Rishaan POV:
The drive back to his flat felt longer than usual. Rishaan navigated the empty Hyderabad streets at 1 AM, the city's pulse slowing to a gentle rhythm. His mind, however, refused to quiet down.
Beautiful. That had been his first thought. Guarded. That had been his second.
He pulled into his building's parking lot, killed the engine, and sat in the silence. The dashboard clock blinked 1:23 AM. Through his windshield, he could see his flat on the seventh floor, lights off, curtains drawn. Empty. Always empty.
Samaira's face floated into his mind unbidden. The way she'd pulled away from his handshake so quickly, like physical contact was a threat to the armour in her smile. The genuine warmth when she'd hugged their friends was immediately replaced by cool professionalism when she'd turned to him.
Three in two years, right?
He groaned, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. Of course, Anvitha had told her about his disastrous dating history. Priya, who'd called him "suffocating." Before her, Keerthi, who'd said he was "too intense." And Divya, the first one, who'd gently explained that his need for constant reassurance was "exhausting."
All of them had left. All of them had proven what he'd always suspected, that the love-starved little boy his parents had raised would never be enough for anyone.
His phone buzzed. Veer, in their group chat.
Veer: Bro, you good? You left without saying bye.
Rishaan: Tired. Long day.
Meher: Or someone got under your skin? đ
Rishaan: Go to sleep, Meher.
Anvitha: SAMAIRA LIKED YOU. I COULD TELL
Rishaan: She literally ran away from me. Twice.
Anvitha: That's how she shows interest! She doesn't run from people she's indifferent to; she just ignores them politely.
Ahaan: Anvi, let the man breathe. Also, Rishaan, she asked about you after you left.
Rishaan sat up straighter, his heart doing something stupid in his chest.
Rishaan: She did?
Ahaan: Asked if you were always "that persistent." Then changed the subject.
Veer: Translation: she's thinking about you.
Rishaan: Or she thinks I'm annoying.
Meher: Same thing with Samaira. Trust us, we've known her for years.
Rishaan stared at the messages, then typed and deleted three responses before finally settling on:
Rishaan: I'm not looking for anything. You all know that.
Anvitha: Sure, Jaan. Goodnight! đ
He pocketed his phone and finally dragged himself out of the car. The flat was exactly as he'd left it, clean, modern, soulless. Designer furniture his mother had picked out, art on the walls he didn't care about, a king-sized bed he slept alone in.
He changed into track pants, brushed his teeth, and lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow was the actual engagement ceremony. He'd see her again. Maybe he could
No. He shut down that train of thought immediately. She wasn't interested. She'd made that clear. And he was done chasing people who didn't want to be caught.
But as sleep finally claimed him around 3 AM, his last conscious thought was of white frock, guarded eyes, and a smile that had made his chest ache with recognition.
Samaira POV:
Samaira's Uber pulled up to her building at 1:45 AM. She paid the driver, grabbed her clutch, and rode the elevator to the eighth floor in blessed silence.
The flat was dark except for the soft glow of the nightlight in the hallway. Her parents were asleep in the guest room; her father's soft snoring was audible even through the closed door. The sound made her smile, something warm and safe settling in her chest.
She tiptoed to her bedroom, closed the door, and finally let out the breath she'd been holding all evening.
What was that?
Rishaan Chowdary. Golden retriever energy with possessive intensity lurking underneath, she'd seen it in the way he'd watched her across the rooftop, like he was trying to figure her out. Like she was a puzzle he wanted to solve.
Samaira hated puzzles. Mostly because she'd spent two years being one for Karthik, and when his family finally finished solving her, the answer had been: Not good enough.
She changed into comfortable pyjamas, removed her minimal makeup, and sat on her bed with her laptop. Three new emails from the team. She should answer them. Work was safe. Work made sense. Work didn't look at you with warm brown eyes and say things like I pay attention to people, especially interesting ones.
Interesting. When was the last time someone had called her that? Usually, it was brilliant, driven, intimidating, and cold. Interesting felt... different. Personal.
Her phone buzzed. Anvitha.
Anvitha: You're home safe?
Samaira: Yes, amma. Just got in.
Anvitha: So... Rishaan? đ
Samaira: Goodnight, Anvitha.
Anvitha: YOU TALKED TO HIM FOR LIKE 15 MINUTES
Samaira: He talked. I mostly listened.
Anvitha: Same thing! He never talks that much to new people!
Samaira: Maybe he's chatty when he's bored.
