Shivyansh

"I'm okay,"

Kyra's voice comes through the speaker of my phone. It's low, upset, and void of the usual excitement it holds.

"I just need rest, maybe sleep, I guess," She excuses herself, ending the call before I can respond to her.

She isn't okay. No one would be after witnessing their father on his deathbed. And as much as I hated both my own dad and hers, I knew what a loss it would be for the Rajvanshis to lose Aryan Rajvanshi.

He had never been soft, loving or like a father to her. It didn't take long for an outsider to realise it, considering that her father never really hid that unreasonable disgust he felt for her. It didn't take me long to realise it because the feeling that Mr. Aryan felt towards Kyra was the same feeling my own father felt towards me.

It never takes time to find people of the same breed.

Maybe that's why they both always bonded so well with each other. Ruining one of their kids' lives was a part-time job for them. Something they considered discipline more than cruelty.

Just five days ago, I'd been the happiest man on planet earth, yet one shaky call from Kanishk had brought it all crashing down for me. Even recalling that one moment, which had me smiling and blushing all week, wasn't any help.

I never show it, because people take these feelings as weakness, but whatever feelings I hold towards these people, from Kanishk and Aayan to the girls, my brother, his girlfriend, and Mariam, they aren't normal.

People say they can die for love, I say I can kill for these people, I can die, I can beg on my knees if it means keeping them in my life, if it means keeping them happy.

The pain I'd felt, seeing Kanishk shatter in that hospital, cut deeper than any bullet ever could. I'd never seen tears in his eyes before, never seen him unravel so completely. It was as if he'd been holding his panic in a tight grip, waiting for someone else to arrive, someone he trusted to hold everyone together, so he could finally let his own emotions spill free.

Kyra and Kaynaaz hadn't been there. They'd both run away from what their mother had described, and I'd felt a pang of guilt for not showing up earlier than I had.

Everyone had come and visited Mr. Aryan after that, reluctantly telling him that they hoped he'd get better. None of us actually wanted that.

Except my father, of course.

Who'd shown up, worry his expression as if his wife was the one who had a heart attack. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning back into the chair, trying to calm my racing mind before it tears itself apart. From the way Kyra's voice had cracked on that call just now, to everything that had unfolded yesterday and last night, my thoughts were begging for a reprieve, for a fresh sight, for something fleeting and happy to cling to.

And like the heavens were in my favour today, there's a soft knock on my cabin door.

My heart jolts against my rib cage, my spine snapping straight as my gaze darts to the door. Heat floods my veins, tingles racing over my skin until even the air feels too hot. Because the only person who ever knocked like that was the angel I'd fallen for the moment I first saw her.

I shake my head, clearing away the thoughts clouding my mind before clearing my throat.

"Come in," I call out, my voice steady but loud enough to reach the door.

There's a pause before it opens.

First, I see her feet, delicate in white heels, stepping in as if the air itself parts for her. Then she appears, draped in white pants and a black shirt that clings and loosens in all the right places. The fabric frames her like the night sky frames the moon, soft shadows shaping her curves, a black belt cinching her waist with quiet authority. On her right wrist, a silver watch catches the light, gleaming like a sliver of moonlight slipping through my window.

Mariam's hair, dark as midnight, falls in waves that seem to hum with the scent of jasmine, soft, intoxicating, impossible to forget. She draws her fingers through them, pulling them over one shoulder, and the gesture is so graceful it feels like watching the moon pull the tide. Beneath the desk, my hand curls into a fist, my fingers twitching with the urge to claim that moment, to pull her into my lap and bury my face in the fragrance that's already wrapping itself around my thoughts.

My gaze finally finds her, and our eyes lock. There's a softness in the way she looks at me, something deep, almost reverent, as if she's witnessing a moment worth treasuring. She steps closer, a faint smile tugging at her lips, and I have to look away before mine betrays me with something far too close to a grin.

She stops at the edge of my desk, like she has countless times before, only this time, she doesn't ask to sit. Without a word, she pulls out one of the chairs and settles into it, her movements casual but deliberate.

It catches me off guard, and my brow arches in quiet amusement.

"I didn't realize we were past permissions, Ms. Khan," I murmur.

She places the files from her hand onto my desk, then leans back in her chair, her eyes gleaming with her own brand of mischief.

"I believe we were already past that the moment you lost our golf game, Mr. Khurana." She emphasises my last name, mimicking the way I've grown accustomed to calling her by hers rather than her first.

