(ALIGANJ, LUCKNOW)

TRIPATHI NIWAS

Night in Aligarh was calm and quiet. Dim streetlights cast a soft yellow glow over the narrow lanes while the distant rattling of rickshaws and faint murmurs of late conversations drifted through the cool air. The markets that had once been loud and crowded during the day had fallen silent, their shutters pulled down, and the dark sky stretched peacefully over the old city.

But sleep refused to come to Gauri.

She lay on her side, staring blankly at the wall, her mind tangled with the words Zoya had said earlier that evening. Somewhere she knew Zoya believed it was the easiest solution, the kind that would quietly solve everything without hurting anyone further. Yet the thought of being with someone when you didn't truly feel that way about them made something inside her uneasy.

It didn't feel right.

It was the kind of thing her Mahadev would never approve of.

She let out a slow sigh, her fingers curling slightly into the bedsheet as she kept staring at the same unmoving spot on the wall. God... what was she even supposed to do now? Every thought only led to another question, and none of them seemed to have an answer.

And then, without warning, Zaid's face appeared in her mind.

The way he had stood there earlier, looking so desperate just to speak to her for a moment. The way his eyes had searched her face as if she alone could fix whatever was breaking inside him. She remembered what Vikram had said too—that Zaid had cried.

Cried.

Just because she hadn't spoken to him.

The thought made her chest tighten painfully.

God... what had she done? Had she really hurt someone that much without even realizing it?

She had never imagined things would go this far. What had started as something small, something she had barely thought about, had somehow grown into something heavy and complicated. And now Zoya was offering a solution that Gauri knew she probably shouldn't even consider.

But it would solve everything.

Zoya wouldn't have to carry that guilt anymore for everything Vikram had done for her. And Gauri... she could simply say yes to Zaid. Because she knew he was about to confess his feelings straighforward to her Zoya had told her that.

If she agreed, maybe he wouldn't feel so hurt anymore. Maybe he wouldn't cry because of her again.

It wasn't like it would last anyway. At least that was what she kept telling herself. Relationships at their age rarely lasted long. She had seen enough around her to believe that much. It was probably just a small crush, something temporary that would fade with time.

Sooner or later he would grow bored of her. After all... who would really want to stay with a girl like her? Someone who focused on nothing but her studies.

She knew it wouldn't be long before Zaid lost interest in her. At least, that was what she believed.

Slowly, she sat up and looked toward the small idol of Mahadev resting on the table beside her bed.

"Ab aap hi kuch batao..." she whispered softly, her voice almost pleading, like a child asking for guidance.

She knew her Mahadev wouldn't approve of this. But she also knew he would never want her to make someone cry like that.

Ignoring someone who was hurting because of her... that wasn't something she had ever been taught to do. And despite everything, despite knowing she had hurt him, she couldn't simply pretend Zaid didn't exist.

It would only complicated things after all, he is her brother's bestfriend. She had never imagined herself getting into a relationship—especially not in her teenage years. The truth was that a long time ago she had stopped thinking about what she wanted and had started thinking only about what would keep her father's reputation intact.

What would make him proud of her.

And since that day, she had lived by that expectation.

Even when there were a thousand things she said didn't wish to do but deep down if she was allowed she would do it all in a heartbeat.

She lived by discipline. But since childhood she had also been taught something else—to be kind, to never hurt anyone intentionally. And if you ever did hurt someone, you faced the consequences and tried to make it right.

And now she knew she had to make it right.

Dating Zaid... and doing what Zoya suggested... somehow felt like the only way to fix what she had broken.

But she also knew something else.

If her father ever found out that she was dating a Muslim boy... she knew exactly what his anger would look like. She knew the things he might do.

God... no.

She couldn't let that happen.

If she chose this path, she would have to hide it carefully.

Her parents could never find out.

And maybe no one realized it, not even Gauri herself, but somewhere deep inside her heart a quiet voice had already begun convincing her to go through with it.

Despite the differences.

Despite the rules she would have to break.

She kept telling herself she was only trying to make things better.

But little did she know that from this night onward, her life was about to change.

And so was she.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

IQBAL RESIDENCE

The room was dim and quiet. A faint glow from his phone lit the messy desk where books and headphones lay scattered without any order, as if he had dropped them there and never bothered to clean up. 

A few clothes were thrown carelessly over the back of a chair, and the window beside his bed was left slightly open, letting the cool night air slip quietly into the room. 

Everything felt still, wrapped in that strange calm silence that only comes late at night when the world outside has finally slowed down.

Zaid stood near the window, bare-chested, a cigarette resting loosely between his fingers as he took another slow drag, the smoke curling lazily around him before drifting out into the night. He knew it was a bad habit, especially for someone his age, but by now it had become something he didn't even question anymore.

He was a bad boy after all.

Drinking, smoking, getting into things he probably shouldn't—none of it was new to him. His mother had warned him countless times, reminding him again and again that he needed to stop before these habits took over his life. But he never really listened.

Especially not after the day Gauri had walked into his life.

If anything, he had only started smoking more.

God, he just couldn't help it. Every time he thought about her it felt like something restless spread through him, like poison slowly running through his veins, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't seem to push those thoughts away. Smoking at least gave him something to focus on, something that helped calm the chaos inside his head for a little while.

At least a little.

His mind drifted back to earlier that day, to that moment in the car with Gauri. The way she had stumbled and fallen against him so suddenly. The way her soft scent had surrounded him in that small space, sweet and warm and impossible to ignore. Without even realizing it he had breathed it in deeply, and for a brief moment it had felt like that was the only thing in the world he ever needed.

God... what was this girl doing to him?

He had always been the one making girls nervous, the one who flirted easily, the one who made them blush and look away shyly.

But now everything felt different.

The tables had turned without him even noticing when it happened. Gauri barely did anything at all, barely even looked at him properly sometimes, and yet somehow he was the one left standing there breathless like an idiot.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling another cloud of smoke into the night as he leaned slightly against the window frame, trying to quiet the thoughts that refused to leave him alone.

Just then, as if the universe had decided his moment of peace had gone on for far too long and it was time to ruin it, a knock echoed on his door.

Zaid froze mid-step. For a second he just stood there, cigarette halfway between his fingers, brows slowly knitting together as he turned his head toward the door.

At this hour?

He glanced at the clock. Half the house was probably snoring by now. Even the walls of the of the house felt asleep. "Kon hai?" he called out, lowering his voice instinctively as he walked toward the door, suspicion creeping in with every step.

He paused right in front of it, listening.

For a brief moment he even held his breath.

Because seriously — who in their right mind was roaming around the house in the middle of the night?

Then the voice came.

"Bhai... it's me."

He froze.

Then dragged a tired hand down his face.

Of course.

Of course it was her.

Zoya.

He yanked the door open with a sharp inhale through his nose, already annoyed before even seeing her face.

And there she stood.

Wrapped in a blanket so tightly she looked like someone had rolled her up like leftover shawarma, only her face peeking out, hair messy, eyes wide and that very familiar pout sitting on her lips.

The pout.

The dangerous one.

The one she only used when she needed something.

The one that had single-handedly ruined his life since childhood.

Because every time she made that face she suddenly turned him into the best brother in the world.

For exactly five minutes.

Until her work was done.

Then back to slapping, kicking, stealing food and blackmailing him. "Zoya..." he exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose like a tired father of five. "Kya harkat hai yeh?"

His eyes narrowed at the ridiculously sweet smile on her face. That smile only made him more suspicious. God that smile was real danger.

"Is waqt darwaaze pe kaun khatkhata hai? Jin bhi so rahe honge ghar mein."

Zoya, however, looked completely unbothered.

In fact she grinned.

Actually grinned.

Then, without waiting for permission like a normal human being, she walked straight into the room as if she paid the electricity bill here.

"What?" she scoffed dramatically. "Apne hi bhai ke room mein aane ke liye ab permission leni padegi?"

She looked up at him with fake hurt, placing a hand over her heart like he had personally betrayed her.

Zaid stared at her.

Blank.

Unimpressed.

Arms slowly crossing over his chest.

"Zoya," he said calmly. "Seedha bata. Kya chahiye?"

Her face dropped instantly. "Wow," she whispered, shaking her head in fake disappointment. "Bhai tumhe kya lagta hai main sirf tab aati hoon jab mujhe tumse koi kaam hota hai?"

