Shivyansh

The boardroom was quiet in the aftermath of my words, the kind of silence that carried weight rather than doubt. Charts and figures glowed faintly on the screen behind me, the last slide of my presentation still hanging there like a victory flag.

For once, every pair of eyes in the room looked at me not with scepticism, not with hesitation, but with approval. A few even nodded.

I let my gaze shift to the head of the table, my father. His expression was unreadable, sharp as ever, but I caught it. The faint flicker of something close to surprise, the way his fingers stilled against the polished wood. I'd done it.

Six months of clawing my way through endless nights, of poring over numbers until they blurred, of building a strategy strong enough to strangle every thread of control he thought he still had. Six months of meetings, of making allies out of sceptics, of dragging this project into existence piece by piece. Kanishk's help was somewhere in between, his sharp mind catching flaws I'd overlooked, reminding me I didn't have to fight every battle alone.

And yet, through all of it, I'd only seen Mariam twice. Twice in half a year. Enough to remind me what it felt like to breathe, but never enough to quiet the ache. I missed her in the way empty rooms miss their voices, in the way silence misses laughter. I missed her so much it bled into the edges of my work, anchoring me even as it tore me apart.

"Remarkable," one of the older members says, leaning forward, glasses catching the light. "Your foresight into the expansion model it's almost visionary. Few people your age can grasp something of this scale."

Before I can answer, another joins in. "And the execution," she adds, eyes narrowing with thought, "the projections you've laid out, they're not just numbers on paper. They breathe. There's a clear future here. You've given us something solid, yet alive."

Their praise hums in the air, warm and weighty, but it's not theirs I want. My lips tug into a smirk as I tilt my head toward the far end of the table. My father. My silent challenge to him is simple.

Say it.

He waits. Always waits. Let the room's admiration stretch until it clings to the walls like perfume.

Then he nods once, deliberate. "You've grown into your edges," he says, voice low, cryptic, impossible to pin down. "Keep sharpening them."

The words strike like iron and fire both. Not tender, not harsh. Exactly him. Exactly what I expected. His way of telling me I've done more than just impress the board, I've managed to impress him.

The applause dies down into the shuffling of papers and the faint hum of the projector. A hand rises near the middle of the table, one of the younger members, keen, restless.

"So, Shivyansh," he says, leaning forward, "when do you plan on executing all of this?"

The question slices through the air, simple but weighted. The others glance my way, waiting, pens poised, eyes sharp with curiosity.

I let the silence stretch, just long enough for their anticipation to itch. My fingers drum once against the table before I straighten, my smirk deepening. "That's where we have a catch."

The room stiffens. I can feel the curiosity sharpen into unease. Another voice breaks in, steady, cautious. "What catch?"

Without a word, I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out another pen drive, sleek, small, but heavy with everything they don't know yet. I roll it between my fingers, let it gleam under the light, then toss it onto the table. It lands with a soft clink, spinning once before lying still.

"That," I say, meeting their eyes one by one, "is the next piece of the puzzle."

A ripple of curiosity rolls through the boardroom. Their gazes flick between me and the pen drive lying untouched in the centre of the polished mahogany table. My father leans back in his chair, jaw tight, but his eyes never leave me.

"Go on," someone finally says, hesitant but intrigued.

I push the drive toward them with two fingers, slow, deliberate. "Inside that," I say, my voice steady, "you'll find six months' worth of numbers, correspondences, and reports. Evidence. Every mistake, every miscalculation, every cover-up my father has made in the last few years." I pause, letting that sink in. "And how I had to fix them to keep this company standing where it is today."

The silence that follows is deafening. I can see the board members stiffen, their pens dropping, their eyes narrowing with the dawning weight of what I've just handed them.

"You're lying." My father's voice cuts through, low and venomous. He doesn't raise it, he doesn't need to. The authority in it has always been enough to silence rooms. But not me. Not anymore.

