Khushi house-
Khushi opened the door like every other morning-hair in a half-bun, yawning, muttering to herself about milk being thinner than Buaji's patience.
But this morning?
She froze.
Because sitting neatly on the doorstep like a gift from the dessert gods...
Was a white box.
Wrapped in golden ribbon.
Still slightly warm.
And when she lifted the lid?
Jalebis.
Perfectly coiled. Crispy. Smelling like heaven had been dipped in syrup.
Her brows knitted.
> "Buaji? Did you order sweets from Gupta Sweets again?!"
Buaji's voice echoed from inside, already suspicious:
> "Sankadevi, I haven't even ordered my arthritis oil this month, where will I order jalebis from?!"
Payal walked in, toothbrush still in mouth, looked at the box, and grinned.
> "Secret admirer alert?" she mumbled through foam.
Khushi scoffed. But not before seeing the small white note tucked under the ribbon.
She picked it up. Her heart did a little tap dance.
Black ink. Smooth handwriting.
Two words.
> "Round Two?"
Her cheeks? Fire. Actual fire.
> "Nope. Not blushing. Just...sunburn," she muttered to herself.
> "Jiji!" she whisper-shrieked. "It's him. It has to be him. Mr. Mysterious-SUV-Golgappa-Panic-Attack!"
Payal raised a single brow.
> "You mean Arnav Singh Raizada?"
Khushi's eyes widened.
> "You're not supposed to say his name out loud! That's how he appears. Like Voldemort, but with cheekbones."
---
Earlier That Night
ASR's Car, Parked Outside Gupta House
Arnav sat behind the wheel, staring at the white box on the passenger seat.
"Is this ridiculous?" he muttered to himself.
Of course it was.
He was ASR.
He didn't do dessert deliveries.
He fired people who even suggested dessert deliveries.
And yet here he was.
Wearing black at 3AM. Driving across LakshmiNagar. Leaving warm jalebis like some kind of sugar-soaked secret agent.
> "It's not romantic. It's strategic," he told himself. "Like... branding."
Aman's voice (in his head): "Sir, you are... unwell."
He chuckled. Just a little.
Then he placed the box neatly on her doorstep.
Added the note.
Paused.
And walked back to the SUV without looking back.
---
Present Morning - Gupta Kitchen
Buaji, now holding a spoon like a weapon, narrowed her eyes.
> "So? Who is sending sweets to my niece before sunrise? Tell me now, or I'll make you drink karela juice for breakfast."
Khushi clutched the box closer to her chest like it was a love letter.
> "Buaji, I swear I don't know-"
Payal, with a smirk:
> "But she wishes she did."
Khushi chucked a piece of jalebi at her. Missed.
Again.
---
Ten minutes later, the Gupta dining table was an emotional crime scene.
Khushi sat mid-bite of aloo poori, but her attention was elsewhere.
The box now rested in front of her. Untouched since her dramatic throw-and-snatch moment.
The label?
AR & Co. - Personal Dispatch.
The note still sat folded beside it. Its two words echoing louder than the old Lata Mangeshkar song on the radio.
> "Round Two?"
That was it.
Two words.
And yet they had the audacity to cause a category 5 hurricane in Khushi's stomach.
Payal tiptoed in, peeking at the box.
"Did... did a suitor finally send sweets instead of a biodata?"
Khushi blinked.
> "This isn't a proposal, Jiji. This is a declaration of war."
Payal sniffed a jalebi.
> "If this is war, I surrender."
Payal crept back in with new questions. "So... are you gonna write back? Or send him gulab jamuns and declare war?"
> "This isn't a proposal, Jiji. This is psychological warfare."
Payal sniffed a jalebi.
> "Then I'm switching sides."
Khushi bolted up, chair scraping the floor.
> "He thinks he can win me over with sweets? Just because he has power? Money? Designer shoes that can't survive puddles?"
She huffed.
> "Well, I'll send him ten kilos of boondi laddoos and see how he likes diabetic diplomacy."
Buaji shuffled in again with fresh suspicion.
> "Ten kilos?! Jalebis? Laddoos? Is this a food war or a love war, Sankadevi?"
Khushi flailed.
> "No war! No love! We just... ran into each other at the temple! It was very spiritual!"
Buaji's eyes narrowed.
> "You only stammer when you lie. Or when Salman Khan takes off his shirt."
Payal nearly snorted tea.
> "He sent jalebis. With a note," she sang.
Buaji gasped.
> "Hai! Was there... glitter?"
Khushi, mortified: "No glitter!!"
She grabbed the box and stomped toward the trash.
