Shivaay's POV :
The hall was lit with golden lights, laughter floating in the air, and a thousand conversations merging into one buzzing hum. I had entered such halls countless times—but never like this.
Because the moment she walked in, I forgot how to breathe.
Aadhya Rathore.
She descended the stairs like she owned every step, like every eye was meant to be on her—and somehow, it was. But when my eyes met hers, I felt it again. That same twist in my chest.
That pain.
It wasn't sharp, but deep. Heavy. Like my heart had seen her before and was aching to remember why. I stood frozen. Silent. And I never stay silent. But something about her presence didn't let me look away.
And then my mind flashed to earlier that day.
The sweet shop.
That bump on the stairs.
Her attitude.
"Aap acche se dekh ke nahi chal sakte kya?"
She had scolded me without a second thought—me, Shivaay Khandelwal.
People usually measure their words before speaking to me. Power demands respect, and my presence usually makes people cautious, even fearful.
But not her.
She didn't hesitate. She had the nerve to glare at me, snap at me like I was the one at fault. That moment should've irritated me, but strangely… it hadn't.
It intrigued me.
And now, standing in her home, when my father introduced me to Mr. Suket Rathore and spoke about starting a big project with their family—there she was again. Standing nearby. Poised, confident, unapologetically fierce.
Then, her voice.
She spoke. Just a few polite words in front of our fathers.
And I froze again.
That voice… there was something familiar about it. I couldn't explain why, but it pulled something inside me. A dull ache. Like hearing an echo from a place I'd forgotten.
I kept reminding myself—this is nothing.
Coincidence.
She's just another girl.
But my heart didn't listen.
It recognized her in a way I couldn't understand.
And that scared me more than anything else.
…Talk to my son, Aadhya. He'll share the project details," my father said, smiling proudly.
I saw her shift slightly at his words. She nodded politely, professional and calm, but I could sense the hesitation in her eyes. She didn't want to speak to me—and honestly, I wasn't dying to either. But something inside me needed to.
My father's voice faded behind us as she turned and walked ahead. I followed her through the hallway, her steps confident, mine calculated. My mind was replaying the way she spoke earlier, sharp and fiery, but now… she was composed, the perfect daughter of a business tycoon.
We stopped near one of the quieter corners of the mansion.
"So… what exactly do you want to discuss?" she asked, arms crossed, tone neutral but not cold. She wasn't trying to impress me. And that irritated me more than I expected.
I slipped my hands into my pockets, leaning slightly toward her. "About the collaboration. My father and yours are planning a major real estate merge. I handle the execution—so I'll need to stay in touch."
She gave a nod, silent for a moment. Her eyes scanned me carefully, as if still annoyed by the earlier incident.
"What?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing," she said, clearly lying.
I smirked a little. "If you're going to glare at me, at least say what's on your mind."
She turned her face slightly. "You shouldn't assume everyone's interested in arguing with you."
That again. Her attitude. Sharp as a blade.
"I don't argue. I talk. People usually just… listen," I said, a little sharper than I meant.
"Well, I'm not people," she replied.
I stared at her for a second longer. There it was again—that pain in my chest. And something else… like curiosity mixed with longing. I hated the feeling. I didn't know her, yet something about her made me want to keep looking, keep knowing.
"I don't want to talk about this right now," I said finally. "Not here. This place is full of cameras and relatives and overdecorated food trays."
She blinked. "So?"
"So…" I took out my phone, opened the contact page, and held it out to her. "Your number."
She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"For work," I added firmly, locking eyes with her. "Obviously."
There was a moment's hesitation, but then she took the phone from my hand. Her fingers brushed against mine—only for a second—but it left a strange jolt behind. She looked down, typing quickly.
That's when I saw him.
A man—well-dressed, confident—walked up beside her and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. "Aadhya, I've been looking for you. You just disappeared."
She glanced back. "Oh, Riyan, sorry—I was just—"
"I see," he said, then turned to me with a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Hi, I'm Riyan—Aadhya's friend. Old friend." His emphasis was subtle… but deliberate.
I gave a nod, unreadable. "Shivaay Khandelwal."
"Ah, the Shivaay. I've heard a lot about you lately," he said, eyes glinting just enough to piss me off.
Funny, I'd never heard of him.
Aadhya handed me the phone back, pretending to ignore the undercurrent. "Here. Done."
I took it without a word, but my jaw had tightened. Something about the way this Riyan guy stood beside her—like he had the right to—bothered me more than it should.
She looked at Riyan and said, "Let's go. Maa was calling."
And just like that, she walked away. With him.
I stood there, still holding my phone, her number saved. But suddenly, that didn't feel like enough.
That guy… he didn't belong there.
She didn't belong with him.
And I had no idea why the hell I cared.
But I did.