I tilt my head toward him, the faintest smirk tugging at my mouth. "You think so? By all means, go ahead. Ask them to review it." I motion toward the pen drive again. "Every number checks out. Every deal you manipulated, every resource you siphoned off, every reckless gamble you left for me to clean up, it's all there."

He sits forward now, mask cracking, anger bleeding through his carefully constructed calm. "You ungrateful boy. This company exists because of me. I built it from the ground up while you-"

"While I what?" I snap, cutting him off for the first time in front of the entire board. My voice echoes, sharp enough to make a few heads turn my way with something close to shock. "While I cleaned up your messes? While I fixed your failures and pretended they were part of some master plan so no one would see through your façade? Don't pretend you've been in control all this time. You haven't. You just can't stand that the game slipped out of your hands."

The vein in his temple throbs as he glares at me, a mixture of fury and disbelief in his eyes.

"You need to let go, father." My tone drops lower, firm, final. "Stop pretending you're still the puppeteer here. The strings aren't yours to pull anymore."

The board sits in stunned silence. Some of them lean forward, hungry for the drama, others frozen in the weight of this fracture between us. The only sound is the faint hum of the projector and the thundering of my own heartbeat, but I don't waver. Not this time.

I lean back in my chair, folding my hands on the table as if I haven't just set fire to decades of my father's reign. "Review the drive," I tell them, voice level but edged with steel. "Take your time, check every line, every number, every deal. When you're done, get back to me with your verdict. Because if this board truly cares about the company's future, you'll know what has to be done."

I don't have to say the words to throw him off. They hang there anyway, heavy in the air like smoke after a blaze.

For a moment, no one moves. The board stares at the small silver device in the centre of the table like it's a ticking bomb. My father's lips press into a thin line, his silence more dangerous than any outburst. He won't crack in front of them, not yet. But the tremor in his jaw is enough to tell me I've struck exactly where I needed to.

I push my chair back slowly, the legs scraping against the marble floor, deliberate and unhurried. I stand, smoothing down my blazer, letting the weight of my presence linger a second longer. Their eyes follow me, some wide, some calculating, some flickering with something close to approval.

I don't look back at my father. Not once. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and walk out of the boardroom, every step sharp and steady, like the echo of a gavel hitting wood. Controlled. Unshaken. Exactly the way I want them to remember me.

When the doors close behind me, I exhale once and slip my hands into my pockets. Whatever storm brews in that room now, it's theirs to weather. I've already played my move.

Mariam

I can't take my eyes off him.

He's moving through the crowd like he was born to own it, shaking hands, exchanging words, letting laughter slip past his lips as though it costs him nothing. Every time he tilts his head, the light catches in his hair, and for a fleeting second, I forget I'm standing here among strangers. To me, he isn't the Shivyansh Khurana everyone else sees tonight, the heir, the businessman, the man who dethroned his own father.

To me, he's just Shiv. My Shiv.

Yesterday, when his call came, his voice was steady, but I could hear the weight under it.

"I did it."

That's all he'd said at first. And then, in the same breath, the story unfolded, the board had reviewed the evidence, and  cornered Sheryansh Khurana into signing his resignation. No outbursts, no theatrics, no scandal. Just a clean cut. His father, for the first time in decades, had bowed his head and stepped down.

And of course, being the grand performer that he is, Sheryansh Khurana had turned the whole ordeal into a spectacle. A retirement party, he'd called it, but everyone here knows the truth. It's less about his quiet exit and more about Shiv's triumph. The son who not only carried the company forward but also managed to outshine the shadow that loomed over him all his life.

I stand tucked in the crowd, pride swelling in my chest until it almost aches. He deserves every clap on his back, every congratulatory smile. Still, a selfish part of me wonders if he misses me the way I miss him.

But I know he does.

I know he's missed me just as much as I've missed him. I can see it in the way his eyes flick toward the edges of the room now and then, searching, as if he half-expects me to be there. I know he's fought every instinct these past six months, not to drive to my house in the middle of the night, not to pull me into his arms and steal me away from everything. He's tried so hard not to let me distract him, not to let me undo the discipline he's built around himself.