He didn't even answer. He just tilted his head slightly and gave her a look that clearly said —

Behen... maine tujhe paida hote hue dekha hai.

Zoya opened her mouth to argue.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

Nothing came out.

Because unfortunately for her...

he was absolutely right.

She stood there like a malfunctioning robot, mouth slightly open.

Ya Allah... galat bhai choose kar liya maine.

Zaid sighed dramatically. "Oye," he whispered, flicking her chin lightly. "Muh band kar le warna makhi ghus jaayegi. Phir mat bolna bhai ne warn nahi kiya."

Zoya gasped.

Actually gasped.

"Bhai!" she whisper-shouted, smacking his arm. "Behen ko maarte hue zara bhi sharam nahi aati tumhe?"

She leaned closer, glaring up at him like an angry kitten wrapped in a blanket.

He leaned down slightly too, lowering his voice like he was sharing a very serious secret.

"Esi shaitaan behen ko maarne mein?" he said thoughtfully.

Then smirked.

"Koi sharam nahi."

Before she could react he flicked her forehead.

Hard enough to make her stumble back a step.

"BHAI!" she hissed, clutching her head like he had committed a war crime.

"Haaye Allah," she muttered dramatically, shaking her head. "Log apni behno ko princess ki tarah treat karte hain..."

Then she pointed at him.

"Aur ek tum ho."

Zaid raised an eyebrow.

"Princess?" he repeated slowly. "Tum?"

He looked her up and down — blanket burrito, messy hair, offended expression. "Princess nahi Zoya... tum toh full time musibat ho."

Zoya gasped again, hand flying to her chest. "Tujhe sharam nahi aati behen ko aise bolte hue?"

She glared at him for three whole seconds.  ''Kutte.'' 

''Kutti.'' Zaid retorts back. 

Then  Zoya sighed.

"Okay fine... thoda sa sach hai."

Zaid huffed a laugh, finally leaning back against the wall, arms folded, already bracing himself for the chaos she was about to bring.

Because experience had taught him one thing.

Zoya never appeared at midnight without a disaster.

Never.

He tilted his head, watching her suspiciously.

"Haan toh bata," he said slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting in a knowing smirk.

"Aaj raat kaunsi khichdi pakaane aayi hai?"

Zoya looked up at him for a moment before finally gathering the courage to speak, her voice slow and hesitant as if she already knew the answer she might receive.
"Toh... actually mai chah rahi thi..." she began quietly, her fingers twisting nervously in the edge of her blanket before she paused mid-sentence and glanced at him again, silently hoping that maybe—just maybe—he would agree before she even had to explain everything.

When he didn't say anything, she forced the rest out.

"Actually Vikram jail mein hai... toh mai soch rahi thi ke mai unke liye khaana le jaaun..." she said softly, watching his face carefully as if measuring every small reaction. "Unhone khaana nahi khaaya... toh bas... ghar ka bana hua unka favourite dena tha."

For a moment Zaid simply stared at her.

Then his eyes moved slowly to the clock on the wall.

12:45.

Almost one in the morning... and his sister was standing here talking about cooking Vikram's favourite food and casually going to the jail to give it to him like it was the most normal idea in the world.

As if life wasn't already complicated enough.

As if she wasn't adding more trouble with every word.

He rubbed a hand over his face before looking back at her.

"Zoya tu pagal wagal ho gayi hai kya?" he asked slowly, studying her expression carefully, almost hoping she would laugh and say she was joking.

But she didn't.

Instead she shook her head immediately.

"Bhai mai joke nahi kar rahi." Her voice came out firmer this time, a little louder as she straightened up and the blanket slipped from her shoulders.

And that was when he realized she was completely serious.

Her lips were pressed together stubbornly, her jaw tight, that familiar look in her eyes that told him arguing with her was going to be a battle.

Zaid let out a long, tired sigh.

Of course she meant it.

Of course she had already decided.

He dragged a hand through his hair before finally speaking, his voice calmer but heavy with frustration.

"Dekh Zoya... mujhe pata hai tujhe bura lag raha hai Vikram ke jail mein hone ki wajah se..." he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "lekin iska matlab yeh nahi hai ke tu aadhi raat ko khaana leke jail pahunch jaayegi."

He paused before adding quietly,

"Aur agar itna hi concern hai... toh jab woh bahar aajega tab de dena usse khaana."

He said it like the matter was simple. Like that was the obvious solution. Like there was nothing more to discuss. But the moment the words left his mouth, Zoya's face fell.

She stepped forward quickly and grabbed his arm before he could walk away. "Bhai please maan jao na..." she whispered softly, looking up at him with those same pleading eyes that had worked on him since they were kids.

"Woh bhookhe honge... aur agar hum unke liye itna bhi nahi kar sakte toh phir kya fayda... yeh toh sabse chhoti si baat hai."

For a second he almost softened.

Almost.

But then the reality of the situation came rushing back.

Zaid gently pulled his arm free and turned away from her. "Nahi Zoya. No means no." he said quietly but firmly, the finality in his voice making it clear he wasn't going to budge.

After a pause he added, a little more softly this time, "Bahut dangerous hai yeh sab... aur mai tujhe yeh karne nahi dunga."

"I am your big brother, remember?" he whispered, throwing her a quick look before bringing the cigarette back to his lips and taking another slow drag, as if the title big brother automatically made him the final authority of the house.

Zoya stared at him for two whole seconds.

Then she scoffed.

"Oye big brother," she muttered, looking at him in complete disbelief, "pichle saal tak toh raat ko tujhe andhere se darr lagta tha aur isliye mere saath sota tha."

Zaid almost choked on the cigarette smoke.

His face turned red so quickly it was honestly impressive. "Okay fine, haan theek hai, sach hai," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck and refusing to look at her like a criminal caught on CCTV footage. But then, suddenly remembering he had some reputation left to defend, he straightened and pointed a finger at her. "But main phir bhi bada hoon, samjhi? Which means I am responsible for your stupid actions."

Zoya sighed dramatically, the kind of sigh that could win awards in theatre, her shoulders dropping as she realised that convincing this stubborn idiot was clearly going to require more brain cells than she had originally planned to use tonight.

For a moment the room fell silent.

Zaid continued smoking like a self-proclaimed philosopher of bad decisions, while Zoya sat on the bed staring at the floor as if deep in thought.

And then suddenly—

Something clicked in her brain.

Oh.

Oh she knew exactly how to deal with this man.

A slow, dangerous, very mischievous smile spread across her face, the same smile she wore whenever she had already won an argument before the other person even realised the fight had started.

And right now?

She knew she had already won.

"Acha suno bhai..." she began slowly, getting off the bed and walking up behind him, carefully hiding the wicked smile threatening to break out on her face.

Zaid turned halfway toward her, his eyes narrowing with the seriousness of a man who had already decided he was not going to fall for whatever nonsense she was planning.

He had made up his mind.

He was not going.

"Kya hai Zoya?" he asked sternly.

"You know what... it's fine," she said casually, glancing at him while biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing because she already knew the chaos that was about to happen. "Agar tum nahi aana chahte toh koi baat nahi."

Zaid turned fully toward her now, one eyebrow slowly rising.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Zoya never gave up this easily.

Especially not on midnight schemes that involved sneaking out like undercover criminals.

"So you're just going to give up like that?" he asked suspiciously, staring at her like a detective who had watched too many crime shows.

At this point only Allah knew what was cooking inside her head.

"Haan bhai, you don't have to come," she said softly, suddenly acting very innocent while fidgeting with the sleeve of her night kurti. "Main aur Gauri chale jaayenge. We'll handle it."

Zaid froze.

Like someone had pressed the pause button on his entire body.

Did he hear that right?

Gauri?

His brain repeated the name three times like an emergency alarm.

Gauri.

Gauri.

GAURI.

His head slowly turned toward Zoya.

"Gauri bhi aayengi?" he asked quietly, his voice dropping to a whisper while he tried very hard to look calm even though his heart had suddenly started beating like it had just discovered the concept of running.

She would be there.

He would see her.

He might even—

Okay calm down.

Don't be obvious.

But Zoya was already watching him with a smug little smile that clearly said beta phas gaya tu.

"Of course bhai—"

She didn't even get to finish the sentence.

