Sanya p.o.v...
"You weren't supposed to agree!" Aarav's voice rose, sharp and angry, cutting through the still air of the studio. "If you really wanted it, you should have discussed it with us first!"
I clenched my fists, my own temper bubbling beneath the surface. "Why are you making such a big deal out of it?" I snapped back, my voice louder than I intended. "It's not like this is the first time I've made a decision without informing you all."
His eyes widened for a second—hurt, maybe—but he didn't say anything else. Not yet.
We sat there in a circle of silence. The tension was suffocating. Naina sat beside me, shifting uncomfortably. Meera, Dev, and Rabya were all still, as if any movement might set off another explosion. And then there was Aarav—right in front of me—staring at me like I'd betrayed him.
Maybe I had.
I knew I was wrong. I shouldn't have decided alone. Especially not this. Not something this big. But I had no choice. They didn't understand—couldn't understand.
I hadn't slept the entire night. My mind kept circling back to those portraits... those haunting images someone left on my wall. The shadows in the corners of my room that weren't there before. The paranoia clinging to my skin like perfume I couldn't wash off. This wasn't just a stalker issue anymore—it was tangled in politics, in power plays. In my father's world.
Karan Shegal.
I had found out things—dirty things. Manipulative, underhanded tactics that reeked of classic political poison. If he thought he was trapping me, then... surprise. He might have walked into something worse. My trap.
Just then, Aarav pushed back his chair, the legs screeching against the floor. His expression was a storm—disappointment, worry, fury. He didn't say another word as he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle the windows.
I sat there, pen between my fingers, clicking it again and again. A nervous habit. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. My throat felt dry.
I had to fix this. I had to talk to him. Apologize.
Because even if I did what I thought was necessary... I should've told him. I owed him that much. He's been by my side through everything. And now? I could see it in his eyes—he felt shut out. Hurt.
But how could I explain to him that I'm scared?
Truly scared.
Not just of being followed... but of everything unraveling.
And the worst part?
I can't even tell him.
I can't share the full truth with anyone.
Not yet.
Not until I know who's really pulling the strings.
The silence in the studio wasn't just awkward—it was unbearable. It clung to the walls like smoke after a fire. Everyone was quiet, but my mind was screaming. Aarav had walked out five minutes ago, but it felt like he'd taken the air with him. My chest was tight, my guilt louder than anything else.
I stood up suddenly, the scrape of the chair against the floor cutting through the silence. "I'll talk to him," I said under my breath, though everyone heard it.
Naina gave me a glance—half worry, half understanding—but she didn't say anything. She knew no one else could fix this but me.
I left the studio in a rush, following the echo of the heavy door that Aarav had slammed on his way out. I didn't need to guess where he'd be. I knew.
His usual retreat—the rooftop balcony.
The place where he went when the world got too loud, too crowded, too much.
I took the stairs two at a time, not caring how fast my heart was pounding. The golden hues of the setting sun bathed the terrace in a soft glow when I reached the top. The breeze was cooler here, fresher. And there he was.
Aarav.
He stood near the edge, hands in his pockets, back facing me. His shoulders were tense, and his head was slightly bowed. The wind played with his hair like it always did, and for a moment, he looked like the loneliest person in the world.
This was the guy who had always been there for me. Who handled my madness, my moods, my career. Who stood by me like a rock when I felt like I was crumbling.
And I had hurt him.
"Aarav," I said softly, almost afraid to disturb the silence he had wrapped himself in.
He didn't turn. But I knew he'd heard me.
"I'm sorry," I said again, stepping closer. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
His voice was low, barely a whisper. "Yet, you did, Sanya."
I felt the sting of his words more than I expected.
"I... I thought it was just a small thing," I said, my voice trembling. "I didn't think it would matter that much. That's why I didn't tell you. I thought I could handle it alone. I didn't mean to shut you out."
I offered a sheepish smile. "From now on, I promise I won't even go to the washroom without informing you first."
He let out a short laugh—dry, amused, but still wounded. "You don't have to report bathroom breaks, drama queen. That's not the point."
"Then what is?" I asked quietly.
He turned to face me then, his eyes meeting mine. They weren't angry... just tired and disappointed. "The point is, you didn't trust me enough to tell me. That's what really hurt."
That hit hard. My shoulders slumped.
"That's not true," I whispered. "I trust you with everything. With my life. You know that."
His expression softened slightly, the edge in his voice dulling. "Then why didn't you come to me first, Sanya?"
"I guess... I was scared. Of making it bigger than it was. Of disappointing you."
He stared at me for a moment before asking, "Am I really that scary?"
"Yes," I said immediately, cracking a small smile. "When you yell, you sound like an angry dad. Especially with that wrinkle you get on your forehead."
He rolled his eyes. "You're impossible."
"I know. But am I forgiven?" I asked, this time sincerely.