And I've tried too. Tried not to ache every time the phone line went quiet. Tried not to stare at the empty spaces beside me and imagine him filling them. These six months have been nothing but a test, a cruel stretch of distance carved out by necessity.

Sometimes I wonder if it's my fault, if I've thought too soon, too recklessly, that he is the one. But no matter how many times I question myself, the answer never changes. Through the silence, the waiting, the endless longing, one truth has remained. He is the one for me. And with every day that's passed, every moment apart, my love for him has only grown.

"Caught you," a voice murmurs at my side.

I jump slightly, heat rushing to my face before I even turn. Kyra is standing there, a smirk tugging at her lips, her eyes flicking knowingly between me and Shiv.

"I wasn't-" I begin, but the blush blooming across my cheeks betrays me instantly.

Kyra raises a brow, amused. "You weren't staring at him like he's the only man in this room worth breathing for? Oh, Mariam, please. Your eyes are practically screaming."

I groan, covering my face with my hands, which only makes her laugh louder. She nudges me with her shoulder, that soft, conspiratorial kind of teasing that doesn't feel cruel, just warm, sisterly. "Don't worry. It's cute. Tragic, a little, but mostly cute."

Her laughter lingers between us, light and easy, and I realise just how different she seems now. Not so long ago, Kyra had been a shadow of herself, always on the edge of things, always holding back as though the world might break her if she dared to step in. But tonight, she stands beside me with a glow I haven't seen in her in months, teasing me, holding me close like she always used to. She isn't her isolated self anymore. She feels lighter. Brighter. And it makes me proud, in a way I didn't expect.

A few days ago, Kyra had cornered me with that same mischievous smile she's wearing now.

"Tell me your story," she'd said, eyes shining with a kind of hunger only writers seem to have. Not Shiv's side, not the business and the chaos, yours. The way I'd felt, the way my heart had stumbled into his.

When I'd asked her why, she'd simply shrugged, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Because I want to write the stories of the people around me. Love, heartbreak, all of it. I want to catch it before it slips away."

And then I'd asked the question that still lingers in my chest. "What about your own story?"

She'd given me the silliest little smile, her shoulders lifting as though she could brush the weight of it off.

"I'm the cupid, Mari. I guess the cupid doesn't really get love."

The memory tugs at me now as she loops her arm through mine, still grinning, still glowing. And for the first time, I wonder if she believes that, if she truly thinks her heart isn't allowed the same softness she writes for everyone else.

My attention drifts back before I can stop it, drawn back to the stage where Shiv now stands. His voice carries easily through the room, smooth and steady, thanking everyone who's come tonight, every mentor, every partner, every member of the board who put their faith in him.

It's the kind of speech that would sound rehearsed on anyone else's lips. But on his, it's effortless, natural, as if the words come from somewhere deeper than pride. I can see it in the curve of his smile, the warmth in his tone. This isn't just about victory. It's about survival. About finally breaking free.

I can't help but stand a little taller as I watch him, pride swelling inside me so big it nearly aches. This is the man who stayed awake through endless nights, who built and rebuilt his vision until it was unshakable, who carried the weight of it all and never once let it crush him. This is the man I've missed with every piece of myself these past six months.

And as his eyes sweep over the room, landing on faces and shoulders and smiles, I pretend for a moment that they linger on me. That, out of everyone in this glittering crowd, he sees me.

He raises his glass higher, the crystal catching the light as if it's holding a small star inside it. "To everyone here tonight," he says, his voice steady, commanding the room, "thank you for believing, for standing beside me, for letting this vision come alive."

The crowd lifts their glasses in return, a sea of gold and silver reflections. But I don't see them. I only see him. The way his smile softens at the edges, the quiet light in his eyes that none of them will notice, but I do. To me, this toast isn't for the board or the investors or even his victory. It's his way of telling me I did it. I kept my promise.

His gaze tilts then, moving toward the far corner of the hall. He lifts his glass again, almost deliberately, as if to single out someone hiding there in the shadows.