> "Where are you going?" Payal and Buaji asked in perfect sync.
> "To throw it away!"
> "Why?!" said the choir of chaos.
She paused.
The box was warm.
The handwriting was too familiar.
That stupid voice echoed in her ears.
> "You think I planned that smile?"
Khushi muttered:
> "Tera hone laga hoon... waise hi jaise..."
Then she blinked. Shook her head violently.
> "Ugh. No. Absolutely not. Hormones, go back to sleep."
She shoved the box back onto the table.
> "Fine. I'll eat one. For science. To test sugar levels."
She bit into it.
And the moment syrup hit her tongue-
Her heartbeat forgot how to rhythm.
His smirk.
His eyes.
His whispered "Then we see who burns first."
Her lips curled, despite herself.
Buaji watched knowingly.
> "Lagta hai Sankadevi ke jalebi mein pyaar mil gaya hai..."
Khushi groaned. Dramatically.
And somewhere, across the city...
---
Shantivan -
The marble of Shantivan glittered like ice, reflecting the morning sun.
But inside, it was colder than ever.
Arnav stood by the floor-length window, suit crisp, hair tousled just enough to betray a sleepless night. His fingers drummed softly against the edge of his coffee cup - untouched. Steam curled and vanished.
His phone buzzed.
Aman.
Aman:
She received it. Took three seconds before opening the box. Read the note twice. Then blushed.
He didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Just smirked.
Victory wasn't always loud. Sometimes, it was dipped in sugar and left at a doorstep.
And for a girl who mocked his shoes.
This was checkmate.
Or maybe...
Just the beginning.
Then a quiet inhale.
He slipped the phone into his pocket like it hadn't just made the earth shift.
> "So... dessert espionage is your new business model now?"
Anjali's voice floated in from behind him, amused and deadly observant.
She walked in wearing a soft pink saree, the perfect opposite of the black-and-white hurricane her brother was becoming.
He didn't turn.
Didn't speak.
So she leaned casually against the armrest.
> "You sent her jalebis. Jalebis, Chhote. You, who once called them 'fried sugar bombs for the emotionally unstable.'"
Silence.
> "Are we emotionally unstable now?"
He exhaled through his nose.
> "I didn't ask for commentary, Di."
> "You also didn't ask for midnight dessert delivery... but here we are."
He finally turned, slowly, like the sun circling a little too close to Earth.
> "What I do with my money is my concern."
> "Money?" Anjali laughed. "You think this is about receipts and ledgers?"
> "Everything is about control." His voice dropped. "And I'm controlling this."
> "By... sending her hand-packed sweets and sketching her at 3 a.m.?"
His eyes narrowed.
> "Who told you that?"
> "The paper with her laugh half-finished is still on your desk, Chhote. Not exactly MI6 of you."
He clenched his jaw. Silence.
> "She mocked my shoes, Di."
> "Your shoes?" Anjali blinked.
> "In front of the painting at the fabric exhibition. Said they looked like they couldn't survive a puddle."
He said it flatly, but Anjali swore she saw a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not anger. Not quite.
Fondness?
> "So what did you do?" she asked.
> "Nothing."
Beat.
> "I just stood there."
> "That's not nothing."
> "It is for me."
He ran a hand through his hair. Controlled chaos.
> "You know what I hate, Di?"
> "Besides jalebis?"
He glared.
> "Losing control."
> "And she makes you feel... out of control?"
> "She makes me feel."
He said it like a curse.
Right then, Lavanya burst into the living room like a Bollywood subplot.
> "Okay, serious question," she said, phone in hand. "Do I post this? It's a poll. 'Who should ASR take on a date: Khushi Kumari Gupta... or his laptop?'"
Arnav shot her a look so sharp, even Siri would've glitched.
> "If you don't want to be transferred to Siberia, put the phone down."
Lavanya blinked.
> "Okaaay... so hostile. We're definitely in love."
> "Lavanya."
His tone turned Arctic.
> "Yup. Gone. Vanished. Deleted the poll. Also... jalebi girl is winning, by the way."
She fled.
Anjali gave him a look - part exasperated sister, part proud matchmaker.
> "So? What now?"
He picked up his blazer from the chair. Black on black. A man dressed for war.
> "Tell Aman to cancel my meetings."
> "Why?"
> "I'm going to find her."
> "And then?" she asked again, softly.
Arnav paused at the door, adjusting his cufflinks, voice like velvet over steel.
> "Then we see who burns first, Di."
He walked out.
And this time, even the marble beneath his feet seemed to hold its breath.
---