Avi

The library is quiet enough that I can hear the scratch of my pen against paper, but all I can really focus on is her. Rooh sits across from me, a pink headband pushing her hair back in a way that makes her look both childish and untouchably radiant. The gloss on her lips catches the light every time she chews on the cap of her pen, like she's completely unaware of how distracting she is.

She's supposed to be reading, but I can tell she isn't. Her eyes keep darting up from the book in her lap to me, sparkling like she knows exactly how much power she holds over my concentration. I pretend to write another line of notes, though my gaze flickers back to her before I can stop myself.

God help me, I'm gone for her.

"Stop staring," she whispers, grinning, like she's caught me red-handed.

"I wasn't staring," I murmur, lowering my pen. "I was... appreciating."

Her brows rise, her smile widening, and she tilts her head just enough for her hair to slip over her shoulder.

"Appreciating, huh?" she teases, tapping her book with her finger. "Then maybe you should appreciate this assignment before tomorrow's deadline."

I laugh softly, shaking my head. "Not when you're sitting here looking like that."

She shakes her head, the pink headband slipping just a little, and a faint flush creeps into her cheeks. For someone who teases me endlessly, she still can't hide when she's flustered.

Before I can say more, something nudges my leg under the table. Then again, this time a little kick.

"Rooh," I whisper, narrowing my eyes at her.

She blinks innocently, biting back a smile. "What?"

"You're kicking me," I murmur, trying to sound stern, though the amusement is clear in my voice.

"I'm not," she replies sweetly, her lashes batting like she's the very picture of innocence.

Another nudge. Harder this time.

"Rooh." I lean forward, lowering my voice, half-scolding, half-laughing. "Behave. We're in a library."

She shrugs, lips curved in mischief. "I am behaving. You're imagining things."

I sigh, running a hand down my face, but the grin tugging at my mouth betrays me. She knows it too; her giggle is soft, melodic, the kind of sound that could make me forget every deadline in the world.

I try to straighten my face, keep my voice steady, though she's unravelling every bit of my composure. "You should be studying," I whisper, pointing at the unopened book in her lap.

Her grin widens, wicked and sweet all at once. "I am."

I arch a brow. "Really?"

"Yes," she says, leaning in just a little, her voice feather-light but confident. "Your face. It's utterly handsome today."

The words land like a strike to my chest. Heat rushes up my neck before I can stop it, and I drop my head straight down onto the desk, burying my face in my folded arms.

Her laugh bubbles out, soft and triumphant, echoing in the quiet of the library. I don't have to look up to know she's wearing that satisfied smile, the one that says she knows exactly what she does to me, and she's proud of it.

"Rooh..." I groan into my arms, my voice muffled, "You're impossible."

She taps her fingers against my sleeve, teasing. "And you love me for it."

I peek up, just slightly, and there she is, her chin propped on her hand, eyes sparkling like she's watching her favourite show. Except it's me. I'm the one she's looking at like that.

And God, if only she knew.

Half the time, I still don't understand how I got here, how the girl with the pink headband and glossy lips, the one who lights up every corner she steps into, decided I was worth her time. Worth her heart.

I remember the first time I noticed her, really noticed her, beyond the noise of classrooms and crowded hallways. The way she laughed with her friends, how even from across the room, she seemed untouchable, like sunlight you couldn't hold. And yet, somehow, here we are. She's mine, and I'm hers.

It's ridiculous, really. How just one smile from her can dismantle me. How her voice, teasing, soft, or even scolding, lingers in my head long after she's gone. I thought love would be this wild, uncontrollable storm, but with Rooh, it's... steady. It's playful, yes, but it's also the calm I didn't know I needed.

I look at her now, the corners of her lips curved in amusement, and it hits me all over again. This isn't just a phase. This isn't just a crush I'll outgrow. She's carved herself into my life in a way that feels permanent, like I couldn't imagine a version of tomorrow without her in it.

My chest tightens, but it's not the kind of weight that hurts. It's the kind that reminds you you're alive. That you're lucky.

I don't even realise how long I've been staring until she goes still, her eyes glazing over like she's wandered somewhere far in her thoughts. I smile, just watching her, the way her lashes flutter when she blinks, how the light from the window softens against her cheek. She doesn't even know how breathtaking she looks when she's lost like this.

Then, all of a sudden, she jolts upright in her chair, nearly knocking her book off the table. "Oh, oh, Avi!"

I blink, biting back a laugh at the way she's flailing to catch her balance. "Hmm?" My lips curve, unable to hide how much her little jumps amuse me. Her innocence it's in the wideness of her eyes, the breathless way she says my name. God, she really doesn't even try, and she still gets to me.

"Kyra di asked me to come over today," she blurts, brushing her hair back, headband slipping slightly as if it's struggling to keep up with her energy. "She said she wants to see everyone. Apparently, she has to show us something."

Her excitement is contagious, her eyes bright and gleaming with curiosity as she leans across the table. "Tum bhi chalo."

(You come too)

I shake my head slowly, the smile still lingering on my lips. "I can't today, Rooh," I say gently, careful with my words because the last thing I want is to dim that sparkle in her eyes. "I've got some work waiting for me at home. If I don't get it done, my mother will have my head."

Her lips part, the pout almost instant, and I swear it nearly breaks my resolve. I want to give in, to say yes just because she asked, but I know if I do, I'll be paying for it later.

"Work," she repeats, dragging out the word like it's the most tragic excuse in the world.

I chuckle under my breath, reaching across the table to nudge her book back toward her. "Don't look at me like that. I'll make it up to you, promise."

Rooh pushes her chair back with a loud scrape that earns a glare from the librarian. She ignores it entirely, standing up and stretching like the day's weight has just ended for her. That's how I know, when she's done, she's done. And when she's done, so am I.

I rise too, gathering her books from the table without a word. She doesn't notice, not really. Or maybe she does, but she's gotten so used to it that it feels like breathing now. I carry them until we reach her house every single day, just like I drive her here in the mornings and pick her up in the evenings. It's our routine, stitched so seamlessly into our lives that I don't think either of us questions it anymore.