Beside me, Kyra leans a little forward, curiosity flashing across her face. Her eyes dart in the same direction, and then she gasps, sharp and quiet, her hand clutching my arm.

I startle, following her gaze to the corner. But there's nothing. No one. Just the soft drape of curtains and the faint shimmer of light.

"What? What did you see?" I whisper, my brows furrowing.

Kyra blinks hard, as if trying to clear her vision, her lips pressing into a line. She shakes her head slowly, eyes still fixed on the spot. "Nothing," she mutters, too quickly. "I must've.. I don't know. Maybe I imagined it."

But the pain in her expression lingers, even as she forces herself to look away.

Shivyansh steps down from the stage, glass still in hand, his shoulders cutting clean lines through the crowd that instantly swallows him whole. One blink, and he's gone, as though the floor itself claimed him. My chest pulls tight, a dull ache blooming where I wish I could catch him away from the noise, away from the endless faces and clinking glasses. Just him and me.

But wishes are foolish things.

So I stay beside Kyra, tethering myself to her steadiness. We drift together through the tide of bodies, pausing for polite greetings, making small talk with colleagues and acquaintances from the office. I smile where I should, laugh when expected, but it feels like a role I'm playing, some rehearsed performance I never rehearsed enough for. My thoughts keep circling back, searching the room for a glimpse of him, even as my lips shape words to people whose names blur as quickly as they appear.

I'm in the middle of nodding along to a story I've half-forgotten when Kyra's hand slips into mine. Her grip is firm, urgent, her eyes glinting with something I can't quite place.

"Mariam," she whispers low, so only I hear, "come with me."

There's no hesitation in her tone, no space for questions. And before I can form one, she's already tugging me toward the edge of the crowd. I murmur a polite excuse to whoever I was speaking to, but my pulse stumbles. Kyra doesn't usually look like this, shaken yet determined, like she's holding onto something too fragile to show the world.

We weave through the mass of people, the music fading with each step until all that's left is the thud of my heels against marble and the quiet rasp of our breaths.

Just as I'm about to demand where we're going, she stops abruptly. Before I can blink, her palms come over my eyes, shutting the world into darkness.

I stumble forward, startled. "Kyra! What are you doing?"

"Shh," she hushes me, her tone laced with mischief. "Just trust me, alright?"

I huff, half-surpised, half-amused, caught between her urgency and her playfulness. "You do realise I can't walk blind, right? If I trip and die, it's on you."

She laughs quietly, guiding me step by careful step. "Relax, Mari. I won't let you fall. You'll thank me in a minute."

My heart beats faster, not just because I can't see, but because there's something in her voice, something bubbling beneath the teasing, like she's carrying a secret she's desperate for me to see with my own eyes.

I hear the shuffle of our steps against the floor, the faint hum of voices muffled behind us, and then something else. A soft snuffling sound, followed by muted whispers and an occasional giggle. My brows furrow.

"Kyra..." I say slowly, suspicion curling into my voice. "What is going on?"

She only laughs under her breath, her hands still firm over my eyes. "Patience, Mari. Just a few more steps."

Her excitement thrums through her touch, making it impossible for me not to feel the quickening of my own heartbeat. I try to picture where we might be, but nothing comes close to preparing me for what happens next.

Kyra stops. The air feels different here, lighter somehow, tinged with the faint, intoxicating perfume of roses. My breath catches even before she finally, slowly, pulls her palms away.

And then I see.

The world bursts into colour and light. A pathway blanketed in rose petals glows like liquid gold under the soft shimmer of fairy lights, stretching out like a dream that's been waiting just for me. White and blush roses bloom in perfect rows on either side, their petals kissed with the evening breeze. The night sky bends low above us, a canvas of deep indigo, making the warm glow below feel like its own little universe.

At the centre of it all, framed by the flowers and the softest light, stands him.

Shivyansh.

