The bells chimed like a heartbeat. The marigolds danced on the wind. And Khushi Kumari Gupta? She was already regretting not tying her hair tighter.
She had just adjusted her aarti thali when—
> Thud.
Black SUV door slammed shut.
Her stomach dropped.
> No. No way. Not again.
Please, Devi Maiyya, let that be a businessman. A bald one. With a paunch.
But fate had better fashion sense than that.
Out stepped Arnav Singh Raizada.
Crisp suit. Sunglasses. Power walk.
He looked around like he was scoping out property—even in a temple courtyard.
Khushi clutched her thali tighter. "You've got to be kidding me."
He turned.
Eyes locked.
Khushi sucked in a sharp breath. So did he.
> "You?" she snapped.
> "You?" he said at the same time.
Then smirked. "We really need to stop meeting like this."
> "I'm calling the police."
> "For what? Existing?"
> "For stalking me across time zones and faiths."
Arnav removed his sunglasses like he was in a Bollywood promo.
> "If I was stalking you, you wouldn't know."
> "Wrong. You're rich. You people don't know how to be subtle."
> "You've got a thing against rich people?"
> "Only the ones who show up at my mandir before breakfast."
He stepped closer.
> "This isn't your mandir."
> "My feet have touched these steps more times than your expensive leather shoes have touched dirt. So yes, my mandir."
He gave a low laugh.
> "Didn't realize you were territorial."
> "Didn't realize you were allergic to personal space."
> "I like breaking rules."
> "And I like following them. Opposites. Bye."
She pivoted, walking past the tulsi plant with fire in her step. He followed at a slow, deliberate pace.
> "I'm here on business," he said.
> "Really?" she shot back. "Doing what? Buying divinity in bulk?"
> "Early meetings are the most productive."
> "Meetings with whom, Mr. Raizada? Lord Hanuman?"
He didn't answer. Just stood beside her silently as she placed her thali on the marble rail and folded her hands.
Khushi whispered, "Please Devi Maiyya, just let him leave. Disappear. Melt into his own ego or something."
> "Still think I'm stalking you?" Arnav asked, breaking the silence.
> "Yes."
> "Maybe fate is stalking us both."
She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly gave her a headache.
> "Great. So now fate's unemployed and annoying."
> "You could just admit you're happy to see me."
> "I'd rather eat karela without salt."
> "I can arrange that."
She turned to glare at him.
> "You're impossible."
He leaned in, lips curving.
> "And you're intriguing."
Their eyes held for a second too long. The bells chimed again, louder this time—as if the mandir itself was gossiping.
> "You always talk to girls like this?" she asked.
> "Only the ones who throw spoons at their sisters."
> "How—how do you—?"
> "Payal posted the video on her Instagram story. You really need to work on your aim."
Khushi's jaw dropped. "You looked me up?"
> "I'm a businessman. I do research."
> "You're a creep."
> "You're fascinating."
She groaned, grabbing her thali and storming toward the steps. "I'm done. I need spiritual detox."
> "From me?"
> "From this whole day."
He paused. Then called after her—
> "Khushi."
She stopped.
> "It is a coincidence," he said softly.
She turned just enough to glance back.
> "Then let's not make it a habit."
> "What if I want to?"
Her breath hitched.
But she didn't answer.
Just walked away. Leaving him standing beneath the temple bells, staring after her like a man trying to memorize a moment.
A sketch without paper.
A memory without permission.
And somewhere inside him, a storm had already begun.
---
Outside the Temple – Pani Puri Stall
The temple bells had long stopped echoing, but Khushi's laughter hadn't.
She stood beside the street vendor like a seasoned warrior, popping a perfectly round pani puri into her mouth, eyes closing in bliss. Her dupatta fluttered in the breeze like it had its own diva complex.
Next to her, Arnav Singh Raizada looked like a misplaced Wall Street banker who had wandered into a Bollywood song sequence. His brows were furrowed, his designer shoes one splatter away from fleeing, and his nose wrinkled at the sight of spicy green water.