She walks ahead, headband bobbing with each step, chatting about something she read online, her hands moving animatedly. And I follow, her books in my arms, smiling at how natural this has become, how natural she has become to me.

Just as we step out of the library doors, Rooh slows, glancing at me over her shoulder. "Oh, by the way, Kaynaaz will pick me up today."

I pause, then nod, the understanding automatic. Of course. If her best friend is coming, I won't argue. She scares me.

Before I can say anything else, she turns to face me fully, rising onto her toes. Her lips brush my cheek, feather-light but warm, and I swear the world tilts for a second. It's quick, too quick, but it leaves a trail of sweetness that lingers like a secret only I get to keep.

My heart stutters, then races, the simple touch unravelling me in ways I can't explain. She doesn't even realise what she does to me. One soft kiss, and I'm giddy, like some freshman boy with his first crush, grinning at nothing.

I stand there with her books still in my arms, my cheek still tingling, and all I can think is, if this is what love feels like, then God, I never want it to end.

She adjusts the strap of her bag, already spotting Kaynaaz's car at the end of the road. But before she goes, she looks back at me, her smile soft, her eyes shining in that way that always knocks the air right out of my lungs.

"I love you, Cutie," she says simply, like it's the easiest truth in the world.

My lips curve without hesitation. "I love you more, baby."

She beams, then skips off toward Kaynaaz, leaving me standing there with her books and my heart too full to contain. And as I watch her go, I know this isn't just a chapter, it's the whole story. Ours. Forever.

Ishaan

Anvi's laughter rings through the living room, bright and unrestrained, and I can't help but grin like an idiot. She's half-leaning against me on the couch, one hand clutching her stomach as she struggles to breathe through her giggles. I don't even remember what dumb joke I cracked; it doesn't matter. If it makes her laugh like this, I'd repeat it a thousand times over.

"Stop!" she gasps between giggles, swatting at my arm when I nudge her side again.

"Not my fault, you're so easy to amuse," I tease, watching her cheeks flush pink, her eyes crinkling at the corners. God, she's beautiful. Not in some perfect, untouchable way, but in this real, right-in-front-of-me way that makes my chest ache.

She finally calms down, wiping at the corner of her eye, and leans back into me, still smiling. My arm finds its place around her shoulders like it's been there forever. The TV hums in the background, forgotten, because honestly, how could I look at anything else when she's here?

She tilts her head up at me, still smiling, her lashes fanning against her cheeks. "You know you're not actually funny, right?"

I raise a brow, feigning offence. "Excuse me? You were just laughing like I'm the best comedian alive."

"That's only because I love you," she says matter-of-factly, shrugging like it's the simplest thing in the world.

Her words hit me harder than they should, even after all this time. My chest warms, my throat tightening in that helpless way it always does when she reminds me how much I mean to her. I can't stop the grin spreading across my face.

"You're terrible at insults, you know that?"

She laughs again, softer this time, and I swear I could live in the sound. My hand finds hers, fingers threading together like they're made to fit, and she doesn't even hesitate; she just leans her head against my shoulder, humming under her breath.

"Not so bad being stuck with me, is it?" I murmur, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair.

She tilts her face up just enough to meet my eyes, that spark of mischief I love lighting them.

"Hmm... I guess I'll keep you."

I look at her and everything else fades out, the TV humming in the background, the faint ticking of the clock, even the noise in my own head. It's just her.

The way her hair spills over her shoulder in soft waves, catching the glow of the lamp. The faint shimmer of gloss on her lips, worn down from her laughter but still enough to make me want to lean in. The warmth of her hand tucked so naturally in mine, like it belongs there, like it always has.

Sometimes I still can't believe she's here with me. Anvi, this girl who could've had anyone, who could've walked past me a hundred times without noticing, yet somehow she chose me. And not just chose me, but loves me. Freely, openly, like it's the easiest thing she's ever done.

I don't say it out loud, not right now, but God, I'm grateful. Her laughter echoed through my living room. For her teasing that makes me feel lighter after the heaviest of days. For the way she makes this house feel like home.

I shift just enough to study her profile, the curve of her nose, the softness in her eyes when she catches me staring. She raises a brow, like she knows I'm lost in my head again, and I just smile at her, because there's no way to explain how much I feel without sounding completely undone.

She doesn't ask. She doesn't need to. She just squeezes my hand tighter, as if reminding me she's not going anywhere.

I lift my hand before I even think about it, my fingertip brushing the tip of her nose. She blinks, surprised, and then that small smile breaks across her face, the kind that always manages to undo me. I lean closer, our foreheads nearly touching, her breath mingling with mine. My thumb grazes her cheek, and it feels like I'm holding the whole world in my palm.

She leans in and presses her lips against mine, the softest kiss, quick but so full it makes my chest ache. When she pulls back, just enough to look into my eyes again, her lips brush mine as she breathes out.

And just like that, nothing else exists, no noise, no past, no fear. Just her. Just us.

Until.

"God, you two are nauseating," Shiv declares, tossing his keys onto the counter with more drama than necessary.

Anvi's laugh bursts out before she can stop it, and she buries her face in my shoulder, shaking as she tries to hold it in. Her whole body trembles against me, her hand clutching at my sleeve like she'll fall over if she lets go.

I glance down at her, the sound of her stifled laughter slipping into my chest like music, and then my eyes cut to Shiv. The unimpressed look on his face is so exaggerated, so brotherly, that I can't help the smirk tugging at my lips.

Anvi peeks out from my shoulder, her eyes shimmering with amusement, and whispers, "Oh my God, Ishaan, iski shakal dekh." Her laughter nearly spills over again, muffled into me, as though hiding in me makes it easier to laugh at her brother without consequence.

(Look at his face)

Shiv groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Don't whisper like I can't hear you. I'm standing right here."

I tilt my head at him, one arm still lazily wrapped around Anvi. "Careful, Bhaiya. All this third-wheeling might give you wrinkles."

