His Unexpected Love ~ A saga of love and betrayal

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Shivansh's POV

The airport was buzzing, but not for us. We moved like a breeze through the private terminal - no queues, no shouting, no rush. Just ten of us, loaded with laughter, luxury, and secrets.

We had our own jet. Sleek, matte-black exterior, Royal's initials engraved in gold on the steps. I saw Isha stare at it wide-eyed. "You never told me it was this gorgeous," she whispered. I leaned down, brushing my lips near her ear, "You should've seen your face first."

She shoved me lightly. "Show-off."

As soon as we boarded, chaos started. It was a beautiful chaos. The inside of the jet looked like a royal suite - plush leather seats, lounge-style sofas, a little gaming space, a bar, and even a mini home-theatre. There were three rooms in the back for those who wanted to rest.

"Dibs on the biggest room!" Ishika shouted.

"Too late," Aviyansh said, throwing his hoodie at her and running.

I sat with Isha, and Arjun dropped next to us with a dramatic sigh. "I swear, traveling with couples is the real third-wheeling trauma."

"Want a tissue?" I offered. "Or maybe a dating app?"

Everyone laughed.

Ritvik was already arguing with Dhruv about who would control the music. Meanwhile, Prisha and Arav were teasing each other over a packet of imported candies.

"I paid for it!" Arav defended.

"You paid because I ordered it!" she sassed.

And in the corner, Isha had quietly pulled out a book.

"What's this?" I peeked.

She slammed it shut immediately.

"Wait... wait wait wait... is this that book?" I grinned devilishly.

"It's just fiction!" she defended.

"Spicy fiction," I raised a brow. "Last night, when I came to check on you... this was on your bed. You were sleeping with a smile. I got curious. Read a chapter. Maybe... ten."

Her mouth fell open.

"You read it?"

"Your font choice is really pretty. Very... romantic," I teased. "I just wanted to know what my future wife fantasizes about."

Her cheeks flushed crimson. "You're evil."

"I'm observant," I smirked.

She got up to walk away but I gently pulled her back by her wrist and whispered, "You left your book with me. I'm not letting you leave twice."

We spent the next few hours in messy comfort. Hoodies were stolen. Ishika had already wrapped herself in Aviyansh's oversized one and refused to return it. Ritvik and Ranveer were watching a Marvel movie marathon. Prisha and Arav were cuddled up under one blanket, bickering about who had better taste in rom-coms.

Dhruv, bored, had challenged everyone to a card game. Isha joined too, and let's just say - don't ever let her play bluff. She won three rounds straight, leaving me speechless.

"I didn't lie!" she defended.

"You literally faked a yawn to distract me."

She winked. "Well, it worked."

Hours passed. We shared sweets, sang along to old Bollywood songs, and danced in the aisle like absolute maniacs. The jet lights dimmed later, and one by one, everyone started falling asleep.

Isha yawned, book forgotten on her lap. "I'm tired," she said, stretching.

"I know," I whispered, brushing her hair back. "Come on, I'll take you to the room."

She leaned on my shoulder as we walked back. I pulled the sheets for her, helped her lie down, and kissed her forehead softly. She looked up at me sleepily. "You'll stay?"

"Always."

She smiled, eyes closing. In minutes, she was asleep, fingers still tangled with mine.

I lay beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, her lips parted, her brows soft. And I thought - how did I ever live without her?

Paris awaited.

But today, I had everything I needed right here.

Landing was quiet. Just the way I wanted it.

The wheels touched down in Paris with a low hum - smooth, controlled, forgettable.

The wheels touched the tarmac with a faint jolt - Paris had arrived.

Out the window, I saw lights bleeding into the early dusk, buildings cut sharp against a purple sky. I'd been here before. It looked the same. Grey. Cold. Pretentious. People romanticized this city too much. To me, it was just another dot on the map - expensive, crowded, and overrated.

The jet rolled to a stop.

"Bonjour, Paris!" Ishika yelled from behind, practically throwing her hands up.

I didn't respond.

The door opened. Wind hit first. Crisp, European air. Cleaner than Delhi, but colder too. Everyone started gathering their things. Laughter. Whispers. The usual noise. I stayed seated for a moment. Just watching.

