Shivyansh

I press my foot down on the gas pedal, the car speeding along the highway as vehicles blur past in the opposite lane. The sky is clear, one of those cartoonish shades of blue, dotted with bloated, fluffy white clouds. I nod my head to the rhythm of the music humming softly from the radio, then glance over at the seat beside me.

I let out a scoff and roll my eyes, watching Kanishk's body slump against the car window, eyes shut and mouth slightly open as he breathes slowly and steadily in his sleep. My gaze shifts back to the road, but my fingers twitch with the urge to bother the man sprawled beside me, sleeping like he hasn't a care in the world.

It was a Sunday morning, and like any sane person, I was definitely not spending it at home. Because—
a) Am I even sane?
And b) I'm thoroughly grossed out by the noises coming from my brother and Anvi's bedroom.

So, what better way to cope than by hanging out with other people like my colleagues. Or, more specifically, one particular colleague. On a Sunday. Which will also piss Kanishk off. Perfect.

I slam the brakes just in time to avoid crashing into some idiot overtaking on the wrong side. The car jerks to a sharp halt, and Kanishk lurches forward with a startled yelp, his seatbelt doing the bare minimum to keep him in place. I glance over and meet his wide, sleep-dazed eyes—and I can't help the laugh that slips out. He looks severely sleep-deprived. At least one of us was having fun all night.

"Hoe, if you're gonna wake me up at 9 am on a sunday, and drag me to some office lunch you came up with last minute because you don't dare to ask you colleague on an actual date and need this to be near her," He takes a deep breathe, "Then atleast have enough courtesy to let me get some sleep man." He sighs dramatically before giving me a sharp look.

I shake my head, denying his last remarks, "It's not for some colleague, I just wanted to have lunch with my friends, and have fun."

"Yeah, and since when is Mariam your friend exactly?" he questions with a snide, rolling his shoulders back as he straightens in his seat.

I grip the steering wheel, looking away from his questioning gaze, knowing very well he has a good point. Friends don't make your heart race, do they? They don't make you secretly kick your feet in the air while you're thinking about them in bed. And I really, really doubt you dream about your friends kissing you.

Lord, I might as well have become a certified simp for Mariam, because there is no way in hell anyone would ever see me blushing, kicking my legs in the air and grinning like an idiot over simple moments and texts.

"Why are you so sleepy though?" I look at him with a smirk, changing the subject to him instead.

He just shakes his head, leans back into his seat, his head resting against its back.

"There was some breach in one of the files, only Dad and I had that information and how it ended up in the hands of some offshore company. Now, the project, which was my hard work, is being used by someone else. Brilliant, isn't it?" He scoffs and gives me a sad look.

I stare at him in disbelief, trying to process his words.

What the actual fuck?

Without a word, I shift the car back into drive, easing it slowly onto the highway. My eyes flick over to Kanishk, slumped in the passenger seat.

"How's that even possible?" I ask, hoping he has some idea who the hell could've done this.

He just shakes his head, sighing for what feels like the hundredth time. A yawn escapes his lips as he stares blankly at the road ahead, while I keep shooting him worried glances.

He's poured everything into building this company more than even his father did. And now that it's finally his, something like this could crush him completely. One of the first things he did after taking over was invest in a smaller offshore business with my company. Or, well, technically my dad's. Kanishk knew that if it worked out, my father might finally loosen his grip and officially hand the company over to me.

And well, that's a whole other mess.

My father still refuses to hand over the company to me. He knows I'd bring in better policies, shift the ethics, and actually try to make a difference, and that's exactly what terrifies him. Control is all he's ever known. Letting go would mean letting the company evolve without him, and he'll never be able to stomach that.

Well, at least we can bond over our dads being absolute dickheads. Because knowing Aryan Rajvanshi, he's not going to let Kanishk live this down.

"I've no idea, dude, there's nothing to trace back to," Kanishk murmurs, "Dad's going to crash out as soon as he's home," He adds as if reading my thoughts, "And he's gonna take it out on Kyra, I'm more than positive. She's been in her own little world these days, avoiding his calls since he's been out of state. It's only adding more to his anger."