He narrows his eyes at me, a sharp grin tugging at his mouth. "Better wrinkles than whatever brain damage you two are showing."

"Yeah?" I shoot back, smirking as Anvi muffles another laugh into my shoulder. "Says the guy who already got his girl engaged. Lord help her."

Shiv's jaw drops, eyes flashing, and for a moment, he looks ready to lunge across the counter. Anvi is practically trembling with laughter now, trying her best not to explode out loud again, and the sight of her trying to hide it makes me laugh too.

Shiv glares, muttering under his breath as he snatches his keys back off the counter. "I do not have the time to argue with you idiots."

Then he stalks off toward his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

"I can't believe Mari bhabhi actually takes out time for this idiot," I whisper against Anvi's hair, making her shake her head with a grin.

"They're in love, Ishaan. Just like us." She tilts her face up at me, her brows arched in playful challenge.

I laugh softly, brushing my thumb over her cheek. "Yeah? You in love with me, ma'am?"

Her smile deepens, eyes warm as she leans closer. "Hopelessly, sir."

I press a kiss to her forehead, the kind that lingers, and her fingers slip into mine like they were always meant to be there. And in that quiet, with her laughter still echoing in my chest, I know, we're a story that's only just begun, one that's built to last forever.

Aditya

There are still moments when I can't believe this is real. That I get to hold her, that she's here, curled into me like I'm her safe place, when all my life I thought I wasn't worthy of being anyone's. Inaya's hand rests lightly on my chest, and every rise and fall of her breath feels like proof that I haven't been dreaming these last few weeks.

I trace my thumb over her knuckles, memorising the curve of her fingers, the warmth of her skin. She doesn't even know how much she undoes me, how the slightest glance from her has me falling all over again. With her, the noise in my head quiets. With her, everything feels less impossible.

And yet, the world outside this room doesn't make it easy. Her father's disapproval looms like a shadow over us, a wall I don't know if I'll ever be able to climb. But as she looks up at me now, eyes steady, a soft smile playing on her lips, I know I'd fight through a thousand walls if it meant I got to keep her.

We're at her house, of all places. The one place we shouldn't be. If her father knew I was here, in her room, holding his daughter like she belongs to me... It's reckless. Stupid, even.

But I missed her. I missed her laugh, her warmth, the way she fits against me like there was never any space meant for anyone else. Days without her felt like punishment, and when she called, whispering that she wanted to see me, how could I say no?

"Inaya," I murmur, my chin resting lightly on her hair, "you know this is dangerous, right?"

She sighs against me, her fingers curling into my shirt. "I know." A pause. Then quieter, "But I can't keep sneaking you in forever. I want... I want Baba to know."

My chest tightens at her words. Her father. The one man whose approval I'll probably never have.

"You think he'll ever accept me?" I ask, my voice low, careful, though part of me already knows the answer.

She lifts her head, eyes searching mine, determined even with the fear lingering there. "He has to. Because I love you. And I don't want to hide that anymore."

Her certainty hits me like a wave, both terrifying and grounding. I press a hand to her cheek, thumb brushing softly over her skin. "Then we'll tell him. Somehow. Together."

She tilts her head back slightly, her eyes catching mine with that quiet stubbornness that's so distinctly hers. "You always look so serious when we talk about Baba," she whispers, almost teasing.

I huff a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "That's because your father could kill me with just one look."

Her lips twitch, and then she pokes my chest with a single finger. "You're not that easy to kill, Adi. I know you."

I grin despite myself, the tension easing just a little. "You sound awfully confident for someone whose dad once nearly broke a man's arm just for talking to you."

Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, but she doesn't look away. "Yeah, and that man was you. He can't do anything worse, I won't let him."

Something in my chest loosens at her words, something I didn't even realise I'd been holding. She doesn't just believe in us, she believes in me.

I lean in, my lips brushing hers in the gentlest kiss, a soft seal on every unspoken vow between us. When I pull back, she's smiling like the world doesn't matter as long as we're here, like this.

Knock. Knock.

The sound is too sharp, too sudden. It slices through the quiet like a blade. Both of us jolt, the air shifting in an instant. My heart slams hard against my ribs, a violent thud that echoes in my ears.

"Inaya?" A voice calls from the other side.

Low. Firm. Familiar.

Her brother.

I see the blood drain from her face, the colour vanishing as quickly as the peace we just had. Her eyes widen in panic, flicking from the door to me, back and forth like she's calculating the impossible.

"Adi", she hisses, already pushing at my chest as if she can make me disappear, like she can fold me into the shadows of her room. "You can't be here, bhaago idhar se"

(Run from here)

My pulse is wild. Every part of me knows she's right. I shouldn't be here, not in her house, not in her room. It's reckless. Dangerous. The one thing we swore we'd avoid.

The knock comes again, harder this time. The handle rattles.

"Inaya, open the door."

Her hands are shaking as she grabs mine, tugging me toward the corner, toward anywhere I might not be seen. But there's no time. The sound of metal scraping against the latch makes my chest lock tight.

"Wait", I start, but before the words leave me, the door swings open, the hinges groaning, and there he is.

Aayan.

The air changes instantly; he carries it in with him, that heavy weight of authority he doesn't even have to try for. His shoulders fill the doorway, his presence sharp and unyielding. His eyes flick to Inaya first, taking her in, her tense stance, her quick, shallow breath, the way she's half in front of me like she's shielding something. Shielding me.

Then his gaze shifts.

To me.

The second his eyes land on me, the silence thickens. I feel it like a noose tightening around my neck, every heartbeat hammering against my ribs. His expression is unreadable at first, just those dark, assessing eyes narrowing as if he's putting pieces together in his head.

My fingers twitch, still caught in Inaya's grip. I should let go, but I can't move. Not under that stare.

His jaw ticks once, sharp. The vein in his temple pulses. His hands curl slowly into fists at his sides.

I know that look. I've seen it in fights, in moments right before everything turns violent. It's not the kind of rage that comes hot and loud; it's the colder kind, the kind that burns steadily and dangerously, the kind that doesn't hesitate.