Zaid suddenly crushed the cigarette into the ashtray and stood up so quickly the chair behind him nearly fell.

"Haan toh chal chalte hain," he said immediately, already grabbing his leather jacket and putting it on like a man who had just been called for national duty.

The same man who five minutes ago had been giving a full lecture about danger, responsibility, and how sneaking out at night was a terrible idea.

Apparently all morals disappeared the moment Gauri's name entered the conversation.

Zoya stood there staring at him in pure disbelief.

Then she slowly shook her head.

"Tu kitna bada kutta hai," she muttered, folding her arms while watching him rush around like he had somewhere very important to be.

Zaid stopped mid-step and glared at her.

"Shut up."

But Zoya only grinned wider.

"Sach bol rahi hoon," she said proudly. "Agar maine bola hota police aa rahi hai toh bhi tu itni jaldi jacket nahi pehenta."

Zaid rolled his eyes, trying very hard to act dignified.

"Bas bakwaas band kar aur chal," he muttered.

Zoya watched him for another second before shaking her head again, amused.

"Jo bhi ho," she said under her breath with a satisfied little smile.

"Mera plan toh kaam kar gaya." 😌

And maybe no one else would have noticed it in that moment, not in the middle of all the chaos and Zoya's smug expressions, but the same boy who five minutes ago had been standing there giving lectures about danger, responsibility, and how absolutely impossible this plan was, was now suddenly pulling on his jacket and getting ready to walk out the door without another argument—just because there was a chance, even a small one, that he might get to see Gauri.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

TRIPATHI NIWAS

Gauri had been standing at the backside of her house for the past few minutes, wrapped in the quiet stillness of the night. She was dressed in her usual suit and salwar, the soft sage-green fabric slightly crinkled from how many times she had nervously adjusted it already, and a shawl draped tightly over her shoulders even though the cold wasn't really the reason she held it so close.

The message from Zoya had come not long ago, and the moment she had read it, the first thought that crossed her mind was that this sounded exactly like something Vikram would think of — the same stubborn, reckless kind of idea that made absolutely no sense and yet somehow made complete sense to the people involved in it. For a second she had just stared at the phone, blinking slowly, almost feeling as if Vikram's own brain cells had somehow travelled through Zoya and landed straight inside her head.

God, the two of them had really lost it.

Because here she was now, actually standing outside in the dark like some criminal about to commit a crime, waiting to sneak out of her own house. In her entire life she had never done anything like this. Not once. She had always been the sensible one, the one who followed rules, the one who never gave their father a reason to raise his voice. Sneaking out was the sort of thing she used to hear other girls whisper about in school corridors — never something she imagined herself doing.

She had said no but Zoya would have never let her do that, never let her be alone. So here she was. Part of the plan.

And yet tonight she was part of a plan that sounded so ridiculous that if someone had told her about it yesterday she would have laughed.

They were going to sneak out, go make Vikram's favourite food, and then somehow deliver it to him.

Even thinking about it made her head spin a little.

But the thought that kept quietly pushing away every sensible argument in her mind was simple — what if he was hungry?

Her brother had never been the type to show anything. Pain, worry, fear... he buried everything somewhere deep and walked around like nothing could ever touch him. Even yesterday, when everything had happened and their father had scolded them so harshly that the whole house had gone silent afterwards, Vikram had still looked at her and told her not to worry, as if he was the one comforting her.

And maybe that was exactly why she couldn't stop herself tonight.

Because if he really hadn't eaten...

Her fingers tightened together inside the shawl as the weight of what they were about to do finally settled properly in her chest. If their father found out about this, the scolding they got yesterday would look like nothing.

Still, somehow, here she was.

She let out a long, quiet sigh, bringing her hands together instinctively as she lowered her head for a moment, murmuring under her breath like a child who knew she was doing something she probably shouldn't.

"Mahadev ... bas aap bacha lena... aur yeh plan successful karwa dena."

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

RAJVANSH ESTATE

The estate stood quietly in the darkness, its tall iron gates shut and the long driveway disappearing into shadows. A few windows of the mansion still glowed faintly, their warm light brushing softly against the pale walls. 

The trees around the property swayed gently in the night breeze, their shadows stretching across the silent gardens. From the outside, the estate looked grand and still, resting peacefully beneath the faint glow of the moon.

Rajvansh Estate was calm at night — big, secure, and almost too quiet for a place that usually carried so much life during the day. Most of the lights had been turned off hours ago, making it obvious that everyone inside had already gone to sleep. 

Two guards stood near the main gate, talking quietly as they kept watch, while a few others slowly walked around the estate grounds, making sure everything stayed exactly the way it should.

But at the back side of the house, far from the front gate and the guards, a figure was slowly climbing the rainwater pipe fixed along the wall, arms wrapped tightly around it and legs pressing against the surface as he tried to pull himself higher.

And he was already regretting every decision that had led him here.

God, this was too high.

The ground beneath him already looked farther away than he liked, and the pipe felt colder and more slippery than it had when he first grabbed it.

But honestly, there was only one person in his right mind who would ever do something like this willingly.

Akshay.

He was sneaking up to Akshara's room, carefully climbing the pipe while hoping with everything he had that no one decided to randomly walk around this side of the estate tonight.

Thankfully there were no guards here, which made sense since this was the backside of the estate where people rarely came, and the only reason Akshay had even dared to try this ridiculous stunt was because he had entered from the back wall where security was much lighter.

He had come to pick Akshara up.

Because of course she would never even think about doing something like sneaking out by herself.

The last time they had needed to leave like this, she had been so scared that Akshay had literally ended up pulling her out and dragging her with him because she kept hesitating at every step like the entire world would collapse if she crossed the gate.

And now things had become even more complicated.

Just a little while ago he had received a message from Gauri saying that Zoya had decided she wanted to cook food and somehow go all the way to the jail just to give it to Vikram herself.

Which meant one thing.

Chaos.

And because of that one message, Akshay had quietly sneaked out of his own house, crossed half the distance through dark streets, and was now halfway up a pipe on the wall of Rajvansh Estate like someone who had absolutely no respect for his own safety.

God.

The estate was huge.

Even from here he could see how big the property stretched around him, the gardens wide and perfectly kept, the mansion standing tall like something out of an old royal family.

Of course it was this big.

Her father was a rich man, and it showed in every part of the estate. But strangely enough, instead of feeling intimidated by it, Akshay felt something else rise inside him as he looked around.

One day he wanted to build a house like this too.

Not for pride.

Not to prove anything.

Just a home.

A big one with space and warmth and laughter.

And he wanted to build it with Akshara.

Somewhere their two little munchkins could run around the garden while Akshara yelled at them to stop climbing trees.

That was all he wanted.

Nothing more.

Just then a faint sound came from somewhere nearby. Akshay froze immediately, his entire body going still against the pipe as his grip tightened.

God.

Fuck.

Who the hell was there?

Akshay froze instantly, his whole body going stiff against the pipe as if that alone could make him invisible.

God.

Fuck.

Who the hell was there?

For a full five seconds he didn't move. Not a muscle. Not even a breath. His arms were already burning from holding onto the pipe but he stayed exactly where he was, pressed awkwardly against the wall like a very suspicious lizard.

Maybe it was just the wind.

Yeah. Definitely the wind.

Trees move. Leaves make sounds. Perfectly normal.

He slowly lifted his head and looked around.

Nothing.

No guard.

No footsteps.

No angry watchman with a stick ready to knock his skull open.

Akshay let out a slow breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "Great," he muttered under his breath, voice barely louder than the rustling leaves. "Fantastic plan, Akshay. Climb a rich man's estate wall in the middle of the night. Brilliant. Absolutely genius."

His foot shifted slightly on the pipe. Immediately it slipped.

"—shit!" He clung to the pipe tighter, hugging it like it was the last thing keeping him alive, his cheek practically pressed against the cold metal.

For a moment he just stayed there again, heart pounding. If anyone looked up right now he would look like an idiot stuck halfway up a wall.

Which... he technically was. "This is Zoya's fault," he whispered angrily to himself. "Completely her fault. If she wasn't so stubborn about feeding criminals at midnight I would be peacefully sleeping right now like a normal person."

He pulled himself a little higher with a small grunt. God, his arms were going to fall off.