Every nerve in me sings his name before my lips can even form it. He looks devastatingly handsome, his sharp suit tailored perfectly, the crisp lines softened by the warmth in his eyes. There's a quiet strength in his stance, but also something else, something vulnerable, something that tells me this moment means as much to him as it does to me.

My heart lurches painfully against my ribs. Six months of distance, of stolen glances, of wanting him more than I've ever wanted anything, it all gathers here, rushing through me like a tide that refuses to be held back.

Kyra nudges me gently forward, her voice a whisper in my ear, full of mischief and affection. "Go on, Mari. He's been waiting."

I step forward slowly, my gaze locked on Shivyansh, my lungs barely remembering how to pull in air.

Every detail, the glimmer of fairy lights against his jawline, the way his hands flex slightly at his sides as if holding himself still, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips, etches itself into my memory, something I'll never, ever forget.

The warmth of the moment wraps around me like a second skin, and for once, I don't fight it.

This is it.

This is us.

Shivyansh

For a moment, I forget the air in my lungs, forget the carefully rehearsed words tucked behind my ribs. All I can see is her. She steps into the glow of the roses and lights, and it's as if the universe itself decided to sculpt her for this very moment. The soft ivory of her dress brushes against the rose-petal path, her hair catching the faintest glimmers of golden light. She doesn't just walk through this place; she belongs to it, as though every flower bloomed just to mirror her beauty.

God, she's radiant.

Her eyes lift, catching mine, and something in me unravels completely. She looks at me like I'm not the man who fought his father for power, like I'm not the ruthless Khurana everyone whispers about. She looks at me like I'm just Shiv, hers, if she'll have me.

I wait. For a second. For two. But the distance is unbearable.

"Enough," I mutter under my breath, though I doubt anyone else hears it. My composure cracks, and I close the gap myself, reaching forward and tugging her closer. My arm slips around her waist, anchoring her to me, grounding me in the only truth that matters: she's here, with me.

A sharp cough sounds to the side, followed by another. I don't need to look to know it's Kanishk and Ishaan, making their presence obnoxiously obvious. Behind them, Anvi's giggles float through the air, light and delighted, like she's been waiting for this very scene to unfold.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Aayan leaning against the far wall. His face is a storm, brooding, sharp-edged, the kind of expression that could slice through stone. But he doesn't say a word. He just watches, silent, unreadable. Beside him, Kaynaaz gives a small shake of her head, like she's scolding him without using words.

I ignore them all.

The world around me blurs again, narrowing until there's only Mariam in my arms. I press my forehead against hers, drawing in the faint scent of roses tangled with her perfume, letting it steady me.

"Mari," I whisper, her name a prayer I've been waiting too long to say out loud like this.

"Hi," she whispers, her voice so soft, so shy, yet it knocks the breath right out of me. That smile of hers, sweet, tentative, tinged with the faintest blush, does things to me I can't even begin to put into words.

I let out a sharp exhale, my hand tightening at her waist. "Do you have any idea," I murmur, my voice low, rough with months of restraint, "how much torture this has been for me? Six months, Mariam. Six months of distance, of pretending I was fine without seeing you, without touching you. Six months where every single night, all I wanted was to walk into your house and take you away with me."

Her lashes flutter, her cheeks warm, and it makes me want to kiss her right there, but I force myself to go on.

"I wanted to kill this distance a thousand times over," I confess, pressing my forehead more firmly against hers. "Every time I saw your name flash on my phone, every time I thought of you, I had to fight myself not to come running. And today..." I pause, swallowing, forcing the words out honestly. "Today, I'm sorry I acted like you weren't here. I ignored you, I pretended I didn't see you, and it killed me to do it. But if I had come close, if I had let myself just look at you properly... Mariam, I wouldn't have been able to hold it all in. I would've ruined the surprise."

Her soft giggle breaks through the air, musical and light, and it pulls a smile from me in return. She tips her chin up slightly, still shy but glowing, and the sound of her laughter against the backdrop of roses and candlelight is enough to undo me entirely.

I take a breath, steadying myself because the words I've held back for months are spilling free now, and nothing can stop them.

