Morning arrived differently this time.
Not heavy.
Not suffocating.
But… quiet.
Meher stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself like she didn't recognize the girl looking back.
In her hands—
A saree.
Deep red.
Soft.
Elegant.
And completely unfamiliar.
"I can't wear this…" she whispered, nervously holding the fabric.
She had never worn a saree before.
Not even once.
Her life had always been simple—jeans, kurtis, comfort.
Not this.
Not something that made her feel… seen.
"Ma'am," one of the staff members said gently, "sir asked for you to wear this today."
Her jaw tightened.
"Of course he did…" she muttered.
Still—
She didn't argue.
Not today.
Maybe she was tired.
Maybe she was curious.
Or maybe…
she didn't want another confrontation.
After a long struggle—
fixing, adjusting, almost giving up twice—
she finally stood in front of the mirror again.
And froze.
The girl in the mirror looked…
different.
Not just dressed differently.
But softer.
More… grown.
Beautiful.
Her fingers lightly touched the edge of the saree.
"I don't look like myself…"
"You look better."
Her heart skipped.
She turned around instantly.
Aarav.
Standing near the door.
Watching her.
And this time—
his expression wasn't cold.
It was… something else.
Something that made her nervous.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asked, slightly flustered.
"Long enough."
Her cheeks warmed slightly.
"Don't look at me like that," she said quickly, turning away.
"Like what?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know how to explain it.
The way he was looking at her—
wasn't normal.
It wasn't just attention.
It felt like…
admiration.
Possession.
Something deeper.
He took a step closer.
"Tumhe pata hai…" he said softly.
"…tum is saree mein itni khoobsurat lag rahi ho ki nazar hatane ka mann hi nahi kar raha."
(You know… you look so beautiful in this saree that I don't feel like looking away.)
Her breath caught.
"Stop it," she said quickly, trying to sound annoyed.
But her voice betrayed her.
Aarav noticed.
Of course he did.
"Sach bol raha hoon," he continued, a faint smirk on his lips.
"…ya phir tumhe jhooth sunna pasand hai?"
(I'm telling the truth… or do you prefer lies?)
She turned toward him, trying to stay strong.
"I don't care what you say."
"Jhoot."
"What?"
"Tum care karti ho."
Her eyes widened slightly.
"I don't—"
"Tumhari aankhon mein dikh raha hai," he interrupted calmly.
(I can see it in your eyes.)
Silence.
Her heart was beating faster now.
And she hated it.
"Why are you like this?" she asked, frustrated.
"Kaise?" he tilted his head slightly.
"So… confusing."
That made him pause.
Just for a second.
Then—
he stepped even closer.
This time—
she didn't step back.
Not because she wasn't scared.
But because something inside her told her—
he wouldn't cross a line.
Not without her allowing it.
"Confusing nahi…" he said quietly.
"…bas tum samajhna nahi chahti."
(Not confusing… you just don't want to understand.)
Her lips parted slightly.
"Understand what?" she asked.
His gaze softened—
just a little.
"That I chose you."
Her heart skipped again.
"That's not romantic," she said quickly. "That's terrifying."
He smiled faintly.
"Phir bhi…" he leaned slightly closer.
"…tum darr ke saath-saath ruk bhi rahi ho."
(Still… along with fear, you're also staying.)
Her breath hitched.
Because he was right.
And she hated that.
She turned away quickly.
"I'm only here because I have no choice."
"Har choice ke peeche ek wajah hoti hai," he said calmly.
(Every choice has a reason behind it.)
"And what's mine?" she challenged.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead—
he gently picked up a loose strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.
Her body froze.
His touch wasn't rough.
It wasn't forceful.
It was…
careful.
"Tum khud nahi jaanti abhi," he murmured.
(You don't know yet.)
Her heart was racing now.
Too fast.
Too loud.
"Don't…" she whispered.
But she didn't move away.
Aarav noticed that too.
"Ek baat bataun?" he said softly.
She didn't respond.
"Jab tum mujhe ignore karti ho na…"
A pause.
"…tab aur zyada dekhne ka mann karta hai."
(When you ignore me… I feel like watching you even more.)
Her cheeks flushed instantly.
"You're impossible," she muttered.
"And you're beautiful."
She looked at him again.
Surprised.
That wasn't a line.
That was…
honest.
For a moment—
neither of them spoke.
Just silence.
Soft.
Different from before.
Then suddenly—
he stepped back.
"Come," he said.
"Where?"
"You'll see."
She hesitated.
Then slowly—
she followed him.
Not because she trusted him.
But because…
she wanted to know.
As they walked through the mansion—
his eyes kept drifting toward her.
The way the saree moved with her steps.
The way she tried to adjust it nervously.
The way she avoided his gaze.
Everything about her—
pulled him in deeper.
"Tumhe pata bhi hai…" he said suddenly.
"…tum chalti kam ho, gira deti zyada ho."
(Do you even know… you don't walk, you make people fall.)
She stopped walking instantly.
"What does that even mean?!"
He smirked slightly.
"Matlab…" he stepped closer again.
"…main gir raha hoon."
(It means… I'm falling.)
Her breath caught.
This time—
she didn't have a reply.
Because something inside her—
shifted.
Just a little.
And that scared her more than anything.