Good.

Everything had been executed under the radar. No press. No leaks. No airport staff with cameras. I'd made sure of that myself. No one knew I was in Paris - not inside India, not outside. If word got out that a royals was flying private, abroad, with family - including three girls - it would be enough to start whispers in every corner. Reputations aren't fragile. They're disposable in the wrong hands. And I wasn't about to let their names be dragged into headlines that didn't even deserve their names.

Aviyansh and Dhruv had planned most of the trip. I oversaw every detail. Security, routes, stays. The team here in Paris had been briefed a week ago. Silent arrivals. Clean exits. Everything else - luxury, comfort - was secondary.

Three black Range Rovers waited for us at the terminal, exactly where they were supposed to.

I didn't move immediately. I looked around - one final scan. Nothing unusual. The wind carried a faint chill. The sky was still light, though dusk had begun to settle. I glanced over at her.

Isha was asleep, curled up on the corner seat of the jet, completely unaware of the city outside or the world watching us from a distance.

And that was good. She deserved to stay in that quiet for a little longer.

Everyone else began to disembark - loud, energetic. They had their energy. I had my silence.

I walked to her, knelt slightly, and without a word, picked her up. She didn't stir. Her head fell gently against my shoulder, warm breath steady on my collar.

No one questioned it. Not even her brothers and friends. Because they knew - this was Isha. And I was never going to let her be disturbed in the chaos of the world we belonged to.

I carried her down the staircase. The air hit sharper than expected. I held her tighter.

"First Rover's ready," one of the team members informed me.

I nodded once.

I sat with Isha in the first car.

In the second, Dhruv, Aarav, Arjun, and Prisha piled in, bickering like siblings.

The third had Aviyansh, Ranveer, Ritwik, and Ishika - loud as ever, even in a foreign country.

Ten people. Three cars. One city. And none of them were allowed to be noticed.

The drive was silent, mostly. The city flickered outside - lights, old buildings, wide avenues, and occasional stares. I ignored them all.

Halfway through the ride, I felt her shift slightly in my lap. Then a soft, confused whisper.

"How... how did I end up here?"

I glanced down. "I picked you up."

Paris spread before us like a painting. I saw Isha freeze for half a second. Her fingers tightened around mine.

I looked at her instead of the city.

"You okay?" I asked, low.

She smiled up at me. "Yeah. Just... this is real."

Her eyes met mine - sleepy, surprised, and that smile I knew too well. She curled closer into my chest, mumbled something I couldn't catch, and closed her eyes again.

We reached the apartment shortly after - 20 minutes, near the Eiffel Tower. One of the three properties we owned here. A two-storey space with five rooms, balconies in each, and a panoramic view of a city that tried too hard to impress.

The ground floor had the living, kitchen, and dining.

First floor - three rooms.

Second floor - two more with wide glass balconies overlooking half of Paris.

We chose this apartment because it was closer to every place the girls had wanted to see - and that mattered. Because I wasn't here for the Eiffel Tower. Or the croissants. I was here because she wanted to be.

Inside, the others raced around calling dibs on rooms. Laughter echoed up the stairs. Lights flicked on. Music started playing in someone's room.

I walked straight to the bedroom on the second floor, still holding Isha. Opened the door. Stepped inside.

Laid her down gently on the bed.

She stirred again.

"We're here?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah."

She looked around the room, dazed, then locked eyes with me. "You carried me again?"

"You were sleeping."

She stared at me, then smiled.

I didn't.

Instead, I stepped back, sat down on the edge of the bed, and looked out at the skyline through the open glass doors.

Paris was loud outside.

But in here, everything was quiet.

And I preferred it that way.

By the time we settled into the apartment, Paris had just passed noon. The city outside sparkled like it had somewhere important to be. But inside, the only thing we needed was silence.

The girls decided to nap - all three of them vanished into their rooms with tired eyes and too many laughs, claiming exhaustion, and "don't even think about waking us until evening."

Fine. No one argued.

Once Isha was tucked in properly, I left the room quietly and headed downstairs. The boys were already lounging in the living room like they'd rented the city for themselves.

"Bhai sa," Aviyansh said, stretching. "I say we make lunch. Or dinner. Or whatever this is."

