Employees moved around with the speed of people who were definitely working but absolutely not looking at him. Eyes slid away with suspicious synchronization. Even the receptionist normally chirpy to a fault sat stiffly, staring at her monitor like it contained state secrets.

Rohit, his second-in-command, approached like a man walking to his own execution, but being a loyal person to his boss, his tongue sipped without realizing. 

“Sir,” he said in a wooden voice, “all good wishes have been… suspended.”

Aryansh blinked. “What wishes?”

Rohit’s soul visibly left his body. He quickly tried to correct his words but ended up making it much more worse,

“Nothing wishes. No uh,morning wishes. Greeting wishes. Any wishes.”

“Why?” Aryansh questioned, raising an eyebrow, his mood was already hell annoyed due to the morning and yesterday’s events.

“Ma’am’s orders.” he muttered under his breath giving up on making excuses.

His jaw tightened. “What ma’am?”

Rohit swallowed. “Mrs. Singhania.”

There it was.

Cold.
Precise.
Intentional.

“What exactly did she say?”

“That under no circumstances,” Rohit recited as though the words burned his tongue, “should anyone wish you… anything.”

“…anything?”

“Anything, sir.”

“And everyone agreed?”

“We like our jobs, sir.”

A muscle in Aryansh’s jaw ticked.

She was angry.

No,worse.

She was cold.

He replayed the past twenty-four hours in his head every word, every glance, every moment.

Nothing stood out.

Yet somehow everything did.

And the silence in the office felt like punishment for a crime he couldn’t remember committing.

—

Back at home,

Kiara ran a brush through her hair in slow, absentminded strokes. Her reflection stared back at her with a calmness so carefully constructed it almost looked brittle. There was a stillness to her today, a poised, deliberate stillness, the kind found in people who had planned not just their day, but every breath that would shape it. She took her phone and called Kartik

Kartik picked up on the first ring.

“Good morning, madam mastermind,” he chirped, already too energetic for this hour. “Operation Make the Man Jealous was a raging success. I swear he looked like he wanted to file a complaint directly to God.”

Despite herself, Kiara’s lips twitched.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she said, voice soft but laced with practiced neutrality.

Kartik gasped dramatically. “Excuse me. I delivered Oscar-level flirting yesterday.”

“You said two lines.”

“Powerful lines.”

“You spilled coffee on your own shoe.”

“That was a diversion tactic!”

A laugh slipped out of her, light and cool,a sound she didn’t remember allowing herself in front of Aryansh anymore. Maybe she hadn’t in months.

Kartik caught the shift instantly. “You okay?”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

She wasn’t.
He knew.
He didn’t push.

That was what made him safe,gentle where others were forceful, aware where others pried.

“So… today’s the big day?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice sharpened like frost. “He can’t suspect anything.”

“I’m assuming he hasn’t remembered?”

“He never remembers.” No bitterness,just truth. “And that helps.”

Kartik hummed. “And you want him frustrated?”

“I want him confused,” she corrected.
That mattered.
Confusion was safer. He would search for answers everywhere except the real one.

“Cruel,” he said.

“Calculated.”

“You scare me.”

“And yet,” she replied mildly, “you’re helping.”

“Because drama is necessary for survival and you provide premium entertainment.”

She almost smiled. “Thank you, Kartik.”

“Anytime. Text me before the big reveal.”

She hung up the phone and walked downstairs to look at how far had the decoration come just to see,

Chaos, beautiful, ridiculous chaos,ruled the house.

Ayush sprinted across the living room holding a bunch of balloons like he was competing in an Olympic relay, slipping on the polished marble every few steps. Each near-fall was followed by a dramatic save, arms flailing, feet skidding, curses echoing.

Across the room, Priyanka worked with icy precision. She taped fairy lights to the wall the way a general positions soldiers exact angles, perfect spacing, not a millimeter astray.

On the sofa, Arnav balanced on a stool, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth, holding up a huge banner that declared,

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MR. MOODY.

The last “Y” hung sadly lower than the rest, bobbing like it had given up on life.

And in the middle of all that chaos stood Kiara.

Calm. Intent. Quiet as dawn.