He looked at me for a long beat before nodding. "Yeah. You're forgiven."
Relief washed over me. I exhaled deeply and stepped forward, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.
He didn't hug back immediately. But a few seconds later, I felt his arms around me—warm and familiar. Safe.
"I'm sorry too," he murmured against my hair.
I pulled back slightly. "No, I was being dramatic."
He smirked. "That's new? You're always dramatic."
I gasped. "Excuse you!"
"But yeah," he added, sighing, "I shouldn't have yelled."
"You always yell at me," I said, narrowing my eyes. "What was that? Tuesday? You screamed because I dropped a glitter pen on your files."
"That glitter was everywhere, Sanya. It looked like a unicorn sneezed on my desk."
"Still pretty though," I teased.
He shook his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Then he fell quiet, eyes flicking toward the horizon.
"Everything okay, Aarav?" I asked, more serious now.
He hesitated.
Then he nodded slowly. "Just had a fight with my wife earlier."
My brows shot up. "Oh?"
He shrugged. "Nothing huge. Just... stuff."
I crossed my arms. "You yelled at her too?"
He winced. "Maybe."
"Aarav!" I scolded, smacking his arm playfully. "Why are you like this? Go talk to her! Women don't like broody-silent-treatment types. That only works in movies."
He chuckled. "I don't know how to."
"Well, lucky for you, you've got a full-time drama queen best friend with a PhD in fixing feelings."
"Oh god, help me," he groaned.
"I will. But first, we're gonna rehearse your apology like a script. And no yelling."
He sighed dramatically. "You're exhausting."
"And you love me."
"Unfortunately."
I grinned. Things felt okay again. Maybe not perfect. But real. And sometimes, that was more than enough.
"She said I don't listen. That I'm too distracted. Too involved in everything but us." He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. "And maybe she's not wrong. I've been swamped with the show, with your schedule, running around for that collab—my head's been all over the place."
I nodded gently. "But does she know all of that? Or are you expecting her to read your mind?"
He went silent.
"Aarav," I said carefully, "you always show up for people. For me. For your team. But love... love needs you to explain your silence sometimes. She's not mad you're busy. She's hurt that you don't let her in."
He stared ahead, processing that.
"She's your wife. Your home. Don't shut her out like a meeting you're too tired to attend."
He exhaled, long and slow. "Damn. When did you get all wise?"
"I binge-watched two seasons of therapy shows last weekend," I said smugly.
He laughed—properly this time. It made me feel better, hearing that sound again.
"You think it's too late to fix things?" he asked quietly.
"No." I stepped beside him, nudging his arm. "It's never too late when love is still in the room. And you? You love her."
"I do," he whispered.
"Then go tell her," I said. "But in full sentences this time."
He smirked, shaking his head. "You're annoying."
"Yet here you are, still standing next to me."
"Because no one else knows how to deal with you," he muttered, though his smile lingered.
I bumped his shoulder. "Go home, Aarav. I'll handle the rest of today's chaos. She deserves to hear from you before your ego builds another wall."
He turned toward the stairwell, then paused. "Thank you, Sanya."
I waved him off. "Go. Be a husband. And please, no yelling."
As he disappeared down the steps, I leaned against the balcony rail, watching the city begin to light up under the dusky sky.
Somewhere down there, love was waiting on a rooftop of its own.
As Aarav disappeared down the stairs, I stayed for a moment longer on the rooftop, fingers curled around the cold iron railing. From up here, everything looked calm. But I knew better. Down there, life was anything but calm.
And somewhere in the chaos of those streets... Ayaan was waiting.
Ayaan.
I hadn't heard from him in over a year. Our last call had ended in clipped words and uncomfortable silence. So why now? Why today? I tried not to read into it. Maybe it was work-related. Maybe he just wanted something signed off. Still, a part of me twisted at the thought. The version of me that still remembered how his name used to be.
I sighed, pushing off the railing and making my way down.
The studio buzzed with energy when I returned—people bustling, creatives huddled in corners with mood boards and laptops, someone laughing near the coffee machine. Break time always turned our otherwise sleek studio into something that looked more like a college canteen. And somehow, I loved that.
As I made my way through the crowd, Naina spotted me, arching a perfectly drawn brow. "Is everything okay between you two?" she asked in a hushed voice, falling into step beside me.
I nodded, my expression softening. "We talked. It's sorted," I said. My voice was low but assured.
She smiled. "Good. I hate seeing you both sulk."
We entered my cabin—sunlight pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling glass, my desk already stacked with portfolios, beauty packages, and two untouched iced coffees.
I dropped into my chair with a tired sigh and kicked off my heels. "Okay, Naina. Hit me. What's the damage today?"
Naina, ever the organized queen, flipped open her tablet. "Alright, your calendar is... intense."
"Define intense," I said, already bracing myself.
