Veer, Ryan, and Shaurya were sitting in Ryan’s sleek penthouse, sprawled across the giant L-shaped couch like kings after battle. The dim golden lights reflected off the marble floor, casting warm shadows around them. The huge glass windows opened to a panoramic view of the city, but their focus wasn’t outside. It was inside, on the comfort of long-earned silence.

No one was talking just basking in that rare, sacred space of unspoken understanding. The kind of silence only years of brotherhood could create. Phones buzzed now and then, but none of them bothered to check. For now, this was their escape from the world.

Until Shaurya, ever the instigator, smirked and broke it.

“Not gonna wish Veer today, huh?” he asked Ryan, voice light but laced with mischief. His eyes twinkled with amusement.

Veer immediately laughed, sensing the storm about to hit.

Ryan groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the couch like he’d been shot. “No! Don’t bring that psycho up again. I’m still recovering.”

He ran a hand through his hair, “She literally chopped my hair off. CHOPPED. There should be laws protecting men like me.”

Shaurya raised an eyebrow. “You mean, men who poke the devil and then act surprised when they get burned?”

Veer snorted. “Don’t forget what happened after. That storm of messages and thirst-trap DMs you got from her fan club.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “What was that one line again?”

Clearing his throat dramatically, Veer mimicked a sultry voice: “Are you a volcano? Because every time I see you, my hormones erupt.”

Shaurya chuckled darkly and joined in. “Or that one… ‘So, how do you like your eggs in the morning? Scrambled, fried... or fertilized?’”

Veer lost it. He clutched his stomach, doubling over in laughter. “Oh man! But the BEST one absolutely next-level thirst” he gasped between breaths, “‘So if someone grabs me from behind… what’s the best move? Asking for a friend. The friend is my imagination. The grabber is you.’”

Shaurya choked on his drink.

Ryan just sat there, face like stone, arms crossed, clearly traumatized but too proud to show it fully. “Enough,” he muttered, cheeks tinged red. “You two are traitors. I suffered for two whole days. TWO.”

Shaurya leaned forward, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Bro, you earned it. You shouldn’t have wished Veer before her. You knew she’d lose it.”

“She nearly set my hoodie on fire,” Ryan grumbled. “And the worst part? I didn’t even do it intentionally.”

“Intentional or not, Siya doesn’t believe in second chances,” Veer said, amused. “Her rage has a fan following.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes. “That woman holds grudges like she’s collecting rent. Every second of my life was a horror movie directed by her.”

“Yet you still go head-to-head with her,” Shaurya pointed out.

“Because I’m not a coward,” Ryan said, puffing his chest. “Also because I enjoy chaos.”

“Hmm,” Veer hummed. Then, with a rare glint of seriousness, he asked, “Why don’t you just find a girl and fall in love? Might help. Give your heart some purpose.”

Ryan blinked at him, scandalized. “Love? And me? In the same sentence? Bro, you good?”

Shaurya chuckled. “There’ll be a day you fall, Ryan. So hard you won’t even realize it until you’re drowning. And then, you’ll cross every damn boundary for her… do things you swore you’d never do.”

“Spoken like a true lover boy,” Ryan mocked. “Don’t give me your romantic Bollywood dialogues. Love? Not my scene. Cringe stuff.”

He leaned back, stretching. “I’d rather face ten Siya-level devils than write love letters or cry in the rain while some Arijit song plays in the background.”

Shaurya laughed softly, but his eyes held depth. “That’s the thing, bro. Love doesn’t knock. It barges in, throws your entire system off balance, and leaves you rewriting your own rules.”

Veer added with a smirk, “The day you fall in love, Ryan… we’re throwing a party. Because it’ll either be the end of the world or the start of something epic.”

Ryan scoffed but didn’t reply immediately. His fingers absentmindedly tapped the edge of the coffee table. “You two are hopeless.”

Veer tilted his head. “Hopelessly in love? Yeah. And proud.”

Veer raised his drink. “To the day Ryan Singhania falls in love.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes at both of them. “You’ll wait a long time, then.”

They clinked their glasses anyway, sealing a silent prophecy.

Because deep down, they knew.

When love finally found Ryan it wouldn’t knock. It would shatter his walls. Break his patterns. And set his carefully coded world ablaze.

And the most ironic part? He’d probably enjoy every second of the chaos.

Veer and Shaurya just exchanged a look and a secret smile.