I can't help the smile that pulls at my lips as her words take me back to that day. The sun had been merciless, her laughter carried by the wind as we walked the green. She'd been determined to win, and I, well, I'd been chosen to lose. Not because I couldn't beat her, but because losing meant walking away with something far more valuable than pride: a promise of a date with her.

The memory lingers, warm and satisfying, until her voice slices through it.

"So," she says lightly, pretending to examine the edge of a file, "should I just assume you've forgotten... or are you finally going to make good on that game you lost?"

Her gaze flicks up to mine, deliberate and knowing, and the corner of her mouth curves like she already knows the answer.

"I never assumed you to be the impatient type," I joke, making her shake her head before she rolls her eyes.

So bold suddenly. Had I known it would only take a golf game to get this side of her to come out, I would've done it ages ago.

"A winner is always hungry for their prize," She replies smoothly, clocking her brow at me.

I give her a small nod before pushing out of my chair, searching for an excuse to explain the delay to a date I'd been impatient for myself.

Did she know? Had Kyra told her what happened yesterday? Was she completely oblivious to the matter or simply as skilled at hiding her turmoil as I was at masking mine?

I drift toward the glass wall of my office, stretching from ceiling to floor. Beyond it, the city hums in its nighttime rhythm, streets glowing, windows flickering with life and above it all, the full moon hangs like an ornament in the velvet sky.

My fingers tap lightly against the cool glass, the rhythm uneven, betraying the thoughts I'm trying to cage in. I search for the right words, something simple, harmless, an excuse she wouldn't pick apart.

"There's just... something going on right now," I say finally, my voice low, my eyes fixed on the sweep of city lights instead of her. "It's not..."

"You don't have to explain," she cuts in gently, the scrape of her chair against the floor breaking the stillness.

I hear her before I see her, heels clicking softly against the polished wood, the faint rustle of her clothes as she moves. Her reflection appears in the glass, growing clearer with each step, her figure a pale shimmer against the darkness outside.

"Kyra told me about her dad," she says, her voice calm but carrying that kind of softness people use when they're afraid you might break.

My jaw tightens, and still, I keep my gaze on the skyline.

"And," she continues, now only a few feet away, "she also told me what happened last night... with your father." The words hang there, heavy, almost tangible, and for a moment, even the hum of the city seems to quiet.

"She can never keep things to herself, can she?" I amuse, trying the slightest to loosen the tension.

"She does," Mariam starts, and I feel her presence behind me, "But she knew she wouldn't be able to be there for you right now, so she left it to make. To ensure you don't spiral down with your own thoughts, perhaps."

Her words settle in my chest, heavy, tugging me back to the one place I'd been trying to avoid all day.

The memory slips in uninvited.

It was yesterday evening when my phone buzzed with his name. Dad. He never called unless it was something important.

"Come to my office," he'd said, his tone sharp but calm, the way it always was when he wanted my full attention.

By the time I walked in, the blinds were half-closed, streaks of fading sunlight cutting through the room in long, fractured lines. He was at his desk, pen tapping against a file, eyes flicking up to meet mine with that familiar, unreadable expression.

"I need you to go abroad," he said without preamble. "Leave this branch for now and take over the operations there. It's time you handled something bigger."

The words landed like a punch I hadn't braced for. "No," I said immediately, sharper than I intended.

His pen stilled. Slowly, his gaze lifted, searching my face. "No?" he repeated, and the suspicion in his eyes was impossible to miss.

I forced a steadier tone, even as my pulse kicked up. "I just... I don't want to leave this branch. I can't."

What I didn't say, and what I couldn't, was that this was the branch I'd spent years strengthening, the one piece of my father's empire I'd been positioning myself to take from him. Leaving now would mean losing everything I'd been building toward.

His lips thinned, the silence stretching between us like a wire pulled taut. Then he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms.

"Then you have a choice," he said finally. "Either you do as I say... or you hand in your resignation."

"I'm not leaving India," I replied, my voice flat. "I've built too much here to walk away. I want to grow this branch—my version of the company."

His eyes narrowed. "Your version?"

"Yes," I said, leaning forward slightly. "This market is growing faster than the one abroad. The deals I've secured, the network I've built, leaving now would mean handing all of it to someone who doesn't know this branch the way I do."

"You're not irreplaceable," he shot back. "I built this company from the ground up. I know what's best for it, and for you."