Anvitha: SAMAIRA REDDY, YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE
Anvitha: He asked about you after you left, btw
Samaira's fingers froze over the keyboard.
Samaira: Asked what?
Anvitha: If you're always "that difficult to read" đ
Anvitha: I think he's intrigued
Samaira: Good for him. I'm going to bed.
Anvitha: Fine, fine. But tomorrow you're sitting next to him at the engagement.
Samaira: Absolutely not.
Anvitha: We'll see đ Love you! So happy you're here!
Samaira: Love you too. Congratulations again.
Samaira plugged her phone in, turned off the lights, and lay in the darkness. Through her window, she could see the Hyderabad skyline, so different from her view of the Italian countryside in Maranello. Both places felt like home. Both places felt lonely.
You don't like parties, do you?
She smiled despite herself. He'd seen through her in minutes. Most people took months to realise she was performing confidence, not living it.
But she couldn't afford to be seen. Being seen meant being vulnerable. Being vulnerable meant getting hurt.
Been there. Done that. Had the emotional scars to prove it.
She rolled over, pulling the blanket higher, and firmly pushed all thoughts of warm smiles and observant eyes out of her mind.
Tomorrow would be fine. She'd smile for the photos, hug her friends, and avoid Rishaan Chowdary as her emotional well-being depended on it.
Which it probably did.
Next Day Morning
"Samaira, bangaram, wake up!"
Samaira groaned, burying her face in the pillow as her mother's cheerful voice penetrated her sleep. "What time is it?"
"Nine o'clock! Come on, we have to leave for Anvitha's parents' house soon."
Nine? Samaira sat up, disoriented. She'd barely slept four hours. "Leave for what?"
"To help with the engagement preparations, what else?" Her mother bustled into the room, already dressed in a beautiful silk saree, hair perfectly done. "Your father and I are going with Meher's parents to help set up. You need to get ready too!"
"I have time, Amma. The engagement isn't until the evening."
"Yes, but you need to pick up your saree from the boutique first!" Her mother's eyes widened in realisation. "Oh no, you forgot! I told you I gave it for stitching!"
"I didn't forget," Samaira lied, rubbing her eyes. "I'll pick it up."
"Okay, good. Get ready and come to Anvitha's parents' house from the boutique. Or do you want to get ready with the girls at Anvitha's flat?"
"I'll go to Anvitha's flat. Getting ready together sounds fun."
Her mother smiled, that particular smile that meant she was about to say something Samaira wouldn't like. "You know, seeing Anvitha and Ahaan ... it made me think."
"Amma, no "
"I'm not pressuring you, Bangaram." Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, taking Samaira's hand. "But you're twenty-seven now. Successful, independent, everything we dreamed for you. But success isn't everything. Having someone to share life with... it matters."
"I have friends. I have you and Nanna."
"We won't be here forever, Samaira."
The words hit harder than intended. Samaira looked at her mother's face, still beautiful, but lines around her eyes now, grey threading through her hair despite the dye.
"Your father and I just want you to be happy," her mother continued softly. "Not alone. You've been alone since Karthik, and I know that hurt you. But not everyone is like him."
"I know." Samaira squeezed her mother's hand. "I'm fine, Amma. Really. When the right person comes along, I'll know."
"Will you? Or will you run away because you're scared?"
Damn. Her mother knew her too well.
"I'll think about it," Samaira said finally. "But not today. Today is about Anvitha."
Her mother kissed her forehead, satisfied with that small victory. "Okay. Now come and have breakfast. Your father made dosas."
After her parents left for Anvitha's parents' house, Samaira showered, changed into comfortable jeans, a black tank top, and her prized Ferrari team jacket, red and iconic. She combed her hair and left it, grabbed her sunglasses, and was about to book a cab when her phone rang.
Meher.
"Where are you?" Meher demanded without preamble.
"At home. About to head to the boutique to pick up my saree, then coming to Anvitha's flat."
"You're taking a cab?"
"Yeah, why?"
"No need! Rishaan lives in the next society over. He's heading this way, too. He can pick you up!"
Samaira's stomach did something uncomfortable. "Meher, no, it's fine "
"It's not fine! Why waste money on a cab when he's literally driving past your building? I'm texting him now. Be ready in ten minutes!"
"Meher "
But Meher had already hung up.
Samaira stared at her phone in disbelief. Then it buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hi, this is Rishaan. Meher gave me your number. I'm heading to Anvitha's flat and apparently passing your building? She's very insistent that I pick you up. If you're uncomfortable, totally fine to say no. I promise I'm a decent driver and only mildly annoying.
