The mehendi had stained her palms by afternoon. Swirls of paisleys wrapped across her skin, but her thoughts were tangled elsewhere.

She hadn’t seen him again since the garden. Not even in passing.

But the memory lingered—the rough warmth of his hand, the silence between them, the way his eyes didn’t ask, didn’t explain. Just... existed. Like a storm refusing to announce itself.

She thought maybe he’d left. That would be better.

She was wrong.

---

Her mother appeared near the staircase, adjusting her saree pleats. “Come, beta,” she said with a soft but firm smile. “Your papa wants to introduce you to someone.”

“To another aunty?” she asked lightly, already exhausted from rehearsed small talk.

“Not this time,” her mother replied, touching her elbow. “Someone important.”

Her tone made her pause.

They walked through the long, white corridor into the haveli’s formal guest hall—the room reserved for special visitors, older family friends, people whose presence meant more than casual greetings.

She stepped inside and halted.

Seated comfortably on the ivory sofas was a couple—refined, elegant, dressed in subtle luxury. The woman wore a sea-green silk saree. The man beside her had a quiet authority, his cream kurta crisp, his voice low and warm as he spoke to her father.

And next to him, standing beside the window—

Him.

The same man she’d helped.

No expressions. Just the same unreadable eyes—and a look that said he’d expected her to walk in.

Her mother greeted the couple first. Warm embraces, a string of “how-many-years-has-it-been” filled the room.

“Saanvi, beta,” her father said, gently motioning her forward. “Come meet them. This is Mr. Rana and his wife, Devika.”

“Namaste,” Saanvi said politely, folding her hands.

Devika reached forward with both hands, cupping hers like a long-lost aunt. “Oh, we’ve heard so much about you, Saanvi. Your father never stops praising you. And you’re even prettier than your pictures!”

Saanvi flushed slightly, but smiled.

“And this,” Mr. Rana said, rising just a bit, placing a hand on the shoulder of the man beside him, “is our son.”

There was a pause—like the room exhaled.

He stepped forward.

No smile. No forced warmth.

Just presence.

“Aarav,” he said simply, his voice the same as before—steady, unmoved.

“Saanvi,” she replied quietly.

They shook hands.

His fingers wrapped around hers just briefly—calm, warm, but powerful in the kind of way that left impressions long after contact. Their eyes met again. This time, they held the weight of memory.

“Oh!” Devika exclaimed softly, looking between them. “Have you two met already?”

Aarav’s gaze didn’t shift. “Briefly.”

Saanvi said nothing.

Her mother smiled, a little unsure. Her father chuckled. “Fate works faster than we do, it seems.”

“Your father and Aarav’s used to be inseparable,” Devika added fondly. “College roommates, business partners once—and now look at this. We always hoped our families would stay close.”

“We still do,” her father said meaningfully.

There was a moment of quiet understanding exchanged between the parents.

Saanvi stood still, feeling a thousand things at once.

Aarav was her father’s friend’s son. The very person she had unknowingly crossed paths with. The one everyone had tiptoed around mentioning. The one who didn’t believe in small talk, who wore his silence like a second skin.

And now, the one standing across from her, as introductions were made that felt dangerously close to something bigger.

“You’ll join us for dinner, won’t you?” her mother asked Devika warmly.

“Of course,” Devika replied, patting Saanvi’s hand again. “We’re staying nearby. And Saanvi, dear, if you’re free tomorrow, come for tea. I’d love to talk more. I always wanted a daughter.”

Saanvi nodded politely, but her thoughts were spinning.

Aarav said nothing, but his eyes lingered—measured, unreadable, and yet uncomfortably aware.

She turned to her mother. “Can I go help with the decorations?”

Her mother smiled. “Yes, go. I’ll come in a bit.”

As Saanvi left, she could feel Aarav’s gaze on her back—not heavy, not invasive. Just… there.

Watching. Remembering.