Inaya swallows hard, her knuckles white where they cling to me.

"Bhai..." Her voice is barely more than a whisper, trembling with all the things she isn't saying.

But he doesn't look at her. He doesn't blink. His eyes are locked on me like I'm the only thing in the room worth destroying.

Aayan steps inside, closing the distance with slow, deliberate strides that make the floorboards groan under his weight. Every step feels like it presses the air out of the room, leaving less and less space for me to breathe.

Instinct kicks in. I shift, moving half a step forward, slipping in front of Inaya without thinking. My arm angles back, keeping her behind me. If his rage has a target, let it be me, not her.

"Bhai, wait-" Inaya's voice cracks, desperate, but it doesn't slow him.

His hand tightens into a fist, the movement sharp, and before I can brace myself properly, his knuckles crash against my jaw. The impact is brutal, white-hot pain exploding through the side of my face as my head jerks back.

I stumble, tasting copper, the floor tilting under my feet. Inaya gasps, clutching at my arm, trying to steady me.

But Aayan is already raising his fist again, fury blazing in his eyes, the kind that doesn't see reason, only threat. I lift an arm, half ready to block, but before the second blow lands, Inaya rushes forward, shoving herself between us.

"Stop!" she cries, her hands pushing against his chest. Her voice wavers, but there's steel under it. "He's not here to hurt me!"

Her words hang in the air, raw and trembling, as Aayan's chest heaves with the force of his anger. His eyes flick from her terrified face to me, and then back again.

The silence after Inaya's plea is suffocating. Aayan doesn't move, doesn't blink, just stands there with his fists clenched and his chest rising and falling like he's holding back another strike.

I stand half-shielding her still, jaw throbbing where his punch landed, the sting running down my neck and into my bones. My lip tastes of iron, warm and sharp. Inaya's fingers grip my arm like she's afraid I'll crumble, but it's not her touch keeping me upright; it's the sheer need to stay between her and him.

When Aayan finally speaks, his voice is low, guttural, like he's dragging the words out from somewhere deep. "You remember all those nights you cried, Inaya?" His eyes flick to me, cold and unrelenting. "It was because of him. Because of this bastard."

The words land harder than his fist. I don't flinch, but inside, guilt twists like a knife. I don't even try to defend myself—I can't, not when I know how many tears she's shed because of us, because of me.

But Inaya lifts her chin, her voice trembling but fierce. "No. He wasn't the reason." She shakes her head, her eyes locked on her brother's.

"It was Dad. All of it. Dad's anger, Dad's rules, Dad not letting me live my life." Her breath catches, and then she pushes again at Aayan's chest, softer this time. "Come on, bhai. Please. You know that."

Aayan's face hardens further, his jaw flexing as if he wants to argue but can't. His eyes flick back to me, burning with all the mistrust he's been carrying, and when he speaks again, it's sharp, venomous.

"Despite that," he bites out, "why is this fucker in your room? What the fuck, Inaya?"

The words cut through me. My chest clenches, my jaw aches, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. I stay silent, because what can I say? That I love her? That I'd burn myself alive before I ever hurt her? None of it would matter, not to him.

Beside me, Inaya's breath stutters, and I feel her go still too. We freeze together, like rabbits caught in the open, nowhere left to run.

"We're dating!" Inaya blurts out.

The room goes dead still.

Aayan freezes mid-step, his fist still half-clenched, eyes widening as if someone just switched languages on him. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again, like his brain's trying to reboot after a system crash.

"...Huh?" he finally manages, his voice cracking just a little.

Inaya swallows, then forces the words out again, firmer this time. "We're dating."

Aayan blinks. Once. Twice. Then he slowly raises a finger and points it straight at me.

"You..."

His hand swings to her.

"...two...?"

His voice climbs an octave, like he can't quite believe his own words.

I would laugh if my jaw didn't feel like it had been smashed in half. As it is, I just stand there, aching everywhere, while Inaya actually nods.

"Yes."

Aayan's hand flops back to his side, his face stuck somewhere between horror, confusion, and the kind of disbelief you usually reserve for catching someone eating pizza with pineapple.

"You two?" he repeats, slower this time, as if saying it again might make it less true.

"Bhai," Inaya presses, her voice soft but pleading, "yes."

And I swear, for a second, it looks like he's about to check under the bed to make sure this isn't some elaborate prank. This fucker is the actual clown.

"You two?" Aayan repeats, his voice still a little too high-pitched for a guy his size. He looks between us again, then finally settles his glare on me. His lip curls. "You're dating him? Out of all people?"

My jaw tightens, heat flaring in my chest despite the throbbing ache in it. "Haan, toh mere me kya galat hai?" I shoot back before I can stop myself.

(Yeah, so what's wrong with me?)

Aayan's eyes darken, his shoulders bracing like he's ready to throw another punch. He takes half a step forward, and Inaya's hand catches my arm, yanking me back toward her.

"Adi, please," she hisses under her breath, her eyes darting anxiously between us. "Please maar khane wale kaam mat karo wapas."

(Don't try to get punched again.)

The softness in her voice cuts straight through my pride, and I bite back the words bubbling in my throat. Her grip on me is steady, her presence an anchor, even as her brother's fury fills the room.

She turns then, facing Aayan head-on, her chin lifting in defiance. "Bhai," she says firmly, voice trembling but unshaken, "I love him. I always have. And nothing you, or anyone else, says will ever change my mind."

Her words hang heavy in the silence, the air crackling with the weight of them. Aayan stares at her, his expression caught between disbelief and betrayal, while my heart pounds so hard it almost drowns everything else out.

For a moment, Aayan doesn't move. His jaw ticks, his chest heaves, and his fists curl at his sides like he's seconds away from throwing me out the window. My stomach knots, every muscle in my body coiled tight, bracing for the worst.

Then, finally, he exhales through his nose, sharp and rough. His shoulders sag just slightly. "Very well," he mutters, the words clipped, reluctant.