"How do people in movies do this so easily?" he muttered, breathless. "They just climb like monkeys and reach the window in ten seconds."

Another pull.

Another awkward shift of his foot.

He risked a glance downward.

Big mistake.

The ground looked very far away.

"Yeah, no," he whispered quickly, turning his head back to the wall. "We're not looking down again."

Slowly, painfully, he climbed another foot higher until he was finally close enough to see the balcony railing of Akshara's room.

Relief flooded him. "Oh thank God."

Just a little more. He reached the balcony and grabbed the railing, dragging himself over it with all the grace of a dying cat before landing with a quiet thud on the floor.

For a second he just stayed there sitting on the balcony tiles, breathing like he had just run a marathon.

"Never," he whispered to himself, pointing at the pipe behind him, "never doing that again."

Then he slowly stood up and turned toward the balcony door.

"Akshara," he hissed quietly, knocking lightly on the glass.

Nothing.

He knocked again.

"Akshara," he whispered louder.

Still nothing.

Akshay frowned. "Don't tell me she fell asleep," he muttered.

He leaned closer to the door and whispered through clenched teeth,
"Akshara, if you made me climb this entire damn estate just to sleep through it, I swear I'm leaving you here."

Inside the room, Akshara had actually been fast asleep. Peacefully. Like a normal person who wasn't climbing rich people's houses at midnight.

But the faint knock and slight movement near the balcony pulled her out of sleep.

Her eyes snapped open.

For a moment she just stared into the darkness of her room, heart suddenly thumping.

Someone was outside.

On her balcony.

She shot upright in bed.

"Kaun hai?" she whispered under her breath, though her voice was so small it barely reached the air around her.

Her heart was beating faster now.

Who could it possibly be?

She quickly clutched the front of her satin nightgown tighter around herself as if that somehow counted as protection, before frantically looking around the room for... something.

Anything.

A weapon.

Her eyes landed on the only available object near the bed.

Her fluffy slipper.

She grabbed it immediately.

Yes.

Perfect.

Deadly weapon.

Clearly any thief would run away the moment they saw this terrifying pink slipper in her hand.

Still, despite the fact that her weapon looked like it belonged in a five-year-old's wardrobe, she slowly tiptoed toward the balcony door.

Her heart was practically beating in her throat.

"Kanha meri raksha karna... please," she whispered under her breath like a desperate prayer.

Then slowly... very slowly... she unlocked the door and pulled it open.

The moment the door opened she saw a tall figure standing there.

Dressed completely in black.

Definitely a thief.

Without wasting even a second, Akshara reacted with the only brilliant survival instinct her brain could produce.

She swung the slipper and smacked the man.

Hard.

Or at least... as hard as a fluffy slipper possibly could.

Outside, Akshay had still been catching his breath from the climb when suddenly something soft but aggressive started hitting him.

He barely even felt it.

But he knew exactly who it was.

He didn't even need to see her face.

Her jasmine scent had already reached him before the slipper did.

Akshara.

He froze for a second.

Why the hell was she jumping on him?

And more importantly... why the hell was she hitting him?

He tried to grab her wrist to stop her, but she was fully committed to the attack.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

The slipper kept coming down like she was determined to defeat a dangerous criminal.

Finally, losing patience, Akshay whispered a little louder,

"Akshara bas kar."

Akshara froze mid-swing.

Her brain took a full second to process what she had just heard.

What the—

That voice...

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh no.

Slowly she looked up.

The figure turned slightly and moonlight fell across his face.

Akshay.

"...Oh," she whispered quietly, instantly stepping back. "Tum ho."

Akshay stared at her in disbelief.

"Oh haan, main hoon," he whispered back sarcastically. "Tu pagal hai kya?"

His eyes moved down for a second.

The pink nightgown reaching her knees.

Her messy sleep hair falling everywhere.

And of course the weapon.

The legendary fluffy slipper still clutched tightly in her hand.

Akshay had to physically press his lips together to stop himself from laughing.

God.

How could someone look this threatening and this cute at the same time?

"Tu kya kar rahi thi yeh?" he asked, crossing his arms, clearly entertained.

Akshara frowned slightly.

"Kya matlab kya kar rahi thi?" she whispered defensively. "Apne aap ko protect kar rahi thi."

Then she added quietly,

"Mujhe kya pata tha tum ho."

Akshay slowly pointed toward the slipper in her hand.

"Tu... isse apne aap ko protect karegi?"

She nodded very seriously.

"Haan."

That was it.

Akshay completely lost it. He burst into laughter, quickly covering his mouth so the guards somewhere in the universe wouldn't hear him.

"Akshara," he said between laughs, tears practically forming in his eyes, "ek bacha bhi apne aap ko slippers se protect nahi kar sakta."

Akshara gasped like he had personally insulted her entire bloodline. "Oye!" she whispered angrily. "Meri slippers bohot strong hai, samjhe tum?"

Akshay nodded immediately, trying and failing to look serious. "Haan haan bilkul," he said, wiping imaginary tears. "Bahut dangerous lag rahi hai. Thieves toh door se hi darr ke bhaag jayenge."

Akshara narrowed her eyes at him. "Tum mazaak uda rahe ho na?"

"Main?" he said innocently. "Kabhi nahi." Then he pointed at the slipper again. "Waise next time na... chappal ki jagah talwar try kar lena."

"Tum mujhe mat batao kya use karna hai." she whispers stubbornly, jerking a finger at him in the most threatening way someone wrapped in a satin nightgown and holding a fluffy slipper possibly could, as if that single wiggling finger alone would establish dominance over the tall man standing on her balcony like some midnight criminal.

"Par tum yaha kya kar rahe ho?" she adds, confusion finally overtaking irritation as the sleep fully drains from her eyes, and she bends down to hurriedly shove her fluffy slippers onto her feet, because apparently confronting unexpected balcony intruders felt slightly more dignified while properly slipper-equipped.

Akshay looks at her for a moment, his expression no longer laughing out loud but still very clearly amused in that quiet, irritating way that suggested he was enjoying this entire situation far more than he should.

"Tune Gauri ka message nahi pada?" he asks casually.

Akshara's brows pull together instantly. "Nahi... konsa message?" she asks, blinking at him, the confusion growing stronger by the second before a small flash of worry crosses her face and she straightens a little. "Kuch hua hai kya?"

For a moment Akshay's gaze softens at the concern in her voice, but then he sighs quietly and leans slightly closer to the balcony railing, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves were gossip-loving aunties waiting to overhear.

"Kuch nahi hua... it's just—" he mutters before proceeding to whisper the entire ridiculous saga at a speed that made it sound like someone had pressed the fast-forward button on his life. How Zoya had suddenly been overcome with guilt, how she had decided that the only cure for this dramatic wave of remorse was to personally deliver homemade food to Vikram in jail at nearly one in the morning, and how Gauri, being the overly responsible citizen she unfortunately was, had decided that clearly the most logical plan in the world was to gather everyone like a secret midnight rescue mission.

By the time he finishes, Akshara's eyes have widened slightly, though not in shock exactly—more like the exhausted realization of someone who had known these people long enough to understand that this level of chaos was simply a Tuesday in their lives.

"Uh... okay." she says slowly, pausing as she processes everything.

Then she exhales.

Because honestly? Zoya feeling guilty and attempting some dramatic midnight redemption arc was not even in the top ten most unbelievable things she had seen that girl do.

Akshara rubs her temple briefly before looking back at Akshay. "Of course," she mutters under her breath. "Obviously. Jail jaake dabba dena hi solution hai."

She glances at him again, then at the balcony he had apparently climbed like some overenthusiastic burglar.

"Waise," she adds dryly, folding her arms now that the slipper weapon had been peacefully retired, "tum normal logon ki tarah darwaza knock karke bhi toh baat kar sakte the."

Then she squints at him suspiciously.

"Ya tumhe bas hero entry karni thi?"

He freezes at her words. For a full second his brain simply refuses to process what it just heard.

Did she—
did she just call him a hero?

His eyes narrow slightly as he studies her face again, trying to figure out if he imagined it, because there was absolutely no way this girl — this irritating, dramatic, permanently-annoyed creature who treated him like he personally ruined her life — had just called him that.

Slowly, very slowly, he takes a step forward. Then another. Until he is standing right in front of her, his tall frame casting a shadow over her as he leans down slightly, closing the distance between them just enough for the moment to feel... different.