I nod slowly, worry crawling under my skin at the thought of Kyra. "She already broke down once over what Mr. Rajvanshi said about her marriage," I say quietly. "It won't take much for her to spiral back into the same place she was after the breakup, especially if something happens again."

Kanishk shakes his head, firm and certain. "That won't happen," he says, his voice steady.

The car falls silent after that, the road stretching ahead of us as we drive on.

. . .

By the time we pull into the entrance of the country club, the sun's beating down just enough to make me regret wearing black. Kanishk fixes his jacket as we step out, already slipping into his usual effortless charm. I fall in beside him, smoothing a hand down my shirt and glancing up at the building ahead. The place is all polished glass, white columns, and quiet money, like it knows it doesn't have to try too hard to impress.

As we push open the glass doors, cool air greets us, laced with the faint scent of citrus and old money. A few people glance our way, some with polite nods, others with the subtle shift of interest that comes when someone new enters the space.

The dining hall stretches wide, light pouring in from the high windows and glinting off silver cutlery. Somewhere in the back, someone laughs too loudly. A waiter glides past with champagne. Everything about the place whispers casual wealth and curated comfort. Familiar faces are scattered around the table reserved for us, some I know, some I've only seen in briefings or headlines.

Kanishk leans toward me and says under his breath, "Let's try not to end up on the front page with a picture of Mariam with you, yeah?"

I give him a half-smile, my chest shaking with a quiet laugh, "No promises."

He gives me a tired look before forcing a plastic smile on his face so he can greet the employees working on our joint project.

I hang back for a moment, eyes sweeping across the tables as soft conversation hums around me. My attention barely registers the laughter, the waitstaff gliding past with trays, or the quiet clink of glasses. I'm searching for someone.

Mariam.

Or rather, those long ebony curls that always fall in perfect spirals down her back, like they have a personality of their own. The soft smile she wears like it's second nature, never loud, never forced, just there, like a quiet reassurance. And of course, her dupatta, always draped loosely, flowing behind her as if it had its own wind to chase.

She never enters a room. She moves through it, unhurried, unbothered, like the world around her adjusts to her pace.

But I don't see her.

Not at the tables. Not by the open terrace doors. Not near the buffet. I scan again, a little slower this time, as if maybe I missed her the first time around. A sudden desperation hits me, wanting to spot her at least somewhere in this massive room, so I can reassure my heart that she's here like she'd promised she would be.

Just as the last flicker of hope begins to fade in my chest, I feel a soft tap on my shoulder.

I turn, and I'm met with the most beautiful woman in the world.

Mariam stands there, looking up at me with that soft smile she always carries, her eyes hold that same spark they always did, bright and steady, like a lone star against a quiet night sky.

"Hi," she says, so softly I almost miss it.

My pulse kicks up, her voice like honey to the tongue and harmony to the ear. I stare at her for a beat longer, letting the moment stretch, before my gaze begins to take her in fully.

Her hair isn't down in its usual cascade of curls. Instead, it's pulled up into a high ponytail, neat but effortless, with a loose strand slipping across her temple and grazing the corner of her eye. My eyes drift lower. She's wearing a beige polo shirt, tucked neatly into black trousers, cinched at the waist with a slim leather belt.

I blink, my lips parting slightly in surprise. It's simple. Unassuming. But it hits me like a goddamn freight train.

If seeing her in traditional had my heart racing—

This?
This might just give me a heart attack and a raging hard-on at the same time.

I blink myself out of the spiral, scrambling to get my thoughts—and blood flow—under control. "Hi," I manage, my voice rougher than I expect.

She tilts her head slightly, still smiling, waiting.

A pause stretches between us, and then I find myself saying it before I can stop, "You look... beautiful."

Her smile widens just a little, something warmer flickering behind her eyes. "Thank you," she says, so simply it knocks the air out of my chest.

I nod, then, real smooth, I try to say something else, but my brain short-circuits halfway through. "I mean, I didn't expect.. No, I mean like, you look good in everything, obviously, but this is, uh..."