Relief slams into me so hard my knees nearly give out. Beside me, Inaya lets out a shaky breath, her hand slipping into mine like she's been holding it back this whole time. Our fingers tangle, grounding us both.

"Bhai..." her voice softens, almost pleading now, "will you help us convince Dad?"

Aayan's eyes flick between us, unreadable, like he's weighing the very earth beneath his feet. "Help you?" he scoffs, his gaze landing on me again. "Is he even worth convincing?"

My throat tightens, the sting of the earlier punch still pulsing through me, but before I can speak, Inaya squeezes my hand and steps forward. "Please, bhai. For me."

Aayan studies me for a long beat, then he points at me, flat and dangerous. "Do you love my sister?"

I don't even hesitate. "Of course I do. Why else would I risk my ass being here?" My voice is steadier than I feel. "I love her. I can go declare it to your father right now, if you want."

Inaya jabbed my ribs with the heel of her hand, sharp, half-laughing, half-scolding. "Don't be dramatic," she whispers, though her eyes are wet and bright.

Aayan's smirk is slow, almost amused despite everything. "Okay, kid. Chill out." He steps closer, and there's that flat warning in his tone that means he's half joking and half threatening. "He'll murder you."

I roll my shoulders, pretending not to feel my heart stutter at the thought. "Then he can try," I say, louder than I intend, because there's no other way to answer. I mean it. Every stupid, reckless inch of me means it.

Inaya squeezes my hand, and for the first time since he came in, Aayan lets out something that might be a laugh. The room exhales with us, fragile and raw, and for now, the battle lines blur into a shaky truce.

Aayan shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before his gaze settles back on us. There's still fire in his eyes, but it's not aimed like a weapon anymore; it's protective, guarded. "You two are insane," he says finally, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But fine. If this is what you want, I'll stand with you. Just... don't make me regret it."

Whatever storm comes with her father, we'll weather it together. And now, with her brother on our side, it doesn't feel impossible anymore. It feels like the start of something worth fighting for, because love, in the end, is stronger than anything else.

Aayan

"Are you crazy?"

"Yes. Crazily in love with you."

Kaynaaz glares at me as she presses the bandage tighter around my knuckles. "Aayan, I swear to God, I'll slap you."

I wince because the wrap hits the sore spot, but there's a grin I can't hide. "Your slaps feel like a blessing anyway."

She huffs, mutters something that ends halfway between a scold and a laugh, and I watch her work. The kitchen light throws little gold halos on the loose strands of her hair; she's all concentration and fierce care and the gentlest hands I know. I let her fuss. Let her make the noise she needs to make to stop herself from thinking about what happened an hour ago.

"I can't believe you punched Aditya," she says finally, not looking up. Her voice is practical, annoyed, but steady. The way she says his name tells me exactly what she thinks of the whole situation.

"It was about Inaya," I say, quiet and blunt, because there's no softer way to put it.

Kaynaaz pauses, fingers stilling for a heartbeat. Then she sighs, heavier than a simple exhale. "I do. But violence isn't a solution, Aayan. You could have-" Her words falter; she chews the inside of her cheek, and for once I see her weighing the consequences instead of the righteousness of the moment.

I rub my jaw with my free hand, feeling the dull ache that's already turned into a bruise. "I know," I admit. "Maybe I should've thought. Maybe I should've done things differently. But when she comes to you with that look-" I falter, because no sentence can finish without betraying the heat in my chest.

She finishes the bandage and presses the last bit of tape down with her thumb, then catches my eye. The scolding melts into something softer. "You better not make me regret putting this patch on you," she says. "Because if you do, I'll actually slap you."

I laugh, a short, raw sound, and the laugh loosens something in both of us. Kaynaaz leans back on her heels and shakes her head, but there's a proud lift at the corner of her mouth. "You were reckless."

"Yes," I say, and there's no drama in it. "And I'd do it again."

She studies me like she's deciding whether I'm a lost cause or worth the trouble. Then, as if deciding I'm both, she steps up and presses her forehead to mine for the briefest second. "Don't be stupid," she murmurs. "Help them the right way. Talk to him. Your father. But don't make enemies you can't control."

I nod. I cup her face with my uninjured hand and kiss the crease of her nose, just once.

"I'll do it," I say. "For her. For you."

She snorts, exasperated and fond all at once. "Good. Now go rest. And don't tell me you're fine if you're not, because I'll make you prove it."

"Yeah?" I ask, challenging her. "Well, I'll prove that I'm completely fine now that you've bandaged me."

Before she can retort, I scoop her up with both hands, lifting her like she's nothing more than a troublemaking cushion, and settle her into my lap. She lets out a soft, sharp gasp, half-indignation, half-surprise, then fists my chest with the flat of her hand.

"Put me down this instant, Aayan Khan," she huffs, eyes flashing. Her hit is more theatrical than painful; I wince anyway because theatrics from her always hit harder than anything else.

She jiggles in my lap, trying to wriggle away, but I tighten my hold just enough to make her surrender to the ridiculousness of it. "You promised to rest," she says, breathless. "Not to kidnap me."

"Kidnap?" I repeat, mock-offended. "This is pure heroism. I am a wounded hero reclaiming his-" I pause as she pokes my ribs, ignoring the pain in my knuckles. "-reclaiming his deserved affection."

She narrows her eyes, then breaks into a grin. I should not be allowed to love this much. In a move that should be illegal, she leans forward and flicks my nose with her finger. "I can't with you," she says, softer.

I laugh, low and grateful, the sound rumbling in my chest, and suddenly the room shrinks down to nothing but the space between us. Her hand finds my collar, delicate fingers curling in like she's anchoring herself, and it sends a tremor through me.

I bend, closing the last inch, and our lips meet. At first, it's quick, like the brush of a match against stone. But then it sparks. The kiss deepens, pulling us both into something warmer, heavier, like gravity has shifted and I'm falling straight into her.

Her lips taste faintly of mint and something sweeter, and I swear I could live on just this, her mouth, her breath, and the soft little sigh she gives when I tilt her head to fit better against me. My injured hand throbs, but I ignore it, using my good one to press against the small of her back, urging her closer until she melts into me, pliant and fierce all at once.