She smoothed chocolate ganache across the cake she had baked before anyone else had woken up, the warm, glossy surface reflecting the golden kitchen lights. Every stroke of her spatula was slow deliberate,like she was painting rather than frosting.

This cake was for him,This day was his, but the choice?

The choice was hers.

Not because she was his wife,
Not because everything was which was his was also hers

But because memories mattered.

Especially the ones that needed to be remembered.

“Kiara bhabhi!” Ayush’s voice cracked like a teenager discovering gravity for the first time. “The blue balloons disappeared!”

“They’re under the sofa,” Kiara replied without looking up.

“No, no, those are not there,”

Priyanka didn’t even turn. “Ayush. You are blind or what.”

She bent down and pulled out the blue balloons with the help of a broom.

A beat of silence.

Ayush froze mid-lunge. “Ah. That explains so much.”

Arnav snorted so loudly he nearly toppled off the stool. The banner swung dangerously. Priyanka groaned. Kiara hid her smile behind the cake.

Ayush stomped over dramatically and leaned his elbows on the kitchen island.

“Bhabhi…”

“Yes?”

“We’re sure we’re not telling him anything?”

“No.”

“Sure he shouldn’t even suspect?”

“No.”

Ayush narrowed his eyes. “Are you very sure this isn’t just because you’re enjoying watching him lose his mind?”

Kiara’s smile sharpened,slow, dangerous, unapologetic.

“We’ll see,” she murmured.

Priyanka laughed. “You two are actual criminals.”

Ayush puffed his chest. “We try.”

“And today,” Kiara said, wiping chocolate from her wrist, “we succeed.”

When the last fairy light was clipped and the last balloon tied, she stepped back and truly looked at the room.

Balloons floated lazily near the ceiling, brushing the soft glow of the lights.
Fairy lights draped across the cream walls like threads of warmth.
Gifts lay stacked neatly on the table, wrapped in colours she had selected herself.
The faint scent of chocolate and vanilla lingered in the air.

Home.

A small, fragile pocket of it.

Tonight will be beautiful.

But she would not give him a hint.
Not a glance.
Not a clue to hold on to.

He would spend the day confused, simmering, replaying their morning again and again, trying to understand her cold silence.

She knew this was actually rude of her but she was enjoying herself to the fullest.

The sky outside had already melted into evening gold, then purple. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other pressed against the center of his chest right where the discomfort sat, tight and unfamiliar.

Traffic blurred around him.
He barely noticed when cars honked.
His jaw stayed clenched the entire time.

She never ignored him.
Never.

Even in their worst arguments, she fought. She pushed back. She slammed doors. She snapped at him. She made sure he knew she was angry.

But today?

Today she treated him like a distant acquaintance.
A polite stranger.
A man who didn’t matter.

It shook him in a way anger never had.

“What did I miss?” he whispered to himself.

The question echoed in the quiet of the car.

He thought about her laugh on the phone in the morning; he'd heard it faintly as she walked out of the bedroom. Light. Soft. A laugh he hadn’t been given in a long time.

Who was she talking to?
Why was she smiling for someone else but giving him frost?

His chest tightened.

By the time he turned into their driveway, his pulse was pounding. He expected lights. Warmth. Something. Anything.

Instead,

Darkness.

The entire mansion was blacked out.

Not a single light.

A wave of alarm hit him.

“Kiara?”

He stepped inside, voice echoing in the silence.

Nothing.

“Kia—”

He stopped mid-call, breath catching.

The switch clicked, sharp and small in the stillness and the house bloomed into light.

Warm gold spilled across the living room, chasing away the shadows, and for a moment he just stood there, breath trapped somewhere too high in his chest. Because the room wasn’t the room he’d left that morning. It wasn’t the quiet, cold space he had returned to in fear.

It was transformed.

Soft fairy lights draped the ceiling like a constellation brought indoors, glimmering in gentle arcs that cast a warm luminescent haze over everything. White candles, real ones,lined the shelves and window ledges, their flames steady and calm, filling the air with the faint scent of vanilla and something floral he couldn’t name. The coffee table had been replaced by a low setup covered in a cream throw; on top lay an arrangement of fresh lilies, a small wrapped box, and a handwritten note with his name on it in her looping script.

He didn’t move at first.

Couldn’t.