Despite her annoyance at Meher's meddling, Samaira smiled at the message.
Samaira: How mildly annoying are we talking? Scale of 1-10?
Rishaan: Solid 6.5. Maybe 7 if I haven't had coffee.
Samaira: Have you had coffee?
Rishaan: Three cups. So I'm operating at peak 6.5 annoying. Very manageable.
Samaira: Fine. But I need to stop at a boutique first to pick up a saree.
Rishaan: Not a problem. Send me your address. I'll be there in 10.
Samaira sent her address, grabbed her phone and wallet, and headed downstairs, mentally preparing herself for the drive.
She didn't have to wait long. A sleek black Mercedes pulled up exactly ten minutes later, and Rishaan stepped out wearing dark jeans and a crisp blue shirt that made his eyes stand out even behind sunglasses that made his eyes look impossibly warm. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd just showered. He looked up when she approached, and that golden retriever smile appeared instantly.
"Good morning," he grinned, opening the passenger door for her. "Your chariot awaits, Ferrari engineer."
"It's a Mercedes," Samaira pointed out, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Details." He closed her door and walked around to the driver's side. "You look very official. Is that actual Ferrari team gear?"
"Yes." Samaira buckled her seatbelt. "Perks of the job."
"That's incredible. I'm sitting next to racing royalty." He started the car, pulling smoothly into traffic. "So, boutique first. Where am I going?"
She gave him the address, and he plugged it into the GPS.
"Sleep well?" he asked as they drove through the Saturday morning traffic.
"Four hours. You?"
"About the same. Had a lot on my mind."
"The startup?"
"Among other things." He glanced at her briefly before focusing back on the road. "Did you answer those work emails you were itching to reply to?"
"How did you?" she asked, stunned.
"You checked your phone three times while we were talking last night. And you had that look people get when they're mentally composing professional emails."
Samaira didn't know whether to be impressed or concerned by his observation skills. "Yes, I answered them."
"Even though you'd just landed after a twenty-hour journey and were at a party?"
"Work doesn't stop for parties."
"Maybe it should," he said lightly. "Ever considered work-life balance?"
"Says the man running both a family business and a startup."
"TouchĂŠ." He laughed. "But at least I pretend to have balance. You're openly admitting you don't."
"I have balance. I have friends, family."
"Who do you see maybe twice a year because you're in Italy most of the time?"
"It's called having a career."
"It's called hiding behind a career," he said, then immediately looked apologetic. "Sorry. That was, I shouldn't have said that."
"No, you're right." The admission surprised her as much as him. "I do hide behind work. It's safer."
"Safer than what?"
"Than letting people in." She looked out the window at the passing streets. "People are complicated. Work is straightforward. If I build a good engine, it performs well. Simple."
"People aren't engines."
"Exactly my point."
They drove in comfortable silence for a while. Rishaan seemed content not to push, which Samaira appreciated. Most people pressed when they sensed a wall. He just... accepted it.
"So," he said eventually, "tell me about Ferrari. What's it like being the person who made them champions?"
"It's a team effort"
"Samaira, I've Googled you." He grinned at her startled expression. "Last night, after the party. You're being modest. You revolutionised their technical strategy. The articles use words like 'genius' and 'game-changer.'"
"You Googled me?"
"Of course I did. You're Anvitha's best friend, and we're apparently going to be seeing a lot of each other in the friend group. Plus, you're fascinating."
"I'm really not."
"You design race cars that go 300 kilometres per hour. That's objectively fascinating."
Despite herself, Samaira smiled. "It's not just about speed. It's about aerodynamics, engine efficiency, tyre degradation, fuel managementâ"
She stopped, realising she was about to go into a full technical explanation.
"Don't stop," Rishaan encouraged. "I'm genuinely interested."
"Most people's eyes glaze over when I talk about work."
"I'm not most people." He said it simply, like a fact.
And somehow, Samaira believed him.
She found herself explaining the basics of F1 engineering, and Rishaan asked intelligent questions, clearly paying attention. When they arrived at the boutique, she was mid-sentence about rear-wing adjustments.
"Wait here," she said, unbuckling. "I'll be quick."
"I'll come with. You might need help carrying bags."
"I can handle a saree bag, Rishaan."
"I know you can. But why should you when I'm here?"
Before she could argue, he was out of the car and opening her door. Samaira sighed but accepted the gesture. Inside the boutique, she collected her saree, a beautiful cream creation her mother had chosen, along with the matching blouse and accessories.