"And maybe I know what's best for this branch," I countered, my tone edging toward defiance. "You're asking me to abandon years of work just to fix a problem abroad. That's not leadership, it's a knee-jerk reaction."

His jaw tightened. "This isn't up for debate. You're acting like you can't be moved, and that's the first sign you've lost perspective."

"Or maybe it's the first sign I actually have one," I said, heat creeping into my voice.

He leaned back in his chair, studying me with that unsettling stillness of his. "You're restless. You're distracted. Something's pulling your focus away from what matters here."

I let out a humourless laugh. "I'm telling you I'm focused on this branch, and somehow that's a distraction?"

His gaze sharpened, and I could almost see the pieces turning in his mind, searching for the reason. Then his voice dropped, the words landing like an accusation he'd been saving for the right moment.

"Is this about some woman?"

The question slammed into the space between us, heavy with accusation. The leap in logic was almost laughable, but the way he said it, like a woman was synonymous with weakness, like the idea of me being pulled away from my ambition for anyone was unforgivable, made my blood run hot.

"This has nothing to do with anyone but me," I said, my voice clipped, barely keeping the edge from spilling over. "I've built this branch piece by piece. You don't get to dismiss that because you've suddenly decided my place is somewhere else."

"You're letting your emotions run this conversation," he shot back, leaning forward, his tone sharpened to a blade. "And emotions make you sloppy. I won't have my heir making sloppy decisions."

My hands curled into fists at my sides. I stepped closer, lowering my voice so each word landed like a hit. "I'm not leaving. And you and I both know that if I hand you my resignation, it'll be the single biggest loss this company has ever taken."

His expression flickered, but I didn't wait to see it harden again. I turned on my heel and walked out, the weight of my words hanging in the air like smoke, shutting the door before he could even form his reply.

The memory still burns in the back of my mind, every word from that day rattling like loose glass in my skull. My gaze is fixed on the floor-to-ceiling window, the city stretching far below, a thousand miles away from the storm in my head.

Then Mariam's hand curls around my arm, not tentative, but firm. She tugs. "Shivyansh."

I let her turn me, though my body resists for a heartbeat. The glass is cold against my back, the skyline blurring behind me, and suddenly she's there, close enough that her forehead nearly brushes my chest, close enough that the warmth of her seeps straight through my shirt.

"I don't know exactly what happened that day," she says, tilting her head back just enough to meet my eyes. "Not word for word. Not every detail. But I need you to know something."

She steps in, aligning herself with me completely, her presence leaving nowhere for me to retreat. "I believe in you. Completely. Whatever was said, whatever your father thinks, none of that changes it."

The certainty in her voice lands heavier than any accusation I've faced.

Her words linger between us, heavy and unshakable, and before I can respond, she shifts.

Mariam rises onto her toes, her hands brushing lightly against my sides for balance. It's such a small movement, barely there, and then she leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to my cheek.

The spot where her lips touched feels like it's burning, the heat curling outward until it seeps into my chest, into every vein. My heart is a drum gone wild, erratic and loud, and I swear she must feel it through the thin space between us. My fingers twitch at my sides with the desperate urge to touch her back, pull her closer, keep her there just a second longer.

The city is still behind me, but she's all I can see, all I can hear, all I can think about.

I exhale slowly, fighting the grin that's threatening to give me away. "I'll take you out soon, I promise," I tell her, my voice low, unable to form any other response.

Her eyes widen just a fraction, like she hadn't expected me to say it out loud. There's a faint hitch in her breath, the kind you only notice when you're close enough to feel it. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, the faintest pink blooming across her cheeks before she tries to mask it with composure.

She passes me a small smile, the kind that shouldn't be allowed to knock the air out of a man, before murmuring, "I'll take my leave now."

And then she's gone, darting away with that shy little run that leaves my pulse in absolute chaos.

I stay there for a moment, back pressed against the cool glass, the ghost of her kiss still warm on my cheek. My heart hasn't quite figured out how to slow down yet. Slowly, I turn toward my desk.

I know I'm not alone in this, not anymore. I can feel the quiet weight of those who stand behind me. Friends who've seen me at my worst and still believed. Who've looked me in the eye and said without saying, You can do this.

And now her. Mariam.

Let my father sneer, I thought, the faintest curl of a smile tugging at my lips. Every empire needs a king. And this one will be mine.