everyone else in the room look underdressed.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Flattery? That’s new.”

“Not flattery,” he said easily. “Observation.”

The way he said it was so light, so unbothered, that she found herself laughing again. Around them, the volunteers were bustling, signing forms, organizing donations  but for a brief moment, it felt like time had folded back to those university corridors, when life was simpler and hearts were unscarred.

She caught herself smiling too easily and straightened. “I didn’t know you worked with this foundation.”

“Just started helping last year,” he said, glancing around. “Small steps, you know? Hospitals, school drives, rebuilding programs… things that matter.”

“Still the idealist,” she murmured.

“And you?” he asked. “Still pretending not to be one?”

Her lips parted slightly, a retort caught somewhere between amusement and surprise but before she could answer, another voice broke through.

“Kiara.”

It was quiet but cut through the noise like a blade.

She turned and saw Aryansh striding through the crowd, navy suit crisp, expression composed, though the tightness in his jaw was unmistakable.

For a second, the two men simply looked at each other.

Kartik smiled first. “You must be Aryansh. We were just talking about the foundation I’m helping coordinate this quarter’s donations.”

Aryansh’s handshake was firm. “I’ve heard about your work. Impressive,” he said evenly. Then, after a beat, “Didn’t know you and Kiara knew each other.”

“Old friends,” Kartik said with a grin. “College. She used to outrun me in every debate.”

Kiara smiled lightly, the kind of smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s because you were terrible at time limits.”

“Or maybe you just liked talking more than I did,” he teased.

Aryansh’s gaze flicked between them — the easy laughter, the soft nostalgia, the comfort that came naturally. He had no right to feel the sharp twist that came next, but it hit anyway jealousy, uninvited and impossible to hide.

Kartik excused himself to talk to the coordinator, leaving them alone for a brief moment.

“You didn’t tell me your old friend was part of this,” Aryansh said quietly.

“You didn’t ask,” she replied without looking at him.

“He seems… fond of you.”

She smiled faintly. “Some people stay that way even when they don’t have to.”

The words landed harder than she intended. He looked at her really looked and she felt the air between them tighten, like a string pulled too far.

The rest of the morning passed in that slow, unbearable rhythm.

Whenever she moved through the crowd, Aryansh’s eyes followed. He stood near the donation counters, pretending to read reports, but his focus never truly left her.

She laughed too easily when Kartik spoke. Tilted her head just a little too close when he pointed something out on her clipboard.

It wasn’t deliberate, not entirely but it wasn’t innocent either.

And every smile she gave Kartik made Aryansh’s composure crack a little more.

He’d spent years mastering restraint  in boardrooms, in negotiations, in the brutal calm of business wars but watching another man make her laugh with such ease? That was a kind of torture he hadn’t trained for.

By the time the speeches ended, he was done pretending.

When Kiara excused herself to check the storeroom, he followed quiet, deliberate steps, the mask of civility slipping just enough to show the man beneath.

The storeroom was quiet, sunlight filtering through half-closed blinds. Boxes of supplies lined the walls; faint music drifted in from the hall outside.

Kiara turned when the door clicked shut.

“I didn’t realize you were following me now,” she said coolly.

“I wasn’t following,” he said, stepping closer. “I was watching. There’s a difference.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, crossing her arms. “And what exactly were you watching, Aryansh?”

He took another step forward. “You know what.”

Her lips curved. “You mean Kartik? My old friend? You seemed to like him.”

“I don’t,” he said flatly.

“That’s mature.”

“Don’t play dumb, Kiara.”

“Oh, I’m not playing anything,” she said softly, tone almost teasing. “You just don’t like seeing me enjoy someone else’s company, do you?”

He stopped right in front of her now, close enough that the air shifted between them. “He looks at you like he has the right to.”

“And you?” she asked quietly. “Do you?”