"Acha... toh tujhe mai hero lagta hu?" he asks quietly, tilting his head just a little so he can properly look at her, those deep brown eyes fixed on her face with an intensity that makes it suddenly very difficult for her to breathe normally.

Akshara freezes. Because now that he's this close — this dangerously close — she realizes something extremely inconvenient.

One more inch.

Just one.

And he would be right in front of her.

Close enough that she could actually feel the faint warmth coming off him, close enough that his scent — that stupidly distracting mix of night air and something faintly woody — reaches her senses before she can stop herself from noticing it.

God.

What the hell was she even thinking?

She immediately shakes her head as if that could physically knock some sense back into her brain before looking up at him again, trying very hard not to notice stupid things like the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead... or the way black somehow makes him look even more annoyingly handsome than usual.

But she would never admit that.

At least not out loud.

"Aee tum koi hero nahi ho." she says quickly, straightening a little as she regains some of her usual attitude, lifting her chin in defiance. "Zyada hawa mein mat udo."

But the problem is...

He doesn't look away.

He keeps staring at her.

And those stupidly intense eyes of his don't even blink, which for some reason makes her stomach do a strange little flip that she immediately decides to blame on sleep deprivation, bad lighting, and possibly low blood sugar.

God, what the fuck is wrong with her?

As if the moment has suddenly become too heavy to handle, she quickly reaches up and smacks the back of his head.

"Aur tum kab yeh pipes se chadhne ki aadat chodhoge?" she scolds, glancing over his shoulder toward the metal pipes running along the side of the house, her brows knitting together.

Because now that she actually thinks about it...

Those pipes are ridiculously dangerous.

Who even climbs those things?

"Tumhe lag jaati toh?" she mutters under her breath, the annoyance still there in her voice but softer now... carrying something else beneath it that she herself doesn't quite notice.

But Akshay does.

He always does.

And suddenly he freezes again.

His heart skipping one unexpected beat inside his chest.

Did she just—

Did she actually sound worried?

About him?

For a moment he just looks at her while she continues scolding him, her words flowing out one after another in irritation, but he has already stopped listening.

Because all he can hear now is that one line.

Tumhe lag jaati toh.

Does she even realize what she just said?

Does she even understand the weight those simple words carry when they come from her?

Something tight shifts inside his chest.

And before he can think too much about it—

Before he can talk himself out of it—

He suddenly reaches forward. His hand closes around her wrist. And with one quick pull he tugs her toward him, bringing her against him so abruptly that the rest of her sentence dies somewhere in the air between them.

Her words cut off the moment her body collides with his chest. For a second Akshara doesn't even understand what just happened.

One moment she was scolding him like always, waving her hands around and complaining about pipes and broken bones, and the next moment his hand had wrapped around her wrist and pulled her forward so suddenly that she stumbles a little before steadying herself against him.

Now she's standing far too close.

Closer than she has ever been to him.

Her palm presses against his chest without her even realizing it, the fabric of his black shirt warm beneath her fingers, and the proximity is so sudden that her mind completely blanks out.

"Tum—" she starts, but the words catch in her throat and die halfway, leaving only the quiet night and the soft rustle of leaves around them. 

She looks up, and he is already watching her—not with the teasing smirk she's used to, not with that easy, irritating arrogance—but just watching, quietly, like he's memorizing her, like the very act of seeing her is something he can't let go of.

 For a moment, there is only the silence of the balcony, the faint whisper of the night air, the distant hum of crickets, and the weight of his gaze pressing gently against her chest, and God, it unnerves her in a way she has never expected, has never felt.

"Abhi kya bola tune?" he asks finally, his voice low, deliberate, almost thoughtful, like he is turning her words over and over in his mind, as if the way she said them might somehow change their meaning if he thinks hard enough.

"Kya hai, haath chodho mera," she says, tugging at her wrist, trying to create space, trying to remind herself—and him—that she is not fragile, that she is not meant to be studied like some open book. But he doesn't move, doesn't waver, and that only makes the heat in her chest rise, the blood in her ears hum, the rhythm of her heartbeat betray her in the quietest, loudest way.

"Tumhe lag jaati toh..." he begins again, slow, careful, like the sentence carries some weight far heavier than it deserves, like it is a confession that might crack him open if he lets it spill too fast.

Akshara blinks, and the words come out in a whisper, half teasing, half exasperated, "Arre sahi toh bola, tumhe lag jaati na... isme itna analysis karne ka kya zarurat hai?"

But he is still looking at her the same way, still holding her wrist lightly but with a steadiness that makes her stomach twist, still close enough that the warmth of his body feels like an intrusion and a comfort all at once, and for some reason, the fact that he isn't smiling, that he isn't joking, that he is just... present, makes her heartbeat stumble in a way she doesn't like admitting, even to herself.

Finally, he exhales, a quiet, almost inaudible sound, and the faintest twitch lifts the corner of his mouth. "Matlab tujhe farak padta hai," he says softly, as though the truth of it is too heavy to say outright, as if the words themselves might break the spell of the night.

Akshara's eyes widen instinctively.

"Bilkul nahi padta!" she shoots back, too quickly, too defensively, and the sharpness in her voice feels like armor against the way he is looking at her.

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, and the world tilts a little.

"Sach?"

"Bilkul sach," she says, too quickly again, and then a little too loudly, as if saying it enough times will convince her own trembling heart.

"Pakka?"

"Haan, pakka," she murmurs, and for the briefest moment, his smile widens—not openly, not enough to ease the tension, but just enough to make her suspicious, to make her realize that her careful armor of words and posture is doing absolutely nothing against him.

"Phir itni tension kyun ho gayi thi?" he asks, calm now, almost teasing in the gentlest, maddeningly controlled way, like he's deliberately poking at the crack in her composure.

She opens her mouth, then closes it, because suddenly she realizes she has no logical answer ready, none at all, and that realization prickles like fire along her spine, frustrating her more than she wants to admit.

"Tum na..." she mutters under her breath, losing patience, letting the words slip past the careful edge she normally holds.

Without warning, she swings her free hand and thumps his shoulder, sharper than she intended. "Tumhe har baat ka conclusion nikalna hota hai kya?"

He chuckles then, quietly, low in his chest, the sound vibrating like a secret promise, and for a moment, he just looks at her again, still holding her wrist, still standing too close, and the night folds around them in that tense, electric silence that makes her feel like she might forget how to breathe.

Her breath caught, small and uneven, as if the silence between them had weight—thick, unyielding, and somehow impossibly intimate. He didn't speak; he didn't need to. The slow curl of his lips, the faint gleam in his eyes, said everything she hadn't dared to admit out loud.

And yet, he waited—patient but relentless—because he knew her. Knew that beneath the carefully maintained walls of her composure, her heart was already leaning toward him. She cared. She couldn't help it. But saying it? That was a bridge she wasn't ready to cross.

He let the quiet stretch, the night around them humming with possibilities. Every glance, every subtle shift of his gaze, was a promise: he wouldn't let her retreat. Not tonight. Not ever.

And somewhere deep inside, she felt it—the pull, the inevitability—and a shiver ran through her, both thrilling and terrifying. She wanted to deny it, to look away, but her body, her heart, betrayed her, inching closer to the truth he already knew.

Because he wouldn't stop. Not until she said it herself.

 ⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

AKSH'S HOUSE

Just another night, and somehow they had ended up at Aksh's house again, the same way last time Vikram had dragged them here like some whirlwind of chaos, and tonight, as if fate had decided to repeat its mischief, it was Zoya's turn to pull everyone along, leaving Gauri standing quietly by the backdoor of her house, wrapped in her shawl, heart beating faster than she could admit.

When the faint crunch of footsteps reached her ears, she peeked around the edge of the wall, and there they were—Zaid, Zoya, Akshay, and Akshara—walking toward her, the dim light casting long shadows on the ground, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief because at least phase one was done, and they were finally here, and with a subtle push off the wall she waved, hesitant but glad, like a silent signal that she was ready.

She ran toward them, shawl clutched tightly around her, long hair flying behind her as if it had its own mind, careful enough to keep her steps light, though not careful enough to notice the stone lying in her path, and her foot caught, sending her tumbling forward, heart skipping a beat before strong arms swooped around her, steadying her against the fall.

