Payal waited in the silent in the car for far longer than she intended, the world outside a haze of tense anticipation. Unconsciously, her eyelids drooped, and soon she was lost in peaceful sleep—the gentle hum of the wind and Julian's lingering scent coiling around her like a lullaby. Her sleeping face, illuminated sporadically by sun lights, was breathtaking in its serenity; even unconscious, she radiated a quiet beauty that made the world feel softer.
When she awoke, something was profoundly different. The familiar cocoon of the car was gone—her first sensation was the texture of crisp linens beneath her, cool against her skin in a room that was shadowed rather than white, wrapped in a dusky darkness that muffled sound and blurred the lines of safety. Sitting upright, disoriented, Payal's heart raced. The air held a faint hint of sandalwood and clean cotton, grounding her nerves as she stood and padded toward the half-open doorway.
Outside, the hallway loomed in dim half-light, its silence punctuated only by her soft footsteps and the faint creak of polished floors. Then, half-veiled by shadows and light, she saw him—a figure whose posture was as familiar as the ache in her chest.
Their eyes met. His gaze was deep green, almost luminescent beneath the shadows, and his long hair was pulled into the neat, tight bun she remembered from their first encounter. Only one day had passed, yet the magnetism between them felt undeniable. As he looked at her—steady, direct—Payal felt the room fade away: every doubt, every memory, forgotten in the charged stillness between them.
The silence spoke volumes. In that moment, amid mystery and longing, Payal's world shifted—drawn by eyes that made her forget the past, and promise something she'd never dared to want.
Payal walked slowly toward William, uncertainty lingering in her steps. "Where is Julian?" she asked, searching his eyes for answers. William's gaze lingered on her, distant yet controlled—no trace of anger, only a shadow of something unresolved. "Father sent him to do some work," William said. "You're going to stay here with me. Julian will be back tomorrow, before we leave." His tone was calm, almost gentle as he added, "Eat something and sleep well. We have the wedding ahead tomorrow."
With that, William turned and left Payal standing in the quietly charged corridor, the hush from high ceilings amplifying her solitude. Her hands curled over her sleeves—she felt small, abandoned, and unsure how to navigate the simmering tension nestled inside the mansion's walls.
William strode into his room, the weight of his thoughts pressing down with every step. He wasn't himself. In a sudden burst, he slammed a drawer and sent papers scattering. His anger found release in tossing a book, shoving a chair, each motion echoing off polished surfaces. "Why am I becoming like this?" he muttered. Whenever she came close, a strange restlessness took hold—unwelcome, unsettling. He didn't want this. He missed his quiet certainty, his measured life before Payal disrupted his world.
"It's not good," he whispered, fists clenching, "I have to get hold of myself. I can't become a lovesick puppy."
Seeking solace, William locked himself in the bathroom, cold water numbing his skin as he tried to compose himself. The solitude was both a relief and a punishment, a space where he could recalibrate—or simply hide from feelings he didn't understand.
Outside, Payal pressed her palm to the wall, senses shifting between hope and anxiety. The mansion's silence seemed alive, holding secrets and possibilities. Tomorrow, everything would change.