Gupta Boutique -
The bell above the boutique door gave a soft ting, delicate as wind chimes.
Khushi didn't look up. She was elbow-deep in a crate of pastel net fabric, frowning at a bolt of lavender that was, in her words,
> "the exact shade of Buaji's post-fever chappal."
> "Jiji, I swear, if the dye guy brings one more roll of 'bruised papaya lavender', I'll make him wear it to his own wedding-"
But then she paused.
Because the air changed.
Like someone had turned the volume down on the world.
She slowly straightened and turned.
And there he was.
Arnav Singh Raizada.
Dressed in black-on-black. Rolled-up sleeves. Watch glinting. The kind of man who didn't walk into a space-he claimed it.
He didn't say hello.
Just glanced around the shop like it was a battlefield he was assessing.
Khushi's hand tightened around the fabric roll.
> "Oh look, it speaks," she said dryly. "Didn't realise Raizadas shopped local."
He blinked once. Unfazed.
> "I was in the area."
> "And naturally you thought, 'Let's pop in and judge some polyester.' Logical."
He tilted his head. A slight smile-more threat than charm.
> "You run this place?"
She crossed her arms, defensive.
> "Yes. Why? Shocked women can do business without spreadsheets and neckties?"
> "No. Just wondering how you afford to sell this much sarcasm per metre."
Before she could retort, the sound of rapid footsteps came from the back.
Payal appeared, carrying a half-pinned blouse.
She froze at the sight.
> "Oh no."
Then turned.
"Buaji!"
Too late.
Buaji came bustling out, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes narrowing like a heat-seeking missile.
> "Hai re Nandkishore! It's him!"
Khushi groaned under her breath.
> "Please don't-"
> "The jalebi man!" Buaji gasped, pointing with her steel karchi.
Arnav blinked.
Not quite startled. But this was not the welcome he was used to.
> "Buaji," Khushi hissed, "we do not call billionaires 'jalebi men.'"
> "Why not? That's what he sent!" Buaji turned to him. "Unless you're also the one who left golgappas at the temple, huh? Confess!"
Payal covered her mouth to muffle her laugh.
Arnav gave a small nod. Civil. Controlled.
> "I thought the sweets might be... appreciated."
Buaji raised a brow and stepped forward like a general.
> "Listen, bitwa. We don't have time for emotional economics here. If you're thinking of sending mixed signals with mithai, take your confusion and your boxes elsewhere."
> "Buaji!" Khushi choked.
> "No, let me speak," Buaji said, pointing her spoon at Arnav. "I've seen your kind. Money, suits, and minds like sewing needles. But hearts? Hmm. All designer label, no warmth."
> "I assure you," Arnav said coolly, "I have no intention of hurting your niece."
> "Good," Buaji sniffed. "Because if I see one teardrop, I swear on my achar jars-I will return your jalebis with interest. And mirchi powder."
Payal clapped lightly. "That's my Buaji."
Khushi looked like she wanted the earth to open and swallow her entire stockroom.
> "Can we not have war declarations over halwa, please?!"
Arnav turned to her at last.
His voice lowered, rich like thunder in monsoon heat.
> "Did you enjoy them?"
Khushi blinked.
> "The jalebis?"
> "What else would I be referring to?"
> "I don't know-maybe the chaos you caused? The lectures I got? The fact that Payal recorded Buaji interrogating the box like it was an FBI case?"
> "That's not a no."
Khushi scowled.
> "Maybe I ate them to prove a point."
> "What point?"
> "That sugar can't cover arrogance."
Arnav stepped in. Just one calculated step closer.
Khushi instinctively stepped back-but her spine straightened like steel.
> "And yet," he said softly, "you didn't throw them away."
> "Ugh, stop using facts like weapons."
There was a pause.
Tension hung in the air like heat before lightning.
Payal coughed lightly.
> "Buaji, I think we should go check that lehenga sample... in the storage room. Very far away from this... extremely weird date that's not a date."
> "Haan haan," Buaji grumbled, tugging her away. "Let's go. And if I hear any raised voices, I'll come back with belan!"
They vanished.
Now it was just Khushi and Arnav.
The silence buzzed louder than a power cut.
> "This is your idea of flirting?" she asked finally. "Mystery desserts and boutique ambushes?"
> "I don't flirt."
> "Clearly."
> "I investigate."
> "Are you a detective or a dessert donor?"
He smiled faintly.
> "Depends. Are you the type to confess... or run?"
Her breath hitched. She hated that. Hated how his voice slinked under her skin.
He slid a business card onto the counter.
> "In case your boutique ever needs bulk fabric. Or a... less bruised lavender."
He turned. Walked halfway to the door. Then paused.
Turned back.
His eyes were softer. Barely.
> "Tell Buaji... next time, I'll bring golgappas myself."
And with that-
He was gone.
Door bell tinkling softly behind him.
---
Outside the Gupta Boutique
Lavanya, parked in her sleek car, peered through her oversized sunglasses like a spy on a mission.
> "ASR. In Laxmi Nagar. Talking about feelings and fried snacks," she muttered.
"Either he's in love... or I am hallucinating on low blood sugar."