Because when love hits Ryan Singhania…

…it’ll burn him alive before he even learns how to spell the word.

.

.

.

In a cheerful kitchen filled with the sizzling aroma of spices, a girl moved with grace and charm. She wore a blush crepe Patiala suit, the golden embroidery shimmering under the kitchen light as it hugged her curves beautifully. The pleats of her salwar swayed with every step, and her matching dupatta was tucked stylishly over one shoulder.

Her hips swayed perfectly to the beat of the music echoing from her speaker. She stirred the simmering pav bhaji while dancing to the tune of:

Jhoomka gira re... Jo mila le agar woh nazar se nazar mila de..

Nach ke dikha de... Sabki dhadkan bhi kadam se kadam mila de...

Who's the hottest girl in the world?

My desi girl, my desi girl...

The smell of buttery pav and spicy bhaji took over the kitchen. She expertly buttered the buns and tossed them on the hot pan, dancing and singing all the while. She took a small spoonful of the bhaji, tasted it, and gave herself a satisfied nod.

Just as she turned off the stove, a voice came shouting from the hall

“Anmol puttar, chheti kar! Bohat bhukh lagi hai!”
(Anmol dear, hurry up! We’re starving!)

She grinned and called back:

“Ji papa ji, bas aa rahi haan!”
(Yes Papa, coming right away!)

Balancing the serving tray like a pro, she walked to the dining table where her father, mother, and younger brother were already waiting like hungry kids. She laid out the pav bhaji with a flourish, garnished it with coriander and an extra dollop of butter.

As soon as they tasted it, her father closed his eyes dramatically and said:

“Puttar ji, tuhade hathan vich ta jadoo hai… bilkul jadoo!”
(Daughter, there’s magic in your hands… pure magic!)

Her brother chimed in, mouth full
“Haan didi, kadak banaya hai. Full marks!”
(Yes sis, this is amazing. Full marks!)

Anmol finally sat down, served herself a big portion, and added a generous amount of butter on top. But before the spoon touched her lips, her mother playfully smacked her hand.

“Anmol! Aise hi moti hoti jayengi. Kise ne vi viyah nahi karna tere naal! Dieting-shieting shuru kar le thodi!”

(You and your butter obsession! You’ll just keep getting fat. No one’s going to marry you like this. Start some dieting already!)

Anmol pouted.
her father rolled his eyes at his wife.

“Preeto, phir wahi gall? Gurneet Singh di kudi hai eh... jo vi hovega, oh usnu usi tarah chahega jivein eh hai. Bina badle!”

(Preeto, again with this talk? She’s Gurneet Singh’s daughter… whoever comes into her life will love her exactly the way she is. Without trying to change her!)

Her mother rolled her eyes:

“Apne sir te chadha ke rakha hai isse!”
(You’ve spoiled her completely!)

Anmol grinned with a mouthful of bhaji:

“Maa, tusi vi na badi tension lete ho. Jisne viyaah karna hovega, kar lega. Aur mera wala toh filmy style ch aayega Shahrukh di sherwani paake, te Salman de gaane ‘Tainu leke’ te nachda hoya!”
(Mom, you always stress so much. The one who has to marry me, will. And mine will come full filmy style wearing Shahrukh’s sherwani, dancing to Salman’s song ‘Tainu leke’!)

Her mother narrowed her eyes:

“Anmol Kaur! Apne sapneya di duniya ton bahar nikal. Zindagi ch lok ohne changey nai jivein tu samajhdi hai.”

(Anmol Kaur! Step out of your dreamland. People in real life aren’t as good as you think they are.)

Anmol shrugged and softly said:

“Haan pata hai maa, duniya buri hai… par mainu duniya nai chahidi. Mainu taan oh banda chahida jo mere layi duniya khoobsurat banave.”

(I know, mom, the world is cruel… but I don’t care for the world. I only want the one who’ll make my world beautiful.)

Her mother just shook her head and muttered:

“Kujh nahi ho sakda is kuri da…”

(Nothing can be done about this girl...)

But her father smiled proudly, eyes twinkling as he sipped water because he knew, if anyone could dream wildly and still stay true to her heart, it was his Anmol.

That’s Anmol Kaur,  a full-on desi girl with a soul dipped in sunshine and a heart as filmy as her dreams. The kind of girl who doesn’t just live life, she celebrates it. She believes in Bollywood-style romance, the kind where eyes lock across a crowded room, time slows down, and violins begin to play in the background, even if it's just in her head.