Every unsaid word, every reckless promise, every sleepless night seems to pour into that kiss. It's messy and consuming, the kind that makes the air too thick to breathe but too precious to let go. Her fingers tighten in my shirt like she's daring me to stop, daring me to prove I won't.

When we finally part, it's not because we want to, but because oxygen betrays us. I rest my forehead against hers, chest heaving, and she's looking at me with that fire in her eyes that says I'm hers, whether I deserve it or not.

"You drive me insane," she whispers, lips brushing mine even as she speaks.

"And you," I murmur back, grinning despite myself, "make insanity worth it."

We settle back, the air between us still humming with the kiss. Kaynaaz tucks herself more comfortably into my lap, her head resting against my shoulder as if she belongs there. I trail my thumb absentmindedly over the back of her hand, breathing her in, letting the silence stretch.

She tilts her face up to me, a little smile tugging at her lips. "Why are you sulking now?" she asks, her voice teasing but curious.

I let out a dramatic sigh, tipping my head back like the weight of the world rests on me alone. "All my sisters are officially with clowns."

Her laughter bubbles out instantly, bright and free, vibrating against my chest. She swats at me, eyes sparkling, and I can't stop the grin that breaks across my face. If this is what sulking gets me, her laugh, her warmth, then maybe I'll sulk a little more often.

"You just called one of your best friends a clown," Kaynaaz says, raising an eyebrow at me as though she's caught me red-handed.

"Well, he's become a clown in love," I shoot back without missing a beat. "Imagine it, cold, brooding, vampirish Khurana chuckling and blushing. Blehh." I mime gagging for effect, making her snort.

Kaynaaz shakes her head, laughter spilling out of her. "You're no different, doctor. You're the real clown."

I grin, unashamed, pulling her closer until her laugh muffles against my chest. "Then I'll be your clown forever," I murmur, and for once, being ridiculous feels like the most honest thing I've ever said.

Kaynaaz tips her chin up, eyes glinting with mischief. "Only I can love a clown such as you," she declares, half-teasing, half-true.

I smirk, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Good. Because you're the only one I'd ever want to be a clown for."

Her expression softens, the laughter melting into something quieter, deeper. She presses a featherlight kiss to my jaw, and in that moment, every bruise, every ache fades into nothing. With her in my arms, even chaos feels like peace.

And maybe that's all love really is, two people, foolish enough to believe that together, they can survive anything.

Kyra

I've been... better. Or at least, I keep telling myself that. The ache in my chest doesn't throb like it used to, the nights don't stretch quite as endlessly, and my reflection doesn't look like a stranger anymore. I wake up, I breathe, and I laugh sometimes. And though his shadow used to follow me everywhere, it's fading now. Slowly.

I don't think about him, not really. Not in the way I used to, when every silence screamed his name back at me. But sometimes, I catch myself wondering where he's gone, why he's disappeared so completely, as if the earth swallowed him whole. Then I remind myself it doesn't matter. He doesn't matter.

And yet, there's always this tug. Subtle. Quiet. A reminder that once upon a time, someone like Ansh Sharma existed in the orbit of my life.

But I'm learning to live again, without him. To find myself in the little routines, the people who stayed, the dreams I'd shelved for far too long. Maybe this is what healing looks like, not forgetting, but learning to carry the absence until it becomes weightless.

And maybe the clearest sign that I'm finding myself again is that I've gone back to writing. The pages don't scare me anymore. The pen doesn't weigh a thousand pounds in my hand. My novel, the one I'd abandoned when everything fell apart, breathes again.

This time, I've been trying something different. I've been asking people about love, small questions, not real interviews, but curious whispers of wonder. How has love felt to you? What has it meant?

And every answer I've gathered has been different. My best friend said love is safety, the kind of quiet you never want to lose. Kaynaaz else told me it's a fire, wild, consuming, and dangerous. Bhaiya called it a mirror, reflecting the best and worst of who we are. Inaya even said love is a gamble, a risk you take with no guarantee of winning.

Each answer sits in my notebook like a fragment of a larger truth. Together, they weave something messy and beautiful.

Sometimes, when I read them back, I think maybe love isn't meant to have just one definition. Maybe it's a thousand different things, and we only learn which one belongs to us when it's too late to turn away.

But for me... love is just a word. A word that tastes like ash on my tongue. A word that means destruction.

Every time I've dared to love, it's only hollowed me out, torn at the fragile threads of my heart until it was nothing but ruins. My mind still carries those cracks, hairline fractures that ache when I least expect them to.

So when I hear all these voices, my friends, and my family, speaking of love as safety, as fire, as mirrors, as risks worth taking, I want to believe them. I want to trust that their words aren't illusions. But all I can think is: how can something so beautiful to them be so merciless to me?

I know their love isn't fleeting. I see it in the way they look at each other, like time has bent itself around them. For them, it's a lifetime, something carved into the lines of their destiny.

It's an eternity, really. An eternity full of love, soft, unending, like whispers of something pure and heavenly. Almost as if the universe has broken love apart and handed it to them in fragments, letting each of them hold a piece of something eternal.

But I'd be lying if I said I hadn't felt it once, that soft, impossible promise everyone keeps describing.

Ansh.

With him, for the briefest, most reckless stretch of time, I felt like maybe love wasn't just ruin. Like maybe it was a whisper of eternity, curling at the edges of our laughter, stitched into the way his eyes lingered on me. With him, it felt like forever and ever was real, like destiny had finally decided to be kind.

Until it wasn't.

Until my own fate reminded me that it doesn't love me the way it loves others. That whatever forever I thought I held in my hands was nothing but a cruel trick. My destiny doesn't gift me with eternity, it strips me of it, again and again.

And so, the truth reveals itself: for me, love isn't salvation. It isn't safe. It isn't whispers of heaven. It is the only reality, sharp and brutal.

The thought lingers, sharp and aching, until the sound of footsteps pulls me back.