The shopkeeper handed her three large bags, and before she could take them, Rishaan had smoothly intercepted two.
"I said I could handle it," Samaira protested.
"And I said Why should you? " He smiled that warm smile again. "Let me be useful for something."
"Fine. Thank you."
"See? That wasn't so hard."
"What wasn't?"
"Accepting help."
Samaira rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her smile. "You know you're operating at a 7.5 annoying now, right?"
"I was worried I'd dropped to a 6. Good to know I'm maintaining standards."
They drove to Anvitha's flat, and this time Rishaan filled the silence with stories about Ahaan and Veer's college antics, making Samaira laugh genuinely. He was easy to be around, she realised. Comfortable. Like a warm blanket on a cold day.
Dangerous, her mind whispered. This is how it starts.
When they reached Anvitha's flat complex, the building was already buzzing with activity. They could hear squeals from the third floor.
"Sounds like the mehendi artist is here," Rishaan observed, grabbing Samaira's bags from the trunk.
They rode the elevator together, and Samaira noticed their reflection in the mirrored walls. They looked good together, his height complementing hers, the casual way he stood slightly angled toward her, protective without being overbearing.
She looked away quickly.
The flat door was open, and chaos greeted them. Anvitha, Meher, and three other girls were sitting in a circle while a mehendi artist worked on intricate designs. The air was thick with the earthy scent of henna.
"SAMAIRA!" Anvitha beamed, her hands already decorated. "Finally! Come, come! You're getting mehendi done!"
"I'm not"
"Yes, you are!" Meher interrupted. "Don't even think about saying no!"
"I hate the smell," Samaira protested weakly.
"I'm getting engaged today, and my best friend won't even get mehendi with me? Really? After I've waited eight months to see you?" Anvitha fake cried.
Rishaan was trying very hard not to laugh. Samaira shot him a glare that clearly said This is your fault, which only made him grin wider.
"Fine," Samaira surrendered. "But just my hands, Anvitha. No feet."
"Deal!"
Rishaan set her bags in the bedroom and backed toward the door. "I'm going to leave you, ladies, to it. Ahaan textedâboys are assembling at his place."
"Coward," Samaira muttered as she sat down.
He heard her and winked. "Absolutely. See you at the engagement!"
As the mehendi artist started on her hands, Samaira found herself thinking about the drive over. How easy it had been to talk to him. How he'd listened like he actually cared about what she was saying. How he'd insisted on helping without making her feel weak for accepting.
"He's perfect for you," Meher whispered, appearing beside her with a knowing smile.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure. That's why you smiled more in the car with him than I've seen you smile in two years."
"I was being polite."
"Samaira, I've seen your polite smile. That wasn't it. That was your real smile."
Before Samaira could respond, Anvitha called out, "Did someone say Rishaan? How was the drive?"
"Fine," Samaira said tersely.
"Just fine?" Meher teased. "I heard laughing in the car. Lots of laughing."
"He was telling stories about Ahaan and Veer. It was amusing."
"Amusing," Anvitha repeated, exchanging glances with Meher. "She finds him amusing. Progress!"
"There's no progress because there's nothing to progress toward," Samaira said firmly.
But as the mehendi artist drew intricate patterns on her palms, and her friends chattered around her about love and marriage and happily-ever-afters, a small, traitorous part of her wondered what it would be like to let someone in again.
Not Rishaan specifically. Just... someone. Someone who paid attention. Someone who carried bags without being asked. Someone with warm eyes and an easy laugh.
Stop it, she told herself sternly. You know how this ends.
But the thought lingered, stubborn and unwelcome, like the mehendi smell she couldn't escape.
Three hours later, the girls were finally ready. Samaira stood in front of the mirror, barely recognising herself. The cream saree hugged her curves perfectly, the blouse her mother had chosen highlighting her shoulders. Meher had insisted on doing her makeup, subtle but effective, bringing out her eyes.
Anvitha was radiant in a bright red and gold saree, clearly the bride-to-be. Meher wore a matching cream saree to Samaira's, as they'd planned. Which, knowing Meher, they probably had.
"We look amazing," Meher declared, taking selfies.
"You look beautiful," Samaira corrected, adjusting her pallu. "I look uncomfortable."
"You look stunning," Anvitha said firmly. "Rishaan's going to die when he sees you."
"Why would Rishaan?" Samaira stopped, noticing Meher's too-innocent expression. "Meher. Please tell me the boys' kurtas don't match our sarees."