She raises an eyebrow, amused.

I clear my throat, utterly defeated, and glance away for a second. "Right. Um. The table, yeah, they're waiting."

I gesture toward the tables, and she lets me lead the way, falling into step beside me, her ponytail bouncing softly behind her like her dupatta always does.

As we approach the table, familiar chatter surrounds us, clinking cutlery, easy laughter, the sound of glasses meeting in toasts that probably mean nothing but still feel warm in the air. Kanishk spots us first. His eyes flick between me and Mariam, and the look he gives me is far too knowing for my liking, eyebrows raised, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he's already writing the headline for tomorrow's gossip.

I roll my eyes, subtle but sharp, the kind of eye-roll that says chup rehe nhi toh mara jaega.

He raises his hands slightly in mock surrender before turning back to his conversation.

I pause behind a chair and glance at Mariam. She starts to move toward the one beside me, but I step in first and pull it out for her, the gesture quiet, automatic. She looks up, a little surprised, but smiles again, this one softer. Quieter.

"Thanks," she murmurs as she sits.

I slide into the chair beside her just as another round of dishes starts arriving at the table. People are mid-conversation, but I can feel Mariam's presence beside me like gravity; it's steady, unshakable. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, laughing at something someone across the table says.

She fits here. Without even trying, she fits.

I reach for the serving spoon just as she does, and our fingers brush for the briefest second. I glance at her, and she's already looking at me.

I open my mouth to say something before I hear someone call out my name from across the table. I glance up as one of the younger employees—nervous, probably fresh out of management training—leans forward slightly, a hint of hesitation in their smile. "Sir, if you don't mind me asking... why plan a company lunch on a Sunday?"

A few heads turn, curious. Even Mariam's gaze slides toward me, her expression unreadable but attentive. I pause for a second, letting the question sit.

Then I offer a small, sincere smile. "Honestly?" I say, setting my fork down. "I just thought it'd be nice to spend time with the people I work with—outside of spreadsheets, deadlines, and the fluorescent hell that is our office lighting."

That earns a few chuckles. I continue, "You all give your best during the week. You deserve a few hours of good food and easy company."

A gentle murmur of agreement floats around the table. Someone lifts their glass in quiet appreciation. Even Mariam's smile tugs a bit wider, and I find myself glancing at her before looking away too quickly.

And then—
Kanishk coughs. Loudly. The kind of cough that's not from choking, but from judgment.

I turn to him slowly, jaw tight, eyes narrowed into blades. "You alright?" I ask, voice deadpan. He waves a hand, face flushed not from choking, but from the effort of holding in laughter.

"Peachy," he wheezes, before grabbing his water glass and taking a long sip, shoulders visibly shaking.

I keep staring.

He keeps laughing.

"Ch*tiya," I mutter under my breath before picking up a glass of water myself. My eyes land on Mairam on my side, who's smiling and staring at her food as if she'd heard my whisper.

The tension eases. A round of conversation picks up again, someone brings up a disastrous pitch from earlier in the year, and another jumps in with a terrible office joke. Laughter flows as easily. Plates are emptied, napkins unfolded, and the late afternoon sun casts a warm glow across the long table, catching in glasses and making everything look just a little too cinematic to be real.

After lunch, as the last of the plates were cleared and the laughter at the table mellowed into gentle chatter, I stood and stepped slightly forward, letting the golden warmth of the late afternoon sun fall over me. The lawn stretched beyond the patio, its perfect green shimmering under the sunlight.

I cleared my throat once to get their attention, though most eyes were already on me.

"I figured," I began, voice relaxed, "since it's Sunday and we're already here, anyone who wants to can head out to the golf course. Play a few rounds. The rest of you are welcome to just lounge around, enjoy the breeze. Whatever you prefer."

A few people nodded, the usual sporty types, some of the newer interns, and, of course, Kanishk. I wasn't expecting a crowd. Most came for the food, the networking, or just to be seen.

And then she stood up.

Mariam.