"I know this might sound too soon to everyone else," I say, my thumb brushing the back of her hand as though grounding myself in her touch, "but to me, it doesn't feel early at all. Six months, six years, six lifetimes... it wouldn't change a thing. Mariam, I don't just want a piece of your heart. I want all of it, every version of it, in every world, in every timeline. I want to be the man who loves you, not just today, not just tomorrow, but until every last star in the sky fades out."

"I want to be the one who walks beside you through everything, the easy days, the stormy ones. I want to be the arms you come home to, the voice that steadies you when you're scared, the laughter that fills the empty spaces. I don't just want to be your lover in this lifetime, Mariam... I want to be your lover in all of them."

Her lips part, trembling, and my chest aches at the sight.

I lean closer, pressing my forehead against hers again, softer this time, a silent vow in the gesture itself. "But this isn't just about what I want. It's your choice too. You don't have to give me an answer tonight, or tomorrow, or even this year. I'll wait as long as you need me to, because being with you is already the greatest gift of my life."

With that, I finally take a step back, my fingers brushing hers one last time before I drop to one knee. My heart pounds in my chest, yet my hand is steady as I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the small velvet box I've been carrying all night. The moment it rests in my palm, the air stills, the candlelit roses around us glowing like a thousand quiet witnesses.

I look up at her, every ounce of me bare and vulnerable. And then, with my whole heart in my voice, I open the box.

The box opens with a soft click, and the diamond ring inside catches the light of the candles, gleaming like it was made for her finger alone. My throat tightens, but I manage to find my voice, raw and unshaken all at once.

"Mariam Khan," I whisper, letting her name anchor me, letting it echo in the night, "will you marry me?"

The words hang between us like sacred vows, delicate and yet heavy with all the weight of my heart. For a second, she doesn't move. Her eyes widen, her breath stills, and she stands frozen as though the world itself has stopped turning.

And then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, her lips tremble, her chest heaves, and tears brim in her lashes. She blinks once, twice, and before I can read her silence, before I can fall into despair, she drops to her knees in front of me.

The sight breaks me. Her tears spill freely, but her smile glows through them, radiant, unstoppable. Her hands clutch my face, shaky and desperate, and she lets out a breathless laugh tangled in sobs.

"Yes," she whispers, and then louder, firmer, shaking her head as though she can't believe it herself, "yes, Shivyansh. Yes."

The sound of it floods my chest, crashing through me like a storm, and I can barely breathe with the sheer relief and love choking me. She throws her arms around me, burying herself against me, holding me so tightly I think she'll never let go. And God, I never want her to.

With trembling hands, I take the ring from its place and slip it onto her finger. It slides perfectly, as if it had always belonged there, as if fate had carved it for her long before tonight.

For a heartbeat, it's just us. But then the world roars back in, hooting, clapping, and laughter rising around us. Ishaan whistles obnoxiously, Kanishk shouts, and Anvi's giggles bubble over like champagne. Even Kyra is clapping through her tears, shaking her head with that mischievous, cupid smile.

I barely register them, because Mariam is still in my arms, still trembling against me, and I can't hold back anymore. I tilt her chin up, brushing away the tear tracks on her cheeks with my thumbs. Her eyes, God, her eyes, are shimmering, and before another breath can pass, I kiss her.

It soft, tentative, as though asking permission even after her yes. But then she melts into me, her hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. And something inside me breaks open.

The kiss deepens, months of longing pouring into it. I taste the salt of her tears, the sweetness of her smile, the breathless laughter caught between us. Her lips are warm and pliant, moving with mine like they've always known the way. Around us, the cheers grow louder, but they fade to nothing, swallowed by the rush of her heartbeat against my chest.

When we finally pull away, we're both laughing, breathless, tear-streaked, and hopelessly in love.

Foreheads pressed together, lips tingling, the applause of our friends and family a chorus to the only answer that matters.

And in that moment, it doesn't just feel like a yes.

It feels like forever. Like Eternity.