"Okay. I won't tell you."
"MEHER!"
"What? It's colour coordination! We're going to look great in photos!"
"I'm going to kill you."
"Not in that saree, you're not. Too expensive to get blood on."
They arrived at the engagement venue, Ahaan's family home, a sprawling traditional house beautifully decorated with marigolds and fairy lights. The evening sun cast everything in golden light, perfect for the ceremony.
The boys were already there, looking sharp in their kurtas. Ahaan wore red and gold. Veer wore something that matched Meher's saree perfectly.
And Rishaan... Rishaan wore a kurta in the exact shade of cream as Samaira's saree.
He turned as they entered, and his eyes found hers immediately. For a moment, he just stared, and Samaira felt heat rise to her cheeks under his gaze.
Then he smiled, slow and genuine. "You look beautiful."
"You look coordinated," she said dryly, shooting Meher a death glare.
Meher was already halfway across the room, conveniently out of reach.
Rishaan looked down at his kurta, then at her saree, and laughed. "Ah. I was wondering why Meher was so insistent about this colour. I feel ambushed."
"Welcome to the club."
"Although," he stepped closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear, "I have to say, we do look good together."
"That's the idea," Samaira said, trying to sound unaffected. "Photos look better with coordinated colours."
"Right. Just the photos." But his smile said he knew exactly how flustered she was.
The ceremony was beautiful. Traditional, warm, filled with family and laughter. Samaira watched Anvitha and Ahaan exchange rings, saw the pure joy on their faces, and felt a sharp ache in her chest.
You would be happy like that if u are not scared after Karthik, a voice whispered.
She shoved the thought away violently.
"You okay?" Rishaan appeared beside her, two plates of snacks in hand. "You looked far away for a moment."
"Just happy for them."
"Liar." He said it gently. "But I won't push."
He handed her a plate and stood beside her as they watched their friends celebrate. His presence was solid, grounding. Comfortable in a way that scared her.
"Photo time!" Meher announced, dragging everyone together.
The photographer arranged the couples together, then the whole group, then different combinations. Every single arrangement somehow ended with Samaira and Rishaan next to each other.
"Meher, I swear to God," Samaira muttered.
"Just smile!" Meher chirped. "You can murder me tomorrow!"
During one photo, Rishaan leaned down and whispered, "For what it's worth, I didn't plan this either. But I'm not complaining about spending the evening next to the most beautiful woman here."
"Anvitha is the most beautiful woman here. It's her engagement."
"Anvitha is radiant," he agreed. "But you're breathtaking."
Before Samaira could respond, the photographer called for everyone to get closer. Rishaan looked at her for permission when she nodded lightly. Rishaan's hand settled on her lower back, light, respectful, burning through the fabric of her saree like a brand.
After the photos, they mingled with guests. Samaira found herself watching Rishaan from across the room, seeing him in a different light. He was charming with the aunties, respectful with the uncles, and playful with their friends. But there was something else, a loneliness that flickered across his face when he thought no one was watching.
And then she saw her parents approach her from across the venue, her mother smiling warmly, her father's arm around her waist.
"There's our beautiful girl," her father said, pulling her into a hug. "You looked stunning during the ceremony."
"Thanks, Nanna." Samaira hugged him back, breathing in his familiar cologne, the same one he'd worn for as long as she could remember.
Her mother joined the hug, making it a group embrace like they'd done since Samaira was a child. "We're so proud of you, Bangaram. Look at youâsuccessful, independent, making us proud every day."
"Amma, you're going to make me cry and ruin Meher's makeup work."
"No crying!" Her mother laughed, pulling back. "Just... happy. We're so happy."
Samaira watched them, the way her father's hand automatically found her mother's, the way her mother leaned into him without thinking. Thirty years of marriage, and they still moved like two halves of a whole. Natural. Effortless. Right.
Across the venue, she caught a glimpse of Rishaan watching an older couple dancing together, lost in their own world. The longing in his expression was so raw, so naked, that Samaira had to look away. It felt like witnessing something private, something he wouldn't want anyone to see.
He turned then and caught her staring. For a moment, neither of them looked away. The noise of the party faded. It was just them, standing across a crowded room, seeing each other in a way that felt dangerous and inevitable.
Then Ahaan called out, "Rishaan! Come here, we need you for something!" and the moment broke.
Samaira turned back to her parents, her heart beating slightly faster than it should.
"We're heading back home," her father said, checking his watch. "You're staying with Anvitha and Meher tonight?"