The question landed with precision  and for a moment, he couldn’t answer.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting with something between challenge and sorrow. “You can’t be jealous, Aryansh. Not after everything.”

He exhaled slowly, fighting for control. “I’m not jealous.”

She smiled. “Then why are you standing so close?”

He didn’t move. “Maybe because I can’t stand the thought of him touching what was once mine.”

“Once,” she repeated, the word soft but sharp. “That’s the only part you got right.”

Her voice was steady, but something flickered in her eyes, something that wasn’t indifference.

And then, slowly, she stepped toward him until her saree brushed his suit, until her perfume tangled with his cologne.

“Don’t glare at him for liking me,” she whispered, her breath a soft warmth against his cheek. “You used to do the same.”

Before he could react, she leaned forward and pressed a feather-light kiss to his cheek  deliberate, devastating.

When she stepped back, her smile was calm, perfectly composed. “Goodbye, Mr. Singhania. Try not to lose your temper in front of the donors. It ruins the image.”

Then she turned and left, her heels clicking against the floor  each step measured, graceful, final.

He stood there long after she was gone, jaw tight, breath uneven. The scent of her lingered jasmine, sandalwood, something dangerously familiar.

And for the first time in a very long while, Aryansh Singhania the man who controlled empires couldn’t control a single thing about himself.

He watched Kiara go back into the crowd as he felt alone again, because he knew that Kartik knew about something he didn’t want Kiara to know about. Even before he left the college he made sure that no one kinds out.

“You haven’t told her the truth yet I suppose” a voice rang out from behind, Kartik was standing there leaning towards the wall.

“Scarm from here Kartik, and stay away from my wife” Aryansh warned Kartik who was swirling a champagne in her hand. Kartik didn’t move a little he just grinned a little walking aside from him patting his shoulder and whispering into his ear

“Tell her before someone else does, you and I both know that I liked Kiara” Kartik patted and smiled walking away. Aryansh felt his blood boil but then knew he was right deep down, if the truth gets more hidden he might lose her once again.

The event wrapped up at dusk, the sky painted in watercolor shades of coral and ash. Lanterns had begun to glow along the edge of the community center garden; laughter and music lingered faintly in the air as guests began to leave.

Kiara stood by the car, one hand clutching her shawl against the light breeze. Her face was calm, her expression unreadable the kind of poise that came only when one had learned to wear serenity like armor.

Across the lot, Aryansh was speaking with the foundation director, his tone polite but curt. His words were perfectly measured, but his eyes flicked toward her every few moments, as though drawn by instinct.

When he finally approached, she looked at him briefly. “All done?”

He nodded. “Yes. Ready to go?”

She simply hummed in response and slid into the car.

The drive home began in silence.

The road stretched out ahead dark asphalt lined with the dim blur of streetlights. The city outside felt quieter than usual, as if holding its breath along with them. The only sounds were the low hum of the engine and the soft rustle of her saree when she shifted slightly to look out the window.

Her reflection flickered in the glass eyes lost somewhere between thought and memory.

Aryansh’s fingers tightened subtly on the steering wheel.

He wanted to say something. Anything. To break the silence, to shatter the invisible wall she had built so carefully. But the words stayed locked behind his teeth.

Finally, she spoke first.

“You shouldn’t glare at people, you know,” she said softly, not looking at him. “It’s not very polite.”

His jaw flexed. “He was looking at you like—”

“Like what?” she interrupted, turning her gaze to him.

He hesitated. “Like you mattered more than you should.”

A quiet laugh escaped her humorless, brittle. “That’s rich. Considering, once upon a time, I didn’t matter to you at all and left me right after the wedding at our wedding night and didn’t return after 3 months because you had a business trip”

He didn’t flinch. He deserved that.

The car moved through the quiet streets; the air between them grew heavier.

She looked out again, voice lower now. “You know what’s funny, Aryansh? I thought today would be peaceful. A good day. But somehow, even your silence feels louder than anyone’s noise.”