In her world, love isn't swiped right it's stumbled upon in the rain, under fairy lights, or while reaching for the same cup of chai at a roadside stall.

For Anmol, life is a canvas of colourful shades a splash of yellow for joy, pink for love, blue for the rainy days, and glitter for the drama (because life without drama? Boring!). She’s not waiting for happiness to arrive gift-wrapped she finds it in the smallest things: fresh flowers at the mandir, perfectly round rotis, surprise songs on the radio, and the way children laugh when she teaches them to twirl.

She doesn’t obsess over calorie counts or chase society’s ever-changing idea of a “perfect body.” She has her own mantra:

“Ek hi toh life hai… usse bhi rok-tok mein gawa denge toh jeeyenge kya?”
That’s her in a nutshell  unapologetically herself.

She’s not the slim-waisted, collarbone-showing girl from magazine covers. She’s soft. A little chubby. With cheeks so cute that aunties can’t resist pulling them. And her confidence? It can light up an entire mohalla. Her beauty doesn’t scream, it glows quietly, like diyas on Diwali night. And it’s not just in her face  it’s in her laugh, her joy, her kindness, and the unapologetic way she owns her space.

Every evening, her neighborhood turns into a mini dance studio. Little girls in mismatched dupattas and boys in oversized t-shirts gather around her, their faces lighting up the moment she presses play on her trusted old speaker. She doesn’t just teach them steps, she teaches them how to feel the rhythm in their bones. How to be proud of who they are. How to love their bodies and their stories.

At 22, Anmol may not have everything figured out. She still messes up her eyeliner, forgets important dates, and sometimes cries when no one’s looking. But one thing’s for sure, she’s living life her way. With laughter in her lungs, ghee on her paratha, and dreams so filmy they could give Yash Raj scripts a run for their money.

She’s not perfect and she doesn’t want to be.

Because Anmol Kaur knows that in a world full of filters and facades, the most powerful thing a girl can be… is real.

And that? That makes her unforgettable.

.

.

.

It was 11:58 AM, and Veer stood outside the apartment door, his tall frame exuding quiet intensity.

He was draped in a perfectly tailored black blazer that hugged his sculpted shoulders, commanding attention effortlessly. Beneath it, a deep maroon shirt unbuttoned just enough offered a teasing glimpse of his toned chest. The shirt was slightly untucked, adding a raw, untamed edge to his otherwise polished look. His black trousers were crisp, paired with a glossy belt. Simple. Sharp. And undeniably dangerous.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

As he stepped inside, the soft click of the door closing echoed behind him. The apartment was dimlit only by the warm golden hue of fairy lights draped across the walls and ceiling. The hall was transformed into something out of a romantic dream. Rose petals created a delicate trail, leading to the center table where a beautiful cake waited beside a vibrant bouquet of tulips—his favorite.

The ceiling was a canopy of ribbons and balloons, swaying ever so slightly in the breeze from the fan. It was intimate, magical.q

But Veer’s gaze didn’t stop there. His eyes searched, restless and eager for the one person who could make this all make sense. The one behind this quiet celebration.

His butterfly.

And then, he heard it.

A soft, rhythmic sound.

Heels tapping gently against the floor.

When his gaze followed the sound, he froze.

Time slowed.

His breath caught somewhere in his lungs, and his heartbeat stuttered then raced.

Siya floated into the room like a vision wrapped in wine-red velvet.

Her mid-length gown sculpted her figure to perfection. A square neckline framed her collarbones like a delicate painting, and the bodice hugged her like it was made just for her. The skirt flared from the waist, flowing with every graceful step she took. The rich crimson fabric shimmered under the fairy lights like liquid rubies.

Her soft curls cascaded down one shoulder, catching the light, and her heels sparkled with every movement. A delicate string of pearls graced her wrist and collarbone—vintage, timeless.

Siya walked toward him, her presence pulling Veer out of his haze.

She came to a stop in front of him and gently lifted his chin. His lips parted slightly as he looked into her eyes, breathless.

“You look… breathtakingly beautiful, Butterfly,” he whispered, voice thick with wonder.

A soft smile touched her lips as she placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned close, her breath fanning against his ear.

“Happy birthday, my love,” she whispered and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

A faint red mark remained

A kiss not just on his skin,

But on his soul.