"A late lunch," Arjun smirked. "That'll probably turn into dinner if we keep it slow enough."

"Cool," Dhruv stood. "Then let's cook something for the queens sleeping upstairs."

Everyone looked at me.

I didn't speak. I just nodded.

We changed, cleaned up, and headed into the kitchen. The apartment had a huge modern space - marble counters, floor-to-ceiling windows, soft jazz playing somewhere in the background. Not my taste. But tolerable.

Cooking with them was loud.

There was pasta boiling in one pan, someone messing with garlic bread, Ritwik spilling olive oil, and Dhruv trying to act like Gordon Ramsay. Mostly chaos. But controlled.

I wasn't involved in the fun. I stayed near the far counter - chopping, organizing, observing.

But my eyes kept drifting toward the stairs.

Waiting.

And when she finally walked down with her friends behind- barefoot, freshly woken, hair still in a loose bun - I looked straight at her.

She didn't look at me first.

No.

She went to dhruv. He hugged her from beside. Whispered something to Ishika. Then laughed at whatever ritwik said.

I stood frozen for a second.

That laugh. That tilt of her head. The way her hand brushed her hair behind her ear.

And none of it was for me.

Jealousy isn't loud. It's surgical.

I dropped the knife. Walked past them. Didn't say anything.

And when she turned to go toward the living area, I grabbed her wrist - quiet, but firm - and pulled her with me, out of sight, around the corner of the hallway.

Her back hit the wall softly.

"Shivansh-" she blinked up at me.

"Don't do that," I said.

"Do what?" she smiled, teasingly. Always teasing.

"That thing where you forget I exist when you're around them."

She rolled her eyes. "They're my friends-"

"And I'm not something to you?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but didn't get the chance.

I didn't give her time to think.

The moment we were hidden around the corner, I caged her between the wall and me - one arm braced beside her head, the other slipping around her waist, pulling her close until there was barely air between us.

She looked up at me - startled, questioning.

But I didn't wait.

The first kiss landed hard.

My lips crashed onto hers with a force that stole her breath. It wasn't careful - it was possessive. A storm. A silent rage twisted with need. Her hands flew to my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt, half in shock, half in surrender.

I kissed her like she was mine.

Like she had no right smiling for someone else.

Like I needed to remind her who she belonged to.

Her back pressed against the wall as I leaned into her, holding her in place - letting her feel every inch of frustration that had simmered inside me from the moment she laughed at Arjun's stupid joke.

And then I slowed.

I pulled back just slightly, catching her gaze - her lashes fluttered, her lips already swollen, breath uneven.

And then I leaned in again, this time gentler.

Our lips met like a question.

My hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her skin as I kissed her again - not to claim, but to cherish.

The touch lingered. We both leaned in deeper, chasing the quiet. Her hands loosened against me, fingertips now moving upward toward my shoulder, melting into the moment.

There was no rush.

Only a slow, intoxicating slide of lips over lips.

No words.

No noise.

Just us.

This one held something unspoken - vulnerability wrapped in warmth. Her lips moved with mine, matching my rhythm, answering me. I tilted my head slightly, deepening the kiss, savoring the way she gave in completely. Every brush, every sigh, was love. Pure and full.

And just when I thought I'd pull away...

She whispered my name.

Ansh.

Barely.

Breathless.

And something inside me snapped.

The fourth kiss was wild.

Not rough. Not hurried.

Just hungry.

My lips returned to hers - fervent, open, desperate. I tilted her chin, letting myself go this time. She clung to me like I was the only thing anchoring her, and maybe I was. Our mouths moved in sync, messier now, deeper.

I kissed her again, and again.

But it wasn't enough.

I pulled away from her lips, trailing downward.

My mouth brushed her cheek, warm and flushed.

Then her jawline - soft, inviting.

And then...

Her neck.

She gasped, head falling slightly to the side as I kissed the curve of her throat. My breath danced across her skin, and I felt her shiver under me. I kissed her there - slowly, deliberately - feeling the thunder of her pulse beneath my lips.

She was trembling.

And so was I.

I wanted more.

Needed more.

But then-

I pulled back just slightly, forehead resting against hers.