"Yeah. Girls' sleepover to celebrate."
"Good, good. Have fun, Bangaram." He kissed her forehead. "You looked beautiful today. Doesn't she look beautiful, Amma?"
"Our daughter is always beautiful," her mother said. Then she paused, studying Samaira's face with that particular mother's intuition that missed nothing. "Beta, are you okay? You seem... thoughtful."
"Just happy for Anvitha and Ahaan," Samaira said quickly. "Weddings make everyone emotional, right?"
Her mother's eyes softened. "They do. Seeing them today, starting their journey together..." She squeezed her husband's hand. "It reminds you of what's important. Having someone to share life with. Someone who becomes home."
"Amma "
"I'm not pressuring," her mother said gently. "I promised I wouldn't. But seeing Anvitha so happy, seeing Ahaan look at her like she's his entire world... don't you want that too, someday?"
"Someday," Samaira agreed quietly. "When I'm ready."
"When you're ready," her mother repeated. "Or when you stop being scared?"
The words hit too close to home. Samaira looked at her parents, really looked at them. Her father, who'd worked two jobs to put her through university. Her mother, who'd sacrificed her own career ambitions so Samaira could chase hers. They'd given her everything. They'd shown her what real love looked like.
And then Karthik had shown her what conditional love looked like.
"I'm not scared," Samaira said, but even she could hear the lie in her voice.
Her mother just smiled knowingly and kissed her cheek. "Okay, bangaram. We'll see you tomorrow for lunch before we head back to Vijayawada?"
"Yes. I'll come home at noon."
After they left, Samaira stood alone for a moment, watching the venue slowly empty. Somewhere behind her, she heard Rishaan laughing at something Veer said. Warm. Easy. The kind of laugh that made you want to smile even if you didn't know the joke.
Different person, different door, her mother had said this morning.
But what if it was the same ending? What if she let someone in, let herself hope, let herself feel, and it all fell apart again? What if she wasn't enough? What if ........
"Ready to head back?" Meher appeared, linking arms with her. "Anvitha's already called dibs on the bathroom for her beauty routine. We're in for a long night."
"Can't wait," Samaira said dryly.
But as they walked to the car, she found herself looking back once. Rishaan stood near the entrance, talking to Ahaan, his hands in his pockets. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up. Their eyes met.
He smiled. Not the charming smile he gave everyone else. Something smaller, more real. Just for her.
Samaira looked away first, her heart doing complicated things in her chest.
Don't, she told herself firmly. Don't even think about it.
But as Meher chattered beside her about the perfect engagement and how coordinated everyone looked, and wasn't it fate that she and Rishaan had matched, Samaira realised something uncomfortable.
She was already thinking about it.
And that terrified her more than any racecar ever had.
Rishaan POV:
Rishaan was laughing at something Veer had said when the girls walked in. He turned casually, the laugh dying in his throat.
Oh.
Samaira stood framed in the doorway, and for a moment, Rishaan forgot how to breathe. The cream saree caught the evening light, making her glow. Her hair was styled in soft waves, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The makeup was subtle but transformativeâher eyes seemed deeper, more expressive, though still guarded.
But it wasn't just how she looked. It was the way she carried herselfâuncomfortable in the traditional attire, clearly out of her element, yet somehow more beautiful because of that vulnerability she was trying so hard to hide.
"Bro, you're staring," Ahaan whispered, amused.
Rishaan blinked, realising his mouth was slightly open. He closed it, swallowing hard. "I "
"Go talk to her before someone else does," Veer nudged him forward.
His feet moved before his brain could object. When he reached her, those guarded eyes met his, and he saw her walls go up even higher.
"You look beautiful," he said, and meant it more than any compliment he'd ever given.
For just a second, he saw something flicker in her expressionâsurprise, maybe pleasure before she deflected with that dry comment about coordination.
Throughout the ceremony, Rishaan found his eyes constantly drifting to her. The way she watched Anvitha and Ahaan with genuine happiness mixed with something that looked like longing. The way she stood slightly apart from groups, observing rather than participating. The way her smile never quite reached her eyes, except when Anvitha or Meher said something that genuinely amused her.
When he'd whispered that she was breathtaking, he'd watched a flush creep up her neck, disappearing beneath the saree's neckline. She'd tried to deflect again, redirecting to Anvitha, but he'd seen the truthâshe wasn't used to being seen. Really seen.
And God help him, he wanted to keep seeing her.