A mark of her love.

She gently took his hand, guiding him toward the table. “Let’s cut the cake now,” she said with a soft smile.

Veer looked at her, made a silent wish, then sliced through the cake. He fed her the first bite, and she returned the gesture. But as he chewed, his expression shifted he paused, looked at Siya, then pointed first to the cake, then back at her with a raised brow.

Siya smirked, already knowing what that look meant, and gave him a proud little nod.

“Oh my God! This is so good… mmhhmm!” he groaned dramatically, making siya laugh.

But when he reached for a fourth piece, Siya snatched the spoon from his hand. “That’s enough for now, Veer,” she warned playfully.

Veer chuckled, swallowed the last bite, and took her hand in his. He pressed a gentle kiss to her fingers and murmured, “That wasn’t necessary, butterfly. You don’t even like cooking. You could’ve just ordered one.”

Siya smiled, her eyes soft. “I could have... but then I wouldn’t have gotten that smile on your face.” She cupped his face lovingly and said,  “for this happiness... I’d do anything.”

Veer gave a quiet, breathy laugh and leaned closer, eyes still on her. “Yeah... I know exactly what you’d do for me.”

Siya rolled her eyes with a grin and tapped his shoulder. “Alright, mister sentimental. Enough talking would you like to dance with me?”

Veer stood, tugging her close. “I’d love to, my butterfly.”

And just like that, he gently led her to the center of the room. The lights dimmed, casting a warm golden hue that wrapped the room in a soft glow. It didn’t feel grand  it felt right. Cozy, like a dream whispered into reality.

The song started playing in the background, slow and hauntingly beautiful:

Janam janam janam saath chalna yuhin

Kasam tumhe kasam aake milna yahin…

Veer’s hand softly slid into Siya’s, while his other hand settled firmly on the small of her back. Her free hand found its place on his shoulder, almost like muscle memory. And then… they moved.

Slow. Gentle. Eyes locked. Not a word passed between them  the lyrics spoke every unspoken emotion for them.

Ek jaan hai bhale do badan ho juda

Meri hoke hamesha hi rehna

Kabhi na kehna alvida…

Then, with a slow, practiced ease, Veer twirled Siya.

And as she spun back into him, her back gently collided with his chest. A shiver ran down her spine as his breath brushed her ear, her heartbeat skipping a little. His hands, firm and secure, settled on her waist as she caught her breath.

Teri baahon mein hai mere dono jahaan

Tu rahe jidhar meri jannat wahin…

His face nestled into her hair as he whispered huskily, “You smell so damn good…”

Then he turned her to face him again, their bodies still perfectly aligned as if the universe had choreographed this moment centuries ago.

His thumbs softly traced her waist as her hands rested on his shoulders, her eyes swimming with emotion.

Veer leaned in and pressed a tender kiss on her forehead not rushed, not hesitant. Just full of love.

“I love you, Butterfly,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “Thank you for walking into my storm and becoming my peace.”

Siya’s eyes welled up, and she whispered voice trembling but heart steady,
“I love you too, Veer.”

And in that hug that followed, it didn’t feel like two people holding each other

It felt like two souls, choosing each other.

“Okay, no more emotional drama. Let’s eat dinner,” Siya said, taking his hand and guiding him toward the corner of the apartment where a small table was beautifully set with candles and food, and two chairs facing each other.

Veer looked at the setup with a small smile.

“You cooked dinner too?” he asked teasingly.

“Nope. I didn’t want us both ending up in the hospital,” Siya replied with a playful wink.

They both laughed.

They sat down, feeding each other bites between soft giggles and teasing remarks. The candles flickered gently, casting a warm glow over their faces. 

In that moment, they weren't the hacker and the assassin, or two people carrying past wounds

They were just Siya and Veer,

Savouring the food.
Savouring the silence.

Savouring each every other

As dinner ended and settled on the couch, Siya quietly got up and walked into the other room. A few seconds later, she returned something in her hands

No, it didn’t look like a gift.

It was a file.

She sat down beside Veer and handed it to him with a soft smile.

“Your gift.”

Veer frowned slightly, confused. He opened the file and scanned through it. Slowly, his expression shifted and when he looked up at Siya, there was hurt in his eyes.

“No... I’m not taking this,” he said, his voice low. “You also think I’m a failure?”

___________________________________________