"Even the air near you makes me jealous," I murmured, breath uneven.

She looked up at me, stunned. "That's... dramatic."

I smirked. "No. That's honest."

Her fingers slid up the front of my shirt, curling slightly. "Well then, your highness... maybe I should stay closer. You know, for peacekeeping."

"Smart choice," I whispered, kissing her forehead.

We stayed like that for a moment.

Quiet. Hidden.

Until someone yelled from the kitchen:

"Lovebirds, get out here - the pasta's burning!"

I rolled my eyes. She giggled into my chest.

"Lovebirds, get out here - the pasta's burning!"

Ranveer's voice exploded from the kitchen like a fire alarm.

I paused.

My lips still hovered against her neck, my breath uneven, hers shakier.

And then slowly, I kissed my way back - cheek, corner of her mouth, and finally...

Her forehead.

A lingering kiss.

Gentle.

Sacred.

Her eyes closed as I pressed my lips there, like a promise sealed in silence.

I pulled back just enough to look at her.

Flushed. Dazed. Beautiful.

Mine.

"Let's go," I whispered, voice low and husky.

She nodded, not saying a word - just curling her fingers around mine.

And together, we stepped out - like nothing had happened.

But we both knew...

Something had.

And it wasn't ending anytime soon.

We walked back, hand in hand, ignoring the stares and smug looks.

Lunch became dinner.

Dinner became stories.

And through it all, even surrounded by friends, her hand stayed wrapped in mine.

Because tonight, in Paris, I wasn't just a king.

I was a man who had no intention of sharing even a sliver of her - not with the world, not with the wind.

The lights in the kitchen had finally dimmed.

The scent of freshly cooked pasta and warm laughter still clung faintly to the air. We had made dinner with teasing smiles, with music playing low and soft behind us, with stolen glances and laughter that echoed like something rare - something right.

But now... it was calm.

Everyone was exhausted.

The flight. The fun. The cooking. The endless teasing.

So, we'd all finally agreed to call it a night. Well, not before the never-ending discussion about who would sleep where. That part? A whole war.

Ritwik made it very clear - no switching, no sneaking.

"Lines drawn," he said, with that overly serious voice of his. "Boundaries respected."

But in the end, somehow, some way...

I got to sleep with her.

Isha.

My Isha.

They all agreed. Isha and I - second floor, master suite.

Ishika and prisha together in second floor, beside our room.

Arjun and Arav - first floor.

Avyansh and Dhruv.

Ritwik and Rani.

We'd all laughed, made faces, groaned at the pairings.

But my chest had warmed silently at the thought of sleeping beside her. It was simple. It was intimate in its own way. And it meant she was mine for the night - to watch, to protect, to hold.

Or so I thought.

We entered the room, the soft golden light of Paris seeping in through the tall glass windows. She sat on the bed, but the restlessness in her body was too obvious. She wasn't ready to sleep. Not yet.

"I just slept in the flight," she mumbled, stretching. "I'm not tired. You go ahead."

I nodded, watching her move to the balcony attached to the room - her soft cream nightrobe fluttering gently behind her.

I waited a few minutes, pretending to be on my phone, letting her think she was alone out there.

Then I followed her.

And the moment I stepped out - I froze.

Because there she was.

Sitting cross-legged on the balcony sofa, the Eiffel Tower gleaming in the distance behind her, lighting up the sky in a quiet, golden glow. Her hair was messy, lips slightly parted, face glowing from the soft moonlight.

She looked like a dream someone once whispered into the universe... and Paris caught it.

I walked toward her.

She didn't look back. "Can't sleep either?"

I didn't answer.

Instead, I sat beside her, slipped my arm behind her shoulders, and gently pulled her toward me.

She came easily.

Head resting on my shoulder.

Legs curling up on the sofa.

Body fitting into mine like she belonged there.

"I could stare at this forever," she whispered.

I wasn't looking at the Eiffel Tower.

I was looking at her.

"I already am," I said.

She smiled.

And then something changed. The quiet wasn't just quiet anymore - it became something else. Something deeper.