His mind, so heavy all day,swamped with irritation at work, frustration he’d tried and failed to outrun, that sharp stab of jealousy every time he remembered how easily she laughed with Ayush that morning,suddenly emptied. Like someone had flipped a switch inside him too.

Slowly, almost carefully, he stepped forward.

The lights reflected in his eyes, soft and unreal. “Kiara?” he said again, but the house no longer felt empty. It felt full,of her, of intention, of something warm that pressed right against his ribs.

“I’m here,” she whispered from behind him.

He turned and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

She stood near the corner, wearing the dress he liked best on her, the one she pretended she didn’t know he stared at every time she wore it. Her hair fell in loose waves, her lips curved,not in the smirk she used when she was teasing him, not in the pout she used when she was annoyed, but in something soft. Something hopeful.

The frustration of his entire day cracked in an instant.

“What… what is all this?” he asked, voice low, almost afraid to disturb the moment.

She stepped closer, fingers brushing down his wrist before her hand slid into his. “You thought I was ignoring you,” she said quietly, eyes flicking up to him with that familiar spark he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. “I wasn’t. I just needed time to set this up. Ayush was helping me get a few things. That’s why I was with him.”

Relief punched the air out of him.

Of course.

Of course she hadn’t been cold for nothing.

Of course she hadn’t been slipping away.

She led him back inside once the chill of the night brushed too sharply across her arms, and when they stepped into the living room again, the scene seemed even more magical than before. The fairy lights glowed like warm constellations trapped in glass, the candles flickered gently, and the scent of vanilla and lilies lingered in the air.

But now something new has been added.

A small round cake,frosted simply in white, decorated with a ring of tiny edible flowers in muted blues and purples,sat at the center of the low table. Beside it lay a silver knife tied with a satin ribbon. The soft light made the frosting shine, and for a moment, he blinked as if he wasn’t sure it was real.

He turned to her slowly. “You… baked?”

She crossed her arms behind her back, rocking on her heels, pretending to be casual but unable to hide the shy smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe.”

A laugh broke out of him,relieved, affectionate, surprised. “Kiara, you don’t bake.”

“That’s..technically true,” she admitted. “But Ayush does. And I supervised aggressively.”

He threw his head back with another laugh, the kind that made the tension in his shoulders finally disappear. She felt her own chest loosen when she heard it.

“Come on,” she said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Cut it.”

“I feel like I should be singing or making a speech,” he teased.

“You can make a speech if you want.” She raised an eyebrow. “But nothing dramatic. I’m hungry.”

He shook his head fondly and reached for the knife. She placed her hand over his without being asked, her fingers slipping between his muscle memory. Together, they pressed down into the soft cake, the frosting giving way with a quiet whisper as the knife slid cleanly through.

The moment felt small and enormous all at once.

Domestic.

Intimate.

The kind of quiet ritual you only share with someone who has become a part of your days in ways you can't quite name.

He glanced sideways at her as they lifted the first slice, and something warm pooled in his chest so warm it ached. “You really did all this for me?”

“For us,” she corrected gently, like she always did.

They placed the slice on a plate, and he held out the fork to her first. She rolled her eyes with exaggerated reluctance, but leaned forward anyway, taking a small bite.

Her lips curved. “Not bad, right?”

He tasted it next,sweet, soft, slightly uneven in texture like it hadn’t been made by a professional, but that made it better. More real. More of them. “It’s perfect,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, the faint candle glow catching in her eyes, turning them molten. “Open your mouth.”

He raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I’m feeding you,” she said, like it was obvious.

He smirked but obeyed, leaning closer. She held the fork out, and he took the bite slowly, intentionally brushing his lips against the metal in a way that made her cheeks warm. She swatted his arm lightly.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you love me anyway,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer aloud but the way her gaze softened was enough.

They ate together, stealing bites from each other’s forks, laughing when a bit of frosting ended up on her nose. He wiped it off with his thumb, slow and gentle, and she felt her pulse jump, heat blooming across her cheeks in a way she couldn’t hide.

By the time the cake was half gone, they were sitting closer, knees touching, shoulders brushing, warmth pooling between them like another source of light.

Once the party was over and the guests went home, they were back into their bedroom in the balcony, she was leaning on the railing looking at the stars

He leaned in, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering at her jaw. “Kiara?”