She read off, scrolling. "You have a Zoom meeting at 4 PM with the Paris team about the new resort wear collab. Then, a virtual skincare masterclass with Glow Drip at 5:15. After that, a content shoot at 6 PM for the Jewels by Karma anniversary campaign—don't forget they need a reel, four stills, and one Instagram Live."
My eyes widened. "Wait, what? That's today?" I nearly choked on my cold brew, the straw slipping from my lips in a very unglamorous splutter.
Naina gave me a look that could curdle milk. The classic 'Yes, and you agreed to it three weeks ago, remember?' look.
She stood there, hands on her hips, tablet tucked firmly under one arm like a disapproving school teacher ready to lecture her most hopeless student.
But I barely registered her expression. My mind was already spinning in a thousand directions at once.
"But I... I have to go to Ayaan's place today," I blurted out, more to myself than to her.
She froze mid-glare. "Wait... what did you just say?"
I leaned forward, carefully setting my coffee cup on the desk before I did something dramatic like drop it.
"He called me yesterday," I said, still half in disbelief myself. "Out of nowhere. He said he wanted to talk about something important... and asked me to come over."
Naina stared at me like I'd just announced that Shah Rukh Khan proposed to me on a bended knee.
"Ayaan called you... to meet him?" she whispered, eyes growing wider with every syllable.
I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair in frustration. "Yeah."
Her squeal that followed could probably have shattered the glass doors of the studio.
"Oh. My. God. Do you have any idea how many people would sell their soul for a single text from Ayaan?" She clutched her tablet dramatically to her chest. "And here you are, his childhood friend, just casually being summoned like it's no big deal!"
I groaned internally.
It was a big deal—but not for the reasons she thought.
Of course. But how is he so famous, a heartthrob?
Is it because of his ridiculously good looks?
Those impossibly deep, soulful eyes? His voice that sounded like it had been dipped in honey and then dusted with gravel?
Or maybe it was his speeches—the ones that could make even the coldest hearts feel something—or the endless charity work he did without ever once bragging about it.
I remembered that viral Insta post from last month, where he'd personally led a late-night rescue operation, helping save more than ten girls from a human trafficking ring.
It hadn't even been a PR stunt; he hadn't even meant for it to get out. Someone from the team had secretly filmed it—him, carrying a terrified little girl in his arms, her face buried against his chest while he comforted her with soft words.
The video had shattered the internet within hours.
And that wasn't all.
There were nights he'd drive halfway across the city to deliver blankets to the homeless when the temperature dropped.
Times when he'd quietly pay off school fees for children who couldn't afford it.
Visits to orphanages, cancer hospitals, animal shelters—all done quietly, sincerely. No media circus, no big speeches. Just... him.
I sighed again, running a hand over my face.
Yeah. I guess that's why people loved him so much.
Naina was still staring at me with stars in her eyes, like I was some sort of living, breathing connection to a celestial being.
I let out a long breath and sank back into the chair, the weight of the morning crashing down on me.
"Can you just cancel a few things? Or whatever's moveable?" I mumbled, waving a hand half-heartedly toward her tablet.
The words had barely left my mouth when Naina's expression snapped from dreamy fangirl back to full-on manager mode. Though she is my assistant her behaviour is more like my boss.
Uh-oh.
Here we go.
She narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me? Miss, I can, but you can't keep running away from your commitments just because Ayaan Rathore decides to summon you like some royal decree."
I groaned. "I'm not running away. I just—"
I paused, chewing on my next words.
Maybe it was time I said it.
The thing I hadn't admitted to anyone. Not even myself, fully.
I straightened in my seat and met her gaze.
"I need to meet Ayaan," I said quietly, each word landing heavier than the last.
Naina blinked, her annoyance softening slightly.
"Why don't you try rescheduling with him? Tomorrow maybe? After the campaign?"
I hesitated. Then I shook my head.
"It's not that simple."
She tilted her head, reading between the lines now.
"Why?" she asked. Her voice was gentler. "What's going on?"
I hesitated again, then finally said it.
"He called me for the first time... after a whole year."
That silenced her. Her brows knit together slowly as the weight of what I said sank in.
"A year?" she repeated softly. "You mean... you two haven't spoken at all?"
I nodded, my throat suddenly tight.
"Not a word. Not even a text."
Naina's expression shifted from curious to concerned.
"I thought you guys were close... like practically inseparable."
"We were," I whispered. "And then... we weren't."
She lowered the tablet to her lap, her tone now cautious.
"Hey... are you two not on good terms?"
I leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling like the answer might be written there in glowing letters.
"It's complicated."
And it was.
Complicated in the way that old wounds never really stay closed.
Complicated in the way hearts break quietly, behind smiles and polite distance.
Complicated in the way only two people with too much history and too many unsaid words could ever be.