She rose with unhurried ease, brushing her fingers to tighten her ponytail into place before tucking that stubborn lock of hair behind her ear again. Her calm and steady eyes met mine before she spoke softly.

"I'll join," she said.

I stared.

Not dramatically. Not noticeably. But just long enough that Kanishk, now standing a few paces away from me, let out a low whistle under his breath.

"You play?" I asked, keeping my tone as casual as I could, though my curiosity slipped through.

She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "My dad taught me. I haven't played in a while, but I remember enough."

Of course she did. She was always catching me off guard in the most inconvenient ways.

"Alright," I muttered, adjusting my cuff to hide the flicker of surprise in my expression. "Let's see what you remember."

As we started toward the course, Kanishk walked up beside me. I could feel his grin before I saw it.

"I told you," he said under his breath, elbow nudging mine. "She's got that 'CEO's biggest blind spot' energy."

I rolled my eyes at him. "Shut up."

But he was already grinning, slipping past me to walk beside Mariam as she reached for a club near the practice green. The breeze picked up, gentle but constant, lifting strands of her hair as she reached for a club. Her fingers closed around it with easy familiarity. She gave it a test swing, graceful and controlled, the arc smooth and practised.

"Didn't peg you for a golf girl," Kanishk said to her, half-joking.

"I used to play every Sunday with my dad," she replied, gripping the club with a familiar ease. "He made sure I learned it properly, not just for fun, but because he said it showed patience. Precision. Control."

I watched her as she took a few more test swings, slow and deliberate, perfectly balanced. Damn. She wasn't bluffing.

Kanishk raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And here I thought you were just tagging along to impress Shiv."

She smiled, a quiet confidence in her tone as she replied without looking up, eyes fixed on the golf ball nestled in the trimmed grass. "He's the one who looks impressed."

I turned my gaze away before she could catch the way my lips curved, warmth creeping up my neck.
Maybe I was.

She stepped forward then, shoulders loose, her grip steady. In one clean, fluid motion, she swung.

Thwack.

The sound rang out crisp and satisfying. We watched the ball slice through the air, high, straight, and smooth, landing far down the green with a soft bounce and rolling just a little more before coming to rest in a near-perfect position.

Kanishk let out a loud, delighted whoop. Mariam simply straightened, gave a little shrug, and dusted off her palms against her pants like it was just another Tuesday. Her smirk lingered, subtle but smug.

The other employees took their turns next. There was laughter, a lot of jeering, and even more botched attempts. Balls veered hard left, some barely lifted off the grass, and one even ricocheted embarrassingly close to where we stood.

I stepped up last.

A few chuckles simmered in the background, but I wasn't listening. My gaze flicked to Mariam, who was now leaning casually on her club, watching me with a raised brow.

I inhaled and adjusted my stance, grip tightening on the handle. No nerves. Just precision. And maybe, just maybe, a little need to live up to whatever she'd just stirred in me. Then I swung.

The contact was clean. The ball lifted effortlessly into the air, arcing higher than hers, the sound of the strike sharp and satisfying. It soared, cutting through the wind like it knew where it was going, and landed farther down the green than hers, rolling just a few inches closer to the mark.

Kanishk let out a low whistle. "Show-off."

I gave a half-smile, not taking my eyes off the ball.

From the corner of my vision, Mariam gave a small nod. She wasn't impressed exactly — not openly — but there was something in her expression, in the way she looked at the ball and then at me, that felt like quiet acknowledgement.

The game carried on for a while. One by one, people kept trying, some improving, most not. There were laughs, groans, and over-the-top celebrations for even half-decent shots. But the initial excitement wore off. Phones came out, conversations drifted, and soon enough, most wandered off in pairs or little groups, back to the clubhouse, to shade, to food.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows over the green. A hush settled, not silence, but the kind that feels comfortable. Natural.

By the time I looked up again, it was just the three of us still playing.

Kanishk dropped onto the grass with a dramatic sigh, leaning back on his elbows. "You two go ahead. I'm officially a spectator now. Mentally and emotionally invested, but physically done."