"You're awfully quiet today," Shiv's voice breaks through, lazy and familiar, like he's been watching me spiral for long enough. "Please don't tell me you've gone back to your brooding self. As annoying as the cheerful Kyra is, she's the one we adore."

I blink, the weight of my thoughts slipping just slightly as I turn toward him. The edges of my mouth threaten a smile, because only Shiv can call me annoying and adored in the same breath.

"You're just jealous because I look prettier when I brood," I shoot back, tilting my chin up, forcing the heaviness in my chest to scatter like dust in sunlight.

Shiv huffs, an exaggerated sound, and slumps into the chair across from me like I've wounded him. "Prettier? God save us. If you brood any harder, the walls will start cracking from the sheer weight of your tragic heroine energy."

The noise that escapes me is half a laugh, half a scoff, but then Mariam giggles softly, the sound so airy and warm it instantly diffuses Shiv's mock sulking. I catch the way his eyes dart toward her, the way his lips twitch before giving in to a smile he can't contain. And just like that, my grin blooms wide, unbidden but full, because seeing them like this, light spilling effortlessly between them, feels like watching a story already written in the stars.

Their wedding is set for next year. Sometimes it still feels unreal that Shivyansh, the boy who once scoffed at forever, is the same man who now carries it in his eyes every time he looks at Mariam. And maybe it's selfish, but I hold the memory close, the way he'd come to me first, all nervous excitement, asking how he should plan the proposal. And here I am, keeping a promise. I'll be his wedding planner, not just because I said I would, but because watching my best friend step into his forever is the closest I've come to believing in one myself.

"Alright then, brooding queen, your move," Shiv mutters, still trying to shake off Mariam's laughter. Before I can toss something back, another voice cuts through.

"So..." Kanishk leans forward, his gaze steady, curious in that sharp way of his. "Aaj hum sab ko kyu bhulaya hai idhar, aese?"

(Why exactly did you gather all of us here today?)

The question stills me for a moment. My eyes sweep across the room, and it hits me just how full it is, full not with noise or grandeur, but with the people who make up the very fabric of my heart. Ishaan and Anvi are tucked into their own little bubble, whispering things I'll never hear, though I don't need to; the way Anvi hides her smile against his shoulder is answer enough. Kaynaaz is perched comfortably beside Aayan, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belongs there, and it does. Though I can't help but notice the ridiculous bandage wrapped around his hand. I bite back a grin; I'll interrogate that mystery later.

Across from them, Inaya and Rooh sit side by side, two halves of something whole, even if their men are absent. There's a quiet strength in the way they hold themselves, almost like they've agreed to save a seat for love itself until it returns to them.

And then there's the married and the almost-married: Kanishk and Ipshita, Shiv and Mariam. Their eyes are all fixed on me, some curious, some amused, some patient, but all waiting. All here. All mine in ways that go beyond blood or bond.

For the first time in a long time, I feel it, the undeniable truth that every soul closest to me is right here, under the same roof, waiting for me to speak. Except one.

"I'm publishing," I blurt out before anyone can interrupt with some Shiv-style sarcasm. My fingers curl tighter around the swing's rope, steadying myself. "Not yet, not tomorrow or next week, but in the near future. I'm starting my book." My voice softens into a smile. "Actually, I've already started it. It's centred around us... around you guys."

For a moment, silence settles like a blanket. Then Ipshita bhabhi's face lights up, her hands coming together in a delighted clap. "Kyra, that's wonderful!" She looks like she's already planning the launch party in her head.

Kaynaaz leans forward, her eyes soft, the kind that see right through me. "I knew it," she says, voice proud and almost smug. "The way you kept asking about love like it was some mystery you needed solved, of course, you were writing again." She shakes her head, smiling widely. "I'm so, so glad you are."

Laughter ripples across the group, warm and unguarded, until someone, probably Ishaan with that mischievous grin of his, pipes up, "So... what's it called then? This epic story about all of us?"

All eyes turn back to me, expectant, curious, like they're waiting for me to crown the moment with a name.

"Whispers of Eternity," I say simply, letting the words fall into the garden air like a secret I've been holding onto for too long.

The reactions are immediate, smiles blooming across every face, a quiet awe in their eyes. Mariam is the first to stand, crossing the space between us before I can blink. She pulls me into a hug that's tight and full of pride, her warmth spilling into me as the others clap or murmur their approval.

And as I lean into her embrace, my mind drifts.

I've thought so much about this name. So many late nights spent scribbling words, turning them over like stones in my hand, searching for something that would fit. Titles came and went, pretty in sound but hollow in meaning. Nothing ever felt like home. Nothing ever felt like them.

Until this.

Eternity. It was perfect. Because their stories, their laughter, their heartbreaks, the way love carved them open and stitched them back together, were not just moments. They were whispers. Quiet, powerful murmurs from different corners of the room, each one carrying the same truth.

Eternity.

That's what they are. That's what we are.

. . .

Time slips past us in a blur of chatter and laughter, the garden alive with voices that tangle and overlap like music. I stay on the swing, half a spectator, half a participant, soaking in every detail.

Ipshita bhabhi has just finished telling us, with a spark in her eyes, that she's going to start a business of her own. "It's scary, but I think I'm ready," she'd said, her words carrying that quiet determination only she has. The announcement had everyone clapping, Shiv bowing theatrically and calling her the future CEO, making her roll her eyes while her smile betrayed her pride.

The conversations keep rolling, Kaynaaz teasing Aayan about how he's still sulking with a bandaged hand, Ishaan and Anvi laughing at some private joke that makes Anvi cover her face, Rooh and Inaya whispering like they're plotting something. It's chaotic and calm at the same time, the kind of evening I know will linger with me long after it's over.

"Kyra? Kyra, where are you?" A familiar voice cuts through the laughter.

I turn toward the house, already smiling. "Idhar hoon, Dadi! Garden mein hain sab!"

(I'm here, Dadi, everyone is in the garden)

A moment later, she appears in the doorway, her frame outlined by the soft glow of the house lights. She steps onto the grass with that slow grace of hers, her smile widening when she sees us all scattered across the garden.