He turned his head slightly, watching the way the passing light cut across her face  half in shadow, half gold. There was nothing more dangerous than the calm before she broke.

“I wasn’t trying to ruin your day,” he said, finally.

“No,” she said softly. “You just did it now,.”

The words weren’t venomous, just honest. And that honesty hurt more than any insult could have.

They reached the gates of his penthouse. The guard opened them, and the car rolled inside quietly.

As he parked, she gathered her saree and stepped out first, heels clicking against the marble driveway. The soft sound echoed in the cool night air.

Before he could follow, she turned slightly, her tone lighter now detached, almost playful. “You know, you looked almost human today when you were jealous. Don’t ruin it by sulking.”

He gave a short breath of disbelief. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s fascinating,” she said with a faint smile. “Watching the mighty Aryansh Singhania look like a man for once, not a business deal in a suit.”

Then, with a small, deliberate smirk, she walked past him and disappeared into the elevator.

He stood there, watching the elevator doors close. Her reflection lingered on the mirrored surface soft, fierce, haunting.

Dinner at home was a different kind of chaos.

The family had gathered for a casual evening meal, half the extended relatives already settled around the table. The scent of biryani and ghee filled the air, mingled with the sound of laughter and old Hindi songs playing faintly from the living room.

Kiara, now changed into a simple cream kurta, moved easily among them, smiling, serving, and laughing in all the right places.

If anyone noticed the exhaustion in her eyes, they didn’t mention it.

“Bhabhi, this biryani is divine,” Aryansh’s cousin Rhea said, grinning. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Cooked half of it, burned a quarter, and then fixed it with butter,” Kiara said, mock-serious. “That’s the secret.”

Laughter rippled around the table.

Even Aryansh smiled faintly  not because of the joke, but because of the way her laughter lit up the room. He’d forgotten how it felt to see her like this unguarded, alive, free from the shadow of everything between them.

For a few minutes, the world felt normal. Almost peaceful.

Until Rhea asked, “So, how was the event today? I saw the pictures online  Kiara, you looked amazing!”

Aryansh froze mid-bite.

Kiara smiled politely. “Thank you. It went well.”

“Yeah?” Rhea said eagerly. “I saw someone tag you with that Kartik guy! Old friend, right?”

The words hung in the air.

Kiara’s hand paused slightly on her spoon, but she kept her expression neutral. “Yes. College friend. We just reconnected after years.”

Rhea nodded, oblivious to the sudden quiet that followed. “He’s cute, by the way.”

Aryansh’s fork clinked sharply against his plate.

Kiara didn’t look at him. Instead, she took another calm sip of water and smiled sweetly at Rhea. “He is, isn’t he?”

A few family members chuckled, unaware of the silent storm brewing at the other end of the table.

Aryansh didn’t speak for the rest of dinner.

Afterward, when most of the family drifted to the living room for dessert, he remained on the balcony, hands braced against the railing, eyes fixed on the city lights below. The night breeze ruffled his hair, but his thoughts were far from calm.

Inside, he could hear her voice  low, patient  as she helped clear plates, laughing at something one of the elders said. Her tone carried none of the tension that burned through him.

She was pretending so effortlessly, and that cut deeper than any of her earlier words.

After a while, she stepped out to join him.

“Still sulking?” she asked lightly, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.

He didn’t answer immediately. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

“What, dinner?”

“No,” he said, turning toward her. “Watching me lose control.”

She met his gaze evenly. “You losing control isn’t my fault, Aryansh. It’s just proof that you still haven’t learned to let go of what you broke.”

His eyes darkened, but before he could say anything, she added softly, “And don’t look at me like I’m yours. You made sure I never would be again.”

Then, with quiet grace, she turned and walked back inside, leaving him standing in the cold, the weight of her words pressing heavier than the night air.

“Don’t ruin things when they just started getting well.” she warned and left the room.