I tilted my head toward Mariam. "One last round?"

She didn't hesitate. "Always."

I walked over, planting my tee and setting the ball with deliberate care. "Let's make it interesting."

Her brow arched, intrigued. "Go on."

"Whoever lands the ball closest to the hole gets a free ask. One thing. No backing out."

She studied me, the club resting against her shoulder like it was part of her body. "Anything?"

"As long as it's legal," I said with a grin. "And doesn't involve public humiliation."

"That rules out half my ideas," she murmured, tilting her head.

I let out a low chuckle, and just as I stepped back to let her go first, she crossed the small space between us. Her movement was smooth, composed, but her eyes were burning with something sharp, something sure. She leans in so close I could feel the warmth of her breath brush against my skin.

"One date," she whispered, next to my ear, barely audible. "That's what I want."

My heart stuttered. She lingered there for a second longer, her mouth dangerously near my jaw, and then pulled back, not teasing, but quietly, genuinely certain.

I felt the weight of it, what she'd said, how easily it had slipped from her lips and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. My heart slammed against my ribs, too loud, too fast. She stood there like nothing had shifted, like she hadn't just tilted my entire world off its axis. Calm. Unflinching. As if daring me to catch up.

Mariam's fingers tightened around the club, grounding herself. She lets out a quiet breath, eyes narrowing in focus. She moves fluidly and swings. The ball slices through the air, clean and certain, landing just a few feet from the hole.

Effortless. Intentional. Her best shot of the night.

And God, she looked beautiful. Not in that faraway, perfect kind of way. No, she was all presence. The kind that takes up space in your mind long after she's gone. Hair pulled back, eyes gleaming with quiet mischief, the corners of her mouth tilted like she knew exactly what she was doing to me. She wasn't trying to charm. She was the charm.

I snapped out of it when I heard Kanishk's voice slice through the moment.

"Khurana!" he called, casual but loud. "Your turn."

For a beat, I didn't move.
The world had shrunk to a single, ringing phrase: one date.
She wanted a date.
With me.

And I surely wasn't gonna miss a chance at that.

I swallowed and finally stepped up to the tee. My grip was a little loose around the club. My stance, a little casual. The air still buzzed with her nearness.

I shook my head softly and swung.

The ball sailed, not terribly, but off-centre. It landed a respectable distance from the hole. Nowhere close to hers. I stared at it for a moment, lips tugging into a crooked, self-aware smile. From behind me, I felt her gaze before I saw it. Mariam looked over her shoulder, dark eyes glinting as she collected her club.

Mariam glanced at me over her shoulder as she collected her club. "For someone who plays better under pressure," she said softly, "you folded pretty fast."

She didn't wait for a reply. Just turned away, the corner of her mouth still curled in that maddeningly quiet smile and walked off toward the cart. The breeze caught her ponytail as she walked, lifting strands of her hair. Something pulled at my chest. My fingers twitched, restless, itching to reach out and pull the band holding her hair up.

Before I could spiral any deeper, Kanishk sidled up beside me, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline.

"You could've won that easily," he said, pointing his club at me like a disappointed coach. "Why'd you let yourself slip? That was your game."

I didn't answer right away. My eyes were still on her, her frame outlined in the sunlight.

I smirked a little, the memory of her smile still lingering like a brushstroke across my thoughts.

"Sometimes," I said, turning toward him, "you've got to lose to win something better."

Kanishk blinked. "That's...deeply suspicious coming from you."

I clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax. I'm still better than you."

"Maybe you're just delusional," he shot back.

"Says the one who's falling for his contract wife," I smirked.

"Oye, hello? We do not joke about sensitive topics," he said, clutching his chest dramatically.

I laughed and turned toward the cart. "Come on, loverboy."

He followed, still grumbling under his breath. "I swear, one day I'll beat you."

"Sure. Right after pigs learn golf."

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood, Khurana."

"I'm lucky you still think you had a shot," I tossed over my shoulder as we headed back, the sun dipping low behind us, our bickering echoing through the course like it always had.