Sunlight spills gently through the carved jharokhas. Meera sits cross-legged on her bed, hair still damp from a shower, sipping her morning chai when her phone lights up.
Rizwan calling…
She swipes to answer.
Meera (with a tired smile):
"Rizwan… hey."
Rizwan (relieved):
"So it's true. You're back in India."
Meera (apologetic):
"I'm sorry I left London without saying anything. It wasn't professional, I know."
Rizwan (calm, reassuring):
"You don't owe anyone an explanation, Meer. You needed that break. I'm just glad you're okay."
She bites her lip, lowering her gaze.
Meera:
"I think… I want to pause things for a while. Work, shoots, campaigns—just for a bit. If that's okay."
Rizwan (soft chuckle):
"You're allowed to be human, you know. I already sent out decline mails for all pending offers."
Meera (smiling faintly):
"Thank you."
Rizwan (hesitating):
"Well… all but one."
Meera (confused):
"What do you mean?"
Rizwan:
"There was one contract I couldn't cancel. It came directly from the company's CEO."
Meera (frowning):
"Which Company?"
Rizwan (knowingly):
"Abhimanyu's."
She freezes.
Rizwan (teasing gently):
"Congratulations, Meera. You're officially the brand ambassador of AR Enterprises. You can't back out—he's already got your face on the proposal."
Meera (groaning):
"I told him not to waste time…"
Rizwan (smirking through the call):
"Well, he clearly thinks you are worth it."
Rizwan smiles. "You're his most precious asset, Meera. He meant it."
She closes her eyes for a second, moved — not by the title, but by the thoughtfulness behind it. "Tell him… thank you," she says quietly, her voice laced with emotion. "But also tell him to stop making me fall for him like this."
She leans back against the pillow, heart racing despite herself. Her phone buzzes again—a message from Abhimanyu.
"Clock's ticking, asset. Press day is in 6 days. Try to look decent."
Meera rolls her eyes and smiles.
————————————————————
Abhimanyu walks out of a boardroom in Mumbai, phone in hand, reading a message from Rizwan.
"She said thank you. And to stop making her fall for you like this."
A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face.
He shakes his head, pocketing the phone, eyes shining with a quiet fire.
Murmuring to himself, "Then she better stop being so easy to love."
He glances at the sky for a second, his heart somewhere far from Mumbai — maybe already with her in Rajasthan.
And with that, he walks off toward his next meeting, the tiredness in his shoulders now carrying a new kind of weight — longing, and something dangerously close to hope.
————————————————————
Later in the evening
Meera, barefoot and in one of her oldest cotton kurtas, wandered the marble corridors of the private wing Raja Sa had assigned to her and Abhimanyu.
The scent of rosewater clung faintly to the air.
She turned a corner and noticed a door she hadn't paid attention to before. Tucked between the reading alcove and Abhimanyu's study. Heavy. Wooden. Locked.
Curious, she tried the handle. Nothing. She knocked gently. Silence.
A moment later, her phone rang. She smiled faintly — his name always did that now.
Abhimanyu.
"Hello?"
"Where are you?" came his voice, low and slightly distracted — the sound of pages rustling in the background.
"In our wing… just roaming around," she replied. "I found a locked door. Next to your study."
The silence on the other end sharpened.
"You tried to open it?"
"I mean… yeah. It's locked. What's in there?"
There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his tone had shifted — clipped, guarded.
"Don't touch that door again, Meera."
She blinked. "What— why?"
"Because I said so."
"You're… seriously getting mad at me for trying to open a door?"
"It's not about the door. It's about boundaries. Some spaces aren't meant to be opened just because you're curious," he said, voice taut.
"Wow. That's rich coming from someone who's barged into every corner of my life."
"That's different."
"No, it's not," she snapped. "If I'm going to be in this house, this relationship, then you don't get to keep rooms — literal or emotional — locked and expect me to just smile through it."
He went quiet again. Then exhaled, slowly.
"I didn't mean to snap. But… that room is off-limits for a reason. It's not about you."
"Then tell me what it's about."
"…Not now."
A beat of silence stretched between them. And then, much softer, she murmured, "Do you not trust me with what's in there?"
He didn't answer.
"I'll wait," she said finally. "But one day, you will have to tell me. I'm not afraid of your darkness, Abhimanyu. I've survived mine."
The next morning, Meera walked past the same hallway — eyes automatically drifting to the locked door.
Still shut. Still silent. Still holding something he wasn't ready to show her.
She didn't touch it.
But she did pause.
But then replaying the conversation they had yesterday she chose to not dwell on the thought of opening this door.
So She walked away.
But the door stayed with her.
After having a tiresome and fun filled time with her best friends who kept pestering her about Abhimanyu she decided to turn in for the evening.
AFTER SOME TIME...….
The door to their wing creaked open — silent except for the distant rustle of wind brushing the palace windows.
Meera lay curled on the couch, fast asleep, a book splayed open across her chest. One hand hung limply over the edge, the soft rise and fall of her breath the only sign of movement in the vast, quiet room.
Abhimanyu stepped in, freshly back from Mumbai — unannounced, as always.
He didn't say a word.
He placed his phone aside, kicked off his shoes, and quietly walked to her. His eyes lingered on her sleeping face for a moment — peaceful, for once. Then, slowly, he moved to the other side, changed out of his jacket, and slipped under the covers beside her.
Meera stirred.
Eyes blinking open slowly, disoriented, and then —
"Abhimanyu?" she whispered, her voice groggy, confused.
He didn't answer right away. Just wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer, his voice murmuring against her hair, "You said not to waste time. I listened."
She blinked up at him, trying not to smile.
"You didn't tell me you were coming."
"I wanted to see your face before I told you," he said, his tone teasing. "Much more dramatic."
She turned fully to him, hands pressed to his chest.
"You scared me."
"And yet…" he paused, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers, "you look like you missed me."
She rolled her eyes. "A little."
"Liar," he whispered — and for a long moment, neither of them moved. Just breath, and warmth, and the weight of two people too tired to keep their walls up.