Of course it was Zaid, his arms closing around her waist with a warmth that felt like home, his chest brushing against her back, and even as he breathed in the sweet, familiar scent that always clung to her, he felt the Rudraksha beads at her neck catch briefly against his shirt, tangled and stubborn, and somehow neither of them noticed, caught as they were in the silent, dizzying closeness that made the world shrink to just the two of them.

Gauri lifted her head slowly, eyes meeting his, their faces inches apart, and she could feel the soft warmth of his breath, while Zaid froze, utterly incapable of moving or thinking, brain short-circuiting in a way that made him want to curse fate for making her affect him like this, and then mutter quietly to himself, "Get it together, Zaid, get it together," as if sheer will could somehow reset the chaos she always stirred inside him.

Her fingers fisted against the leather of his jacket—the same one he had chosen tonight to impress her, rarely worn, deliberately picked—and the sight, the feel, made something twist inside him that he refused to name, and though she stepped back slowly, murmuring a timid, "Uh, I am sorry," avoiding his gaze as if her clumsiness deserved punishment, his arms stayed around her, reluctant to let her go, drawn to the soft sound of her voice like gravity he couldn't fight.

Of course, Akshay had to ruin the moment. "Oye bhai, Gauri is fine, you know—you can let go now," he whispered, amusement curling his words, earning a side glare from Zaid sharp enough to cut glass, while Zoya and Akshara giggled somewhere nearby, the reminder of their presence making the space feel suddenly wider, and Zaid finally released her, hands lingering for a second too long to make sure she wasn't hurt. "Aap theek hai?" he asked softly.

"Ji haan," she whispered, stepping back, only to freeze mid-movement as her eyes caught the sight of her Rudraksha beads tangled against the open flap of his jacket, thread catching stubbornly on his shirt.

  Oh god, inko bhi abhi phasna tha, she thought, heart sinking with the faint thrill of embarrassment, and before she could retreat entirely, she stepped closer, lifting her hand gingerly to untangle the beads, and the moment her fingers brushed against his shirt, he froze, sharp breath catching, God, fuck... How could she just do this to him?

He tried to remain casual, hands resting at his back as if he weren't utterly aware of her every motion, but the more she tugged gently at the beads, the more they seemed to twist into his shirt, and his gaze caught the scrunch of her nose, tiny and endearing, and something inside him melted because how could someone be this cute? Why is she so cute?

"Uh, suniye, let me try," he whispered softly, leaning closer, eyes fixed on her struggle, and when their fingers brushed again, even briefly, she pulled them away instantly, murmuring a soft "sorry" before letting him take over, and he bent slightly, hands careful but confident, working to free the stubborn beads, both of them caught in that unspoken, electric tension that made the night around them disappear entirely.

Gauri's hand froze against his as if sensing the change in the air, heart skipping, breath catching, and she looked up just slightly, lips parted, eyes wide, and Zaid, for a fraction of an eternity, couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't even blink, because the sight of her, that small, perfect, delicate creature standing mere inches from him, tangled in his jacket beads and the chaos she caused inside him, was more than his brain could process without short-circuiting entirely.

The beads finally loosened with a soft click, sliding free, and he stepped back just enough to give her space, though he hated the distance immediately, every inch of separation stabbing at him like fire, and she muttered a quiet, flustered "thank you," cheeks dusted with pink that made him want to trace it away, but instead he just nodded, voice low, almost a growl in his chest, "It's... nothing," and the words sounded hollow even to him, because nothing about her—or this—was ever nothing.

Just then, Zoya's voice cut through the suspended air like a bell, sharp and urgent, dragging the moment with her into the mundane, "Guys, we gotta go now," she whispered desperately, a reminder of the mission that had brought them here in the first place, and the fragile bubble between Zaid and Gauri popped, leaving them blinking in sudden awareness of the world around them, cheeks faintly warm and hearts still thudding from the closeness they had just shared.

Before they could linger any longer, they made their way to the door, knocking carefully, and when it swung open, a sleepy, confused figure blinked at them in the dim light, still half-lost in the fog of sleep, until Akshay, with his usual mix of mischief and authority, filled in the gaps, explaining everything in quick, clipped sentences, and slowly, almost reluctantly, the sleepy eyes softened, and one by one, they were let inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around them like a quiet welcome.

Aksh led them into the living room, gesturing for them to sit, offering water with casual ease, and then, leaning against the counter with that effortless calm he always carried, asked, "Okay, so what are we making tonight, guys?" and the room fell into a brief pause as everyone considered, the air thick with anticipation and the faint aroma of home-cooked possibilities.

"Actually... Dal Makhani, because it's Vikram's favourite," Zaid murmured, voice low, sharing a knowing glance with Aksh, who nodded almost imperceptibly, both silently acknowledging the quirks of their best friend, the one who wasn't usually fond of food, yet who could demolish Dal Makhani and naan as if tomorrow didn't exist.

"And... bhai likes Ras Malai in meetha," Gauri added, the words soft but firm, precise in her memory of what Vikram loved.

"Bhaiya... can we make all this?" Zoya's eyes went wide and hopeful, pleading in a way that Aksh couldn't help but notice, a mixture of determination and the kind of innocent vulnerability that made it impossible to say no, and Aksh chuckled, patting her head with casual affection, "Of course we can make it. What's the point of me being a chef if I can't cook?"

He paused for a moment, looking at Zoya, catching the faint glint of determination, the spark of something she didn't even recognize in herself yet, but that mirrored the same fire he had seen in Vikram on days like these, and then he continued, voice softening slightly, 

"Don't worry... we're gonna make it, and then we'll go deliver it to Vikram," and just like that, the mission was clear, the moment between them faded, and the night stretched ahead, full of laughter, whispered strategies, and the quiet, steady certainty that they were all in this together, no matter what.

The moment they stepped into the kitchen, the room felt suddenly alive, as if the quiet counters and shelves had been waiting all evening for people to finally fill the space, and within seconds Zoya had already darted to the sink, sleeves pushed up with unnecessary determination.

"Okay, step one—beans. We soak them first, right?"

"Obviously," Gauri said, already moving toward the large steel container of black urad and rajma kept near the corner shelf. She measured them without really thinking about it, her hands moving with the kind of ease that only comes from years of observing how things are done, the beans slipping through her fingers and falling into the bowl with a soft metallic clatter.

Cooking had never been something she had properly learned. No recipes written down, no exact measurements.

It had simply... happened.

Years of standing beside her mother in the kitchen, mostly quiet, mostly observing — noticing things that were never really explained. How much salt was enough just by the feel of it between your fingers. When the oil was hot enough by the sound spices made the second they touched the pan. When to lower the flame, when to wait, when to leave something alone and let it cook without interfering.

Things you only learned by being there.

Behind her, Zaid hovered in that slightly helpless way of someone who had volunteered to help but had absolutely no idea what helping actually involved. He had somehow ended up holding a spoon, though he couldn't quite remember picking it up, and now he stood there trying to look useful without getting in the way.

Of course, simply standing there was never going to work.

Akshay, who was rummaging through the drawers for a sieve, elbowed him lightly as he passed.

"Oye, kuch kaam bhi karle," he muttered under his breath. The comment was quiet but not quiet enough, and a small ripple of laughter moved around the kitchen.

Then Akshay leaned closer, lowering his voice even more, though the mischief in his eyes made it very clear that subtlety had never really been his goal. "Yaha Gauri ko ghoorta hi rahega kya?"

The whisper was blunt.

At this point, there was really no point pretending otherwise.

Everyone had noticed.

The way Zaid somehow always ended up standing near Gauri whenever they were in the same room. The way he volunteered for tasks he clearly didn't understand if it meant being in the kitchen with her. The way he passed ingredients she hadn't even asked for yet.

It was painfully obvious.

The man was down horrendously.

Zaid shot him a sharp look. "Chup kar." But the damage had already been done. The tips of his ears had turned unmistakably red.

Across the counter, Gauri kept her attention on the bowl in front of her as she carried it to the sink, letting water run over the soaked urad and rajma while gently stirring them with her fingers, as if the task required her full concentration.

And maybe to anyone else it might have looked convincing.

But the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

She had heard. Probably more than she was letting on. She was trying her best not to laugh, the way he was standing and just staring at her. 