During the photos, when his hand had settled on her lower back, he'd felt her tense for just a moment before relaxing. The warmth of her through the silk had sent electricity up his arm. She fit perfectly beside him, her height complementing his, and in the photographer's viewfinder, they looked like they belonged together.
Dangerous thinking, he told himself. You said you were done.
But watching her throughout the eveningâthe intelligence in her eyes when she discussed something with Ahaan, the genuine laugh when Meher told an embarrassing story, the way she immediately helped an elderly aunty find a chair, he realised something terrifying.
He was already halfway gone.
This wasn't just an attraction. This was recognition. Like seeing a mirror of his own loneliness, his own walls, his own fear of not being enough.
Two weeks, he thought. She's here for two weeks.
Maybe that was enough time to show her that not everyone would leave. That some doors were worth opening.
Or maybe it was just enough time to get his heart broken again.
Either way, he was realising he didn't care.
Later at night:
After the ceremony wound down and most guests had left, the boys retreated to Ahaan's room with beers, loosening their kurtas and finally relaxing.
"So," Veer started, grinning at Rishaan. "Want to talk about the giant elephant in the room?"
"There's no elephant," Rishaan said, taking a long drink.
"Bro, you couldn't take your eyes off Samaira all evening," Ahaan laughed. "Even my grandmother noticed and asked if you two were together."
Rishaan ran his hand through his hair, messing up the styled look. "It doesn't matter."
"Why not?" Veer pressed.
"Because I said I was done. Because she's clearly not interested. Because she lives in Italy and I live here. Becauseâ" He stopped, frustrated. "Because I'm tired of wanting things I can't have."
Ahaan and Veer exchanged glances.
"Listen," Ahaan said carefully, "I've known Samaira for years. She's my sister in every way that matters. And I've never seen her look at anyone the way she was looking at you tonight."
Rishaan's heart did something stupid. "She was looking at me?"
"When you weren't looking at her, yeah," Veer confirmed. "Specifically, during that moment when you were watching that old couple dance. She saw you, man. Really saw you."
"She ran away from me at the party," Rishaan pointed out.
"Because you scared her," Ahaan said. "Samaira's been hurt. Badly. Karthik really did a number on her self-worth. She doesn't let people in easily."
"I know the feeling," Rishaan said quietly.
"Exactly," Veer leaned forward. "Which is why you two might actually work. You both understand what it's like to be left behind. You both know what it feels like to not be chosen."
"That's not a basis for a relationshipâ"
"It's a basis for understanding," Ahaan interrupted. "Look, I'm not saying sweep her off her feet and propose. I'm saying she's here for two weeks. Spend time with her. Show her that not all guys are like Karthik. Show her that you're not your exes' versions of youâyou're actually you."
"And if she still says no?"
"Then at least you tried," Veer shrugged. "But Rishaan, bro, you've been sleepwalking through life since Priya. Going through motions. I haven't seen you this... alive... since college. Samaira did that in one evening."
Rishaan stared at his beer, thinking. They were right. For the first time in six months, he'd felt something other than emptiness. Talking to Samaira in the car, making her laugh, seeing her walls crack just slightlyâit had felt like waking up.
"She's complicated," he said finally.
"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ahaan smiled. "Simple never interested you anyway."
"Two weeks isn't a lot of time."
"Then don't waste it," Veer said simply.
Rishaan thought about her smile when he'd carried her bags. Her genuine interest when he'd talked about his startup. The way she'd admitted she hid behind work, like it cost her something to be honest. The flush on her neck when he'd called her breathtaking.
Two weeks.
He could do a lot in two weeks. He could show her that he saw past her walls. That her intelligence didn't intimidate him. That her independence was attractive, not threatening. That she didn't have to be anything other than exactly who she was.
He could show her that she was enough. Because God knows, he needed someone to show him the same thing.
"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll try."
"There's the Rishaan we know!" Veer raised his beer. "To our boy finally waking up!"
"To Samaira, possibly killing him if he comes on too strong," Ahaan added with a grin.
"To me, probably getting my heart broken again," Rishaan finished, but he was smiling.
Because for the first time in months, the risk felt worth it.
Samaira POV:
Back at Anvitha's flat, the girls had changed into comfortable clothes. Anvitha was doing her skincare routine, Meher was scrolling through the evening's photos, and Samaira sat on the bed, staring at nothing.
"Okay, what's going on in that brilliant brain of yours?" Anvitha asked, applying some cream.
"Nothing," Samaira said automatically.