She turned her body toward me, curling up sideways on my lap, resting her head on my chest now. Her hands found mine, fingers lacing together. I kissed her knuckles, slow, one by one, as she looked up at me from that place in my arms that felt like home.

"I don't want this night to end," she murmured, her voice so low, so sincere, I felt it pulse through me.

I cupped her face, tilting it up.

"It doesn't have to," I whispered, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

She closed her eyes. That forehead kiss - it always got to her. And maybe, it always got to me too.

But I didn't stop there.

I tilted her chin up, brushing my lips against hers - not desperate, not fast - just tender. Her breath caught slightly, and she leaned in again, kissing me back, slowly. Our lips moved together in a rhythm only we knew.

She sighed against my lips.

I held her tighter.

The city behind us sparkled in gold, but all I saw was her - soft, sweet, sleepy but smiling.

We didn't speak much after that.

We just sat there.

Her on my lap.

Me holding her like I'd never let go.

Her fingers played with the edge of my shirt. My hand was around her waist, resting just over her ribs, where I could feel every breath she took.

And then slowly, silently, I felt her head grow heavier against my chest.

She had fallen asleep. Right there.

Still in my arms. Still holding onto me.

I pressed one last kiss to the top of her head, then another to her temple. I whispered her name, just to taste it.

"Isha..."

She didn't answer. But her fingers tightened gently around mine - like even in sleep, she was choosing me.

And maybe that's all I ever needed.

I sat there for a while, with the girl I loved asleep in my arms, the city of love lighting up our night.

Eventually, I carried her in - tucked her beneath the blanket, brushed her hair back, and slid in beside her.

She turned in her sleep, curled against me instinctively.

And I held her through the rest of the Paris night.

Something shifted.

It wasn't the sound. Not really. Just the slightest rustle, the kind only someone trained would hear.

I opened my eyes instantly.

My senses were wired like that - too many years of discipline. I could hear the change in her breathing, the soft shuffle of her hand against the blanket. I didn't need to move to know - she was awake.

The room was barely lit - the only glow came from the antique lantern beside the balcony curtains. It gave the room a golden hue, enough for me to see her silhouette.

She was lying beside me, almost on me.

Her cheek resting against the hollow of my neck.

My arm draped around her bare waist - her nightdress had ridden up slightly. I could feel her warmth against my skin.

And god... she felt like a flame.

She stirred gently, careful not to wake me - or so she thought.

Her hand slowly moved over my chest as she tried to sit up.

I didn't open my eyes, but I tightened my grip, just slightly. "Where are you going?" my voice was deep, husky from sleep.

She stilled. "Water," she whispered. "I'm just thirsty."

I finally looked at her. Her face was soft, strands of hair sticking to her cheek, lips parted as she looked down at me.

"I'll get it," I said, sitting up halfway.

"No," she smiled faintly. "I can manage."

But when she leaned to stand up - her body brushed over mine. That small motion. Her thighs. Her hips. The slip of her nightdress against my skin. My breath faltered. And hers... did too.

She froze.

And suddenly, the quiet wasn't just quiet again. It was loaded.

She looked at me.

I looked back.

Neither of us moved.

Not away, at least.

I reached out slowly, my hand brushing her jaw, then tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Come back," I said - low, softer than I intended. "Please."

She didn't say anything. Just nodded, climbing back into bed, this time resting completely against me.

Her fingers rested over my chest.

My hand still wrapped around her waist, this time sliding slightly up - under the fabric of her nightdress.

Her skin... it was fire. Soft. Smooth. Mine.

"Isha..." I warned, almost to myself. I didn't know what I was warning her against. Maybe myself.

She didn't stop me.

Instead, she curled closer, burying her face against my neck again, her lips brushing the edge of my jaw - not quite a kiss, but just enough to set me off balance.

I pulled her up slightly, guiding her face to mine, and kissed her - deeply this time, no hesitation. Our lips crashed, parted, found rhythm.

She whimpered softly into my mouth.

That sound.

It broke every wall I'd ever built around my control.

My hand traveled further inside her nightdress, over her bare back, fingers tracing her spine. I stopped - for just a second - but she pulled me closer.

Her breath was ragged now. Her body trembling slightly against mine.

"Isha... we can't..." I muttered, forehead pressed against hers. My voice was tight. Torn. "We shouldn't..."