Behind her, Zaid's gaze had already drifted back to her before he could stop himself. The loose strand of hair that had slipped from her braid while she worked. The quiet focus on her face. The way her bangles clinked softly every time her hands moved through the bowl.

He blinked once, as if that might somehow fix the problem.

It did not.

God.

How was someone allowed to look this distractingly perfect while doing something as simple as washing beans.

For a moment nothing else happened.

Just the steady rush of water from the tap, the quiet clinking of bangles against the steel bowl, and the faint smell of soaked beans beginning to fill the kitchen.

Then Zoya clapped her hands suddenly.

"Okay!" she announced with dramatic urgency, as if they were running a professional restaurant kitchen and not four people standing around a counter with absolutely no plan. "What happens next?"

Aksh chuckled at her theatrics. "We pressure cook it first." He glanced at the soaked beans. "Urad, rajma, salt, haldi, and water."

His eyes shifted to Gauri. "You look like the only one who'd actually do this right. So you do it."

Gauri nodded, lifting the bowl from the sink and letting the last of the water drain before setting it on the counter.

Akshara immediately grabbed the pressure cooker from the stove like he had been waiting his entire life for this moment.

"I'll do it."

"No," three voices said at the same time.

Akshara froze, deeply offended. But somewhere inside, he knew it too—he didn't belong in the kitchen. The only thing he liked about food was eating it.

"Why not?"

"Because last time you almost blew up the kitchen making chai," Zoya said flatly.

"That was one time."

"You forgot the water."

"That was a technical error."

Before the argument could spiral any further, Gauri sighed softly and reached for the cooker. "Move." 

Akshara slid aside dramatically, muttering under his breath about how his culinary talents were clearly being oppressed in this household.

But then, seeing Akshara's pout, Gauri glanced back at her."Akshara," she whispered softly.

Akshara looked up. Gauri leaned a little closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "It's really not a big deal if you don't know how to cook, okay?"

Akshara nodded, though the small pout still lingered on her lips. Cooking had always been that one thing that made her feel strangely inadequate. Everyone around her seemed to know what they were doing in a kitchen—measuring, chopping, stirring like it was second nature.

And she... didn't. Not even a single proper dish. So whenever the topic came up, that quiet little insecurity always returned, sitting heavy in her chest no matter how much she tried to laugh it off.

Zaid watched quietly as Gauri spoke to Akshara, her voice soft, patient—nothing like the sharp perfection he had always imagined from someone who cooked the way she did.

For someone so precise in the kitchen, she hadn't mocked Akshara for not knowing the first thing about cooking. She hadn't sighed or corrected her or made her feel small. Instead she had simply reassured her, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And something inside Zaid shifted.

Because for the longest time he had believed something very different about her.

He had believed someone like Gauri—someone so capable, so composed—would never even notice someone like him. A guy who felt like he was always fumbling, always a step behind everyone else. A loser, if he was being brutally honest with himself.

But standing there, watching her comfort Akshara so gently, that idea began to crack.

Maybe he had been wrong.

Maybe Gauri wasn't the kind of person who measured people by how perfect they were.

And for the first time, Zaid felt a strange, unfamiliar easing in his chest—like the weight of that old insecurity had loosened just a little.

Because whatever he had thought before...

It seemed the truth about her was something else entirely.

Within minutes the soaked beans were inside the cooker, along with turmeric, salt, and enough water to cover everything properly. Gauri locked the lid and placed it on the stove. "High flame," she murmured, turning the knob.

Behind her, chaos had already begun brewing. Zoya had opened three cabinets at once and was now holding up random ingredients. "Where are the tomatoes?"

"Right in front of you," Akshay said.

"These are onions."

"Other front."

"Oh."

Meanwhile Zaid had been silently assigned the task of kneading dough for naan, though no one had officially told him how. He was currently staring at the bowl of flour like it had personally betrayed him.

"How much water?" he asked cautiously. God, he had no idea how to do this shit. He had once tried helping his mother in kitchen and ended up creating a wreck.

Gauri glanced over her shoulder. "Little by little." she whispered hoping that he would understand.

Which was not helpful. Not at all.

Zaid poured water.

Too much.

The flour instantly turned into something that looked less like dough and more like a tragic swamp.

Akshay leaned over the bowl and burst out laughing.

"Oye, ye naan hai ya cement mix?"

Zaid glared at him. "Shut up."

"You've made soup."

"I can fix it."

He added more flour.

Now it was dry.

Zoya had wandered over and was watching the whole thing with deep interest, like someone observing a science experiment that had clearly gone wrong.

"Why does it look... angry?" she asked.

"It does not look angry."

"It looks like it wants revenge."

Across the kitchen, Gauri had been trying very hard not to turn around. But when she finally did and saw the aggressively uneven disaster sitting in the bowl, she paused. Then she walked over.

It had barely been a few minutes since Zaid stepped into the kitchen, but she already knew.

He did not belong here.

Without saying anything, she gently pushed his hands aside. "Suniye.... Let me do it."

The words were soft, almost absentminded, as she stepped in front of him. Her fingers pressed into the dough, folding it, turning it, adding a little flour, then pressing again.

Slow. Steady.

Within seconds the mess began to change.

The dough slowly came together under her palms.

Zaid just stood there watching. How the hell was she doing that? A minute ago it looked like something that needed rescue from a construction site.Now it actually looked like dough.

"How did you—"

She didn't answer.

Aksh, who had been working on the rasmalai, glanced over at Zaid—who looked almost personally attacked by how easily Gauri had fixed the situation.

"That's not magic," he said. He paused when he noticed Zaid's mouth hanging open.

Aksh flicked his chin toward him. "Close it. It's just cooking, not a magician's trick," he added quietly, trying not to laugh.

Zaid immediately shut his mouth. But his gaze stayed on Gauri. She was a magician for him atleast.

She worked with quiet focus, bracelets sliding softly down her wrist each time she pressed the dough forward. "Soft," she said after a moment. "Not too dry."

Behind them the pressure cooker suddenly whistled loudly.Zoya yelped. "OH MY GOD!"

Akshay jumped so violently the knife slipped from his hand and clattered onto the counter.

"It's the cooker!" Zaid said.

"I KNOW IT'S THE COOKER BUT WHY IS IT SCREAMING?!"

"It's not screaming!"

"It sounds like it's about to explode!"

Gauri didn't even look at it. She was done with their dramatics by now. "It's supposed to do that."

Another whistle cut through the kitchen.

Zoya flinched again.

"Why does it sound angry?"

"It's not angry," Gauri said calmly, still kneading. "It's cooking."

She didn't even sound surprised they were reacting like this. Honestly, what else had she expected?

The kitchen was warm now, filled with overlapping sounds—the whistle of the cooker, drawers slamming shut, someone knocking over a spoon, laughter bouncing off the walls.

Once the beans had cooked enough, Gauri opened the cooker and poured everything into a deep pot.

Aksh looked inside, then back at her.

"It looks perfect."

Gauri gave a small nod.

"Now the real thing starts," Aksh murmured.

Butter went in first. A generous amount.

It melted instantly, coating the bottom of the pot and filling the kitchen with that rich, warm smell that made everyone drift a little closer to the stove without even realizing it.

"Garlic," Aksh said. Zaid handed it to Gauri before the sentence was even finished. Chopped garlic hit the butter, followed by ginger and onions that Akshay had somehow managed to chop into wildly uneven shapes.

The onions sizzled loudly. Zoya leaned over the pot and inhaled dramatically.

"Oh my god."

Tomatoes followed, then spices—red chilli powder, garam masala, coriander.

Nothing was measured. Aksh didn't need to. Everything was instinct. The mixture thickened slowly, the red deepening as it cooked.

Finally the cooked dal went in. Aksh stirred it slowly and lowered the flame.

"Now it needs time," he said. "Dal makhani doesn't rush."

Zoya leaned against the counter.

Akshara stole a piece of raw dough the moment no one was looking. Of course she was hungry now.

Zaid was still watching Gauri like he had forgotten there were three other people in the room.

The kitchen looked like a disaster.

Flour dusted across the counter.

Spices scattered everywhere.

Someone had dropped a tomato on the floor. But the smell of butter, garlic, and slow-cooking dal had already filled the entire house.

And somehow, in the middle of all that chaos and laughter, dinner had started to come together.