She pulled out her phone, fingers flying.
To: Anjali 💅
> "Emergency. Your brother just complimented golgappas. In public.
Either he's in love... or having a full-blown meltdown. I'm bringing popcorn."
✨ At Shantivan
Anjali, mid-puja, read the message.
Paused.
Blink. Blink.
> "Oh. My. Devi Maiyya..."
She dropped the diya.
> "He's gone full rom-com."
She grabbed her phone.
To: Lavanya
> "Send location. I'm bringing prasad and chai. This I need to see."
Lavanya, still watching ASR talk to Khushi with actual emotions, grinned wickedly.
> "Ooh... and it's Khushi Kumari Gupta.
Raizada's heart is doing bhangra in Laxmi Nagar... in full designer shoes."
She snapped a pic like paparazzi on a mission.
To: Anjali 💅
> "ASR is in love. It's over. Cancel his board meetings. Start shopping for sherwanis."
Anjali, still recovering from the golgappa confession, replied with:
> "Ohohoho. THIS is going in the family group chat. With emojis."
Anjali burst out laughing at Lavanya's text, nearly dropping her phone.
> "Unbelievable. Chhote's heart has finally been hijacked. By jalebis."
Just then, Nani entered, regal as ever, holding her puja thali.
> "Who is laughing like a hyena during morning aarti?"
Anjali tried to play it cool, but her eyes sparkled like she'd just uncovered a family scandal.
> "Nothing, Nani... just Lavanya spying on Arnav in Laxmi Nagar."
> "Laxmi Nagar?" Nani blinked. "Isn't that the area where the girl lived.
Anjali coughed to hide her grin. "Khushi? Yes. The very one."
Nani narrowed her eyes, like a general calculating match statistics.
> "What was he doing there? Business?"
Anjali showed her the message. Lavanya's words. A picture of ASR holding a business card like it was a bouquet of roses.
Nani's brows shot up.
> "Hai re Devi Maiyya. He didn't even go to Haridwar for his cousin's wedding, but he's attending snack ceremonies in Laxmi Nagar?"
She clutched her pearls dramatically.
> "It's time."
> "Time for what?" Anjali asked, half-laughing, half-horrified.
Nani stood tall.
> "Time to oil my hair and prepare my matchmaking shawl. Your Chhote has finally found someone he doesn't terrify."
---
AR Designs - Arnav's Office
The glass walls of AR Designs didn't just shine-they shimmered in fear today.
Because ASR was in a mood.
Phones were on silent. Heels were softer. People were texting prayers to Devi Maiyya and hiding their chai breaks.
Inside the cabin, Arnav Singh Raizada stood near the window, back turned, hands clasped behind.
The glass door hissed open.
Aman walked in-holding a file and wearing too much confidence for someone who'd been part of a temple-snack scandal.
Wrong move.
Behind the sleek desk, Arnav Singh Raizada sat sharp in black, cufflinks glinting, watch ticking like a countdown to destruction. He didn't look up.
He didn't need to.
The temperature dropped five degrees.
> Arnav (quietly, without looking):
"Did I... authorize you to become a family gossip columnist, Aman?"
Aman froze.
> "Sir?"
Now Arnav looked up. Slowly.
Eyes cold. Jaw tight. Tone lethal.
> "Let me rephrase."
"Why is my sister telling me you told her I had sparkly eyes after a pani puri stunt, sketching, jalebis?"
Aman blinked rapidly.
> "Sir, I never said sparkly-I said 'softer.' With all due respect-"
> "Softer."
Arnav stood.
Walked around the desk with the grace of a jungle cat that had just spotted a snack. Each footstep-thudding like a doom.
He stopped inches from Aman's face.
> "Let me make one thing clear."
"You work for me. Not the Gupta Fan Club. Not Gossip Girls. And definitely not for Lavanya's Instagram audience."
Aman flinched.
> "She posted a story?!"
Arnav's voice turned to ice.
> "Golgappa. Jalabi ,Fire emoji. Heart eyes. Caption: 'Raizada Gone Wild.'"
"In public, Aman."
Aman cleared his throat.
> "Technically... it was a CCTV capture from the vendor stall. Someone tagged AR. Lavanya might have... reshared it."
> "What. Picture."
> "Just one angle. Side profile. You and-someone. In a marigold cloud. Could've been anyone."
Arnav stared him down.
Slam.
A file hit the table.
Arnav's glare could vaporize steel.
> "If I hear one more word about golgappas, temples, jalebis or dupattas from anyone-even the office peon-"
"I'll personally relocate their job to sourcing fabrics in the Arctic. Understood?"
Aman nodded faster than Delhi WiFi.
> "Understood, sir. Loud. Clear. And terrifying."
Aman left quietly. The glass slid shut.
Arnav turned his back again, flicked open the sketchpad... stared at her.
Silence.
Then, to himself:
> "People shouldn't talk about things they don't understand..."
> "...Like how that one girl looked at me. Like I was real."
Outside, the staff resumed breathing.
Inside?
ASR sat alone, pen in hand, sketching the curve of a smile he had no business remembering.
----