"I know," she whispered back, eyes barely open. "Then stop..."

But she didn't want me to. And I knew it.

And damn, I didn't want to either.

I let my lips trail down from her mouth to her cheek... her jaw... her neck. I kissed her there, again and again, until she gasped and clutched at my shirt, pulling me closer, like she wanted to disappear into me.

I felt her body arch into mine, and that's when I knew... we had crossed something.

Not completely.

Not the line itself.

But we were on its edge - balancing dangerously, tempted by the wind of everything we weren't supposed to feel yet.

And for a moment... I forgot everything.

Morals. Promises. Rules. My mother's warnings. The ring I hadn't placed on her finger yet.

All I knew was her.

But then - a voice. Faint. Someone calling from downstairs. A door maybe. A laugh. A shout.

It snapped me out of it.

I pulled away, breathing hard, trying to steady myself, pressing a trembling kiss to her forehead - my way of anchoring us back to where we were supposed to be.

She lay there, eyes half-lidded, lips swollen, cheeks flushed.

And she smiled.

"I'm not sorry," she whispered.

I stared at her for a second, then shook my head with a small smile of my own.

"Neither am I."

But

She shifted again.

Just a small movement - her knee brushing along the side of my thigh, her breath warm against my skin. But it felt like lightning.

She wasn't moving.

Neither was I.

I could feel it - that tension between us. The way her body curled into mine, the way her hips barely moved but drove me insane. And then... that soft sound.

A gasp - muffled, but not accidental.

My fingers curled tighter around her waist.

"Isha..." I warned, voice barely above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

Instead, her hand slid across my chest - and her thigh climbed over mine. Slowly. Deliberately. Giving me a dangerous view of the bare skin beneath her loose nightdress. Her inner thighs brushed me, soft and warm.

I swallowed hard.

She was lying on me completely now, but close - too close. And the way her hips shifted - she was... she was grinding.

It wasn't accidental anymore.

"Isha..." I whispered again, strained, eyes half-closed as I fought to keep still. "What are you doing?"

Her voice was barely a breath. "Nothing."

But her body betrayed her. That slow movement. That grin she tried to hide. She knew exactly what she was doing. And it was killing me.

"You want me to lose control?" I asked, teeth gritted.

"I think..." she paused, lifting herself a little higher so that her body pressed over mine, her night dress shrug, slipping, showing the curve of her waist, "...you already are."

My hand found her hip. Tightly. Possessively. I could feel her tremble beneath my touch.

And then I couldn't take it anymore.

I flipped her gently but quickly, her body now beneath mine, pinned softly to the mattress as I hovered just above her, not touching - yet.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly. Her eyes wide, lips parted. That grin replaced with breathless anticipation.

My mouth traced the edge of her jaw. Down to her collarbone.

Her hands were in my hair, tugging slightly, urging me closer.

"Isha, if we don't stop now..." I said against her skin, voice ragged, "...I won't be able to."

She looked at me - eyes wild, filled with emotion and fire.

"Then don't," she whispered.

My heart slammed in my chest. My world narrowed to only her.

I kissed her again - not gentle. Not restrained.

And she kissed me back with the same desperation, the same surrender.

My hand slid under her hoodie again, this time reaching higher, until I felt the curve of her waist, her back arching into me.

She gasped my name.

Ansh

And then I pulled back. Just slightly.

My forehead pressed to hers, my body shaking with restraint.

"I can't," I said, half to her, half to myself. "Not yet. Not like this."

She looked up at me, hurt flashing for a second - then understanding.

"I just..." she whispered. "I want to feel close to you."

I tucked her back into my arms, gently, pulling the blanket over us both. I pressed a kiss to her temple, then to her cheek, then the tip of her nose.

"You already are," I murmured. "Closer than anyone's ever been."

She smiled against my chest and finally, finally stilled.

But I didn't sleep.

Because even though I stopped - barely - I knew I couldn't fight this forever.

But I was guilty.

Not because of what we did - but because of how badly I wanted to do more. And because the line wasn't a line anymore.

It was a blur.

And she was already the only thing that made sense inside it.

I woke up to silence.