> "Spicy enough for you, Raizada-ji?" she teased, handing him a steel plate, the clang echoing like a war drum.
Arnav stared down at the glistening golgappas like they'd insulted his lineage.
> "This looks like disease in a bowl," he muttered.
> "No guts, no golgappas," Khushi grinned. "Live a little."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're seriously asking me to put that in my mouth?"
> "Yes. Unless you want the jalebi auntie over there to do it for you," she challenged, jerking her chin toward a middle-aged aunty winking at him from the next stall.
Arnav's nostrils flared. He picked up the puri.
Khushi leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Whole thing. One go. Don't breathe."
POP.
The golgappa went in.
And Arnav… died a little inside.
His back straightened like he'd been electrocuted. His throat went red. His eyes shimmered with instant regret. One cough escaped before he swallowed it back with billionaire-level dignity.
> "It's... fine," he croaked, blinking furiously. "Totally... fine."
> "Totally dying," Khushi said, laughing so hard she had to hold the pani puri cart to balance herself.
She handed him a napkin, still grinning. "Tumhare jaise log spicy cheez nahi sambhal sakte."
He wiped his mouth, trying to look unaffected. Failing.
> "You'd be surprised what I can handle," he replied, voice lower, deeper. His eyes locked on hers.
She blinked. Her breath caught.
The world… shifted.
Rabba Ve...
The noise faded. The clink of coins, the sizzling oil, the bickering aunties—gone.
All that existed was the space between them. Taut. Warm. Charged like a monsoon sky.
The breeze tugged at Khushi's dupatta, pulling it across Arnav's wrist. He didn't move. His fingers twitched, tempted to hold it. To hold her.
Their eyes tangled—his intense, hers wide and shimmering.
> "You always look at people like that?" she asked, voice softer now.
> "Only you," he murmured.
Khushi's heart stuttered.
She quickly turned toward the chutney counter, panicking and mumbling—
> "Kya? Golgappa flirtation bhi ek cheez hai ab?"
Behind her, Arnav smiled. Actually smiled. Like his face muscles didn't know how, but were learning on the job.
> "It is now," he said.
She spun around, flustered. "Are you always this... shameless?"
> "Only around you," he replied, stepping just a little closer.
The stall guy blinked. "Aapko aur chahiye golgappa?"
> "Do aur," Khushi squeaked, desperate for distraction.
> "Make that four," Arnav said coolly.
> "Hai Devi Maiyya," she muttered. "He's trying to one-up me at pani puri now?!"
> "And winning," he whispered, his eyes never leaving hers.
Rabba Ve builds again, swelling in the background like a promise and a challenge.
Khushi's cheeks flushed. Her heart didn't know whether to flutter or faint.
She picked up another golgappa, eyes narrowed in mock battle.
> "This means war, Mr. Raizada."
> "Good," he said, dipping one in the tangy water like a warrior drawing his sword. "I came prepared."
Khushi stood mid-bite, cheeks puffed like a squirrel, eyes narrowed at Arnav as he lifted a golgappa to his lips with infuriating calmness.
> "You chew like it's a business strategy," she muttered after swallowing, wiping her hands.
> "And you challenge people like it's a sport," Arnav countered, his voice deceptively soft.
> "Better than brooding like a serial killer in a Hugo Boss suit," she shot back, tongue slightly out as she prepped another golgappa for herself.
> "You like this serial killer enough to feed him street food," he said coolly, biting into his fourth golgappa like he'd just closed a million-dollar deal.
Khushi's stomach did a front flip.
> No. No, no. Jalebi brain, stop. He is not hot. You are just heatstroked. Or cursed. Or possessed. Yeah, that must be it.
Just then—
"HAIII RE NANDKISHORE!"
Khushi flinched so hard her pani puri exploded in her hand.
> "Buaji?" she squeaked, spinning around to face the tornado in a pink cotton saree.
---