"Oh, great," she says, her voice carrying a hint of excitement, "all of you are here." Her eyes sweep over us, her grandchildren, her bache. Then she clasps her hands together. "I've news, kids."

Kaynaaz is the first to speak, her brows pinching with curiosity. "What is it, Dadi?" she asks, her voice light but edged with the same anticipation everyone else suddenly wears.

Dadi doesn't answer right away. She lets the silence linger, the kind of pause that feels deliberate, stretched just long enough to make my stomach twist. The air shifts, the laughter from moments ago fading into a hush, the garden suddenly too still.

Her gaze finally settles on me. And then, with the calm finality of someone dropping a stone into a still pond, she says, "Kyra ki shaadi fix ho gayi hai."

(Kyra's marriage has been fixed.)

The words echo, colliding with the night air, and for a second, I'm not sure if I've heard her right. My hands grip the ropes of the swing, suddenly clammy, while the others sit frozen, their faces flickering with disbelief, curiosity, and shock all at once.

It's like the earth tilts under me. Shaadi. My shaadi. Fixed.

(Wedding. My wedding.)

The words are still ricocheting in my head when a chair scrapes back sharply against the stone.

Kanishk shoots to his feet, his face twisted in disbelief, voice cutting through the silence like a whip. "What the heck are you talking about, Dadi?"

The garden freezes. His outburst hangs heavy, startling in its rawness.

Dadi, however, doesn't flinch. She straightens her shawl over her shoulders, her tone calm but laced with disapproval. "Language, Kanishk." Her eyes narrow on him, stern and unshaken. Then she tilts her head, almost puzzled. "Kyra ne tum logo ko nhi bataya?"

(Didn't Kyra tell you people?)

My breath catches. Every gaze in the circle whips toward me, sharp and questioning, but I can't move, can't speak.

Kanishk's expression hardens, his voice dropping into something colder, steadier, far more dangerous than his earlier shout. "Tell us what?" He doesn't look at her now, his eyes are locked on me, as if daring me to break, to explain.

The swing creaks softly under me, my fingers digging into the rope. I feel the garden around me, their stares, their shock, the weight of the night pressing in, but all I can hear is the thunder of my own heartbeat.

I should've seen this coming.

Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. And yet, some foolish part of me thought I could slip past it, that if I just kept quiet, if I just kept writing, I could delay the inevitable.

But inevitability has a cruel way of finding you.

I should've told them, I think, my throat tightening.

I should've told them before Dadi did. Before it became a spectacle under the stars with all of their eyes on me. But I didn't. I stayed silent, convincing myself it would buy me time.

Now the silence betrays me.

This time, it's Shiv who speaks, his voice softer than Kanishk's but no less sharp.

"Kyra," he says, and I finally drag my eyes up to meet his. His expression is caught somewhere between confusion and concern.

"Dadi kya bole ja rahi hai?"

(What is Dadi talking about?)

The swing creaks again under my weight as if echoing the question.

"I signed a deal with Dad... he promised to help me publish my book if I get married."

The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and the silence that follows is brutal, like the air itself has frozen around us.

Kanishk jerks to his feet, his face twisting as though I've just stabbed him. "Kyra, how cou-"

"I didn't think it would be this soon, Bhai!" I cut in, my voice breaking as the truth claws its way out.

"I thought he'd let me publish the book first, and then I'd find an escape from it. I wasn't ready-" My throat tightens, choking me. "I wasn't ready for this either."

Kanishk curses under his breath, sharp and bitter, his hand dragging through his hair. The sound makes me flinch even though it isn't directed at me.

And then nothing.

The silence stretches, heavy and unbearable. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, but I can't bring myself to look up. My gaze stays fixed on my lap, on my fingers clutched together so tightly my knuckles are bone white. My heart is hammering so violently it feels like it might break free, thudding against my ribs with a vengeance.

I should've known this would come sooner or later. I should've seen it, should've told them before it reached this point. But I didn't. And now the truth sits between us like a stone too heavy to move, suffocating the room in its weight.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the lump in my throat to dissolve, willing this whole moment to vanish like smoke. But when I open them again, the weight is still here, heavier than before. A sigh slips past my lips, shaky and tired, and I force myself to lift my gaze.

Dadi's eyes are already on me. There's sadness in them, yes, deep, old sadness, but there's affection too, soft and unyielding, like she's trying to shield me with it even when she knows she can't. It makes my chest ache in ways I can't explain.

I draw in a sharp breath, hold it, and then let the words tumble out, quiet but sharp enough to slice through the silence.

"Who is it, Dadi?" My voice trembles as I look at her, unblinking. "Who am I getting married to?"

The garden seems still, the air itself waiting for her answer.

My hands slide into my lap, fingers tangling restlessly before I lace them together, pressing so tightly it hurts. I cross them beneath the folds of my dress, hidden from everyone else, but not from Him.

Please, God.

Please let it be the name my destiny has been whispering to the angels since the day I learned what love felt like.

Please let it be the one soul my heart has searched for in every shadow, in every silence, in every breath that has carried me this far.

If there's even a shred of mercy left in You for me, let it be someone who won't break me.

Please, God... just this once.

I hear the name leave Dadi's lips, soft, almost hesitant, and for a moment it doesn't register. It's like the sound slips through the air but never reaches me, like the world itself is holding its breath.

And then it hits me.

The name slams into my chest with the force of a tidal wave. My world goes still, so utterly, painfully still. The chatter dies, the garden fades, even the breeze seems to stop. I can't hear the birds, can't hear my friends, can't even hear the thud of my own heart.

I forget how to breathe. My lungs lock up, my fingers go numb, and my stomach plummets like I've been dropped from the edge of a cliff.

It feels like I've lost a war I'd been fighting in secret all this time, and yet, somehow, I've won something in it. Something I don't know if I deserve. Something that terrifies me as much as it makes me want to weep.

"Kyra's hand has been promised to Ansh Sharma."