"Liar," Meher called from the vanity. "You've been quiet since we left. Spill."
Samaira hesitated, then sighed. "My mother said something today. About... finding someone. Having someone to share life with."
"And?" Anvitha prompted gently, sitting beside her.
"And seeing you and Ahaan today, seeing my parents... they make it look so easy. Like love is this simple, natural thing. But it's not." Samaira's voice cracked slightly. "At least not for me. I tried that. I gave Karthik everything. Four years of everything. And it wasn't enough because I wasn't the right caste, the right family, the right... whatever his parents wanted."
"Samaira " Meher started.
"I know you're going to say not everyone is like Karthik," Samaira cut her off. "My mother said the same thing. But how do I know? How do I risk that again?"
Anvitha took her hand. "You don't know. That's the terrifying part. But Sam, you can't let one asshole dictate the rest of your life."
"Easy for you to say. You found Ahaan. You found someone who chose you without question."
"It wasn't always easy," Anvitha said softly. "We had rough patches. Times when I thought it wouldn't work. But we chose each other every day. That's what love is choosing, every single day."
Meher came and sat on Samaira's other side. "Can I say something without you getting mad?"
"When has that ever stopped you?"
"Fair point." Meher smiled. "Rishaan is not Karthik."
"I don't want to talk about Rishaan."
"Too bad, because I do," Meher said firmly. "Sam, I've known Rishaan for three years now. And yes, he's our friend, but I'm not saying this because of that. I'm saying this because I've seen him date those three girls. I've seen what happened."
"Anvitha told me. They left him because he was too much."
"They left him because they were too shallow to appreciate what they had," Meher corrected. "Rishaan loved them the way everyone deserves to be loved, completely, genuinely, without holding back. And they punished him for it because in today's world, that kind of devotion is considered clingy instead of romantic."
Anvitha nodded. "He's been hurt, Sam. Just like you. Maybe not the same way, but hurt nonetheless. His parents are... well, they're not exactly warm. He's spent his whole life trying to earn love that should have been freely given. So yes, he's intense. Yes, he's possessive. But not in a toxic way, in a 'you matter to me, and I want you to know it' way."
"And I saw the way he looked at you tonight," Meher added softly. "Like you were the only person in that entire venue. Like you hung the moon. Sam, when was the last time someone looked at you like that?"
"Karthik did. In the beginning."
"No," Anvitha said firmly. "Karthik looked at you like you were a trophy. Something to show off. Rishaan looked at you like you were... home."
Samaira felt tears prick her eyes. "I'm scared."
"We know," Meher squeezed her hand. "But you're also brave. You moved to Italy alone at twenty-three. You broke into a male-dominated field and became the best at it. You made Ferrari champions when everyone said it was impossible. You're Samaira Reddy, you don't run from challenges."
"Engines don't break your heart."
"No, but they also don't make you laugh as you did in Rishaan's car this morning," Anvitha pointed out. "Meher told me. She said you sounded... happy. Really happy, not just politely amused."
"He's easy to talk to," Samaira admitted quietly. "He actually listens. Like he cares about what I'm saying, even when I'm boring him with technical details."
"Because he does care," Meher said. "That's who he is. He pays attention to people. Especially people who matter to him."
"I don't matter to him. We barely know each other."
"Give him a chance to know you then," Anvitha said. "I'm not saying fall in love or commit to anything. Just... don't close the door before you see what's behind it. Two weeks, Sam. You're here for two weeks. Spend some time with him. Get to know him. Let him get to know you. If it goes nowhere, fine. At least you tried."
"And if it goes somewhere?"
"Then maybe you find out that love isn't always conditional," Meher said softly. "Maybe you find out that some people stay."
Samaira wiped her eyes, laughing shakily. "When did you two become so wise?"
"We've always been wise," Anvitha grinned. "You're just usually too stubborn to listen."
"I haven't said yes to anything," Samaira warned.
"You haven't said no either," Meher pointed out. "That's progress."
That night, as Samaira lay in the guest bed staring at the ceiling, she thought about Rishaan's smile. The way he'd carried her bags without making her feel weak. The way he'd listened to her talk about F1 like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The way he'd looked at that old couple with such naked longing.
Different person, different door.
Maybe her mother was right. Maybe Anvitha and Meher were right.
Maybe it was time to be brave in a different way.
Not yet. But maybe. Possibly.
Eventually.
She fell asleep with that thought, and for the first time in two years, the fear didn't quite outweigh the hope.
To Be Continued.....
Word Count - 6305
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