The kind that feels too heavy for a morning.

My hand instinctively reached out beside me-cold sheets.

She wasn't there.

But I knew where she'd gone.

Not far. Not out of reach. Just... hiding.

And I knew why.

Last night, that moment-those stolen gasps, the crossing of lines we both said we wouldn't cross-it wasn't just heat. It was vulnerability, raw and honest. She gave me pieces of herself, and I almost gave in. Almost.

And now, she was afraid to face the aftermath.

I pushed the blanket aside and sat up slowly, pressing my fingers against my temple. The memory of her skin, the way her voice whispered my name, the way her lips trembled-damn, it was imprinted in me.

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would ground me.

But nothing could shake off the ghost of her.

When I walked down to the living room, the scene hit me instantly.

Everyone was there.

Aviyansh half-asleep, drinking his coffee. Arjun arguing over what to eat for breakfast. Ishika and Ritwik looking unusually cozy, sipping their tea. Arav and prisha scrolling through her phone, legs curled under blanket. Dhruv giving side-eyes to everyone, suspicious as always.

And then, her.

Isha.

Sitting on the couch. Silent. Hands curled around a warm mug, but not drinking. Yess, she start drinking coffee like me but that's not point here back to point, Just... staring into it like it held answers.

She didn't say good morning to anyone.

Not even when I walked in.

She felt my presence around her, cause I saw how her fingers tighten around the cup but today she didn't wish morning like other days, today she choose to sit quietly.

But today, she didn't look at me. Not once.

I stood there longer than I needed to, waiting for her to lift her eyes.

She didn't.

Avoidance was her armor. And I hated how well it worked.

Everyone else carried on, pretending not to notice the tension, but I could feel it pulsing in the air like a secret nobody wanted to say out loud.

"We'll freshen up and go for breakfast outside," dhruv finally said, yawning. "I don't want to cook today."

The rest agreed.

I walked back up to our room, slowly, waiting. And sure enough... to let her know I am behind her.

She is in front of her.

She opened the door to our room but didn't close it.

As I thought she will leave the door open but she prove me wrong.

She did.

Or tried to.

Just as the door was about to shut, I stepped forward and slapped my palm flat against the wood.

She froze.

I pushed the door open and stepped in. Quiet. Controlled. The silence between us was louder than any scream.

Isha still wouldn't look at me.

"You really think you can hide from me?" I asked, voice low.

She opened her mouth-then closed it again.

I walked closer. "Not even going to say good morning?"

She stared at the floor. "Good morning," she said, barely audible.

"Look at me, jaana."

She didn't.

I stepped closer until there was barely space between us. My finger gently lifted her chin.

Her eyes met mine.

Guilty. Shy. Beautiful.

"you didn't do anything wrong, didn't you? ," I said softly, not accusing-just honest. "So why are you punishing yourself?"

"I'm not," she whispered.

"You are," I said. "You're hiding because you think you lost control. But you didn't. You just felt something real."

Her lips trembled. "I don't know how to face you..."

I leaned in until my forehead touched hers.

"You just did."

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping free, and I wiped it instantly.

"Isha, last night wasn't a mistake. It was... intense. But it wasn't wrong."

"It was too much," she said, voice barely a breath. "I couldn't stop myself."

My hands slid down her arms, gently. "Neither could I. But I stopped. Because I respect you. Because I care about you. And because I know what you're worth."

She looked up at me now, cheeks flushed.

"I know," she whispered.

There was a moment of silence-intimate, healing.

"Now," I said, stepping back with a teasing smile, "unless you want me to help you undress for a shower too, I suggest you get moving."

Her eyes widened in horror and she smacked my arm. "Shut up!"

"I didn't even say anything yet!" I laughed.

She turned away quickly, cheeks burning red, and grabbed her clothes to head into the washroom.

I watched her go, that soft sway in her step, and smiled to myself.

Because today might've started with avoidance...

But I'd already won the battle.

She was mine.

Even when she tried to run.

After she disappeared into the washroom, I sat down on the edge of the bed, running my hand through my hair.

The ghost of her fingers on my skin... still lingered.

Her voice. Her closeness. The way she'd whispered my name last night. The way she curled into me unconsciously, like I was home.