She hummed in response, barely breathing.

“Tonight is perfect,” he whispered. “You made it perfect.”

Her throat tightened. “I just wanted you to feel loved.”

He cupped her jaw gently, his thumb brushing her cheek as he exhaled the breath he’d been holding all day. “I thought I’d messed something up.”

She shook her head. “No. You didn’t. I just… wanted tonight to be special.”

His chest tightened, but this time with something warm, something expanding. He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her cheek, lingering just a heartbeat longer than usual, and she smiled, tilting her forehead against his.

He kissed her there too softly, reverently and her eyes fluttered closed.

Then she tugged his hand, guiding him through the living room.

The décor unfolded around them: cushions arranged on the floor, a bottle of wine chilling in a silver bucket, a small projector already set up facing a blank wall, fairy lights framing it like a makeshift theater. On the dining table behind them, plates were set neatly, along with food she’d cooked he recognized the scent now, his favorite dish.

“All this… for me?” he asked, still stunned.

“For us,” she corrected. “You’ve been tired. Stressed. And I wanted you to come home to something that felt like a breath. Something that felt like… us.”

His throat tightened again.

He didn’t trust his voice, so he pulled her into him, arms sliding around her waist as he buried his face in her hair. She melted into him instantly, warm and soft and familiar.

When he finally pulled back, she grinned and flicked off the main lights until only the fairy lights and candles remained, turning the room into a soft golden world.She’d set up a blanket on the grass. Above them, the sky stretched wide, clear, dark, scattered with sharp, glittering stars.

They lay down together, her head on his shoulder, his fingers intertwined with hers. The cool night air brushed over them, the quiet settling around them like another layer of comfort.

He turned slightly to look at her, her face illuminated by the faint glow of the lights behind them.

“Kiara?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For this. For… everything.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft, warm. “You deserve good things too,” she whispered. “And I want to be one of them.”

He kissed her forehead again, slower this time, letting the moment soak into him.

Above them, the stars scattered like spilled diamonds.

And for the first time that day, maybe even longer, he felt light. Full. Home. 

He looked down at her soft breaths, lashes resting like shadows on her cheeks sleeping on his chest as though it was the safest place she knew. The moment she felt his gaze lingering on her, her eyes fluttered open. Warm. Drowsy. Already smiling.

Before she could speak, he shifted, sitting up and gently pulling her onto his lap, his hands settling firm around her waist as though she might slip away if he didn’t hold her close enough.

He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, his breath brushing her lips then stopped, hovering just a whisper away.
“Do I have the permission, Dove?” he murmured, voice low enough that only she could hear.

A soft giggle bubbled out of her, lighting up her still-sleepy face. She nodded, fingertips curling lightly into the front of his shirt.
“You can,” she breathed.

He didn’t rush,not this time.
He lifted a hand to her cheek first, his thumb brushing the faint warmth there as though memorizing the shape of her. His other hand held her steady on his lap, fingers splayed at her waist, feeling the quiet rise and fall of her breathing.

Their noses brushed just barely and the closeness made her breath hitch.
He paused for a heartbeat, letting her feel the moment gather between them, thick and slow like honey.

Then he kissed her.

His lips met hers with a softness that almost undid her. A gentle press at first, warm and careful, as though he was afraid she might break if he wasn’t tender enough. She leaned in instinctively, her fingers curling in the back of his neck, urging him just a little closer.

He deepened the kiss,but only by a breath.
No urgency.
No hunger.
Just emotion.

His mouth moved against hers in unhurried, lingering strokes, like he was savoring every second… like he was saying I’m here. I’m choosing you. I’m grateful you’re still here.

She sighed into him, her lips parting just slightly, and he answered with the softest pressure gentle, almost shy, but full of feeling. The kind of kiss that made the world slow down. The kind that seeped into the chest, warming everything from the inside out.

Her hands slid from his neck to his jaw, holding his face as though anchoring him to the moment. He kissed her again just once more, slower than the first, letting the warmth linger between them long after their lips barely touched.

And when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to stop.
It was because he wanted to look at her every flutter of her lashes, every breathless curve of her smile,like she was the rarest, softest thing he’d ever been allowed to hold.