And just when it seemed like things were finally settling into a rhythm... they absolutely did not.

Because Aksh suddenly stopped stirring. "...Wait."

Everyone froze.

Zoya immediately panicked. "What wait?" God the hell what was wrong now?

Aksh looked at the pot like a scientist realizing a critical step had been skipped. "We forgot the cream."

Gauri turned around so fast her bangles chimed. "What?"

Aksh pointed to the counter. "There's supposed to be cream."

Zoya spun dramatically toward the fridge like a soldier being given a mission. "I GOT IT."

She opened the fridge.

Then paused.

Then leaned deeper inside.

Then started moving things around aggressively.

"Why is there... seven bottles of water in here?"

"That's not important," Akshay said. "Find the cream."

"I AM LOOKING."

There was a long pause.

"...Is it supposed to be in a steel bowl?"

"No."

"...In a glass?"

"No."

"...Why is there half a lemon wrapped in tissue?"

Aksh pinched the bridge of his nose. Meanwhile Akshara had wandered dangerously close to the naan dough again. She poked it.

Then poked it again.

Then quietly tore another piece.

Gauri saw it immediately.

"Akshara."

Akshara froze mid-chew.

"...What?"

"Stop eating the dough."

"I'm tasting it."

"You're stealing it."

"It's quality control."

"You're not quality control."

Zaid, who had been watching Gauri the entire time like she was performing some kind of sacred ritual, suddenly noticed the shrinking dough.

"...Is that why it's getting smaller?"

Akshara pointed at him accusingly. "Don't involve yourself."

Meanwhile Zoya had now fully entered chaos mode inside the fridge.

"Oh wait!"

Everyone looked up hopefully.

"I found chocolate."

"That is not cream."

"Oh."

She kept digging.

Then suddenly she lifted a small carton triumphantly into the air like she had just discovered treasure.

"FOUND IT."

Akshay grabbed it from her dramatically and handed it to Aksh. "Before she finds ice cream and forgets the mission."

Aksh poured the cream slowly into the dal.

The color immediately deepened, turning into that rich, velvety brown dal makhani was famous for.

The entire kitchen went quiet for a second.

Even Zoya leaned over the pot again.

"...Okay that smells illegal."

Aksh smirked. "Good dal makhani usually is."

Behind them Gauri had rolled out the first naan and placed it onto the hot tawa.

It puffed slightly.

Zaid leaned closer.

"How does it do that?"

She flipped it calmly. "Heat."

"That is not a proper explanation."He frowned looking at her.

“Aap kuch zyada hi sawaal puchte hain,” she whispered, still pretending to focus very carefully on the naan as it puffed slightly against the hot tawa.

“Toh aap jawaab de dijiyega,” he murmured back, a small smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, everything went quiet.

The soft hiss of butter touching the hot pan.
The faint clatter of utensils somewhere behind them.
Even the chatter in the kitchen seemed to fade into the background.

Zaid was still looking at her.

Not in the careless way he used to glance at people, but in that strange, steady way that made Gauri suddenly aware of everything — the warmth of the stove, the flour dusted across her fingers, the way her dupatta had slipped slightly from her shoulder.

And the way his eyes hadn't moved from her face.

Gauri finally looked up.

Their eyes met.

Just for a second.

But it was enough to make her heartbeat stumble.

The corner of Zaid’s smile deepened slightly, as if he had noticed something she hadn't meant to show.

Gauri immediately looked away, turning back to the naan a little too quickly. She flipped it with unnecessary focus, but the warmth spreading across her cheeks betrayed her.

Behind them, Akshay watched the exchange for exactly three seconds before leaning toward Zoya and whispering under his breath,

“Bas. Ho gaya. Naan ban rahi hai ya love story?”

Zoya almost choked trying not to laugh.

Another naan went on. Then another. Soon the counter was slowly filling with warm naan stacked in a cloth-lined basket.

Zoya stole one immediately.

"OW OW OW HOT."

"Then why did you grab it?" Akshay asked.

"I thought it would be less hot!"

"That is not how temperature works."

Akshara stepped forward blew on the naan aggressively and tore a piece off anyway. She looked at Zoya with a playful smirk. ''See this is how we do it.''

Across the stove Aksh stirred the dal again slowly. "Now it just needs to simmer."

"How long?" Zoya asked with suspicion.

Aksh shrugged casually.

"Thirty minutes."

The kitchen erupted.

"THIRTY MINUTES?"

"WE COULD HAVE ORDERED FOOD BY NOW."

Aksh leaned against the counter completely unfazed. "That's why dal makhani is special." Meanwhile Zaid had leaned closer to the stove again, watching the slow bubbles forming in the pot.

Then his gaze shifted back to Gauri. Flour dusted across her fingers. A faint streak of atta on her wrist. Hair slipping loose near her temple as she worked.

Completely focused.

Completely calm.

Like the chaos around her didn't even exist.

He had never seen anything more beautiful than this. He didn't even realize he was staring again until Akshay quietly elbowed him.

"Oye."

Zaid blinked.

Akshay tilted his head subtly toward Gauri and smirked.

"Dal makhani dekh raha hai... ya kuch aur?"

Zaid immediately straightened. God, the fuck why this motherfucker has to always step in between. "I was looking at the cooking."

"Haan haan."

Akshay grinned wider. Already knowing very well what he is was looking at. "Cooking." he murmued almost sarcastically.

Behind them the dal bubbled slowly.

The naan basket filled.

The kitchen stayed messy.

And the laughter never really stopped.

But somewhere in the middle of it all — between burnt fingertips, stolen dough, and a pot of dal that refused to hurry — something else had started simmering too.

Slow.

Quiet.

And just as impossible to rush.

For the next few minutes the kitchen finally settled into a calmer rhythm.

The dal simmered slowly on the stove, thick bubbles rising lazily to the surface while the smell of butter and spices filled the room. Gauri finished the last few naan on the hot tawa, stacking them carefully into a cloth-lined basket while Zoya hovered beside her like someone waiting for permission she clearly wasn't going to get.

The moment Gauri turned away, Zoya stole one anyway.

"OW—why is it so hot?" she hissed, tossing it between her fingers.

"Because it just came off the pan," Akshay said dryly.

Meanwhile Aksh dipped a spoon into the pot and tasted the dal. He paused for a moment before nodding once.

"Alright. It's done."

That was all Zoya needed to hear.

"Finally," she said dramatically, already reaching for containers. "Before someone eats half of it, pack it."

Everyone started moving again.

Aksh ladled the dal into large steel containers while Zoya wiped the edges like she had suddenly become very serious about presentation. Akshara stacked the naan into foil-lined boxes, though one or two disappeared along the way.

"Stop eating them," Gauri said without looking.

"I'm not."

"You literally have one in your hand."

"That one was already gone."

Within a few minutes everything was packed — dal sealed in containers, naan wrapped neatly, spoons and napkins tucked into bags.

The counter was still covered in flour and scattered spices, but dinner was ready.

"Okay," Zoya said, lifting one of the containers with satisfaction. "Let's go before I eat this myself."

One by one they grabbed the bags and headed out of the kitchen, the warm smell of dal makhani following them down the hallway while the once-quiet kitchen was left messy, chaotic, and very clearly used.

POLICE STATION - (THANA)

The police station in Lucknow stood quiet under a flickering tube light, its pale walls worn with age. Inside, a tired constable sat behind a desk piled with dusty files while the slow creak of a ceiling fan filled the room. Outside, a police jeep rested in the courtyard, and the nearly empty road stretched into the stillness of the night.

Akshay and Zoya lingered just outside the gate, careful not to step too close to the entrance. Zoya knew the moment they walked in, questions would start—what were they doing there so late, why were they alone, where were their parents. And once the police started asking, it wouldn't stop there. Someone would call home.

So instead, Akshay had quietly spoken to a constable he recognized, a man who had once worked under his father. The conversation had been quick and low, a few familiar words exchanged, and the man had finally agreed to take the food inside and pass it on to Vikram.

Now the container was out of their hands, disappearing through the station doorway.

Standing there in the quiet night, Zoya clasped her hands together for a moment, her heart oddly nervous over something so simple.

Yah Allah... please let him like the food, she thought silently. Bas unhe khana pasand aa jaye.

And in that moment all she wished that Vikram would like the food she had made for him.

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Deewangi Writess