And yet, she was scared of facing me.

Not because she didn't feel anything.

But because she felt too much.

We were out within an hour-everyone dressed casually for breakfast. Some wearing sunglasses they absolutely didn't need. Others just being extra.

I watched her from the corner of my eye the entire ride to the café. She sat beside Ishika and Prisha, almost shrinking into herself. Laughing occasionally-but not freely. Not like my Isha.

She didn't once look my way.

Even when I held the car door open for her.

Even when our hands brushed briefly as I passed her a napkin.

Even when I offered her my hoodie when the morning breeze turned cold.

I let her pretend.

Let her keep up her silence.

Because I knew eventually... she'd come to me.

We sat outdoors-wooden tables, morning sunlight spilling through thin leaves, the smell of fresh coffee and butter wafting around.

I ordered her favorite: pancakes with extra maple, churos and smoothie

When the waiter brought it over and she blinked in surprise, Prisha smirked, "Looks like someone knows what you like."

Isha kept her eyes down. "Yeah... maybe."

I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, watching her every reaction. "You're welcome, by the way."

Her spoon froze halfway to her mouth.

Then she continued eating like she hadn't heard me.

Dhruv leaned over with a knowing grin. "Bhai, kya scene hai? You both fought or something?"

"She's just tired," I answered, eyes never leaving her.

She still wouldn't look at me.

But I caught it-the way her lips tugged at the corners like she was trying not to smile. I saw it. I felt it.

She was trying so hard not to fall deeper.

Too late, Isha.

You already did.

When we returned, everyone decided to rest or hang out in the main hall. Some were planning for the evening outing, others were gossiping about God knows what.

I walked away quietly, headed to the back balcony of the palace-one of my favorite places. Wide, open, lined with carved white railings and a view that stretched far beyond the city. The perfect spot for silence.

And, as I hoped...

A few minutes later, I heard soft footsteps behind me.

I didn't turn.

She stood quietly beside me, her presence gentle but weighted.

As if she was still deciding what to say.

"I thought you'd avoid me all day," I murmured, still looking at the view.

"I tried," she admitted.

"And?"

She exhaled. "Failed."

I finally turned toward her.

Her hair was dancing in the soft breeze, her shrug fluttering behind her. Her eyes didn't hold fear anymore. Just... hesitation.

"Isha." I said her name slowly. "Why are you punishing yourself for something so natural?"

"I wasn't punishing myself," she whispered. "I was... confused."

"About what?"

"About why I didn't want to stop."

Her words hit me like a soft thunder. Unexpected. Heavy. And beautiful.

She looked up at me, and I swear I saw the war in her eyes.

"I've never felt this way before, Shivansh. I was scared it wasn't right. That maybe I lost something in myself last night-something I was supposed to hold onto."

I stepped closer.

"You didn't lose anything," I said softly. "You gave me trust. And I didn't break it. Not even once."

She nodded. Her voice trembled. "I know. That's what scared me more. I wanted it."

A pause.

Then I added, with a playful smirk, "You wanted me."

She groaned, turning to walk away, but I caught her wrist gently.

"Hey. I meant it in the most respectful... teasing... hopelessly obsessed-with-you way possible."

She laughed softly, still not facing me.

I stepped closer again, this time wrapping my arms slowly around her waist from behind.

She didn't pull away.

"Next time you run away from me," I whispered into her ear, "I'll find you. Every time. No matter how far you go."

She leaned into me, her back against my chest, her breathing slow.

"Why do you make it so hard to be mad at you?" she asked.

"Because I'm irresistible," I grinned.

She elbowed me lightly, and we both laughed-finally.

The tension that hovered since morning broke like glass.

And in its place, something warmer bloomed.

"Will you hold it against me," she said softly, "if I say I wanted more last night?"

My arms tightened around her slightly.

"No," I said. "But I will hold you against me."

She turned around in my embrace then, finally meeting my eyes.

"Careful," she whispered. "You're flirting with danger."

"I live there."

And then, we stood like that-her hands resting on my chest, my fingers brushing her waist, the world quiet around us.

There was nothing rushed. Nothing urgent.

Just her.

And me.

And a shared silence that felt like a promise.

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